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..
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.
Emma (Bethlehem Million) is in the proverbial cinematic pickle, having been sacked from her job, instantly hitting the “necking sauvignon blanc straight from the bottle” stage and being given notice by her roommate because of unpaid rent. However, friend of a friend James (Marc Senter) offers her the chance to make a welcome pile of cash by spending two weeks on a remote marijuana farm as a trimmer.
Heading out there with friend Julia (Alex Essoe), they meet their fellow workers for the fortnight and are introduced to Mona (Jane Badler), the music loving, weed smoking owner of the farm. It’s not long before Emma is suspicious of the whole set-up, but there appears to be no way back out until the work on the crop has been completed… Directed by Ariel Vida, who can boast vast experience as a production designer on a wide variety of projects including Benson and Moorhead movies such as The Endless and Something In The Dirt, there’s a similar, otherworldly atmosphere to Trim Season essayed by both its location and visual approach.
Although it doesn’t build the surrounding mythology quite as richly as those aforementioned movies, that leaves enough unexplained for the viewer to fill in their own version of the blanks. This is especially true of the film’s first half, which opts for a burn matching the leisurely sparking of the farm’s complimentary joints in order to develop the characters and to allow the inherent creepiness to sink in.
It’s a particularly interesting set of characters we get to spend time with too, including the wonderfully named Juliette Kenn De Balinthazy as the congenitally-insensitive-to-pain Lex, Synchronic alumnus Ally Ioannides as chronic aficionado (and just plain insensitive) Harriet and transgender performer Bex Taylor-Klaus as the thoroughly decent Dusty, someone with a troubled past and an imperfect present wrought upon them by perceptions of gender, detailed in an effective, unnerving way without labouring the point.
An early snippet of dialogue establishes the power circles at play, explaining that female trimmers are chosen because women are less likely to steal and/or attempt an overthrow the operation, contrasting with the male muscle guarding the compound and Mona’s sons Christopher and Malcolm helping out their ma with the family business. Of course, Emma is handed the time-honoured opportunity to transform from browbeaten to bold and Million navigates the demands of the role without being either too frustrating a doormat or an unconvincing arse kicker.
Trim Season’s decision to underplay character traits around which entire movies could be built may frustrate those who want it to go big, but this reflects its confidence in less being so much more in every facet. Except one. I’m referring to the delicious, intoxicating performance of Jane Badler, who brings a wonderful unpredictability to every scene in which she appears. For those of us who can remember all the way back to her iconic turn in classic TV sci-fi V, let’s just say that Mona, in her own cryptic way, would be more than a match for Diana.
If any of the above suggests than Trim Season doesn’t ultimately deliver a satisfying hit, fans of both atmospheric oddness and bloody mayhem are advised to roll up. The cold open delivers a startling, nasty double killing and the final act blends both Midsommar and Suspiria vibes as the gloves are off both figuratively and literally for the mother of all supernatural smackdowns. All of this is played out against evocative, beautifully lit, rural backdrops, lovingly photographed and the handsome location work would form the visual bedrock of a glacially paced, backwoods drama in alternate circumstances. In this case, it’s a picturesque setting for multiple stabbings, appendage loss, unfortunates bleeding from their eyes and I’m here for it.
That said, come the climax, the proceedings turn on a dime and, given the deliberate build up, the relatively rushed payoff gives a slight feeling of not being fully earned but, to quote Mona from earlier in the movie, that’s a forgiveable offence when the rest of the production provides a long lasting high in terms of the care and quality bestowed upon it, topped with an excellent score from Joseph Bishara, which features a superb, memorably ominous musical cue accompanying a character’s change of expression. If you didn’t think things were going to go badly before that (and bless your trusting heart if you didn’t), those few seconds will make you think “Oh, they’re screwed.”
With an ensemble of strong, female performers at its core and more than a nod to inclusivity which doesn’t feel crowbarred in merely to tick a box, Trim Season rewards those who choose to inhale its exquisitely crafted product slowly and deeply.
Trim Season (2023) gets a select cinematic release on June 7th.
On her twenty-seventh birthday, Elizabeth Cadosia (Lani Call) inherits her grandmother’s dilapidated schoolhouse. Soon after Elizabeth moves in, she begins to experience disturbing visions and the subsequent discovery of various artefacts around the place reveals that her grandmother was a practitioner of black magic. Will Elizabeth follow in those footsteps too?
The blurb for this movie referred to director David R. Williams being inspired by, amongst other things, Tarkovsky and Antonioni’s “slow” cinema and there is little doubt that House Of Screaming Glass takes its time in almost everything it does, stamping – or should that actually be gently pressing? – its glacially paced process on the proceedings from the opening scene, in which the camera inches upwards from a gruesome bit of business splattering the floor to an upstairs window of a building. If you think that’s a patience tester, you don’t know the half of it. This loitering version of the first half of the crane shot in Tenebrae is just easing you in.
