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Siberia (2018)

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You have to hand it to Keanu Reeves. He may have been a huge star ever since breaking through as one half of the affable, dim-witted metalhead duo in Bill & Ted’s Excellent Adventure a full three decades ago, yet for the longest time he was widely deemed impossible to take seriously as a dramatic actor thanks to notoriously wooden, awkward turns in the likes of Bram Stoker’s Dracula and The Devil’s Advocate. Yet against all odds, the man whose most iconic utterance is “woah” was able to carve a niche for himself as an action hero via Point Break, Speed and most notably The Matrix; and even more unexpectedly, he was able to return to that territory in recent years with the John Wick movies, having not only proven himself as a physical action performer, but also having genuinely gained some gravitas as a serious leading man. It obviously doesn’t hurt that he looks nothing like his 54 years, still boasting as lithe a physique and as lustrous a head of hair as he did in the 1990s. (The bastard.)

On paper, the John Wick persona doesn’t seem too difficult to shift over to other material. Just put Keanu in a sharp suit, with tidy mid-length hair and a closely trimmed beard, keep his dialogue minimal and to the point, and don’t ask him to emote too much, whilst hinting at a hotbed of repressed anxiety bubbling just below the surface. Lucas Hill, the lead protagonist in Siberia, fits this bill pretty well, so it’s not too big a surprise that the film’s PR material goes to some length to promote a link between the properties, suggesting that director Matthew Ross’s film is a suitable stop-gap for any Reeves fans impatient for John Wick 3. However, if you go in to Siberia expecting two hours of adrenaline-charged, guns-blazing, all-kicking all-punching entertainment, you’re liable to be disappointed. Indeed, there’s a strong likelihood you’ll be underwhelmed either way, as this is a slow, quiet, ponderous affair which may aspire to an old school crime thriller ambience, but winds up a little too understated to make much of an impression.

Lucas Hill (Reeves) is an American businessman of dubious legality. He’s in St. Petersburg to sell some ultra-rare, ultra-valuable blue diamonds to Russian mobsters, headed up by the somewhat intense Boris Volkov (Pasha D Lynchnikoff). However, what should be a relatively simple transaction proves more complex than anticipated when Hill’s contact for the diamonds isn’t where he was expected to be, forcing Hill to trek out of the big city and into a remote Siberian province where he’s told his contact is hiding out. In the bitter cold with nothing to do but wait and drink vodka, Hill finds himself drawn to local bar owner Katya (Ana Ularu), and – against the older man’s better judgement, as back home in the States he has a wife (an almost blink-and-you’ll-miss-it cameo from Molly Ringwald) – the two embark on what promises to be a brief affair. However, as further complications impede the diamond deal, the growing bond between Hill and Katya only adds to the steadily mounting problems, threatening to put them both in grave danger.

Written by Scott B Smith (novelist and screenwriter behind A Simple Plan and The Ruins), Siberia seems intent on harking back to the tone and aesthetic of the late 60s/70s Hollywood thriller (think Point Blank or The Driver). There’s a sparse, vaguely abstract atmosphere, and as much interest in the state of mind of the protagonists as the intricacies of the criminal underworld they in which they live; a world, and a way of life, which the film indicates they have grown tired of, and are questioning their place in. Reeves exudes world-weariness throughout, presenting Hill as a man of clear intelligence and morality who nonetheless chooses to do what he knows to be wrong, not only in his line of work but also in his extra-marital relations. Sex is actually a much bigger part of the equation in Siberia than you might initially expect, with Reeves and Ularu having a number of fairly intense love scenes which, had they been shot and edited a little less tastefully, might have made it is easy to sell the film as an erotic thriller. Honestly, I wonder if it mightn’t have been a bad idea to push things further in that direction, for as it is there’s a somewhat detached, clinical feel to it all that rather leaves the viewer cold. Then again, given the setting of the title, perhaps that’s the idea.

The scenery is attractive (although curiously most of it was shot in Canada), Lynchnikoff makes for an agreeably excessive villain, and Reeves and Ularu are a handsome couple even if the chemistry between them is a little lacking. Alas, there’s really nothing here that hasn’t been done many times before and many times better, with a plot that veers between meandering and incomprehensible, and characters whose fate its hard to get particularly invested in. Again, much respect to Reeves for his recent career revival, which I certainly hope continues; but if it means more films like this, he might not want to hang up John Wick’s black suit too soon.

Siberia is available now in the UK on digital download and limited cinemas, from Signature Entertainment.

Secret Santa (2018)

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The festive season has always been a popular setting for horror movies. This may in part be a natural evolution of the old tradition for setting ghost stories on Christmas Eve, but I daresay it’s more of a Grinch-like reaction against the crassness, commercialism and artifice of the event in modern culture; how, as much as we might like to claim it’s all about togetherness and giving and bringing out the best in us all, for a great many of us everything that we do for the holiday is out of a sense of obligation, demanding we put on a brave face and attempt, often unsuccessfully, to bury old tensions for just the one day. The season’s ugly underbelly has been exposed in a great many festive shockers over the years, but where many of these – including but not limited to Black Christmas, Gremlins, and more recently Krampus – show Christmas going to hell in a hand basket as the result of some kind of external threat, we all know the true source horror in the holidays: your own family.

Director/co-writer Adam Marcus’s Secret Santa may have a title which would seem to imply it’s another Saint Nick slasher in the vein of You Better Watch Out and Silent Night, Deadly Night, but one film it brought to mind for me almost immediately was You’re Next. If you recall how the first half hour or so of Adam Wingard’s home invasion horror went, we got the impression that if the masked assailants hadn’t showed up when they did, the family dinner probably would have turned into a bloodbath soon enough anyway. Secret Santa takes a similar conceit, and plays it out to the logical extreme.

We centre on a wealthy family having their annual reunion at the most wonderful time of the year. Adult siblings April (A. Leslie Kies), Penny (Ryan Leigh Seaton), Kyle (Drew Lynch) and stepbrother Jackson (Nathan Hedrick) head down to the idyllic family holiday home, with April’s boyfriend Ty (Michael Rady) and Jackson’s girlfriend Jacqueline (Michelle Renee Allaire) in tow. There, they all grit their teeth and brace themselves for their overbearing mother Shari (Debra Sullivan), their equally unbearable aunt Carol (Pat Destro), and their ineffectual uncle Carter (Curtis Fortier).

