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Review by Ben Bussey

First things first: given that this film was made in 2010, I’m sure we’ll all agree it’s a wee bit silly for it to be sold in the west as A Better Tomorrow 2012 – or worse, A Better Tomorrow 2K12 (yeesh, has anyone said ‘2K’ in the last twelve years, outside of when Strange Days is on TV?) On top of which, it’s rather misleading how prominently John Woo’s name and credits are plastered all over the cover art (see below), given he only holds the always-dubious credit of executive producer here. Then again, a great many will undoubtedly feel that it’s an inherently dumb move to remake A Better Tomorrow at all. Woo’s 1986 film with Ti Lung, Leslie Cheung and Chow Yun-Fat (itself a remake of 1967 film Ying xiong ben se, which I must admit I was unaware of until researching this review) was the film that started Woo off to becoming arguably the greatest action director of the era, establishing many of his trademarks: massive shoot-outs with an operatic/balletic quality; themes of honour, rivalry, and the unspoken kinship of cop and criminal; and, of course, Chow Yun-Fat wearing a trenchcoat, chewing a matchstick and firing two Beretta 9mms at the same time. Even so, while the film got the ball rolling for Woo, there’s plenty about it that leaves room for improvement. There’s an almost childish simplicity to the exposition, and – a common problem with Woo, and HK action in general – overbearing sentimentality souring proceedings.

If Hae-sung Song’s remake addressed these problems with Woo’s film whilst retaining its strengths, then beyond a bit of the old been-there/done-that we’d surely have very little to complain about. Unfortunately, all the remake of A Better Tomorrow manages to do is exacerbate the problems of the original, overcomplicating the narrative and under-emphasising the action, resulting in a slow, tedious film in which the adrenaline-fuelled appeal of the original is almost entirely absent.

Things start interestingly enough, as for the bulk of the first thirty minutes you’d be forgiven for not realising it was a remake at all. For starters, the action is uprooted from Hong Kong to South Korea; bear in mind the original was made before the handover of Hong Kong to China, and as we all know nowadays absolutely nothing bad has ever or can ever happen under Chinese rule EVER. (Aaaaand with that one sentence Brutal As Hell is now banned in China, assuming we weren’t already.) Rather than kicking off with a young rookie cop unaware of his big brother’s life of crime, we have two brothers separated trying to flee across the border from North Korea; as big bro Hyuk (Jin-mo Ju) makes it big in the criminal underworld with best buddy Lee Young-chun (Seung-heon Song) – they’re arms dealers, rather than money counterfeiters as in the original – little bro Chul (Kang-woo Kim) languishes in a border prison. But Hyuk certainly hasn’t forgotten his kid brother, is guilt-ridden over the shame of leaving him and their mother behind, and has spent years trying to track Chul down. Alas, when he finally manages to do so it’s far from a tender reunion. Chul hates his brother, holding him accountable for their mother’s death. No matter, for their reconciliation won’t last long; betrayed by inexperienced gangster Jung (Han-sun Jo), Hyuk soon has no choice but to surrender to the cops. Three years later, he’s a free man and keen to go straight, and Chul is rising through the ranks as a police officer, investigating the very criminal underworld which Hyuk and Young-chun used to be at the forefront of.

To give Hae-sung’s film its dues, many of its deviations from the original are entirely sensible. I can’t imagine anyone will mourn the absence of the young cop’s girlfriend, who provided nothing more than lame comic relief. It’s also fair to say that Woo’s dialogue scenes tended to leave a bit to be desired (assuming we can’t blame that on the subtitles). Alas, where the original peppered outstanding action sequences with laboured melodrama, here we have almost nothing but talk, all delivered at a painfully slow pace in an overbearingly solemn fashion. The comparatively few action scenes, while by no means bad, only serve to remind how ground-breaking Woo’s action was, especially in the key moments that are recreated from the original. Yes, as with so many remakes, in the moments that directly mirror its predecessor it only serves to remind of the original, and when it doesn’t, it makes you wonder why they didn’t just make a stand-alone film. It’s less The Departed, more Rob Zombie’s Halloween. Dour, banal and overlong, this is one instance in which it was most definitely a better yesterday.

A Better Tomorrow is out on Region 2 DVD, Blu-Ray and 3D Blu-Ray now from Kaleidoscope.

Review by Ben Bussey

Learn that The House is a Thai horror movie from 2007 that’s only just getting a Region 2 DVD release now, and you’d be forgiven for coming in with low expectations. Finding out it’s a ghost story may well inspire even less confidence; J-horror and the many far eastern imitations that have come in its wake have long since grown painfully overfamiliar. All things considered, it’s no surprise that The House doesn’t exactly raise the roof. Still, it’s by no means the worst film of its kind, and it does manage to add a few relative twists to the tried-and-tested formula. 

