Lake of the Dead (1958)

Here we have what is purported to be a classic of Norwegian cinema that has been little-seen in the West, all of which excited me greatly as I popped it in, completely blind as to what lie in store. Lake of the Dead can best be described as Agatha Christie's take on a ghost story if she partially confused vanilla ghosts with demons of folklore. Our protagonist is the Watson to a lowly psychoanalyst's Sherlock Holmes; he operates in secret, and we are privy to what is happening in any given scene only after the fact, and in monologue form no less. I won't lie: the premise of a story wherein someone solves a murder case and prevents further murder from happening by interpreting dreams is pretty captivating, and did I mention yet that this is a film from '58 that sees a group of friends vacationing in a remote cabin in the woods and being picked off one after another by monsters? Talk about ahead of the curve. I didn't mind the fact that it was a mostly straight-ahead ghost story as opposed to full-blown folk horror, despite its inclusion in All The Haunts Be Ours, as its precious few folky moments shine bright (like that wonderful, beautiful stop-motion raven; Poe would have been proud) and its imagery is very earthen and rooted in nature, at times beautiful, at others: terrifying. And then there's that ending. It goes on to tackle impressively dark subject matter for its era and fairly competently I might add, and just feels like a class act all around.

That's why I'm bummed to say that it's a tad slow. And stagey. And it makes a mistake that so many films of its era make which is to overexplain every little piece of your story and erase all ambiguity, except for moments where it suits censors or sensibilities. The film opens with what is tantamount to a spoiler that ruins any hope of maintaining tension throughout a good deal of the final act, knowing that our favorite characters are in no danger at all and that everything will work out in the end. Not everyone makes it out unscathed, granted, and so not everything is completely spoiled, but it definitely could have been moved to the end, if you want my opinion (Hey, shut up! It was rhetorical.) Still, that pails in comparison to the real issue: dialogue shouldn't be the only thing driving your film. Yes, this is an early film when such rules hadn't yet been figured out and rendered in stone all around the world, but I'm just reflecting on my own gut feelings here, after all, and I found it a little dry. I respected the hell out of the scope and intent of its writing, and its use of a familiar structure not unlike that of a nice cozy mystery novel was different enough from the other films I've been watching lately to warrant attention, but damn if I didn't struggle to pay close attention once the story gets into its second act, and this after an opening that didn't exactly set me alight in the first place.

But hey, despite my issues, and despite the fact that I had to pause it halfway through and call it a night which is nigh unheard for me, only to return to it the next day and finish it, I still can't deny it was a handsome little film that I'm happy to have seen. And I loved the ending: very Twilight Zone.