Just when it looks like it’s going to be the usual, awkward display of half-hearted declarations of familial affection, back-handed compliments and passive-aggressive displays of disappointment, things get a whole lot more uncomfortable with the unexpected arrival of their father Leonard (John Gilbert), long since divorced and legally withheld from such family gatherings, but whose success in the pharmaceutical industry has paid for pretty much all the family’s luxury. With extreme reluctance, Shari allows her ex-husband to stay, and the family soon take to the table to dine on the feast (which Shari claims to have slaved over when everyone knows it was the work of the caterers), whilst sipping on punch and indulging in their annual tradition of playing Secret Santa. However, tensions soon rise to literal breaking point, and verbal sparring gives way to full-on physical violence. Whilst the family struggles to process the shocking events that unfurl, it becomes apparent that there may be something more than just fruit, sugar and booze in the punch bowl.

It’s worth acknowledging that Adam Marcus has long been a bit of a divisive figure among horror fans. While his CV may not be all that extensive, it includes 1993’s Jason Goes To Hell: The Final Friday (his debut as writer-director at the age of only 25), and screenwriting duties on 2013’s Texas Chainsaw 3D. Both of these films tend to be classed among the worst entries in their respective franchises, so we might be forgiven for having little interest in what their creator has come up with since. A further warning sign might be identified in Secret Santa’s readily apparent low budget, with cheap-looking digital cinematography and sound, and worse yet an over-reliance on unconvincing CGI splatter: and that’s all the more dispiriting when none other than Robert Kurtzman is listed as the head of special make-up FX, as well as an executive producer.   

However, while Secret Santa may leave a bit to be desired on a technical/aesthetic level, it stands head and shoulders above most microbudget indie horror of recent years when it comes to the writing and the acting. With two generations of a family, plus partners, plus the unwitting caterers, there’s a pretty sizeable ensemble here, and the script from Marcus and Debra Sullivan (also producer) doesn’t sell any of them short. This is a film that takes even more glee in the barbed remark than the bloody exit wound, with sharp witticisms hitting hard left and right throughout. The cast, happily, is more than up to the task, all and sundry doing terrific work balancing the outrageous humour with a real sense of pathos. However, while the younger cast members all give performances to be proud of, there can be little question that their elders steal the show, as Debra Sullivan and Pat Destro give us two of the most beautifully despicable matriarchs from Hell that we’ve seen in many a moon.

Again, it’s a pity that the violence and gore aren’t as well-realised as the family drama and observational humour, and it’s hard not to wish they’d had at least a Blumhouse-sized budget with which to bring it to life; yet if we can get past these minor complaints, there’s no doubt that Secret Santa has automatically earned itself a spot at the table among the best Christmas horror movies ever. I’d say Adam Marcus more than makes up for any past sins here, and I truly hope this paves the way for bigger, even better films from him and his team at Skeleton Crew.

Secret Santa is available now on DVD, and comes to VOD on 3rd December, from Signature Entertainment.

The Secret of Marrowbone (2017)

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Sergio G. Sánchez, writer of The Orphanage and The Impossible, takes on his first major, widely released work as director on this family-based mystery with a hint of a ghost story in the mix. Given the writer-director’s heritage, and the fact that the marketing emphasises the involvement of producers behind both The Orphanage and Pan’s Labyrinth, we’re immediately primed to expect something atmospheric and understated, combining childlike wonder with harsh reality, which raises questions about where the boundaries lie between fantasy and real life. However, as much as The Secret of Marrowbone is in a similar vein to the aforementioned films, it’s even more reminiscent of the wave of psychological ghost movies which came in the wake of The Sixth Sense, such as The Others and Identity. Whether or not this is a good thing may depend on how much affection you feel for that particular era in horror history; for myself, the most part I couldn’t get past the feeling that I’d seen it all before, and hadn’t liked it all that much in the first place.

The Secret of Marrowbone (originally entitled simply Marrowbone, not that either title sounds any less like it’s got something to do with dog food) centres on an English family, initially known as the Fairburns, who make a sudden and dramatic move to their mother’s childhood home, a large, crumbling country house on the outskirts of a remote small town, in upstate New York or thereabouts. As they enter, their mother (Nicola Harrison) declares that they will henceforth take the name of the house, Marrowbone, as their own, and start over with an entirely new life, leaving behind an apparently unspeakable past. The move and the name change are, it soon becomes clear, all to do with getting away from their absent father, and the family live in constant fear of what might happen should he find them. Alas, other concerns come to take precedence, as their mother, already in ill health, quickly deteriorates further, and soon enough she’s at death’s door. Anxious that her family should stay together at all costs, she tells her eldest son Jack (George MacKay) to bury her on the property and let no one on the outside know of her death until after his 21st birthday, when he can legally take on guardianship of his younger siblings Billy (Charlie Heaton), Jane (Mia Goth) and Sam (Matthew Stagg). Jack takes this promise very seriously indeed, even as the past and the world outside threatens to tear his fragile family asunder.

To address the most obvious key strength right away, The Secret of Marrowbone does boast an impressive young ensemble. The horror audience is, of course, most likely to be familiar with Charlie Heaton from his role on Stranger Things, Mia Goth from Nymphomaniac Vol 2, and Anna Taylor-Joy – playing a local girl who becomes a close friend of the Marrowbones – from The Witch and Split. However, the real focal point is George MacKay, with whom I’d been totally unfamiliar beforehand. While I’m not certain this is necessarily a star-making turn, the actor does a good job with what he’s given, which is ostensibly a fairly meaty role: a young man forced into patriarchal responsibilities before his time, torn between duty to his siblings and the desire to live a life of his own, specifically with Taylor-Joy’s love interest. Naturally, as things progress, it veers off into darker territory for all concerned, though it’s worth stressing that this is by no means a wall-to-wall chiller; for the most part it’s a largely grounded, character-based period drama, with only occasional allusions to a supernatural element which doesn’t really come to the forefront until the final act.

Yet, once again, it’s very hard to avoid the feeling that we’ve seen this all before, and never more so is this feeling prevalent than when the obligatory big twist rears its ugly head. This plot device is pretty much synonymous with the Shyamalan era, and I doubt I’m alone in saying I find it as grating now as I did then. These major revelations which are somehow supposed to elevate the whole viewing experience, adding further layers of depth and meaning, so often just feel a corny cop-out and leave you feeling cheated, and for me that’s very much the case with The Secret of Marrowbone, particularly given how certain aspects of the big reveal don’t make a great deal of sense. But then, ’twas ever thus. Still, those with a greater appreciation of late 90s/early 2000s ghost movies might well be satisfied.    

The Secret of Marrowbone is available now on VOD and DVD from Entertainment One.

