Editor’s Note: This was originally published for FANGORIA on November 9, 2004, and we’re proud to share it as part of The Gingold Files.
One of the great things about working in this field is getting to discover an unheralded horror gem, an unexpected little treasure in the sea of independently made chillers. Particularly gratifying is when such a movie is a debut effort, one that showcases a fresh new artist on the genre scene, and that’s the case with writer/director Ti West’s The Roost. The second of two films (after James Felix McKenney’s The Off Season) executive-produced by Larry (Wendigo) Fessenden under the Scareflix banner, The Roost shares with Fessenden’s work a combination of down-and-dirty naturalism and classical horror tropes. From familiar basic ingredients and with very little money, West has crafted a well-paced feature that demonstrates both a respect for the rules of fright filmmaking and a knowledge of how to utilize and tweak them. I don’t want to overhype the virtues of this modest little picture, but it’s not an exaggeration to say that West here displays a raw talent reminiscent of early George Romero and Sam Raimi.
That comparison extends somewhat to the subject matter and approach, as The Roost focuses on a small group of characters trapped in and around a single location (a large rural barn, the same location where Alfred Hitchcock shot Marnie) and surrounds them with an eerie soundscape similar to that of The Evil Dead. But unlike many up-and-comers in the horror arena, West largely eschews the hyperactive camerawork of Raimi and his many imitators, instead building and paying off the tension matter-of-factly. His particular style is to tease the audience by cutting away at the moment of shock and then returning to the scene a few moments later—or sometimes not. Using his limited means to his advantage, he has crafted a film that has a raw documentary flavor without the overuse of the handheld camera that’s been in vogue lately.
West opens the movie with a black-and-white introductory segment featuring Tom (Manhunter) Noonan as an old-fashioned TV horror host. That might suggest a campy approach, but it’s really an expression of West’s lifelong love of these movies. Indeed, the story that follows has the feel of something caught on late-night TV, harking back to bygone days of indie horror flicks made without frills but with conviction, lacking extravagant special FX or a string of hip or self-aware jokes. There is humor in The Roost, but quite a bit of it derives from identification with the characters—as their situation becomes increasingly dire, their actions may provoke laughs at times, but they’re the same ones most of us would take in the same predicament.
You may notice that I haven’t gone into detail about The Roost’s storyline yet, and I’m not really sure I should. I walked into the screening having no idea what the movie was about, and not knowing what was coming added to the enjoyment. Also, outlining what happens in the film might make it sound hokey; let’s just say that bats are involved, and leave it at that. And dense plotting isn’t West’s point anyway; he sets up a simple scenario and plays it out in ways that, if occasionally silly, are almost always logical under the circumstances. He’s aided by a cast (led by Ghost in the Machine’s Wil Horneff and his debuting sister Vanessa, playing siblings on screen as well) who inhabit their roles with naturalistic ease, never trying to make more of their roles and situations than necessary. Eric Robbins’ cinematography immerses the proceedings in dark, isolated dread, and the FX, both makeup (by Daniel J. Mazikowski) and digital (by Quiet Man) are far above average for such a low-budget production, with the ultimate achievement of not calling attention to themselves.
There’s only one serious misstep in The Roost, and it occurs about an hour in, as West cuts away from the main story to return to Noonan’s horror host. It seems intended as an ironic comment on the action, but it’s just a distraction that breaks the moody spell West has built up. It almost gives the impression that the director doesn’t know how good a movie he’s made—but it only briefly dispels the overall, and exciting, feeling of witnessing the arrival of a filmmaker who otherwise knows exactly what he’s doing.
