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Horror films are the ideal preying ground for new directors who are keen to show off their wares. The genre has a relatively small, but incredibly loyal fan base who will go out of their way to see new and wonderful offerings from talented newcomers, as well as a not-insubstantial crossover market. We might think of John McNaughton’s critically acclaimed Henry: Portrait of a Serial Killer (actually McNaughton’s second film, but the one that really threw him into the limelight), or even Sanchez and Myrick’s Blair Witch Project as examples of mega low budget movies that caught the hearts of horror aficionados and thus became relative smash hits. Such precedents have inspired legions of filmmakers to try their hand at the genre, which has resulted in an awful lot of rubbish (Shatter Dead, for example), and also some works of incredible power. Scrapbook is one such film.
The story is simple – a woman is kidnapped by a man, a man who is a serial killer and is recording his life through a scrapbook within which are contained the experiences of his previous victims, both in photographic form, and in their own words. The film is an unobtrusive, deeply disturbing view of the relationship that builds between the amoral killer and his terrified victim, one that ultimately takes a surprising and uncomfortable turn. Ostensibly, Scrapbook is a tale of the horrors that people are capable of inflicting upon one another, but also of the resilience of the soul in the face of overwhelming odds, the desperate need both to be loved and understood, but more primordially simply to survive.
Having sat through countless nasty little horror films, I always get the feeling that I’m slightly jaded, and am at something of a disadvantage as a reviewer – I can no longer be sufficiently grossed-out and / or terrified to give a truly informed opinion of the film. However, Scrapbook made me reassess my own self-definition, and realise that it’s not me that’s at fault, it’s the legion of garbage movies that I’ve sat through. Scrapbook is perhaps the single most disturbing film I’ve ever watched, at once sickeningly violent and emotionally draining. It’s a reminder that films still have the ability to take the viewer to the edge of the abyss – you just have to choose the right film. And boy oh boy is Scrapbook the right film, if you’re after sleepless nights and a vision of evil that you won’t be forgetting in a hurry.
The film is entirely straightforward, told in a linear narrative form, with no specific moral message or clear-cut objective. Like Henry, it simply unfurls its tail without rhyme or reason without exploiting its subject matter or pulling its punches at any time. The opening scene is particularly disturbing; a young boy is first sexually abused by his older sister, and then apparently sodomised by his brutal brother. Fast forward a number of years, and the boy has become a man – Leonard, the pitiless monster who keeps his obscene scrapbook. We have no idea who the woman is who he has kidnapped – it is irrelevant – she is a woman, ripped from her comfortable life and forced to be the subject of terrifying atrocities. She is our anchor to the real world, she is us, and represents for us how easy it is to be taken from complacency, how easy it is for evil to enter our lives unbidden.
Thankfully, considering this is essentially a two-hander, both the lead actors are superb in their intensely challenging roles. Emily Haack, as Clara, the kidnapped woman, is awesome in a part which must have required a great deal of bravery and self-awareness to portray as well as she does, while Tommy Biondo (who apparently died shortly after the end of shooting) is at once absolutely terrifying and oddly charming as the sexually aggressive, brutally proactive serial killer. Both these character actors put to shame a great number of supposed “superstars”, and put to rest the myth that all low budget horror is haunted by appalling thespians.
Although Scrapbook is more than simply a catalogue of grotesquery, many people will want to see it for its reputation as one of the more extreme of the current serial-killer movies doing the rounds. For them, their expectations may not really be met – the level of actual gore on display is not particularly high – it’s the violence, both psychological and physical, that stuns in its personalisation. We really go through the wringer with Clara as she is repeatedly sexually abused (once with a bottle, in a tear-inducing scene of violence), brutalised, humiliated and tortured. This isn’t only one for the strong of stomach, it’s also one for the staunch of will – it may take a great deal of self-persuasion NOT to turn this film off – not, for once, because it’s rubbish, but because it’s so damn good at what it’s trying to do. And it’s because it’s so good that the BBFC have forcibly prevented the distribution of the this film in the UK – and you can be assured that there’s no way Scrapbook will see the light of day in Britain in its uncut form for quite some time.
Like with Men Behind The Sun, I don’t really feel comfortable recommending Scrapbook, though I will say that it’s one of the most outstanding serial-killer films I’ve seen in some time. Its relentless openness, its refusal to offer easy answers and uncomplicated definitions, and its constant atmosphere of brewing violence and terror (Stanze’s unshowy, sober directorial style is perfect for this film) makes it one of the most powerful films you might ever see. Although not one for the faint-of-heart or romantics, Scrapbook is a masterpiece of soul-crushing, stomach-churning horror. Just approach with caution…
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