Workaholic roving reporter Shalinee (Inthira Chaloenpura) specialises in TV news stories on drug addicts, child prostitution; all those kind of cheery ‘and finally’ items. Her latest commission at first seems typically gloomy enough, digging up the case of a doctor put away for murdering his wife six years earlier. However, her research uncovers some eerie parallels between that murder and two others from decades earlier, all of which occurred in the same house. Of course the locals warn her against investigating the abandoned abode – don’t recall an old straw-chewing man grumbling “it’s got a death curse,” but I’m sure there was some Thai equivalent of that – but of course this doesn’t keep her from taking a peek. Big mistake, naturally. Would it surprise you if I said a dark-haired, white skinned phantom woman soon pops up? And innumerable instances of Shalinee experiencing horrifying visions, only to wake suddenly in an empty room? (Truly, I lost count of the number of times they pulled that trick…)

To be fair, The House isn’t a completely by-the-numbers J-horror replica. Instead, it goes more into Shining/Amityville territory, insomuch as the haunting manifests itself as much psychologically as physically; it’s less a haunted house than a haunted people film. The relationship between Shalinee and her husband is already under strain, as her career focus runs contrary to his more old-fashioned feelings that the menfolk should provide whilst womenfolk should stay home and have babies. Once the presence that haunts the titular house takes hold of our protagonists, it isn’t only in the shape of big black spectres, but in emotions, as the husband’s anxieties grow into an obsessive, violent jealousy. Perhaps there’s some comment being made there on contemporary gender relations in Thailand; either way it’s a theme that can certainly resonate with international audiences. It’s just a shame the film doesn’t really show us anything we haven’t seen before. Also rather overfamiliar are the prison scenes, Shalinee’s visits to the murderer being more than a little reminiscent of The Silence of the Lambs.   

There is a sense that The House is trying to be all things to all horror audiences. Whilst there are strong echoes of J-horror, there’s also a fair bit of splatter, hints of erotic thriller, and a liberal sprinkling of oh-so 21st century torture. Perhaps if the film took one of those threads and used it for all it was worth, the resulting film might have been more noteworthy. Unfortunately, it’s just another middle of the road mid-budget chiller which, while not exactly bad, just isn’t enough to warrant a recommendation.  

The House is out on Region 2 DVD on 4th June, from MVM.

Review by Ben Bussey

Certain key things may come to mind when we mention Cuba: missile crisis, cigars, Buena Vista Social Club… but, to date, zombie movies probably wouldn’t pop up on that list. Well, they do now, thanks to writer/director Alejandro Brugués, who brings us what is said to be the first ever Cuban horror film (a statement I can neither confirm nor refute, owing to my previously hinted-at ignorance of most things Cuban). Now, as JC DeLeon said in his review from last year’s Fantastic Fest, there may be a gut impulse on hearing the title to dismiss Juan of the Dead as yet another run-of-the-mill copycat of that certain other zombie comedy whose name we need not mention (not out of any disdain for the film itself, but simply because it gets mentioned in reference to every bloody comedy horror film that comes along these days; and anyway, in the case of Juan of the Dead it’s particularly obvious given there’s only about two letters difference in the title). We might also be put off by a sense of zombie exhaustion; the living dead have been painfully ubiquitous this past decade, on screens both big and small, in gaming and in print. It feels as though one in every three new horror films of late has had a title ending ‘- of the Dead,’ and the bulk of them have been considerably less than stellar (Diary, anyone…?) In this climate, and given that it’s reputedly the first film of its kind to be produced in its country, it would be easy indeed to view Juan of the Dead as nothing more than a novelty.

Well folks, you can cast those anxieties aside. Juan of the Dead is a truly masterful comedy horror, almost certainly the finest there has been since… that other one. It’s charming, witty, engaging, and dependent on your temperament it may very well have you barking with laughter from start to finish. Sure, the film may be self-consciously designed to play to international audiences with its plentiful nods to pop culture – it’s very self-aware of its zombie movie heritage, nodding to many of the greats without lapsing into Scream-esque smugness – but it also wears its unique national identity on its sleeve. As Keri remarked after the screening at York City Screen, it tells us more about modern life in Cuba than the news ever does, in Britain at least.

Right, synopsis time: our hero Juan (Alexis Díaz de Villegas) and his best mate Lazaro (Jorge Molina) are fortysomething layabouts who live their lives a bottle at a time, scraping a living by petty crime with the aid of drag queen China (Jazz Vilá), gentle giant Primo (Eliecer Ramírez) and Lazaro’s son California (Andros Perugorría). They’ve got the sun, the sea, the sauce, and even the odd bit of illicit sex, but anyone can tell Juan is less than content. For starters, his wife has long since left him, and his daughter Camila (Andrea Duro) wants nothing to do with him. However, opportunity sometimes presents itself in unexpected ways, such as when the town – and, it seems, the whole of Cuba – gets overrun by what the media call ‘dissidents,’ who seem to bear all the hallmarks of being dead, aside from the fact that they still move and they try to eat the living. Ever the entrepreneur, Juan spots a gap in the market, and puts his crew in business as zombie killers for hire. But despite their best efforts, it soon becomes clear that the ‘dissidents’ are in the majority, and the only option may be to escape.

