Monday, September 07, 2009

Movie Time: The Visitor by Duncan Fallowell

Weirdness and spookiness in a mediaeval English house in the country. A teaser for his mysterious ghost story....

New Zealand calling

34 comments:

Anonymous said...

Agatha Christie on acid - and love the way the outdoor sounds disappear as you enter the silence of the house. Will we be given the answer in part two?

The Reverend said...

Madame, you have unusual friends.

Anonymous said...

The corpse has a nice arse.

VF Person (again) said...

The man in white at the end looks like Donald Sutherland after a workout and a facelift. Quite sinister.

Anonymous said...

Where is this?

Anonymous said...

David Lynch at it again.

Anonymous said...

Isn't the man at the end D Fallowell?

Anonymous said...

I don't see any family snaps anywhere which leads me to think this could be a National Trust property. On the other hand, a NT property wouldn't have a lit fire in the grate. I think the topiary is a clue.

Jennifer said...

Jennifer Lynch actually

Anonymous said...

Less is more, Madame.

Anonymous said...

Has Farah Damji got out then?

Dame Elizabeth Taylor said...

I want to live there!

Anonymous said...

Caught this on Movie Alert. Reminds me of that strange sequence in the great house in Louis Malle's Black Moon - which is a wonderful film by the way, well worth checking out. Cheers.

Madame Arcati said...

Dear Dame Elizabeth, I am sure Duncan can relay an offer.

Dame Elizabeth Taylor said...

Marrying him would be quicker

An Agent said...

If this a real ghost story or post-modernist ghost story? It will make all the difference to sales.

Anonymous said...

What difference?

The late Dame Agatha Christie said...

Can't think what you mean. I always have a tin of acid drops in the glove compartment of the Riley but find no reference to confectionery in this film.

Timothy Leary's Chihuahua said...

Acid drop or drop acid? The eternal dilemma.

An Agent said...

The one promises great riches (if it works), the other only critical acclaim (if it works).

Anonymous said...

Strangely creepy. Especially that weirdo at the end.

Anonymous said...

I don't see this ghost story listed on Amazon. Shouldn't we have a sample chapter to read or something?

Anonymous said...

Now that's what you call a dream house

Anonymous said...

Is that New Zealand calling or Australia? The Social Shuttle is based in Sydney, according to the blog profile. Thought it looked too sassy to be New Zealand.

The Wanter said...

Want

Jack at the Tate said...

I'm completely hung up on this magical voyage to the interior of Englishness. Like Alice in Wonderland and the drawings of Samuel Palmer. It amazes me that it should come through so strongly on a youtube clip.

Madame Arcati said...

Do you think Duncan would make a fine actor? I fully expect other authors to make their own video trailers for their novels, like movies.

Jack at the Tate said...

Well, Mr Fallowell is clearly at the cutting edge of somethng. Why have authors not thought of this before? But the house plays its vital part too. There's a dream chemistry here that's very strong. Perhaps because the art-narrative idea is so simple and direct, a journey inward, both actual and symbolic - leaving one dissatisfied, wanting resolution. Clever stuff.

Madame Arcati said...

Gosh, perhaps Duncan should do the movie first and then call his fiction a novelisation. The tricks one must perform to flog books these days. More fun though.

Anonymous said...

Yes! An endoscopy on England! A camera exploration of its viscera!

Madame Arcati said...

Just watched Katie Price celebrating her latest bestseller, 20,000 copies sold in 3 days. Heartbreaking.

Anonymous said...

Also similar to the intro to Chabrol's Le Fleur du Mal - but there is less tension in Chabrol.

Blithe Spirit said...

Is it that ego sells, or just enormous rubber tits? Don't get me wrong, I like her: what-you-see-is-what-you-get (There some comfort in that).

Anonymous said...

If you're going to quote French films at least get it right. It's LA Fleur . . .