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Review by Ben Bussey

Dinosaurs are cool, aren’t they? Doesn’t it just beggar belief that these big Godzilla-type creatures that we’ve seen chasing hapless humans through jungles and cities in B-movies for time immemorial really did walk the earth once upon a time? That’s the real secret to the endless appeal of dinosaur movies, I think; that, however absurd the idea is, on some small level it’s credible that we could co-exist with these extraordinary creatures. (And with that sentence every scientist worth their salt is probably spitting their tea.) Of course, the operative word here is co-existence. The pleasure we take from the King Kongs, One Million Years BCs and Jurassic Parks is seeing human beings on the run from those big bastard lizards, hunting or being hunted; that’s exciting. Take away that human element, however, and what do you have left? You can either humanise your monsters in a cutesy way, and wind up being The Land Before Time or Disney’s Dinosaur; or you can play it straight and strive for scientific accuracy, and invariably end up with a nature show along the lines of the BBC’s Walking With Dinosaurs.

Or, if you do it with considerably poorer CGI, you wind up with this little oddity.

I’m rather confused by Dinotasia. My interest was picqued by the press release, bigging up the presence of Werner Herzog as narrator – and highlighting his description of the film as being “to Walking With Dinosaurs as The Wire was to Z-Cars” – and an endorsement from palaeontologist Mark Witton, proclaiming it “probably the closest I’ve seen to what we think dinosaurs really looked like.” The key problem – and I’m not being petty here – is that these dinosaurs look like they belong in a late 90s PC game. There’s a lot of talk about modern movies resembling overlong video games, but this is the only instance for me when, once the opening sequence ended, I really expected a menu page to come up inviting me to start playing. But no, there’ll be no Lara Croft dodging these dreary dinos. A shame, really. Proceedings would’ve been considerably enlivened if she’d been present, if only to run into walls occasionally and make that wonderful grunting noise.

Perhaps the sub-par visuals could have been overlooked if only there was any kind of interesting filmmaking going on, but there too Dinotasia falls flat. It’s perhaps a little surprising that the BBFC were happy to pass this with a PG, given there are a fair few bloody scrapes and heads bitten off, but I guess the classifiers felt these could overlooked given that even a small child wouldn’t mistake these things for real. Maybe there’s some passing amusement to be taken from Herzog’s narration, spewing melodramatic platitudes with the same kind of zombie-like indifference as Harrison Ford’s voiceover in Blade Runner, but that’s about it. Nature show lovers may dig it, but the rest of us – young and old alike – are almost certain to be bored out of our brains and wondering what on earth this film has done to get a DVD release, rather than just being buried in the listings of the Discovery channel where it really belongs.

Dinotasia is available on DVD, download and on demand on 27th August, from Revolver.

Review by Tristan Bishop

Vampires are a victim of their own success these days. The creatures of the night, once found holding entire Eastern European villages in terror under their cold grasp of fear, have recently found themselves cast in pretty boy lead roles in the equally loved-and-loathed genre of ‘supernatural romance’. This is undoubtedly good PR for bloodsuckers, but it means their cache with horror fans is somewhat less than it was in previous decades – after all, who in their right mind would take the insipid Edward from Twilight moping about over a girl 100 years his junior over Chris Lee as Dracula hypnotising virgins for lunch? Well, teenage girls, that’s who, but that isn’t really my point.

Which brings me to The Harsh Light Of Day – a low-budgeted British production which thankfully doesn’t fall in with Edward and his sparkling ilk. In fact it tries to do something original, mixing the traditional vampire story into a straightforward revenge film.

The plot as it stands concerns Daniel (Dan Richardson), a writer who has published a successful book on the occult, and his wife, who find themselves on the receiving end of a home invasion by three masked men which leaves the wife dead and Daniel a bitter alcoholic confined to a wheelchair. Police investigations have failed to identify the intruders (who all wore masks similar to the now iconic ones used in V For Vendetta), so Daniel finds himself at a dead end and unable to come to terms with the attack. Eventually an old contact (who we are lead to believe is an occult expert who helped on the aforementioned book) manages to get Daniel on the telephone, and offers to help him find some closure. When Daniel agrees, a strange young man called Infurnari (a very plummy performance by Giles Alderson, pictured above) appears at his front door and explains that he can help Daniel track down and deal with the killers, but it will require him to make some changes to Daniel himself…

Of course it’s no surprise whatsoever when Infurnari turns out to be one of the living dead, and Daniel is set to become a Nosferatu himself in order to deal out some bloodthirsty justice, whilst the killers themselves turn out to be a trio of destitute young men driven to making snuff videos for their sleazy boss in order to try and escape their dead-end lives.

So far so interesting – a hero who has to become inhuman to allow justice to be served, and somewhat sympathetic (or at least humanised) villains. As a revenge plot it’s got more going for it than, say, Michael Winner’s Death Wish (1974), which remains the archetype of the genre. Unfortunately the film stumbles from the beginning, betrayed by its low budget and the almost universally amateurish acting on display; some of the line delivery is so flat that I wondered if it was done on purpose. In fact the entire film has the feel of a British TV episode, albeit one with less acting talent than, say, Inspector Morse or Casualty.

