Archive: Author: Darren Gaskell

Spirit of Independence 2024: Dinonauts

Posted on by Darren Gaskell

After being beamed up into an invading force’s spacecraft, a mischievous and resourceful Gigantopithecus called Rufus escapes his captors and hijacks an ongoing scientific procedure, resulting in a dinosaur receiving the brain of a long dead insurgent and becoming Trexx, a courageous T-Rex (well, obviously) who has to deal with a stream of alien thoughts and a drive to fulfil a newly-found destiny.

Trexx’s mission is not going to be easy and, if he’s to succeed, he’ll need help if he’s to defeat the hordes of evil Plutonian warriors led by the smart, conniving Ebo Kalif. Time to for Trexx and Rufus to travel space in search of the most exceptional examples of their kind in order to assemble the ultimate team of dinosaur astronauts. Dinonauts, if you will…

Made over a period of ten years in the garage of director Omar Distrakt Jones – here credited with the mononym of Distrakt – Dinonauts harks back to a period of animation which will trigger a pang of nostalgia for those of us who arrived home from school or hauled ourselves out of bed on Saturday mornings to see various weird and wonderful cartoons in which teams of creatures would battle against an all-powerful Big Bad for as many seasons as viewing figures and action figure marketing would sustain.

The sheer enthusiasm for this type of tale is evident and there’s very much a feel of a number of differing offerings from the 80s and 90s, be they Hanna-Barbera, the collaborations of Rankin/Bass with overseas production houses and even a smattering of Ralph Bakshi in the mix (don’t worry, this doesn’t veer into Fritz The Cat territory if you’re thinking about possible damage to any kids watching this). There’s less polish to the end product that any of those studio efforts, of course, but that’s all part of the charm.

Clearly a labour of love, Dinonauts does suffer slightly from the syndrome of putting everything possible on screen just in case there’s no sequel. The plot crams in origin story, team recruitment vignettes and first mission in just seventy-six minutes and there are several points along the way where there seems to be far too much going on, especially with a reasonably large cast of characters and a hefty chunk of backstory to be filled in.

In fact, it’s the moments where Dinonauts takes a breath to kick back and spoof other, popular forms of culture where it works best. The sequence in which Trexx and co show up to invite Toro, ace Triceratops navigator, to join them is a glorious mickey take of gladiatorial combat served up as a Las Vegas-style prize fight, complete with shouty announcer, sponsorship by a dreadful sounding alcoholic beverage called Crud 40 and the event being run under the auspices of the Gorfian Bludgeoning Commission. It’s also the scene in which one of the characters steals an Ivan Drago line from Rocky IV, so what’s not to like?

Elsewhere, there’s plenty of thumping in general, plus a lot of space combat and various wisecracks from Rufus which range from reasonably amusing to astonishingly irritating in time-honoured sidekick tradition. This is a film that also makes jokes at its own expense (or lack thereof), at one point bemoaning the lack of budget which apparently has rendered a planet without colour. For every instance where the action goes on a little too long and flirts with becoming wearisome, there’s a burst of welcome imagination such as the Cosmic 8-Ball or Ebo being given a metaphorical kick in the cods at a meeting of a Space Council which is exactly how those mind numbing trade talks of The Phantom Menace should have proceeded.

The voice talent on display may not have the seasoned nuance of a Kevin Conroy but hey, we were never going to be in the same ballpark here. Everyone in the cast understood their assignment and the enjoyment of delivering purposely stylised dialogue comes across often, particularly the work of Matt Steiner, bringing an educated, casually cruel air to Ebo Kalif, frustrated with the erratic success rate of his underlings and relishing the opportunity to foist a historic, Pathé-esque newsreel on a captured Trexx in a Clockwork Orange style.

The mix of animation styles in Dinonauts may prove a sticking point for those who are looking for a consistent aesthetic throughout and the screenplay occasionally skates over details in order to rush the action to the next punch-up or shootout but overall it’s an entertaining tribute to the television staples of past decades, complete with open-ended assignment and the promise of more galactic arse-kicking to come. If nothing else, stay for the cracking electronic soundtrack by 20SIX Hundred which immediately sent me to seek out their other work the moment the credits stopped rolling.

Dinonauts (2024) featured at the recent Spirit of Independence Film Festival in Sheffield, UK.

Spirit of Independence 2024: Zombie Film With Grandpas and Grandmas

Posted on by Darren Gaskell

“Never take for granted when someone remembers you.”

Beryl Hsu’s maternal grandmother suffers from mild dementia, diagnosed ten years previously. To keep her engaged and active, her family often pulls together to create and perform various skits in which the still formidable nonagenarian plays a starring role. Their latest project is something of a step up in terms of ambition and scale, a Power Rangers versus the undead short film, shot in and around their home village and involving its residents to fill the supporting roles and appear as zombie extras.

Coupling the trials and tribulations of making a low budget movie with the added complexity of performers with a degenerative condition, can the production overcome the many obstacles in its path to complete the shoot and treat the community to its own, unique version of a glitzy premiere?

Part “Making Of” documentary, part commentary on how creative pursuits can assist with tackling dementia, Zombie Film With Grandpas And Grandmas refuses to drift into the sentimentality and pervading darkness that the subject often invites, instead presenting a story full of hope and good humour, demonstrating just how the right engagement with those folks with the condition can give them a new, vital lease of life as opposed to being cast aside.

Those looking for behind the scenes insights are well catered for, from the generation of pre-production publicity and the initial casting call through to the reveal of a costume department like no other and the various technical issues of filming set-ups which would be quite complex in themselves without having a strong-willed performer who will quite happily wander in a different direction mid-take. As with normal day-to-day interactions outside the filmmaking process, these are dealt with in a loving and caring manner, allowing the actors the time and space to find their way and maintaining a positive atmosphere even when the time on set is rapidly running out.