From there on, Elizabeth takes a leisurely wander around the house and gardens, sits at a piano and taps out a piece by Beethoven, leafs through a book and so on, all accompanied by a voiceover which lets the viewer in on our protagonist’s thoughts. If this all sounds like a movie you’re going to switch off after twenty minutes, I’m not here to tell you that you definitely won’t be switching it off after twenty minutes. Just hold on, though…
Yes, a huge amount of this movie features just one person on screen. Yes, a huge amount of this movie does not feature on-screen dialogue. However, it’s this approach which sets House Of Screaming Glass in its own, vastly different place from the pack. It clearly wrings the very last drop from its microbudget, deploying striking props, including a beautifully designed, Raimi-esque Necronomicon, and the odd gorge rising, viscous effect to jar the watcher out of any potential slumber.
Speaking of slumber, there’s no doubt that the offbeat, dreamy atmosphere is maintained throughout, but the tempo is often far too languorous for its own good. The long takes eventually undercut any building dread, save for the previously mentioned piano scene, in which something lurking in the blurry background is keyed into each note of the tune so that the film hits a high in terms of genuine tension. Holding matters together is the excellent Lani Call, her one woman horror show requiring many changes of mood and character and she acquits herself admirably. Replacing the role of Final Girl with Only Girl, she’s an unorthodox yet perfect choice for Elizabeth, letting us into the various psychological aspects of someone dealing with both a mysterious past and a potentially dangerous present, while still retaining a little of the enigmatic.
The final act does pick up the pace (relatively), the weirdness amps up and the resolution of the plot ties up with where we came in. The payoff may be far from satisfying for some, but it tracks with the film as a whole – oblique yet somehow straightforward at the same time. The climax goes for the unnerving rather than the spectacular and, given what is known from that initial sequence, I wouldn’t blame anyone for thinking “I spent 103 minutes to get to that”? I’m not entirely sure that me suggesting that it’s more of an overall experience would cut much ice, either.
For anyone looking for a change of pace, I would be asking just how much of a change of pace they require before visiting House Of Screaming Glass. This is measured and then some. However, there’s little like this out there and it deserves credit for putting its own spin on what could have been bland witchcraft fare. The temptation is to say that it could lose half an hour and be a better movie, but a seventy-five minute version would lose the peculiar ambiance that makes it such an atypical watch. Fans of wham bam horror are advised to steer clear, but fans of no budget indie horror or the generally curious may want to give this a whirl, if only for the intriguing performance by Call.
House of Screaming Glass arrived on VOD and DVD on Tuesday, May 21st, from DeskPop Entertainment.
The latest from Luc Besson begins with an onscreen quote from Lamartine: “Whenever there is an unfortunate, God sends a dog.” The unfortunate in question here is Doug (Caleb Landry Jones) and God hasn’t settled for one dog, there’s a whole van load of them to be found as our protagonist’s vehicle is pulled over by the police in New Jersey. Oh, and Doug is dressed as Marilyn Monroe.
Enter Dr. Evelyn Decker (Jonica T. Gibbs), who is assigned to evaluate Doug’s psychological state. The initial pleasantries give way to the inevitable questions about how this animal lover in drag came to be on the wrong side of the law, and the flashbacks commence, beginning with Doug’s brutal childhood, through his experiences in various care homes and to his ultimate role as friend to all canines.
DogMan is a curious beast. As a potential comeback movie for Besson, his first directorial effort since 2019’s Anna, it bears some of the hallmarks of his earlier work with a certain regard to skewed action set pieces and an undeniable je ne sais quoi in terms of visual flair. However, very much like its hero, it’s unsure of where it should settle. The idea of various deeds of doggy derring-do for Doug is an outlandish one to begin with, but when that premise is transplanted to a jewellery heist, it feels like this should be a film for kids.
If you’re expecting an action movie, this flick is going to lead you down a number of detours before the lead starts flying. Detours such as: how Doug came to love the works of Shakespeare, powered by his developing love for drama teacher Salma (Grace Palma), which is admittedly sweet but is also a prime example of the tonal whiplash in which this tale constantly trades, the amusing am-dram montage curtailed by a swift goodbye and the next incoming downer.
It’s not that the background detail is boring; far from it. Those historical notes give context and motivation for Doug to confront the bad guys in what could have been a satisfying, extended third act showdown. Instead, the confrontation is put on hold while the story wanders off to consider the small matter of how you can become a celebrated drag act, following a spot of lip syncing to Edith Piaf. Are you going to see that in the new Jason Statham movie? * I think not.
I can’t deny that this takes the film in an unexpected and sometimes emotional direction, even if its queens do possess an air of the stereotypical, but it also deals a near fatal blow to the already flagging pace. The daft denouement, when it eventually comes around, isn’t particularly helped by the fact that dogs vs bad guys doesn’t work so well when the dogs look more like they’ll lick your face rather than tear your throat out.
