47 Metres Down: Uncaged (2019)

Anyone who’s been paying close attention to the changing face of horror in the 21st century should hopefully be well aware of filmmaker Johannes Roberts. In some respects the British writer-director always seems to be just one big film away from really breaking through into the popular consciousness, yet at the same time he’s quietly built up a body of work that any genre filmmaker would be proud of: high school hoodie horror F, alien attack flick Storage 24, supernatural chiller The Other Side of the Door and more besides, and he looks poised to go bigger than ever with his upcoming Resident Evil reboot (yes, already).

Yet it would seem that, to date, Roberts made his biggest splash (water-based pun intended) with 2016’s 47 Metres Down, a shark attack shocker which had the slight misfortune of opening back-to-back with the similarly-themed The Shallows, which I felt it rather paled in comparison to. This being the case, I can’t pretend I was massively optimistic when hearing that Roberts had made a sequel, particularly given the bulk of the publicity surrounded what seemed like the novelty casting of two actresses with famous dads: Corrine Foxx, daughter of Oscar-winner Jamie, and Sistine Stallone, daughter of the one and only Sly. Happily, 47 Metres Down: Uncaged proves considerably more satisfying than its predecessor in almost every respect, even though I once again can’t help feeling more could have been done with it.

First off, even though it’s the work of the same writer-director, 47 Metres Down: Uncaged is very much a standalone movie (and I do find myself wondering if it might have been better served to be treated as such, and given a more distinctive title in the process). The setting’s different, the characters are different, so that just leaves one key common element: sharks. But where 47 Metres Down saw two sisters in a touristy shark cage trapped at the bottom of the sea, the sequel boasts a considerably more compelling premise. The action centres on Sasha (Foxx) and Mia (Sophie Nélisse), step-sisters who’ve not long since been brought together, living in sunny Mexico with their underwater engineer father who’s working in tunnels when he and his team discover the entrance to a remarkable archaeological find: a submerged Mayan city, deep beneath where the modern city stands.

Sasha’s a confident girl, with two close friends in Nicole (Stallone) and Alexa (Brianne Tju), but Mia is insecure, bullied and friendless. Forced by their parents to spend time together at the weekend, circumstances see the sisters and Sasha’s friends head out to a remote jungle pool which happens to be the entrance to the sunken Mayan ruins. Unable to resist the temptation, the girls gear up and scuba dive down there to explore the site for themselves; but once they make it, they discover to their horror that they’re not alone. Much as the ruins play host to little-seen fish which have evolved without eyesight to live in the dark, they are also home to a unique breed of blind great white shark, which doesn’t need to see in order to feed on its prey.

That’s right: this is essentially The Descent underwater. I neither know nor care how scientifically plausible any of it is, but it’s a terrific hook for a suspenseful creature feature, and the undersea ruins setting adds a hint of old-fashioned adventure; a format I would be tempted to describe as ‘boy’s own,’ but that would be somewhat inappropriate given, like The Descent, the central ensemble are all female. There’s a whole lot here to be impressed with: shooting such a movie almost entirely underwater presents significant challenges, not least given that the faces of the actors are almost entirely obscured by scuba masks for most of the key sequences. The reported budget was a mere $12 million – very small fry by modern Hollywood standards – so it’s quite something that they produced a film so visually impressive, with such a sense of scale. Perhaps most importantly, the shark looks terrific, and a lot of the time entirely realistic.

All that having been said, 47 Metres Down: Uncaged does leave a fair bit to be desired in other areas. To continue with The Descent comparisons, a common complaint of Neil Marshall’s 2005 film is that once the underground action gets going, viewers struggle to remember who’s who (this isn’t something I personally ever had any trouble with, but I guess I can see why it would give some viewers difficulty). This is a problem which is very much in evidence in 47 Metres Down: Uncaged, as the teen protagonists are quite thinly drawn, and – again, particularly once the scuba masks are on – distinguishing them from one another proves challenging. This is a particular problem as the dialogue is for the most part extremely generic, all the cries of “come on, this way” blurring in no time at all. It’s definitely a problem that we have modern high school girls as written by a pair of fortysomething men (Roberts and co-writer Ernest Riera), and the characterisations ring pretty hollow; it probably doesn’t help that we have some bizarrely anachronistic soundtrack choices (Aztec Camera? Roxette? Status bleeding Quo?!), which only further dilutes any sense of authenticity. It does rather leave one wondering if the premise would have been better served with adult protagonists rather than teens.

But there, as the Bard put it, is the rub: like its predecessor, 47 Metres Down: Uncaged is geared specifically toward the PG-13 market, and as a result it’s never able to get anywhere as intense as the premise might suggest, with bloodshed and swearing kept to a minimum. Now, I’m by no means entirely opposed to comparatively family-friendly horror, I don’t believe horror movies need gore and profanity by the bucketload in order to work, and of course I’m well aware that Jaws became the definitive shark movie with, initially, a PG attached. However, this is one instance when I do believe turning up the intensity would have helped, as too often the stakes just don’t feel high enough; only so many times can you see a shark pass by a potential victim with nary a graze, before you stop feeling so concerned for said potential victim.

Even so, as creature feature survivalist shockers go, 47 Metres Down: Uncaged isn’t a bad one at all. It’s nice to look at, it’s definitely tense in places, and gets agreeably bananas once we reach the final reel. And even though things never get quite as full-on as gorehounds might have liked, if the combination of deep water, small dark spaces and big sharp teeth never gets to you at all, you must be made of pretty strong stuff.

47 Metres Down: Uncaged is released to UK DVD and download on 3rd February, from Altitude.

Edge of the Axe (1988)

Slasher movies, we might theorise, are like the pizza of horror. In other words, even when they’re not much good, they’re still kinda good, so long as those same basic ingredients are being used in the right quantities: masked killer, witless sinful victims, creative or at least gory death scenes. Think of those as the dough, the cheese and the tomato sauce, and then any other extras you chose to pile on top will give it just that little bit of variety. And if it’s a product of the 1980s, the recipe has that bit more authenticity. Can’t fail to be a crowd-pleaser, right?

Well, I don’t know if it’s just my tastes changing with age (I swear I won’t drag this culinary analogy out too much further), but 1988’s Edge of the Axe did not leave this particular customer satisfied. Painfully generic, yet at once trying way too hard to be a break from the norm, it’s all so poorly handled that the only potential joy to be taken from it is of the so-bad-it’s-good variety; but even then it’s not even laughably awful enough to really get the job done. As accustomed as we might be to hyperbole in press releases, seeing this described as a lost classic/slasher masterpiece leaves me wondering if I’ve been sent the right film. I’m aware that José Ramón Larraz is held up as a significant figure in the history of exploitation (and I’m a great admirer of the one other film of his I’ve seen, 1974’s Vampyres), but I struggle to see how this particular film would be of interest to anyone beyond Euro-horror completists.

So, the plot of Edge of the Axe, to whatever extent it bears repeating: well, first things first, there’s a masked, axe-wielding psycho killer on the loose. To give credit where it’s due, this a pretty cool and creepy looking killer with a completely bald white full-head mask, like some midway point between Michael Myers and Jason Voorhees (no doubt deliberately so). In addition to being a good-looking slasher villain, we also have some pretty sweet 80s synth tones accompanying the kills. So there’s that.