I Think We’re Alone Now (2018)

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Whilst for many of us post-apocalyptic narratives may be synonymous with zombies and/or marauding biker gangs in extravagant costumes, pare it back and they typically come down to the same key idea: being the last person alive in a world that is no more. From Robert Neville of Richard Matheson’s I Am Legend, to Max Rockatansky in George Miller’s Mad Max series, any self-respecting post-apocalyptic story tends to come down to one person, or a small group of people, doing what they can to stay alive, all on their own. Then, when invariably it comes to light that they are not in fact the last living soul on Earth, the question soon arises as to whether they might have been better off if they had been; Hell is other people, after all. So it is in I Think We’re Alone Now, director Reed Morano’s understated drama about solitude, survival and the difficulty of human relationships. Bronx Warriors this ain’t.

Peter Dinklage is Del, seemingly the sole survivor of a mysterious pandemic or otherwise unexplained occurrence which wiped out all other life in his small town. Timelines are never clear, but it would certainly seem to have been quite some time, as Del keeps himself busy systematically cleaning up the town house by house, burying all the bodies he finds, salvaging whatever he can find of use (primarily batteries), and respectfully leaving things as pristine as he can. Evidently he’s been at this a while, as once he’s cleaned house he marks the road outside, and the appropriate space on his own map with a white X – and there are Xs over a good portion of the town. Beyond this, Del occupies his time by maintaining the local library where he has also made his home, catching fresh fish (evidently they were unaffected by whatever it was that killed all the land animals), reading his beloved books, watching old movies, and – as clear an indicator as there ever was of a unabashed outsider – listening to nothing but Rush. As lonely a life as it may be, it seems to be a comfortable routine; one which is suddenly thrown off balance with the very unexpected arrival of Grace (Elle Fanning), a young woman who crashes her car nearby. After Del has tended to her injuries, Grace tells him that she too is all alone, and – pleased to have at last found human contact – she’s keen to stay, and help Del in his work cleaning the houses. Reluctantly Del agrees, but it’s apparent straight away that he may have been a great deal happier as a hermit.

Given that he’s arguably the best-loved actor in arguably the best-loved TV show of recent years, the presence of Peter Dinklage in the lead is clearly the main selling point of I Think We’re Alone Now. It’s an interesting choice for the actor, as Del is a total 180 degree turn from Tyrion Lannister. Where the Game of Thrones character enjoys the company of others almost as much as he enjoys the sound of his own voice, Del is a total introvert who doesn’t make a sound if he can help it, and clearly struggles when forced to interact with another human being. It only makes things harder that Elle Fanning’s Grace is such a polar opposite to him; far younger, considerably more outgoing, rather less concerned with being neat, tidy, quiet and orderly. This essential set-up – an uptight, lonely individual forced to confront their feelings when a bold free spirit enters the life – is very familiar territory, and, via such indie dramas as Buffalo 66 and Garden State, it tends to walk hand-in-hand with the dreaded Manic Pixie Dreamgirl archetype, which Fanning’s Grace could clearly qualify as. This being the case, as there’s a clear age gap between the two leads, it would be very easy for things to get a tad bit creepy. Happily, for the most part this is avoided, with any sense of this being a lonely male wish fulfilment story being kept to a minimum; the temptation is there to attribute this to the fact that director and cinematographer Reed Morano is female (probably best known for her work on another noted TV series, The Handmaid’s Tale), although we can’t fail to note that the screenwriter Mike Makowsky is not.

Still, whether we’re considering it as a last man alive tale or an introverted male meets extroverted female story, I’m not sure I Think We’re Alone Now really brings much new to the table. Obviously it helps having two such strong actors in the roles (Fanning may often be a trifle annoying, but that’s clearly the whole point), but even so it’s a well-trod path on which we don’t really find any especially unique turns. There are moments which allude to bigger, more interesting things going on, but for the most part these are left to the sidelines; as much as this is understandable, given the clear intent on telling what is first and foremost a human story, it’s hard not to feel just a little more meat on the bone wouldn’t have hurt.

And finally, as regards the title: while there’s a clear logic to it, given the condition of our protagonists, I do find it a bit odd that a film which is for most part so stony and straight-faced chooses to take its name from a quaint bubblegum pop song. This would seem to hint at a sense of knowing humour which, for the most part, is notable by its absence here.

I Think We’re Alone Now is available in the UK on VOD on 19th November, via The Movie Partnership.

One Cut of the Dead (2017)

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Here at Warped Perspective, and in our previous incarnation Brutal As Hell, we’ve long been massive enthusiasts for the weird and wonderful indie horror films of Japan. Be it the bizarre and challenging visions of director Sion Sono, the eye-popping practical FX work of Yoshihiro Nishimura, or the fearless performances of Asami, we’re used to getting excited at soon as we get word of a new such film making its way back west. However, we’re somewhat less accustomed to a new Japanese horror comedy arriving in a whirl of hype and praise from the international festival circuit which stretches beyond the specialist genre events, with the (for want of a better word) straight audiences greeting it as warmly as the horror aficionados.

Of course, on these comparatively rare occasions when a horror film attracts major praise from the (allegedly) more high brow end of the critical spectrum, this might wind up conversely putting some factors of the more cult-leaning audience off. Certainly that’s been the case with some of the most critically praised, widely released horror films of 2018 (Hereditary springs to mind); and I suspect this same effect might inadvertently put some potential viewers off One Cut of the Dead. After all, we don’t tend to anticipate microbudget Japanese zombie movies getting widespread media attention and universal acclaim (equating, for what it’s worth, to a 100% Rotten Tomatoes score). The fact that not everybody likes these sort of films is a huge part of their appeal.

However, let me attempt to reassure any readers who count themselves in that camp: One Cut of the Dead is still very much a film for us. Writer-director Shin’ichirô Ueda and company have crafted a heartfelt love letter to the zombie movie. While it absolutely points out and makes fun of the corny cliches, it does so with such gusto and such closeness to the spirit of the films it lampoons that it could only be the work of those with a real passion for the genre. Comparisons to This Is Spinal Tap and What We Do In The Shadows are entirely justified; this film is in a similar spirit, and it might very well be just as good, which is by no means faint praise.

As the film begins, we get the impression that we’re joining a cheesy low-budget horror movie somewhere in the middle, as a blood-spattered, scantily clad young woman (Yuzuki Akiyama) faces off against a slowly-oncoming young male zombie (Kazuaki Nagaya), who it seems was until recently her boyfriend. She screams, she cries, she meets her fate… and then someone calls ‘cut,’ as it turns out we’re seeing a scene being shot for a movie. We also learn very quickly that the film’s director (Takayuki Hamatsu) is, well, just a little bit uptight and perhaps a little too serious about the filmmaking process, as his aggressive, ultra-demanding approach is clearly inflicting major psychological damage on his cast and crew, and pushing them way behind schedule. Whilst the team take a break, partially at the insistence of the somewhat matriarchal make-up artist (Harumi Shuhama), it becomes apparent that the director’s dedication to capturing real horror and real emotion knows no bounds, as the remote set suddenly finds itself under attack by the actual living dead, and – rather than make a dash for safety – the director is determined to get it all on camera.