As with most modern zombie movies, no efforts are made here to re-invent the wheel narrative-wise. The classic set-up is used as the jumping off point, and the film lives or dies on its performances, gags and set-pieces. Happily, all of these are of a very high standard indeed. No, it’s never remotely scary, but that isn’t necessarily the point in a film of this nature; the emphasis instead is squarely on having fun. And boy, is it fun. The confrontations between Juan and co. and the walking dead get progressively more ridiculous, the gang revelling in their new line of work, honing their zombie-killing skills until they border on the superhuman; which, in the case of Juan and Lazaro, is just hilarious due to how completely unlike action heroes they look, with de Villegas’s gangly, skinny frame and Molina’s proudly framed middle-aged spread. Even in the case of the younger and more physically impressive members of the team, there’s plenty of humour in the little character quirks, like the imposing Primo going faint at the sight of blood, and California being so vain he changes shirts mid-battle scene. There’s a wonderful chemistry between the cast that really ties the film together, and I suspect this above all else will feed the cult status the film is sure to attain; they’re people you feel better for being around, and following their exploits makes the viewer feel part of the gang for 90 minutes or so.

Juan of the Dead doesn’t lack for emotional content either. The strained relationship between Juan and Camila, and to a lesser extent that of Lazaro and California, gives the film real heart; these are two fathers who want the best for their kids and know they have never really provided it. The beacon of hope on the horizon always seems to be Miami, and the film plays heavily on the internal conflict of whether to stay close to one’s roots, or seek a fresh start on fresh soil; that’s a theme that should resonate with many, Cuban or not. There’s also an underlying melancholy to Juan and Lazaro’s friendship; these men know their best years are behind them, and have doubts as to whether they’ve made the best use of the time. Happily, this side of things is never overemphasised, and there’s always a suitably ribald gag and/or a gory confrontation around the corner to ward off any burgeoning sentimentality.

It really is a near-perfect balance of the elements that make a great popcorn movie: thrills, laughs, action, gore, character, emotion, and even a dash of social commentary, all measured out perfectly. It’s even got a bit of sex appeal in its arsenal, with the odd moment of lad-pleasing nudity, and in particular the presence of Andrea Duro’s Camila. Shapely young Latina, vest, cut-down jeans, edged weapons… yes please. And I daresay those who prefer the menfolk will not be displeased by the sight of Andros Perugorría either. However, their presence does rather beg the question of what the mothers of these characters looked like, as we can be damn sure these kids didn’t get their sex appeal from their fathers…

Once again: ignore your zombie fatigue. No, Juan of the Dead doesn’t rewrite the rule book, but it does prove that there’s life in the old genre yet, so long as the filmmakers put in the right amount of heart, imagination and elbow grease. Alejandro Brugués and co have done just that, and their film greatly deserves the international attention it has gathered, not simply for the curiosity value of being the first Cuban movie of its kind, but for being a world-class comedy horror in its own right. Simply put: not to be missed.

Juan of the Dead is on limited release in UK cinemas now, and then comes to DVD on 4th June, from Metrodome.

Review by Stephanie Scaife

I was surprised when the screener for Catch .44 showed up in the mail, a flashy looking thriller sporting a relatively decent cast (Bruce Willis, Forest Whitaker, Brad Dourif) and I hadn’t heard of it. A little digging showed that Catch .44 was filmed in the summer of 2010 and had a limited US release in December 2011, followed by a straight-to-DVD release just about everywhere else. It’s described in the press release as a violent crime thriller with a bad-ass attitude and a killer twist. I’m actually still not sure what the twist is and I’ve just had to sit through it. Not a good sign.

Written and directed by Aaron Harvey, Catch .44 desperately wants to be cool and clever and ultimately it is neither of these things. It’s an odd little film that on the surface could be a reasonable way to spend 90 minutes of your time. Bruce Willis stars as Mel, a greasy drug baron who sends three of his girls to intercept a drug deal: here we have Tes (Malin Akerman), Kara (Nikki Reed) and Dawn (Deborah Ann Woll). Throw in Forest Whitaker as Ronny the psychotic hit-man, Brad Dourif as the local sheriff and Shea Whigham as Billy, another local hired hand of Mel’s, then you add a bunch of double-crossing and what you should have is a by the numbers heist movie. What we get instead is a substandard Tarantino rip-off that is almost entirely incoherent and pretty much just plain bad. I’m not the biggest fan of Tarantino to begin with, so when faced with a piss poor emulation of his work I could do little more than deep sigh and roll my eyes throughout the duration of the film.

The plot (I’m using this term in the loosest possible sense) is told in a non-linear narrative and the opening scene shows us a pivotal moment before revealing the events that led to it. The main body of the story centres around Tes, who we learn works as a waitress in a strip club owned by Mel. Upon learning of her unique pick pocketing skills he has upped her (and seemingly two of her friends) through the ranks to where they are expected to pull off a drug heist. They are given a time to be at a truck stop diner in the middle of nowhere, but when Mel doesn’t arrive on time the girls take things into their own hands and royally fuck things up.