However, it seems that almost no one in town gives much of a damn about this killer. The local Sheriff’s department are determined to write off every corpse that shows up as some sort of accident, either afraid of local scandal or actually having to do some work; meanwhile, the locals are continuing to go about their usual business of staying out walking the deserted back streets in the dead of night as if nothing was out of the ordinary. Then we meet Gerald (Barton Faulks), a kind-of cool and handsome computer nerd of the WarGames variety (fairly sure I heard passing mention of a Mr Broderick at one point), who works part time as a handyman. Through a shared love of computers, Gerald becomes friendly with the pretty young Lillian (Christina Marie Lane), but once the pair become close, it comes to light that both of them have a strange fascination with the murders. Lillian feels particularly close to it all, as she comes to suspect the killer might be own cousin, who was institutionalised years earlier following an accident for which Lillian blames herself. However, in this movie it’s not so much a question of ‘Who will survive and what will be left of them?’, but more of ‘who really cares enough to keep watching until the end?’

Pardon the edged weapon pun, but Edge of the Axe is just dull. The murder scenes are too sporadic and poorly executed to have an impact, with make-up effects that consist of nothing beyond each hapless victim being hit repeatedly in the torso with a rubber axe, with a few splashes of joke shop quality fake blood thrown in. There’s zero sex or nudity, which is kind of astonishing given both the subgenre and the director’s track record. In the meantime, the film tries in vain to build intrigue with numerous inconsequential subplots: again, this is less ‘whodunnit’ than ‘whogivesashit.’ Things threaten to get a little more interesting come the final scenes, once some degree of surprise around the killer’s identity arises, but it’s all too little too late by that point.

Arrow Video have done a lot of great work in recent years, bringing old cult favourites and neglected genre titles worthy of rediscovery into the Blu-ray age; and, I hasten to add, doing their bit to keep physical media coveted at a time when it’s threatening to die out. Even so, I do have to wonder if they’re starting to scrape the barrel just a little with titles like this on their release schedule. Still, one man’s trash is another’s treasure and all that, so even though I wasn’t taken with Edge of the Axe, I applaud the label’s efforts and will continue to support them. I just won’t be rushing to snap up this particular release, which comes with four commentary tracks, options to watch in English or Spanish dubs, and boasts interviews with actor Barton Faulks and make-up artist Colin Arthur.

Edge of the Axe is released to Blu-ray on 27th January 2020, from Arrow Video.

The House That Dripped Blood (1971) & Asylum (1972)

It’s easy to overlook the American contribution to the good old days of British horror. Take Amicus Productions: much as we think of them as a British institution, they were in fact run by a duo of American producers, Milton Subotsky and Max J. Rosenberg. On top of which, several of the most esteemed Amicus films were American in origin by virtue of the source material: notably EC Comics (in Tales from the Crypt and The Vault of Horror), and the writing of Robert Bloch. While Bloch is and will always be most remembered for writing the novel which served as the basis for Alfred Hitchcock’s Psycho, he was a prolific jobbing writer cranking out vast scores of short stories for the pulp magazines from the 30s onward, and in the 60s made the move into writing for TV and film. After Amicus adapted Bloch’s story The Skull of the Maquis de Sade into their 1965 film The Skull, Subotsky and Rosenberg developed a closer relationship with the author, having him write a number of screenplays for them, the most notable of which were the company’s signature anthology horror movies.

Bloch dipped into his own back catalogue and adapted some of his short stories for the screen, first in 1967’s Torture Garden, and later in the two films up for discussion here: 1971’s The House That Dripped Blood, and 1972’s Asylum, both of which have been brought to Blu-ray by Second Sight (first in lavish limited edition steelbooks earlier this year, and now in simpler, more affordable standard pressings).

Reportedly the main advice Subotsky would give Bloch on beginning his screenplays was what the film’s framing mechanism would be, then the writer would have a fair degree of independence to pick which of his own stories might fit that conceit. In the case of The House That Dripped Blood, the key thing linking the tales is – wouldn’t you know it – a house, which is being investigated by the curmudgeonly Inspector Holloway (John Bennett) following the disappearance of a famed screen actor (Jon Pertwee) who had been living there. On digging into the history of the house – which, naturally, is handled by a letting agent named Stoker (John Bryans) – the sceptical copper finds himself confronted with four increasingly absurd tales of terror said to have taken place there. We have Denholm Elliot (hilariously described as one half of a ‘young couple’) as a horror writer who seems to find his own creation coming to life within the walls; Peter Cushing as a lonely old bachelor who, on venturing to the town nearby, believes he’s found the lost love of his life reborn as a figure in a wax museum; Christopher Lee, as a stern single parent who may have good reason to live in fear of his own infant daughter; and finally the aforementioned Pertwee as a movie star renting the house whilst shooting a vampire film, who finds himself getting perhaps a little too immersed in his role.

Asylum, meanwhile, sees another sceptic arrive in another house of ill repute (no, not one of those… oh, you know what I mean), in this instance Robert Powell as a young, principled psychiatrist under consideration for a position at a mental institution, where part of the interview process is for him to give his professional opinion on the cases of four inmates whose stories, if you can believe it, seem to defy all sense and reason: a young woman (Barbara Parkins) who had plotted with her lover to murder his wife, before events took an unforeseen turn; an elderly tailor (Barry Morse) who believes his last suit took on supernatural powers; another young woman (Charlotte Rampling) who seems haunted by an imaginary friend; and a doctor (Herbert Lom) who builds miniature figures which he believes he can imbue with life.

The appeal of both these films to fans of classic horror of the 60s and 70s should be readily apparent. For one, we have several of the most beloved horror actors making an appearance, with Cushing in both and Lee in one. The House That Dripped Blood is also highly notable for featuring Ingrid Pitt in what is in many ways her most iconic performance; who knows how many times the above image of her from this film – all fangs and cleavage – has been mistakenly used in articles discussing The Vampire Lovers and/or Countess Dracula. Two other key things to note there; firstly, as memorable as Pitt may be, it’s Jon Pertwee’s hilarious performance as an ostentatious ham actor that really wins that segment; secondly, the story in question -The Clock, to use its official title – is actually quite incongruous in its comedic approach, with the remainder of the stories being played with a largely straight face. Not that the humour of The Clock in any way undermines what went before. The House That Dripped Blood was the first film credit (and one of only a few) from seasoned TV director Peter Duffell, and he does a fine job, serving up some very atmospheric sequences, and making good use of the eye-catching settings.

Asylum boasts another notable horror legend, this time behind the camera in director Roy Ward Baker, making his Amicus debut after taking the helm on a slew of Hammer greats (Quatermass and the Pit, The Vampire Lovers and Doctor Jekyll and Sister Hyde, among others). The cast is also notable; as well as old legends Cushing and Lom, we have early turns from future greats Powell and Rampling, and one of the better performances ever seen from Britt Ekland. Special mention is also due to the often overlooked Geoffrey Bayldon, who has supporting turns in both films but particularly steals the show in Asylum; who knew Catweazle could be quite so sinister, eh?

