Abertoir 2012 Review: John Dies At The End

Review by Ben Bussey

When setting out to assess a film which deals with the nature of time, space, psychic phenomena, and the role that drug use might play in our perception of these matters, all from a detached, tongue-in-cheek perspective, it’s immediately apparent how easily a film of this nature might not work. From the word go, right there in the premise and the title, it’s all so clever-clever, so knowingly absurd on every level that it should by all rights crumble under the weight of its own smug self-awareness. It also doesn’t help that the lead actors are far too good looking and muscular by half. It could so easily be Detention all over again.

Yet not only does John Dies At The End successfully avoid drowning in a black lagoon of hipster self-importance; it also manages to be one of the most deliriously entertaining and inventive movies of the year, a joyful genre-bender with Pythonesque blood pumping through its horror fan heart.

Dave (Chase Williamson) and John (Rob Mayes) are a pair of old high school buddies still caught up in a perpetual adolescence, who through little-to-no fault of their own find themselves beset with enhanced psychic faculties, and have made use of this by becoming – in the words of reporter Arnie (Paul Giamatti) – some kind of “spiritualist-exorcists.” As for how they got that way, and what their new-found abilities have told them about the nature of reality and the fate of the world, indeed the universe – that’s what Dave meets with Arnie in a Chinese restaurant to discuss. It all has something to do with a new, rare drug that Dave and John have come into contact with; a black liquid they know as soy sauce. But where is John when Dave and Arnie meet? Might there be a clue in the title…?

Not long ago I lamented in a typical thirtysomething horror geek manner how more or less all the great directors of yesteryear bar Cronenberg have long since either lost touch with their creativity or sunk into apathy when it comes to their contemporary work. I realise now I failed to consider Don Coscarelli, and the clear exception to that rule he also represents. Although John Dies At The End is his first feature for the best part of ten years (seriously Bruce Campbell, can the script for Bubba Nosferatu really have been that bad? Especially by your standards?), these two latter efforts from Coscarelli can proudly stand shoulder to shoulder as representing a filmmaker who has only truly found his stride more than two decades into his career. Both films originate in comparatively lesser-known works of cult horror fiction; both balance supernatural horror with absurdist humour; and both manage to defy expectation with remarkable self-assurance, without alienating the audience. And while neither is necessarily that scary, by gum they’re funny as fuck. In a year that’s been no slouch for above-average horror comedies, John Dies At The End more than holds its own, proving laugh-out-loud hilarious almost from start to finish.

It’s not inconceivable that some viewers may be put off by the incessant quirkiness of it all, what with the abundance of impossible goings-on, and the fractured non-linear narrative leaping back and forth all over place. However, the whole enterprise is handled with such charm, it’s not hard not be seduced. Providing a familiar face in Giamatti as a window into this madcap universe was a wise move, just as it was wise to cast two unknowns as the young heroes of the piece. Much as I was initially predisposed to dislike Williamson and Mayes for their good looks, good hair and musculature, they’re an immensely likeable duo. Such characters could so easily have wound up Bill and Ted/Jay and Silent Bob clichés, which would no doubt have hurt the film. As much as we can buy Dave and John as drop-out slackers, we also need to believe they have what it takes to save the world as we know it; and Williamson and Mayes convey both, no problem. There are certainly no slouches in the supporting cast either, with a great nemesis in Glynn Turman’s cop, a wonderfully theatrical turn from Clancy Brown, and a fan-pleasing cameo from Phantasm’s Angus Scrimm. The dog proves pretty damn loveable too, even for a cat person like myself.

Nicely shot and well edited, with a good balance of decent practical effects and reasonable CGI, John Dies At The End radiates everything good about independent genre filmmaking today. Sure, it may be a bit of a stretch to class it as a horror movie, but – once again – its charm is more than enough to wash away such misgivings. In my estimation it’s not only the best new film shown at Abertoir 2012, but one of 2012’s best new films overall. See it as soon as you can. But of course, as the trailer requests, don’t tell anyone how it ends.

John Dies At The End is set for US release in January – keep your eyes peeled (the third in particular) for further release info.

Comic Review: In The Hands of The Devil – Berserk by Kentaro Miura

Review by Comix

Berserk can really be described in one word, and maybe a lot of swear words: Fucking-BRUTAL-fuck-shit-up-wow! With the flowing, epic styling of a good dark fantasy series, this comic is a seriously crazy masterpiece sure to leave fans of both horror and comics on the edge of their seats. I’ve been covering a pretty fair amount of fantasy/horror crossovers lately, but this one is the cherry on the cake. It’s got your classic fantasy fare: a huge lead male, a strong but dainty lead female, magic, wizards, demons; you know, the usual, but this one ups the ante with a full-blown symphony of blood and guts that would make Clive Barker jealous. Arms ripped from bodies, heads crushed between a demon’s palms, and the skinning! My God, everyone gets their skin ripped off, like, all the time! It’s like Pinhead’s wet dream over there.

The story centers around the appropriately named Guts, a beast of a man with one eye and one huge-ass sword who travels the land beating up demons and saving dames. Though the better known story (the one that got turned into an anime) doesn’t start until volume four, the first three volumes introduce Guts and his strange quest for a group called The God Hand. As he battles his way through a literal shit-ton of monsters and men, he eventually makes his way to a dark magician called The Count. After Guts hands him his ass on a platter, The Count, in his dying throes, activates an egg-shaped necklace called the Behelit, a demonic charm that opens gates to Hell. Suddenly, Guts finds himself in a demon’s den, fighting for his life and something yet to be revealed, something that haunts the entire series.

