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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.

Review by Nia Edwards-Behi

It was only relatively recently that I saw The Night Porter for the first time. It was a couple of years ago that I first watched Joseph Losey’s The Servant, and found myself being truly blown away by Dirk Bogarde’s performance. I knew of The Night Porter, but if Bogarde’s performance was one dot as good as in The Servant, I knew I had to finally see the film as soon as possible. A friend lent me the DVD, excitedly exclaiming how much he loved the film, and soon as I’d watched it, I was exclaiming the same.

The Night Porter is an uneasy sort of film. Synopsising it in any way inevitably undersells it. Essentially, though, the film is a love story. Max (Dirk Bogarde), a hotel night porter, reencounters a woman from his past, Lucia (Charlotte Rampling), who is staying with her husband at the hotel. They rekindle the strange relationship they once had, a past that is shown to us via flashbacks. What marks The Night Porter out from other such films is the context of that past relationship: Max was the SS officer in charge of the concentration camp which held Lucia prisoner, and their relationship was far from normal. As the play of power, control and sado-masochism is rekindled between them, the past impacts the present in increasingly difficult ways.

The most famous scene in The Night Porter sees Lucia sing provocatively for the camp guards, dressed only in the trousers, braces, hat and gloves of an SS uniform. The scene itself is part-flashback, part-metaphor, part-story-within-a-story, as Max uses the anecdote to demonstrate that he and Lucia’s love is not romantic, but biblical. The scene retells the story of Salome, with Max rewarding Lucia’s dance with the severed head of a fellow prisoner who tormented her. It’s a magnificently crafted scene that serves to encapsulate much of the film’s appeal. The film, though, is so much more than one striking sequence, even if it is a sequence that seems to have provided the imagery for probably every poster and video or DVD cover to date.

Much of the film’s success lies with Bogarde and Rampling. Their performances here are subtle, intricate and most of all convincing. Max and Lucia’s love story is a difficult one to invest in, and in the wrong hands could certainly seem gratuitous, or meaningless, or downright wrong. Instead what could be one of the creepiest relationships in screen history is rendered genuine and somehow – bafflingly! – affectionate. While there’s no doubting that Max and Lucia’s love for each other comes from a dark, troubling, and ultimately reprehensible place, there’s also no doubting their genuine, twisted and unavoidable attraction to each other. Their reunion is not one that comes from nowhere, either. They see each other, and avoid each other, and yet, we see whenever Lucia hides or moves away from Max, she looks disappointed in herself, or in him. Rampling is truly remarkable in showing so much emotion in such a cold, calculated performance. When Max speaks of his past in such a controlled manner – see how he carefully wipes a café table in front of himself as he speaks – it’s only inevitable that his restraint will slip and his behaviour become erratic, verging on hysterical. The shifts in tone from Bogarde as Max are equally as controlled, as he goes from menacing to amused to panicked in seconds. The two powerhouse performances at the centre of the film are as impressive as they are expected.

You might wonder why this film’s being reviewed on a website such as Brutal as Hell. Well, I’ll give you one word: Salò. The two films are comparable for more reasons than simply their country of origin. Both explore World War Two in a particularly interesting way. These are war films, make no mistake, even if the war is well over. The poison of war, of regimes, lingers in the air and in these people we encounter. Some scenes in The Night Porter are incredibly reminiscent of Salò – the Salome scene included – as the decadence of fascism ruins people, kills people. The indulgences in The Night Porter are both self-preserving and self-destructive in the same vile bodies that hide their pasts while seeking to relive it. This dissonance, this pervasive sense of contradiction, is truly horrific. Regardless – if the last scene of The Night Porter doesn’t sum up ‘brutal’, I don’t know what does.

For some, perhaps The Night Porter is a dated film. The shocks just aren’t there any more, or the context might seem a little too unreal. For me, however, the film is surely as vital and as powerful as it ever was. The Blu-ray transfer of the film is glorious, to boot, though it’s a pity that the extras are only available on the DVD version. Nevertheless, give The Night Porter a chance, and it might just take your breath away.

The Night Porter is released to region 2 DVD and Blu-ray on 30th July, from Anchor Bay.

Review by Ben Bussey

Man, films like this frustrate me like no other.