Like the previous film, the stories in Asylum are for the most part played largely straight, and Baker, obviously a dab hand at this sort of thing, presents it all beautifully and serves up some nicely suspenseful moments in that old-fashioned way. Indeed, it’s worth emphasising that, while both The House That Dripped Blood and Asylum were products of the more permissive 1970s, neither film chooses to amp up the sex and viscera as Hammer tended to do at the time, preferring more traditional, largely bloodless scare tactics; indeed, I’m half surprised Asylum was deemed worthy of a 15 by today’s standards.

Second Sight have been doing a great job of late creating collector-worthy editions of sometimes overlooked cult films, and these Blu-rays are a fine example of that, with both films looking and sounding terrific, and plenty of enjoyable extras on both discs, including both vintage and contemporary featurettes and director’s commentary tracks recorded when both Baker and Duffell were still with us.

The House That Dripped Blood & Asylum are released to Region B Blu-ray on 6th January 2020, from Second Sight.

Jessie’s Super Normal Regular Average Day (2019)

It’s sometimes said that, at heart, all filmmakers are basically trying to make the same film every time, but I doubt I’m alone in appreciating it when they appear to go in wildly diverging directions from film to film – even if, deep down, they may be addressing some of the same essential ideas. Jessie’s Super Normal Regular Average Day is the third film from American no-budget indie writer-director Brian K Williams, who has made a point of taking on notably distinct material every time thus far. His first feature, 2014’s Time To Kill, is a sleazy neo-grindhouse revenge movie, light on plot but heavy on violence, nudity and druggy atmospherics; by contrast, his follow-up – 2017’s Space Babes From Outer Space – is a goofy sci-fi sex comedy in the vein of the early 90s straight-to-VHS era. (Between the two, Williams and his recurring lead actress/wife Ellie Church collaborated with Scott Schirmer on 2016’s Harvest Lake and Plank Face.)

We might broadly surmise that sex, drugs and violence seem to be Williams’ key areas of interest; so if his first movie was primarily violence and his second primarily sex, his third is obviously the drugs movie, centring as it does on a day in the life of a layabout stoner. However, it’s apparent early on that Williams and company are not interested in just flinging out a bog standard Cheech and Chong/Jay and Silent Bob/Dude, Where’s My Car rehash (pun quite clearly intended). What we have here is, essentially, a zen koan wrapped in a stoner comedy; a haphazard, hemp-scented rumination on the true nature of the self, life, the universe, and everything. (Did I mention the film company’s called Mostly Harmless?)

Ellie Church is the titular Jessie. We’re basically told nothing about who she is or what she does, other than that she lives in a garishly decorated apartment with her best friend Misty (Allison Maier, also of Space Babes From Outer Space), and that on the day in question she appears to have no plans beyond eating some pancakes, watching some TV, and smoking a whole bunch of weed. However, once her channel-surfing leads her to a raving televangelist who appears to be addressing her directly, Jessie’s day starts to take a turn for the weirder, even without her stepping any further than her front doormat. Huge, hard to fathom questions start popping up about herself and the world around her, and Jessie quickly realises – in what is destined (and clearly intended) to be the film’s stand-out catchphrase – she’s way too not-high-enough for this shit.

The joy of so much exploitation cinema is how it makes a point of giving the audience the lurid stuff they paid to see, and then takes them by surprise with a bunch of political, ethical and/or philosophical-type stuff (not that politics or ethics are so much on the table here). Williams clearly understands this, having largely built his career thus far on trashy excess and T&A, hence he makes a point of including some ultra-gratuitous nudity early on (it’s interesting to note how often that’s the case in no-budget indie genre films; they tend to throw in the skin shots early to grab the attention of viewers, and oftentimes distributors, right away). And of course, there’s also the matter of the topless nuns with chainsaws; all three of whom are played, via the magic of green screen, by fellow Space Babes alumnus Alyss Winkler. No self-respecting exploitation aficionado is going to turn a blind eye to a wimple/ski mask/chainsaw/bare breasts combo, so doubtless plenty of viewers will pick up the film on the strength of this alone. And once the movie has your attention with the wimples, tits and chainsaws, that’s when it tries to claw its way into your brain.

Like I said, though, it’s not tits but drugs which are the primary focal point here, and I would caution that any viewer who likes to play that ‘match the character substance-for-substance’ game would be putting themselves at serious risk of hospitalisation trying to keep up with Church’s Jessie. We probably ought to note that it’s comparatively rare that women are cast as the compulsive stoner whose solution to any problem is to get utterly wasted; certainly Church is more than up to the task, and while this is one of her few roles to date that doesn’t in some way involve screaming bloody violence and torture, she proves highly endearing and relatable in this more sedate (or should that be sedated?) role.

Sure, we might award the film progressive points for giving us a female lead in a male-dominated subgenre, but again, politics are really not the issue here. Rather, the film is preoccupied with abstract ideas about the whole human experience, and of course, many of us feel best equipped to handle such contemplation whilst under the influence. As such, the film is written, shot, edited, designed and scored in such a way as to be in tune with a drug-addled mind; being a child of the 1990s doesn’t hurt either (if you don’t have a liking for ska punk or hip hop, you may not get along with it all too well).

Still, this is not to say you need to be good and loaded to appreciate Jessie’s Super Normal Regular Average Day (for what it’s worth, I wasn’t). You’re almost certainly less likely to engage with it if you don’t have a liking of the classic stoner comedy sensibility, but ultimately this is a film that’s less interested in making you giggle at stupid shit than it is with getting you to ponder the big mysteries. As ridiculous as the whole endeavour might seem, Williams has stated that it’s his most personal work yet, and it’s not hard to see why given the questions it posits, and the conclusions – however vague – it seems to reach. And while there are doubtless plenty of viewers liable to complain that when all’s said and done none of it makes a lick of sense, I’d refer you back to my earlier note that this is essentially a zen koan; and the real secret about those which a lot of people don’t want to tell you is, the fact that they don’t make any damn sense is entirely the point. That’s life; and that’s Jessie’s Super Normal Regular Average Day. Enjoy both.

Jessie’s Super Normal Regular Average Day is available on limited edition Blu-Ray here; like their Facebook page for more information.

Werewolf (2018)

Once I managed to get over my bitter horror fan disappointment at the knowledge that, despite the title, this Polish production isn’t actually about a man turning into a wolf Lon Chaney Jr style, I found much to appreciate in director Adrian Panek’s film. It’s obvious from the (alas, non-lycanthropic) synopsis that we’re not in for a barrel of laughs, but it’s certainly an impactful piece of work. Think the non-supernatural scenes from Del Toro’s Spanish civil war films, and you may have a fair idea of what to expect here in terms of tone and content. Take into account that this particular film is inspired by true events, and it cuts even deeper.