As someone with experience of family members with dementia, I found both comfort in the film’s message and confirmation of how interaction and a welcoming social environment can transform those who would otherwise withdraw and slowly fade away. There’s no getting away from the fact that it’s a cruel disease, but to confront the situation head on and involve those living with the condition in pursuits which engage the mind brings unexpectedly wonderful rewards.

Be prepared to fall into love with Tsai-Zhong Chin-mei, the feisty, no-nonsense focus of the story, known as “The Beauty Of Zhongli,” due to her glam appearance throughout the years. Already something of a local celebrity, this 94-year old force of nature may not be able to remember anything in the short term but she’s no pushover, giving back as good as she gets and often supplying a cheerful thumbs up to signify that everything’s A-OK with her. As the Pink Ranger of the short film, her on-set antics are both amusing and incredibly touching. Hsu doesn’t shy away from those heartbreaking moments in which her granny can’t remember a line or seems elsewhere but balances that skilfully with her genuine, unfiltered happiness at being part of another wild and wacky collaboration with her nearest and dearest.

The supporting players are also memorable, with hidden talent emerging from a local singing club whose members can’t wait to get in front of a camera. The overwhelming vibe is of a group of people seizing an opportunity like no other, more than willing to make themselves look complete idiots in the name of art and possessing a merry air of self-deprecation throughout. There’s also a nod to the transformative power of karaoke and, as someone who’s slaughtered many a tune at the Celluloid Screams after party, who am I to disagree with that?

Hsu never trivialises the subject in any way, but shining the spotlight on the positive makes for a richer experience than leaning into any potential tragedy, which was apparently something of a sticking point in gaining financial support from the film. I’m glad the approach eventually paid off because the end product is like few others out there, leaving the viewer with both a tear in their eye and a smile on their face.

If there’s a movie released this year that’s more charming and heartwarming than Zombie Film With Grandpas And Grandmas then I want to see that movie (and then say “No, that’s not as charming or heartwarming”). Also, the version screened at Spirit Of Independence contains something that the Taiwanese release of the documentary didn’t include – the 20-minute Memory Guard short itself, which is endearing, funny and thoroughly enjoyable, while cunningly weaving in its own strategies on how to combat dementia. Taiwanese Grandpa Grandma Power Rangers, go!

Zombie Film with Grandpas and Grandmas featured at the recent Spirit of Independence festival in Sheffield, UK.

Spirit of Independence 2024: Trancers

Posted on by Darren Gaskell

Angel City, the year 2247. Trooper Jak Deth (Tim Thomerson) is a gruff cop whose dogged, extracurricular pursuit of the last remaining members of a zombie-like cult has landed him in hot water with his superiors. Detective McNulty (Art La Fleur) warns Jak that trancer hunting is out of bounds, so Jak reacts in the way that most VHS rental era police officers did, by slinging his badge on the deck and quitting the force.

However, Jak’s self-imposed retirement doesn’t last long as his dive into the sunken ruins of Lost Angeles (nice one) is interrupted by McNulty with the unwelcome news that the cult’s leader, Martin Whistler, believed to have been previously singed by Deth, is very much alive, having gone down the timeline to 1980s Los Angeles. Whistler is inhabiting the body of an ancestor in order to kill off members of Angel City’s Security Council whose forefathers were also present two and a half centuries earlier. As Deth also has links to that particular past – a sleazy photographer called Phil – his law enforcement credentials are reinstated and he’s sent back in time to step into Phil’s shoes and stop Whistler…

If, like me, you walked out of the video shop with whatever the latest Entertainment In Video title was at a certain point in time, the trailer for Trancers would show up more regularly on those tapes than repeats on the BBC. It is one of the greatest previews ever assembled and would often be better than the feature film it preceded. I would say that it spoiled many of the film’s highlights, but that’s not strictly true as those sequences can be enjoyed over and over.

Directed by Charles Band, this possesses all of the can-do scrappiness and budget-squeezing antics of other Empire Pictures releases, but is lifted far above other mildly diverting but also slightly threadbare stablemates such as The Dungeonmaster (making its UK video bow as Ragewar) and Troll by virtue of a smart, amusing script from Danny Bilson and Paul De Meo, a smattering of inspired action set pieces and an iconic investigative duo as Deth teams up with Phil’s date Leena (Helen Hunt) to track down the last surviving Council members, who are to be found somewhere on the mean streets of L.A.

It’s interesting to note that Bilson and De Meo – whose work apparently caught the attention of a certain James Cameron – were also on script duty for the following year’s bizarre sci-fi/World War Two collision that is Zone Troopers, also starring Thomerson. Another dynamic duo well worth a mention is Phil Davies and Mark Ryder, who are responsible for the terrific score which underpins the adventures of the twenty-third century’s grumpiest sleuth.

What’s that? Helen Hunt? Yes, you read that correctly. It’s that Helen Hunt, showing bundles of star quality in her second feature film as the sparky, no-nonsense city guide for Jak, who has little problem believing that her companion is from the twenty-third century, seeing as there’s much weirder stuff happening in her home city on a daily basis. She also introduces Deth, in amusing fashion, to local punk rock culture as they lay low in her sketchy neighbourhood to avoid being discovered by the L.A.P.D. Whistler’s ancestor just happens to be a lieutenant in said organisation and has launched a city-wide hunt for Deth and Leena, who have been framed for murder.

Tim Thomerson is perfectly cast as Jak Deth, bringing his finely honed comedic skills to a role which lands halfway between Chandleresque 1930’s ‘tec and Replicant-chasing Rick Deckard, lightly taking the rise out of both. The weary voiceover of the opening scene, a regular supply of quips and the love/hate relationship with the city he’s only previously studied as an archaeological curiosity are occasionally touching, often hilarious and always entertaining. The enduring appeal of the character, in tandem with Empire Pictures’ general M.O., led to a fun, if slightly undercooked, twenty-odd minute segment in the Pulse Pounders anthology and five full-length – well, full-ish length – sequels. As far as the follow-ups go, definitely check out the second and third. As for the fourth and fifth, Deth completists need only apply and the sixth has Deth stepping into the body of his daughter for most of the runtime.