It’s clear that Besson is at least continuing to try to make something different and the wackiness trajectory of his previous few projects should have hinted at the level of jaw dropping batshittery DogMan was aiming for. Disappointingly, it’s never quite batshit enough, holding back at the moments it could have genuinely swung for the fences, although the Lassie-style moment involving a severed finger is a highlight.
And yet, despite my many misgivings, DogMan is worth a watch because of its intent to re-invent the action thriller, even if the results fall a long way short of those ambitions. If that isn’t enough, then the performance of Caleb Landry Jones should be reason enough to stick with it for a few minutes shy of a couple of hours. There are nods to a Joker-style origin story but his work rises above lazy comparisons, presenting a complex and sympathetic character, damaged but unbowed and with a keen sense of humour. His interactions with Gibbs point up some fine scripting, which is refreshingly free of the snark and spite usually found in those two handers. It’s a shame that too much of it is hamstrung by its cartoony villains and a propensity to aim for profound dialogue when the better option would have been to let Caleb Landry Jones’ expressions do the talking.
Overall, it’s the veritable dog’s dinner, but it has a sense of the barking mad which may endear it to viewers who want to see Luc Besson’s take on the perma-rain and grimy suburbs you’d normally see in a DC Universe story.
*By the way, I very much enjoyed The Beekeeper. Jason Statham does not need to lip sync to Edith Piaf, he just needs to thump a whole lot of people. Which he does. Particularly well.
DogMan (2023) will be released on 11th March 2024.
Malina (Sina Martens) wakes up to find herself in the trunk of a car – hence the title, apologies to anyone here for elephant-related action – but you’re here now, so you may as well read the rest of this. Unable to extricate herself from the vehicle before it sets off, her mobile phone is the only means of communicating with the outside world. Malina needs to find a way to inform the authorities of her ever changing location, but also must embark upon a mission to unravel the mystery of how she came to be in such a predicament in the first place.
Firstly, and for our UK readers in particular, I am going to get any potential jokes about Das Boot out of the way right now. It was mentioned in a chat when I was asked if I’d like to view this film; I laughed at the cinematic wordplay; we need speak about this no more. Secondly, for those of you who read the above paragraph and thought “How does she still have her phone”?, that’s cleared up in the opening sequence. Modern day folks in peril stories usually require their protagonists to wind up in a remote location with no signal, or to have their phone run out of battery life, or to have it broken, and so on, and so on. One of the fun elements of writer/director Marc Schießer’s film is that Malina’s phone has to function fairly well in order for her to search for vital information and to chat to the various people who will help and/or hinder her along the way.
Yes, the story can’t resist the odd moment of crappy reception and the terrifying prospect of reduced internet speed, but the bulk of the tale hinges pleasingly on our heroine being able to get into touch with the world around her. There’s even an amusing early search for articles on how to free yourself from a trunk. I’ll leave you to guess just how useful that area of cyberspace is.
The early details about Malina establish that she’s resourceful and smart, with a medical degree that turns out to be very handy when it comes to a spot of lengthy, grisly self-repair in the first act. This area of expertise also feeds into the admittedly short list of reasons as to why someone might want to kidnap her, as we’re drip fed details about a tragedy which previously occurred on her watch.
The setting is less claustrophobic than it initially threatens to be, with gliding camerawork giving us a tour of the space at regular intervals. Also, the focus is more on Malina’s phone interactions than the close up, breathy panic prevalent in other titles such as Buried. A broken light cluster also allows a glimpse into the outside world, as well as being the viewpoint for an inventive action sequence as Malina attempts to turn the tables on her captor.
Trunk is a watchable, sporadically suspenseful thriller with a fine central performance from Sina Martens. As the only person on screen for a large chunk of the runtime, her portrayal of the capable yet psychologically frail Malina more than holds the interest and Schießer’s screenplay takes the requisite amount of care in building a layered, winningly flawed character who doesn’t turn into an invincible ass-kicker out of nowhere, but whose cerebral, practical approach is her weapon when confronting an increasingly desperate series of situations.
Martens’ sterling work makes it all the more disappointing the final act heads into all too familiar territory, with a plot swerve I suspect a lot of viewers will see coming from a mile off. In addition, a certain member of the cast is consigned to a stock fate, which is played out in such a way that even casual film fans will be able to walk through it beat by beat. Having been gripped for much of the first hour, the reveals of the last thirty minutes and the mundane motive rob the climax of momentum, although Malina’s ultimate fight or flight decision is nicely staged.
The late in the game shortcomings of Trunk shouldn’t be a barrier to enjoying what is, for the most part, a decently engineered, single location nightmare with a keen sense of pace and a good grasp of when to unveil those vital, extra pieces of information. Its resolution may opt for the efficient as opposed to the electrifying, but there’s still a certain amount of satisfaction to be gained from the movie as a whole, even if some early moments may hint in the direction of an unexpected road which is never taken. If nothing else, the undoubted presence of Sina Martens is likely to keep you watching.
Trunk (2024) launches on Prime Video on 26th January 2024.
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.
