Hal­loween Ends

Fol­low­ing the mid-tril­o­gy atroc­i­ty that was 2021’s Hal­loween Kills, expec­ta­tions for the cli­mac­tic episode of this new set of IP cash-in films from direc­tor David Gor­don Green sat just a lit­tle bit below rock bottom.

And yet, that sec­ond film was such a repul­sive, idi­ot­ic ordeal, so wrong-head­ed in every aspect, that one might be prompt­ed to ask: would it even be pos­si­ble for a fran­chise to slump fur­ther into the slur­ry-filled quag­mire of artis­tic ignominy?

It’s a ques­tion we thank­ful­ly don’t need to answer right now, because Green and his band of screen­writ­ing cohorts Paul Brad Logan, Chris Bernier and Dan­ny McBride have, against all odds, deliv­ered a very fine and touch­ing hor­ror-dra­ma that bares only soft resem­blance to the hyper­bol­ic first instal­ment and the godaw­ful sec­ond one.

It’s maybe disin­gen­u­ous to say this, but the shift in tone and qual­i­ty is so extreme that it feels as if Green has been let off his leash a lit­tle and allowed to make some­thing far more in tune with the insight­ful, inti­mate, sen­si­tive dra­mas upon which he made his name. He’s done his work for the machine, the mon­ey is being count­ed out back, so now he gets an oppor­tu­ni­ty to noo­dle and try out some weird­er riffs.

With the pre­vi­ous film going to mel­on-twist­ing lengths to offer some small cathar­sis while keep­ing Michael Myers heart beat­ing just enough to see out his con­trac­tu­al oblig­a­tion, we’re dropped once more into the sleepy burg of Had­don­field, Illi­nois (sure­ly now the offi­cial Mur­der Cap­i­tal Of The World?) cir­ca 2019 to wit­ness an inci­dent involv­ing goofy teen upstart Corey Cun­ning­ham (Rohan Camp­bell). A rou­tine babysit­ting stint for a bit of easy fold­ing mon­ey takes a turn for the dis­as­trous and Corey sud­den­ly finds him­self on the busi­ness end of a manslaugh­ter charge and sub­se­quent pari­ah sta­tus in the community.

Jamie Lee Cur­tis’ Lau­rie Strode, her­self no slouch when it comes to inter­act­ing with killers, decides to take this kid under her bro­ken wing when she sees him being has­sled by a gang of expend­able high school jerkoffs. And it’s not long before lost soul and recent orphan Allyson (Andi Matichak), now liv­ing with grand­moth­er Lau­rie, becomes warm for his dishev­elled form. But Lau­rie has peered into the dead eyes of Michael Myers and has seen the face of evil, and believes Corey may have a sim­i­lar glint in there.

With a stripped-back script that is a darn sight more coher­ent than its two pre­de­ces­sors, Hal­loween Kills focus­es instead on themes of iso­la­tion and trau­ma in a way that is sophis­ti­cat­ed enough to lend real grav­i­tas to its cen­tral plot arc. As a char­ac­ter, Corey is a lot more inter­est­ing than blank-faced robo killer Michael Myers, who has always been lit­tle more than a lum­ber­ing Rorschach test for a mis­cel­la­neous form of ​“pure evil”. His rel­a­tive absence here makes him a far more chill­ing and effec­tive presence.

There is a Jekyll and Hyde ele­ment to Campbell’s live­ly per­for­mance, and he switch­es between these modes in a way that’s entire­ly con­vinc­ing. Although some might read this as a Jok­er-fied take on Hal­loween lore, there’s no sense that Green is try­ing to make a grand state­ment about ​“soci­ety”, while at the same time not being shy when it comes to point­ing out its man­i­fold ills.

As Corey grad­u­al­ly slips from the path of benign inten­tions, we’re still able to empathise with him despite a series of, shall we say, regret­table life choic­es. Cur­tis, too, final­ly brings a long-yearned-for sense of pathos and reflec­tive hope to Lau­rie in one of her strongest recent performances.

Gone are the con­vo­lut­ed Girl­boss antics of the first film, and now her inte­ri­or con­fi­dence as a char­ac­ter is both dra­mat­i­cal­ly excit­ing and help­ful when it comes to lay­ing the foun­da­tions for a big, stab­by finale which should put Michael Myers to bed for good. Or at least until the next refit comes along.

Lit­tle White Lies is com­mit­ted to cham­pi­oning great movies and the tal­ent­ed peo­ple who make them.

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