For all of Trancers’ reliance on snappy dialogue and a plot powered more by ideas than expensive visual trickery, it does deploy a number of effects which still work well in a comfortingly creaky way, with the zapped bad guys disappearing in a flash of light and leaving a body-shaped scorch mark. Deth’s only piece of future kit – the “long second” watch – comes from an era which relied less on snarky couch dwellers moaning about how it could possibly work and more on an audience just waiting to see how it’s going to get Deth out of a monumental scrape.

As for the matte work depicting the suburbs and landscapes of the future, that’s also likely going to provoke snickering from those weaned on two hundred dollar blockbusters but, as Jak says at one point, “Fuck ‘em!” I love what Band and his talented team created with just a fraction of the budget of big studio output, resulting in a film which has more heart, enthusiasm and honest to goodness joy than a dozen modern day superhero flicks.

Forty years on from its release, Trancers continues to be a delight. It’s exciting, often laugh out loud funny, relentlessly imaginative and it has the good grace to get out of your gel-slicked hair in just over an hour and a quarter. Gel-slicked? Well, you wouldn’t want your barnet in any other state because, as Jak Deth reminds us, “Dry hair’s for squids.”

The Spirit of Independence Festival returns for its sixth year to Sheffield’s Showroom Cinema from 27th-29th September. For more information, including tickets, click here.

Ganymede (2024)

Posted on by Darren Gaskell

High school wrestling star Lee Fletcher (Jordan Doww) is a clean living, God-fearing asset to his community, respected by his peers and adored by his churchgoing family. The world Lee thought he knew is about to change as he finds himself developing a crush on openly gay classmate Kyle (Pablo Castelblanco). Fearing that the Fletcher legacy is about to be damaged forever, his family call in local New Dawn Church’s pastor Royer (David Koechner), who suspects that Lee has been possessed by a creature which must be exorcised…

Colby Holt and Sam Probst’s damning look at the suffocating politics and prejudices of small town life is designed to make the viewer increasingly angry as Lee’s parents and Royer refuse to allow Lee to work through his own feelings, focusing instead on what they perceive to be a poison within Lee which must be purged. An initial talk between the pastor and his latest salvation project soon heads down the conversion therapy route, complete with ECT sessions.

Holt’s screenplay paints a chilling picture of a town where reputation is everything and success is gained by conforming to social norms. Those norms, inevitably, are decided upon by people for whom evangelical religion is the cornerstone of their existence. Koechner, possibly better known for being a gifted comedic performer, is terrifying here, playing a fire and brimstone preacher convincing his flock they’ll be going to Hell if they don’t live the “right” way while indulging in thoroughly reprehensible practices in the name of banishing “reprobate thoughts”.

Of course, there are skeletons in the closet of all of these supposed pillars of society, most notably Lee’s mother Floy (Robyn Lively), who still keeps a box of possessions which belonged to her dead brother Neal, who took his own life some years ago for reasons which, if not obviously apparent, will have parallels with the events of the present. Lively is very good as a conflicted soul struggling to reconcile her public persona with a tolerance which is perennially squashed by psychologically domineering spouse Big Lee, played by a chillingly restrained Joe Chrest.

Care is taken not to overdo the supernatural trappings of the story. As unnerving as they are, Lee’s visions are restricted to moments which punctuate the everyday, arguably more punishing trials of his educational and home life. Ganymede doesn’t fall into the trap of having everyone be a hateful bigot, either, giving the more sympathetic characters enough time to land, specifically Anna Schlegel as Ms. Kimpton, a school counsellor a lot of viewers would love to have had, and Sofia Yepes as Kyle’s mother Kim, fiercely protective and incredibly proud of her son.

The subplot regarding Kyle’s creation of a performance piece may, on first glance, feel the least necessary in a film which is steadily turning the screws of tension, but it provides a vital contrast between a life where an open mind is key and that of someone who is constantly told that the only way they can be shielded from the ills of the world is if they reject certain feelings and behave in a way that has been deemed by others to be decent. It certainly helps that Castelblanco is smart, amusing and loveable from the get-go.

If the final act of Ganymede resolves its weighty matters a little too swiftly and neatly, it’s also something of a relief that those resolutions are not nearly as doom-laden as they could have been. That’s not to say that there isn’t the odd, bloody surprise to be found, but the main focus is on characters looking within themselves to confront deep-seated issues which have threatened to destroy the person they once were, or should be. Viewers may not get effects-laden sequences of folks being dragged in or out of Hell, but that was never the movie’s intention and the route Holt and Probst take is much more satisfying.

Closing with a “what happened next” montage, Ganymede allows the audience a welcome couple of minutes to decompress. The message that fundamental religion and bigotry are bedfellows isn’t a new one, and nor is the suggestion that some of those people are using that bigotry to cover up their own perceived, moral transgressions, but it’s the decision to treat the material in such an unsensational way that gives the piece its power. A lot of this movie made me want to shout at the screen. Mission accomplished, I’d say.

Ganymede (2024) featured as part of the SoHome Pride Festival 2024. Interested in attending Soho Horror Fest – in person or virtually – in future? Check out their site here.

Kill Dolly Kill (2023)

Posted on by Darren Gaskell

Who of you out there has seen Heidi Moore’s 2016 comedy horror pic Dolly Deadly? No problem if you haven’t, because this sequel – also helmed by Moore along with Anthony David and Daniel Murphy – opens with a quick catch-up, detailing how young, trailer park dwelling Benji took revenge on those who tormented him, ultimately transforming into the lethal, titular drag queen.

