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By Tristan Bishop

31 years after the Video Recordings Act came in to being in the UK, horror fans are still hungry for the films which made up the ‘Video Nasties’ list – Let’s not forget that the vast majority of these films never had a theatrical release in the UK, and a lot of us over a certain age first saw these on awful quality, washed-out, fullscreen and quite often cut duplicates of the original UK VHS releases, so it’s still with a slight sense of wonder at the progress we’ve made that I can watch these films in HD and they’ll look as close as damnit to how they would originally have looked on the big screen, often with grain and all. I’ll admit to never having actually seen The Boogeyman (or Bogey Man as it’s ever so slightly retitled in the UK) before – which actually surprises me, as I’ve seen some truly awful crap whilst working my way through the nasties list (Forest Of Fear, anyone?), and it has a reputation for being among the better items on the list, so I was quite excited when I settled into an armchair ready for some early 80’s splatter.

It has to be said – the first (and second, and third) thing that came to mind as the story of The Boogeyman unfolded was ‘someone’s seen Halloween.’ The opening static shot of a house which, although it turns out to be in a rural area, brings to mind the iconic buildings of John Carpenter’s Haddonfield, the brilliantly-of-its-time synth score (by Tim Krog, who seems to have released nothing else of note) and the set-up, as a small child stabs to death his mother’s lover (who, to be fair, has just strapped him up to a bed in a fairly uneasy scene after catching him peeping in on their sexy games) are also both straight outta Halloween. Even the title seems to call back to Carpenter’s classic – witness the amount of times Michael Myers is referred to as ‘The Boogeyman’ in that film. However, this is where the similarities end – and anyone expecting some straightforward 80’s slasher action might be left disappointed (especially as 88 Films have put this out under the ‘Slasher Classics Collection’ banner – would ‘Video Nasties Collection’ not have been better/more correct?), as it turns out that The Boogeyman is less a slasher film and more a supernatural thriller.

Our story begins ’20 years ago’ (so about 1960) as young children Willy and Lacey (stop sniggering at the back) witness the aforementioned sex play between their mother and an unnamed stranger. Whilst Lacey escapes punishment, Willy is painfully bound up to his bed and left there. Lacey decides to get a big knife from the kitchen to free Willy (heh) but proceeds to stab his mother’s lover to death with it as well.

Flash forward to the ‘present day’, and the now grown-up children live with their aunt and uncle on a farm, along with Lacey’s husband Jake and their young son. Willy, it transpires, has not spoken a word since he killed the stranger (interesting to note that this doesn’t stop pretty much every character in the film constantly questioning him as if they’ve forgotten), and has a habit of stashing various knives in his room. A letter from their mother arrives at the farm – in it, she tells them she is seriously ill and feels that it is her right as their mother to see them one more time. Lacey and Willy understandably are made very uncomfortable by this. Jake decides he will take Lacey to a psychiatrist (played by trash veteran John Carradine, who obviously filmed all his scenes in an afternoon) and they agree it would be a good idea to revisit her childhood home in order for her to see that the place has changed and attempt to exorcise some of her demons. Unfortunately it transpires that the stranger is still haunting the house, only his spirit is somehow haunting a mirror! When she sees his reflection, Lacey smashes the mirror into hundreds of pieces. Jake takes the mirror away to repair it, but one piece remains in the house, and now the mirror is shattered, the stranger’s spirit has gained the power to move objects around and force people to kill themselves.

Well, as you can probably work out from the plot description, The Boogeyman is pretty silly stuff, and extremely difficult to take seriously. Although the film did very well commercially on its original release, it’s sort of hard to believe that people were genuinely scared of a glowing haunted mirror back in 1980 – The Exorcist/Rosemary’s Baby ‘devil film’ cycle had run its course a few years previously and we were now firmly in the era of the slashers and the Italian zombie/cannibal films, which offered much more visceral thrills. In an attempt to fit better into in the era in which it was released, The Boogeyman does amp up the gore quotient quite considerably – although the effects vary from rather weak (the opening stabbing is extremely unconvincing) to the genuinely impressive – I must admit to laughing out loud over one scene which warns us of the dangers of French kissing. It has to be said that director Ulli Lommel (who has had a fascinating career, ranging from acting in Russ Meyer flicks, to being a protégé of arthouse enfant terrible Rainer Werner Fassbinder, to creating endless low budget serial killer films in recent years) doesn’t particularly impress here, with a number of odd directorial choices that make you wonder what he was aiming for. The acting doesn’t fair much better either – it’s always nice to see Carradine but he doesn’t get to do a great deal here, and Suzanna Love in the lead role as Lacey is appealing but a little wooden (incidentally her mute brother Willy is played by her real life brother Nicholas), and as for the choice of villain, well, those expecting a fearsome Boogeyman as hinted at in the films title will be disappointed by the invisible mirror-dwelling spirit.

But still, I can’t totally dismiss this film. That generic-but-awesome synth score, the over-the-top gore, the numerous parallels with Halloween, and, well the whole early eighties ambience (which I’ve always found totally irresistible) are here in force, and make for enjoyable viewing despite the many flaws on show. The picture quality on this release is top notch too – which, as with many films of the era being released now, serves to highlight how low-budget the thing looked, but that’s not really a criticism when dealing with fans of this sort of thing. The extras are disappointingly light however – there’s a bunch of trailers here for other 88 Films releases, although most of them Charles Band productions (again, not necessarily a bad thing), a long on-camera interview with Ulli Lommel, which contains some interesting tidbits but seems to be a few years old (he mentions working recently with David Carradine, who tragically passed away in 2009), and a booklet written by Callum Waddell, which I can’t comment on as it wasn’t present with the review copy. However, if silly early 80’s horror is your thing (and, let’s face it, it probably is), this release is certainly worth a look.

The Bogey Man is available now on Blu-ray – order direct from 88 Films here.

By Ben Bussey

The mid-60s: that curious time when change was in the air, the kids were standing up for what they believed in, and – even more uncanny – Roger Corman was making movies that were actually kind of important. Though always best known for his lengthy and prolific career as a producer of B-movies churned out at high speed on low budgets, starting back in the 50s and still not slowing down today, Corman also did quite a lot of directing too once upon a time – and while, again, a lot of these were quick and cheap B-movies, there were times when he really put forth the effort and tried his hand at something timely and topical, designed not to simply placate the youth of America, but present something they could directly relate to. There was 1962’s The Intruder, an under-seen drama whose anti-racial segregation message was bold for the time; later came 1967’s The Trip, an extremely timely look at the LSD experience which Corman famously researched by taking LSD himself, an event set to be immortalised in The Man With Kaleidoscope Eyes, a biopic from Joe Dante.

