The inmates of a high security prison attempt to defeat an entity that preys on their darkest instincts.
Review by Benjamin Poole
Directed by: Joko Anwar
Starring: Endy Arfian, Abimana Aryasatya, Yoga Pratama, Aming
The prison movie, apart from the voyeuristic sleaze of WIP fodder which in their own way are movies 4 men, is often an evaluation of masculinity that presents a pressure cooker microcosm of enclosed machismo: a patriarchy of status, violence and aggressive sexuality. Ask a basic bloke pseudo cinephile of a certain age what their favourite movie is and they will sagely reply, The Shawshank Redemption with a nod that is as inane as it is smug. A real film see, about real issues, such as men being men in a men's prison: so "powerfully redemptive." We can't get enough of it, and I'm not being catty either as I too love a prison movie. This year's Wasteman was a fave, with its tight lens projecting the febrile intensity of a confined space where masculine performance within specific and esoteric conventions is a keen matter of life and death. Joko Anwar's Ghost in the Cell presents an intriguing proposition. In contrast to the usual (apart from Stir Crazy and 1979's Porridge) self-seriousness of the genre which prohibits jokes, Anwar's jail-set film is a comedy/horror hybrid of broad slapstick and black humour, with a genre dichotomy which further intrigues: with its final girls and monstrous feminine, horror often evaluates female not male paradigms (it's Carrie, not "Gary" after all...).
We open with an incredible set piece wherein a bossy newspaper editor is killed to death by a vengeful spirit, and I mean vengeful: the officious news chief is found gutted and crucified upon one of those massive revolving ceiling fans they have in hot countries. This ghost is channelling their inner Hannibal Lector, and also seems to have been reading Clive Barker (I think it's time for a Barker revival, that sort of mushy guignol is coming back), with Visual Effects Supervisor Abby Eldipie's wonderfully wet practical effects invoking the baroque Cenobite issued grue of Bob Keen's peerless work in 1987. It's bad luck for this Bornean Paul Dacre, but perhaps even worse for principled smudge Dimas (Endy Arfian) who is fingered for the spectacular homicide, and duly sent to the big house.
It is like slipping into a comfortable pair of issued heavy duty fatigues: all the tropes, conventions and stock characters are locked in (but never cliches, as Ghost in the Cell is too gleeful in its use of the genre for any of this to feel stale). Cells stacked on top of each other in barred rows, as orange garbed men are berated by a beret wearing despot about how worthless they are. Not knowing what else to do, men often simply resort to hitting each other, and here the guard accordingly starts slapping about a couple of inmates with his belt (the visuals are accompanied by the whistling motif of an ocarina, deliberately invoking the Western's masculine politic). On the receiving end is Anggoro (Abimana Aryasatya), the de facto leader of our de rigueur ragtag gang of "good" inmates (as you'd imagine, each of our lads have all been sent down for jumped up charges). Anggoro's thing is that he sticks up for other prisoners; Six (Yoga Pratama - amazing name) is (presumably) named for his ability to see ghosts and auras (which will soon come in handy) while Wildan (Mike Lucock – ibid) is a devout Muslim, and Pendi was a professor on the outside who quotes Alfred Adler (!) to the other lags.
There is also a bad egg prisoner who, worst luck, is cellmates with fish Dimas whom he proceeds to menace with rape threats. Our lads intervene and Dimas is safe, but for how long? Turns out that from this wrong 'un at least it's for good, as Dimas seems to have invertedly smuggled in supernatural contraband via the incorporeal form of the vengeful spirit that got him in this mess in the first place. And when the violent prisoner is alone in the showers (naturally), it strikes, and this time this artisan essence of evil, a supernatural Ai Weiwei, makes a striking water feature of the would-be sexual predator. This, and another bravura kitchen bound set piece which rivals the pot-boil nonce-wash of Sleepaway Camp for spectacle, leads our bunch to surmise that the ghost is after inmates with bad aura...
Perhaps when watching Ghost in the Cell you might feel that the narrative is paced to longueurs punctuated by the spectacular displays of action and violence that Anwar is most invested in, and you'd be correct. But while this means that the film lacks vital suspense, the interactions between the men, who realise that keeping their spirits up and their auras bright will deter the ghost, are a very fun time. Amongst other japes, they partake in a dance class run by a camp choreographer. The routine is explicitly gendered: the instructor refers to "period cramps" (yeah, it's a bit hmmm), and the film seems to align activities felt to be less manly with a lack of toxicity, all the while playing the display for laughs (it is mad how we, as in male men, enjoy watching other men hit each other so much - do we suffer from "masochistic personality disorder" as the film suggests?!). In a moment of self-actualisation, a prisoner does specifically offer that the "ghosts can suck my c**k," in a moment of revealing, and desperate, hypermasculinity. Yet perhaps it is unfair to expect a thesis on the ways of man from this deeply loveable film, with its conviction to entertain. Instead, it is best to enjoy Ghost in the Cell, with its authentic dedication to fun, warm heart and genre savvy, on its own carceral merits.
Ghost in the Cell is on UK/ROI VOD from October 26th.