Years later, and Dolly’s back! Actually, she never went away, having garnered a cult following among the citizens of Tromaville as she hacked and slashed her way to local celebrity status. Currently sitting pretty at the top of the Serial Killer Of The Year contest, competition emerges in the form of Slasherella (Amy Vodkahaus). In cahoots with corrupt Mayor Harry Cox (Tom Komisar), Slasherella’s schemes land Dolly (Donna Slash) in the insane asylum with little hope of release. Can Dolly escape and claim the title of Tromaville’s superior slayer?

If you’re not a fan of the Troma style of filmmaking, Kill Dolly Kill is unlikely to convert you. It’s packed with gonzo gore and attempts to mine as many laughs as it can from various bodily functions. With various combinations of farting, defecating or vomiting as the punchline to a number of gags, it’s safe to say that sophistication is not on the menu. If that wasn’t enough in terms of alienating a potential audience, Dolly’s adventures this time out take the form of a musical. This leads to regular pauses in the action to accommodate a slew of mostly rock- or punk-inflected numbers, written by Komisar.

In the main, the songs are fun, sporadically catchy, and fit well with the movie’s trashy aesthetic. At the same time, loading the film with tunes also points up just how little plot there is and Dolly’s extended stay in the Tromaville Psychiatric Ward has her treading water in the second act, when she should be treading on the balls of evil male nurses and breaking out. As a figure who embodies revenge, it’s a long, long time before Dolly gets back to what she does best.

The grab bag approach to the different visual styles employed by Kill Dolly Kill may indicate a project which is happy to throw what it likes at the wall and doesn’t really care if none of it sticks, but the mix and non-match approach endears just as much as it confounds. Animation, comic book panels, spoof sitcom scenes (with accompanying canned laughter) and a parody of a TV series’ opening title sequence sit alongside the plentiful nudity and splattery slaughter. Characters such as Public Defender Maxwell Weiner (a jittery Donny Gonzalez and Detective Walt Wednesday (Mark Justice) are introduced as possible main players in the ongoing mayhem and are then sidelined in quick order. Much of this feels developed on the fly with an anything goes ethos as to what might happen next. In short, prime Troma fodder.

This clearly takes its inspiration from the films of John Waters, with the featured competition possessing parallels with the “Filthiest Person Alive” crown so coveted in Pink Flamingos. It’s nice to see the homage being paid but the wit, satire and sheer bad taste of Waters’ most transgressive works is absent here. Yes, the kills are surprisingly brutal for something this daft and there’s an enthusiasm for crowbarring in unnecessary sexual content which is either admirable or repellent, depending on your viewpoint, but the whole thing lacks the verve and the skilfully effortless offense generated by Baltimore’s finest auteur.

It’s unlikely that your casual genre viewer is going to stick with Kill Dolly Kill but that could be said for any number of titles from the Troma stable. This is a micro-budgeted feature which is not looking to be the next indie breakthrough sensation. This is also a micro-budgeted feature which wants you to laugh at characters called Cox and Weiner and has someone call 911 to warn the forces of law and order of a “ho sighting”. I’m not going to lie, I laughed at that one.

Kill Dolly Kill ticks many of the boxes expected of a Troma release, including the now de rigueur Lloyd Kaufman cameo. Donna Slash’s performance is excellent and just about holds everything together, but for me the overall onslaught was too bludgeoning, too scattershot for the piece to work as a whole. If Dolly’s thinking of a trilogy, maybe next time the focus should be on murders rather than meanderings.

Kill Dolly Kill (2023) featured as part of the SoHome Horror Pride Festival 2024.

Mamántula (2023)

Posted on by Darren Gaskell

Detectives Lorena (Lorena Iglesias) and Marta (Marta Bassols) are called in to investigate a bizarre murder in which the remains of the victim amount to little more than a puddle of goo. This puts them hot on the trail of a serial killer (Moisés Richart) who – let me check my notes here – is a giant, alien tarantula disguised as a human with an insatiable craving for blood and semen, which is necessary for him to construct a web to return to his original dimension. He acquires this by – quick check of the notes again – fellating his unsuspecting prey to death. Yes, you did read that correctly, but feel free to go back and read it again just to be certain.

Ion De Sosa’s quite frankly head-scratching concoction may only run for forty-eight minutes, but that forty-eight minutes brims with bewildering oddness, plus so many close ups of penises that you’ll be wondering when one will have your eye out. Safe to say that, for a great many viewers, watching some bloke receiving a lethal blowjob will be the cue for them to find something else to watch but, in a twisted way, it’s their loss if they don’t see this through to the end, if only because there’s truly little out there that’s so casually batshit.

In some ways, this plays out as if it’s a cosy thriller pilot that was sucked (!) into an alternate universe where the controller of ITV just didn’t give a toss about any post-watershed rules, although the workplace relationship of Lorena and Marta heads to the bedroom in a timeframe far quicker than any “will they, won’t they” played out over several seasons. Many of the staples of your standard police procedural are present and correct here, including a panicked public and the prospect of the case being handed over to rival cops. Okay, yes, the main suspect is an arachnid from outer space, but there are still witnesses to be questioned, leads to be followed and chase sequences to be deployed at key moments.

As the body count rises, Mamántula’s thirst becomes ever greater and a potential deviation from his overall mission is noticed by worried superiors out in the galaxy somewhere, leading to the following line: “He’s swallowing a lot of spunk. He already seems different.” I bet whoever rendered the subtitles for this remembers that day at work. As the net closes in and our ‘tecs find themselves ever closer to unravelling the overall web of weirdness, action beats and ever more gooey effects await in a climax that provides some degree of unexpected closure, but still leaves the viewer wondering just what the hell was going on.

Using the word “bizarre” to describe Mamántula is like saying Nic Cage’s performance in Mandy is a tiny bit unhinged. Avant-garde to the point of having to redefine that term, its mix of fantasy horror, homoerotic set-ups and crime series trappings places De Sosa’s film on a shelf all of its own. The Berlin settings lend the tale a smear of urban grit, but that doesn’t prevent a detour out into a glittery cosmos where a gathering of space spiders ponder the proceedings down on planet Earth. Say what you like, you don’t get that during your weekly dose of Law And Order.