To be fair to first-time feature director Oliver Milburn, he does display some directorial talent here. The use of camera effects and angles makes up for the obvious low budget in places, and there are scenes which transcend the film they are attached to: the scene where Daniel realises what he is becoming and tests out the various genre conventions (looking at his reflection in the mirror, placing a cross against his head, eating garlic) starts by being rather amusing, and then twists into something a lot darker as he cuts his hand, and, realising he can heal immediately, places the knife over his heart and considers driving it in. Also, the confrontation between Daniel and the killers plays out partly via images from the camcorder, mirroring the filmed murders they have already committed (and adding a little dose of the found footage genre). Daniel’s eventual mastery of his improved senses, which enable him to track down his prey, is also handled pretty well – and told almost entirely visually. Unfortunately these moments are few and far between, and, although the film runs just over 80 minutes (usually a massive plus in my book), it still manages to outstay its welcome. A bit of extra gore here and there may possibly have helped keep the target audience’s attention (there is some on display, but mostly brief, probably due to budgetary constraints).

In all it’s a real shame that The Harsh Light Of Day (great title, though, right?) is scuppered by budget and lack of acting talent, as I think the script shows some promise (it was actually written by Milburn when he was just 23 years old), as will Milburn as a director if he keeps focussing on the visual storytelling and perhaps gets some professional actors involved.

The Harsh Light Of Day will be released to Region 2 DVD on 1st October 2012 from Monster Pictures.

Review by Annie Riordan

Alma wants a baby.

Fine. Good. And why not? She’s young, she’s beautiful, she’s healthy, she seems to live a fairly affluent life in her native Sweden, happily ensconced in a relationship with Johan, her husband/boyfriend/whatever. They have everything BUT a living, breathing representation of their love. So they start trying…or at least Alma does. Johan doesn’t seem all that into it. He may not even be aware of Alma’s intentions, or he may feel as though Alma is simply using his penis as a sperm gun. His interest in being a father wanes, if it was ever there at all, and the distance between he and Alma grows, even after Alma announces that she’s pregnant.

But is she, really? Or has she simply entered a fantasy world of her own creation, slipping through a chink in her psyche where her madness is fertile, even if her womb is not? As time passes, Alma’s world gets darker and meaner, forcing her to confront the “dust box” that is herself, and what it may or may not contain.

This is Ronny Carlsson’s first straightforward “drama” film, but it absolutely reeks of horror in the dankest, most subterranean sense of the word: dark, secret, foetid and shameful. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: Ronny doesn’t make “scary” films, he makes deeply fucking disturbing films. Dare I call them “art” films, stripped of all pretentiousness? Yeah, I think I will. This IS art, and it’s the most mature effort yet from Carlsson, who has already developed a signature style and only gets better with every effort. His unique mark is all over this film, as if after shooting it, he steeped it first in sorrow and baby’s tears before beginning the final editing process.

The score ranges from beautifully sorrowful to jarringly distorted. The lack of dialogue is actually welcome, although a monologue delivered by Alma late in the film proves that Carlsson can write if he chooses to, and writes well. But Dust Box – as with his other films – speaks best and most voluminously when saying nothing at all. The cinematography ranges from stark and gritty to bright and golden. Several shots actually had me sitting there with my jaw dropped open in awe. The blood is minimal, but it comes when it should and makes its point without being superfluous. And the one true moment of horror, crafted by Marcus Koch, is almost too well done. I won’t spoil the film by revealing what it is, but it’s the jewel in the crown here.

A lot of you know that Ronny is a friend of mine. A lot of you may think that this friendship influences my opinion of his films. A lot of you would be wrong in making that assumption. Ronny has always asked me to be totally and utterly, mercilessly honest when reviewing his films, and I always have been. If I pride myself on anything, it’s on giving honest reviews. Sometimes I think Ronny WANTS me to rip one of his films apart and give it a scathingly negative review…and if any of them had earned one, I would have. Goddamned sadomasochistic Scandinavians, get a sun lamp and deal with it already!

The simple truth of the matter is that I like his films. I think he has enormous talent. And I thought Dust Box was his most vividly gorgeous film yet. It’s not easy for a man to make a film about what goes on in the mind of a woman, and it’s not easy for anyone to make a film with a crew of 6 and a limited budget. Carlsson pulled off both, and “Dust Box” has more than earned its good review.

The film’s official release is still up in the air. In the meantime, you can keep track of its progress on your choice of sites:

http://www.filmbizarro.com/

http://www.filmbizarro.com/dustbox

http://filmbizarroproductions.blogspot.com/

http://www.facebook.com/pages/Dust-Box/182366858480025

When you get an opportunity to watch it, do so. You’d be seriously remiss not to.

Review by Keri O’Shea

Editor’s note: this is a repost of Keri’s review from last year’s Dead By Dawn fest. As Harold’s Going Stiff is on limited theatrical release in the UK this week, we thought we’d share it again and hopefully inspire you to go see it.