Okay, I suppose I should elaborate on that. My point is, just look at this for a premise: in the late days of World War II, the Nazis utilise time travel, flying saucers and oversized killer robot spiders to claim victory, and it falls to one small unit of mismatched American roughnecks to stop them. Sounds like it’s got fun written through it like a stick of rock, doesn’t it? Don’t know what there is in the air, what with this and Iron Sky – not to mention Dead Snow and Outpost a few years back, the latter of which has a sequel out soon – but Nazis have become a real favourite in pulp genre cinema of late (and I’ve no doubt there are more such movies that I’m forgetting). The problem tends to be that while the presence of ghoulish goose-steppers can provide a killer hook, often things don’t get far beyond that, and once the Nazi novelty has worn off the steam runs dry pretty damn quick. This was true of Outpost, and sad to say it’s also very true of The 25th Reich. That which had the potential to be a hugely entertaining hour and a a half turns out to be for the most point an exercise in tedium; hence my frustration.

Based on the novella 50,000 Years To Tomorrow by JJ Solomon (neither a book nor a writer with whom I’m familiar), the action follows five US soldiers who, at the height of wartime, find themselves in the Australian bush hunting two escaped pumas. Yep. Well, that’s their official mission anyway, so no wonder it hums of bullshit. There’s also the matter of some big, strange machine they’ve been instructed to drag out into the bush with them. It’s a long, hard trek, providing plenty of time for the men to swap manly stories; of course, each and every one of them has their secrets and lies. And of course, the biggest secret and lie is the true purpose of their mission, and once that comes to light things get a bit peculiar.

The key problem with director Stephen Amis’s film (co-written by the director, actor Serge De Nardo and David Richardson) is that it clearly has novelty on its side and fails to use it to its full advantage. Taking a premise as absurd as this and playing it as straight as The 25th Reich does strikes me as a pretty self-defeating gesture. The film is also nowhere near as epic in scale as the premise might suggest; aside from a few prologue and epilogue scenes, for the most part this is literally just five guys in the outback. Without too big a budget for special effects – be warned, the trailer below gives away the bulk of the money shots, and with it most of the surprises – Amis and co. do their best to make the most of what they have at their disposal, in particular the always impressive Australian landscape (saving grace of a great many lacklustre genre efforts, like the recent Primal and Long Weekend), and the cast. Alas, a major thorn in The 25th Reich’s side is the fact that this is an Australian production with – Jim Knobeloch’s Captain aside – a native cast playing American characters, and the accents are for the most part very shaky indeed. Perhaps if things had been played more for laughs this might not have been too great an issue, but as it stands it really undermines the whole enterprise.

To be fair, there are a few agreeably outlandish moments which under different circumstances might have helped the film live up to its potential – one particular climactic confrontation between Jim Knobeloch and a robot spider stands out in that regard – but I’m afraid by that point it’s too little too late. The 25th Reich just isn’t anywhere near as entertaining as it should have been. I haven’t seen Iron Sky yet, but I’m told it’s a good one; it’d better be more fun than this, otherwise it might be time we dump the Nazis back in the history books where they belong.

The 25th Reich is released to Region 2 DVD and Blu-Ray on 16th July.

Review by Ben Bussey

First things first: ignore the title and cover art. Regardless of what the European distributors would have you believe, this is not a film about Jean-Claude Van Damme; he is a side figure at most in this narrative. Instead, this film is about the man on whom the movie Bloodsport was based, pictured above with filmmaker Jesse Barrett-Mills: Canadian martial artist Frank Dux (hence the original title Put Up Your Dux, which gives a clue as to how the man’s surname is pronounced). However, whilst this may be a documentary, you may well find that it forces you to suspend your disbelief every bit as much as one of Van Damme’s high-kicking testosterone fests, if not moreso. See, here’s the thing: prior to getting into the film industry, we are told Frank Dux was trained to the highest levels of Ninjitsu by Japanese masters, and went on to become a Black Ops agent for the CIA undertaking all manner of incredible heroic feats, before becoming the first westerner to win an elusive, no holds barred fighting tournament called the Kumite. As to how much evidence there is for of all this, beyond the words of Dux himself; aye, there’s the rub…

The temptation is there to spend most of this review listing Dux’s many extravagant claims and debating their credibility, but there are plenty of other places where this has already been done online (here, for instance). In my position as reviewer, my primary concern is not the veracity of the subject’s claims, but rather how well the subject is presented by the filmmaker. And it must be said, the efforts of Jesse Barrett-Mills leave a great deal to be desired here. On a basic technical level the film is a major disappointment. Sure, we can excuse the fact that the archive footage comes mainly from battered old VHS copies, but the new interview footage is also subpar, crudely shot on DV with very poor sound and picture quality (all of which makes it a curious decision to release the film in 3D). Then, of course, there is the question of balance. Of course it’s by no means unheard of for a documentary to be biased in favour of its subject – that’s certainly been the case for a great many of my favourite documentaries of recent years, like Jake West’s Video Nasties and Jason Paul Collum’s Screaming in High Heels –  but in this instance, given the outlandish nature of Dux’s claims and the lack of proof for most of them, I think it would have helped to give a bit more screentime to the naysayers, or maybe even have Dux discuss the matter with them face to face.