Poland, 1945, the Gross-Rosen concentration camp. (See? Not a barrel of laughs.) The war may be over and the Nazis defeated on the national stage, and those incarcerated in the camp may now be liberated, but the bulk of these survivors are children who have been left orphans, and they don’t have much in the way of help for their re-integration into society. A group of eight children are re-housed at an abandoned country house in the middle of a forest, far from civilisation – and, most pertinently, without heat or electricity, and very low on food and drink. However, they are not the only survivors of the camp who are now without a home. The dogs, which were used at the camp to further brutalise the prisoners, are now without masters and also deprived of food, and find fresh meat in waiting in this remote, unguarded houseful of children.

Any film that deals with so harsh a reality as the Holocaust is never going to make for particularly easy viewing, and to replay such genuinely horrific times from the perspective of children only serves to intensify things. From the off, it’s clear that Werewolf is poised to expose the cruelty of adults in all its ugliness – and worse yet, the affect that takes on the children exposed to it, not simply through pain and degradation suffered by the children, but the loss of innocence and humanity. Many of the most chilling moments come from the dead eyes of children who have either been left totally desensitised by the atrocities they’ve experienced, or worse yet their own sociopathic inclinations have been normalised by all they’ve seen of the world.

Still, Werewolf is not wall-to-wall reality-based character-driven drama, as once the dogs arrive we’re into survivalist horror territory. In a curious way I found myself thinking of the film as some unexpected midway point between Schindler’s List and such contemporary creature features as Burning Bright, The Shallows and most recently Crawl; such an analogy probably sounds like snark, but that’s really not my intention, as I’ve thoroughly enjoyed all those films. Unsurprisingly, Werewolf is far less sensational in its approach, and appears to be paying far more mind to how such animals actually behave in real life; that having been said, certain aspects of the final scenes felt a little unconvincing to me, although I’ll confess to not knowing all that much about dogs. (What can I say, I’m more of a cat person.)

Again, any film dealing with the Holocaust demands some steel on the part of the audience, and as such Werewolf is doubtless going to prove too uncomfortable for many viewers. Even so, in common with the best survivalist horror stories it’s ultimately about human capacity to endure and overcome even the worst forms of adversity, and in that there’s definitely an uplifting and inspiring overtone. However, in common with the young protagonists, you have to be strong of heart and see it all through to reach that point.

Werewolf is available on dual format DVD and Blu-ray on 18th November, from Eureka!

Skinner (1993)

Never before released in the UK on any format (at least not legally), by all accounts the only press this sleazy slasher got on release was down to director Ivan Nagy’s role in the Heidi Fleiss scandal. Not long thereafter it sank without a trace, and for the best part of 20 years it was thought to be lost, until the necessary film elements were discovered to enable Severin Films to put it out on Blu-ray stateside earlier this year; it’s essentially this edition that 101 Films have now released in Britain. Small wonder the film never even dented the UK market at the time, as its sexually-tinged brand of graphic gore wouldn’t have stood a snowball’s chance in hell of getting past the BBFC under James Ferman; although interestingly, Skinner is actually the brainchild of English screenwriter Paul Hart-Wilden, who had initially hoped to shoot it himself in London, but wound up selling it to the seedier end of Hollywood once he proved unable to find backing at home. (Again, small wonder.)

Ted Raimi leads as the oh-so aptly named Dennis Skinner, a slightly awkward but otherwise seemingly harmless twentysomething loner. New in town, or so he seems, Skinner finds lodging at the home of Kerry Tate (Ricki Lake, who took the role mere months before her famed TV series began), and her trucker husband Geoff (David Warchofsky). With Geoff constantly away due to work, relations between the two are getting strained, and as much as Dennis moving in is down to financial necessity, it’s clear that Kerry’s other needs aren’t being met. However, the glimmer of forbidden attraction stirring with her new housemate might have been adversely affected if Kerry had any idea what Dennis gets up to when he’s away from the house: i.e. walking the rundown streets in search of prostitutes, who he then proceeds to… well, there’s a pretty big clue in his name. However, what Dennis doesn’t know is that he himself is being stalked with vengeful intent by a former victim of his who got away, Heidi (Traci Lords – understandably both the casting and the character name raised eyebrows at the time).

In the extras, Paul Hart-Wilden not-unreasonably protests against the assumption that Skinner was a bald-faced rip-off of The Silence of the Lambs, pointing out that he had written the script long before Jonathan Demme’s ground-breaking Oscar winner was released. Even so, there can be little question that The Silence of the Lambs was the key thing that got Skinner made, given how the film industry is always eager to cash in on the success of similarly-themed material. It seems fair to suggest that the high-profile notoriety of Henry: Portrait of a Serial Killer was also a factor, given Skinner certainly shares some common ground with that film.

All that said, what I most appreciate about Skinner, by contrast with most of the early 1990s films that road the coattails of Hannibal Lecter and Henry, is that it is most assuredly and unabashedly a horror movie. In common with the psychological thriller wave, Skinner is very interested on getting us under the skin (no pun intended) and into the head of its obviously deeply troubled title character, and at times it gets perhaps a little ostentatious with this, notably with an abstract running water motif that comes up time and again. However, in no way is Skinner aiming for kitchen sink realism or awards-worthy drama. Once Raimi’s Dennis is in full homicidal mode, his gleeful, theatrical sadism reaches Freddy Krueger levels, not to mention the obvious debt to Leatherface. As such, the overall atmosphere is more reminiscent of the ultra-sordid early 80s slashers like Maniac and The New York Ripper, as opposed to the more grounded and high-reaching serial killer movies of the 90s.

The film’s horror status is of course largely confirmed by the casting of its leading man. Ted Raimi has always been synonymous with the genre (thanks in no small part to getting his big break from his director brother in Evil Dead 2), but we tend to be more used to seeing him in relatively innocuous comic relief supporting roles. As such, his turn in Skinner is a bit of an eye-opener, not only as it shows he can pull of a truly sinister and threatening bad guy role, but also as – well – he’s surprisingly sexy in it, spending a fair amount of his screen time bare chested, and looking in the best physical shape of his career. It’s a pretty bold performance that goes to some very dark, and at times exceedingly distasteful places: I’ll avoid specifics for the sake of spoilers, but one particularly jaw-dropping sequence midway (for which Raimi expresses regret, and Hart-Wilden denies responsibility) might push the bad taste envelope that bit too far.

It’s not all about Raimi though, as much of Skinner’s sleazy and somewhat surreal vibe is down to Traci Lords’ supporting turn as Heidi. Given that the scandals surrounding both Lords and Heidi Fleiss have died down somewhat in the intervening years, it’s a lot easier for viewers today to take the role and Lords’ performance on its own terms, and it has to be said she delivers something really quite special here. There’s a lot we might question about the character – not least the fact that, despite being hellbent on revenge, she spends less time actually hunting down Skinner than she does lying around her run-down motel room, monologuing in her underwear – but it really is Lords’ acting ability rather than her physique that steals the show here, and as histrionic as it might get there’s a lot of really palpable emotion in there.