Zombies have been used as a metaphor for a range of things over the years: they’ve represented mindless labour, consumerism, contagion, but never, to my knowledge, has zombieism been used as a metaphor for ageing. In the charming, understated British indie movie Harold’s Going Stiff, that’s just what we get.

The film is framed as a ‘mockumentary’, with the filmmakers examining the emergence of a perplexing new condition affecting British men and, in particular, how this condition affects an elderly man called Harold Gimble. And why? Well, it all started with Harold. A few months ago, he started getting pain and stiffness in his joints that went above and beyond the effects of old age: as he explains, he couldn’t dig his garden anymore, and cutting a piece of cake to go with his nice pot of tea was sheer agony. After many unpleasant medical tests and much deliberation, doctors proclaimed that Harold was suffering from a totally new disease. They named it Onset Rigors Disease – or O.R.D. for short – and before long it seemed to be affecting others too. When it affects other men however, they degenerate rapidly until they don’t know their own families and even become violent. These guys seem like, well, zombies, and some concerned members of the community are now meeting this violence with (ham-fisted) vigilantism. Meanwhile Harold is trying to get on with his life, but as he lives alone, things are tough, and although his condition seems stable, it’s not getting any better.

To try and give him back some of his lost mobility, the local health service sends Howard a nurse, Penny (Sarah Spencer). She’s trained in massage techniques which it is hoped will help get Howard moving again. Penny is a warm, considerate woman who forms a close bond with her patient: she’s also very lonely herself, and Harold becomes as important to her as she does to him. As more sufferers of O.R.D keep appearing, the medical team who diagnosed Harold’s condition have to ask him if he’ll help them with more tests as they search for a cure, and Penny insists on being there to support him.

What unfolds is a humorous, often affecting tale. It’s worth establishing this, though: if you’re hoping for another Shaun of the Dead then this is not it. It has a similar self-deprecating British humour and it’s definitely funny, but otherwise completely different in tone. This isn’t a gory zom-com but a character-driven story which easily manages to flip from moments of laugh-out-loud physical comedy to real pathos, and when I say pathos, I mean that many audience members at the Dead by Dawn festival where I saw the film (including myself, if I’m honest) were moved to tears. Director/writer Keith Wright knows when to change tack, though, and to give the audience something lighter. The group of vigilantes who have made it their mission to attack any aggressive O.R.D sufferers they see give us a real comedy of errors during their earliest scenes, and there’s plenty of humour to be found in the rest of the film too.

The only potential problem I foresee for this film is that it doesn’t sit comfortably in any one genre. It draws on elements of horror, but it’s in no way a straightforward horror. It’s often comedic, but probably sits outside the comedy genre as well. This genre-straddling means that it might struggle to find its audience and that would be a real shame. Also, the beautiful South Yorkshire setting comes with some broad South Yorkshire accents which many people will struggle with! I’ve lived in Yorkshire for years and I had to pause for thought, so our friends on the other side of the pond may well have problems.

Ultimately, Harold’s Going Stiff plays out the anxiety surrounding ageing in a bittersweet, engaging story, as embodied by professional actors and non-actors who really make you care about their characters. It’s no small thing to craft a film which tugs on the heartstrings as successfully as this one does, and it’s proof that you don’t need a huge budget to make a good indie.

Harold’s Going Stiff is out in limited UK cinemas tomorrow from Frisson Film, and on Region 2 DVD from 24th September via High Fliers Films.

Review by Ben Bussey

I’m going to come right out and say it: I’m really not a sports fan. Generally speaking, that’s not too unusual for a film geek, is it? Ball games, athletics; you name it, I’m not a fan of it (beyond a very casual interest in martial arts and extreme sports). This being the case, you can imagine my apathy about the Olympics, currently taking place in my homeland’s capital and dominating the airwaves worldwide. And if I’m apathetic about the Olympics now, how likely am I to care about an Olympic-themed film made eighteen years ago?

However – if it’s an Olympic-themed film from the director of Stallone’s Nighthawks and Seagal’s Hard to Kill, in which the baddies are Neo-Nazis led by David Soul, and the hero is Dolph Lundgren…? Okay, you’ve got my attention. Anchor Bay picked their release date well, with the Olympics underway and The Expendables 2 on the horizon (also a factor in the release of their upcoming Chuck Norris titles, and the Randy Couture vehicle Hijacked).

When our story begins, Germany is still divided into East and West, and our hero Eric Brognar (Dolph) is a pentathlete on the East German Olympic team coached by the ruthless Heinrich Mueller (David Soul). Passionate about his sport but less enthusiastic about his life under the Stasi, Eric plots a daring escape, and after taking home the gold at the 1988 Olympics in Seoul he flees with his newfound American buddies to a new life in the US. A couple of years down the line the Berlin Wall falls (footage of Hasslehoff singing atop the wall is absent, sadly), and Eric has sunk into poverty and alcoholism. It isn’t too long before he gets back in the game though, once his boss and AA sponsor John Creese (Roger E Mosley – alas, not the Cobra Kai guy) discovers his past and gets him in training. However, Mueller is also back in the game, not as an athletics coach but as a Neo-Nazi terrorist leader, and unsurprisingly Eric is high on his most wanted list.