If you’ve heard anything about One Cut of the Dead, it’s most likely the fact that the bulk of the film is captured almost entirely in a single take, with one roving camera following the action. With this in mind, and based on the synopsis, you may be left wondering why the film is not being promoted, or even discussed, in terms of being a found footage film. Certainly the film plays with the conventions of that subgenre to an extent, with a number of moments in the early half that seem to prod at, if not exactly break, the fourth wall, leaving questions to be asked about the precise nature of what we’re being shown. As for the explanations we receive… well, here’s where I have to take a moment and consider my words carefully, as One Cut of the Dead takes some really quite unexpected turns as the running time progresses, and I think it’s safe to say you’re much better off going in with as little foreknowledge as possible. All I will say is that the opening minutes set the stage perfectly and prepare you for what’s to come, in that you’re not exactly watching the film you think you’re watching at first. And if that doesn’t quite make sense, good. Again, the less you know going in, the better.

Creatively and wittily assembled with a palpable enthusiasm and scene-stealing (or, I dunno, single shot-stealing) performances from Takayuki Hamatsu and Harumi Shuhama, One Cut of the Dead is one of the most entertaining and enjoyable films of the year, and heartily deserving of the widespread praise it has attracted. Believe the hype this time. And no, you don’t have to be a horror fan to love it, but I’m sure it helps.

One Cut of the Dead just screened as part of Leeds International Film Festival, where it has one more screening lined up for this Tuesday, 13th November (details/tickets here). It will also screen next week at Abertoir Horror Festival in Aberystwyth, before getting a wide UK theatrical release in January from Third Window Films; more information here.

Bleeding Steel (2017)

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Recent months have been a busy time for Jackie Chan fans, or at least it feels that way around these parts, as we’ve had a slew of the Hong Kong action superstar’s hits released to Blu-ray in the UK (Police Story and Police Story 2, Project A and Project A Part 2, City Hunter). In the midst of all these comparative golden oldies, we might almost forget that, with well over a hundred films on his CV, Jackie is still as busy today as he’s ever been; and, despite various claims over the years of his retirement from the genre, the now 64-year old actor is still working first and foremost in action, even if the films in question are oftentimes quite far removed tonally from those on which he made his name.

2017’s Bleeding Steel, from director Leo Zhang (who previously directed Jackie’s son Jaycee in 2012’s Chrysanthemum to the Beast), stands as a good example of this tonal shift in the actor’s filmography. A quirky blend of cop thriller and super-powered cyborg sci-fi, it’s a fun, pulpy concept that promises B-movie thrills galore, and for the most part makes good on this; it’s just that, well, it doesn’t really feel all that much like a Jackie Chan movie. For all its inherent absurdity, it is for the most part played outwardly straight, with little of the comedic flourish that has previously defined the leading man’s body of work. As such, it rather leaves you feeling they could have cast just about any mature action star in the lead and it wouldn’t have made much difference. This is kind of a big deal, given that Jackie’s unique personality has always been vital to making his work stand apart.

Jackie is Special Agent Lin Dong, and when we meet him in the grip of a terrible dilemma as he races to be at the side of his leukemia-stricken daughter in hospital, but is being called back to work to oversee the transfer of a vitally important witness. One gut-wrenching bout of absent father’s guilt later, and he’s on the job transporting the witness – a brilliant geneticist – along with the rest of his unit (every single one of whom looks young enough to be his kids, but let’s not dwell on that). But of course, things don’t go to plan, and the agents find themselves under attack and hopelessly outgunned by a small army of mysterious figures in space-age armour. These turn out to be cybernetically enhanced superhumans born of the geneticist’s research, headed up by the sinister Andre (Callan Mulvey). With nothing left to lose, Lin boldly fights to the end – or it seems.

Suddenly we skip ahead 13 years, and Lin’s daughter Nancy (Na-Na OuYang) is alive and well, going to school in Sydney with seemingly no memory of her childhood illness, or her father. However, when a local science fiction novelist publishes his latest book – entitled Bleeding Steel, funnily enough – whose story adheres a little too closely to those mysterious, hushed-up events of 13 years earlier, various forces merge on Sydney to confront him to find out where he got his information. These ominous visitors include the villainous Andre and his anonymous associate credited only as the Woman in Black (Tess Haubrich), computer hacker Leeson (Show Lo) – and, yes, Lin Dong himself, who it transpires has kept a close eye on his estranged child since that fateful night drove them apart. Old adversaries are promptly at battle once more, and the unwitting Nancy finds herself in the eye of the storm, as she’s much more closely involved with this top secret cyber-genetic-technological malarkey than she knows.

Bleeding Steel is one of those movies whose heart and soul might well have been transplanted directly from the mid-to-late 1980s: in taking an ostensibly earthbound action set-up and giving it a sci-fi twist, it’s in a similar spirit to the likes of RoboCop, Universal Soldier, Alien Nation, or Dark Angel. Approached with that mindset, there’s no reason it shouldn’t make for enjoyable viewing. While it’s clearly not a megabudget production, the effects and stunts are impressively done and the cast is mostly endearing. Naturally the plot is borderline nonsensical, but this is hardly unusual for films of this ilk, and there’s enough stuff going crash, bang and wallop to keep you distracted.

Again, though, Bleeding Steel seems most likely to disappoint as a Jackie Chan movie. I’ll admit to not having seen all that much of Jackie’s work from the last five years or so, but it’s long been evident that, in his increasing years, he’s been eager to step back from physical comedy and prove his merit as a serious actor. All power to him for that, but I can’t help feeling a movie in which he battles cybernetic super-soldiers might have benefited from just a touch of that old charm. Director Leo Zhang dishes up something a little darker and grittier than we necessarily expect from Jackie, with more hard-hitting violence. Also, whilst Jackie remains the principle lead protagonist, he shares the spotlight a lot more than we might expect with his younger co-stars; again, not necessarily a bad thing, just not what his biggest fans might expect. On top of all this, a certain breed of Jackie Chan fan might be rather taken aback to see him exclusively driving Audis rather than Mitsubishis.

All this having been said, if you’re in an undemanding mood and up for some simple popcorny fun, Bleeding Steel should fit the bill, even if it’s hardly vintage Jackie Chan material. But hey, it’s not like there are no signature Jackie moments at all; for example, if you’ve always wanted to see him do his thing on top of the Sydney Opera House, it’s worth the asking price for that alone.

