Accomplished scientist Godwin Baxter (Willem Dafoe) gives new life to Bella (Emma Stone), a recently deceased young woman, via a brain transplant and some good old fashioned, Frankenstein-style electrical charge. In order to track Bella’s development, “God” enlists the help of student Max McCandles (Ramy Youssef) and Max comes to fall for Bella’s unfiltered view of existence.
An agreement is struck which will see Max and Bella married, and so the legal services of Duncan Wedderburn (Mark Ruffalo) are employed to ensure the paperwork is all in order. However, Wedderburn is so taken with Bella that he suggests the two of them run off together for an adventure in Lisbon… The latest button pusher from Yorgos Lanthimos is – thankfully for me at least – less performatively, nudgingly odd than, say, The Killing Of A Sacred Deer and the surreal nature of the story (adapted from the novel by Alasdair Gray) immediately lends itself to the general weirdness on screen and to the giddy cinematography of Robbie Ryan.
Underpinning the sci-fi fantasy trappings is a story of a woman fighting to gain agency in a quasi-Victorian, male-dominated society and Stone is phenomenal as the rapidly evolving Bella, leaving a trail of beguiled and/or terrified men in her wake. Her uninhibited performance is one of the most indelible I’ve experienced, the initial physical comedy and some gruesomely chucklesome scalpel abuse giving way to a considered, self-educated, formidable presence whose grip of sexual politics may prove as troubling to the audience as it is to those in her orbit.
The supporting cast is top class, most notably Ruffalo, playing a debauched type whose edifice of next level caddishness is steadily eroded by a force of nature. He’s sleazy, foul mouthed and shamefully hilarious. Youssef supplies the voice of ethical reason and Dafoe, under a layer of prosthetics, provides a spicy Scottish accent and an affecting portrayal of an outsider striking out in his own way, despite hideous damage, both physically and psychologically.
As the adventure unfolds and expands geographically, there’s time for leisure, for several spots of drinking and gambling, and for other memorable characters to drift in and out of the tale, including Rainer Werner Fassbender alumnus Hanna Schygulla as the wily Martha, Jerrod Carmichael as the cynical, philosophy-averse Harry and an astonishing Kathryn Hunter as the complex Madame Swiney. Even in a yarn with so much focus on its main protagonist, everyone is given the opportunity to make their mark.
In these times of column inches being given to how sex scenes are no longer necessary in movies, Bella’s antics are more than likely to give a few folks an attack of the vapours but, for all the nudity and, as our protagonist likes to call it, “furious jumping,” Poor Things is decidedly unsexy, considering the amount of flesh on view. As with other Lanthimos projects, there’s a certain amount of built-in uncomfortableness, but the playful approach of the piece tends to mitigate the more troublesome moments, coupled with the fact that Bella, for all of her awkwardness, exerts a level of control which nullifies the potential threat attached to otherwise precarious situations.
In contrast to the icky moments, which also include some bizarre and grotesquely comic body horror, the production design by James White and Shona Heath is breathtakingly gorgeous, building a steampunk-inflected world where trams whistle overhead in a Portuguese capital city brimming with architectural and artistic clashes. The sequence in which Bella takes a wander around the neighbourhood is a triumph of jaw dropping, detailed set construction and carefully deployed, digital flourishes. Even if the rest of the film isn’t to your taste, this mini tour ought to impress in terms of the sheer craft on display.
As to the fact that the UK version of Poor Things has been edited to amend one specific vignette in a Paris brothel, the changes aren’t noticeable and don’t affect the flow of the scene, the impact or the queasy comedy, of those few moments. As someone who hasn’t exactly been the biggest defender of the BBFC in the past (don’t get me started on Video Nasties), the cuts were in line with legal requirements and Disney, the distributor, agreed to make alterations following an advisory screening, so don’t be marching to the classification board to complain. At least not this time.
Despite the questionable behaviour demonstrated time and again across the two hours and twenty-one minutes of Bella’s odyssey, this a movie which celebrates the generosity of the human spirit and consistently suggests that a good heart and a willingness to do the right thing will ultimately bring its reward. Yes, there’s a point at which Bella decides that she must punch a baby but trust me, this is much better natured than I had expected. The baby punching? It doesn’t happen (apologies for the spoiler) and there’s context to be considered. Don’t be marching down to the nearest baby. Ever.
Poor Things, while edging Lanthimos closer to the mainstream, still contains content that will turn people off, weird people out, or both. Dialogue I found to be hilarious will set others on edge. Using various sexual encounters to thrust the plot forward may have folks heading to the exit. What cannot be denied is a turn from Stone that is not only a career best, but should be talked about for years to come. Also, as a fan of pastéis de nata, it’s a delight to see her attacking those delicious custard tarts with the gusto advised by Wedderburn.
Eccentric, frequently delightful and strangely sweet, despite the fact that the c-word gets an outing not one but five times, Poor Things could not be a better start for UK cinema releases in 2024. Let’s hope that we can see movies of this quality across the entire year.
Every year there’s always some comment about how it’s been a terrible one for horror movies, and every year I think “What have those people been watching”? The genre rarely fails to deliver terror of all types and, as usual, narrowing the field down to my favourite ten (plus five honourable mentions) has been just as a tricky a task as it proved in previous years.
The rules are simple; the film has to be a new (or new-ish) release which I saw this year. I have watched a lot of horror but I would need to clone myself to see every movie available, so don’t get too disheartened if your particular favourite does not appear in the list below and comfort yourself that there are no clones of me running about.