Between the two came The Wild Angels (a 1966 production, which makes it a little confusing that this new DVD release is being dubbed a 50th anniversary edition) which, although they were not allowed to use the name, aimed to bring the lifestyle of the notorious Hell’s Angels biker gang to the big screen. Notably, it also put Peter Fonda front and centre on a motorcycle, where it turned out he looked pretty cool – thereby paving the way for the 1969 movie widely accepted to be one of the major turning points of American cinema, Easy Rider. On top of which, Fonda gives a speech toward the end – “we wanna be free, to do what we wanna do!” – which was immortalised in Primal Scream’s 1990 indie dancefloor-filler Loaded; a track which has itself been immortalised further by its use in 2013’s The World’s End. Phew, the endless cycle of cult status rebirth.

So, the importance of The Wild Angels to film and pop culture history may be hard to dispute – but how does the film itself hold up 49 years on? Well, because of the aforementioned Easy Rider connections it is a tricky film to judge entirely on its own merits, and there’s no question that it isn’t as iconic and enduring a classic as its 1969 descendant, but The Wild Angels is nonetheless gripping, entertaining and in some respects still quite surprising, even shocking in its portrayal of a group of young people – mostly, but not exclusively men – who spit at the conventions of taste and decency. Drawing on the French New Wave, which would of course prove a key influence to the American New Wave that took off in the 1970s, Corman is less interested in telling a classically rounded story than giving us a window into the everyday existence of an outsider subculture. We get very little in terms of context and exposition, not much backstory to explain away why these young people came to adopt this lifestyle, and (the remorseful conclusion aside) even less moralistic aspersions cast on their behaviour. This is quite something, considering this behaviour includes brandishing Nazi insignias, sneaking across the border to beat up Mexicans and committing sexual assault. Again, much of this remains quite shocking in 2015, so one can only imagine how provocative it was back in 1966, one year shy of the Summer of Love. Small wonder, then, that The Wild Angels was initially refused a certificate in the United Kingdom (only released with an X after cuts in 1972).

The use of Nazi iconography was, for me, one of the most fascinating elements of the film, for the simple reason that it’s almost never discussed, aside from one early scene in which Dick Miller (well, it is a Corman movie) furiously chastises Peter Fonda and Bruce Dern for wearing iron crosses and swastikas. Indeed, so heavily are those taboo symbols shown in the film, we even have a swastika etched on the end of the T on the title card in the opening credits – and the climactic funeral scene even sees the coffin (I won’t spoil whose) laid out with a Nazi flag on top. It’s notable that they downplay this in the poster art above, one stormtrooper helmet aside – and well they might, because The Wild Angels certainly isn’t a proto-Romper Stomper. Despite their aggression, and the notable fight sequence with a group of Mexicans (motivated less by racial hatred than out of revenge for a stolen bike), there isn’t anything too flagrantly Nazi-like about their behaviour; indeed, Fonda’s chapter president Heavenly Blues at one point stops another biker from raping a black nurse. Now, I know virtually nothing about the reality of bikers beyond what I’ve seen on Sons of Anarchy, but one gets the impression that the Nazi iconography is adopted for much the same reason that some punks wore it a decade later; simply because it’s guaranteed to offend just about everybody. It’s a fine example of how outsider subcultures tend to define themselves not so much by what they are, but what they are not; surely there’s no more extreme way of asserting your opposition to polite society than to adopt the symbols of the enemy, particularly back in the 60s so soon after World War 2. Given that the era is so often looked back on through rose-tinted (and possibly heart-shaped) glasses as the time when peace and love prevailed, a movie like The Wild Angels provides some valuable perspective that there was a lot else going on.

Still, given my confessed ignorance of biker culture, I’m hard pressed to comment on how true to life The Wild Angels might be, though it certainly seems a great deal more grounded and believable than, say, such more recent biker movies as Torque; and with the cast headed up by the hugely charismatic Fonda and Dern (who would of course reunite with Corman, along with Dennis Hopper, the following year on The Trip), it’s a great deal more compelling than your typical mid-60s B-movie. It never feels like it’s demonising bikers, nor does it necessarily seem to overly romanticise them – but even so, there’s no denying the inherent coolness of it all. And by the time Fonda declares “we wanna get loaded, and we wanna have a good time,” I’m sure the young rebel in all of us wants to raise a bottle to that.

The Wild Angels is out now on DVD from Three Wolf Studios (rated 15, not 18 as on the cover art above).

By Nia Edwards-Behi

Ghoul is a frustrating film. It’s a superior ‘found footage’ film, no doubt, but for all its strengths, it ultimately unravels, falling over its own generic trappings, and, sadly, its central conceit. Having said that, the film did creep me out, and I could happily sit through it again.

The film opens with archival documentary footage of the 1932 Ukrainian famine, known as Holodomor. The stark black and white footage verges on the Eisensteinian, but it’s not long before the film starts proper, in faux-documentary mode. We establish that group of Americans have travelled to the Ukraine to film a documentary on cannibalism and the famine. They meet a guide and an interpreter, and press on with their journey. They are heading to a remote house, where they will meet Boris, one of the last survivors of the famine, who had been accused and imprisoned for cannibalism. When Boris does not show up at the house, the crew discover there is much worse waiting for them there – namely, the disturbed spirit of serial killer Andrei Chikatilo.

It takes a long while before the film gets to Chikatilo, and it’s at its strongest before his name is mentioned. The very early footage is excellent, and I can only presume it was genuinely shot as though a documentary was being made. Our cast speaks to rural Ukrainians against stark backdrops, and it’s fascinating in and of itself. The dialogue and characters in the film are one of its strongest points, in that they are natural, and for the most part likeable. Sometimes they say things that are a little bit insensitive about the topic of their investigation, but sometimes they realise and take it back. Two of the crew are a couple, but that fact isn’t shoved down our throats like it could have been. As always, and perhaps more so with found footage, hoping that our cast survives the film is pretty crucial. In-line with this, the performances in the film are also good, particularly Jennifer Armour (Jenny) and Alina Golovlyova (Katarina), though admittedly they are given more to do than their male counterparts.