Bleeding Steel is available now on VOD (iTunes, Amazon, Google, Microsoft, Sky Store, Sony, TalkTalk, Ubiquity).

Death House (2017)

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Horror fans, at their best, are a very open-minded but also fiercely loyal bunch. Make one great movie and we’ll make damn sure to see your next; make a bunch of them and we’ll show up every time. Even more so, put together a cast with a string of genre favourites to their name, and watch the gorehounds turn out in their droves. And no two ways about it, Death House boasts one of the most impressive ensembles of seasoned horror icons that you’re ever likely to see. A quick scan of the cast list should be enough to make any true blue horror fan’s eyes pop out of their skulls: Barbara Crampton, Kane Hodder, Dee Wallace, Adrienne Barbeau, Bill Moseley, Tony Todd, Sid Haig, Michael Berryman, Vernon Wells, Debbie Rochon, Tiffany Shepis, Felissa Rose, Lloyd Kaufman, Camille Keaton, Brinke Stevens, Danny Trejo (for some reason uncredited) – and, perhaps the greatest jewel in an already glittering crown, the late, great Gunnar Hansen, who also wrote the story that was the basis for the screenplay.

Yes, a cast like that seems guaranteed to make any new movie a must-see for horror fans; and the fact that it’s a low budget, cinema-bypassing production shouldn’t be too big of a deal given the bulk of these performers have done their best work within that arena. However, the definition of a low-budget straight-to-video movie in the 80s, or even the 90s, is pretty far removed from what constitutes a DTV cheapie these days. I know it seems small-minded to pin the downward spiral of ultra low budget indie horror on the move to digital photography, but having seen far, far more of such films than any decent human being should in this past decade, and having been for the most part distinctly underwhelmed by what I’ve seen, I find it hard not to conclude that digital filmmaking really does lack the soul that real film brought to the process. How else do we explain just how lifeless, flat and tedious so many of these movies wind up being?

Or could it simply be that filmmakers like Death House’s director and screenwriter B Harrison Smith just aren’t up to the task? The only other film I’ve seen from Smith thus far, his 2014 debut Camp Dread, certainly didn’t inspire much confidence, and this latest film only hammers that home all the harder. If you can put together a cast like this, and still wind up with a film that leaves you checking your watch every two minutes wondering when it’s either going to get to the good stuff or simply end, then you might need to start asking questions about your work.

This film is so sloppily assembled it leaves you struggling to get any sense of what the hell is meant to be going on. After a bewildering introduction with Tony Todd spilling forth erudite threats whilst kidnapping a young woman, followed by our first meeting with Kane Hodder as a neo-Nazi cult leader, we ultimately find ourselves in the Death House, some sort of hi-tech, privately owned maximum security prison which utilises virtual reality technology in a bid to study the mind of evil, the reported intent being to eradicate evil completely with this knowledge. Barbara Crampton and Dee Wallace are the key scientists conducting this research, and they set about inducting two new agents – young hotshots Boon (Cortney Palm) and Novak (Cody Longo) – into their strange, brave new world. However, whilst these researchers are within the bowels of the Death House, an unexpected attack knocks out the software completely, leaving the killers housed within free to get out and seek their freedom, plus any bloody revenge they can get along the way, with Hodder’s wannabe führer leading the assault.

Obviously there’s a lot to be said for SF-tinged horror exploring abstract ideas; I’d certainly be curious to read Hansen’s original story (the late actor was also quite the wordsmith in his own right). However, despite the best efforts of its ever-reliable cast, Death House falls flat at every turn. Smith’s script and direction are borderline incoherent, and it doesn’t help that he has neither the vision nor the budget for the large scale, Paul WS Anderson-esque action-horror spectacle the film clearly aspires to (insert your own joke about whether anyone should actually seek to emulate PWSA). It also doesn’t help that the actual leads of the film are the less than stellar Palm and Longo, and aside from Crampton, Wallace and Hodder, the big names are for the most part little more than cameos, with only a handful of lines between them. Brinke Stevens is pretty much treated as an extra, and you’d be forgiven for missing her completely; Gunnar Hansen’s appearance is so brief and tangential it barely registers; Debbie Rochon and Tiffany Shepis I don’t remember seeing at all until their names popped up in the end credits. Adrienne Barbeau fans might also feel a little cheated, as she doesn’t actually appear at all, simply providing a computer voice – yes, just like she did in The Thing. Nor is this the only overt reference to another horror movie which Death House crams in, and I wish I could say such moments add a bit of wit to proceedings but… guess what.

It may be jam-packed with stars, and have a pretty high gore and nudity quota; but hey, so does the filmography of Uwe Boll. And – yes, I’m gonna go there – I daresay Boll would have done a better job with this material than B Harrison Smith has done here. Many old school horror fans will doubtless be lured in by the cast, but let me urge you not to take the bait on this one.

Death House is available on VOD in the US now, with a DVD release to follow on December 11th, from Cleopatra Entertainment.

Overlord (2018)

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The last few years have been a curious time for mainstream horror. For one, pretty much every time a major new genre entry arrives, people seem to go out of their way to insist that it is not, in fact, a horror movie, primarily because the film in question is intelligent, nuanced and character-based, and handles genre tropes in an unexpected way. There’s a lot to be said for this approach, and it’s certainly given us a lot of great cinema (much of which, it should be stressed, dates back a great deal earlier than 2015). However, there’s also a great deal to be said for the more ostensibly straightforward, less high-reaching/inward-gazing mode of horror, in which the filmmakers are not quite so concerned with producing unorthodox, challenging fare than they are with just giving us a good old-fashioned roller coaster ride that gets the blood pumping. Happily, despite the rising tide of understated intellectual horror, Hollywood hasn’t forgotten how to make simpler, crowd-pleasing, shits and giggles horror, as Overlord most agreeably demonstrates.

It’s World War II, and we join an airborne US battalion in the run-up to D-Day. Their mission: to help ensure the success of the Allied assault on Nazi-occupied France by destroying a communications tower situated in a remote French village. Following a parachute jump that doesn’t quite go to plan (and one of the most visually striking sequences of its kind you’re ever likely to see), the few surviving soldiers – among them Boyce (Jovan Adepo), Tibbet (John Magaro), Chase (Iain De Caestecker), and their Corporal, Ford (Wyatt Russell) – struggle through treacherous enemy territory in the increasingly vague hope of achieving their goal and getting out of there alive. However, once they reach the Nazi-riddled village that plays host to the tower in question, it becomes apparent that the occupying forces are up to something even more sinister than your standard war atrocities; some sort of horrific human experimentation which just might help the Third Reich succeed in establishing their new world order.

