Picture this: there you are, sitting in your favorite chair on a Saturday night. It’s movie night, and your significant other has brought out the popcorn—hell, you even get your own bowl! And you watch as the lights are turned down, the volume of your T.V. is turned up; you’re excited, because you’ve picked out a movie without reading a thing about it. You’re willing. You’re waiting. You’re ready for Green Room (2015).
Except, you can never be ready for Green Room, not really, not when that gritty feeling you get from the dirt under your fingernails combines with no shortage of blood, guts, and gore, all of it mixing into a visual experience that makes you wince, close your eyes, and apologize (throughout the entire course of the movie, mind you) to your significant other for making her watch what unfolds. The movie stars Patrick Stewart. Anton Yelchin. These two are best known for Star Trek. What are they doing, acting in a film like this?
Yet, both are also terrific actors—let’s not forget—so it’s no wonder that they make a script that could have been, well, worse (if handled by unknown actors), into a story that screams off the screen at you. Here is the breakdown: a rock band, a very poor rock band, actually, in more ways than one, goes to gig out at this one place, you know; out there in rural Oregon, where all the white supremacists live. Everything goes just fine, until it doesn’t—a mistake forces the band (led by Yeltchin) into a showdown with the white supremacists (led by Stewart—yeah, that’s right! Led by Stewart!).
The movie isn’t about racism. That’s what I like about the film. It doesn’t directly address racism, or the crazy it must take to live out on a compound filled with Nazi wanna-be’s. But the racism is there, always, hanging around in the background, and what a compound is like for those living in brain-wash-city is accurately portrayed, I think. I ought to know. I live in Eastern Washington—I grew up here—and in North Idaho, only a few hours away … Sieg Heil. They were crazy, as I remember; full-blown Neo-Nazis, living in Northern Idaho. When you think of something like that, you think of Berlin, with flags flying, and cement streets freshly swept clean before marching soldiers. But that’s not how it was, not in Idaho. Richard Bulter, in the early 2000’s (I believe), constructed a dirty, farmers-nightmare of a compound, where a bunch of grown-ass men lived with each other and their ideals. Though the danger was never really there when I was younger, for I lived to far away, my parents still instructed me to not drive my teenage ass out there; let’s not and say we did, how about? The racists got kicked out eventually, though you wouldn’t know it. Everyone around here, to this day, isn’t exactly sure what goes on in Northern Idaho, at any given time.
The point is that Green Room captured this form of Neo-Nazism in such a perfect, subtle way, led by Patrick Stewart in one of the more disturbing acts I’ve had the joy of seeing him in. The movie makes you believe that, yeah, this is what it’s like out there on a compound. There is no straight-up racism, but knowing that the difference in ideologies between band and crowd creates tension that you are not likely to forget.
Now, the movie isn’t breaking any barriers in horror—much of it is extreme, yes, but it is nothing we all haven’t witnessed once or twice in our own fandom forays. I wasn’t terrorized so much as I was horrified and grossed out. But if you find yourself sitting there, on a Saturday night, with the lights dimming around you and the popcorn bowl in your lap … well, you could do worse than fish the film out of a sea filled with other under-budget horror flicks for a look at Patrick Stewart and Anton Yelchin, the both of them playing memorable characters caught in the horrific struggle that unfolds in Green Room.
I loved it. And it all leaves me with one last thought …
… Beware of Dog.
(P.S. I wish Anton were still around to make movies. He was, and always will be, fun to watch on the silver screen. R.I.P.)
Review by David M. Wilson
Except, you can never be ready for Green Room, not really, not when that gritty feeling you get from the dirt under your fingernails combines with no shortage of blood, guts, and gore, all of it mixing into a visual experience that makes you wince, close your eyes, and apologize (throughout the entire course of the movie, mind you) to your significant other for making her watch what unfolds. The movie stars Patrick Stewart. Anton Yelchin. These two are best known for Star Trek. What are they doing, acting in a film like this?
Yet, both are also terrific actors—let’s not forget—so it’s no wonder that they make a script that could have been, well, worse (if handled by unknown actors), into a story that screams off the screen at you. Here is the breakdown: a rock band, a very poor rock band, actually, in more ways than one, goes to gig out at this one place, you know; out there in rural Oregon, where all the white supremacists live. Everything goes just fine, until it doesn’t—a mistake forces the band (led by Yeltchin) into a showdown with the white supremacists (led by Stewart—yeah, that’s right! Led by Stewart!).
The movie isn’t about racism. That’s what I like about the film. It doesn’t directly address racism, or the crazy it must take to live out on a compound filled with Nazi wanna-be’s. But the racism is there, always, hanging around in the background, and what a compound is like for those living in brain-wash-city is accurately portrayed, I think. I ought to know. I live in Eastern Washington—I grew up here—and in North Idaho, only a few hours away … Sieg Heil. They were crazy, as I remember; full-blown Neo-Nazis, living in Northern Idaho. When you think of something like that, you think of Berlin, with flags flying, and cement streets freshly swept clean before marching soldiers. But that’s not how it was, not in Idaho. Richard Bulter, in the early 2000’s (I believe), constructed a dirty, farmers-nightmare of a compound, where a bunch of grown-ass men lived with each other and their ideals. Though the danger was never really there when I was younger, for I lived to far away, my parents still instructed me to not drive my teenage ass out there; let’s not and say we did, how about? The racists got kicked out eventually, though you wouldn’t know it. Everyone around here, to this day, isn’t exactly sure what goes on in Northern Idaho, at any given time.
The point is that Green Room captured this form of Neo-Nazism in such a perfect, subtle way, led by Patrick Stewart in one of the more disturbing acts I’ve had the joy of seeing him in. The movie makes you believe that, yeah, this is what it’s like out there on a compound. There is no straight-up racism, but knowing that the difference in ideologies between band and crowd creates tension that you are not likely to forget.
Now, the movie isn’t breaking any barriers in horror—much of it is extreme, yes, but it is nothing we all haven’t witnessed once or twice in our own fandom forays. I wasn’t terrorized so much as I was horrified and grossed out. But if you find yourself sitting there, on a Saturday night, with the lights dimming around you and the popcorn bowl in your lap … well, you could do worse than fish the film out of a sea filled with other under-budget horror flicks for a look at Patrick Stewart and Anton Yelchin, the both of them playing memorable characters caught in the horrific struggle that unfolds in Green Room.
I loved it. And it all leaves me with one last thought …
… Beware of Dog.
(P.S. I wish Anton were still around to make movies. He was, and always will be, fun to watch on the silver screen. R.I.P.)
Review by David M. Wilson
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