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Scariest TV show ever or just plain weird? Opinions divided on American Horror Story

Dylan McDermott, Taissa Farmiga and Vivian Britton star as the Harmon family.

I’m still undecided on FX’s “pyscho-sexual thriller” American Horror Story. I mean, that self-prescribed tag is eye-rollingly excessive enough, and that’s before you even see dead baby-bits in containers during the show’s jarring intro.

AHS’ blatant excess should come as no surprise because it’s helmed by Brad Falchuk and Ryan Murphy, creators of Glee and Nip/Tuck, two shows that were built around an overabundance of extreme (almost X-treme).

There’s certainly an audience for that, and I respect them for pushing the boundaries of what can be done on cable TV. But when it becomes the focus of the show instead of an attribute, I start to lose interest. (I guess, for full disclosure, I should go ahead and say this now: I’m no fan of either show. Maybe it’s a little worse than that. Maybe I despise them for reliance on overtly extreme gimmicks instead of actual story telling.)

But I am a fan of horror—all of it, and for a long time.

When reviews came out claiming the pilot would haunt my dreams, it felt like I was being tested, almost being dared to like it. After the subsequent three episodes saw a rise in ratings (practically unheard of in the TV world), the temptation became too great. So I watched the first four episodes on Hulu, if only out of respect for the genre. I just wish Murphy and Falchuk had done the same.

American Horror Story centers on the Harmon family, consisting of psychiatrist/cheating husband Ben (a mega-buff Dylan McDermott), artist/estranged wife Vivien (the always good Connie Britton) and typically troublesome high school-aged daughter Violet (Taissa Farmiga).

The opening scene of the show alludes to a painful still-born delivery Vivien endured months ago, which looks to play a pivotal role as the series progresses. The family is forced to leave Boston after Vivien walks in on her father having an affair with a young student of his. They are able to swing a presumably slick deal for a house in the Los Angeles hills, but it of course, has a crucial flaw: it was the site of a husband-wife murder-suicide. Uh-oh, let the haunting begin.

With saving graces like Connie Britton’s hurt, hesitant wife, the plentiful amount of scares and the haunting sound design, the show can absolutely succeed beyond its core audience.

The pilot introduces a wide cast of characters, each with foreshadowing toward their own haunting story lines. Two of the most promising are Constance (Jessica Lange) and her daughter Adelaide (Jamie Brewer). Constance is an aging southern belle, proud of her seemingly prestigious Virginian upbringing and overprotective approach to mothering her Down syndrome daughter. The relationship approaches Black Swan levels of creepiness, but may actually exceed it considering Adelaide’s condition.

In an unfortunate display of Falchuk and Murphy’s excess, Adelaide and this relationship isn’t thoroughly explored until the fourth episode. Instead, she is used as a creepy punch line: sneaking into the house when all of the doors are locked, talking to mysteriously absent individuals and warning visitors, “You’re gonna die here!”

Another interesting potential haunt introduced is housemaid Moira (Frances Conroy). Help to the former owners, she possesses some yet to be revealed knowledge on the personality of the house, and warns “mistreat it and you’ll regret it.” The show takes an interesting approach to this character; she appears as old and haggard to everyone but Ben, who sees her as a much younger, more tempting version of herself (played by Alexandria Breckenridge). This device is used to great effect, setting up unfaithful Ben for awkward close calls with his family.

Denis O’Hare plays Larry Harvey, the disfigured, brain cancer-ridden homicidal ex-tenant. Larry tells Ben his story of murdering his two daughters and wife. After warning Ben of the trouble his family faces, he runs off. OK, Harmon family, that’s three eerie warnings about your hard-to-beat deal of a home, maybe it’s time to relocate?

Finally, we have Tate (Evan Peters), the oh-so-pitifully troubled high school youth, who can’t decide if he’s actually crazy or just starved for attention. The show casts him as one of Ben’s patients, allowing the story to explore his maniacal musings through therapy sessions.