So we see, from its premise alone, Overlord is pretty far removed from the predominant high profile/high brow horror movies of recent years. After all, nothing screams ‘low brow’ with quite such relish and exuberance as a Nazi zombie movie. While this subgenre dates back decades (to the likes of Shock Waves and Oasis of the Zombies), it’s been particularly popular in the 21st century, entries ranging from the sublime (the Dead Snow movies), to the ridiculous (also the Dead Snow movies), to the somewhat less memorable (the Outpost movies, plus a slew of microbudget, supermarket bottom shelf DVD titles). However, correct me if I’m wrong, but I don’t recall any big budget Hollywood Nazi zombie movies until now. Kind of surprised it’s taken this long, really; and while JJ Abrams isn’t exactly the first name you’d associate with Hollywood horror, his track record as a producer, most notably the Cloverfield series (which, it seems, this film was initially intended to be part of, until The Cloverfield Paradox appeared to kill off the loose franchise earlier this year), it’s not surprising he’d recognise the mainstream potential of the concept. Abrams also has a knack for recognising relatively untested directorial talent (i.e. Matt Reeves and Dan Trachtenberg on the two good Cloverfields), and brings another good ‘un to the forefront on Overlord in director Julius Avery, who proves himself more than a dab hand at high octane action and shock horror.  

Billy Ray and Mark L Smith’s script cannily follows the example of the likes of Predator, and perhaps also The Descent, by fully immersing us in a world of more grounded horror before bringing anything other-worldly to the table. For pretty much the whole first half of the film, Overlord is played more or less as a straight World War II movie; a glossy, clearly heavily fictionalised one, for sure, but a comparatively straightforward military thriller nonetheless. In this time we get to know the characters, in particular central solider Boyce; with another comparative newcomer, Jovan Adepo (who I had no idea was English until looking him up on IMDb just now), getting the chance to shine. The young actor does a great job as an anxious, inexperienced yet principled newcomer to combat, who, it’s made clear from the start, needs to prove himself. Obviously, the audience knows their tropes and knows he will prevail, but Adepo brings a vulnerability to the role which makes him easy to root for, and worry about. By contrast, Wyatt Russell – at last getting a role that his father Kurt might have played in his prime (not that it ever feels like stunt casting, by contrast with just about everything Scott Eastwood’s ever done) – has a much shadier character in Ford, never entirely trustworthy and all the more compelling for it.

Given that, as mentioned, we live in an age of socially conscious horror, not to mention an era of somewhat extreme sociopolitical unease, much could be made of the fact that this film takes on Nazis; with a black guy leading the fight against them, no less. While I’m certainly not against overt social commentary in genre cinema, I have to say I was rather relieved to see Overlord take a leaf out of Night of the Living Dead’s book by never making an issue of its lead protagonist’s ethnicity. As regards the Nazi angle, Overlord certainly goes to lengths to ensure there’s no question who the bad guys are, but it would be a stretch to suggest the film directly reflects contemporary neo-fascism. Any way you cut it, though, not since Inglourious Basterds has a large scale mainstream production taken such glee in sending Nazis to spectacular deaths, with gore, bullets and flaming explosions aplenty. The fact that this spectacle also incorporates living dead super-soldiers, often with freakish deformities in the vein of Re-Animator, only makes it all the more irresistible, even if – as is inevitable for a modern day blockbuster – there’s a little more digital trickery involved than old school gorehounds might prefer.

With its spectacular action, visual panache and frenetic pace, Overlord will doubtless be quite the calling card for Julius Avery (rumours are already linking him, however tenuously, to a Flash Gordon reboot), and one certainly hopes it will lead to more work for its talented cast, with credit also due to Mathilde Ollivier’s tough female lead and Pilou Asbæk’s wonderfully hissable villain. But irrespective of what comes next for any of them, the cast and crew of Overlord can be proud of producing one of the most enjoyable R-rated B-movie horrors to come out of the mainstream for some time, which will doubtless be a Friday night favourite, to be accompanied with beers and pizza, for years to come.

Overlord is in UK cinemas on Wednesday, 7th November, from Paramount.

Long Weekend (1978)

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When we think of horror films which trap our protagonists in the wilderness far from civilisation, these tend to be backwoods shockers in the Texas Chain Saw/Hills Have Eyes mould, pitting the softer city folk against brutal, frequently inbred country bumpkins. Alternatively, such a setting might see its human cast at the mercy of some sort of unusually large and aggressive animal. When you boil it right down, though, such narratives are invariably about humankind versus the elements, how flesh and bone invariably stands no chance against the timeless, ageless, unstoppable ravages of nature. 1978 Australian horror movie Long Weekend explores this idea in a hugely compelling and inventive manner, centring on a struggling married couple played by John Hargreaves and Briony Behets who, at the husband’s behest, venture out to a remote, secluded beach for a getaway, in the hopes of saving their relationship. However, it quickly becomes evident that not only their relationship is beyond saving, but that they themselves have little hope of getting out of there alive, as nature itself seems set on destroying them.

The original Long Weekend has been a notable gap in my horror education for a good while. I first became aware of it via two films made in 2008: the wonderful Ozploitation documentary Not Quite Hollywood, and the less-than-wonderful Long Weekend remake, the latter of which I struggle to remember much about beyond Jim ‘The Passion of the Christ’ Caviezel taking the male lead and struggling with the Australian accent. As regards the 1978 film’s appearance in the definitive account of Australian exploitation; while the last thing I want to do is get into one of those “oh, it’s not really horror, it’s more than that” diatribes of which we see so many from ignorant high profile critics, it’s still fair to say that if you approach Long Weekend expecting your classic Ozploitation, you may not get what you’re looking for. First-time feature director Colin Eggleston, working from a script by Everett De Roche (writer of another notable 1978 Australian horror, Patrick), isn’t shooting through the broad, overly cartoonish lens favoured by the likes of Brian Trenchard-Smith, with blood, boobs, brawls and things going boom in abundance. This is a considerably quieter, more grounded and character-based affair in which the primary focus is on the psychological breakdown of the characters, whilst the nature (no pun intended) of the forces working against them – far from the more tangible threat of a madman or a monster – remains abstruse throughout. Think Don’t Look Now, or for a more recent example 2013’s Honeymoon, and you should have a better idea of what to expect.