Now, to again just come out and say it (though I may live to regret that choice of words), I’ve got a bit of a thing about Dolph. Call it a man-crush if you will; it is what it is. I’m sure we can all agree he’s a fine specimen of manhood, not only for his physical gifts but also his mental prowess, said to have an IQ of near-genius level… not that this has ever been confirmed, or that his films would lend much credibility to the notion, Pentathlon included. Every bit as strange and silly as it sounds, it’s on the one hand a standard sports film but peppered with 80s action movie characteristics. While it may attempt to seriously tackle the complex politics of Post-Berlin Wall Germany and the struggles facing political refugees in the US, it’s far more at ease in less challenging territory: i.e., Dolph running, swimming, fighting and so forth. As ever, he’s buff as buggery (again, perhaps not my best choice of words) and spends an inordinate amount of time in clingy vests and tightie whities. In his very first scene he’s Speedo-clad and about to commence a swimming event as a commentator makes reference to his “long and powerful strokes.” Say no more.

As loathe as I am to refer to any a film as a “check your brain at the door” affair, that pretty much is the case here. While it may be in danger of taking itself a little too seriously, this is still very much an 80s-style movie (you’d be forgiven for thinking it was made way ealier than 1994), and as such it’s aiming for simple populist entertainment, which it comfortably delivers. About the only other thing I might add is how utterly perplexed I am that the BBFC felt the need to slap it with an 18 certificate, as opposed to the far more appropriate 15 predicted in the cover art above; for while there are enough F-bombs dropped to stop this being family friendly, the violence isn’t far above 12/PG-13 level for the most part. I dunno, maybe the classifiers were alarmed by the abundance of shots that linger lovingly on Dolph’s package; but hey, that never stopped them giving a U rating to Labyrinth…

Pentathlon is out on Region 2 DVD and Blu-Ray on 30th July, from Anchor Bay.

Review by Ben Bussey

“Poor old Job,” as is remarked more than once in this film. That famously upbeat book of the Bible is a common point of reference here, centring as it does on a good man whose existence is turned into a living hell as the ultimate test of his faith in God. I gather the lesson we’re supposed to learn here – assuming we don’t take it to be that the man upstairs is a ruthless, unfeeling bastard – is that we must stay strong in the face of even the harshest adversity in order to earn the eternal bliss of the hereafter. And I daresay that’s not a lesson lost on horror fans. We too must endure endless abominations, suffer through hours of tedious, incompetent filmmaking in search of the rare glimpses of celluloid heaven which the genre can afford us. Sometimes, the torture is sufficient to make even the most heartfelt genre devotee renounce their faith.

So, I hear you ask, which side of the equation does The Reverend fall? How best to put it… I struggle to see this film converting many to the cause of British independent horror. It may aspire to the heavenly, but it lands a little south of that.

To synopsise: a young, newly-qualified Reverend (Stuart Brennan) is assigned a parish in what seems to be a quiet village. However, what he doesn’t know is that he is the centrepiece of a mysterious high stakes game between two unnamed men in positions of power, one clad all in white (Giovanni Lombardo Radice), one all in black (Rutger Hauer); gold star for the first reader to suss out who they’re meant to be. The Reverend is to be subject to a test, similar in spirit to that of Job but somewhat different in practice. For starters – I’m no Bible scholar, but I’m fairly sure Job didn’t have a foxy lady (Marcia Do Valles) show up on his doorstep scantily clad and dripping wet, and not long thereafter find her teeth in his neck. Unsurprisingly, the Reverend soon finds himself with a thirst for blood, yet his thirst for God’s will is not abated. After befriending prostitute Tracy (Emily Booth), the Reverend realises things are not quite so idyllic as they seem in his parish, and that most of the blame for this falls on the local Mr Big, a pub landlord named Hicks (Tamer Hassan). Another gold star to the first reader to correctly guess how the Reverend opts to make use of his new-found lethal superpowers.

It’s not a bad premise at all; films that feature men of the cloth in lead roles are few and far between, and can potentially make for fascinating viewing, particularly when a very literal battle between good and evil is on the table. It was also a savvy move to litter the cast with cult film heavyweights, from the aforementioned Radice and Hauer (both of whom appear only in the first five minutes, so disregard Hauer’s prominence in the cover art above) to Doug Bradley’s marginally bigger cameo as the Reverend’s superior. But really, the star of the show is the largely unknown Stuart Brennan, also the film’s producer. He’s a good fit for the entirely wholesome, down-to-earth Reverend who suddenly finds himself in a world of weirdness, and while he may not command the same iconic status as some of his co-stars he does a good job commanding the viewer’s sympathy.