Packing a number of daring ideas into its maxi-short/mini-feature runtime, Mamántula may be purposely short on explanation, but it’s long on offbeat characterisation and gloopy gore scenes. It also possesses a surprising amount of heart and humour, which goes some way to offsetting its graphic, absurdist excesses. This is outlandish genre fare for people who already like outlandish genre fare. Ultimately, it may not have the time to develop everything set out in its unique vision but, if you can stay the course, you’re unlikely to forget this one in a hurry.

Mamántula (2023) featured as part of the SoHome Horror Pride Festival 2024.

Cannibal Mukbang (2023)

Posted on by Darren Gaskell

Socially awkward customer service rep Mark (Nate Wise) bumps into the vivacious, outgoing Ash (April Consalo) at a convenience store, before Ash bumps into Mark with her car. Waking up at her place, Mark thinks it’s the last place a guy like him should be, but Ash allays his initial panic by not freaking out at the small detail of the metal plate in Mark’s head and then reveals that she’s an Internet celebrity in the bizarre world of mukbanging, a subgenre of online videos involving consumption of vast quantities of food for a hungry audience.

As their unlikely liaison blossoms into something potentially serious, Mark finds out more about Ash, his curiosity leading him to discover just how she sources her delicious fare. Ash is luring society’s undesirables to their doom, turning them into tender morsels and Mark, as an initially unwitting accessory, is now along for the ride. As the bodies pile up and their relationship is tested, will love win the day?

Blood. Sex. Food. So goes the tagline for Cannibal Mukbang. And there’s no denying that all three of those can be found in Aimee Kuge’s fusion of romantic comedy, vigilante thriller and gore flick. Meet cute turns into meat cut as Ash transforms from manic pixie dream girl into mad as hell destroyer of predatory incels. It’s a bold narrative decision but the skill of the writing – complete with uncompromising origin story – plus an enthralling, complex performance from Consalo – works to keep the viewer gripped, if not always totally on side. In the same situation, I can’t say I wouldn’t have been helping Ash rid the streets of scum. Don’t be judgey.

Although the movie spends most of its time focused on our dubious, nervy hero and the object of his affection, the supporting turns are given space and time to land, including those of Kathryn Whistler as Mark’s online therapist Dr. Klein and My Bloody Banjo alumnus Clay Von Carlowitz honing his corporate douche routine as Mark’s boorish brother Maverick, who will ultimately prove pivotal to the plot as the mayhem escalates.

Cannibal Mukbang succeeds on an impressive number of levels, delivering on the carnage for the gorehounds but also hitting the mark time and again as an accomplished romantic comedy (okay, the most twisted romantic comedy you’re ever likely to see, but it still works beautifully). It has an acute understanding of that genre’s tropes, replacing the usual sugary montage of rictus grins and differing date locations with a succession of gleefully mounted murders, perfectly reflecting this film’s dark yet amusing vibe.

And there’s not just spoofing afoot. Dig a little deeper and Kuge’s screenplay has many things to say about toxic relationships, addiction and the struggles in breaking the cycle of dependency. Having been fed the forbidden fruit – well, forbidden meat – Mark is confronted with the shocking revelation that nothing else will truly satisfy, leading to him quitting his (admittedly rubbish) job and ignoring most other things in favour of Ash.

Taking this on its title alone, you could be wondering how quickly it will head down the Troma route. As a genuine fan of many flicks from that particular filmic stable, I’m not of the opinion that choosing that kind of style is a bad thing, but Cannibal Mukbang’s anarchic moments come from a vastly different, far more intriguing place. The shocks and the laughs are earned and the emotional stakes possess an uncommon authenticity, bolstered by the chemistry between the two leads.

Aesthetically, it’s also a cut above. Careful choices of lighting enhance the mood and the quirky costume design belies the fact that it’s also brilliantly calculated to spark our pre-conceived expectations about character. The cinematography is noteworthy too, whether it’s conveying the cosy cocoon of Ash’s home, the shabbier urban surroundings or a superb, grainy flashback sequence which economically, brutally outlines a defining event in our mukbanger’s past.

A piquant debut, Cannibal Mukbang is an unexpected delight, blending its genres with aplomb and serving up an appetising treat for the more discerning horror palate, especially one that enjoys a combination of the sweet and the savoury. Its unwillingness to compromise on its ingredients extends to a final course which may not be everyone’s cup of tea but, even as a Yorkshireman and therefore committed tea drinker, I’ll admit there are gourmet experiences which can’t be rounded off with something comforting. This is one of those experiences.

Chow down on this with gusto. Aimee Kuge has cooked up a storm.

Cannibal Mukbang (2023) featured as part of SoHome Horror Pride 2024.

Saint Drogo (2023)

Posted on by Darren Gaskell

Caleb (Brandon Perras-Sanchez) and Adrian (Michael J. Ahern) are a couple whose relationship is heading for the rocks, so they take a make or break trip to an off-season Provincetown in Cape Cod, where the atmosphere seems off from the start and an oddly friendly local called Eric (Matthew Pidge) assumes both the role of their guide and the hitherto missing element of a throuple.

That’s not a spoiler as such and should also act as a primer for the amount of sex between guys that takes place in this movie. You can ditch both the film and the review right now if you’re going to have conniptions about this. Also, the fact that I’ve reviewed The Girl With The Haunted Vagina, Poor Things and the forthcoming Mamantula doesn’t mean that I’m assuming the role of Warped Perspective’s sexy times correspondent [though the role is yours if you want it – Ed.]. Trust me, you do not need me in that position. Please excuse my choice of words.