Where Forest Whitaker fits into this is still somewhat of a mystery to me. Initially he’s a nerdy guy with a stutter, then he kills a cop steals his uniform and starts talking with a southern drawl, before later adopting a bizarre sort of Scarface Cuban accent and finally what seems like his regular talking voice towards the end. Now, why he does this was never entirely clear to me this could be because a) I’d lost the will to live and was no longer paying attention or b) the story was so incoherent that there was no obvious explanation other than he’s supposed to be wacky and insane. Either option is entirely feasible.

This really was a bizarre viewing experience for me. There were so many elements that just didn’t sit right, from the stilted dialogue full swearing that sounded awkward coming out of the characters mouths to Deborah Ann Woll’s lesson in how not to smoke. Seriously, has this girl never seen anyone smoke a cigarette before? She clung onto it like a 13 year old behind the bike shed at school trying to impress their friends. Not to mention that there is little or no explanation as to why anyone was anywhere or why they were doing what they were doing, which wasn’t aided in the slightest by the non-linear narrative that repeated certain scenes (shot for shot) up to three times throughout the film.

Catch .44 is a puzzling and entirely unrewarding film. One can only assume that either the end result nowhere resembles the original script or that Aaron Harvey has some serious connections in Hollywood, all of whom must have owed him a massive favour, because I cannot explain how this film ever came to see the light of day. It’s dull, derivative and really one to avoid at all costs.

Catch .44 is out now on Region 2 DVD and Blu-Ray from Anchor Bay.

Review by Ben Bussey

There is the potential for something uniquely powerful when a horror film centres on the military. In a sense, these films get to the crux of what horror is really about: order versus chaos. The military – with its strictly regimented chains of command, codes of conduct and threat of force – embodies the controlling impulse, and when the shit hits the fan and chaos takes over we see just how little control we really have. This is particularly true here in The Squad (AKA El páramo), the debut feature from director Jaime Osorio Marquez. Far from the popcorn pleasures of such soldiers-versus-monsters flicks as Predator or Dog Soldiers, this is a sombre, enigmatic and often very tense piece of work that plays heavily on superstition, confusion and the horror of the unseen.

The Squad (which is not in any way related to The Monster Squad, in case you were on the brink of a nerd rage attack like I was) follows the misadventures of, funnily enough, a squad of Colombian commandos sent to investigate a remote military outpost with which communication has been lost. Things are too quiet, too little is known about what’s going on, and there’s a new Lieutenant in tow whom nobody knows. But while the external situation is tense, there’s no shortage of tension within the group either, with old grudges and personality clashes never far from the surface. It goes without saying that things are going to go bad, and when they do, those tensions will most certainly come bubbling up. But are there actual supernatural forces at work, or is it all just in their heads?

I’m in a curious situation with The Squad. If I’m being objective, I can find very little fault in the film, and yet somehow it never quite grabbed me. It’s not the direction, which is slick but not too showy, with a good eye for atmosphere and tension; many sequences reminded me of The Descent, given how the soldiers head into pitch black, claustrophobic spaces in which the only light is the one they carry and the only sound is their laboured breathing. It’s not the performances, which are of a high standard all around, with particular credit due to Alejandro Aguilar’s profoundly intense turn as Cortez, and Juan Pablo Barragan as the sympathetic Ponce (a name sure to gain a few unintended sniggers from immature British viewers like myself). The camerawork, editing, soundtrack – they’re all great, nothing to complain about. But perhaps in a way that is part of the problem; perhaps mid-budget contemporary horror is getting a little too neat and tidy, not to mention overfamiliar. We’ve seen this same aesthetic countless times in recent years, in pretty much every French genre effort and a fair portion of those to come out of the US. Perhaps horror needs to be a bit rougher around the edges to really pack a punch; perhaps, for me, that’s what’s missing from The Squad.

Or maybe it’s in the writing. Trim the fat and the core premise is – once again – essentially the same as innumerable other horrors of recent years: a bunch of people stuck in one location, with danger both outside and in. The Squad does indeed do a very good job with this premise, with some really suspenseful sequences and a few instances of fairly shocking viscera (I am a little surprised this got past the BBFC with only a 15), but it doesn’t stop the overwhelming feeling of been-there done-that. The good news, though, is that The Squad should serve as a great calling card for Jaime Osorio Marquez. While this particular film may be lacking that certain something to make it really great, there’s no doubt in my mind that this is a director from whom we can expect great things. There’s an intensity and sophistication here to rival that of Neil Marshall or Alexandre Aja on their best days. Let’s just hope Marquez doesn’t get sucked into the Hollywood remake game.

On which note – woah, pull me up a chair – there’s already an English language remake of The Squad in the works.

The Squad is released to Region 2 DVD on 18th June, from Momentum Pictures.

Review by Ben Bussey

Don’t you just love it when the hype proves true?