The other key problem is Dux himself. If it is hoped that this documentary will give his side, and thereby boost his credibility and public sympathy, the man does himself few favours here. Not to get too psychoanalytical about it, but his insistence on wearing sunglasses for the bulk of his interview time adds to his inscrutibility and – well – makes him come off a bit of a dick. Attempts are made to make him seem casual: take the moment when, by chance, the sound of a nearby ice-cream truck interrupts an interview, at which he proposes they go get ice cream; or another long interview which takes place as Dux is shaving. Perhaps the idea is to show the ‘real’ Frank Dux with his guard down, but it all comes off about as natural as those ridiculous home video diaries David Cameron used to do while running for Prime Minister. No, that is not a flattering point of reference.

As for Van Damme’s role in all this; one of the key story elements is Dux’s relationship with the Muscles from Brussels and how it all went sour. Again, I won’t go into specifics here, but it’s no great surprise that the film doesn’t paint the kindest picture of Van Damme; it’s also no surprise that, outside of archive footage, Van Damme himself does not appear, having apparently ignored interview requests.

Followers of Dux and his escapades will no doubt be interested, but it doesn’t seem too likely that the film will win him many new fans. Could he be on the level? As unlikely as I find it, I will concede that it’s possible. Is that slim chance reason enough to take what he says at face value? I think not; but they are certainly entertaining stories nonetheless. Under any title, Put Up Your Dux/JCVD Bloodsport – The True Story makes for at least a diverting hour in front of the TV. It may have been intended to cement a legend, but instead it plays like The Foot Fist Way for real, and no doubt many will find comedy value here.

JCVD Bloodsport – the True Story is released to Region 2 DVD, Blu-Ray and 3D Blu-Ray on 9th July, from Los Banditos Films.

Review by Stephanie Scaife

Directed by William Friedkin and adapted for the screen by Pulitzer Prize winning playwright Tracy Letts from his stage play of the same name, Killer Joe is a sleazy, sun soaked neo-noir. Full of pitch black humour, Killer Joe twists and turns its way towards an almost unbelievably sadistic finale that is literally unlike anything you’ve ever seen before, and has subsequently and inevitably earned it the plaudit of an NC-17 rating by the MPAA (for “graphic disturbing content”). Even at 76 years of age Friedkin has proven that he has still got what it takes to get the censor’s panties in a twist.

In a decrepit trailer park on the outskirts of Dallas, Texas we are introduced to Chris (Emile Hirsch), a motor-mouthed small time dealer who has gotten himself in a whole bunch of trouble with a local gang of disreputable sorts that he owes a considerable amount of money to. His solution to this predicament is to off his alcoholic mother and pocket her substantial life insurance policy. Along with his deadbeat father Ansel (Thomas Haden Church) and his step-mom Sharla (the always fantastic Gina Gershon) Chris cooks up a plan that centres on hiring local DPD Detective Joe Cooper, known as “Killer Joe” due to the fact that he moonlights as a hit-man. Things quickly go south when Chris is unable to make the $25,000 payment upfront… that is unless Joe is given a retainer – the possession of Chris’ fragile younger sister Dottie (Juno Temple). Chris is somewhat reluctant, due to his own quasi-incestuous feelings towards Dottie, but ultimately his life is on the line and he sees no other option but to agree.

That’s when things start to unravel in some of the most unexpected ways, not least in Dottie’s precocious understanding of exactly what everyone is up to but also her surprising affection towards Joe. Their relationship is both disturbing and tender – she says to him a couple of times, “your eyes hurt” as he stares unblinking, utterly taken by this beautiful, doll-like ingénue. As a whole the cast all turn in terrific performances here, but Temple is truly a revelation as Dottie going to places that many young actresses wouldn’t dare, and her bravery certainly pays off because I defy anyone not to be as captivated by her as Joe is.