As there is only one of me, the titles I have not viewed include When Evil Lurks and Brooklyn ’45, both of which I suspect would have been strong contenders. You’ll also notice that I generally don’t gravitate towards big studio movies but that doesn’t mean I didn’t enjoy The Pope’s Exorcist, because I did. It just didn’t make the upper echelons. If Russell Crowe and his moped are given a chance to return in a sequel, I will be there. Enough of my rambling: on with the list, which is in purely alphabetical order (after the one with the hashtag in its title) …
#CHADGETSTHEAXE
I’ll happily admit that I’m not the biggest fan of found footage films and yet this year has provided a handful of genuinely innovative and entertaining examples of the subgenre, avoiding the usual malaise of expecting the viewer to wait half of the movie for something to actually happen. Travis Bible’s flick also manages to pull off the neat trick of making a quartet of influencers interesting and ultimately sympathetic, with an all too realistic chorus of onscreen comments accompanying the action.
Following four social media celebs on a trip to Devil’s Manor, a house which was the site of a cult killing, it doesn’t take a genius to predict things will go horribly wrong, which they do. The balance of fun and fear is maintained throughout and although its targets may be reasonably easy ones, the skewering of the egos of online fame chasers and their pursuit of ever increasing views and likes is skilfully done, thanks to finely honed performances and a knowing screenplay from Bible and Kemerton Hargrove.
THE COFFEE TABLE
Caye Casas’ audience baiter hinges on a moment which must not be spoiled at any cost, and so the most I can tell you is that it’s about a bloke who buys a coffee table, much to the chagrin of his wife, and then…something utterly dreadful happens. And when I say dreadful, I mean dreadful. I’m talking ‘potential walkout and questioning the director’s sanity’ dreadful. No spoilers from here; I just wish I were in the room to watch your reaction.
A head-spinning combination of the heart-stoppingly tense and the oddly hilarious,The Coffee Table places its audience into a heightened state of anxiety in an unexpectedly prompt manner and then proceeds to turn the screw for the next hour or so, revelling to a masochistic degree in the escalating awfulness. Folks who aren’t fans of the genre will be looking for the exit within minutes of the opening shot. Folks who are fans of the genre might also find this a bit much, which is both a resounding recommendation and a warning. Keeping its worst visual excesses in the shadows, you’re still in for a memorable, psychological doing over.
FALLING STARS
A trio of brothers head to the graveyard of a witch and then wish they hadn’t in Gabriel Bienczycki and Richard Karpala’s cautionary, rural tale which brings to mind the sci-fi stylings of Benson and Moorhead in the way its contained, precisely detailed world is portrayed. It’s a triumph of obtaining maximum value from minimum resources, allowing for excellent physical effects work where necessary, but also demonstrating a mastery of offscreen terror.
Shaun Duke Jr., Andrew Gabriel and Rene Leech convince as the siblings, Karpala’s script establishing the hierarchy and the banter between them, which then plays pleasingly into how each of them deals with – and is expected to deal with – the escalating menace. Meanwhile, a local radio DJ (played by J. Aaron Boykin) provides The Fog-esque counterpoints to the town’s obsession with placating the peril from above. The budget may have determined the way in which the climax plays out and it’s all the better for it, hitting far harder than I imagined it would.
GODZILLA MINUS ONE
A late entry to this list (and one which led to me agonising over which movie had to drop out of the Top Ten), there can be no more fitting lead-in to next year’s 70th anniversary of kaiju’s most prominent figure than Takashi Yamazaki’s 1940s-set stunner. Failed kamikaze pilot Koichi Shikishima (Ryunosuke Kamiki) returns in disgrace to a wrecked home and a country ravaged by the Second World War. Can he regain his honour by battling a new threat to the population?
Wisely eschewing the jokey tone of those US-made Godzilla films, Yamazaki’s take on the legend provides plenty of destructive action but also delves deep into the psyche of a post-war Japan via a roster of memorable characters, who rise far above being the easily labelled bad guys in a global conflict. Exciting, scary and with several brutal, emotional punches along the way, this is unrelentingly impressive on every level.
HALFWAY HOME
Described in the Soho Horror Festival blurb as ‘When Harry Met Sally for necrophiliacs’ this is, in fact, a truly delightful horror fantasy from Hungary in which morgue employee Krisztián fights to save the soul of – and hopefully re-animate – recently deceased love interest Ági. Heading in completely the opposite direction to Nekromantik (did I hear sighs of relief?), this is a fun, sweet, delicately dark adventure populated by engaging supporting characters, including a scene-stealing goat and an outlandish, panto style villain.
Making the most of its unusual premise to allow for amusing diversions and side quests for our hero, Halfway Home mounts its set pieces in a beautifully designed environment and there’s expert physical comedy to be found, in addition to heart strings being tugged (when the bad guy isn’t attempting to rip them out). Péter Bárnai and Vivien Rujder are wonderful as the odd couple and if this doesn’t leave you with a smile on your face you probably have a date with a chilled locker at Krisztián’s place of work.
NEW LIFE
A fresh, fiercely intelligent take on both infection and hunter/hunted movies, writer/director John Rosman’s assured debut sees expert fixer Elsa Gray (Sonya Walger) on a mission to track down a young woman (played by Hayley Erin) before she makes it across the border from the U.S. to Canada. Modern surveillance technology fights with off-grid flight as the game of cat and mouse intensifies.
The sharp, smart script plays with the audience’s preconceived ideas about good and bad, boosted further by terrific performances from Walger and Erin, resulting in two protagonists painted with a level of detail seldom seen in this, or indeed any genre. Uncommonly tense, quietly devastating and providing the viewer with ethical dilemmas which will resonate long after the end credits have rolled, New Life uses its focused, small scale confrontations to inform a situation which could have global ramifications. To say I’m looking forward to Rosman’s next project is an understatement.
PANDEMONIUM
Ever wondered what it might be like to hang out in The Beyond after Lucio Fulci’s movie has finished? Quarxx’s grim quasi-anthology allows us to do just that, as car accident victim Nathan (Hugo Dillon) staggers out of his wrecked car on a mountain road which is even more strangely quiet than he’d expected. It’s not much of a spoiler to reveal that he’s dead, as this is hinted at and then made crystal clear early on in the proceedings, but what is a surprise is just how consistently bleak Pandemonium is, leading to a divisive experience which has been the subject of intense dislike, maybe even outright hate, from some quarters. It’s a viewpoint with which I have no issues whatsoever and yet here it is in my Top Ten. Sorry.