Okay, I’m sure at this point, you’re like “WTF, Comix? You just gave away most of the story!” Well, I tell you sir, I have not. Like I said, the comic really kicks in at volume four, where we are introduced to two more main characters who fought along side Guts in his youth: a war leader named Griffith and a young lady named Casca. In those volumes (a whopping eleven manga books), Guts is just a young, traveling warrior who suddenly comes upon an army led by Griffith and is sucked into one hell of holy war that, well, ends really badly for everyone. Essentially, it is here that we see Guts’s true nature revealed and the true story begins to unfold; a story of love, monsters, and loyalty. The first three volumes are like a huge prelude to the main story, and the volumes after the Griffith/Casca story arc goes right back to where we left Guts after his brave escape from Hell in the first three volumes. Whew, you got all that? Good, there will be a test a later.

Alright, I admit, the story is pretty hard to describe, but like any good fantasy epic, if I could accurately describe it, it wouldn’t be a fantasy epic. You really need to read the comic to see what I’m talking about; there’s a lot of stuff that leads to other stuff that I can’t describe without giving things away and blah blah blah. The comic is pretty easy to follow, it’s just hard to tell you about it. But what I can tell you is that Berserk is totally, completely, insanely, awesome. Just like its namesake, the comic goes into places that are, well, completely berserk, and with 36 translated volumes (for now) it has plenty of room to get seriously messed up. Each volume brings another addition to an ever growing mythos of an alternate Medieval universe overrun with greedy warlords, demonic entities, and violence, violence, violence! As we follow Guts on his mission to over throw an alt-world Vatican that has take over all of civilization, we are treated to a plethora of unique creatures and disturbing visions of a Hell both in life and death. It’s a brain-scorching ride not for the faint of heart.

Berserk, like many huge Japanese comics, has also become a merchandising bonanza! Anything you can want has been made: toys, video games, wall scrolls, music albums, trading card games, lighters, key rings, what have you. But of course, the most successful and profiting endeavour of the line has been the animated series. Though Berserk the anime only addresses the ‘young warrior Guts’ volumes of the series, it does a pretty fair re-visioning of the comic. Despite leaving some of the more brutal violence scenes in the manga, the anime still prompts a very juicy Adults Only tag that fans have come to eat up. Each of the episodes were personally approved by the creator, Kentaro Miura, who by the way, is also pretty awesome himself. Though it’s his first continuous comic series, the amount of detail and thought that he put into it hints at a mind that is as dark as it is brilliant. His eye for detail is like no other, with his art filling up every bit of page that physics allow it. An example of his vision and versatility can be seen in his other, single volume works, such as the simply titled comic Japan, a scathing critique of modern Japan. In the comic, Japan’s modern attitudes are paralleled with that of Carthage, a Roman city that fell due to the citizens lack of unity and pride. A bit on the 1984 side, sure, but it was a great read none-the-less and proves that Miura is just as comfortable writing politics as he is demons.

Well, if you are ready to set yourself off the journey of epic proportions known as Berserk, the entire 36 translated volume set is available through Dark Horse comics, with a new volume coming out about twice a year. As far as I know, the comic is still serialized twice a month in a Japanese comic magazine called “Young Animal” and the volumes come out every ten to eleven printed installations. It’s pretty much like graphic novels collecting single issues. If you read Japanese, you can always start an international subscription and get the comics first hand or, if you already live in Japan, you can just run right down to the magazine/book store or train/bus station or grocery store/7-11 and grab one. Really, comics are like toilet paper over there, they are so lucky. Also, if you want to watch the TV series, the entire collection is available for purchase, translated by Anime Works, and a second collection titled Berserk: The Golden Age Arc-The Egg of the King, released through Viz Media, is now available for pre-order. Either way, watch it, read it, play the card game, I don’t care, just make sure you pick this crazy shit up. It will be your demonic Game of Thrones, an addiction you will never kick.

 

 

Retro Book Review: Zothique by Clark Ashton Smith

Review by Comix

“This book has no comics in it!”

That is what I immediately said when I first picked up the works of Zothique by Clark Ashton Smith, but I swallowed my disgust at what proved to be one hell of a read. I was instantly assaulted with worlds and places beyond my mere mortal comprehension, an existence that is not an existence, a future that just might as well be the past. It is a dominion overrun by malevolent wizards, undead necromancers, and the most supple and weak-ankled women this side of Conan the Barbarian. Though I would usually leave the book reviews to our more well read and properly educated reviewers, I cannot help but spread the word of a land known only as Zothique.

Zothique is an umbrella title for a series of short stories written by Clark Ashton Smith, one of the Big Three of Weird Tales along with H.P. Lovecraft and Robert E. Howard. The Zothique stories are all set in the future when all that is left is one major continent known as Zothique. The lands have become a hive for magic and malice, where a wrong turn down the wrong alley would have you walk right into a human sacrifice. Brutality and swords clash with the familiarity of old friends while lust and danger purr around every corner. But don’t think this work is purely fantasy. While Zothique just screams big arms and barely covered breasts, the stories delve very quickly in the realm of horror, creating a very unique experience. Demons and spirits intermingle with beings that might or might not be human to begin with, giving the reader a hell of a ride.

One of my favorite things about Zothique is the way Smith brings about his take on the fantasy/horror genre. It’s not the kind of writing that leans one way or the other, but it’s a very good combination of the both that can really only be described as genius. With Zothique, he starts off with a very fantasy-grounded story base. He’s got maps, countries, gods, magic, and bizarre creatures. He’s got everything figured out to the point where he could write a full on, ten book fantasy series and instead just goes, “fuck it! I’m doing horror!” and drops a bomb full of horror on the sucker! And he doesn’t just stay with standard horror, but goes into a weird/supernatural type horror that really plays off the world he created. We are treated to such delights like a wizard’s epically demonic revenge against a king, strange orbs of floating light that kill everything that touches it, and of course, the animated undead! With a world filled with black magic, how could it not be filled to the brim with walking corpses?