The 1970s saw the rise of James Lovelock’s Gaia hypothesis and the beginnings of Green politics and environmental awareness, and these certainly seem to make their presence felt in Long Weekend. While ostensibly the main focus is on the couple’s relationship rapidly falling apart before our eyes, the film also makes a repeated point of emphasising their total disregard for their surroundings: without a moment’s thought the pair toss their garbage, spray bugs, kill wildlife, and generally smash up the wilderness to better suit themselves. Hargreaves’ Peter in particular, while fancying himself the outdoors type, wreaks the most havoc, chopping down a tree with an axe and shooting at birds willy-nilly for no better reason than to amuse himself. There’s little debate on his contemptuousness, then, nor does Behets’ Marcia do much to redeem herself; indeed, there’s no avoiding that from early on both parties are presented as thoroughly unsympathetic, leaving us rooting for nature to take its revenge from early on. (That having been said, some viewers are likely to take exception to the reported event which is implied to have been Marcia’s greatest ‘crime against nature.’)

Part of what makes Long Weekend so fascinating is how it ventures into somewhat fantastical territory without seeming like a fantasy film. After all, while events occur in a manner which seems to defy logic and reason – paths seeming to send the protagonists in circles, attacks from animals which typically avoid people – none of it is entirely outside the realms of physical possibility. It’s also impressive, particularly given what a low budget production this is, that none of it ever comes off as silly; there are brief moments in which Hargreaves faces off against critters when the use of puppets threatens to prompt laughter, but the right tone is struck through judicious editing. Naturally it also helps that Hargreaves and Behets play the whole thing straight, both actors doing terrific work. Indeed, whilst the film is first and foremost a revenge of nature tale, it can just as easily be read as a straight marriage breakdown, the harshness of the elements and the wildlife merely reflecting the growing animosity between two people who were once in love.

Clearly one of the finest genre films ever to come out of Australia, Long Weekend is one which any self-respecting horror fan should make a point of seeing. Second Sight have done a fine job with this Blu-ray edition, which looks and sounds very good and boasts a host of decent extras, including full outtake interviews from Not Quite Hollywood with all the key surviving players from the film, which doesn’t include Eggleston or Hargreaves (De Roche has also since died), and an audio interview with Hargreaves. Also, if you’re a fan of slightly more academic extras (these seem to divide opinion, and I’d be lying if I said I’m particularly enthusiastic about them), we have a video discussion of the film with four Australian critics.

Long Weekend is available on Blu-ray now from Second Sight.

Project A (1983) & Project A Part 2 (1987)

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It’s been quite a year for British fans of Jackie Chan, thanks to the fine folks at Eureka Home Entertainment. Not content with reissuing the screen legend’s breakthrough film Drunken Master on Blu-ray back in April 2017, 2018 has seen the British label give similar treatment to Jackie’s benchmarks Police Story/Police Story 2, plus the somewhat lesser City Hunter; and now, Eureka have released another of the action comedy icon’s signature duologies, Project A and Project A Part 2. The 1983 original, coming two years before the first Police Story and three before Armour of God, was probably the largest scale production Jackie had taken up to that point, both as lead actor and writer-director, and it sees him fine-tune his signature Kung Fu comedy style whilst both paying homage to his vintage Hollywood influences and honouring his Hong Kong heritage. It’s also notable for being one of the key films in which Jackie shares the screen with his two most esteemed collaborators, Sammo Hung and Yuen Biao.

Project A (on which Sammo Hung was also an uncredited co-director) is set in 19th century, British-ruled Hong Kong. While affluent, the area is not without its share of strife, partly down to underlying tensions between the locals and their white masters, but also due to the threat of gangsters inland, and pirates off the coast. The need to combat this threat leads to an uneasy alliance between Hong Kong’s marine police, whose ranks include Sergeant Dragon Ma Yue Lung (Jackie), and the mainland police, including Inspector Hong Tin-Tzu (Yuen Biao). This joint venture doesn’t come easy, given the two respective police forces seem to hate each other almost as much as they hate criminals, as evidenced by a large-scale bar brawl early on. However, when intel from the street-smart Fei (Sammo) points toward corruption within the Hong Kong police arming the pirates, the unlikely trio pool their resources to take the bad guys down.

Jonathan Ross, an early celebrant of Jackie’s work in the UK, has long held up Project A’s bicycle chase as one of, if not the definitive sequence of the star’s entire career. It’s every bit as set on getting laughs as it is on providing thrills, with our hero fighting off the bad guys in increasingly absurd ways, whilst inadvertently doing injury to himself. Hand in hand with this, it’s a perfect example of Jackie’s signature screen combat style, as much utilising his surroundings and any objects to hand as his own well-practised fighting skills.  These kind of immaculately choreographed set pieces, designed as much to evoke awe as to inspire massive bursts of giggles, are absolutely Jackie Chan’s bread and butter, and while the bike scene is a standout it’s far from the only such moment in Project A, from the aforementioned bar room brawl, similar altercations in ball rooms, streets and pirate caves, and most memorably a recreation of Harold Lloyd’s iconic clock face stunt. All this, combined with the beautiful sets and the great chemistry between the three leads make Project A one of the real classics of 1980s Hong Kong action cinema, even with its often overstuffed and slightly incoherent plotting (not that this is too unusual for HK films of this ilk).

Not unlike Police Story 2, Project A’s sequel can’t help but be just a little underwhelming by comparison, particularly given that neither Sammo Hung nor Yuen Biao return (reportedly both were too busy shooting Eastern Condors at the time). The plot delves more deeply into police corruption, as Dragon is hired to help out taking down gangsters in a district where the only cop authorised to carry a gun, Chun (David Lam), is suspected of abusing his position. Once more there’s a curious blend of serious action thriller plotting, sincere Chinese patriotism (Dragon winds up working with local revolutionaries against his imperial commanders), and comedic hi-jinks, notably in a sequence at the home of the Governor’s daughter (another frequent Jackie Chan collaborator, Maggie Cheung) with multple parties hiding from one another, which manages to be at once suspenseful, and a classic slamming door farce.

All in all, Project A Part 2 feels a bit flat and unmemorable by comparison with its predecessor, but even so it’s got that requisite charm that makes all Jackie Chan’s best films shine, and in any case it’s one that completists will be keen to get hold of. And, once again, Eureka have provided fans with a handsome package here, with both films looking and sounding great, and no shortage of extras including several archival interviews/featurettes as well as new material on both discs, plus accompanying booklets for each film.

Euereka Home Entertainment’s Project A/Project A Part 2 DVD/Blu-ray combo box set is available now. 