A cinematic gaze into the abyss with no shot at redemption for any of its characters and a closing shot which shreds any thoughts of that last minute glimmer of hope, Pandemonium is still able to grip because of its willingness to venture into such cruel territory and boasts a clutch of committed performances, chiefly that of the astonishing Manon Maindivide as the young Jeanne, a girl for whom the word ‘horrid’ does not adequately sum up her actions when she is bad. As for Dillon’s character, well, suffice to say it’s unlikely to end well.
SCREAM THERAPY
A group of female friends, who refer to themselves as the Motherfucking Mermaids, head out to the desert for a restorative weekend away and end up clashing with a group of demon-worshipping incels in Cassie Keet’s consistently chucklesome chiller. The plot guarantees genre action but the emphasis is, quite rightly, on an amusing, keenly observed study of female friendship. Both the dialogue and the dynamic between the Mermaids never feels anything less than authentic as they become a formidable force against the ranks of bros who can’t get laid.
The story may feature some of the worst examples of blokehood ever to walk the planet, but Scream Therapy’s intention isn’t to bash men. As a matter of fact, it’s very much pro finding the right guy. For all of those wrong ones, though, comical – and sometimes bloody – takedowns await. I had to pause this movie when I was watching it as a result of Clare Dellamar’s character Nora providing the retort of “Eat my dick” to the main villain. I’m not a sophisticated soul, it took me a while to stop laughing, I’m not apologising. Give this one a try, you may end up loving it.
STOPMOTION
Robert Morgan’s debut live action feature has been a long time in the making but it ended up being well worth the wait, following young animator Ella (Aisling Franciosi) whose ideas for her own project are stymied by her arthritic mother (an icy turn from Stella Gonet) who needs Ella’s help to complete her final film. However, a confrontation gives Ella the freedom she needs to turn her creative beast loose, and a steady descent into madness begins…
A screening of Stopmotion at Sitges – where it won the Special Jury Award – caused an audience member to faint. It may not have the same effect on the sort of hardened horror hound who reads Warped Perspective but there are many effective, gross moments and Morgan’s ability to make the ickiest looking puppets possible has not diminished one iota over time. Franciosi is a stellar presence, disproving yet again the old adage that horror movies don’t contain awards-worthy acting. A shocking, grotesque meditation on the transformative and sometimes destructive power of the artistic mind, this may share a little DNA with other movies in the same sphere, but Morgan puts a unique stamp on the material. Also, check out all of his earlier work, with a specific call out to the glorious insanity that is Bobby Yeah.
WHERE THE DEVIL ROAMS
The Adams family returns, following up the modern witchery of Hellbender with a Depression-era tale full of carnies and carnage as three participants in a travelling show leave a trail of bodies in their wake. The discovery of a magic artefact allows a pact to be made with dark forces and propels our trio ever closer to a national talent content, but the deal causes many more problems than it will ever solve.
As the Adams collective hones their filmmaking talent and their visual style, their stories get ever wilder and gorier, set on a bedrock of Toby Poser’s poetic writing and precise world building. Watch the film stock deteriorate and the colour palette fade as our protagonists’ situation becomes increasingly desperate. Enjoy the incongruous, but perfectly placed, stoner rock soundtrack. Try to get the final, bizarre image out of your head. Where The Devil Roams is a gorgeous, gory gob of anarchic Americana.
HONOURABLE MENTIONS
Here are five more movies which didn’t quite make the Top Ten but which are also, in my humble opinion, well worth your time.
HOWDY, NEIGHBOR! I’m not saying I’ve been won over by the subgenre but here’s another title which falls into “found footage”, stitching together text conversations, emails and online video of various forms to form the story of Benjamin (Matthew Scott Montgomery), an actor who runs into a fan who remembers him from the titular sitcom of years past. With its clever casting of actual child stars and a script from Montgomery which favours the chillingly real over the melodramatic, this is a creepy little gem.
HUNDREDS OF BEAVERS Silent slapstick abounds as down on his luck applejack salesman Jean Kayak (Ryland Brickson Cole Tews) goes head to head with the titular menace in order to make his fortune and win the heart of a foxy local furrier (Olivia Graves). Pacy, visually inventive and engagingly daft, this is horror adjacent, but it’s my list and I’m including it. The sheer effort in bringing this live action cartoon to the screen has paid off handsomely, from its video game-style progress updates to its absurd punch-ups. Often laugh out loud funny, this parody of wasteland adventure tales is a joy.
THE MOOR Chris Cronin’s study of the current vogue for amateur sleuths investigating true crimes takes on a particularly nightmarish tone as the grieving father of a missing boy enlists the help of his childhood friend turned podcaster. Mixing a conventional, cold case narrative with found footage segments (yes, again!), this slow burner twists and turns in a gloomily fascinating way, before throwing in a brilliant end credit fake-out which leads the story to…you’ll just have to see it.
WHAT YOU WISH FOR Ryan (Nick Stahl) assumes the identity of a deceased friend and then finds himself at the centre of a gourmet evening, which is unlikely to ever feature as a challenge on Masterchef. The film piles dilemma upon dilemma, as the tangled web Ryan has woven causes a far greater threat to him than his chequered past. Nicholas Tomnay’s twisted morality tale serves up more than its fair share of nervous laughs and features a fabulous, throwaway line in the final scene.
A searing indictment of exploiting the proletariat for political and financial gain, this short film is essential viewing for anyone interested in the history of…nah, come on, look at what it’s called. It’s about a girl with a haunted vagina, the very idea of which will cause amusing pearl clutching by those who think we shouldn’t talk about that area, especially one with extra, supernatural problems.