The man behind the words is as interesting as the stories he has written. Smith was a voracious reader as a child and like any blossoming writer of the grotesque and the bizarre, he had strange mental quirks as well. He was terrified of crowds which drove him to stay inside more than out, and had an almost photographic memory which really worked for his benefit when he read an entire dictionary and an encyclopedia set. Similar to Lovecraft, he was crazy sick all the time, and used the nightmares that plagued him during his fevers to fuel his writings. Though he eventually hooked up with Weird Tales and took over the genre with his unique take on horror and sci-fi, he was also known for creating an excessive amount of poetry and sculpture when the mood seemed right. It is interesting to note that Zothique was not the only land he invented to set his stories in. There were actually five in all: Averoigne, Hyperborea, Mars, Poseidonis, and Zothique. Each had their own gods, cities, people, and landscapes and had full histories for him to play with.

The Zothique tales are a bit scattered to the winds, but a couple of ambitious companies have taken the time and money to gather up as many of the stories as they could find. One of the original collections, called simply Zothique, was released in 1970 by Ballantine Books and is still pretty wildly available, albeit only used. They also released collections centered around the other countries as well. Another more recent one is called Tales of Zothique by Necronomicon Press, which has a thorough collection of notes on the Zothique work and even includes little bits of unpublished or unfinished Zothique tales. Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if you find some of his stuff digging around in a used book bin at a second hand bookstore, especially in some ratty paperback from the 70’s where he saw a huge revival in his work. If anything, you can always pick some old issues of Weird Tales, but that might be way more expensive than a book. No matter how you get to read the stories though, make sure you do. The tales of Zothique are unique as they are bizarre and deserve all the beastly, demonic love they can get.

 

 

Blu-Ray Review: The Human Centipede (First Sequence) & (Full Sequence) – Boxset

Review by Stephanie Scaife

I have to admit that I did not relish the prospect of having to sit through a double-bill of The Human Centipede when the screeners came through my letter box. I’d seen the first film at FrightFest in 2009 and hadn’t been particularly impressed, and when I heard about the sequel I actively avoided it as it just didn’t seem like something I’d want to watch. Turns out I was right.

Re-watching The Human Centipede (First Sequence) I had much the same feelings about it as I did the first time: that it’s an outlandish concept that would have made a great short, but when dragged out to feature length it becomes somewhat tedious, and once you’ve gotten over the central idea it’s a fairly predictable and bog standard genre staple. We have our mad scientist, Dr. Heiter (Dieter Laser) who has become obsessed with the idea of creating a “human centipede” by surgically joining 3 people together ass to mouth, thus creating a singular digestive system. As luck would have it 2 American tourists, Lindsay (Ashley C. Williams) and Jenny (Ashlynn Yennie), turn up at his house one evening after their car breaks down nearby. Not one to miss an opportunity when it arises, Dr. Heiter immediately drugs the girls and confines them to the makeshift operating theatre that he has in his basement. With the addition of another hapless tourist in the form of Katsuro (Akihiro Kitamura) he now has all of the pieces of his centipede in place, so he sets about attaching them together.

Obviously this is an outlandish and bravura concept that is as wince-inducing as you would imagine, but once you get past that we’re given nothing more than a standard sort of slasher film where our victims and Dr. Heiter embark on various games of cat-and-mouse around his palatial home. Predictably, it doesn’t end well for anyone involved. What worked about the first film was its pitch black sense of humour; it knew it was ridiculous and had fun with it, making it far more watchable that I’d initially thought possible. But overall the film is let down by its predictability and reliance on genre constraints. It’s worth a watch for sure, even just out of sheer curiosity, but it’s definitely not something I would consider buying and revisiting through choice.

The Human Centipede (Full Sequence) is an entirely different kettle of fish, and I found it to be exceptionally dull and tedious. It was like director Tom Six sat down and thought to himself, “what are all the most degrading and disgusting things I can think of that will offend as many people as possible?” and then proceeded to put all of these things into a film that is barely strung together into any sort of tangible plot. Martin (Laurence R. Harvey) is a vile little man who is obsessed with watching The Human Centipede (First Sequence), which he does ad nauseam, oftentimes whilst masturbating with sandpaper. Martin has become so obsessed with the film that he decides to make his very own human centipede, this time with 12 people instead of 3. This is after all a sequel, so everything has to be bigger and more extreme. So Martin, who works as a security guard in a car park, sets about capturing unwitting victims and storing them in a warehouse until he has his perfect 12. This is interspersed with scenes of Martin at home, having nightmares about being sexually abused as a child by his father whilst his vulgar mother continually threatens to kill him and herself.

As Martin is a twisted man with no medical experience, his creation of the human centipede is much messier than Dr. Heiter, providing the opportunity for some pretty disgusting things to happen, which is the sole point of this film. There really is nothing more to it; there is no real plot to speak of just a series of incidences stung together to tie up everything from child abuse to Martin raping his newly created centipede whilst his cock is wrapped in barbed wire. To me this isn’t shocking, it’s just boring. All of the humour from the first film is lost, leaving nothing to like at all. I’m not a fan of censorship, I believe that as adults we should be able to choose what we watch, but on this occasion I was glad to watch an edited version of this film. Mostly because it made it shorter.