The use of a translator is, again for the most part, effective. Katarina doesn’t translate everything the crew’s guides have to say – particularly the ‘witch’ Ina. However, for all the role’s effectiveness, it does highlight some of the more illogical editing decisions in the film. Sometimes, Katarina translates. Sometimes, there are subtitles. No framework is offered for the footage we watch – is it raw, found footage from the filmmakers? Is it an edited version of the found footage? Or, are we simply seeing through their lenses as it happens? The use of cameras in the moment is natural, but the actual construction of the film makes less sense (particularly, we discover, at the film’s close). I know this is often a big gripe for some people when it comes to found footage films, but for me it didn’t completely detract from what was otherwise a decently put together film.

The scares in the film are impressively under-stated, at least early on. A prime example of this is a cat being found in a box, sitting calmly rather than jumping at the camera. This struck me as a particular comment on the ‘animal jumps from behind/inside something’ trope that so often plagues modern horror, but of course I might be reading a bit much into it. There is gore, but it’s used judiciously, and all the more effective for it. Now, by the film’s end, this is not so true – there’s a bit too much running-around-and-things-go-boo-to-camera. This is frustrating, more than anything, and smacks a bit of just plain not knowing how to end the film, and so we have an expected, generic ending – it all ends up a bit Blair Witch meets REC, and not in a good way; the very last shot of the film is particularly groan-inducing. The film is quite Blair Witchy, in some ways, but with infinitely more likeable characters.

Which leads me to the most contentious thing, for me, about the film – that man Chikatilo. It’s all a bit ham-fisted (forgive me), even if the linking of a Soviet war crime which resulted in cannibalism with a Soviet cannibal serial killer makes, I suppose, some sense. It’s just a bit unnecessary. The ‘Boris’ character that the crew believes they are going to meet is enough, and any variation on a made up ghost to provide the supernatural element would have been enough. It also seems to underplay how widely-known Chikatilo is, with some awkward ‘let’s Google this guy’ moments – of course, I suppose horror fans might be more likely to recognise the name of an infamous serial killer than most…but let’s leave that discussion for another time. I suppose the Chikatilo element of the film could have in fact been much more over-played than it is – I just wish it wasn’t there at all. The film’s ending is, for example, quite brutal, but for me the association with Chikatilo actually somewhat cheapened the violence.

Ghoul has broken box office records in director Jakl’s native Czech Republic, and it’s easy to see why. It’s effective and accessible, in a Blumhouse sort of way, and I genuinely don’t mean that as a criticism. I enjoyed watching the film well enough, and there were plenty of instances where I found myself wanting a cushion to hide behind. The film ultimately just left me thinking that there was an even better film to be had in there.

Ghoul is on theatrical release in the US now, via Vega Baby Releasing.

By Quin

When I first saw the title You Can’t Kill Stephen King, I had to do a double take. Then after confirming it was real, I knew I would have to investigate. As a longtime fan of the work of Stephen King, I couldn’t help cringing at the sight of that title. In his 2000 book, On Writing, he created a guide for writers who are looking to enter the industry and improve their craft. It was very similar to the Strunk and White book The Elements of Style, but it was clearly in Stephen King’s voice and was a lot more fun to read. The book also served as a memoir. He wrote about his childhood as well as a detailed account of the accident that almost killed him in 1999. Thankfully, this movie has nothing to do with that, but I couldn’t help but wonder if the filmmakers had considered that title might create a bad taste in people’s mouths. I’m guessing not. One thing is for certain, these filmmakers are banking on the hopes that all Stephen King fans will find this movie and pay to see it. I would love to know what Mr. King thinks of this movie, but I can’t speculate on that. But I will tell you that I found it to be a pointless waste of time – and this is coming from a Stephen King fan.

You Can’t Kill Stephen King premiered at a festival in 2012 and saw its first DVD release in December 2014. I haven’t heard any of the details on this, but I think that’s pretty telling. We have already established that the title is problematic, now let’s get to the setting. It takes place in Maine, which makes sense because that is indeed where Stephen King lives. However, this film is set on a lake. Stephen King lives in Bangor, Maine. There isn’t a lake around for miles. In fact, it’s pretty common knowledge that his house is a Gothic-style home with spider web iron gates in a suburban residential area. It’s possible that the filmmakers truly didn’t do their research, but I’m more inclined to assume that they wanted to stay as far from a lawsuit as possible.

This brings me to my third major problem with the film – for a horror/comedy with Stephen King as the central theme, the quality of references to his books and characters stinks. Most of them are painfully obvious, others are really stretching it – I mean, a speedboat called Christine? Come on! Not to mention a ridiculous appearance by Pennywise the Clown from It (or at least a reasonable facsimile) that makes no sense at all.

I’ve waited this long to tell you about the plot – mostly because it’s nothing new. A group of young people are going to vacation and party in Maine. The group is an assortment of all of the horror victim stereotypes, and the movie makes sure you are aware of this. One of the kids is a big Stephen King fan and the only reason he’s there is because he wants to catch a glimpse of him. This is a sentence I’m getting tired of writing, but I guess it goes with the genre – are you ready? …Eventually members of the group start dying. But who is doing the killing? Is it one of them or is it perhaps Stephen King himself? This movie takes us through the list of suspects and bores you in the process.

Now that I think about it, the word “process” is the best word to describe this movie. Nothing happens organically and nothing is surprising. It follows the old ‘kids in peril’ blueprint and tries to make jokes about the horror genre by winking at the camera constantly. It brings absolutely nothing new to the table. If I were Stephen King, I would probably sue them, but perhaps the best thing he can do is happily pretend this movie doesn’t exist. I urge you all to do the same.

You Can’t Kill Stephen King is available on DVD and on-demand in the US via Big Screen Entertainment Group.

By Svetlana Fedotov

Having just passed its 15th anniversary, Dark Horse’s The Goon has been an underground success for longer than some teenagers have been alive. A dark comedy noir book filled with undead ghoulies and ghosties, the comic was never one to take itself too seriously; “too” being the key word .The Goon: Occasion of Revenge is perhaps one of the most serious Goon works to have been done by creator Eric Powell. While definitely not the first time the tongue-in-cheek comic has taken a more dramatic turn, rarely do we see an entire story arc switch to a more serious angle. With the newest chapter, we finally get to see the real consequences of living a life of being a gorilla sized thug and how old ghosts never really quite die.