How could I not review something with this title? Directed by Samantha O’Rourke and scripted by Rachel Tookey, this horror comedy short follows the sexually repressed Meghan (Sophie Duker), whose pursuit of a satisfying climax – well, any sort of climax to be honest – is consistently thwarted by the ghost of a local priest (Scott Gutteridge) whose pronunciations on sin were cut short by a heart attack.
Duker’s comedic chops are in no doubt, so it’s unsurprising that the scares take a back seat to the silliness, but she’s also called upon to play it at least semi-serious in a few places, especially in the later interactions with Gutteridge, and she acquits herself very well. As for Scott, anyone with a passing knowledge of Fleabag is going to think “sexy priest”, but to say he’s just a genre version of that would be doing him an immense disservice. As the initial villain of the piece, he’s adept at turning on the darkly humorous fire and brimstone, but convinces just as much when showing different, unexpected sides to his character.
Further chuckles are provided by Declan Baxter as Meghan’s would-be romantic interest, a man whose increasingly fragile ego takes multiple batterings as he struggles to come to terms with the situation. He can’t see the ghost, obviously, so how would it be possible to explain the situation to him in a rational way? It’s only a matter of time before he takes the blows – or lack of (I’m sorry, I had to include that, I refuse to grow up) – personally.
The focus here is on fun. but there are observations about the ways in which we’re all made to feel embarrassed about sex and how the barriers to getting pleasure from it manifest themselves in bizarre ways. Considering the scenario, you might think that this would take the opportunity to have a pop at religion but this really doesn’t bash the Bishops (I’m on a roll now with the sex puns, not even apologising for that one), even giving the priest the chance to turn saviour.
Of course, TGWTHV indulges in a couple of good old, down and dirty laughs as Meghan’s frustration increases, but there are also surprisingly sweet moments to be found and there’s even a bit of amusingly misguided, witchy activity from Meghan’s well-meaning mate Cady (Ameera Conrad) in there for good measure. As frank as it needs to be but not gratuitously rude, it won’t scratch the itch of those expecting unadulterated filth. However, the rest of us will most likely find twelve minutes of gratification. And, if you’re in the mood afterwards, you can always watch it again.
Okay, I’ll stop now.
The Girl with the Haunted Vagina played at the Soho Horror Film Festival 2023.
My initial review for The Coffee Table was going to be one word and one word only.
Fuck.
As gimmicky, nay, lazy and clickbait-inducing piece of film commentary as that would have been, it summed up the overriding thought in my head as the end credits rolled. It was also an approximation of the sound that came out of my mouth as I was finally able to exhale following what felt like seventy-five minutes of me holding my breath.
So, what put me into such a heightened state of anxiety for such an extended period of time? Well, it all starts when new parents Jesús (David Pareja) and María (Estefanio de los Santos) argue over the purchase of the, quite frankly, hideous titular furniture. María doesn’t want such a tacky item in their house, but Jesus decides to go ahead and buy it anyway, as he feels his recent suggestions have been ignored, such as choosing the name of their baby and the décor of their apartment.
Jesús duly slogs it back to their place with the table, begins to assemble it and realises that there’s a screw missing which holds the unbreakable glass surface in place. While waiting for said part to be delivered by the store’s somewhat over-eager salesman (Eduardo Antuña), something dreadful happens. When I say something dreadful happens, I’m not overstating the case. We’re talking breathtakingly, sick-makingly dreadful. And from then on, things can only get worse.
Writer director Caye Casas has crafted an experience so dripping with dread and so stomach-turningly taut that it’s easy to put forward a case that this is nothing more than an endurance test, gleefully putting its main character – and, by extension, the audience – through an emotional wringer that doesn’t even border on the masochistic. This is straight up abuse. If you’re a sensitive soul, don’t even bother sitting down for this one, you’re going to be leaping out of that chair soon enough.
For those still in place, there’s no doubt that the defining event is a gut punch like few others. I watched this in a roomful of hardened horror hounds and when something on screen is powerful enough to render that group of people silent, you know you’ve landed in the bleakest territory imaginable. As if that wasn’t enough, Casas goes on to mine those grim circumstances for some of the darkest comedy you’re ever likely to witness, resulting in an escalating nightmare which is genuinely hilarious at times but will also have its viewer regularly asking themselves the following question: Why am I laughing at this?
The Coffee Table, for all of its casual provocation, possesses an innate understanding as to where the lines are drawn even with such extreme material, choosing to push its most offensive images into the shadows (quite literally). Of course, leaving the most dreadful details of the story to the imagination of the audience only makes the overall impact all the worse, a blurry glimpse of the one thing you don’t want to see amplified by a conscience skilfully primed by that first act.
This could quite easily have descended into ninety minutes of abject misery, but the committed, finely tuned performances and a slew of loaded lines of dialogue keep things deliciously distressing. An utterly compelling central turn by Pareja is the standout, for reasons I clearly can’t go into here without ruining the movie, but his performance wouldn’t work nearly as well without the superb support from Estefanio de los Santos in a characterisation of a wife that goes far beyond the norm in terms of complexity.
Boosting the film’s quotient of biting, bludgeoning humour – and complicating the plot further – is the inclusion of Jesús’ brother Carlos (Josep Maria Riera) and his much younger girlfriend Cristina (Claudia Riera), showing up for a meal which may end with something extremely hard to swallow. Also, there’s an obsessive 12-year-old neighbour (Gala Flores) whose growing infatuation with Jesús’ threatens to shift from irritating to scary. These characters contribute to the growing tension, unceasingly ratcheting to a sadistic level, culminating in a nerve-fraying final stanza where almost every line of dialogue threatens to bring the whole thing crashing down.
As much as I loved this film, it’s one of those titles – along with such infamous audience testers as Cannibal Holocaust – which I feel I should not recommend without listing a bunch of reservations first. Whereas Deodato’s film is full of shockingly gruesome violence and cruelty which remains extremely problematic to this day, The Coffee Table’s alternative yet equally brutal M.O. is to destroy psychologically, basing its increasingly suffocating situation on a plot development which absolutely can not be spoiled, so listing the aforementioned bunch of reservations is not an option.