So far, not so bad, then. But the real problem with The Reverend is a lack of focus, the blame for which must surely be attributed to writer-director Neil Jones. There’s just too much going on here, with the deluge of bit-parts, and subplots that crop up only to go nowhere. Then there’s the problem that so much of what we do have lapses into cliche. I mean, at this point do we really need another scene of the central character researching vampires, and if so does it have to be in a bloody internet cafe? He’s a Reverend, for crying out loud; couldn’t he be delving through some musty old church archive in a nice crypt, rather than sitting at a computer using a rather unconvincing fictitious search engine? On which note, it would’ve helped if the local newspaper which pops up once or twice didn’t look like it had been whipped up on a PC. Particularly in a fairly low budget, DV-shot production such as this, these little details really do count, and can hurt the film’s credibility.

Given that the film seems to be striving for dark and edgy, Emily Booth’s character Tracy doesn’t particularly help. As most of the bigger names in the film are single scene cameos, it did come as a bit of a surprise to find that she in fact has one of the main recurring parts, and it’s ostensibly quite far removed from the sleazier, cheesier roles she’s (sort of) known for; and really, it may have been too big a stretch. Given the film’s frequent allusions to the Biblical, it’s no surprise they wanted a Mary Magdalene figure, but why make her also the host of a Goth film club? Correct me if I’m wrong, but do many prostitutes also tend to organise cult film societies? Seems rather a concession made to the actress’s real life persona (at present she’s the face of the UK’s Horror Channel). Some of her scenes are clearly aiming for harsh realism, in particular a confrontation with her pimp (a strange yet suitably nasty cameo from soap star Shane Richie), but they just ring hollow; not so bad as to prompt unintentional laughter, but nowhere near as effective as the film needs them to be.

Truly, I wish I could be singing The Reverend’s praises without reservation. It’s been too long since I’ve seen a low-budget British horror that really got me excited, and while The Reverend is certainly trying a great deal harder than some genre efforts that have come out of my homeland of late (coughStrippersvsWerewolvesahem) it still doesn’t come close to living up to Britain’s horror movie heritage. Oh well; much like Job, we suffer on.

The Reverend is out in limited UK cinemas on 3rd August, then Region 2 DVD on 6th August, from Metrodome.

Review by Ben Bussey

We all know his name. We know that he doesn’t sleep, he waits; we know that if he goes in the water he doesn’t get wet, the water gets him; we know that if you Google him on the right day you’ll get no results because you don’t find him, he finds you. But just where did this legend begin? How did Chuck Norris come to be venerated by nerds and hipsters worldwide as a god among men (however great an anathema that notion might be to his ultra-conservative fundamentalist Christian self)? Well, if we’re being entirely objective, it’s not unreasonable to say that before Chuck Norris came along there was arguably no other American movie star quite like him. Whereas before your average Hollywood actor might have done a bit of training for a fighter role and most likely hired a double for the especially rough and tough stuff, ol’ Chuck got into the movies primarily on the basis of his martial arts prowess. Factor in his military service and there was clear potential for action movie performances of great verisimilitude, and the fact that his big break in film came doing battle with Bruce Lee in The Way of the Dragon certainly didn’t hurt. But what of the real backbone of the Chuck Norris legend; the series of films from the late 70s to the early 90s in which he took top billing..?

Well, as much fun as it might be to do a full career assessment of His Chuckness, all the way up to his role in the upcoming Expendables sequel (which of course has played no small part in Anchor Bay choosing to release these films now), that’s not the job that befalls me today. Right now, my focal point is two of Chuck’s first leading roles for the gloriously-named American Cinema Releasing: 1979’s A Force of One and 1980’s The Octagon. And putting all hipster-nerd irony to one side, it really must be said that these are… well… fucking awful films. Really, really bad. Inept on so many levels. Ham-fisted melodramas with appalling acting, dreadful dialogue, and pathetic plots. Of course, none of that need suggest that there isn’t any fun to be had…

Of the two, I daresay A Force of One offers the most paracinematic comedy value. Chuck stars as Matt Logan, a karate champion who is asked for help by the police after a couple of undercover narcs are murdered by a martial arts master. Not that they realise this straight away, mind you. They sit in a room and talk about it first, for what seems like a lifetime. Then when they find Chuck (I suppose I should really call him Matt, but come on, he’s Chuck), they talk about it with him for what seems an even longer time, and it’s made especially interminable as – particularly this early in his career – talking with people on camera really isn’t Chuck’s strong point. Anyway, once Chuck/Matt finds out drugs are all over the streets he gets very grumpy indeed. We know this because he goes and hits a punchbag with a glum expression, whilst images of drugs flash up on screen intermittently. So he agrees to help the cops, starts training them in self-defence, and inexplicably becomes part of the investigation, whilst matters continue to move verrry slowwwly…

Yes, as you may have ascertained A Force of One is an extraordinarily dull film, feeling at least twenty minutes overlong even though it clocks in at a perfectly respectable hour and a half. As befits any good bad movie, the cast actually boasts some fairly respectable actors, including Jennifer ‘Scanners’ O’Neill, Ron ‘Superfly’ O’Neal, and Clu ‘It’s not a bad question, Burt!’ Gulager. Given the dumbness and lack of pace it’s hard to believe it was written by Ernest Tidyman, the screenwriter behind The French Connection and High Plains Drifter. Goes to show what a difference a director makes, I suppose; Aaron Paul clearly isn’t another Friedkin or Eastwood.