As a matter of fact, it’s the sex that underpins the plot to a certain degree, acting as a pointer to the hedonism lurking just beneath the surface of this eerie, deserted destination and to the ever shakier foundations of Caleb and Adrian’s relationship, done few favours by a new, intriguing third party. This also strengthens Caleb’s resolve to investigate the disappearance of previous partner Isaac (Tradd Sanderson), about whom he has been experiencing vivid, graphic nightmares.

I should point out that Saint Drogo is from the filmmakers who brought us the micro-budgeted, gonzo, unashamedly queer, slasher riot that is Death Drop Gorgeous. I should also point out that this film is a marked progression in terms of filmmaking maturity. I’m never going to pretend I didn’t find Death Drop Gorgeous a total hoot, but I know some of you out there couldn’t get on with it. To you folks, fair play, but I’m urging you to give this one a try. This sophomore effort is a complete 180 in terms of tone and there’s a definite leap forward in the plotting, the writing and the visual aesthetic while still keeping those outlandish gore sequences firmly in place.

Overcoming a slightly shaky and occasionally stilted opening act, Saint Drogo grows in confidence and hits its stride as the mystery comes into play, with every new character a potential bad guy in surroundings which are alien even to those who should normally feel at home there. There are sharp asides as to what makes gay society tick and the forces at work which set norms and behaviours, even in groups which would initially appear to be outside of expected controls.

Coastal towns – offseason or not – always make for locations which are fertile ground for attracting the other of all types. Think Potter’s Bluff in Dead And Buried or the alternate vision of North Yorkshire seaside town Scarborough which Rose Glass provided in Saint Maud. Here, P-town is a mix of actual, modern day socioeconomic concerns, skewed further for fictional effect by a folk horror element which recalls, inevitably, The Wicker Man. The shadow Robin Hardy’s movie has cast over the subgenre is impossible to ignore but, if you thought Howie’s demise was a cruel one, just wait until you see what Saint Drogo has in store come the final act.

Whereas the violence in Death Drop Gorgeous was generally OTT enough for a good giggle, the grue here is positively chilling. Limb breaking, disembowelling and decapitation is seen in lingering, hideous detail as the viewer hopes against hope for unlikely, last minute salvation that, of course, doesn’t happen. I’ve watched the movie three times now and there are certain moments which lose none of their power to shock.

Perras-Sanchez and Ahern make for a sweet but bruised partnership and the opening stanza shows how their affinity for each other has taken a number of hits over the recent past. As much as the viewer wishes them the best, there’s a sense that the trip they take is too little, too late and the film plays upon this as Caleb becomes increasingly suspicious of their holiday haven’s residents and looks for the secret, all-powerful society he’s convinced is lurking behind the town’s deceptively shabby façade.

Examining the politics of same sex relationships with a startling side of splattery set pieces and keen observations on the transformative – but not always positive – influence of tourism, Saint Drogo is a sea change from the Death Drop Gorgeous guys. It’s the follow-up film you would have not expected and it is well worth your time to see how their craft is developing apace.

Saint Drogo featured at the SoHome Horror Pride Festival 2024.

Fantasia 2024: Infinite Summer

Posted on by Darren Gaskell

Mia (Teele Kalijuvee-O’Brock) packs a bag and heads for an Estonian beach retreat. She’s looking forward to catching up with friends Sarah (Joanna Gross) and Grere (Johanna Rosin). However, once she arrives, it becomes clear that their previous camaraderie is not what it used to be; Sarah and Grere are focused on partying and an app called Extreme Dating. In a reluctant attempt to join in, Mia connects with the app and meets a man called Doctor Mindfulness (Ciaran Davies), who supplies her with a chemical-assisted respirator device with which she can supposedly access a higher plane of existence…

As a brief synopsis of a movie in the coming of age subgenre, the above should give some idea that Infinite Summer does not remotely head down the path you would expect. Adding that this movie is written and directed by Miguel Llansó, who unleashed Jesus Shows You The Way To The Highway on an unsuspecting world may have you reaching for the box marked “Close” or waiting for it to bring the sensory assault.

As much as I enjoyed much of that 8-bit inflected grab bag of ideas, Llansó’s latest opus takes a far less frantic approach, allowing his fascinating central ideas the room to breathe rather than battering the viewer into submission with yet another plot strand, N64-inspired action sequence or bizarre back and forth of dialogue. Infinite Summer is confident enough in the creation of its own alternate world not to fall back on cheesy humour and this makes for a richer experience. Yes, the script can’t resist chucking in the odd elliptical exchange but somehow it wouldn’t be authentic Llansó if it didn’t somewhere along the line.

Using that backdrop of that supposedly halcyon final summer before the responsibilities of adulthood kick in, Infinite Summer examines the fading of friendships and the opening up of scary, exciting new prospects by posing the question “What would you do if you could access everything, everywhere?.” We’ll leave the “all at once” to another project. The AI voice in the respirator, introduces themselves as Eleusis – a temple for a second birth – and is welcoming but also guarded, tempting its user to unlock its secrets but also warning, like an ASMR Jack Nicholson, that they may not be able to handle the truth.

Did I mention the subplot involving Tallinn Zoo and its disappearing animals? My bad, I didn’t. Yes, this is going on too, as investigators Katrin (Katariina Unt) and Jack (Steve Vanoni) get their sleuthing band back together to find out just what the hell is going on. Their droll asides may occasionally feel as though the story is stalling for time, but I loved the two of them and I’d happily watch them transplanted into a Midsomer Murders-style series if only to have the ITV/BBC 8pm cosy crime audience scratching their heads and wondering if they’ve had something slipped into their Ovaltine.

I’ve seen this described as a “transhumanist romp” but I have a slight issue with the word “romp” as that, to me at least, conjures up an atmosphere of pervading, ultimately grating wackiness. Don’t get me wrong, there is humour to be found in Infinite Summer but how many wacky romps grapple with the concepts of transformation right down to an atomic level? Carry On Cosmos this is not, unless I missed the entry in that series in which Sid James weighs up the pros and cons of artificial intelligence. I’d love to have seen that one, by the way.