To an extent, reviewing The Raid seems a bit arbitrary right now. There are already countless reviews out there, and while I’ve tried not to read too many I get the impression that what I say here will not diverge greatly from what most are saying elsewhere. Even so, I saw The Raid in a screen where the number of audience members didn’t even reach double figures. On its recent US cinema release (where for some reason the title was accentuated with a colon and the word ‘Redemption’), it only made a little over $4 million. Sure, a lot of that audience disinterest can most likely be attributed to subtitle-phobia, but historically a strong enough critical reaction and word of mouth can overcome this; Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon, for instance, which made more in its opening weekend than The Raid has to date. So, while the converted may well be preaching, the chorus is clearly not yet loud enough. One more voice certainly can’t hurt. So here goes…

The Raid is every bit as good as they say.

Assault on Precinct 13, Die Hard, and the innumerable imitators of both have long since demonstrated that the action movie – a model typically defined by scale and spectacle – is actually at its most effective when pared down to a simple premise and sparse, or indeed singular locations. By keeping things intimate, you feel the impact that much more. Every punch, every kick, every bullet wound: it matters, and it hurts. And all the more so if the audience has forged a bond with those in the line of fire. Now, this bond doesn’t require the kind of overwritten, overacted monologues Stallone was so keen on dropping into his movies to convey the illusion of depth. It doesn’t require the sugary sentimentality that renders laughable the quieter scenes of many a John Woo movie. It needn’t rely on a gimmick, like the wire-fu that dominated early 2000s action. Once again; keep it simple, keep it tight, tell the audience all they need to know. The Raid does all this to damn near perfection.

Now, I wouldn’t for a second claim authority on the subject of martial arts (I enjoy watching them, and that’s about the extent of my expertise), but it strikes me that – just as Bruce Lee’s movies ushered in the kung fu era of the 70s, and the likes of Van Damme did the same for kickboxing in the 80s – The Raid is the perfect film for this age of Mixed Martial Arts. Now, before anyone corrects me I realise this is not in the strictest sense an MMA film – the principal fighting style here is the Indonesian martial art silat – but what I’m really talking about is a concurrence of philosophies. Just as MMA borrows extensively from in theory all the major fighting styles of the world, keeping what works and discarding what does not, The Raid takes much the same approach to action film history. All those little things that can sour a great action movie – those sappy Stallone speeches, or those horrendous John Woo love songs – are notable by their absence. All those moments that usually occur in action movies, when you think, “no way, they wouldn’t do that;” gone. Watching The Raid, you believe these guys would react the way they do. Some may criticise the violence as excessive, but it comes off as an entirely believable portrayal of how things would go down in a genuine kill-or-be-killed situation, and if that means gaining an unfair advantage by means of whatever weapons are to hand, then that’s the way it goes. Sometimes that’s awe-inspiring, sometimes it’s truly quite horrific; indeed, there’s little distinction between the two.

However, The Raid isn’t just the work of people in love with martial arts and gunplay; it is the work of people in love with cinema. Contrary to what some may think, lovers of violent spectacle are not all complete morons. They do not require everything spelled out in black and white, with clear-cut goodies and baddies and nothing in between. Gareth Evans and co clearly understand this, and they do not underestimate the audience. We are presented with protagonists who are often hard to sympathise with; supposedly good people who do some unforgivable things. Both sides, cop and criminal, are imbued with humanity; two-dimensional stereotypes are never settled for, even when it would have been easy (and perhaps even excusable) to do so. While the violent scenes are indeed abundant and relentless, the moments of silence between are equally oppressive. These people with whom we have just been thrown into the arena can, and invariably will, be cut down at any moment. In its own way, The Raid is close to a feature-length rendition of the opening sequence of Saving Private Ryan.

Even so, while The Raid makes a point of emphasising the true nature of violence, it still does so from a highly cinematic perspective. This is no fly-on-the-wall documentary; it’s high class filmmaking, slick without being overly glossy, expertly paced without getting showy. Much the same can be said of leading man, and surely star in the making Iko Uwais. While the man clearly has what I believe the kids these days call ‘mad skills,’ he still manages to have a certain everyman quality about him. In between throwing killer blows, he quietly exudes emotion, again without ever lapsing into showboating or sentimentality.

I could go on but I think you get the point. This is one instance when you really can believe the hype. The Raid entirely warrants the praise that has been heaped upon it, and if Gareth Evans and Iko Uwais do not swiftly become major players in action cinema as a result of this, it will be a great injustice.

The Raid is in UK cinemas now from Momentum.

Review by Nia Edwards-Behi

I wanted to like War of the Dead. I really did. The film even got me on its side right from the off-set, where the historical(ish) basis for the film is written on the screen, followed by the words ‘this much is true.’ How droll, I thought. How knowing! Alas that the film did not live up to this brief shining moment of promise.

Basically, the film is about Nazi zombies. Sold! The film even places these Nazi zombies in a very specific historical and cultural moment – an elite squad of American and Finnish soldiers attack a Nazi bunker in Soviet territory, and the men they kill come back to life. These zombies are the result of Nazi genetic experimentation, and as a result they’re also those fast, modern buggers that everyone argues about. Zombie pendantry aside, the film attempts to be somewhat serious in its depiction of the conflict and the, er, zombies, and really, that’s where its biggest flaw lies.