It’s a shame really, because Tom Six always comes across so well, an enthusiastic and charismatic guy who really wants to push boundaries within the genre. It’s a problem that he doesn’t spend as much time on plot as he does on creating completely outlandish concepts. For me the highlight of this experience was a DVD extra of the Foley session, which proved fascinating. How did they create the barbed wire rape noises you may wonder? By stabbing a pig carcass. So there you go, you learn something new every day.

Released for no other reason that I can fathom other than it being Halloween, I see no reason to own special collector’s edition of these films. I honestly have no issue with films containing extreme content, but I think that ultimately they have to be more than just that. You only have to look so far as Gaspar Noé or Pascal Laugier’s Martyrs to realize that it is indeed possible, which is what I’d recommend doing instead of watching The Human Centipede.

The Human Centipede (First Sequence) & (Full Sequence) Boxset is out now on Region 2 DVD and Blu-Ray from Monster Pictures.

Blu-Ray Review: The Hunter (2011)

Review by Stephanie Scaife

The Hunter may not be the typical sort of film that you see us discussing here at Brutal as Hell, as although it treads into thriller territory at times it isn’t technically a genre film. It is however a haunting and memorable film that has an undeniable air of uncanniness about it. Also I really loved it and feel that it was criminally underseen in theatres so I welcome any excuse to recommend it to others.

Based on the novel by Julia Leigh (who wrote and directed Sleeping Beauty) The Hunter stars Willem Dafoe as Martin, a cold-hearted mercenary hired by a mysterious and undeniably dubious pharmaceutical company to travel to Tasmania to follow up on a number of reported sightings of a Tasmanian tiger, which is believed to have been extinct since the 1930s. His orders are to hunt this elusive creature and gather tissue and organ samples. Martin arrives in Tasmania posing as a university professor and is immediately made to feel unwelcome by the hostile local community that is primarily made up of loggers who feel that ‘greenies’ are to blame for them losing their jobs. His position isn’t aided any by the fact this he’s staying with local single mother Lucy (Frances O’Connor), whose missing husband was a noted environmentalist targeted by the locals.

Lucy lives with her two young children, who have renamed themselves Sass and Bike. Sass is a precocious little girl that swears like a sailor and her younger brother Bike is practically mute and likes to draw pictures. They run wild as Lucy stays in bed, presumably doped on prescription meds and pining for her missing husband. Initially Martin is fairly put out by these living conditions; annoying children, no hot water, a broken generator etc. But he is there to do a job, so along with the dubiously motivated local guide Jack (Sam Neill), he heads up into the wilderness to begin his work.

This is a difficult film to discuss without giving too much away. It’s so odd and beautiful, and although at some points it veers into a traditional and slightly predictable the-hunter-becomes- the-hunted narrative, it never loses your attention and will keep you guessing until the end. The two children aside these are a complex bunch of characters with questionable motives and you never know quite what anyone will do next. This is a slow burning thriller that is oftentimes tragic and well worth persevering with as ultimately it pays off and I’m not ashamed to admit that I shed a tear both times that I saw it.

The first feature film of TV director Daniel Nettheim, this is an odd yet assured debut that looks handsome, is very well acted (particularly by Dafoe) and quite unexpected. I knew nothing about this when I caught it recently on a flight but I’m really glad that I did and it will undoubtedly make my top ten of the year. The blu-ray looks fantastic, the otherworldly Tasmanian landscapes practically form a character in their own right, and I’d definitely recommend checking this out if you fancy something a little different.

The Hunter is out now on Region 2 DVD and Blu-ray from Artificial Eye.

Review: Entity (2012)

Review by Nia Edwards-Behi

Superficially, you might think ‘oh god, not another found footage film’ when reading about Entity in synopsis. From the outset let me say – it’s not found footage. First time feature director Steve Stone cannily explains the hand-held elements of the film as a ‘motivated camera’, and he’s spot on. While other horror films might use the conceit of a paranormal investigation as a basis for making an 80 minute ordeal of shaky cam and little else, Entity is a refreshingly narrative and character driven piece which is effectively frightening.

In 1998, over 30 unidentified bodies were found in shallow graves in a remote Russian forest, and with no explanation the case was soon closed. Now, a small English TV crew is investigating the discovery, led by a local man interested in the case, and aided by a powerful psychic. The crew soon discovers that this is no ordinary investigation and that escape might be impossible.
Sounds familiar, doesn’t it? Well, don’t let that be off-putting.

It’s almost inevitable that Entity will be lumped in with the found footage subgenre that we’re all become so very, very sick of. The film combines third person shooting with sequences filmed by the TV crew on site. This motivated camera is, in fact, key to the film’s effective sense of dread, foreboding and fear, often denying us the release of seeing what it is that’s so terrifying the protagonists. There’s one spectacular moment of violence which is all the more powerful for offering us no clear view of what is taking place. Director Stone has taken a fairly high concept and done something refreshingly untypical with it.

There’s a wonderful and purposeful attention paid to the film’s sound design too, which, without a doubt, helps contribute to this sense of ambiguous terror. We very often hear things without seeing them, which again allows a viewer’s imagination to run wilder than perhaps what a filmmaker might be able to put on screen. The film’s pervasively unnerving soundscape makes the fantastic location come to life, too. Or perhaps, come to life is not the right way of putting it – the massive, abandoned industrial-looking building is all pipes and chains and dirt and wetness. It’s industrially desolate, an empty shell in the middle of a stark, empty forest.