The comic starts off like any other Goon comic really, with a gathering of dark forces intent on taking down the Goon and claiming his town for their own. As they slowly move into the town (led by the Zombie Priest), we touch base with the Goon himself as he drowns in his memories and some old guy takes a crap in Franky’s beer. With every issue, the comic hops forward a couple months as the Goon fights against the Priest’s horde while also following the lives of several of the town’s residents. We get peeks into what drives the residents to do what they do and the jealousies and mistakes of the humans of the town that attract the evil spirits. As secrets and double-crosses rear their ugly heads, will Goon be able to hold on to the only place he ever really called home or will it too become nothing but a bad memory, as the war becomes more than just possession over a town, but something much more sinister?

I rarely say this, but this book is perfect. I don’t care what anyone has to say, Occasion of Revenge is a fantastic read, especially for fans of The Goon. In terms of being a continuation of The Goon’s story and universe, it’s a beautiful addition to an already incredible series. Powell manages to explore the depths of The Goon’s world with a very precise mix of drama and black comedy, not forgetting that it was humor that really pushed the comic into success. We meet new people and old faces, each of them getting a story to tell that only thickens the already heavy plot. Perhaps feeling the reader was overdue for some answers, Powell really puts in his all, paying attention not only to the story, but to the art, the movement, the color, and the pacing. You really feel for everyone who gets caught up in the war for the town, the lives that get thrown askew as they struggle to save a scrap of land. It’s heavy, dude.

Now, in terms of being a good comic in general, outside out of my blinding love for the Goon, the answer is yes, it’s fantastic. As stated, the art, the movement, color, pacing, dialogue, the overall story holding the readers interest, is completely solid. The art is smooth and moves naturally throughout the pages as Powell plays with panels and panel lay out. At some points, he chooses to simply toss the backgrounds all together, instead picking a color that exasperates the emotions on the page, which, to be honest, is a bold choice. If done wrong, it simply comes off as an excuse to be lazy, but he does it with minimalist class. Powell’s not afraid to play with theatrical angles either giving the reader a unique view of the world, while the fast talking dialogue makes the pages fly by. It really is like watching a really good movie.

The only drawback (if I HAD to find one) is that you can’t start reading the Goon series with this collection, which honestly is not a bad thing, since everyone should already be reading The Goon and if you’re not reading it, then what are you doing with your life? Regardless, Occasion of Revenge is what fifteen years of The Goon has been leading up to; don’t miss out.

By Ben Bussey

There are a great deal of indie horror filmmakers out there who would do well to take a leaf out of Dustin Wayde Mills’s book. Anyone who follows our reviews here at Brutal As Hell (gawd bless you, whoever you are) will no doubt have seen us complain time and again of how frequently indie horror lets itself down. While the opportunity is there to make a genuine break from the norm and take risks which the studios won’t, so many new indie horrors are content to regurgitate tried and tested genre tropes over and over with little to no wit, invention or courage, producing nothing more than another wave of nondescript tripe to fill the bottom shelves of supermarket DVD aisles. Mills, however, is a no-budget filmmaker who truly does his own thing. Not only is he astonishingly prolific, having made an average of four films a year for the past three years, he also handles distribution of his films himself, and the films he writes and directs (as well as shooting, editing and various other roles) have a clear, singular vision. While there are readily apparent sales points to his films – notably a proclivity for abundant full nudity, and practical gore FX – Mills doesn’t seem at all concerned with making films that are to all tastes.

However, while such films as The Puppet Monster Massacre, Zombie A-Hole, Easter Casket and Bath Salt Zombies display (as should be evident from the titles alone) leanings toward trashy, absurdist comedy horror, there has always been a character-based, emotional underpinning to Mills’s work, and more recent efforts have seen him move in a somewhat different direction. His 2014 film Her Name Was Torment was an altogether darker display of gruesome violence with, for once, a female antagonist brutalising a male prisoner; yet while it boasted all the signature gore and nudity, there was a radically different tone, and an almost arthouse sensibility. Having dipped the proverbial toe into artier waters, Mills’ latest release Applecart sees him plunge right in. Once again, the results will not be to all tastes, and were never intended to be; but even for those who generally like their movies a bit bizarre, this might still push them out of their comfort zone. Applecart may not make for the easiest viewing, nor is it necessarily an unequivocal success, and it might easily be accused of being at least a little pretentious, but credit must be given where it’s due – this is about as far from safe, by-the-numbers indie horror as you can get.

As offbeat as it is, Applecart is easy enough to surmise: it’s a silent, black and white portmanteau film in which all cast members wear blank white face masks at all times. There’s an old-fashioned silent movie score, some ambient noise and judicious use of applause, laughter and boos from an unseen audience, but not a word of dialogue is spoken nor are any caption cards used beyond the titles for the four short stories, with shots of a barrel of glistening apples bridging each tale (apples also being the only food anyone seems to eat in the storyworld). Each story takes place within a seemingly conventional suburban setting, dealing with the unseemly goings-on beneath the surface of what we like to think of as civilised society. Forbidden lusts are indulged, acts of hideous cruelty perpetrated – and all of it is conveyed entirely via physical mannerisms without facial expressions, though sometimes the eyes come into play.

Okay, so the core themes of Applecart – as summed up in the taglines ‘Nothing Is Normal’ and ‘We All Wear Masks’ – aren’t exactly new; for time immemorial, horror has been pointing out that the real monsters in this world are those that hide behind a veneer of normalcy and respectability. Nor are the key horrors of Applecart – incestuous desire, negligence and abuse of the old and infirm, religious fanaticism as an excuse for child abuse, and so forth – by any means horrors we have never seen explored in film before. Still, in taking such a distinct approach, Mills draws viewers to engage in a rather different way with such unpalatable material, more typically explored in kitchen sink drama. Indeed, it might be debated just how much Applecart can really be classed as a horror film; there’s nothing supernatural at work, and there’s an unusual lack of gore for a Mills movie. Still, as the cover art might suggest his taste for shooting naked women remains unabated: after we open on a completely decontextualised scene of a large-breasted masked woman stripping and masturbating, we subsequently see every female cast member at least partially nude, several fully, regular Mills actresses Haley Madison, Erin R Ryan and Allison Egan among them. Male nudity is by contrast somewhat sparse, a few eye-opening erect penis shots notwithstanding – although the end credits reveal the use of prosthetic for at least some of these moments. It’s certainly not hard, then, to lay accusations of sexism and sleaziness at Mills’ feet – yet Applecart manages to avoid a sleazy, exploitative vibe for the most part. Perhaps the preoccupation with bare flesh can seem a bit puerile, and even get a bit repetitive – by the third or fourth masturbation scene, I did find myself muttering “really, again?” – but it certainly goes some way to keeping the viewer alert and at attention. The trick is what a filmmaker does with the viewer’s attention whilst they have it – and Mills clearly isn’t out to provide simple wank fodder here. I like to think I’m not too easy to shock, but Applecart left me distinctly uncomfortable at times, and there isn’t a doubt in my mind that this is precisely the desired effect.