The film just doesn’t convince, either in its historicity or its horror. A great deal of the film’s run time is taken up with small-scale battles between the American and Finnish group of soldiers and the Soviet forces. Unfortunately, they just don’t make me believe in what I’m seeing on screen. Although the location shooting in Lithuania offers some wonderful landscapes, the battle sequences never really feel like they fit in with this naturalistic environment, and always therefore come across as blokes playing war in a field. This isn’t helped at all by the incredibly weak acting, which I can only attribute to the various cast members either acting in a second language, or putting on terrible accents, compounded by painfully on the nose dialogue. This probably shouldn’t really matter in a Nazi zombie film, but because the film seems to strive for such a serious tone, it’s quite jarring.

That the film also features three of my biggest pet peeves probably didn’t help, the first being CGI blood. It looks stupid. It’s not impressive. It doesn’t even look like gore, it looks like pixels. It achieves nothing. At this stage I actually feel that the most effective way of enunciating my feelings about CGI blood misuse would be to smash my face against the keyboard in a futile fit of rage, but I fear I may break my glasses. Second pet peeve is the god awful, incessant music used throughout. Think bland, movie-score strings, and that is the soundtrack to every single second of this film. There are moments in the film when the strings swell in some sort of emotional high-point, and all it did was confuse me because I wasn’t aware I was supposed to be feeling anything at that point of the film, which smacks of lazy scoring and lazy plotting. Perhaps my biggest personal annoyance with the film was the tokenest of all token girls. Introduced half way through the film, as the girlfriend of a friendly Soviet, her sole purpose is to be a bit scared for a while, before dying at the hands of her boyfriend after being attacked by a zombie, presumably in a bid to add ‘emotional’ ‘depth’ to the film. You know what? No. Just…stop that. Don’t randomly put a girl in the film if that’s all you’re going to do with her.

I’d say more about how the film progressed, but the film completely lost me two thirds in, to the point that when it ended, I literally have no idea what happened. As far as I can tell it didn’t really even have an ending, but I suspect that it might just have seemed that way because my mind had wondered. Poor form, I realise, but there was not a single thread to hold on to that would sustain my interest in the film – not humour, not talent, not plotline, not even Nazi zombies.

War of the Dead is released to Region 2 DVD on 28th May, from Momentum Pictures.

Review by Ben Bussey

How fondly and vividly I recall the build-up to Piranha 3D. From the moment those first photos came online, with Kelly Brook and Riley Steele dancing in their bikinis and throngs of nameless extras plastered in astonishingly gruesome make-up, my heart was captured, along with that of every other horror fanboy. Marc and I posted every inconsequential snippet of news we could on it, giddy with schoolboyish anticipation for what Alexandre Aja promised would be the biggest, grandest guilty pleasure tits and gore movie ever made. And even though the resulting movie did not disappoint (despite my initial reservations), I can quite comfortably say that I enjoyed that foreplay more than the finish.

With Piranha 3DD, things have been a little more subdued. Once the guffaws at the inspired title died down, it all went a bit quiet. There were no eye-catching set photos lighting up cyberspace, no murmurs of how much fun the cast and crew were having. Indeed, the only Chinese whispers leaking out were speculations that it might go straight to DVD. Surely not, we thought. For some, alarm bells were ringing when it missed its intial release date, but then so had its predecessor. No cause for concern there, then. No press screenings beforehand? Big deal. Again, like its predecessor Piranha 3DD should in theory be critic-proof. Surely there was nothing to worry about.

Quoth Kevin Spacey: “WRONNNNNNNNNNNNG!”

Perhaps the first clue should have been when the poster to the left was released. Take a good look at this poster, if you will. See what a badly composed, obvious Photoshop job it is; how the head clearly does not belong on the body; how the killer fish themselves are an afterthought; how poorly it tries to balance terror and titilation. It beggars belief that anyone thought this poster should be released to the public, that it was suitable to sell the film. Well, perhaps in this case the marketing department were subversively making a point. Yes, the poster is a supremely lazy hack job, but that is an entirely accurate reflection of the product. Piranha 3DD is potentially the most incompetent excuse for filmmaking I have ever seen from a mainstream horror franchise, so poor that – and I can’t quite believe I’m about to type this – it makes me stop and think that Platinum Dunes weren’t that bad after all. Sure, their films were painfully formulaic and designed to appeal to the lowest common denominator, but they were at least vaguely coherent. This – this is practically Uwe Boll standard. Chirst, it’s only a hair’s breadth above Friedberg and Seltzer. Indeed, it could have been released under the title Piranha Movie and I doubt anyone would have blinked.

