Brooklyn 45 (2023)

Another in a shockingly long line of high quality Shudder Christmas horror flicks, Brooklyn 45's premise, structure, and setting make it a bit of an outlier. The movie is set in real time during the evening of December 27, 1945, almost entirely within the confines of a locked room in a Park Slope brownstone. The cast functionally consists of six actors, all but one of whom is over 50.

The movie is extremely well researched by writer/director Ted Geoghegan, who manages to deliver something that feels grounded without relying on cliches. The characters are written and performed like people, rather than stereotypes of how we imagine 1940s military personnel to speak or behave. At the same time, you can catch flourishes in the performances and direction borrowed from 1940s melodramas, enhancing the sense you're watching a fusion of past and present. The movie plays with this idea in the opening and closing, too: it begins in black and white, looking for all the world like it was shot in 1947, until color fades in. Likewise, the end credits are a pitch perfect recreation of those from the time, to the point I was a little sad they weren't at the start of the movie, as they'd have been in the 40's.

In short, this is a cleverly written, well-acted, genre film that fans of horror, suspense, and 1940s cinema would be wise to check out. Moments in the third act belabor the theme a bit and there are a couple choices I consider missteps, but these are minor flaws in an otherwise solid movie. Consider that a recommendation for those who'd just as soon opt out of this review before I touch on the story. Just be warned that, as is common in this genre these days, this features a couple disturbing sequences, including some gruesome moments and a torture scene.

The movie starts with its characters congregating in the aforementioned Brooklyn home, which is owned by Clive, a colonel who recently lost his wife to suicide. His guests are his friends, Paul, Archibald, and Marla, along with Marla's husband, Bob, the only member of the group without a background in the military. Unbeknownst to them, Clive also has one of his neighbors tied up in his closet - more on that later.

Archibald, we quickly learn, is being investigated for committing a war crime, something Marla is convinced he's innocent of (though her husband doesn't share her faith). We also learn that Marla was something of a legendary interrogator during the war, obtaining confessions and intelligence that aided the Allies. Her methods, however, are implied to be unpleasant (to her, as much as anyone else). She also suffers from a limp as a result of a German attack.

Once everyone's introduced, Clive reveals why he gathered the group together. Since his wife's suicide, he's been plagued with uncertainty. He feels responsible, since her suicide seems to have been the result of no one (not even him) believing her about one of their neighbors being a Nazi spy. Clive wants to know there's another world out there and that she's okay. To this end, he's prepared a seance and requires his friends' participation.

At first, they balk at the suggestion. These are, after all, serious people with distinguished military careers: the ritual Clive's suggesting seems childish. But eventually Clive pushes them into agreeing. Almost as soon as they start, something begins violently banging on the closet door. Clive demands the others stay put: if they break the circle before the ritual is complete, it will leave the door between worlds open.

Soon, they start hearing voices. Then Clive vomits up a pool of ectoplasm, and a spectral hand emerges. They hear his wife's voice, confirming the reality of the event and identity of the spirit. Despite his insistence the circle remain intact, Clive reaches for his wife's hand before closing the gate, at which point the spirit vanishes.

The group begins coming to terms with what's occurred, while Clive takes solace in confirming there's another world. He speaks cryptically with Paul about something he asked him to take care, then Clive pulls a gun and shoots himself in the head. Almost immediately after, the closet door bursts open, and a woman stumbles out, bound and gagged.

This is Hildegard, the woman Clive's wife accused of spying for the Nazis. Clive's final directive to Paul was to execute her, an act Clive couldn't accomplish himself (despite his position, we learn he was never actually able to get his own hands dirty, instead relying on his subordinates to carry out his orders). Hildegard naturally proclaims her innocence, but Paul believes otherwise. They have Clive's gun and a key, which Paul pockets for the majority of the film. When he's finally pressured to use the key, we discover the unfinished ritual renders the matter moot: the door literally eats the key, and their attempts to force it open or break a window are likewise in vain.

Interestingly, the majority of the movie after the seance is less focused on the supernatural than on mundane considerations. The characters confront each other, and - as you'd expect - secrets are revealed. The most pressing of which concerns Archibald, who we find out was indeed responsible for the crime he's accused of, an illegal action that resulted in the deaths of dozens of children.

It's worth noting Archibald feels horrible about this. It's unclear if he realized what he was doing (though the movie makes it clear he should have). There's ultimately a great deal of ambiguity around whether this was an accident, a cowardly act, or if he knowingly sacrificed German school children to gain some sort of military advantage. What we do learn is that he was being fired upon and was acting under Clive's orders the whole time.