At a little under 60 minutes, Applecart may be a comparatively short anthology film which might have done well to squeeze in a fifth chapter, but I generally consider brevity to be a greater virtue than a lot of filmmakers tend to think, and particularly when a film takes so unconventional an approach as this it pays not to overstay its welcome. I’m left uncertain as to whether Applecart is a film I’ll ever have any great desire to revisit, or whether I even enjoyed it as such – yet I won’t hesitate to recommend it simply because, as previously stated, it’s the kind of genuinely bold, risk-taking filmmaking that we would love to see more of from the indie horror scene, and it certainly leaves me keen to see which other strange places Dustin Wayde Mills will go from here.

Applecart is available on DVD and Blu-ray from the Dustin Mills Productions site.

Applecart Teaser Trailer from Dustin Mills on Vimeo.

By Nia Edwards-Behi

Round these parts, we know full well that I am a bit of a fan of The Last House on the Left. It’s one of those films that I can talk about for hours and watch again and again to find new things in it. I was rather looking forward, then, to the opportunity to review one of the film’s most notorious rip-offs, Aldo Lado’s Night Train Murders (or L’Ultimo Treno della Notte, or Don’t Ride on Late Night Trains, or just plain Late Night Trains… or any number of more conspicuous variations on the Last House title). It’s being released on Blu-ray by 88 Films as the first in their ‘Italian Collection’ of films. Indeed, speaking of rip-offs, I’m quite struck by just how similar to Arrow Video’s designs the cover for this release is. One might think in the increasingly packed niche DVD label market that standing out from other labels would be the way forward, but I guess if imitation works for the movies, then why not for DVD labels? Anyway… I was not ready for this film. I consider myself able to stomach much of what comprises the nastier films in life, but this one blind-sided me a bit. Though by no means the goriest or most brutal film I’ve ever seen, there is something particularly nasty in this one that almost makes it unpalatable.

As far as being a rip-off of Last House on the Left, Night Train Murders is, in fact, exceedingly smart. It’s a genuinely good rip-off, in so far as it interestingly uses the same story beats as Last House but genuinely does something different with them. Two young girls, Margaret (Irene Miracle) and Lisa (Laura d’Angelo) are travelling by train from Germany to Italy to stay with Lisa’s family for Christmas. Aboard the train they encounter two petty criminals, Blackie (Flavio Bucci) and Curly (Gianfranco de Grassi), who are hiding from the ticket inspector. Although at first they help them hide, it soon becomes evident that the two men are up to much worse than fare dodging. Meanwhile, Lisa’s parents prepare for an elaborate dinner party at their home, while anticipating the arrival of the girls early the next morning. Elsewhere on the train, an unnamed woman (Macha Meril) sits in a busy carriage. Her bag is knocked over, and pornographic photographs fall out, which she is quick to retrieve and hide. When, during the journey, she bumps into Blackie and Curly, the full of extent of their deviancy becomes apparent.

The film’s train setting is really rather inspired, even if the story being told is wholly derivative. The tightly-packed travellers and the inescapable nature of the vehicle is an inherently uncomfortable setting, and as the film increases both the tension and the brutality, that sensation only grows. The second, decrepit train is in many ways the perfect backdrop to the horrifying assault on the girls. Horrifying doesn’t really begin to express the grossness of the attack on Lisa and Margaret. When this film gets to it, it doesn’t pull any punches. As I alluded to above, while it’s not as explicitly graphic or gory as Last House, it is never the less immensely nasty and brutal. It’s been quite a while since I’ve watched a film and felt genuinely uncomfortable, but this one did it. I’m not sure I can even explain why in particular (aside from the basic revulsion at such a horrific assault), but I suspect that the lengthy build up to the film’s nastiest moments contributes to their effectiveness. What starts as perhaps simply an exhibitionistic power play descends rapidly into cruel, unwavering sadism. The direct aftermath of the attack is also effective, the girls’ bodies discarded and abandoned in such a way that is unflinchingly cruel and sad.

Although hitting all the same beats as Last House in the latter part of the film – chance encounter with victim’s parents, entry into their home, recognition, realisation and revenge – this portion of the film is considerably less effective. Perhaps I was just too sickened by the earlier segment, but I just didn’t find myself particularly caring by the film’s end. Having said that, the fate of the unnamed woman is interesting, and indeed her role throughout the film is rather fascinating. Somehow, she’s the film’s most well-rounded character, insofar that we know absolutely nothing about her. That might be down to Macha Meril’s performance, and the occasional moments of humanity afforded her. She is, without doubt, this film’s David Hess.

The ‘messages’ delivered by Night Train Murders are all the more on the nose and unsubtle, in comparison to Last House. Here we have another doctor as the family’s patriarch, and the dinner party they host does quick work of confirming their status as, well, “goddamn, high-class, tight-ass freakos.” There’s no such proletariat orating from Blackie or Curly, though, and indeed they become mere accessories to the unnamed woman – who is decidedly middle-class in appearance herself. Perhaps that is the ultimate expression of the sickness that lies in the higher classes, though unlike either set of parents, the unnamed woman would seem to escape relatively unscarred by her experiences. Scattered throughout the film are unnaturally wordy debates between characters on the nature of violence, society, fascism and free will, to such an extent that any point that might be made is somewhat lost in the heavy-handed nature of the execution.

Night Train Murders is in some ways, strangely, a slicker film than Last House, though perhaps that is why it is not quite so effective overall, despite its extreme nastiness. Its dialogue – or at least its English dub – is somewhat lacking, and although there are one or two laughs in the film (including one hugely inappropriate, belly-laugh inducing line of dialogue) it’s a bit too po-faced for its own good. The Morricone soundtrack is expectedly effective, especially the brief refrain played by Curly on the harmonica. Indeed, the harmonica is used so cleverly, I can’t help but wonder whether or not this was the inspiration for a very similar use of the instrument in I Spit on Your Grave.