I’m not even talking about the little things like the premise being dumb, or the special effects being subpar, or most of the cast looking embarrassed to be there; those things were always a given. The problem here is the outright lethargy of it all. It’s the most basic of horror movie formulas with a few “wow, look how crazy we are!” moments tacked on to delude you that you’ve got your money’s worth. Never is there any sense of build-up or payoff; never do any of the gags hit home they way they should. And it’s such a shame, because clearly the most thought went into the gags, and under different circumstances some of them might have really worked; I won’t give any away, though if you’ve watched any of the trailers you should already have a good idea what to expect. As for everything in between the gags; well, as you may have gathered from my overall tone, it’s just half-arsed codswallop. (A lot of people felt this way about Hatchet II, and although I was one of that film’s few defenders I could see their point… well guys, Hatchet II is The Shining next to this.)

Contrary to what we might sometimes feel, you can’t just throw a few tit shots and a bit of gore onto any old piece of shit and wind up with a great B-movie. We have to earn those money shots. Look at Piranha 3D; we’re given time to get to know Jerry O’Connell, Kelly Brook and Riley Steele, every successive scene making us that bit more anxious to see the girls getting naked and Jerry suffering a hideous death; subsequently, it’s a reward when those sights are delivered. Here, with Danielle Panabaker, Katrina Bowden, Meagan Tandy; yes, they’re all lovely to look at, but it’s evident early on that none of them will actually be disrobing, and in a film of this nature that is simply breaking the rules. Throwing in a few anonymous naked extras now and then, no matter how visually striking they may be, simply won’t make up the difference. (Case in point: the owner of the film’s most infamous decollatage, showcased at the top of the page, appears only in the few seconds you’ve most likely seen already in the trailers.) And while, yes, a few of the key players meet a grisly end, there’s nothing to match the satisfaction of seeing O’Connell made a eunech, and the gore quota of the finale isn’t even a hair on the arse of the original’s Spring Break massacre.

The Hoff isn’t funny. The Garey Busey cameo – near enough blink and you’ll miss it – isn’t funny either. The return of Ving Rhames and Paul Scheer is stupid, pointless, and also isn’t funny. As for David “whammy!” Koechner… I just feel sorry for him.

It ain’t double the terror, nor double the D’s. It’s well more than double the sense that you’ve wasted your time and money. Yes, it really is that bad. Sorry. I’d recommend you just watch the fucking trailer again and leave it at that.

Piranha 3DD is out now in UK cinemas, and in US cinemas and on VOD from June 1st, from Dimension.

Review by Stephanie Scaife

Piggy is the debut feature film of young Brit writer and director Kieron Hawkes. It is a psychological revenge thriller starring Martin Compston (The Disappearance of Alice Creed, Sweet Sixteen), Neil Maskell (Kill List) and Paul Anderson (A Lonely Place to Die). Although a fairly solid effort from all concerned it is a glaringly obvious first feature that falls foul to many conventional mistakes and contrivances associated with an initial outing as a filmmaker.

Joe (Compston) is a shy and mild mannered young man who by day earns his living as a messenger in central London and who by night gets stoned alone in his dingy apartment. Everything changes one day when his older and far more gregarious brother John (Maskell) shows up unexpectedly at his front door. John gradually starts to bring Joe out of his shell, taking him out drinking, introducing him to his friends and in particular Claire (Louise Dylan) who Joe is instantly smitten with. However, as is generally the case with such films, things take a turn for the worse and John is stabbed and killed by a gang after an altercation in the pub.

The despair of John’s death sends Joe deeper into himself as he resorts back to his shy and reclusive ways once more; that is until the mysterious Piggy (Anderson) shows up on his doorstep. Piggy claims to be an old friend of John’s and wants to help Joe get revenge on the people responsible for the murder. Piggy is charismatic and persuasive and Joe soon falls under his spell, reluctantly at first, but as they track down each person responsible for John’s death he increasingly starts to relish the violence and retribution along with his new found, sociopathic best friend.

The main problem is in the writing. Piggy offers little in the way of originality and the “twist” ending is glaringly obvious from the outset. Not to mention the dreadful, overly emo first person voice-over from Joe which is almost entirely unnecessary and often so pretentious it becomes cringe worthy. This also isn’t helped by an overbearing soundtrack that often distracts from the film and cues every emotion as subtly as a brick to the head. It’s a shame because the acting in universally pretty decent, particularly from Compston, and Anderson does his very best with Piggy who is little more than a two dimensional dial-a-psycho with a taxidermy collection. The character of Claire is also severely underwritten to the point where her character merely provides fodder to exhibit Joe’s angst and little else, not to mention her motivations (along with pretty much everyone else’s) are largely unexplained, leaving a few puzzling plot holes.

Luckily Hawkes is a better director than he is writer and the film certainly looks fantastic, thanks to cinematographer James Friend, capturing the grittiness of the subject matter and displaying the darker side of London life effectively. Piggy isn’t a terrible film and Hawkes clearly shows some promise as a filmmaker, but it’s a very flawed first attempt. He cites Gaspar Noe, Michael Haneke and Shane Meadows as inspiration in the press notes, but what we have with Piggy is merely a substandard Harry Brown. Despite a few affecting scenes, particularly during the first half of the film, and some impressive violent set pieces this is otherwise a sadly dull affair with only the slightest glimmer of potential that veers it away from being downright awful, although only just.