Did I think it was great? Yes, I did. It is undoubtedly one of my favourite horror movies of 2023. Will you enjoy it? Now that’s a good question. If a heightened, sustained level of anxiety appeals to you, you’re in for a twisted treat. If not, please don’t hold it against yourself. I have a feeling you’re what’s commonly referred to as “normal”.
The Coffee Table (La mesita del comedor) featured as part of the Soho Horror Film Festival 2023.
On seeing the title of this, you’d be forgiven for having the initial thought of “Not another film about the making of The Exorcist, but Robin Bextor’s documentary is certainly not just another film about the making of The Exorcist, choosing to focus much of its runtime on the lead up to the production and how the dream (nightmare?) team of William Friedkin and Peter Blatty came to collaborate on a movie which has become the subject to so much debate in the fifty years since its release.
Of course, there’s a fun vox pop segment early on in which often shell-shocked cinemagoers try to make sense of what they’ve just seen on screen – one particularly bewildered soul says they’re not going back in there (I’ve a feeling they did) and a dubious defender of 70s female virtue proclaims he wouldn’t take his wife to see it – but the main thrust of the piece soon settles into the backgrounds of those two iconic driving forces. There’s also a liberal sprinkling throughout of academic takes on the William Castle-esque origins of the marketing machine behind the phenomenon, plus the change on the sociopolitical landscape of the time, when the freewheeling, free-loving attitudes of the 1960s gave way to something darker as New Hollywood showed the American Dream to be just a mere reverie for the impossibly idealistic.
As to “Untold,” that’s open to question. Stories of Friedkin firing guns on set and punching actors are ten a penny but the less sensational details of his fledging career in the business are seldom covered, regardless of their importance to Blatty realising that there was clearly only one man for the directing job. Similarly, Blatty’s pre-Exorcist days are generally downplayed, almost to the point of irrelevance at the side of the monster he created, and Bextor redresses the balance with some fascinating and often amusing detail, demonstrating his create smarts via a fine appearance on You Bet Your Life and a serendipitous, last minute guest slot on The Dick Cavett Show.
As an unauthorised view of a horror juggernaut, the footage used tends towards the low budget and the lack of big names involved in front of the camera may be jarring to some, but this opens up the piece to contributions from those who would have otherwise fallen by the wayside in a glossier production’s haste to cram in as much Blair and Burstyn as possible while telling you about the “curse” hanging over the shoot. Yeah yeah, we know.
A roster of potential, big name directors – all initially preferred to Friedkin – is detailed, as well as initial casting choices which are ripe for post-doc discussion. If you want to ponder a version of The Exorcist with different actors filling out the lead roles (save for Blair, who seemed pretty much a shoo-in to play Regan from the get-go), here’s your chance. And as for the editing process, it’s arguably in line with Friedkin himself – possibly insane, but ultimately perfect.
I’ve left it until now in the review to out myself properly as a huge fan of The Exorcist, but you may have guessed that already. I’ve seen the film more times than I would dare admit and, yes, when I took a holiday in Washington, the temptation to wander over to Georgetown to walk down those steps was too great. A passer-by asked me “Do these steps mean anything?” and my initial response was a short but definitive one: “Oh yes.”
That particular piece of architecture is allotted its own segment in The Exorcist Untold, showing the dedication ceremony as a recognised monument and the added poignancy of the event being the final occasion on which Blatty and Friedkin would be together. That a stairway, albeit one as lethal in appearance as the those on the corner of Prospect Street and 36th Street NW, should be burned into the conscience of generations of movie watchers, says all you need to know about Blatty’s writing and Friedkin’s visual flair, combining in a truly unforgettable few seconds of celluloid.
The resolutely unsensational approach The Exorcist Untold may drive away those seeking more lurid accounts of the movie’s development. Equally, rabid completists of the project may not be told anything they don’t already know. However, if you’re looking for a different angle on a classic horror film that was never conceived as a horror film at all (that’s an argument for another time) then this is well worth seventy-one minutes of your time, even if it is simply to view evangelist Billy Graham getting all hot and bothered about the Devil lurking in the prints or to chuckle at the inevitable shade thrown on Exorcist II: The Heretic.
In the aftermath of a heist, Frankie (Joseph McGucken) and partners in crime Dancer (James Farrelly) and Gaz (Darryl Carter) head to an isolated spot in the Irish countryside to lay low and wait for instructions from their chief, er, The Chief (Owen Roe). Will their plans to make their eventual escape be thwarted by spiky captive Clare (Louise Bourke), friendly, lasagne making neighbour Sadie (Cat L. Walsh) or local ‘tec Murphy (Andrea Kelly)?
With its post-robbery set-up, injured gang member to deal with and extra issues courtesy of a kidnapping victim in the boot of the getaway car, the opening act of Wickedly Evil bears more than a passing resemblance to Reservoir Dogs, albeit with a smaller criminal team, an absence of colour coding and no opening discussion relating to the politics of tipping. There’s distrust between the thieves, an insistence that everyone remain in the central location until the mastermind behind the op shows up and, just in case you hadn’t cottoned on, Tarantino’s debut is even name checked at the point of the hostage reveal alongside a similar, trunk based POV.
Enough with the homage, though. There’s a hint that something isn’t quite right in this rural setting, with mentions of a couple having disappeared a week previously and a surfeit of shadows for who knows what to lurk within. As Frankie attempts to control the increasingly erratic behaviour of an increasingly coked-up Dancer, while providing a convincing cover story to Sadie as to why he’s renting a place in the back of beyond, the whole web of deception is constantly on the verge of breaking.