As for Lords’ fellow John Waters alumnus Ricki Lake, she clearly has the less interesting, considerably more two-dimensional role as a dowdy, homely housewife. Again, there’s plenty about the character of Kerry that strains credibility, not least the fact that she and her husband live in such an Addams Family/Munsters-looking mansion when they’re meant to be young and struggling financially, or the fact that she doesn’t have a job despite the aforementioned financial struggles of the (childless) couple. Nonetheless, Lake does a good job with the marital strife and sexual frustration; indeed, considering how far the boat is pushed out in other areas, it’s perhaps surprising that Skinner stops short of getting explicit where her role is concerned – although one suspects that might have impacted Lake’s future TV career if it had.

With Skinner’s Blu-ray release coming not too long after that of the also near-lost Kolobos, it’s really quite pleasing to see another intriguing 1990s horror movie being re-released in this manner. As much as that decade is often dismissed as a low point in the history of horror, and not without reason, it’s nice to be reminded that the 90s did indeed produce some challenging and compelling genre entries, although the troubles the marketplace faced at the time meant that a great many of these flew way under the radar. It’s great that contemporary independent labels like Severin and 101 Films are making a point of unearthing such works and preserving them for posterity, ensuring that, while the wider horror audience might have missed them at the time, current and future generations of fans will get the chance to enjoy them in all their lurid, gory glory. Anyone who appreciates horror at its most unsavoury will definitely not want to miss this one.

Skinner is available now on limited edition Blu-ray and DVD from 101 Films.

Upgrade (2018)

Leigh Whannell should be a familiar name for anyone who’s being following horror cinema this century, as co-creator (hand in hand with James Wan) of two of the genre’s most popular and profitable franchises of the past fifteen years: Saw, and Insidious. Yet while Whannell’s work is known for making money, this hasn’t necessarily equated to real kudos, as his mass-appeal movies haven’t always been met with approval from serious-minded fans and critics. As such, we can be forgiven for not having seen Upgrade coming. Third round in the director’s chair for the Australian screenwriter and actor (not that he takes an on-camera role here), the film also sees Whannell side-step horror territory for science fiction action thriller terrain, still with a distinctly dark tint. The resulting film may have flown under the radar somewhat from a mainstream perspective (it certainly hasn’t been a Saw/Insidious-sized moneymaker, and doesn’t look likely to spawn a franchise), but it’s certainly the most entertaining, compelling and well-rounded work Whannel has put his name to yet, and has quite rightly earned him the best reviews of his career.

Set at an unspecified date in a not-too distant future, computer assistance in daily life has reached unprecedented levels, with software systems organising our households, driving our cars and way more besides. In this age of technological revolution, Grey Trace (Logan Marshall-Green) is an unabashed Luddite. A mechanic who specialises in customising vintage muscle cars, Grey prides himself on doing as much as he can with his own two hands, even though his wife Asha (Melanie Vallejo) works for a major tech company – the salary from which, we can safely assume, pays for a lot more of their lavish lifestyle than Grey’s auto work, even if he caters to such an elite clientele as reclusive tech billionaire Eron Keen (Harrison Gilbertson). But after their self-driving car mysteriously malfunctions, taking them way off course and into the path of a brutal criminal gang, Grey finds himself a quadriplegic widower, almost entirely dependent on technology to survive, not that he finds himself with a great deal left to live for.

However, Keen approaches Grey with one of those offers that can’t be refused: the chance to be able-bodied again via the spinal implant of an experimental, cutting edge microchip named Stem. The procedure is a total success, but due to its top secret and less-than legal nature, Grey happily signs all manner of non-disclosure agreements, feigning to the world at large that he remains a quadriplegic. However, once he’s back home and getting used to being back on his feet, Grey discovers to his considerable shock that, on top of everything else, Stem can literally talk to him and take control of his physical functions, and is able to help him track down and take revenge on the men who killed his wife.

It’s certainly no accident that the essential premise – man left for dead is revived by technological means, and uses his new-found power for vengeance – is evocative of RoboCop. In the extras on this Second Sight Blu-ray edition, Whannell readily cites that film along with The Terminator and the works of David Cronenberg as key influences on Upgrade, and these are very much in evidence. Even so, while there’s an 80s vibe to the premise, the realisation is very much of its time. As a Blumhouse production, the film stays within that company’s usual low budget MO, so we naturally we don’t have a lavish, FX heavy vision of the future here; while it’s not quite the world as we know it in 2019, it isn’t too far removed, and in its presentation of lavish digitally-assisted playhouses for the rich, it’s close to the world Alex Garland showed us in Ex Machina.

Small scale though Upgrade might be, it marks a significant step up for Whannell as a director, as he proves surprisingly adept and imaginative at staging action scenes. It obviously doesn’t hurt that Logan Marshall-Green also proves to be a dab hand in this department, on top of having serious leading man chops, and it seems safe to assume this film will prove a major calling card for its leading man as well as its writer-director. With the camera work kept close and minimal stunt doubling, Marshall-Green has the daunting task of both pulling off expertly choreographed fight scenes, but also looking like he isn’t in control of his own body in the process. It’s a very distinctive style that doesn’t quite feel like any other action movie, which will doubtless go a long way to making Upgrade a popular choice for repeat viewing among action fans, not least because of a number of extravagant, crowd-pleasing finishing moves. Happily though, Whannell and company aren’t content to just make this a standard one-note revenge movie with a futuristic tinge, and the film makes a point of delving into the kind of big ideas and daunting questions that define science fiction at its best. Even more happily, at the hands of a distinctly above-average cast (mostly Australian as the film was shot in Melbourne), Upgrade delivers all this with heavy overtones of dark humour and raw emotion which make the whole thing that bit more human.

At the time of writing, the trailer for Whannell’s next movie – a new take on The Invisible Man for Universal, again with Blumhouse producing – has not long since premiered to a wave of excitement. I daresay this buzz is less to do with the feeling that Universal just might finally have figured out how to successfully revive their classic horror properties (although that’s clearly a factor), than it is to do with excitement over the vision of a filmmaker who, it seems, has announced himself as a force to be reckoned with. It’s not a status I ever envisaged Leigh Whannell attaining, but off the back of Upgrade he just might have established himself as one of the most exciting genre filmmakers of our time, and I look forward to seeing if he can keep this winning streak going.

Upgrade is released to limited edition Blu-ray on 18th November, from Second Sight.

Celluloid Screams 2019: After Midnight (2019)

One of the most talked-about films on the horror film circuit back in 2013 was The Battery, an ultra low-budget mumblecore American indie take on the classic zombie apocalypse set-up. It proved divisive, with many viewers finding it too slow, uneventful and low on the expected gut-munching horror, but plenty of others (myself included) being impressed by its intelligence, humour and invention, not to mention its aesthetic beauty considering how cheaply it was made. Six years on – following lesser-seen 2015 follow-up Tex Montana Will Survive!, which skipped the festival route and more or less side-stepped horror altogether – actor-writer-director Jeremy Gardner and co-director/cinematographer Christian Stella return to the territory on which they made their name with After Midnight, and much like The Battery it’s a film which lures you in with a supernatural premise but proves altogether more interested in character and emotional impact than viscera.