Piggy has a limited UK cinema release from 4 May and is available on DVD from 21 May, through Metrodome.

Review by Ben Bussey

Ah, football (or soccer, for the benefit of our American readers who give that name to a sport which strangely doesn’t involve much kicking). The beautiful game, they call it; up and down the British Isles it is celebrated for bridging the generation gap, uniting communities, and giving mindless pissheads an excuse to beat the living shit out of each other on a regular basis. Yes, it’s a national obsession, and one which this writer has never seen the appeal of, at least in part owing to the hooliganism with which it is so commonly associated. However, while the image of the sport and its fans has been cleaned up a fair bit in the last two decades, things were at their dirtiest (or so I understand) back in the late 80s, when this film is set. Out to break up the organised violence between rival mobs of football hooligans, four London policemen are sent undercover to infiltrate a particularly nasty bunch of Shadwell Town supporters known as the Dogs, who congregate in a notoriously hostile pub named The Rock. The operation’s success could lead to big career advances for all, which is particularly attractive to the ambitious John (Reece Dinsdale); but the new lifestyle of hard drinking, male bonding and fisticuffs proves more than a little seductive. The line between work and real life gets progressively blurrier, leaving John uncertain as to where his true loyalties lie.

The 1995 feature directorial début of Phil Davis (better known for his acting work in everything from Quadrophenia to Sherlock), I.D. arrived at a significant time for both British film and British football. Years of violence in the football terraces had come to a head with the infamous Hillsborough disaster of 1989, which left the game and the country shell-shocked. By contrast, the 90s saw a new-found optimism in the UK film industry, a sense that British cinema could hold its own against Hollywood commercially as well as artistically; Trainspotting and The Full Monty weren’t too far away. Not unlike Trainspotting, I.D. scrutinises some unpleasant realities about working class life in Britain in a largely balanced way, certainly not romanticising the ugly truth but not completely demonising it either. We are not asked to like the football hooligans or condone their actions, but we are given a sense of why they are drawn into the way of life and how it may become compulsive. Perhaps the film’s smartest move – a directorial choice which you might not even realise on first viewing (I certainly didn’t) – is that it doesn’t actually contain any footage of football matches. This highlights the fact that hooliganism really has nothing to do with the game, and everything to do with tribalism, territoriality, camaraderie, and a sense of belonging.

As the premise mixes traditionally British hard-edged social realism with the Hollywood staple of the undercover cop movie (like Point Break as directed by Ken Loach, if you will), it’s perhaps unsurprising that I.D. is a bit uneven in terms of atmosphere and narrative. Whilst many of the scenes in the pub and on the terraces seem to aspire to a fly-on-the-wall quality, there are just as many scenes which feel a little too contrived and choreographed; take an early confrontation between John and his sergeant Trevor (Richard Graham) and a few of the Dogs who test their knowledge of the team, or a long take tracking shot of the undercover cops revising the history of Shadwell Town (a fictitious team, incidentally) on the way to their first match. Likewise, whilst the collapse of John’s marriage to Marie (Clare Skinner) is handled effectively, his burgeoning relationship with Rock barmaid Lynda (Saskia Reeves) is unconvincing and unnecessary, resulting in a rather comically overdone sex scene, which feels little more than a blatant concession to audience expectation. Meanwhile, the soundtrack also has leanings toward popular genre, with its mix of guitar-driven rock and surprisingly John Carpenter/Goblin-esque keyboards, as highlighted in the trailer below.

We might take all this as emblematic of where British cinema was at the time; anxious to appeal to an international mainstream audience, whilst retaining a uniquely British identity. Regardless, it is clear that Davis and co. were eager to make a film that is as entertaining as it is topical and thought-provoking, and all in all they were successful in this. Reece Dinsdale gives a powerful, memorable performance, making one ponder why this film didn’t lead to more major roles for him. The supporting cast is also very strong for the most part, including early turns from an alarmingly young-looking Philip Glenister (famous as DCI Gene Hunt in Life on Mars and Ashes to Ashes) and Sean Pertwee (famous for doing Max Factor commercial voiceovers and dying horribly in Neil Marshall films).

I.D. didn’t make me a football fan when I saw it on release, nor has it done so now, but that’s hardly surprising. Again, while football provides a context for the story, it is not its essence, any more than There Will Be Blood is a film about the oil industry. As the title suggests, the key issue is that of identity, and how easily it can get lost under pressured circumstances; the haunting final scene suggests dire consequences. Whilst the film may be seventeen years old and evoke events that occurred even earlier, most of it still feels relevant today, particularly to Britain, so it’s interesting to note that a sequel is said to be in the works. Rather less inspiring, though, is the lack of care put into the DVD; not only does it boast no extras whatsoever, but the sound and picture quality are no better than VHS (whether the Blu-Ray is any better I couldn’t tell you; what can I say, I’ve yet to join the HD revolution). This is a rather disappointing effort for a film which, in spite of its flaws, remains noteworthy and often unfairly overlooked.

Anchor Bay Entertainment release I.D. to Region 2 DVD and Blu-Ray on 14th May.