It’s with this character that Murphy and Falchuk’s flawed excess really shines. Tate’s teenage psychosis crosses the line from troubling to comical as he delivers, with a calmly crazed straight face, gems like, “I prepare for the noble war...I know what’s coming and I know no one can stop me, including myself.” And, “It’s a filthy world we live in, a filthy god damn helpless world, and honestly I feel like I’m helping to take them away from the shit and the piss and the vomit that runs in the street.”

The series tackles a classic of American horror—the haunted house—in a predictably slow TV manner. Cautiously unraveling each character and their back story, careful to build suspense enough to keep the audience interested, and of course, teasing with a half-reveal in the closing seconds of each episode. All very formulaic, which I have no problem with (again, I love all horror, especially when the plot follows rigid structure), but when a show begins to force its quirkiness on the viewer, the experience becomes a painful exercise in cliché spotting.

Even with too much of Murphy and Falchuk’s signature style spattered throughout the series, there is certainly some potential for great horror here. With saving graces like Connie Britton’s hurt, hesitant wife, the plentiful amount of scares and the haunting sound design, the show can absolutely succeed beyond its core audience. Just take out some Glee and inject a little Argento. That’s the right kind of extreme.

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American Horror Story airs Wednesdays on FX at 9 p.m.

American Horror Story

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Movie Review

George Clooney shines in Jay Kelly, a sharp and heartfelt look at fame

Photo by Peter Mountain/Netflix

George Clooney in Jay Kelly.

The life of a celebrity is paradoxical in that your life is lived in the public eye, yet who you really are is almost unknowable. Movie history is littered with films that try to dig into the private lives of real and fictional actors, with varying results. The latest film to try to unearth what it means to be famous is Jay Kelly.

In a perfect bit of casting, George Clooney stars in the title role as an actor who’s still world famous even if he’s edging toward the downside of his career. His coterie of helpers, including manager Ron (Adam Sandler) and publicist Liz (Laura Dern), make sure he is taken care of at every turn, often anticipating his needs before he realizes it.

A run-in with an old friend, Timothy (Billy Crudup), sends Jay spiraling, questioning not just the meaning of his 35-plus year career, but also his relationships with his two daughters, Jessica (Riley Keough) and Daisy (Grace Edwards). Jay’s attempt to manage the crisis pits his identity as a celebrity and as a father and friend against each other.

Written and directed by Noah Baumbach, and co-written by Emily Mortimer (who has a small role), the film has to walk the tightrope of making the audience like Jay even as he does and says things that might make him unlikable. There’s a very thin line between the character of Jay Kelly and the real life George Clooney; each is seemingly infinitely charming when dealing with the public, but they lead very different private lives.

Baumbach takes a light approach to the story, occasionally dipping into more serious territory but never going too deep. For some, this may seem like a copout, as if he’s merely pretending to want to explore what celebrity truly is. But as you see Jay navigate his way between his work, his family, and being out among the public, little details emerge that make him increasingly complex.

A lot of the film’s pleasure comes from the strong actors cast in relatively minor roles. There are not enough words to express what it means to have actors like Jim Broadbent as Jay’s mentor, or Greta Gerwig as Ron’s wife, or Stacy Keach as Jay’s father, or Patrick Wilson as a fellow longtime actor. Each of them and more lend an instant air of excellence to the film that elevates the story beyond its simple premise.

Clooney may be playing a version of himself, but as the film notes on multiple occasions, playing yourself is more difficult than it seems. He is deserving of an Oscar nomination, as is Sandler, who doesn’t give off even a whiff of insincerity as a man who has given perhaps a bit too much of himself in aid of another man’s career.

Jay Kelly is not a world-changing film, and some may accuse it of being another navel-gazing Hollywood story. But the forcefulness of Clooney’s performance, the long line of strong supporting actors, and the subtly effective storytelling by Baumbach and Mortimer (making her feature screenwriting debut) help it become much more than might be expected.

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Jay Kelly is now playing in select theaters. It debuts on Netflix on December 5.

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