Gardner is Hank, every inch the good ol’ country boy with his crumbling old house surrounded by wilderness, and his shotgun and beer bottle constantly to hand. One thing he doesn’t have is his long-term girlfriend Abby (Brea Grant), who it seems walked out on Hank some weeks before we meet him – although plentiful flashbacks show us how good things once were between them early on, or at least how good Hank remembers things being. In Abby’s absence, Hank’s daily routine consists of drinking, spending minimal time at the country music bar he owns in town, and – most disturbingly of all – sitting up all night with his gun waiting to get a good shot at a mysterious, aggressive creature which comes to his house every night; every night since Abby left, that is. Hank has made no secret of his belief that he’s under attack from some kind of monster, and those close to him naturally suspect he’s cracking under his inability to deal with losing Abby. So, is Hank really besieged by a cryptozoological oddity that’s out for his blood, or can he just not come to terms with losing the love of his life? Or both?

After Midnight (a title change from that which the film originally screened under back in April 2019, Something Else) was an interesting choice of title here. As much as it could be a generic horror movie, it could almost be a play on Linklater’s Before Sunrise/Sunset/Midnight; and in many respects, this film has more in common with that romantic trilogy than your basic monster attack flick. As such, much as with The Battery, there’s a strong possibility that some horror -hungry viewers might be left feeling a little cheated, as the supernatural elements very much take a back seat to the character work and emotional drama. Go with it, though, and the human interplay may well prove considerably more involving and rewarding than the more predictable blood and thunder approach that might easily have been taken.

Actor-writer-director Gardner once again proves himself as a cinematic triple threat to be reckoned with – although, as he recently stressed on Twitter, we shouldn’t overlook the input of Christian Stella, who’s surely doing the lion’s share of the work behind the camera considering that his co-director is in front of the camera for almost the duration. Naturally any time a filmmaker gives themselves all the big jobs, including the lead role, putting themselves in the spotlight and getting most of the lines, there’s always the risk that the whole enterprise will just come off as a massive ego trip; however, After Midnight does not fall into that trap. While Gardner’s Hank is indisputably the main focus, Brea Grant’s Abby does not remain a background figure. As she appears primarily in flashbacks from the perspective of a man reflecting on how good he used to have it, it’s perhaps inevitable that she’s idealised to an extent, but she’s never a two-dimensional fantasy figure, and through a number of lengthy, often dialogue-heavy sequences, we’re given great insight into the relationship from both sides. Gardner and Grant’s performances are really something to behold; one standout dialogue scene must run in the region of ten minutes or more, without a single cut or camera movement*, which will test the mettle of any actor. They have some great support as well, with Henry Zebrowkski stealing a good few scenes as Hank’s best friend, whilst Justin Benson – who has quite a track record himself as an actor-writer-director – also impresses as Abby’s small-town sheriff brother.

The real danger of After Midnight, however, was that it might have easily been all build-up and no pay-off, as some viewers accused The Battery of being. While I’m reticent to say too much, I can categorically state that is not the case here. As understated as things are for the bulk of the running time, the last scenes build to a climax which is pretty much the definition of a crowd-pleaser. Again, I’m wary of spoiling anything – and I would advise interested readers not to look up too much about the film in advance – but I will say that one specific music cue toward the end pretty much brought the house down at Celluloid Screams. Any movie that can balance scares and laughs with raw emotion is a pretty rare and special feat, and one that most definitely warrants the attention of open-minded, genre-savvy audiences everywhere.

* Christian Stella informs us this scene in fact runs 14 minutes, and while the camera doesn’t move there is in fact a very slow, almost imperceptible zoom.

Critters Attack! (2019)

For a brief, shimmering moment, it almost looked as if the oft-maligned SyFy might finally have cast aside its long-held status as the home of subpar genre material, and had finally developed into a platform for genuinely well-made and entertaining films from creators who were really putting forth the requisite effort. The moment I’m talking about is the recent Leprechaun Returns, a semi-reboot of the 1990s video shop favourite franchise which, while to all intents and purposes being nothing more than your garden variety low-rent horror sequel, managed to surpass all expectations and proved an endearing and affectionate piece of work, which ticked all the right boxes for fans of the series whilst staying within the confines of its network TV homestead (i.e. minimal swearing and no nudity, although tons of extreme violence apparently isn’t a problem). After that minor success, who’s to say SyFy couldn’t have achieved something similar when dusting off another well-loved VHS era franchise, Critters?

Four Critters movies were made between 1986 and 1992, the series adhering to the law of diminishing returns at least in terms of quality. More recently Shudder hosted the TV series Critters: A New Binge, a show I can’t pass any comment on having not seen it, but either way it’s hard not to raise an eyebrow that two unrelated revivals of a long-dormant property would be made within the same year. And I can but hope A New Binge manages to capture the gleeful B-movie spirit of the originals (well, the first two at least), as Critters Attack! sure as hell doesn’t. It’s one of those frustrating sequels which may have its heart in the right place, but lacks the wit, invention or charisma on either side of the camera to even come close to achieving what it sets out to.

The action centres on Drea (Tashinia Washington), a recent high school graduate-turned-trainee sushi chef, who’s stuck in a rut after failing to get into the local college which had long been her dream destination, primarily because it was where her late mother went, and the daughter is in need of some closure given she blames herself for her mother’s untimely death in a car accident. (Is that enough inconsequential backstory for ya?) In a bid to improve her prospects of future admission, Drea accepts a job babysitting the Dean’s children, bringing along her own kid brother, a junior ufologist. Circumstances lead the ragtag bunch out into the wilderness, where they chance upon an unusual yet cute and cuddly looking creature which seems to be wounded; but of course, soon thereafter they find themselves under attack from some related, considerably less cute and cuddly little monsters from outer space, known by their true name – the Krites – by only one mysterious figure; a heavily armed senior citizen referred to only as Aunt Dee (Dee Wallace, returning to the franchise for the first time since the 1986 original).

Whether you’re a fan of the existing Critters movies or not, there’s precious little to love here. The script is bland and almost entirely without invention, the only real deviation from the exiting lore being the addition of a cute and benevolent Krite – which, of course, bears a great resemblance to Gizmo of Gremlins, and as such only serves to further underline how much Critters always owed to Joe Dante’s earlier little monster movie. As seems sadly inevitable, we spend way less time with the alien antagonists of the title than we do with the painfully uninteresting human protagonists, all of whom seem either bored or bewildered throughout; which incidentally includes the seasoned Dee Wallace, whose minor presence seems little more than an afterthought adding very little to proceedings and ultimately not making a great deal of sense, particularly as its unclear whether she’s meant to be reprising the character of Helen Brown under a different name, or if she’s meant to be following in the footsteps of the original’s alien bounty hunters.

It’s certainly nice to see modern films such as this which for the most part steer clear of CGI in favour of practical make-up and puppetry, although none of this is especially well-realised. Ultimately though, Critters Attack! would have needed FX work on a par with John Carpenter’s The Thing to stand a chance of distracting us from just how half-baked literally everything else is. Again, existing fans are unlikely to be satisfied, and I should hardly think any newcomers to the series will be left with any burning desire to explore the universe of the Krites any further. To wrap up with perhaps my three least favourite words with which to close a review: what a shame.