The characters are also refreshingly not stereotypes. Kate (Charlotte Riley), producer and presenter of the TV show is attractive and maybe a little ruthless, but she is not inhuman. Matt (Rupert Hill), a cameraman, is cynical, but not a complete dick about it. Do these two have a thing for each other? Have they had a relationship in the past? We – brilliantly – don’t know, as very little unnecessary exposition is offered. Instead, the actors get to actually act with each other, and offer a chemistry about which we, as an audience, may or may not be interested in speculating. Dervla Kirwan plays the psychic Ruth, who is decidedly workman-like and unmystical about her ability. No time is wasted on arguments over whether she can really do what she does – these are television professionals, and they’re doing their jobs. This cast is uniformly excellent, but I must draw particular attention to Michael David Worden as Mishka, one of the beings that inhabits this desolate place. Making his feature debut, Worden is spectacular in a dialogue-free and physically challenging role. It’s a small role, really, but it’s one that’s absolutely essential to get right.

It’s truly refreshing to watch a horror film that is actually frightening and also puts some effort into proceedings rather than churning out the same old drivel we’ve all seen elsewhere. Consider then, that Entity was independently made on a low budget by a first time director and it’s really something special. Entity is a technically brilliant feat of independent filmmaking, and Steve Stone is without doubt a director to keep our eyes on.

Entity will be released in the UK early next year and hits AFM 2012 next week.

Review: It’s In The Blood

Review by Annie Riordan

Every photograph leaves behind a negative image of itself, an inversion of darkness on light and shadow on sun. Can the same be said for photographic memories? And if so, where are those negatives stored?

October – much like his namesake – is beautiful but melancholy. Returning home after a long estrangement, he’s doubtful that any good will come of his reunion with his dad, Russell. The old homestead in the Texas back country holds too many bad memories, and the passage of time hasn’t changed a thing. October’s return is more like a step back in time. The house is just the same, his dad hasn’t aged a day and his sister Iris is still dead, still sleeping beneath the headstone in the yard.

Iris’s death is the one thing that October and Russell do not discuss, but which neither of them can forget. It stands huge and silent between them, eating away at them, but they talk around it, pretend it’s not really there. Russell suggests a hunting trip. October agrees. They talk about October’s time drifting around the United States and studying medicine. They bond over a sweet, fast car. But the subject comes up sooner rather than later, and it’s clear that October very much blames Russell for Iris’s premature and violent death. If Russell hadn’t been such a goddamned drunk, maybe he could have saved her. But if October blames Russell, he blames himself even more. Iris was not his sister by blood, and it was their blossoming love for one another that brought about her death in the form of a jealous and psychopathic suitor. October couldn’t save Iris either, and he reminds himself of this fact every single day, adding another cut to his already horrifically scarred body.

Deep in the woods and miles from civilization, Russell takes a bad fall that snaps his leg. Stranded, October must put his survival skills to the ultimate test. His photographic memory provides him with the medical knowledge he needs to care for Russell’s wounds and keep them safe through the long, cold night. But those photographic memories of Iris and her tragic end are still there too, and seem to have spawned a negative afterimage. There’s something in the woods, circling both father and son like vultures around roadkill. Is it a ghost? A monster? A genius loci? Is it the imprint of violence taking physical form and forcing October to confront it? Or is it something October himself has produced, quite unintentionally, from his deep reservoir of guilt and anger? Whatever it is, it has claws. And it’s hungry.

Much like 2001’s seriously underrated psycho-thriller Session 9, It’s In The Blood is a horror film in which the horror comes from within the characters, swallowing them whole like a cancer. Each character is their own protagonist and antagonist. Yes, there are monsters and yes, we do get to see them and they are scary, but how much of them comes from the negativity stored within October and Russell’s dark memories? Would they even exist if not for the return of the prodigal son? It’s doubtful. Of all the predators that pose the most threat to humans, our own memories are the most heartless and do the most damage.

But that’s not to say that It’s In The Blood is an hour and a half of dry therapy sessions. It’s a brutal survival film wrapped around a hard paranormal seed. No matter where the monsters came from, they must be dealt with: by fire, by shotgun, by elaborate booby traps, by whatever October can toss together out of the raw material he has to work with. And when that busted leg of Russell’s starts to go bad…well, don’t say I didn’t warn you. I’m pretty well desensitized to blood and gore, but man…I had to look away for a second or two. I damn near launched my lunch.

The majority of this film is a two man act, and both veteran Lance Henriksen and relative newcomer Sean Eliot carry it off well. More than well, actually. They shoulder this shit better than Atlas himself could have done. I will go so far as to say that this is one of Lance Henriksen’s best performances ever. Watching him fake an orgasm was one of the very few highlights of my horror movie watching year. He’s funny, he’s pathetic, he’s endearing, he’s an asshole, he encompasses Russell like no other character he’s ever played and disappears into the part entirely. I love Lance Henriksen and have been a mighty big fan of his for years, watching anything and everything he’s been in, from the awesome (Pumpkinhead, Aliens, Near Dark, Powder – stfu, I liked that movie) to the not-so-awesome (The Horror Show, mostly) and he really seems to be having fun living in Russell’s body, so much so that I actually forgot it was Henriksen a couple of times whilst watching. No slouch either is Eliot, who smolders with an intensity that damn near burns the film off its reels.

This is a very rare breed of horror film, one driven by characters and emotion, rather than blood and body counts. If you’re looking for the standard insipid slasher churning out the bodies of one-dimensional, sex obsessed teenagers, yeah, you’re probably going to hate this movie. Those looking for some substance would do well to check out It’s In The Blood. It may well appeal to fans of Session 9, as well as Predator and maybe just a little bit Blair Witch, but it also stands very well all on its own in a class by itself.

Don’t be afraid to invest your brain and your heart as well as your time into this one. It’s well worth the effort.