Unfortunately, the tension and the potentially dark humour of such a nightmare scenario don’t come to fruition as they should. The bickering between Frankie and Dancer is sporadically fun but there’s an overload of it, missing the opportunity to mine the heightened emotions of the situation for big laughs. Similarly, the role of Clare as a smart, manipulative hostage isn’t built upon, her mental game playing with Dancer boiling down to the setting of a fairly obvious psychological trap and him being, as the piece reminds you regularly, an eejit.
Disappointingly, the slide into horror comes far too late in the proceedings. There’s some genre-friendly, if unnecessary, creeping around in the first two acts and a feeling that something awful is going on, but it’s well over eighty minutes into a ninety-six minute movie before the tale even begins to show its hand. Granted, the step from chuckler to chiller is carried off by means of an effectively creepy sequence but there’s a huge imbalance between build up and pay off, leading to a final ten minutes that delivers on efficient, low-budget carnage but also feels blunt and rushed.
Wickedly Evil is an exercise in what could have been. The performances are all solid, with McGucken and Walsh standing out as exasperated thief and resourceful local. Some of the jokes work well, such as one involving the rapid removal of tape from over a prisoner’s mouth, and on occasion the script suggests how snappy it could have been, including a line comparing cocaine consumption to the antics of a certain Argentinian footballer which is hardly the epitome of subtlety, but had me giggling nonetheless. As it stands, this feels like the opening hour could have lost fifteen minutes and the climax could have gained those. The “wham, bam, we’re done” ending makes drastic reductions to the cast list in a time frame so short it may make your head spin. The reveal is one of Wickedly Evil’s strongest points so allowing its audience extra time to take in its ramifications, coupled with a longer battle involving the protagonists, may have landed more dramatically. Rather than revelling in the unveiling of the saga’s secret and letting that soak in, it’s a trigger for a bloody race to the end credits which feels like the twist is a source of slight embarrassment. It’s not, by the way, and I wanted more of it.
Wickedly Evil deserves credit for its readiness to genre hop, but the caper and comedy elements don’t always sit easily with each other, resulting in a tonally unsure experience that seems unwilling to cut loose until the finale. Director Garry Walsh clearly has talent when it comes to staging suspenseful scenes but he’s not ideally served by a screenplay which throws too much focus on chit chat and, most frustratingly, treads water when it should be amping up the thrills ahead of a big finish. Sadly, it’s not quite wicked enough.
Wickedly Evil (a.k.a Bad Things in ihe Middle of Nowhere) will be released onto VOD on 13th November 2023.
Sideshow performers Maggie (Toby Poser), Eve (Zelda Adams) and Seven (John Adams) travel around Depression-era America with a carnival which has lost most of its sparkle. As the crowds dwindle, there’s one particular attraction which continues to hold a grim fascination for those gathered – Mr. Tibbs, who cuts off his fingers with scissors. As Eve discovers, this isn’t sleight of hand. Tibbs has made a pact with the devil and a specific artefact is used to facilitate his regenerative powers.
Moving around the country, Eve, Maggie and Seven become entangled in the satanic world which has claimed Tibbs as its own and find there’s no going back as they leave a trail of bodies in their wake, committing heinous acts of violence in order to stay together as a family unit. Their ultimate goal? The Buffalo Horror Show, where they intend to wow the judges with something memorably gruesome…
After The Deeper You Dig and Hellbender, The Adams Family return for more confrontational carnage in a gory period piece which benefits, as those previous movies did, from careful, skilful world building, laying the bedrock of vital details but leaving more than enough space for the audience to extrapolate. The carnival scenes, in particular, are wonderfully scuzzy, depicting a hand to mouth existence which is so vivid you can feel the grime oozing from the screen.
From a filmmaking team who clearly cares about telling the stories that matter to them, regardless of their commercial potential, their usual micro-budgeted adventures would seem more at odds with this latest tale than ever, given the historical nature of the piece. However, the trappings of the decade are all present and correct, the ragged rural settings looking rather beautiful when they’re not being sprayed red as a result of Maggie’s penchant for hitting folks repeatedly with a hammer.
Yes, it’s violent, often shockingly so, but the sequences of marrow-freezing murder are often underscored with a sly, dark sense of humour, which allows the viewer to take an initial breath of relief but then hits even harder as another unfortunate falls victim to the family’s ever-growing, ever more desperate blood lust. This series of episodic side quests, serving their mission to reach the carny version of the America’s Got Talent final, sets up a final act in which our trio of travellers are changed – in all ways – beyond measure.
Gore hounds will lap up the grisly mayhem, of course, but character development and the atmosphere of the time is more the order of the day. The screenplay takes the time to give solid backstories to its protagonists, specifically the wartime flashbacks involving Seven, how the genesis of his PTSD continues to echo through the years and how Maggie’s protective instincts lurch into their most extreme manifestation. Poser switches between tender and terrifying and her queasily amusing, paradoxically sympathetic performance is backed up by sterling work from the Adams duo.
Fans of the Hellbender soundtrack (yes, I’m one) will be delighted to learn that the score here is another cracker, breaking out an incongruous, fuzzy, stoner rock kick to the 1930s odyssey depicted here. It shouldn’t work but it does, and beautifully so. As matters turn ever bleaker, a wall of distorted guitar noise is the perfect accompaniment to the accelerated degeneration of our antiheroes, matched by the literal degradation of the visuals themselves before bursting into vibrant colour as…well, you’ll have to see for yourselves.
A thoroughly satisfying, memorably twisted collision of arthouse sensibility and crowd pleasing horror havoc, Where The Devil Roams sees The Adams Family smashing the boundaries of the genre like few others out there. It’s often nihilistic and brutal, but it also has much to say about unconditional love and the unbreakable bonds of family. We see the quieter moments as Maggie, Eve and Seven go about their daily chores, sit down to eat or curl up together to sleep, all of which imbue those eruptions of savage violence with a greater resonance.