Eventually, Marla interrogates Hildegard and proclaims her innocent. Clive's spirit, however, isn't convinced: he takes control of his body and begins violently banging his own head against the table while demanding his former friends kill Hildegard. Eventually Paul tries strangling Hildegard, but he's stopped by Bob, who picks up the gun.

Until now, Bob's mainly been defined as the sole member of the group without a background in violence - in fact, this is what Marla seems to love about him. But when Paul pushes him, Bob shoots him dead. In a state of shock, Hildegard mutters something in German, and Bob kills her, as well.

This has the effect of ending their confinement. Marla, Bob, and Archibald make their way out of the apartment, though it's clear Marla has lost all respect for her husband. Archibald explains he's going to confess his crimes and asks Bob if he'll take responsibility for his actions, as well. When Bob tries to defend himself by explaining he did what he had to do, Archibald tells him that he did, as well. They leave, and the credits roll.

The themes, of course, concern the injustice of those who command others being the least likely to be held accountable. We never learn whether or not Hildegard was a spy, nor is the incident Archibald is being prosecuted for ever fully explained. Instead, the movie is interested in a system where those with power sacrifice those beneath them. It's also notable how the leads have characteristics typical of WWII antagonists: their roles and specialties are those you expect to see highlighted among Nazis in these movies, rather than Americans. But then that's kind of the point.

The holidays seem to be present to play with the idea of the passage from one era to the next. The movie opens with a radio broadcast highlighting this by stating Santa Claus has given America the best gift possible in the form of an end to the war, and that Baby New Year is bringing "prosperity and hope for a brighter future." This of course proves overly optimistic as we learn that the past isn't so easily swept aside. The statement, "The war's over," receives the response, "Says who?" multiple times throughout the movie - in fact, it's reprieved as the last line in the movie, just as it begins to snow.

You can interpret that snow in a couple ways. Obviously, it's a traditional end to more upbeat holiday movies, though there's nothing remotely happy about the end of this. Geoghegan is certainly referencing the trope, but he also seems to be employed a similar sense of death to that associated with the imagery in The Dead. There's even a similar skeletal nature to a tree between the camera and the window where the events took place in the final shot of the film.

The holidays as a time of remembrance is likewise subverted a few minutes earlier when the camera lingers on a poster hanging in Clive's hallway containing the words, "We here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain," in reference to Pearl Harbor. The movie challenges this assertion by exploring the ways war - or the ghosts of war - linger beyond our arbitrary boundaries between eras. The war can't end, because the act of war changes us.

Of course, there's also the Christmas ghost story aspect of all this, playing off centuries of associations between these sorts of tales and the holidays. But I assume that goes without saying at this point.

From a visual perspective, the movie keeps the holidays present in the form of Christmas lights outside the window of Clive's apartment. The exterior shots at the beginning and end highlight these, as well, contrasting what's essentially Hallmark movie imagery with the horror of the story. That's pretty common at this point, but it's particularly effective here.

Brooklyn 45 isn't without flaws, as I mentioned at the start. There are a couple moments where the movie forgot the "less is more" rule. For example, there's a bit where the locked doors open to reveal the burnt out remnants of the school Archibald attacked (the imagery was disturbing, but the presence of the sequence felt more absurd than anything else). Likewise, some of the dialogue near the end was a little too fixated on theme and strained believability. On a similar line, a few of the revelations felt inorganic and forced.

But those are relatively minor flaws in what's ultimately a well made haunted house flick. The military details were apparently worked out between the filmmaker and his father, and they certainly seemed authentic. I also appreciate that the seance was based on 19th-century spiritualism (I'm no expert, but this aligned closely with various details I've come across on the subject).

I also really liked the opening shot and end credits. I can't stress how authentic to the look of 1940s cinema these felt. The simple shift to color at the start felt like an incredible effect, simply because Geoghegan recreates the look of those films flawlessly. Similarly, you can catch affectations in the way the dialogue is written and delivered drawn from that era - there's some neat stuff going on here. Plus, the locked room has a great Hitchcock vibe (part of me wishes this had been filmed as a single take, but that's probably a bit too much to ask of a production already delivering quality that feels well above its budget).

This isn't going to challenge any of my favorite holiday horror films for a spot at the top of that list, but it's absolutely clever, engaging, disturbing, and - for those willing to follow the movie on its twisted path - a worthwhile experience.