Review: Ghost Stories (2017)
Co-directed by Andy Nyman and Jeremy Dyson; screenplay by Andy Nyman and Jeremy Dyson, adapted from their stage play of the same name; starring Andy Nyman, Paul Whitehouse and Alex Lawther.
Following on from my last viewing, I decided to return to the sub-genre of paranormal sceptics who take on personal investigations only to have their beliefs shaken by the end in the hopes that it could provide something stronger than Red Lights. Although, I do think Ghost Stories is the superior film and a narrative feat, there is something slightly disappointing about it that only really comes to light upon reflection.
Ghost Stories is an anthology horror film, adapted from the stage play created by Andy Nyman and Jeremy Dyson who both return here to co-write and co-direct, that follows professor and TV presenter Phillip Goodman (Andy Nyman) as he sets out to tackle and debunk three unsolved cases passed to him by his thought-to-be-dead idol, Charles Cameron (Leonard Byrne). Phillip, who turned to scepticism and atheism as a result of his dogmatically religious father, in an early scene narrates to us directly the step-by-step process of debunking a famous British medium as he performs on stage. The debunking is somewhat successful, but as we linger on a bereaved mother sitting in a pool of tears as she attempts to deny to herself what she’s just heard from Phillip as he’s forced back off the stage, it hits home that this scene is intended to prime us for what’s to come; a narrative that will both toy with form, as well as attempt to tackle some weighty subjects about faith and denial.
The central conceit of the film, that anthology-framing, means that the film is split into three distinct sections and each one comes with its own merits and drawbacks, but some with more merits than the others.
The tale of a night watchman, Tony Matthews (Paul Whitehouse), haunted by a spirit at an abandoned asylum for women and young girls, comes out on top as the strongest in my mind. Tony is believable and his grief and guilt (a common thread throughout the whole film) are compelling as a result. The second most interesting is the final tale of financier Mike Priddle (Martin Freeman), with its haunting look into isolation and shame, let down a little by its slightly confused climax and Freeman’s teetering into bombast. Lowest in my estimation, however, is the second tale of Simon Rifkind (Alex Lawther), an anxiety-ridden young man with a terrible home life who gets stuck in the woods with an apparent demon after he hits it with his car and breaks down. This tale is not without its own strong points, but suffers from an overplayed, almost caricatured lead character and difficult to fear central antagonist.
It’s this last point that sort of illustrates my gripe with the film: it really doesn’t seem to know exactly what it’s going for with regards to tone and this really undermines a great many good aspects about it.
The first tale, and – aside from the final act – the main through-line of Phillip’s investigation, are actually quite tense and pretty grounded in a human struggle over denial and guilt. Paul Whitehouse’s Tony is defensively repulsive with an air of false bravado and his confrontation with the paranormal is an interesting dynamic to watch and it’s the same with Phillip (maybe even to a greater extent.) Only when we start to see the ghosts in full do these tales start to disappoint, teetering into popcorn fluff and smug puppet-mastery. And it’s this sensibility that I’m talking about.
When we get to the ghosts themselves, those things that go bump, the film is let down by its desire to be traditional horror-fare. We really didn’t need to see the devil that torments Simon for the story to be effective there. Even though Simon is played a little bit garishly at times (his “fuck that!” being a prime example of the confused identity of the film, split between tragedy, horror and comedy) his anxiety is genuinely painful to watch and, if anything, it was this that disturbed far more than the man in the fur suit. It’s this understated, deeply pained humanity that really should have been allowed to breathe more and I’m a bit disappointed it didn’t.
Overall, it’s contrived and elaborate but it is a little fun and does have a heart somewhere in there, even if it’s somewhat smothered by the creators’ self-satisfied (maybe even self-conscious) desire to make you simultaneously laugh and jump out of your skin. At the very least, it’s more nuanced and interesting than Red Lights and leaves you a little something to think about; even if, after a few minutes, you realise there’s not actually that much to its conclusions on the unknowability of the human spirit.
Watched on 16th April 2021