In the lead, Kalijuvee-O’Brock is excellent, giving a performance which will gain the sympathy of various viewers as she makes those questionable, stubborn, youthful decisions with which many of us will identify. Gross and Rosin make their mark in smaller but important roles, initially annoying both Mia – and, to be fair, me – with their incessant talk of guys and their snickering, swiping left or right antics but providing comment on how all of us nix certain ideas because they don’t line up with our thoughts and then hypocritically go along with them anyway because, you know, FOMO, and we’d be just as good as those things, if not better.

Both Infinite Summer and Jesus Shows You The Way To The Highway trade in blurring the boundaries of reality but the latter’s ramshackle, random ducking and diving is replaced by beautiful scenes of literal spacing out and a central character grappling with an opportunity to live without limits as she discovers more and more about a universe in which shared experiences transcend flesh and bone.

The resolution reads as both uplifting and crushing, an odd mix of parental concern for the potentially dire fate of their children, and the adoption by those children of a world which is evolving at a pace that threatens to leave behind everyone but those who are riding the cutting edge of technology. Infinite Summer is a must for those seeking an adventure into the strange, one spiced with oblique body horror trappings and psychedelic journeys beyond. You’ll be left with so many questions as the end credits roll but oh! What questions they are. As with the respirator of Doctor Mindfulness, allow the effects of Miguel Llansó’s unique product to permeate your consciousness and you could be transported to somewhere genuinely unfamiliar.

Infinite Summer (2024) featured as part of this year’s Fantasia International Film Festival.

In a Violent Nature (2024)

Posted on by Darren Gaskell

In the decrepit remains of a fire tower, a locket hangs in close up. A few lines of offscreen chatter leads to said locket being taken: the conversation has hardly faded into the distance before the ground shudders and a hulking corpse rises from the grave. It’s unlikely that he’s going to ask for it back in a friendly way…

Writer/director Chris Nash’s spin on the slasher flick posits the question “What does the killer get up to between murders?” and, although this particular maniac doesn’t have the city lifestyle of, say, Frank Zito in, er, Maniac, the great outdoors does provide an opportunity for appreciating the picturesque surroundings and getting the step count up as Johnny – for he has not just a name but a local legend attached – wanders the woodlands in search of his next target.

Approaching a well-worn subgenre from a different angle is always welcome and this is applied literally to the opening fifteen minutes of In a Violent Nature, providing a grimly fascinating viewpoint as the camera hovers just behind Johnny in a way which gamers will particularly appreciate. This also presents the film with an immediate problem: can it spend ninety minutes wandering a few paces behind the antagonist and retain the interest of the audience?

As it turns out, the movie decides not to carry out that particular experiment. Once the killer closes in on a campfire gathering of disposable young folks, the proceedings switch from eavesdropping from the trees to circling the group in close quarters, as the tragic backstory of Johnny is recounted and we glimpse their nemesis in the background. It’s the switch between killer cam and traditional slaughter set-up that undercuts the project’s pitch and drags it back into a mainstream it spent half of the first act indicating it would never venture into.

Yes, this movie draws inspiration from slow cinema and the relatively sedate pace will throw off many a gorehound weaned on the antics of Jason Voorhees, but the atmospheric locations and the drawn out sense that something dreadful will eventually happen is effective. The major issue is that In A Violent Nature doesn’t fully commit to changing the game, leaning on tropes to soften any bewilderment its audience may be experiencing.

The fact that Johnny is the strong, silent type doesn’t exactly help matters either. An early flashback projected in a mirror sketches out those basic details about why he’s ready to kill everyone in his path, but any further character development is jettisoned in favour of him finding ever more icky-looking weaponry to use or would-be iconic garb to don. Also, there’s a lot of him walking. And I mean A LOT. There’s only so much yomping through the undergrowth you can take before it seems that you could be watching an episode of Countryfile.

The doomed dwellers of the cabin don’t fare much better either, most of them presented as a means of adding to the body count and yet, as unsympathetic as they are, do they deserve to die? The original Friday The 13th featured at least some engaging characters which left the viewer conflicted as they met various sticky ends, and its ever more cartoony sequels took the “line ‘em up, hack ‘em down” ethos to levels of silliness which felt more fairground ride than hard driving horror. Here, there’s a mean streak a mile wide to the kills which, however impressive and elaborate the effects are, feels like it’s a demonstration of nihilism just for the sake of it.

Having said that, a couple of the set-pieces are to be applauded, merely for their sheer innovative gruesomeness. A cliff-top attack using dragging hooks develops into the one thing you definitely won’t forget about this, with its initial wince-inducing dose of head trauma transforming into an unexpected tour de force of cracking bones and spilling guts. Did folks walk out of the screening during this? Yes, they did. Credit where it’s due, so kudos to FX supervisor Steven Kostanski (he of cult favourite Manborg) and his team.

It’s not just wham, bang – well, not just wham, bang, drag, crack, splat, crack, splat, drag, drag, splat in the above case. Just over an hour in, a sequence involving an incapacitated soon-to-be victim and a hideous piece of machinery called a log splitter amps up both the suspense and the flat out cruelty, its deliberate, inescapable brutality treating the viewer to a cold shower of terror as the tale heads into the last act showdown.

Ah, that last act showdown. The blackly comic moment at which a taunt backfires spectacularly may rob the confrontation of its momentum and introduce unnecessary levity, but I chuckled at its audacity in playing out such a ridiculously gross gag to breaking point. From there, the time honoured killer versus final survivor endgame is played out and, to be fair to In A Violent Nature, it heads back to its initial M.O. of bringing something distinct to the table, skewing the usual climax in a way that, depending on your viewpoint, you’ll find either daring or thoroughly unsatisfactory. Or, if you’re me, both.