I can’t say I liked Night Train Murders much, but I sure can say I appreciate the experience of having watched it, and indeed, found it to be extremely interesting – to the point that I would definitely watch it again. It’s a damn sight cleverer than it really needs to be, and it’s generally uneven in its mix of cleverness and heavy-handed sign-posting and dialogue. If truly nasty films are your cup of tea, then take a sip of this one.

Night Train Murders is out on Blu-ray from 27th April 2015 – pre-order from the 88 Films site. 

By Nia Edwards-Behi

Garuda Power is a modest but passionate and highly entertaining documentary, charting the quiet rise and disastrous fall of Indonesian action cinema. Having premiered late last year at South Korea’s Busan International Film Festival, the film’s been doing the rounds at East Asian film festivals, and very recently in Europe. I really hope it hits the UK soon, as its fascinating subject matter and excellent execution deserves to be seen widely.

I can’t claim to know much, if anything, about Indonesian action cinema, except that I’ve seen both of The Raid films, and vaguely know the name Barry Prima. But it’s certainly something that interests me, as a fan more broadly of action cinema, martial arts, and slightly nonsensical films from the 70s and 80s. Garuda Power, then, is the perfect starter kit. Jam-packed with clips from what must be hundreds of films, this documentary is blissfully judicious with its presenter-to-camera moments, and instead emphasises interviews, narration and clips. The narration of the film is provided by Rudolf Puspa, representing something of a lonely spirit of the cinema, his segments shot in the Indonesian film archive and various abandoned cinemas. His narration is succinct and informative, without ever becoming dull.

This isn’t a documentary just for newbies like me, either. The film’s early section, which covers the earliest iterations of Indonesian cinema, via Dutch and Chinese productions, represents an area of film history that must be unfamiliar to a great many people, at least in the West. Though comprising a relatively brief section of the film, it’s fascinating and significant research and information.

Understandably the bulk of the film is dedicated to the heyday of Indonesian action cinema, starting from the late 60s, solidifying its own identity in the 70s, and reaching its peaks in the 80s. This is a whirlwind tour, and it sure is rip-roaring ride. One of Garuda Power’s strengths is that it not only talks to the directors, producers and stars of the era (even Barry Prima!), but it also includes contributions from Indonesian film critics, scholars and film societies. The chaps sat around their TV remembering their favourite films of the era are just as informative and entertaining as the pros of the industry. This balance is struck wonderfully by first-time filmmaker Bastian Meiresonne, and it’s to his credit that, for all his evident passion for the subject, he never appears on camera himself. Thankfully, the film isn’t all ‘wow, look how great everything was’, either. Indonesia’s hugely popular comic book industry provided much of the inspiration for some of the most successful films in the genre. One of the documentary’s most interesting contributors is Djair Warni, creator of the comic character Jaka Sembung. The character appeared in many films, and was portrayed by Barry Prima in the hugely successful film The Warrior in 1981. In this documentary, Djair strongly expresses his regret that his work was ever adapted for the big screen, due to the liberties taken with his work.

This sense of balance is evident at the film’s close, too. The Raid, surely the most well-known Indonesian action film, at least among modern audiences, is hailed as something of a blip, rather than a true triumph, following the catastrophic collapse of the film industry in Indonesia during the 90s. Garuda Power doesn’t take in The Raid 2, but given that film’s apparently disappointing box office returns, the conclusion would seem to still stand. A montage of the hundreds of cinemas which closed their doors during the 90s and 00s is a shocking sight, and it’s a shame then to think that a film as high-profile as The Raid hasn’t done more to reinvigorate the industry. But that’s not to say it’s such a specific sense of doom and gloom – the decline of cinemas is something of a global phenomenon, on varying scales, so I suppose it shouldn’t come as too much of a surprise here.

All in all, Garuda Power is well-worth catching, and will surely appeal to anyone with an interest in different film cultures, and not just fans of action cinema. At a lean 77 minutes, Garuda Power is excellently paced, whizzing through decades of cinema without ever feeling superficial. If Meiresonne were to turn his attention to any other film subject he feels this passionate about, I would surely watch that too.

Garuda Power is currently screening at festivals around the world; visit the Facebook page for more info.

By Ben Bussey

It’s curious how a film can be an acknowledged cult classic and a popular point of reference, and yet still surprise you 40 years after its original release. If you haven’t seen the original Rollerball before (let this be the first and last time we speak at all of that rightly maligned 2002 remake), chances are it’s not quite the film you’re expecting it to be. The premise, not to mention the original poster art, suggests something along the lines of the same year’s Death Race 2000, or subsequent movies like The Running Man and Robot Jox: an adrenaline-charged exploitation spectacle drifting willy-nilly between arch satire of our supposedly civilised society’s taste for violence, and a straight-up action movie reveling in the very violent spectacle that it’s meant to be commenting on. However, Norman Jewison’s film is for the most part an altogether different brand of very 70s dystopian sci-fi, sharing more common ground with the likes of Logan’s Run and Zardoz in its presentation of a future hero, the best there is at what he does, who finds himself questioning all that he has been told to believe, and coming to the gradual realisation that he – along with everyone else – is being manipulated into living a lie by the powers that be.

From the core conceit of an ultra-violent sport on roller skates and motorcycles with studded gloves and metal balls which is used to satiate society’s blood-lust in an otherwise outwardly-idyllic future world controlled by the corporations, the uninitiated viewer will surely go in anticipating something very loud and very fast. It may well come as quite a shock to the system, then, that Rollerball is an often bewilderingly slow and quiet film, interested less in the game itself than in the crisis of conscience slowly stirring in the game’s biggest superstar player Jonathan E, played to astonishingly understated effect by James Caan.

It’s all too easy to envisage this premise being picked up by filmmakers and cast of a less subtle inclination and churning out something dim-witted and painfully over-the-top (as indeed was the case with that remake which I said I wasn’t going to talk about), but this was the near-mythic 70s, those days when intelligent, unorthodox cinema of seemingly genuine anti-establishment sentiment was openly embraced by the big studios, before the likes of Days of Heaven and Heaven’s Gate turned them off in favour of all that Jaws and Star Wars hullabaloo (pardon me going all Peter Biskind there). To see such an approach taken with something which would seem so populist and low-brow as Rollerball is kind of remarkable (in the extras it’s semi-jokingly described as Last Year at Marienbad with game sequences*), and in many respects it’s quite refreshing to see genre material treated so seriously – and, in its vision of a world literally owned by corporations, a great deal of rings very true today.