The Octagon makes for a more efficient effort overall, though not by an especially great margin. It’s a more interesting set-up straight away, dealing with terrorists being trained as ninjas; and naturally, only one man can stop them. This time he’s a karate champ called Scott James. Yes, another simple, manly name for basically the exact same character. Really, it’s beyond me why they didn’t just dispense with the pleasantries and refer to him by his given name, like they wound up doing with Jackie Chan. Well anyway, in case you’re wondering the octagon of the title refers neither to a mixed-martial arts ring nor Brian Fantana’s penis, but rather a mighty wooden arena in which the ninjas are trained, and where Chuck/Scott has his final showdown with the disgraced ninja he once called brother. And from that point on, it’s pretty cool. Shame it takes over an hour and a bit to get there.

Oh-h-h, and-d-d another-ther-ther thing-ing-ing about -out-out The-e-e Octagon-on-on. Throughout-out-out the-e-e film-ilm-ilm we-e-e hear-ear-ear Chuck’s-uck’s-uck’s whispered-ispered-isperd inner-ner-ner monologue-logue-logue through-ough-ough an-n-n echoplex-ex-ex. Which-ich-ich is-s-s every-ry-ry bit-it-it as-s-s annoying-oying-oying as-s-s reading-ding-ding this-is-is paragraph-aragrpah-aragraph.

Okay, okay, I know what some of you are saying; it doesn’t matter that everything else is crap, the fight scenes are awesome, right? Well, again I suppose we have to consider the time these films were made. Nowadays we expect our movie cops to have mastered at least one martial art, so it’s weird seeing the cops in A Force of One being completely ignorant of karate, decrying it as crap or hooey or some such dismissive term. As martial arts overall were not quite so prevalent in the popular consciousness at the time, the fight scenes probably were a revelation to some early 80s audiences. However, more than three decades later – the intervening years having seen, amongst others, Jackie Chan, Jet Li, Tony Jaa, The Matrix, Bourne, and most recently The Raid – it has to be said the fisticuffs on show here just don’t impress as much as they might have before. Now I’m not questioning the Chuckster’s prowess, Heaven forbid; the real problem is that the directors he worked with just didn’t know quite how to capture the action on film. Again, A Force of One is the worst offender: watch the opening karate match and it’s glaringly obvious that not a single blow actually connects.

Those with a heightened sense of ironic detachment will no doubt revel in the inanity of these films, but I can only take so much of that “so bad it’s good” smugness and the joke wore thin pretty quick here. I will say, though, that I wouldn’t be singing so cruel a tune if DVDs of Invasion USA and/or the Missing In Action trilogy had come through my door; Chuck really had his badass routine down by the time he did those gleefully sadistic Cannon classics. I might say he’d really evolved as an actor by then, except that as we all know, there is no such thing as evolution; only a list of creatures Chuck Norris allows to live. Etc, etc, ad infinitum.

A Force of One and The Octagon are released to Region 2 DVD and Blu-ray on 6th August, from Anchor Bay.

Review by Nia Edwards-Behi

I don’t think I’ve ever watched an American ‘TV movie’. I’m sure there are plenty of good ones, but I have a preconception in my mind that I associate with the phrase ‘TV movie’ that is less than complimentary. It conjures up bad lighting, melodramatic acting and illogical plot lines. Dark Mirror is not technically a TV movie, but boy, does it feel like one by my definition.

An inexplicably middle class couple and their young son move into a new house (bored yet?), and soon the mother, Deborah, starts to see strange things happening in the mirrors and windows. She’s a photographer, and soon her camera starts to act strangely, and she gets to have plenty of ‘I know it sounds crazy but…’ scenes. Cue some terrible lens-flare effects and some almost comedically conspicuous scenes of exposition, and you have got one very boring haunted house film on your hands.

Conceptually, Dark Mirror is actually quite interesting. The film makes reference to a Chinese belief that spirits can be held within glass, and the windows of this particular house have, er, Chinese glass in them. So, there are some nice ideas: the spirit in question travels through the different panes of glass in the house, with the ability to manipulate what is seen through the windows, and consequently is able to use Deborah’s camera as, in effect, a weapon. The trouble is, these ideas seem to have been side-lined in an attempt at fulfilling a checklist of ‘what our audience will probably want from this sort of film’-type plot twists and attempted jump scares.

The trouble with the film is that it’s distinctly anaemic. Horrendous murders are taking place, yet all we get are frustrating cut-aways and half-hearted climactic flashbacks. Slightly less anaemic is the tremendously hammy acting. Lisa Vidal as Deborah is adequately competent, for the most part, but those around her are slightly less so, particularly in the moments of high-drama that, in actuality, call for some restraint. Having said that, though, there’s maybe some charm to be had in possibly the worst child acting this side of Fulci. Though the film is full of stock characters (frustrated career woman! sort-of neglectful husband!), some secondary characters come across as full-on caricature, particularly wannabe actress/model/singer next door neighbour, Tammy, who is baffling cartoonish.