Of course the plan falls through and nobody fares particularly well in the end, least of all Sharla, who in a now infamous scene is forced at gunpoint to do something unspeakable with a piece of fried chicken. Some seem to have taken exception to this scene, and in fact the final third of the film where it becomes progressively more violent, nasty and degrading. However, I do not agree with the naysayers. Instead I think what keeps this treading over the line (and believe me, it certainly comes very close indeed) is the pitch perfect black humour, particularly from Church as the gormless Ansel, along with the strong performances from the cast and some tight direction from Friedkin.

I’ve read a lot of comparisons where Killer Joe is likened to Michael Winterbottom’s The Killer Inside Me (another film that I admired very much) and where this definitely steps into Jim Thompson levels of nastiness it’s an otherwise superficial comparison. Yes, Joe is probably only one step down the sociopath ladder from Lou Ford, but where The Killer Inside Me was a very serious foray into transgression, Killer Joe is far more fun and I found myself leaving the cinema with a wry smile. This is undoubtedly Friedkin’s best film since 1985’s To Live and Die in LA (although his previous collaboration with Letts, Bug, is an interesting if flawed exercise in paranoia). I will admit to having a particular weakness towards this kind of gleefully sadistic southern gothic fare, but I would strongly recommend seeking this out.

Killer Joe is currently on release in the UK and is due a limited release in the US on 27 July.

Review by Ben Bussey

Mild spoilers ahead…

I’m in the curious position of being introduced to the work of filmmaker Monthon Arayangkoon in reverse order. Having first seen the Thai writer/director’s most recent film, 2007’s The House, when MVM released it to DVD recently, it now falls upon me to assess his sophomore effort, 2006’s The Victim (AKA Phii khon pen). Incidentally, I see that his first film, 2004’s Garuda, is a daikaiju, and as I’m pretty sure I’ve never seen one of those from Thailand I’d definitely be curious to see that; certainly more curious than I was approaching The Victim. Having been underwhelmed by Arayangkoon’s more recent take on the ghost story, I should hope I can be forgiven for having even lower expectations of his earlier venture into essentially the same territory. As it turns out, The Victim is, to its credit, a more inventive ghost story, with an intriguing premise and some unforeseen twists. Even so, like The House it wrings the set-up dry of juice long before the credits roll, meaning that what might have been a perfectly agreeable, atmospheric chiller winds up drowning in its own tedium.

It starts out like this: young wannabe actress Ting (Pitchanart Sakakorn) is taking drama classes, learning about getting into character, finding her motivation and all that crap. A rather fortuitous mention of this tidbit within earshot of local police Lieutenant Te (Kiradej Ketakinta) lands her a job in crime scene re-enactments for the media. Rapes, muggings, murders: every young starlet’s dream, really. Anxious for the work but also wary of insulting the recently departed, Ting approaches each new ‘role’ with the utmost seriousness and respect, even saying a prayer and lighting incense for the victims after every shoot. You wouldn’t think such jobs would be hotly contended, but Ting is especially eager to land one specific role: that of recently murdered movie star Meen (Apasiri Nitibhon). However, it seems Ting’s dedication to her work is having unexpected side-effects: the ghosts of those she has portrayed are starting to contact her from the other side. And when she finally gets her, ahem, dream role of Meen, things are only going to get weirder.

So far, not so bad; an actress being haunted by the characters she plays is a nice idea, and makes for a few reasonably eerie sequences which don’t rely too heavily on the prevalent 2000s J-horror model. Unfortunately, everything around it falls rather flat, not least the central protagonist. The thing about Ting is – well – she’s crap. There’s always a question mark watching a film in a foreign language as to how much might be lost in translation, but Sakakorn comes off really feeble and unconvincing. This being the case, her rise to success as an actress is very hard to swallow indeed; we have multiple instances of fellow actors and onlookers getting uncontrollably emotional at her performances, which I challenge anyone not to burst out laughing at. Again, maybe I’m losing something in translation, maybe Arayangkoon intended these scenes to be funny, but that’s not the impression I get. To use what is rarely a flattering point of reference, I was reminded of Showgirls; how everyone keeps going on about what how much amazing natural dancing ability Elizabeth Berkley has, but when we actually see her doing it she looks like a giraffe having an epileptic fit.