Never pandering to its audience, the innate strangeness of Where The Devil Roams makes it all the more rewarding to those who can tap into that and the bizarre, macabre final shot is one that will be difficult to shift from the minds of many. This is a beguiling, bloody quilt of tattered Americana from a ridiculously talented film family whose work just gets better and better.
Where The Devil Roams (2023) featured at this year’s Celluloid Screams Horror Festival.
Lady Terminator opens with The Queen Of The South Sea, an all-powerful sex goddess, luring some poor unfortunate into her boudoir and devouring the bloke’s penis with her vagina dwelling serpent – just out of shot – in a slice of horror erotica that’s neither horrific nor erotic. Next up, a savvier guy enters the soft-focus bedroom of death and manages to grab the serpent in a surprise pre-coitus move. The serpent transforms into a dagger and the Queen retreats to the sea, vowing to curse the man’s descendants. Okay so far? No? I’m going to continue anyway. Apologies.
Fast forward to the late 1980s where we meet Tania (Barbara Anne Constable), a helium-voiced anthropologist who is studying the Queen Of The South Sea. Following a visit to a library, complete with dusty reference book discovery, Tania takes a boat to the resting place of the Queen, where she is attacked and possessed by the vengeful aquatic spirit, showing up on a nearby beach with no clothing on her person and murder on her mind. The target is aspiring pop princess Erica (Claudia Angelique Rademaker) who is the descendant of aforementioned savvy, pre-coitus move bloke. Can square jawed, hard of thinking police officer Max McNeil (Christopher J. Hart) save her?
From the above description, it won’t come as much of a surprise to learn that, by the normal standards employed when judging a movie’s quality, Lady Terminator is not good. However, for connoisseurs of this kind of clag, it’s an absolute riot, chock full of hilariously clunky dialogue, terrible acting and entire sequences lifted almost shot for shot from James Cameron’s breakthrough sci-fi flick. What was the title of that again?
To be fair, there’s the odd positive which can be taken. As the world’s least convincing academic, Constable’s performance in the opening act is shaky, to say the least. However, once she’s called upon to be a silent assassin, she’s actually far more impressive than those around her and proves to be a capable action star, clearly doing the bulk of her own stunts as she blows away all and sundry after typing in the infinite ammo cheat for her guns offscreen.
After establishing the mythology of its central villain, Lady Terminator all but junks that in favour of piling up the action set-pieces and the bodies, sporadically remembering that there is some supernatural business to be deal with by the inclusion of Erica’s uncle, a mystical type whom we know is in touch with the spiritual world because he meditates on a cliff side and spouts dialogue about how his niece should believe in the dagger above all else. If only she’d believed in it before the kill count reached astronomical levels.
In the midst of such chaos, the police investigation is nothing short of astonishing, for example: Max and a mate heading to the pub instead of looking into the murders of the three dickless guys they’ve just seen in the morgue. Well, it is midnight, they do have a more conscientious colleague who will happily work well into the early hours while his team knock back the bevvies, take in a musical number from Erica and stumble on a killing machine while they’re enjoying themselves in a club which is categorically not Tech Noir, honest.
Lovers of, ahem, proper cinema are going to weep for the artform after about ten minutes of this, but for exploitation aficionados there’s enough to satisfy, be it the plentiful car chases, endless supply of folks for target practice and the introduction of Max’s very own A-Team knock off, manned by walking 80s action clichés including one member (in all senses of the word) called Snake. Our hero even has a tragic backstory involving his murdered wife, although that subplot is so clumsily handled that it’s a while before it’s actually made clear and I initially suspected that she’d just left him because of him being a dick. It all builds to Max and the Ay-Ay-Ay-Team luring Tania to a kill zone and the ensuing showdown consists of more vehicular mayhem, thousands of expended rounds, the de rigeur exploding helicopter, eyes which shoot laser beams, lots of things on fire and absolutely no nods at all – sorry, absolutely loads of nods – to the “it’s dead now, oh no it isn’t” flip flopping of the Arnie classic. The post-battle, pre-credits wind down redefines the word ‘perfunctory’ but it’s worth seeing just to play a game of “Who is that bloke and why the hell is he there?”
The rational, critical, reviewing side of me can not recommend this film in good faith. The screenplay is rubbish, the acting leaves a tremendous amount to be desired and the movie doesn’t so much pay homage to The Terminator as re-film large chunks of it with the film crew keeping their fingers crossed that the lawsuits don’t fly in. It even restages the eye removal sequence, complete with the sudden appearance of a handy scalpel. Why? As with a lot of stuff that happens in Lady Terminator I think I know, but I’m not sure.
Anyway, enough about what the rational, critical, reviewing side of me thinks. The side of me that loves bad films was revelling in straight to video nirvana for eighty-odd minutes. Except this was on a cinema screen. In 35mm. With an audience of like-minded folks. It’s an experience I urge you all to try, if you ever get the chance.
Lady Terminator (1989) was the Secret Grindhouse Screening as part of the Celluloid Screams Film Festival 2023.
Welcome to a world in which zombies roam. What, another one? Yes, but this time there’s a major difference. These folks are not driven by the desire to chow down on human flesh. In fact, uttering the z-word has become something of a societal taboo, with campaigners pushing hard for the rights of the country’s “living impaired” citizens. At the forefront of research is The Coleman Corporation, an organisation which collects those recently, existentially challenged folks and houses them in a facility which aims to study their condition.
Making a dishonest buck from this collection service is the slacker trio of Karl (Alexandre Nachi), Freddy (Derek Johns) and Maggie (Megan Peta Hill), who have tracked the movements of a certain pair of Coleman employees in order to jack their route and sell on the undead, sorry, living impaired through non-legal channels. It’s not long before their little scheme attracts official interest and the three are forced into a situation where they need to score a big payday – and quick.
The third movie from Canadian filmmaking collective RKSS (François Simard, Anouk Whissell and Yoann-Karl Whissell), We Are Zombies taps more into the anything-goes style of fun that permeated their debut Turbo Kid, rather than the chilly undercurrents of sophomore effort Summer Of ’84, but it still has something to say about corporate culture and class. They just want you to enjoy the gory slapstick first and foremost.