So much of Rollerball is underplayed and drawn out almost to a fault, from the portentous opening scene, slowly showing the Rollerball arena coming to life to the tones of Bach’s  Toccata and Fugue in D minor, to the lengthy off-skates scenes following Jonathan E through his plush corporate lifestyle and his tentative attempts to peek behind the curtain at the ones really pulling the strings. I suppose the intent may have been that the few scenes of the game itself – there are only three games in the entire film, plus a few training scenes – would hit like a slap in the face, the abrupt change of pace and fairly brutal violence waking the audience up after so many sleepy scenes beforehand. I’m not sure it quite works, though. As skillfully performed and well constructed as it all is  – with a curiously European aesthetic, perhaps owing to it having been shot in the UK by noted British cinematographer Douglas Slocombe – to my mind it drags things out just that little bit too far. At almost 125 minutes Rollerball feels too long and languidly-paced, yet despite that length it still maybe doesn’t get as deeply into the nature of this corporate-owned world as we might like owing to its single-minded focus on Caan’s beleaguered, taciturn (semi-) hero. As relevant as the corporate focus remains today, there are still plenty of other dystopian sci-fi movies that explore similar themes in a similar way, arguably to more captivating effect. On top of which, I daresay some sports fans may take umbrage with the overriding notion that sports are merely an opiate of the masses, who only want it bigger, louder, faster and more aggressive.

Rollerball is a very good film, make no mistake – yet to my mind it’s just a little too clinical, too emotionally detached to really hit the mark. Still, existing fans will no doubt want to track down this Blu-ray edition from Arrow Video, because – as ever – it’s a great package, boasting a new interview with Caan, a pre-existing DVD documentary featuring Norman Jewison, writer William Harrison and other key players, and more; plus the film itself has never looked better.

And obviously, it’s at least 150% better than that remake. (Damn, did it again.)

Rollerball is out now on Blu-ray in the UK from Arrow Video.

* Must confess I’ve never actually seen Last Year at Marienbad, but I do remember the Blur music video To The End which paid homage to it, and that was suitable arty and obtuse.

By Matt Harries

Reader advisory: Moderate spoilers ahead. For a spoiler-free appraisal of Starry Eyes, see Ben’s review from Celluloid Screams 2014.

We live in an era obsessed with viral fame and hollow glory. The overwhelming desire to be seen, to be watched and admired by approving peers, is seemingly universal. Fame, or some reduction of it at least, is just a few mouse clicks away. Increasingly people are famous simply for being famous, spawning imitators who also desire to achieve this rarefied state. Of course most who try to scale this cloud-obscured peak fall away into nothingness, their names and faces and the desperate deeds they bent their backs to accomplish quite lost in the amnesiac black hole of the past. Still though, they climb, and fall, and climb and fall. Some reach their goal through talent or infamy. They join the legions of those referred to as ‘stars’; for as those of us firmly rooted to the earth gaze up, we see their names, their images, broadcast across screen and billboard. Is it the promise of some petty measure of immortality that drives people to find stardom? In a time when fame is less about what you do than how many people see you doing it, what the hell is fame anyway? Is it a kind of place to aspire to or a state of being? Starry Eyes puts its own grim twist on the story of how humanity pours itself into the void searching for these transient, nebulous things; fame and stardom.

One such seeker is Sarah. Her life’s dream is achieving Hollywood fame as an actress, and so she attends auditions, applies for more auditions, and supports herself through the unedifying means of working in the fast food industry. Her life is as clichéd as any in a town where, as Tater Tops boss Reggie puts it, “do you think you’re the only waitress I had who was destined for stardom?” Sarah struggles just like thousands of girls doubtless do, but she goes further than most in the way that she chooses to deal with her failures. She is a trichotillomaniac, that is, she habitually pulls her hair out, both as a means of releasing stress but also seemingly to punish herself. Her peer group does not make the cycle of audition and rejection any easier to deal with. Smug and self-obsessed, they question her choices and the roles she auditions for. But when she is asked to audition for Astraeus Pictures, a once successful but somewhat notorious studio, these comments increasingly seem borne of envy.

After an unsuccessful first reading for Astraeus, Sarah seems destined to join the great ranks of the rejected. In the toilet cubicle she erupts into hair pulling once again. Somehow this is noticed by the sinister Casting Director. It is in this moment of despair, frustration and anger that the transformative journey that makes up the bulk of the film really begins. “I want to see your fit,” intones the Casting Director. Returning to the audition room, Sarah attempts to rediscover the state she enters during her hair pulling moments, and induces what appears to be a seizure. Eventually, sensing something grotesquely promising, the shadowy Astraeus call her back. During the second audition, stood in darkness and bombarded by a huge flashing light, Sarah debases herself for the camera. As she writhes under the harsh, pounding glare of the light, exhorted to push herself further, we catch a glimpse of a different Sarah; black eyes, sharp teeth like a shark. The pounding flash illuminates a fleeting moment of almost orgiastic blood lust, gone just as quickly as it appeared. A chilling hint at what awaits her, should she find the will to undergo the necessary transformation.

Although ostensibly a tale of one young woman and the question of how far she would go to realise her dreams, Starry Eyes somehow seems to channel the collective experiences of the great morass of humanity that has struggled for recognition in the lands beneath that old wooden sign over the years. The running joke is that these young women and men that optimistically flock to Hollywood are chewed up and spat out into the less glamorous sister industries of pornography and advertising, while the chosen few rise above into a different plane of existence as ‘stars’. Starry Eyes turns these people, represented by Sarah, into unwitting victims of a kind of sinister cult. Heading this cult is the Producer himself, the very epitome of the honey tongued, walnut tanned veteran. He speaks to Sarah of the true focus of the picture for which she has been so strenuously been auditioning; not horror as such, but ambition: “the blackest of human desires”. “Cut through the fog of this town, and you get desperation”, he tells her. It is this desperation, this thing which drives the young and beautiful to push their physical and moral limits, which the Producer wishes to capture. But of course in order to prove she is ready he demands even more from Sarah; sex – her body the offering which will prove her devotion to him and his desire to transform her. I wonder how familiar a sacrifice this has been over the years?