DVD Review: Killer Joe

Review by Ben Bussey

When a seasoned director of note steps back behind the camera, it puts an inevitable slant on the viewing experience. We can’t help but reflect on past glories and relate them to what we see before us now. Sometimes, if the latest work does not stand up well in comparison with that of days gone by, then it all winds up a bummer of epic proportions: take the walk of shame, George Romero, Tobe Hooper, John Carpenter, Dario Argento, Robin Hardy etc. But then there are the occasional exceptions whose passion and skill do not seem to have atrophied with age, and whose contemporary work – though perhaps far removed from their most celebrated earlier output – is fascinating and compelling in its own right: take a bow, David Cronenberg, and… um… well, mostly it’s just Cronenberg. Or perhaps not, given that a certain other legend of high-end genre filmmaking, one William Friedkin, has come back from recent obscurity with Killer Joe, a relatively low-budget film that has had tongues wagging all over the shop, demonstrating that – as Steph put it back in July“Even at 76 years of age Friedkin… has still got what it takes to get the censor’s panties in a twist.” (Incidentally, as Steph’s review gives a good summary of the plot, I’ll skip over most of that here and assume the reader knows the essentials – check out her write-up at the link above if you need filling in.)

Another thing that can colour the viewing experience is the knowledge that the film you’re watching is adapted from a stageplay. At the time of writing, I haven’t seen Friedkin’s previous collaboration with playwright/screenwriter Tracy Letts, 2006’s Bug, though if I’ve read correctly it wears its stage origins on its sleeve with a single location setting and small cast. That’s certainly the case here; a few brief moments aside (notably a small car chase of sorts), the action is typically restricted to a few interior locations, with the dialogue very much the focal point. Consequently a great many stage adaptations wind up with a somewhat stiff, blunt, vaguely unnatural atmosphere that puts off some viewers; Glengarry Glen Ross is a prime example. Killer Joe also falls into this trap, but in so doing it does bring an interesting question to mind: which is, as much as we hold up Friedkin as a great director, does he necessarily have a distinct directorial style? Unlike most of his peers whose work can be easily identified as their own at a glance, I struggle to think of any particular directorial tropes that immediately single out a film as Friedkin’s, outside of maybe his signature car chases (and even those only occurred in, what, three of his films? I’d hardly say the one in this film counts.) That being so, Killer Joe is surely as good a representation of Friedkin as any, given that it does what all his best films have done – put the story first. Well, that and the whole pushing the boundaries of taste and decency thing.  

From the off, Killer Joe sets out to explore seedy territory in an unflinching manner: Gina Gershon’s introductory shot alone goes some way to setting that tone (mild spoiler – it’s not her face we see first).  The story itself is the kind of thing we’d expect to hear told by the protagonists in retrospect, on the Jerry Springer Show. It’s an epic, classical tragedy played out in a rundown trailer park, with barely a sympathetic character in sight aside from Juno Temple’s Dottie – and even she might leave you wondering. These characters are low on hope, but also low on wits, and when the chips are down they’ve all got their own interests at heart, family ties be damned. Joe – he’s just the Yoko of the equation, stepping into the heart of the shitstorm and exposing the cracks that had already long since formed. His presence just makes the inevitable breakdown that bit uglier.

Initially I was skeptical of Friedkin’s decision to use such a relatively high-profile Hollywood ensemble for his cast of impoverished, drug-addled, trailer trash fuck-ups, but in truth this works in the film’s favour, and not only because all involved do such sterling work. The thing is, if we weren’t so accustomed to the sight of Matthew McConaughey degrading himself in endless half-witted rom-coms, there wouldn’t be quite the same subversive edge to the distinctly non-rom-com behaviour of his character here. It’s particularly satisfying given that – not unlike Brad Pitt in Fight Club before him – McConaughey takes on this twisted, confrontational role without actually making any drastic alterations to his usual screen persona, outside of a slightly lower tone of voice and a steelier gaze. And for those of a more sensitive disposition (i.e. presumably not most BaH readers) the familiarity of the leading man may help remind that – as we’ve oft been told before – it’s only a movie. Thereby, no matter how unpleasant and bizarre things get, the edge is taken off ever so slightly, and we are able to take that bit more pleasure out of proceedings.

And that really is the point to be emphasised with Killer Joe – when all is said and done, it’s really just a bit of a laugh. There are without doubt a great many who will take exception to that idea, liable to complain loudly that there can be no humour in such a relentlessly bleak representation of human nature, not to mention the sadistic and sexually deviant content. But whilst Friedkin and his cast may play their cards close to their chest, this is clearly Killer Joe’s true nature. It isn’t a hard-boiled thriller or a gritty kitchen sink drama, it’s an almost Coens-esque black comedy of the harshest and nastiest kind. Anyone with a taste for that brand of humour should definitely have a good time with Killer Joe, and may well be liable to a fit of so-wrong-but-so-right hysterical laughter come the grand finale – particularly once the end credits music kicks in.

Killer Joe is released to Region 2 DVD and Blu-ray on 5th November, from eOne.

 

DVD Review: Santa Sangre (1989)

Review by Kit Rathenar

When a film runs to a full two hours and inside the first half hour has already managed to demolish a church and stage a funeral for an elephant, you know you’re dealing with a director of remarkable if somewhat skewed vision. Alejandro Jodorowsky’s extraordinary Santa Sangre (“Holy Blood”), originally released in 1989, is a surrealist classic of beauty, violence and tragedy. The narrative follows the story of Fenix, the son of a gringo circus-master and his beautiful but religion-crazed Mexican wife; traumatised in childhood by witnessing a brutal exchange between his philandering father and jealous mother, Fenix is committed to an institution. As a young man, he escapes and finds himself in the care of his now crippled mother, only to become enslaved to her seemingly insatiable need for vengeance upon the memory of Fenix’s father and his father’s mistress. As the coils of madness, tragedy and bloodshed tighten, through them moves the mysterious figure of the deaf-mute girl Alma, Fenix’s childhood sweetheart from his days in the circus. Can her innocence, courage and love save her former playmate from his fate? The answer, perhaps unsurprisingly, is by no means straightforward.