The suspense sequences have much the same problem as Ting: they never know when enough is enough. Okay, it’s relatively creepy the first time you see someone walk alone down a dark, empty, silent corridor, their footsteps echoing around the tiled walls, whilst indistinct shapes lurk in the shadows waiting to reach out and grab; but keep doing the same schtick over and over and it’s going to get tiresome. It’s the same mistake Arayangkoon would make again in The House. I haven’t done the math but I wouldn’t be surprised if at least fifteen minutes of screentime in both films consisted of nothing more than people walking along hallways in silence. I guess it’s a post-Sixth Sense, less-is-more philosophy in action, and a good representation of how that shit got old fast.

Speaking of Sixth Sense, one thing I’ve avoided mentioning thus far is that The Victim has a fairly dramatic twist in the tale. As I generally prefer to avoid major spoilers, I’m not going to give the game away here, but it’s one of From Dusk Till Dawn or Martyrs proportions; not in the sense that it involves vampires or perpetual torture, but that it sees the film change direction in a sudden way, which you’re unlikely to see coming. In the case of The Victim, though, whilst the twist may in concept change everything, in practice it changes nothing. The context is different, but the style and framework is absolutely the same, and it does very little to relieve the boredom.

Based on what I’ve seen, Monthon Arayangkoon is a director with a strong stylistic eye but not the strongest dramatic judgement, yet clearly with the potential to produce really good work. However, it would seem since The House that he’s moved away from writing and directing, his most recent work having been as producer on a couple of Thai rom-coms. Part of me says that’s no big loss; the rest of me feels disappointed for what might have been. Two good-looking, half-decent horror movies is better than some filmmakers manage, and if he could only learn to write decent female protagonists and realise that long, uneventful silences do not automatically create suspense, there might be a good film in him yet. Assuming he didn’t peak with Garuda, of course.

The Victim is released to Region 2 DVD on 6th August, from MVM.

Review by Nia Edwards-Behi

I knew very little about Storage 24 before going to see it this evening. I knew it starred Noel Clarke, whose films I don’t tend to go see, and that it was directed by Johannes Roberts, whose films I (foolishly) have yet to make the effort to go back and watch. I was actually at the event that first screened F, but, due to the joys of living in the middle of nowhere, had to leave to catch a train just before the screening. Gah! Enough of that. I also knew this film had something to do with aliens, and presumably, some storage. The actual premise of the film is deceptively, but mercifully simple: a group of people are trapped in a large storage unit – with a crash-landed alien monster. What the film actually delivers is some wonderful atmosphere, humour and human characterisation, all wrapped within this very familiar situation.

We see the alien very early on. Oh, I thought. Has this film played its cards too soon? As it turns out, no, because it made no difference whatsoever to the film’s tension or its scares, and I’m not sure it would matter at all, in fact, what the alien itself looked like. The horror of the film consisted mostly, for me, of the fun sort of jump scares. Not those cynical, weak jump scares that make me resent a whole film, but rather those wonderfully crafted sequences that are so full of tension that I almost have to laugh as release; those sequences where I know full well that something is coming but I still jump a mile out of my skin. There were a few of those for me. My friends who were with me, and the lady in the row in front and I think the kids in the back row, all squeaked, jumped and giggled throughout the film and in all the right places. Having said that, the design of the alien itself is fabulous, all dripping grossness and ridiculous appendages, and boasts some nice practical effects. All this tension is wonderfully directed by Roberts, whose camera goes everywhere. It’s fluid as it clambers over the storage facility, and intrusive as it hones in the eyes of doomed characters.

The strength of the film – and I realise I’m probably repeating something I’ve said very often – lies not in its jumps, but in its wonderful characters. The main group of people trapped by this creature are young and annoying, yet are somehow relatable. They’re annoying because they’re flawed, not because they’re badly written. Key to this group is Noel Clarke’s central character, Charlie, who is infinitely sympathetic, somehow counter balancing the other characters. Slightly dim, at first sight, and slightly annoying, maybe, he brings a great deal of humour to the film, despite having been dumped by his girlfriend and trapped in the storage facility with her and two of her friends as they try to sort through their possessions. He’s there with his best friend, Mark (played wonderfully by Colin O’Donoghue, a role that would clearly be taken by Fassbender in bigger production), who slowly unravels as one of the film’s more multi-faceted characters. The dynamic of this group works wonderfully, with Charlie always acting as pivot between them. As secrets are revealed the film risks turning soap opera, but this aspect of the film is well-balanced with the alien-invasion action.