Halloween (2018)

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Yes, I realise I’m a little late to the party with this one given that at the time of writing David Gordon Green’s Halloween has been in cinemas just over a week, and to the tune of the highest box office takings in franchise history no less. But if we’re speaking in terms of who’s showing up a little late, there are plenty who’d say the Halloween series is well overdue a return to screens. With Rob Zombie’s reboot and its sequel now the best part of a decade behind us, and almost unanimously dismissed by critics and fans as a mistake, the 40th anniversary of John Carpenter’s groundbreaking slasher presented an irresistible opportunity to set Michael Myers back on his reign of terror. While the choice of Green as director may have raised some eyebrows given his inexperience with horror (aside from his having long been attached to the Suspiria remake before vacating the director’s chair for Luca Guadagnino), otherwise Halloween 2018 would appear to be doing everything right. Jason Blum, the single most influential horror producer of the 21st century, is on board, and – reportedly at the persuasion of co-producer and former Shock Till You Drop editor Ryan Turek – they brought back the three most significant figures from the 1978 original: Jamie Lee Curtis reprising the role of Laurie Strode, Nick Castle back behind the mask as ‘The Shape,’ and John Carpenter himself once again providing the score, whilst both he and Curtis take executive producer credits. (Aside from the two of them, Blum, Turek and long-time series stalwart Malek Akkad, there are no less than ten more credited producers on the film.) Surely all this was enough to bring Halloween back to its former glory, then?

Well, here’s where I might lose some of you… honestly, I’m not sure the Halloween series ever was anything that glorious. Yes, Carpenter’s original is a classic, a film that had a big impact on me, and an insurmountable influence on the past four decades of the horror genre; but even so, I really don’t think that Halloween as a franchise ever amounted to much. Honestly, I’ve never cared much for any of the sequels beyond the notorious series side-step Halloween III: Season of the Witch. Clearly I’m not the only person to feel that way, as Halloween 2018 is of course the third time the franchise has tried to rip it all up and start again, after 1998’s Halloween H20 and the aforementioned 2007 Rob Zombie reboot. In theory, Halloween 2018 would seem to be taking a pretty bold approach, disregarding literally everything that came after the original – including 1981’s Halloween II, and its infamous revelation that Michael and Laurie were siblings (which Carpenter has long since admitted he regrets) – and picking up with a now geriatric Michael and Laurie starting their fight to the death all over again.

Of course, given that, for better or worse, we’ve already had 10 Halloween movies, and Carpenter’s film has inspired literally countless imitators, you might be forgiven for going into Halloween 2018 wondering whether it’s all been done already. I’m not sure whether that’s the case or not, but of this much I’m sure: if there’s still some life left in Halloween, this film doesn’t find it. Not at all. As much as I recall H20, Resurrection and the Rob Zombie entries leaving me infuriated, at least I came out of those films feeling something. This time around, I’m stunned by the total lack of feeling. As much as it might aim to be reverential of the original, and balance this out with some grounded family-based drama, it all adds up to a whole lot of nothing.

You pretty much know the essentials already. We’re in an alternate timeline in which none of the Halloween sequels happened, and forty years have passed since that fateful Halloween night when escaped mental patient Michael Myers murdered Laurie Strode’s best friends and almost took her life too. In the decades since, Michael has been incarcerated in the Smith’s Grove institute, and since the death of Loomis his care has been in the hands of Dr Sartain (Haluk Bilginer). But in a clear case of history repeating itself, Michael is poised to be transferred to a new facility once again, and anyone who knows the killer’s history knows he’s bound to escape and return to his old hunting ground. However, this time around Laurie Strode is ready and waiting for him. Severely traumatised by the events of Halloween night 1978, she’s spent the last four decades going full T2 Sarah Connor, studying home security, survival, marksmanship and hand-to-hand combat. She also made a fierce point of instilling these skills in her daughter Karen (Judy Greer), and it left such a mark that the two are largely estranged all these years later, meaning that Laurie also has a strained, distant relationship with her granddaughter Alyson (Andi Matichak). But hey, maybe a night of being stalked by a kill-crazy madman in a battered old William Shatner mask might be just what this dysfunctional family unit needs to heal old wounds.

It’s clear that all the key players came in with the best intentions, and there’s certainly the makings of a great film in here somewhere. The script from Green, Danny McBride and Jeff Fradley gives us the most complex version of Laurie that Curtis has ever gotten to play; and, credit where it’s due, her PTSD is handled a hell of a lot more effectively than Scout Taylor Compton’s in the 2009 Halloween II, not that there was ever much question of that. It’s also nice knowing that, for the first time since 1978, Nick Castle is the Shape once again (although the 71 year old shares credit with the younger James Jude Courtney, who presumably takes the more physically demanding moments); and of course it’s great to hear Carpenter’s original themes given a breath of fresh air in collaboration with his son Cody and Daniel Davies, both of whom worked on Carpenter’s recent albums. In addition, comparative newcomer Andi Matichak was a good find for Alyson, conveying a lot of that classic final girl strength which would serve her well in more pivotal roles; yet here she can’t help feeling like a bit of a fifth wheel, a surrogate Laurie, somewhat gratuitous given we have the actual Laurie right there.

This, really, is the crux of the problem: with the exception of Matichak, and Jibrail Nantambu as an unbelievably cute and funny little kid being babysat for, none of the new characters are remotely interesting. The whole thread that gets things in motion, British podcasters trying to score interviews with both Michael and Laurie, is tedious as all hell. Michael’s new doctor, and his role in proceedings, is boring and obvious. There are a slew of would-be comedic asides – cops on stakeout comparing lunches, a boy on a hunt complaining about missing dance class, pretty much all the high school sequences – that totally miss the mark, and leave you wondering how the hell they made the final cut; particularly when so many of the more significant scenes between Curtis and Judy Greer are so badly edited, clearly trimmed down for fear of challenging the audience’s attention span. Greer herself, though a good actress, seems really out of sorts for the most part, and we really never get a strong mother-daughter vibe (even considering their estrangement) between her and Curtis.

Above and beyond all this, though, Halloween 2018 is just boring to look at. While I’ve enjoyed some of David Gordon Green’s films in the past, his work has always been a bit nondescript visually, and this is no exception. They may be aiming for a relatively gritty and grounded feel – almost akin to the Zombie entries, but not quite so grim or sleazy – but it just feels bland and lifeless. The kills, too, can’t avoid a sense of tedium, even if they are surprisingly gruesome, particularly considering this entry aimed to be closest to the almost entirely bloodless original. That having been said, as visually dull as Halloween 2018 may be at the best of times, that’s preferable to the groan-inducing moments when it directly recreates a number of iconic shots from its predecessor.

Given that it’s making a killing (ha! get it?) at the box office, it looks likely that Halloween 2018 may once again revive the series, and there seem to be a lot of murmurs around the social media campfire that the likes of Friday the 13th and A Nightmare on Elm Street may soon enough follow suit. As a lifelong fan of those franchises, I’m certainly not against any of that happening, but I really hope that this film is not held up as some sort of creative benchmark for a new wave of slashers. Its heart may be in the right place, but its aim is so far off the mark it’s untrue.

Halloween is in cinemas now, from Universal.