But this is a movie whose plot is only one of its several raisons d’etre. It’s also an exuberant indulgence in pure spectacle, a celebration of colour and light, music and costume, dramatic violence and inspiring grace. Jodorowsky’s chosen settings for his narrative – from circus to madhouse to carnival to theatre – all lend themselves to larger-than-life depictions of both characters and scenes and he seizes every opportunity, presenting the viewer with a breathless procession of startling images. The soundtrack is especially cleverly integrated: consisting almost entirely of Mexican popular music, for a large part of the film it’s being performed on-screen by the circus band, blurring the viewer’s sense of which perceptions they’re sharing with the characters and which are purely on our side of the fourth wall. There’s one particularly striking scene in which Fenix’s parents are quarrelling violently and the band begin to play behind them, subliminally recontextualising their fight into something halfway between a circus routine and a dance; it’s both powerful and all the better for not being made explicit. Indeed, this film is short on explanation all around, keeping the dialogue to a needful minimum and expressing everything it can with visuals, body acting, and implication, which for me is another point in its favour. It’s a pleasure to encounter a director who obviously trusts his audience to be capable of joined-up thinking.

There’s also a level of metatextual filmmaking going on here, as Santa Sangre’s theme of family ties reflects its director’s own preoccupations and goes so far as to influence the casting. Jodorowsky gave the part of Fenix jointly to two of his sons, Adan who plays Fenix as a boy, and Axel who plays him as a young man. I’m normally chary of a director casting his nearest and dearest, but the two junior Jodorowskys both do their father proud; Axel in particular gives an extraordinary performance, by turns charismatic, vulnerable, touching and frightening. Despite the violence we see Fenix forced to carry out under the influence of his demented mother, he never lets the audience lose compassion or sympathy for the character and his fervent and emotive handling of the very final scenes is truly affecting.

While Santa Sangre is a magnificent film, it’s only fair to warn potential viewers that it does demand some intelligence, an open mind, and a relatively strong stomach – while the violence here isn’t excessive by modern horror standards, it’s still impactful, and at times imaginatively macabre enough to make even a hardened gorehound wince. On a purely artistic level meanwhile it feels a little unwieldy during its second half, scattering its plot strands perhaps slightly too far afield before it gathers them back in for the ending, but this is a minor criticism. Highly recommended; see this one if you can. Ideally on a big screen, as I imagine it’d be absolutely spectacular there.

As a final footnote, this new DVD release also comes with a mishmash of extras. There’s Adan Jodorowsky’s short surrealist farce “Echek”, in which the younger Jodorowsky demonstrates a directorial inclination rather more playful than his father’s; a longish deleted scene; a somewhat annoyingly hagiographic French documentary that consists of various close associates of Jodorowsky enthusing about the man himself; and a discussion session with Jodorowsky filmed at the ICA in 2002 which is by turns profound, funny and vulgar, and occasionally all three at once. There’s also the remarkable 90-minute documentary film La Constellation Jodorowsky, which is well worth watching as in seeking to understand Jodorowsky’s worldview it becomes an intriguing study in the search for self-identity, culminating in a wonderful reversal of roles as director Louis Mouchet comes in front of the camera himself as the focus of one of Jodorowsky’s “psycho-magic” sessions. Finally there’s Jodorowsky’s own commentary on the film itself, making this a pretty complete package. I’ll definitely be watching this one again.

Santa Sangre is released to Region 2 DVD and Blu-Ray on 5th November, from Mr Bongo Films.

Review: Sleep Tight


Review by Marc Patterson

César (Luis Tosar) is a perpetually unhappy man. Everyday is a waking hell for him. However, to the residents of the apartment building he works in, they would never know it. This faithful doorman is the embodiment of polite servitude, a man whose character you’d never question. Underneath his polished exterior is a psychotic madman. In extreme stalker style César keeps detailed notes about every resident, and one particular resident has caught his attention.

Clara (Marta Etura) is everything that César is not. She’s a young, beautiful, happy-go-lucky gal who wakes up every morning to an upbeat tune. If bluebirds flew through her window to happily chirp along with her as she’d danced her way through her morning routine I wouldn’t have been the least bit surprised. And César both loves and hates her for it at the same time. He harbors deep resentment, which he speaks of to his bedridden mother – a woman who seems to be in some sort of coma, giving the film an obvious nod towards Psycho. As César plots against Clara we witness the depraved darkness in which he continuously wallows, as his madness spins maniacally out of control towards an unpredictable ending.

In Sleep Tight Jaume Balagueró showcases to fans just how effective a filmmaker he is. His first solo directorial piece since the [REC] films, Balagueró sticks to the basics of the genre, delivering up a dark vision that doesn’t break convention, but rather proves there’s much that can be done within the confines of one of the most tried and true formulas. In doing so he manages to bring to the forefront enough of his personal flair make this film truly his own creation.

Balagueró’s signature style is carried over from the [REC] films, as he keeps all of the action set within the confines of an old apartment building in Spain. The atmosphere practically emanates the spirit of Polanski’s Apartment Trilogy with nearly no shots taken outside of the building. In doing so, Balagueró keeps the sets minimal and tight, if not a tad bit claustrophobic; an effective detail that is not only practical from budgetary standpoints, but also ensures the audience remains centrally located in the midst of the action and firmly rooted in César’s point of view.