Special mention has to go to the film’s soundtrack. It’s a real throwback to shoddier sci-films, and brings a great cohesion to the sense of fun that’s to be had in the film. It nicely crystallises the two sides to the film – on the one hand, it’s very aware of its generic roots, and pays great homage to them, while at the same time offering a degree of genuine humour (you laugh with the film, not at it) that never once seems out of place. I genuinely laughed out loud at some moments of absolute silliness, and it’s testament to the precise nature of the film that it sustains its tension alongside, and not against, that playfulness.

I hope lots of people go watch Storage 24. It’s nice to have a British genre film in cinemas that is genuinely well-crafted as well as being genuinely fun. Johannes Roberts will be continuing onwards and upwards, I think… now excuse me while I finally go buy the rest of his films.

Storage 24 is on general release in Britain now. Click here to read Keri’s recent interview with Johannes Roberts.

Review by Stephanie Scaife

I first saw The Innkeepers at FrightFest last year, and was thrilled that Ti West had lived up to my expectations with his follow up to the fantastically creepy The House of the Devil (2009). I was keen to revisit it on DVD and see if it played just as well second time round. It’s definitely a film that works best on a first viewing but there is still much to admire upon repeat viewing.

If there’s one benefit that arose from the technical problems Spielberg had with Bruce the shark in Jaws, it’s that we’ve learned that the less you see on screen the more frightening something can be, because what your mind conjures up on its own is often worse than the reality; something that 90% of filmmakers currently churning out horror films should probably pay more attention to. However, Ti West is the current master of the slow build, something which seems to polarise audiences – you either love it or get extremely bored. I fall into the former category and relish the opportunity to find myself actually empathising and caring about characters in a genre film, where more often than not they can be treated as nothing more than cannon fodder, and experiencing some genuine scares.

With The Innkeepers we spend a lot of time getting to know Claire (Sara Paxton) and Luke (Pat Healy), two slackers working at the Yankee Pedlar Inn in Torrington, Connecticut. The film takes place during the last weekend before the Inn closes. Claire and Luke are the only two members of staff working that weekend and they are determined to find proof that the Inn is haunted before it closes its doors for good. One of the things I like best about The Innkeepers is the relationship between Claire and Luke; they’re utterly convincing as they joke around and goof off with relatable naturalistic dialogue that is funny and real, again something that is often times alien in a genre with a tendency rely on clunky, exposition heavy dialogue.

The Innkeepers is sort of like a mumblecore (but without the pretention) ghost story that actually delivers a few decent tense and spooky moments as it progresses towards its devastating climax. What’s key here is that West takes a believable situation with likeable characters and adds a supernatural element that is shocking, and because it’s so grounded in reality it becomes all that more believable. Kelly McGillis also pops up in a small but effective role as Leanne Rease-Jones, an actor turned psychic who may or may not know more about the Inn and its history than she initially lets on.

As mentioned, this is a slow burner that rewards the patience of the viewer. Initially it seems like a quirky rom-com but ever so gradually you begin to realise that there is something far more sinister going on, and what West delivers in the final 20 minutes is definitely shocking. I would say that although I enjoyed it the second time around it didn’t deliver as much of a punch in the gut as it did upon initial viewing, so if you haven’t see The Innkeepers yet then I’d encourage you to see it knowing as little as possible about the plot, so I won’t spoil anything here.

If The Innkeepers and The House of the Devil are anything to go by then I’m certain that we can expect great things from West in the future. He has a very unique style and old school approach to filmmaking that is a breath of fresh air in the horror genre where so many releases are formulaic, or rehashes and remakes of better films. So do yourself a favour and forget about the likes of Insidious and Paranormal Activity 3; The Innkeepers is where it’s at if you want a genuinely spooky ghost story that delivers the frights along with credible writing, acting and direction. I will say one thing though, what is up with that dire UK DVD artwork? It really does the film no favours whatsoever.

The Innkeepers is out now on Region 2 DVD, Blu-Ray and VOD from Metrodome.

Review by Ben Bussey

Yes. Yes. Yes.

Okay, pardon my Meg Ryan moment, but I assure you it’s warranted. Films like Absentia are the very reason us nerdy web-critics get into writing these reviews; the reason we invite distributors and PR agents to flood our letterboxes with screener DVDs for films that we’ve heard little or nothing about; the reason we exalt independent filmmaking. That position is often sorely tested, believe you me. So many microbudget features from unknown and/or relatively inexperienced filmmakers turn out to be so worthless and incompetent that we come to dread the arrival of the screener we’ve never heard of, automatically expecting the worst.