Critters Attack! is available now on DVD and Blu-ray from Warner Bros Home Entertainment.

A Song of Boobs & Blood: Lust For A Vampire (1971)

Reflections on the twilight years of any great artist or company tend to be tinged with sadness and regret, lamenting on how the mighty had fallen, how their latter day work could only serve as a pale reminder of how great things had once been. Conventional wisdom would seem to dictate that this is how we should look upon Hammer Films post-1970. With the loss of financial backing from long-standing supporters Warner Bros, and a cinematic climate which was rapidly growing ever further beyond the now-somewhat quaint conventions of the British production house, the post-60s outlook seemed bleak for the stalwarts of Gothic horror; and, almost 50 years later, the critical consensus on the films they made in their final decade tends to be less than glowing.

For myself, though, Hammer’s 1970s output has always been a source of endless fascination, and I find myself returning to their films from that period above all else. Sure, a large part of this is sentimental attachment, as many of the first Hammer Horror films I saw on late night TV screenings in my youth were from that era; and, as a hormonally-charged young teen, I was unsurprisingly more drawn to later Hammer due to its much heavier blood and nudity quota. I can appreciate why many feel that these efforts to keep up with the more permissive times were out of step with the films on which the company made its name (not unlike that other British cinema institution, the Carry On series, in that same decade), yet I personally don’t believe Hammer’s later films betray the spirit of what went before. For one, we can hardly accuse 70s Hammer of besmirching the company’s good name, as Hammer’s name had never been that good in the first place as far as respectable society was concerned. Much as these were films which I tiptoed downstairs to watch on TV in the wee small hours, doing my best to make sure my parents didn’t hear me, I gather that those who went out to see Hammer productions on release – and, indeed, many of those who worked on the films themselves – tended to do so in the hopes that others wouldn’t find out, feeling some unseen eye of judgement upon them, knowing that they should know better than to associate themselves with that sort of film. This, I suppose, is how the term ‘guilty pleasure’ came to be; but as far as I’m concerned, the pleasure almost always outstrips the guilt when it comes to Hammer.

Released in January 1971, Lust For A Vampire might well be a perfect encapsulation of the state of things in Hammer’s House of Horror at the turn of the decade. It’s still essentially playing in the period-set Gothic arena which had been the company’s staple since The Curse of Frankenstein and Dracula (AKA Horror of Dracula). However, Hammer’s linchpin thespians Christopher Lee and Peter Cushing are notable by their absence, with a largely younger ensemble taking centre stage, in hopes of hooking the hip and groovy young cinemagoers of the time. Of course, youngsters weren’t the only target demographic, as should be abundantly clear from Lust For A Vampire’s central conceit: a lesbian vampire in an all-girls boarding school. Yep, pretty much sounds like a dirty old man’s dreams come to life, and to a large extent that’s just how the film plays out. This, it seems, hadn’t always been the plan: as is detailed in the extras of this new Blu-ray, the original title of Tudor Gates’ script had been To Love A Vampire, and the writer had intended a more genuinely romantic and heartfelt film, without quite so much gratuitous nudity and sleaziness as the final product delivers. Again though, while some Hammer traditionalists might be dismayed at how Lust For A Vampire is far less classy than it might have been, it’s hard to imagine it being anywhere near as much fun with the sleaze dialled back.

The second instalment in Hammer’s unofficial Karnstein trilogy (coming after 1970’s The Vampire Lovers, and before my personal favourite Hammer film, 1971’s Twins of Evil), Lust For A Vampire sees the return of J Sheridan Le Fanu’s Carmilla/Mircalla Karnstein, this time around portrayed by Yutte Stensgaard. It seems a shame that Ingrid Pitt, who played the role so memorably in The Vampire Lovers, opted not to come back for the sequel, but – as, again, is argued in the extras – a case can be made for Stensgaard being a far better fit for the role as written; namely, she actually does look and seem like a demure, innocent young woman whom no one would ever suspect of being a supernatural predator in disguise. Inexplicably back from the dead some years after the events of the previous film (as ever, best not to get too hung up on the technicalities there), Mircalla finds a veritable smorgasbord served up in the idyllic country estate that houses scores of 18-21 year old women (at least, let’s hope they’re all in that age group). Arriving around the same time is Richard Lestrange (Michael Johnson), a novelist who specialises in the fantastical and macabre, who is intrigued by local tales of vampirism, but is compelled to stick around by the abundance of pretty young ladies at the school, where he soon slyly acquires a teaching position. Mircalla shortly becomes the object of obsession not only for Lestrange, but for fellow teacher Giles Barton (Ralph Bates), a historian specialising in the history of the Karnstein family, with an inkling of Mircalla’s big secret.

The romantic angle which Gates’ script reportedly took might have been more in evidence in the final film had someone other than Johnson been cast as Lestrange. (It’s suggested Gates intended the character as a stand-in for LeFanu himself, which might have lent a meta quality to proceedings, implying Carmilla’s writer drew on his own life experience.) Not the most dashing of leading men, Johnson brings very little charisma to the role, mostly coming off as a manipulative, lecherous predator. Obviously this leaves us with no problem believing he would become infatuated with Stensgard’s Mircalla; but the trouble is, she’s meant to requite his feelings. Even if we disregard that her character is a lesbian, it’s very hard to believe that anything about this man would draw her in, much less truly win her heart as he’s supposed to.

Of course, it’s screamingly obvious within the first few minutes alone that director Jimmy Sangster and producers Harry Fine and Michael Style are far less interested in plausible character development than they are in making the most of the X certificate, whose rules had been relaxed by the BBFC just around the time Lust For A Vampire went into production. An early dorm room sequence might have been aiming for some sort of record for the most bare breasts shown in the shortest amount of time, and while it isn’t necessarily wall-to-wall nudity and girl-on-girl action from there on, they make sure to throw in the odd bit every so often – along with a more generous splash of the Kensington Gore than usual – just to maintain the viewer’s interest. This proves somewhat necessary as the plot grows ever more meandering from the halfway point, many half-baked story threads left dangling, gradually trudging toward the inevitable torch-and-pitchfork finale that had long since been the norm for Hammer. You have to feel a bit sorry for many of the supporting players, most notably Suzanna Leigh as the school mistress Janet Playfair, who’s doing her best with what’s given to her, but ultimately has very little of real significance to do.

So, should we look upon Lust For A Vampire as nothing more than a feeble attempt by an ailing company to keep up with the times, yet at once descending into pure cliche and inadvertent farce? That certainly wouldn’t be an unreasonable reaction. However, we might just as easily embrace the arch camp absurdity and bald-faced trashiness, and just have fun with it, which is surely the desired reaction. There’s really no sense in complaining a movie isn’t high art when it’s clear that this was never the intention in the first place. Look no further than Ralph Bates’ performance; I find it hard to fathom that this role had originally been earmarked for Peter Cushing, as Bates brings a simpering, laughable quality to the role that it’s hard to imagine from the elder Hammer icon. It’s said on the extras here that Bates didn’t particularly like the project and had little real investment in it, so perhaps his camping it up reflects his disdain for the whole endeavour; nonetheless, it is entirely in tune with Lust For A Vampire’s silly, sleazy song.