What I thought was truly masterful was how Balagueró manages to trick the audience into sympathizing with César. One of the most nail-biting scenes of suspense occurred when César managed to get himself trapped inside of Clara’s apartment. We watch as he frantically attempts to get out of the apartment without being caught, and it was in this moment of pure dread that I realized I wasn’t afraid for Clara. The suspense and anxiety I was experiencing was for César. I should have been jeering at the screen, hoping he’d get caught, glad he finally was about to get his comeuppance. But that wasn’t the case. And it was in that instance I knew I was watching something really powerful.

And it is the performance of Luis Tosar that gives this film its power. His sheer presence and posturing is enough to get audiences creeped out, even before he commits a single atrocious act. The monologue of his mind is clearly spoken out loud, creating a villain we equally despise and yet sympathize with. The dynamic he shares with Marta on screen is vital to the story and while Marta’s performance as Clara comes across as almost a support role to Tosar, it is not to be underestimated. There is a clear energy at play with their performances that sells this film.

One part Hitchcock, one part Polanski, Balagueró has crafted yet another unbelievably creepy film that deserves to be watched. If Sleep Tight doesn’t make you search every inch of your home to ensure you’re intruder free then I don’t know what movie will.

Sleep Tight is on limited US release now.

DVD Review: Lovely Molly

Review by Nia Edwards-Behi

Lovely Molly was not the film I expected it to be. I purposefully avoided reading too much detail about it, as I often do, but I was expecting a tale of a haunted house, or of a woman’s possession. That’s not what I got. The film’s got ghosts and demons, in a way, but this is not your typical ghost story. Happy newlyweds Molly (Gretchen Lodge) and Tim (Johnny Lewis) start their new life together by moving into Molly’s old family home. Tim, a trucker, spends long periods of time on the road. Often left alone, Molly finds herself facing an unbearable forces from her past in the old house, and contending with such forces alone soon drives her and those around her to dark, dark places.

My heart initially sank somewhat to see the first few sequences are shot on a camcorder, but the way the device is used through the rest of the film is integrated with the narrative and used to good effect. The way in which Lovely Molly plays with familiar tropes but in a more or less completely uncliched way is by far the film’s main strength. Primarily this is seen in the treatment of the house itself, and in the characters. There’s a certain tendency in horror films set in houses to come across as being a bit overly-obsessed with affluence. Large, well-decorated properties creak and moan and are crept around in a way that verges on the uniform. There’s something nice about the house in Lovely Molly, in that yes, it is quite big, but it’s incredibly well-designed to look like a former family home. The decor is all out of time and out of place, down to the bedding. Molly works as a cleaner, while Tim is off driving trucks, so there’s none of that ‘I need to stay at home and work on my music/novel/painting while you work, dear’ that can be found in such films. Likewise, the characters are well-developed without being bogged down by exposition. Molly and Tim are clearly a happy and caring couple at the start of the film. They’re not twee, though, and these are flawed characters: Molly over-reacts a little when Tim has to work on her birthday, and Tim might be a little insensitive. They make up, though, and there’s no melodramatic argument between them.

Even as things get worse for Molly, the characters are refreshlingly uncliched. The husband stands by her, the pastor doesn’t take advantage of her deranged come-ons, her sister is desperately supportive. For a film in which the horror is potentially wholly un-supernatural, that the characters aren’t cutouts from every other domestic horror film is vital to Lovely Molly being incredibly engaging. You care for the people around Molly as much for Molly herself. The performances are excellent, with Gretchen Lodge wholly convincing as a normal woman haunted and cowed by demons literal and otherwise. Alexandra Holden is worth a mention too as Molly’s sister Hannah, central to the childhood that haunts them both and yet unable to offer the help she wants to give her sister.

This backstory that is, essentially, the ghost or monster of the film, is delightfully ambiguous. It’s never revealed outright what has happened in Molly’s childhood and this perhaps works for the best – the horror she has already experienced is never heavy-handed, as so often can be the case. The new terror that Molly experiences is pleasantly free of jump-scares (though there is one great one) and musical stingers. Rather, Sanchez successfully creates a creeping tension, whereby the more we learn about Molly the more we worry for her, for what’s happening to her, and for what might happen to the people around her. There are some great Kubrickian shots that follow Molly around where she works, or as she wanders aimlessly once she’s fired. The ambiguity of what has happened or what is happening to Molly is helped along by the many sequences where we don’t see her face.

There is a point in the film, however, where this brilliantly refreshing film starts to slip slightly into more familiar territory. The husband experiences a moment of weakness. The pastor is tempted (and punished). These moments don’t ruin the film, by any stretch, nor are they mishandled, but because of just how refreshingly good these characters are earlier, that their expected falls from grace do happen almost seems a shame. Similarly, the very ending of the film feels jarringly typical, by comparison to the rest of the film. Again, this isn’t enough to ruin the experience of the film as a whole, but rather a misstep that feels like one scene too many after the climactic action. The violence in the film is thankfully restrained, with Molly’s first act of violence being grossly effective, turning what appears to be a sweet moment of reconciliation into something else entirely. From that moment on the film descends into the madness and depravity that has threatened to emerge through the rest of the preceding action. There is a truly horrific moment in which Molly commits a horrendous act of violence, but seems to be completely and utterly not in control of her actions. This is played so subtly by Gretchen Lodge that it really stands out.

There’s much more to be said about Lovely Molly – about its themes, its intricacies – but I don’t want to discuss them in this sort of a review. It’s a film that deserves to be seen without preconceptions or expectations, but likewise it’s a film I know I’m looking forward to seeing again, and even again, for a full dissection of just what happens to Molly.

Lovely Molly is out now on Region 2 DVD from Metrodome.