But those rare occasions when we find on the doormat a DVD which leaves us asking why we hadn’t heard of it already – those are moments to cherish. So it is with writer/director Mike Flanagan’s Absentia. It’s digitally shot with no big names and not much money, but everything about it radiates professionalism, and even a hint of real innovation. It’s truly one of the most unique and sophisticated horror films I’ve seen all year, enough to put most recent genre releases to shame.

Recovering drug addict Callie (Katie Parker) comes to stay with her sister Tricia (Courtney Bell), marking the first time the two have seen each other in some time. And a rough time it has been, as seven years earlier Tricia’s husband Daniel disappeared without a trace. With no explanation of where he has gone or why, whether he is alive or dead, Tricia has naturally tried to move on with her life; she’s even pregnant, though she’s reticent to let Callie know anything about the father. With her sister’s support, Tricia has decided it’s finally time to declare Daniel dead in absentia. But as they get to filling in the paperwork and boxing up artefacts from the marriage, Tricia finds herself experiencing visions, waking nightmares of a phantom figure. Perhaps these are just the psychological manifestations of residual guilt, but perhaps not, as Callie too has been seeing strange things, mostly in the tunnel nearby; a frail figure (Doug Jones) who’s there one moment, gone the next, and scurrying, insect-like noises…

From the premise, you might anticipate something reminiscent of J-horror; or from the hints of something insect-related (and, of course, the presence of Doug Jones), the influence of Guillermo del Toro might be apparent. These are both valid points of reference, but somehow Absentia really does stand apart as something quite distinct and different. A big part of what makes it so refreshing in the climate of modern low-budget horror is that it sets out to tell an interesting story in an understated fashion, and is successful in doing so. That might seem like faint praise, but it really isn’t. So many contemporary genre efforts have similar aspirations, but fall short through poor casting, writing and direction, and concessions to expectation. Absentia succeeds in that it places character and drama first, and has actors more than up to the task. Cheap thrills and shock tactics are cast aside in favour of real emotional content, which can of course be so much more unnerving when done well – as it most certainly is here. Katie Parker and Courtney Bell (the latter having been actually pregnant at the time of shooting) more than convince as sisters, with the standard melange of love, shared experience and mistrust that goes with that territory. Neither their performances nor Flanagan’s script try to spell everything out for us in black and white, leaving a great deal left unsaid and crediting the viewer with enough intelligence to fill in the blanks. This goes not only for their relationship, but also the circumstances under which Daniel disappeared, and the nature of the phenomena both sisters encounter. Like vintage Stephen King, Absentia allows us plenty of time to get to know the characters and get invested in their lives, and only then does it start to throw the weird shit into the mix.

As for just what this weird shit is; again, the film does not spell it all out in black and white. No special effects film, this, and while the presence of the supernatural is strongly hinted, a great deal of what occurs is left open to interpretation. Indeed, a predominant theme in the film seems to be the ways in which individual viewpoints affect our interpretations of events. Tricia doubts her visions as her therapist tells her they are simply products of her own subconscious; Callie, meanwhile, is not always deemed a reliable witness because of her drug history. Religion also rears its head, with Buddhist Tricia meditating on freedom from earthly attachment, whilst born-again Christian Callie prays to Mother Mary to help her get her shit together (her words; Callie’s, that is, not Mary’s). The straight-laced voice of reason comes from Ryan Mallory (Dave Levine), the cop assigned to Daniel’s disappearance. As to which, if any of these perspectives are correct, in the film, as in life, there are no clear-cut definitive answers. Maybe I’m getting ahead of myself here, but I can’t help pondering whether the film’s core motif of the tunnel might not be a nod to the concept of reality tunnels, coined by Timothy Leary and drawn upon by Robert Anton Wilson; the notion that we all exist within our own individual ‘tunnels’ based on our own experiences and beliefs, and that these invariably narrow our line of sight, twisting ‘reality’ to our own worldview regardless of whether we intend it to do so.