I did watch the behind-the-scenes featurette that’s included on this DVD, and, having done so, I’m a little more sympathetic toward the film. This is a first feature, made on a low budget, and with that in mind it becomes something of a ‘nice try’ of a film. The ideas are there, the fleeting moments of talent are there, they’re just swamped somewhat by the limitations of low budget filmmaking. In the featurette the producer states that, due to some funding being lost, some 30 pages worth of script had to be cut. Perhaps this explains the uneven pacing, the underdeveloped characters and the skimming over of certain ideas or plot points. There are some nice moments to be had in the film, and in fact that climax comes together relatively nicely. Ultimately, this isn’t a terrible film, by any stretch, and it does offer some nice moments, some nice ideas. Unfortunately, it just doesn’t come together to be as genuinely frightening, or profound, or simply as entertaining as it could have been.

Dark Mirror is on Region 2 DVD on 30th July from Arrow Films. For another take on the film (not much more positive), here’s Annie’s review from 2009.

Review by Ben Bussey

Just what are we to do if the price of petrol – oh, alright non-British readers, we can call it gas (even though it’s clearly a liquid) – keeps on rising? Some might say it was time to give the electric car a go, but this memo obviously didn’t reach the little corner of the US which serves as home for teacher and inventor Archie Andrews (Mike Brune). With gasoline prices – ah, so it’s an abbreviation – having risen to so astronomical a level that no one can afford to drive anymore, Archie thinks he has hit upon a solution that is not only cost-effective but also fits in with his vegan lifestyle: converting his old car to run on wheatgrass juice. Unfortunately things have not been going to plan, and the engine persists in rejecting the new fuel. But all that changes when Archie happens upon the missing ingredient to make it work: I should hope you don’t need three guesses to figure out what that ingredient might be…

There’s nothing too unusual about a microbudget indie horror movie getting a DVD release after having been in the can five years; generally speaking, it turns out that the film in question is a piece of crap. However, that is most definitely not the case with Blood Car. An oddball mix of sex comedy, splatter movie and topical satire, this cheap and cheerful flick from director/co-writer Alex Orr is one of the better comedy horror films I’ve seen to date in 2012, not quite dethroning Juan of the Dead as my pick of the year thus far, but not falling too far short.

In the vein of the best exploitation, Orr and co have taken some of the big issues troubling the youth of today – in this case economic, ecological and ethical – and used them as a springboard for a weird story beefed up with plenty of gratuitous sex and violence. Mike Brune’s stereotypically awkward sensitive indie boy Archie, with his abundance of T-shirts bearing eco-friendly slogans and his brown corduroy jacket with elbow patches, is a character that wouldn’t be out of place in a Wes Anderson film. A great deal of the movie is spent following him around, watching his crisis of conscience as he struggles with the implications of his discovery, and how it clashes with his worldview. The challenges facing those who embrace the vegan philosophy in a society that loves eating dead things are emphasised in a very pointed and theatrical fashion – would I be alienating readers if I used the term Brechtian? (Pun intended, Brecht fans) – given that Archie’s affections are torn between two women who work at makeshift snack booths directly opposite one another. On one side we have nerdy vegan booth attendant Lorraine (Anna Chlumsky), and on the other the promiscuous meat booth attendant Denise (an amusingly vampish and bitchy turn from Katie Rowlett).

It’s not hard to read the symbolism here: veganism/pacifism/eco-friendly living = good, meat-eating/violence/combustion engines = bad… but oh so very tempting. In no time Archie has temptations everywhere he looks. See, much as how the one-eyed man is king in the land of the blind or however the proverb goes, in the land without drivers the guy with the car has every girl in the vicinity screaming to get into his pants. Realising that the DVD horror audience might not be entirely satisfied with Wes Anderson-isms, Orr had the good sense to pepper the film with vulgarities aplenty, from a fair few good old-fashioned gratuitous tit shots to several fleeting glimpses of perverse bedroom practices. One hand-drawn doodle that shows up early on earns the 18 certificate on its own.

Somehow this seems an appropriate moment to address one of the key novelty sales points in Blood Car’s arsenal: the presence of Anna Chlumsky, star of the My Girl movies, all grown up. For the benefit of those among us hoping this might be a Poison Ivy/Embrace of the Vampire scenario, I’ll just come out and say it: no, this particular former child star does not have any nude scenes in this particular film. Sorry to have to disappoint you. However, she does give a thoroughly entertaining performance as the ditzy Lorraine, whose shy and awkward exterior hides the pent-up oestrogen of a would-be sexpot. She’s very cute and funny, and a pleasure to watch even without exposing her Chlumskies.

