Come, Mama.

Mama; the best horror movie since (the first half of) Insidious.

There are three reasons that Mama freaked the shit out of me; two of which were the filmmakers utilizing skills, and one that they had no intention of that lies at the bottom of this post.
1) Keeping things slightly veiled so that your imagination fills in the rest, (as with Mama's hair, shadows on the wall, the constant grey matter that surrounds Mama)
2) Things that move unnaturally (the children and Mama both move like disjointed spiders; think the ghost in The Grudge.)

Oh hey super scary child, sure, you stay up as late as you want.

There is one particular scene in Mama that almost turned me into a blubbering black girl stomping my way out of the theater while saying nonsense like "mmmm-mmm no way I'm staying in here this is bulllllshit, uh-uh no way no how, I ain't puttin UP with tha-at." But instead I went from sitting in one position to another, as if leaning on the other armrest would provide me with greater protection. Without spoiling anything, the scene in discussion involves Victoria warning Lily not to look at Mama because she's mad. And then my seat was full of poop.

I don't think my maternal instinct covers these two.

Mama being all scary-hairy n spidery n shit.

Any film that can challenge me to keep my eyes open is one I'm not soon to forget. It was like the horrifying images on-screen and my brain were playing chicken with each other, seeing which could produce something scarier. So for every wisp of floating hair that seemed to be capable of ensnaring me, there was another terrifying maw or sore or demonic hollow that lay under that hair that my brain made up. The fear of the unknown. The nasty habit of the human mind to try and supply images where they are lacking, is so much worse than just seeing something scary. This is where Mama succeeded, in letting you supply the horror to their film.

Another thing that was subtle, yet effective was the insinuation that Mama had Downs Syndrome. While I'm not 100% sure this is true, I definitely got the feeling she had a mental retardation, and not just a psychotic personality that put her in an asylum. As is commonly known, handicapped people make "normal" people uncomfortable. It's something about them being different, about them not working in the same way that most people do (a lot like how the unnatural movement of creatures induces chills). This is a very small detail, and it didn't play an overly important part, but things like this aren't just thrown into a film for no reason. It's obvious the filmmaker's saw an opportunity to increase the uncanniness of Mama, and used it wisely.

Cinematography, acting, direction was all fine, yadda yadda yadda. Nothing to write home about.

This film is scary as hell IF you are disturbed by the things I've described, if not, you'll probably be laughing and shaking your head most of the time.

Also, ENDING = NO COMMENT

PS The sounds are not nice to your fear either.

PPS Anyone else notice how a lot of the lead females in films lately are "alternative"? (Mama, Silver Linings Playbook, Pitch Perfect)

Jessica Chastain in Mama

Jennifer Lawrence in Silver Linings Playbook

Anna Kendrick in Pitch Perfect

PPPS Reason number 3) When I was growing up I had a reoccurring about a woman that looked exactly like Mama, except she was completely white instead of grey. In the dream the pallid woman sat upright in a very large bed. Her back was against a mound of pillows and she had long, liquid-like hair that flowed all around her. The woman had spindly fingers that seemed withered and broken, and they clutched the white lace dress that she was wearing. We were alone together in an enormous house, where the hallways went on for eons, and the ceiling was so vaulted it couldn't be seen. The doorways were extremely wide, for the bed needed to fit through them. I would be running through this all-white house that had no furniture, no shadows, nowhere to hide, and the bed would be gliding after me, faster and faster. And with her bleached hair flung out behing her, the Woman would be lying on the bed, twisting her pale dress in her brittle hands and screaming as she chased me.