In an oversaturated subgenre, RKSS manage to pull off the trick of bringing something fresh to the entrail-strewn table of undead flicks while still delivering on audience-pleasing splatter. Amusing news reports and interview clips build the world quickly and never get in the way of the misadventures of our loveable trio of losers, bickering and fumbling their way through a situation in which they find themselves increasingly out of their depth.
Nachi and Johns work well as a double act which could easily get irritating if overplayed, but their nerdy banter is light, sweet and fun, with Hill providing the eye rolls and pithy responses as the capable, underrated Maggie. Elsewhere, Stéphane Demers is a hoot as Oscar Maddox, a glitter dispensing, Damien Hirst-alike of the undead art installation world and Rosemarie Sabor is a double-dealing delight as the star of a zombie cam girl website (and object of Karl’s desire).
The satirical elements are sketched broadly, but this approach fits nicely in a world inhabited by characters whose traits have a touch of exaggeration about them. Bogging down the plot with too many OCP-style boardroom machinations would have otherwise disrupted the main thrust of the story and We Are Zombies is agreeably swift in how it introduces its business bad guys, with Hannity (Benz Antoine), its chief dealer in nefarious activity, keeping the metaphorical moustache twirling to an admirable minimum, yet still delivering the necessary exposition in terms of his dastardly scheme.
The final act is satisfyingly chaotic as the paths of most of the interested parties cross at a red carpet event organised by Maddox, where the celebrities of both the living and living impaired world meet to be seen. The celebrity zombies idea is a stroke of genius, with one particular iconic figure being given a treatment that could raise the hackles of those of a particular spiritual bent. Hey, this movie is not aimed at those people and I found the running gag absolutely hilarious.
It all ends in a welter of wrestling moves, gunfire and guts, Karl and Freddy taking the fight to their enemies in their own ridiculous style, parodying an endless number of those ultimate zombie showdowns but still holding up as well marshalled, fun action sequences. The final scene is perfectly in keeping with the rest of the piece, playing with the audience’s expectations as to how they believe society as a whole will have benefitted from the deeds of a few unwitting heroes. Do you believe RKSS are going to miss the opportunity to throw in some kind of amusing kicker here? What do you think?
We Are Zombies may prove a little too flippant for those who like their zombie action dark and doomy, but its beguiling mix of indie humour, social commentary and gooey practical effects will win it a lot of fans.
We Are Zombies (2023) screened at the Celluloid Screams Film Festival in Sheffield, UK.
US Border Patrol Agent Angel Waters (Roberto Urbina) heads to the scene of what looks like a crossing gone tragically wrong, discovering what he believes to be the watery Rio Grande grave of a mystery man. Almost immediately, things go south as the corpse suddenly turns out to be very much alive, then very much dead in the custody of Waters and fellow officers Veracruz (Julieth Restrepo) and Hitchcock (McCaul Lombardi).
Finding their normally quiet station house slap bang in the middle of an Internal Affairs investigation, the colleagues’ trust of each other is tested to the limit as they attempt to provide a consistent, coherent narrative of the incident under pressure from elements both natural and supernatural, with strange visions and events forcing themselves into the lives of those who follow the physical evidence to draw their conclusions.
An intriguing meld of slow-burn character drama, paranoia-soaked thriller and low-key ghost story, director Lance Larson demonstrates a willingness to blend genres and carries off the mix with some skill. Tense interrogation sequences sit side by side with creepy vignettes, tender scenes of Waters’ home life co-existing with jarring jump scares.
The Texas setting is an atmospheric one, showcasing landscapes of both stunning beauty and lurking danger. Even in the daylight, those wide open spaces generate their own fear, exacerbated by the motivations of an enigmatic, seemingly omnipresent stranger whose single-minded aim of reaching El Paso may hold the key to a mystery which has echoes down the decades.
Throw in a couple of curious IA officers played by Chris Mulkey and Julio Cesar Cedillo, and you have a classic case of the walls closing in on small town cops, trying to cover their tracks in the wake of snap decisions that turn out to be unbelievably bad. Urbina proves to be a solid, dependable presence in terms of performance, his character’s stoicism both a blessing and curse to those around him, especially the twitchy Lombardi, who essays an impressive line in increasingly erratic behaviour, adding an extra layer of tension as the shaky alliance between the three officers comes under increasing stress.
Restrepo, thankfully, isn’t saddled with either the token female law enforcement type or the overly kick-ass cypher that litters the genre when the script calls for a memorable woman. Capable, flawed, full of suspicion, the film is at its most interesting when she’s around. Mulkey, in a smaller but nonetheless important role, is at his unnerving best, his questions loaded with traps.
There are so many threads to the tale that its resolution may seem overly neat but in many ways, this is a story which demands explanation, especially in its handling of its otherworldly elements. The fate of certain characters might conveniently materialise out of nowhere – literally at one point – and the predicted bleakness of those final moments does not quite come to pass but, in a genre which often falls over itself to deliver downbeat denouements, it’s refreshing to reach an end credit roll which is accompanied by a feeling of hope.
Deadland is pleasingly understated in the way it goes about its business, its brooding atmosphere left to simmer, punctuated by sporadic bursts of violence which are all the more impactful for their brutal banality. Eschewing blazing action for a more thoughtful treatment of a charged political situation, its focus on the unknown – in both the tangible world around us and its uncanny fringes – makes for an experience which frequently leaves the viewer’s nerves as frayed as those of its main protagonists. Yes, many familiar thriller tropes are deployed, but Larson uses those as a stepping off point into something intriguingly different, maximising the effectiveness of its premise, managing its plot detours with assurance and inviting post-movie discussion of its big themes. What can be wrong with that?
Deadland (2023) appeared at this year’s Spirit of Independence Festival in Sheffield, UK.