As a raunchy and slightly surreal comedy then, Blood Car hits the spot. There’s a very punky aesthetic at play, with agreeably anti-authoritarian overtones; I haven’t yet mentioned the numerous shady government agents monitoring Archie’s activities, who give us some of the most amusing scenes. A bigger question mark hangs over whether gorehounds will be entirely satisfied. Despite its presence in the title, the red stuff is a tad underemphasised amidst all the weirdness and raunchiness, and one or two key gags aside the gore FX are nothing too special: but, as I’m sure you’ll be happy to hear, there’s none of that crappy CG blood. In any case this is a minor complaint. Blood Car packs enough genuine wit and ingenuity to really stand apart in the microbudget horror field, and it’s well worth checking out. It’s just a shame that it’s taken this long to reach DVD, and that Alex Orr has yet to direct another feature. Here’s hoping that changes soon.

Blood Car is released to Region 2 DVD and VOD on 23rd July, from Left Films.

Review by Dustin Hall

Rites of Spring starts off with great promise. Text crawls over the screen, speaking of the eerie regularity of which young girls in this rural area are kidnapped and then never recovered. Cue creepy old Midwestern homes in deserted fields, accompanied by excellent and equally creepy music. Our heroines share some girl-talk in a nigh deserted bar, lamenting the end of school and the journey they face out into the real world. But, hey, at least the blonde was valedictorian. Out at the car, something unexpected is waiting for them. There is a shifting of shadows, the sounds of muffled screams, a bit of blood, a wet thud, and the slamming of a car door. Title.

Rites is a first feature-length project for director Padraig Reynolds, and for a first timer, he shows a lot of promise. The film looks good, sounds good, has a lot of great tension building, and while the blood and gore is fairly limited, its presentation was real enough to actually illicit some real cringes. It doesn’t LOOK like a first film, and its worth appreciating that fact. Also working the film’s side is the addition of Anessa Ramsey and AJ Bowen to the film. Both of these talents were in the awesome indie release, The Signal, and Bowen also had a role in the popular House of the Devil. Anessa works well as the screen beauty, but doesn’t have the typical barbie girl look of your average leading lady; both of them are very likable in their roles.

Toss in a bit of full-frontal nudity, and all the pieces are in place for a pretty damn good horror flick, though Rites doesn’t quite live up to early expectations. The part that will either make or break this film for you comes entirely from script, and that it is essentially two stories in one. The two tales don’t really meld together until about half way through the picture, and there’s a lot of head-scratching from the audience waiting for them to finally collide. When they do finally come together, too, its not through some brilliant twist or subtle plot thread, but through sheer coincidence. Whether that’s excusable or not is entirely up to the individual.

So, obviously, our heroine is the blond valedictorian who is kidnapped at the movie’s get-go. This half of the film is pretty straight-forward, is well done, and provides the most compelling half of the film. Little new is offered, the girl and her friend are tied up by a crazy old lunatic, who tortures them a bit, strips one nekkid, and mumbles some cryptic things like ‘can’t stop what’s comin’, ‘gotta be clean’, and other scary bits you’d expect in a film with the word ‘Rite’ in the title. While we’re never entirely sure of what’s going on, Reynolds does a great job of keeping it tense, feeding off of that ambiguity, and Ramsey’s reactions to the blades and the blood lend credence to the experience.

Meanwhile, the other half of the film focuses on a quartet of kidnappers who plan to heist a little girl from a wealthy family, and ransom her for a couple million bucks. Caught in the midst of this plot is AJ Bowen, who is suffering from the pangs of a guilty conscience, and plays protector for the nabbed child. Of course, there are conspiracies and back-stabbings, and all the other good elements of heist movie…

But none of that matters because HOLY SHIT, HERE COMES WORMFACE! Yes, Wormface, the lovable, deformed, axe-wielding demon and/or mutant guy who is the real villain of the piece. Move over, kidnappers! I don’t know who, or what, this guy is exactly, but he looks pretty cool and he kills people. And kill is just what he does when the kidnappers get just a little too close to his lair, which is where our kidnapped girls have been patiently waiting to do something other than get bled and scream. And thus, we have the rather clumsy joining of our two stories.

Now, this may or may not work for you in viewing the movie, the way the two stories seem so separate, and then so suddenly join together. Some will love it, almost harkening back to From Dusk Till Dawn, but in this case it lacks the organic flow of the storytelling. There is still a long, long period of time spent developing a family to get kidnapped from, a betrayal, a mexican stand-off, and more. And while I love when a horror movie develops its characters and subplots, it’s still pretty jarring to have all these crime drama plots dead-end so suddenly with “this guy gets axed to death”. There are a lot of questions left unanswered, though the ‘net buzz from festivals says that there may be sequels planned to address these dangling threads.

Despite these faults, there is a lot of quality work on display in Rites of Spring. The production value is there, the cast is doing good, you’ve got a cool looking mutant guy, it just lacks the coherent script to make it great. Sequels planned or not, a first chapter in a story needs to stand on its own, really. But, still, its worth a look. There’s been plenty of positive buzz coming out of screenings of this movie, so it has its audience, and if nothing else it shows that Reynolds is a competent director who knows how to make his horror look good. I’ve certainly seen worse. Oh, God, I’ve seen so much worse. Though Rites might not stand out as a must-see, you certainly won’t regret your time spent watching.

Rites of Spring comes to limited US theaters and VOD on July 27th, from IFC.