There can be little question that Lust For A Vampire is the weakest of the Karnstein movies, not least because Yutte Stensgard is nowhere near as commanding a central presence as Ingrid Pitt in The Vampire Lovers, or Mary and Madeiline Collinson in Twins of Evil; yet as the most unabashedly raunchy and low brow chapter, it sums up the spirit of the trilogy quite nicely. Moreso than this, it’s also liable to leave us wondering why, after literally countless Dracula movies in the years before and since, we’ve still yet to see many more fully-fledged big screen adaptations of Carmilla. Given the recent push for greater female and LGBT representation in cinema, one would think that now’s as good a time as any for J Sheridan LeFanu’s vampire anti-heroine to have her day in the sun, as it were.

Lust For A Vampire is released to Blu-ray and DVD on 12th August, from Studiocanal.

Us (2019)

2017’s Get Out proved to be quite the milestone for 21st century cinema. Establishing TV funnyman Jordan Peele as a writer-director to be reckoned with, it proved to be that rare combination of both critical and commercial darling, making back its $5 million budget many, many times over (bravo to producer Jason Blum’s business model), and ultimately earning a Best Original Screenplay Oscar for Peele, with nominations in a slew of other categories. And of course, along with fellow 2017 blockbuster It, Get Out was roundly declared the launchpad for a new era of horror; although both films prompted some – to put it generously – misguided declarations that they weren’t really part of the genre. Frankly, Peele has to bear some of the blame for that given that he described his debut film as a “social thriller.” As such, it’s nice to see that, with the arrival of his sophomore feature, Peele has made a point of discouraging this pointless debate, bluntly declaring on Twitter, “Us is a horror movie.” And with It: Chapter 2 due later this year on top of Peele’s second, 2019 might well be when we find out whether this newly revitalised mainstream horror has real staying power.

Perhaps it goes without saying, but whether or not there’s really anything ‘new’ about this current wave of horror is questionable; I get the feeling it’s more to do with audience response, than anything the films or the filmmakers themselves are doing. But in any case, I’m pretty confident it’s here to stay, if Us is anything to go by at least. In a similar spirit to Get Out, but telling a very different story with a somewhat different tone, this is absolutely a worthy successor which proves Peele’s breakthrough was not a flash in the pan.

As with Get Out, Us is the kind of film for which it’s probably better to go in not knowing too much of the plot in advance, but here are the essentials: on a family summer vacation, Adelaide Wilson (Lupita Nyong’o) is battling some major psychological demons when, at the behest of her well-meaning but slightly oblivious husband Gabe (Winston Duke), they head out from the family lake house to the beach at Santa Cruz with their children Zora (Shahadi Wright Joseph) and Jason (Evan Alex). As we learn from the 1986-set prologue, Adelaide visited that very same beach as a child and a traumatic incident occurred, the specifics of which are unclear. Unsurprisingly, things don’t go so well this time either, and the family returns to the lake house with Adelaide’s emotional scars wide open. But as they’re all getting ready for bed, the family find an unexpected and unnerving sight outside their window: four mysterious figures all dressed in red – mother, father, daughter and son – bearing an uncanny resemblance to the Wilsons themselves.

I’ll avoid any further plot specifics, but naturally the first thing many will be looking out for is any common ground between Us and Get Out. There’s clearly a similar uncanny atmosphere, with use of familiar motifs (as the poster demonstrates, creepy tears are very much Peele’s trademark now), whilst an initially grounded sensibility gradually shifts to the wayside as things get ever weirder. And yes, Us is weird alright; again in common with Get Out, the central threat blurs genre boundaries in a way that might almost reinforce those ill-conceived “more than horror” arguments. But in common so much great horror, Get Out very much included, Us makes a point of delivering satisfying pay-off to its slow-burn build-up, and while it deals with sophisticated ideas in an intriguing way, it also makes a point of having fun along the way. Humour was by no means absent in Peele’s first film (who can forget Lil Rel “TS-motherfuckin’-A” Howery), but I’d say the writer-director’s comedy roots come to the forefront far more pointedly here, with plenty of big laughs to break the tension intermittently. One particular song cue provides an agreeable comedic counterpoint to what is otherwise one of the film’s most gruelling sequences; and no, I’m not referring to I Got 5 On It, although as hinted in the trailer this song is utilised repeatedly to surprising effect. Speaking of music, Get Out’s composer Michael Abels is back on score duties, and one can only hope his collaboration with Peele will continue; this could be a partnership between director and composer to rival Burton and Elfman, Argento and Goblin, or Carpenter and… er… Carpenter.

Still, Us is not simply Get Out Part 2, and there is one very distinct difference between the two: race, so pivotal to Peele’s first film, honestly doesn’t seem to be an issue this time around. Spooky stuff is going on, and we just so happen to be seeing it primarily from the perspective of a black family, but if there’s any underlying commentary on race relations I certainly can’t see it, not even in the scenes between the Wilsons and their white friends the Tylers (Elizabeth Moss and Tim Heidecker). Yet once again, Peele has no doubt succeeded in luring a largely straight, genre-averse audience into something with an extraordinarily bizarre central conceit. So much about Us feels so personal, so specific, and it is absolutely screaming to be decoded every which way, with any number of factors we might grab on to in search of clues (for myself, I find myself endlessly contemplating the VHS tapes stacked around the TV set in the opening shots, and how they hint at what’s to come). No doubt there are already way, way too many of those ghastly “ending explained” articles popping up all over the internet like pustulent spots on an adolescent forehead, so I’m certainly not about to venture into that territory here; but I will concede that, as many seem to be noting already, this might be a film you need to watch a couple of times to fully get your head around. Moreso than that, it may be a film that retains some mystery years, even decades later, destined to be a source of fascination for generations of film fans.

But for right now, just know that Us is most definitely a film you should get out to see. It’s gripping, it’s tense, it’s funny, it’s thrilling, and – I’m surprised it’s taken me this long to stress this – it’s also as emotionally involving as you could hope for, thanks in no small part to an absolutely magnetic lead performance from Lupita Nyong’o. As much as she’s been a big name in Hollywood for a good few years, this should be the film that finally breaks her through to proper leading lady status, and particularly given that it’s something of a dual role (now that’s hardly a spoiler), it doesn’t half demonstrate her versatility. And while Nyong’o is very much the lead, it’s still a great ensemble piece, with a warm and witty turn from Winston Duke, and terrific work from the young Shahadi Wright Joseph and Evan Alex.

Again, I’m not certain that what Peele is doing here is necessarily breaking all that much new ground in terms of content for the horror genre; but no two ways about it, he’s breaking ground in terms of getting major studio support for such bizarre and challenging material, and getting it out to the widest possible audience. Sure, some genre devotees might get snooty about material that aims for the masses, but so long as the films in question continue to push the envelope the way Us does, rather than watering things down for the lowest common denominator as so many have before, then I think there’s most definitely hope for this new wave of horror; and I say, more of it please.

Us in in cinemas now, from Universal.