The story of the ingénue corrupted by dark forces is not a new one. The comparison which jumped out at me was David Lynch’s classic of surrealist-noir Mulholland Drive. Like Sarah, Naomi Watts as Betty is sweet, idealistic and seemingly innocent. Like Betty, Sarah finds herself at an audition with a middle aged man resplendent of tan and with a somewhat sleazy countenance. Whereas Betty (or at least the initial incarnation of her) shows admirable adaptability to come through the difficult audition with flying colours, Sarah’s own trajectory is bound up with a hideous cycle of physical change, as she becomes further alienated from her shallow group of friends. The elements of body and transformative horror are painfully well observed. From her initial willowy beauty she becomes a repulsive figure; vomiting worms in the bath tub and leaking blood and other fluids. What this grisly journey represents is not clear – perhaps it is symbolic of the kind of pressures which drive attractive women throughout high profile entertainment to irrevocably alter themselves through surgical methods. Or perhaps it simply represents a sloughing off of normality, a necessary part of the transition into true stardom?

Indeed it is difficult not to view much of Sarah’s story as a metaphor. A metaphor for the process of selling oneself, of acceding to the wishes and desires of others to further their own ends; for the cynical and brutal way the dreams of the young are exploited by a shadowy elite. Starry Eyes chooses a ‘pay off’ for the story – namely the revealing of this elite in the form of the Astraeus cult, who seem to consist of wealthy looking white people, the demographic widely held to form the vast majority of the power players in mainstream cinema. Compare this to Mulholland Drive, which eschews such linear storytelling by utilising Lynch’s trademark multi-layered, multi-dimensional approach, which renders any attempt to apply allegory to proceedings virtually impossible. Which approach works best is open to personal preference, but I think the makers of Starry Eyes should be applauded for attempting to fully flesh out the story and not devolve into clunky surrealism – even if this means the film loses the ineffable sense of the mysterious that so marked Mulholland Drive.

There are plenty of noteworthy performances here, although quite rightly Alex Essoe will get the plaudits for a role which oscillates between wide eyed and Bambi-like to sinister and necrotic. I wonder how much of Essoe herself went into the role, how much of it was an amalgamation of generations of accumulated experience? Strong cameos from the likes of Maria Olsen, brilliantly sinister as the stony faced Casting Director, Louis Deszeran as the Producer, and Fabianne Therese as the bitchy Erin add much to what could easily have been a story of one girl’s nightmare, but which somehow becomes a much wider comment on an industry that thinks nothing of sacrificing its own flesh and blood.

All told, Starry Eyes is a real success story in an era of ever-diminishing returns in the horror world. Grim and gory, affecting and damning, it takes a scathing look at the dynamics of the ‘movie business’ and the ‘fame game’, as well as the cost of pursuing one’s dreams in a world dominated by a predatory elite. Well acted, well written and with a genuine shock appeal, it is surely a film to champion for all fans of the genre.

Starry Eyes is out now on Region 2 DVD from Metrodome.

By Quin

Early in The Cabining, a group of people are critiquing screenplays. Writing partners and friends, Todd and Bruce, are there to get feedback on the horror movie they are writing. The consensus in the group is that it sucks. One woman chimes in with, “Just because you chose a forgiving genre, doesn’t make it okay to ignore all of the elements of screenwriting.” Perhaps ironically, this is the smartest bit of wisdom this horror/comedy has to offer. The Cabining isn’t bad, but it’s not that good either. It’s pretty much just so-so; and for a horror/comedy it is definitely neither funny nor scary.

Todd and Bruce want to write a horror script, but they are both out of ideas. Bruce shows Todd a flyer for a writing retreat in a remote location where a bunch of writers are going to help each other and the setting is supposed to get the creative juices flowing. The place where they are going is called Shangri-la – a reference to a great novel by James Hilton as well as one of my favorite Frank Capra films. When they arrive, there isn’t really a whole lot of writing going on. It’s mostly just people talking about writing and name dropping F. Scott Fitzgerald and quoting Shakespeare. However, Bruce admits to having never written a single word. When another guest asks him if he has ever written poetry, prose, a journal or even a blog, he replies, “No, I’m more of an observer.” But we know Bruce is just not that bright. He looks over Todd’s shoulder while he types away at the computer and then later boasts about how he wrote a whole page last night.

Eventually, and after a lot of boring and unfunny conversations, the guests of Shangri-la start dying. This kicks off an extremely lackadaisical police investigation, which is supposed to be humorous, and the guests pretty much just calmly keep doing what they’re already doing – which is not writing. There is a death by banana peel; and that should tell you exactly what kind of comedy you are going to get in The Cabining. It’s the low hanging fruit jokes, but the actors (Except for Bo Keister, who plays Bruce) play it all straight. The fact that they mostly played it straight was one of the things I liked about the film. But Keister’s silly performance as the macho buffoon is jarring and throws pretty much every scene way off.

The minimal amount of gore there is in the film is actually really great; the conclusion of the banana peel accident is gruesome and realistic. Unfortunately, the gore and the horror in The Cabining are pretty sparse. I’m not exactly certain if the director Steve Kopera was trying to make it even a little scary, as there is no building of tension and everything that happens we’ve seen before and can spot a mile away. Sure, it’s primarily a comedy, but there are almost no sight gags, which separates this from things like the Scary Movie franchise. The jokes come with the plot elements that we recognize as horror archetypes and through the dialogue. Some of the most successful comedic moments come when someone says something abstractly silly, like, “Poor Lacey. She died like a unicorn.” Honestly, I think I laughed once and chuckled maybe two more times.

The best thing about The Cabining is certainly not the title. It’s actually the direction, cinematography, sound design and score. When the opening credits rolled, it looked like it was going to be another Asylum-like film, but The Cabining looks and sounds great. The main theme even vaguely references the theme from The Shining, which I’m certain was on purpose. Most of the acting isn’t too shabby either. Luce Rains as Jasper is incredible. He hardly speaks, but he is amusing with that look on his face. He’s too good for this film, and elevates every scene he is in. There is also one familiar face in the film: Richard Riehle, one of those actors who has been in everything, is in The Cabining for one scene. He plays the uncle of one of the lead guys and he is a potential financier for their film. But he’s cranky and doesn’t think they have any talent. He’s right.

If you are a horror fan, you’ll probably want to skip The Cabining. I would have to say that it’s horror/comedy for non-horror fans and for people who are easily amused. Too bad it’s so well-made. It would be so much easier for me to completely disregard it if it looked as cheap as it felt.

The Cabining is available now for digital download from Indican Pictures.