Lauded as the horror film of 2024 in some quarters and dismissed as the worst film ever in others, I found In A Violent Nature to be neither of those. The movie breaks too many of its own rules about the innovations it trumpets in the opening scenes and the sporadic bursts of humour, although skilfully handled, don’t sit particularly well with much of the bleakness on display. The effects are mostly top drawer but anyone expecting wall-to-wall bloodshed might be twiddling their thumbs during long takes in which nothing much appears to be happening.

In A Violent Nature succeeds in provoking discussion like no other rural kill pic out there, falling in the middle ground between fascinatingly experimental and overly familiar. A splattering of memorable gore may not be enough to tide the viewer over during Johnny’s various strolls but, at the very least, Chris Nash has made a film which sets itself apart from others in the subgenre, regardless of your feelings about the end product.

In a Violent Nature (2024) is on a limited UK cinematic run this July. It is also available to stream on Amazon and via other streaming services: click here to find out more about availability in your area..

Houseboat Horror (1989)

Posted on by Darren Gaskell

Having recently rewatched the superb Wake In Fright, I was reminded of just how impressive Australian horror can be. That nightmarish classic led me to revisit Picnic At Hanging Rock, Next Of Kin and Long Weekend. All particularly good, all well worth tracking down. Of course, you already know that, unfortunately, this review is of none of the aforementioned titles. No, I’m heading to the opposite end of the Antipodean chiller spectrum where you can find Houseboat Horror, a 1989 shot on video fright flick which has been often cited as the worst film ever made Down Under. Does it genuinely deserve that tag, though?

On the whole, I would say it’s in with a pretty big shout.

The story – such that it is – sees a “rock” band take a trip to picturesque Lake Infinity in order to shoot a music video for a song which, according to the clapperboard, is called Young And Groovey (sic). Of course, the four lunks and their film crew are totally unaware that they’re about to be targeted by a psycho with murder on their mind. It’s a warmer climes version of Swedish shocker Blood Tracks, if you will, except that Blood Tracks looks like an absolute masterpiece of terror compared to this. You’ll be praying for hair metal quintet Easy Action to show up in order to lend this thing a bit of dubious cred. Spoiler: they don’t show up.

The arguable draw here, is the toplining talent of Alan Dale, who at the time was approaching the middle of his stint as soap patriarch Jim Robinson in Neighbours. He’s joined by a load of other folks who, unlike Dale, didn’t go on to appear in 24 and the skills of his oppos extend to spending various scenes talking over each other, occasionally at the expense of expository dialogue. Don’t worry, you won’t miss the twists, because there aren’t any.

Directed (well, kind of) by Kendal Flannigan and Ollie Martin, this is visually drab, 1980s horror by numbers which at least has the good sense to kill off a couple of folks – okay, one of them isn’t that great at playing dead for the camera – before the titles roll, but then faffs about for the next thirty-five minutes with character non-development and a screenplay that’s chocka with stilted exchanges before the carnage recommences in the second half and the bodies pile up.

It has to be said that there’s a pretty nasty, if undetailed, repeated stabbing which actually works, but that turns out to be a fluke as the other suspense sequences are clumsily handled, mostly consisting of shots of the killer’s boots as they close in on their next victim. The gore is far too brief to make any impact either, often seen after the fact or, when it is shown in real time, cutting away quickly from an unconvincing effect. The filmmakers clearly saved their effects money shot – a head being sliced in half – for near the end and do you know what? It’s not worth it in the slightest, losing out in the memorability stakes to the least spectacular death by harpoon ever committed to celluloid, which culminates in a hilariously low key reaction by the character being offed.

If the houseboat lifestyle is for the more affluent, there’s no evidence of that here, the operation being run by the Victorian version of supporting characters from Minder and an unrelenting lack of glamour on board said vessels, with one person proclaiming “This is living,” while standing in an unremarkable kitchen with an open box of Corn Flakes on the worktop. It’s details such as this which kept me watching. There you go, “kept me watching” is a pull quote that can be used totally out of context.

The dialogue is mostly of the type uttered by no human being ever, be it the interminable chit chat between the thinly drawn characters or the odd rural weirdo showing up to talk in a tone which only requires them to be wearing an “I AM MENTAL” T-shirt to make matters a tad more obvious. The one note of realism, I will concede, is the very Ocker reaction of “Piss off!” to someone confronting them with a massive knife, and I will admit to having to pause the film at that point in order to collect myself.

Is there anything positive to say? Well, compared to other SOV fare, it’s edging towards technically competent and it all cuts together more smoothly than, say, Boardinghouse. However, anyone who’s seen that hot mess from ’82 will know that’s damning Houseboat Horror with the faintest of praise. At least Boardinghouse’s bizarre plotting and chainsaw edits make it a memorable experience, even if it’s absolutely no good. What we’re presented with here is a sluggish, cut and paste slasher complete with the usual, far too obvious, suspects and a late in the day, undercooked revenge motive. It ends up being The Burning on an extremely low heat.

Quoting directly from the end credits, complete with unnecessary upper case emphasis, Houseboat Horror was “Produced with the assistance of the entertainment development branch of AUSTRALIA’S WORLD FAMOUS, UNDERGROUND Nightclub, Melbourne” and this does go some way to explaining the end product, which possesses those classic nightclub staples of annoying twats, random drinking, a bit of uncomfortable nudity and the feeling that you’ve had enough of it all after eighty-five minutes.

For folks who love bad, shot on video horror movies, this is bad and it’s shot on video. For everyone else, the prospect of hearing Jim Robinson drop the F-bomb is no reason to watch this. If you really need to see a Neighbours actor in an Aussie horror film, Ian Smith – none other than Harold Bishop – is in 1993’s gloopy and bonkers Body Melt. It’s no classic, but it’s a bloody ripper compared to Houseboat Horror.

Masochists take note: Houseboat Horror (1989) is somehow now available on Shudder and other streaming outlets.