Anyway, sidestepping such philosophical notions, Absentia shouldn’t just stand to reaffirm the potential of modern indie horror filmmaking; it may also serve as a very good advert for Kickstarter. The crowdfunding website has risen in prominence of late – for example, it was utilised to help complete Screaming In High Heels (to which, in the interests of disclosure, I myself contributed) – but opinions are divided on its merits. In this instance, I’d say it was definitely money well pledged, Absentia having reputedly raised over a third of its budget through Kickstarter. I must say, in these days of ten-minute end credit sequences that are 75% CG animators, it’s really quite refreshing to see a film with barely a minute of end credits, a good portion of which is taken up listing the names of all the Kickstarter contributors.

Biggest credit of all must of course go to Mike Flanagan. As writer, director, producer and editor, he and his comparatively tiny crew have put together a film that is as aesthetically pleasing as it is personally involving. It may not be to all tastes, given the slow-burn pace and the absence of gore and titilation, but it really is a film that stands apart from most modern horror, skillfully and artfully made, surely boding well for Flanagan’s future career. I gather he and his team already have a few more productions in the works, and I very much look forward to hearing more about them. Here’s hoping for many more unexpected gems like this one.

Absentia is released to Region 2 DVD on 9th July, from Second Sight Entertainment.

Review by Dustin Hall

Four score and seven years ago, our fathers brought forth on this continent, a new movie, conceived as high entertainment, but doomed to mediocrity. Not all films are created equal.

Based on the novel of the same name by Seth Grahame-Smith, Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter is one of those movies that, for no adequately explained reason, Hollywood finds so damn hard to to make and make well. Part of the problem seems to be from the genre mash-up, while other problems stem from the film’s script, and a number of deviations taken from the lauded source material.

The core of the story is still generally in-tact from the literary roots. Abe Lincoln (Benjamin Walker) grows and learns about vampires along with the audience, after the death of his mother in one’s foul clutches. He befriends another vampire, Henry (Dominic Cooper), who hates his own kind and trains Abe how to combat them. Ultimately, Abe’s vamp hunting and political trail both come together, when vampires conspire with the South during the Civil War, hoping to keep slavery alive in hopes that they can continue to purchase humans for their own consumption.

So, while that basic framework from the novel is there, many of the details have been changed to make the story more ‘movie-like’ or ‘xtreme’ or some such buzzwords. The subtle way that Lincoln comes to turn abolitionist is gone, in favor of a lot of goofy, heavy-handed whipping scenes witnessed by young Abe accompanied by hack-kneed catch phrases. Much of Abe’s political career is gone, including some maneuvers very important to the anti-vampire movement. The vampires are all evil, hissing, faceless baddies, the exposition machine Edgar Allen Poe is missing, and the ending has been truncated, made completely toothless. The script managed to take a humorous, clever, nuanced book and turn it into a kung-fu axe movie with vampire trappings.

That still wouldn’t kill the movie, if only the many disparate attitudes of the film weren’t so poorly handled. The title alone, Abe Lincoln: Vampire Hunter, evokes humor. Yet somehow every attempt at a joke falls completely flat. If anything in the film garners laughs, it’s the attempts the film tries to make at drama. Even moments that could have been serious and heart-felt, like the death of Abe’s son William (Spoiler, I guess, if you haven’t read a lot of history books), fall into smirk-inducing disarray as Mrs. Lincoln punctuates her tears with limp-wristed slaps before running off-screen like a drama-school drop-out. If the movie wasn’t going to try to be a subtle or clever comedy, then surely it should have tried to be an extremely over-the-top exploitation type of film. Abe and ex-slave William could have gotten quite a bloody, sexy, quippy KKK-vampire hunt going in this film, something to the tune of Django Unchained, but alas, Timur Bekmambetov is no Tarantino.

So, all that leaves with us is the action, but even that turns out flat. Sure, its cool at first to see Abe whipping around an axe like nobody’s business, but with a few notable exceptions, there’s not much to see I haven’t gotten from any number of kung-fu movies before it. If the story isn’t up to par, the action falls flat. It wasn’t long into the movie before I was lulled by indifference into a waking coma, lost in the dark with a packed screening audience, all of us deathly quiet. Numb… so numb. If it weren’t for my love of Rufus Sewel (Dark City), who plays Adam, the oldest of vampires, I would have had very little reason to endure to the end. 

Something really fun and great could have come out of Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter, but instead we get a movie that isn’t really funny, or dramatic, or exciting, and certainly not scary. It just kind of…is. Neither a good adaptation of the novel, or a solid stand-alone, this is the summer’s biggest dropped ball, for sure.

Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter is on general release in the UK now, and the US from Friday, from 20th Century Fox.