Archive: Author: Keri O'Shea

The Banishing (2020)

Posted on by Keri O'Shea

In the first decade of the new millennium, Christopher Smith – alongside his contemporaries like Neil Marshall, Simon Rumley and Ben Wheatley – formed part of a new wave of British genre cinema, delivering some of the best, or at least most-discussed horrors of the Noughties along the way. Smith’s first feature-length was Creep (2004), a grisly and often suitably cruel tale of the fallout of abuse, essentially, splicing the gritty and the fantastical in a way which really worked for me: who hasn’t felt that twist of alarm that they’re about to find themselves alone in a deserted tube or train station? Moving fairly quickly to the blackly comic Severance (2006), to Triangle (2009) and then the historical horrors of Black Death (2010), Smith established himself as a leading light, but then – almost in parallel with Neil Marshall – moved quite sharply away from genre into other fare entirely. It’s another odd parallel that, by 2020, both Marshall and Smith are back at the horror, with oddly-similar sounding titles; Marshall has brought us The Reckoning, Smith, The Banishing. Ours not to reason why this has happened right now: it could be a rekindled passion for genre, it could be personal curiosity, or it could be plain expediency. In any case, it’s been some time.

Whatever the reason for the return to the horror genre, in The Banishing Smith has made a version of the classic ‘haunted house’ movie, albeit taking as its basis the quintessential haunted house: Borley Rectory (though here tweaked to become… Morley). He clearly has awareness of the almost sacred role the Borley legend has for many people, but he has also striven to demarcate his film from the others which use the same legend for a basis; even in the past few years there have been several. As a result, The Banishing at times travels down safe, recognisable haunted house trammels, but also abruptly overreaches for new elements: this makes the film feel slow in some aspects and cramped in others. And that’s not to mention some of the more peculiar changes made here.

We start hearing a young man extolling the benefits of avoiding the ‘pleasures of the flesh’, but as he reads from his Bible, he hears a noise: investigating, he stumbles upon a savage attack taking place, with a woman being stabbed in one of the rooms of this sprawling house. This juxtaposition of sexuality and violence may appear elsewhere, but it’s established early. We catch up to this situation a little later, the man responsible – a clergyman – having committed suicide after his crime. Bishop Malachi (John Lynch) arrives and orders a swift clean-up and cover up. The Church can shift when it wants to.

Time passes and, come 1938, the house has a new incumbent: Linus (John Heffernan) is a former missionary now tasked with retrieving a congregation for the church in Morley, as the community’s religious observance has lately lapsed. His wife Marianne (Jessica Brown Findlay) and her young daughter Adelaide (Anya McKenna Bruce) join him, though it’s no time before this new domestic set-up seems strained, largely by some as-yet undiscussed past. Then of course, the strange phenomena begin: bumps in the night, creepy dolls which seem to communicate with Adelaide (it’s odd that all spectres seem to solicit the company of children; surely there are malevolent deities out there somewhere who would run a mile). Linus receives advice to investigate his house’s history “before it’s too late”, which of course it is as soon as Marianne goes poking around. Never take a house cellar unseen.

There are some very good scenes and elements in The Banishing, always the better for subtlety, the ‘almost glimpsed’ rather than the shrieking jump cut. For all that, the film seems intent to just leave its characters adrift in the house for seemingly long periods of time, having established its haunted house credentials. Marianne is frequently the film’s focus but her developing understanding of what’s happening in the house comes slowly, underpinned by more than a couple of visions and dreams and a few expeditions where she literally sorts through evidence in the house.

These elements come across at a sedate pace, but by contrast, we are then given rapid moments of exposition to move things along and to provide plot. These often come via a frankly remarkable skit on famed ghost hunter Harry Price, who first appears early on in the film, for reasons a little unclear, performing a very depressed, almost comic dance routine with an unnamed lady. He’s back a little later, rather conveniently one might say, to fill us in: Price here is played as a kind of loafing, verbose ginger spiv, a remarkable turn from Possum’s Sean Harris who thereafter becomes the film’s resident psychic. The film certainly deviates from the Borley legend in all but a few key aspects. At times, The Banishing seems to be borrowing quite heavily from Poltergeist and The Orphanage; in others, it becomes a more metaphorical haunted house, unpicking and unpacking the anxieties of the inhabitants as, for instance, Relic does. Added to this, we hear mention of fascism on the rise in Europe and this is alluded to several times, but I don’t feel that this offers much to the film, other than a minor sense of contextual unease and the excuse for a few lines of clunking anti-fascist rhetoric from Marianne. All in all, in terms of writing, there are some odd decisions here.

The Banishing is by no means an awful film: it gets its period details right, it looks good, it has a good cast who play it in earnest, and it does at least try to bring together different types and aspects of haunted house horror, which shows the willingness to try innovative things. In the end though, it’s a very mixed bag, and it does feel as though Smith has felt the effects of a long detour away from the genre: The Banishing isn’t as seamless, as secure in itself as his earlier films. But much of that comes down to the writing, as this is a maiden voyage for writers Dean Lines, David Beton and Ray Bogdanovich, each more used to penning crime dramas. Essentially, horror fans are forgiving, but fussy creatures, and when you add to an already burgeoning sub-genre, you have to know that this will be scrutinised against all the best films in that genre. The Banishing effectively weaves a few moments of satisfying unease and it clearly has ambition, but these are crowded out by some over-busy, overstretching or plain confusing choices.

THE BANISHING is available now on digital platforms and will stream on Shudder beginning 15th April.

The Toll (2021)

Posted on by Keri O'Shea

Now I’ve seen a lot of different genres and homages to genres in my time, but this is a first: I’ve never seen a Welsh Western before, much less imagined one which managed to add in more than a few elements of (dark) comedy. The Toll (not to be confused with last year’s Russian horror film of the same title) takes place in Pembrokeshire, the place where ‘the English go to die’, according to some welcoming graffiti. And, in true Western style, we appear to kick off with a confessional. Catrin (Annes Elwy) is a police officer in this quiet part of Wales where, ordinarily, there’s very little to do. That’s until she’s summoned to hear what the local toll booth operator – in true Welsh style, known by the same name as his profession, for the most part – has to tell her.

‘Toll Booth’ (Michael Smiley) has had quite a busy day, taking in a robbery, a chance encounter with an old affiliate whose criminal firm has been looking for him for thirty years, and having to fit this little lot around what would seem to be a thriving, if illegal enterprise of his own. Catrin, firstly, has to come to terms with the fact that a hell of a lot has been going on under her nose, and that her patch isn’t as remote as it might seem. Oh, and then there’s the small matter of the Morgan triplets (Gwyneth Keyworth x3) who have designs on a life of crime of their own, and need to be stopped before they Instagram themselves into a lot of trouble; think Spring Breakers on the Pembroke coast, balaclavas and all.

At first, I did find the timeline in The Toll quite confusing, and this is as a consequence of its ambitions in terms of its structure: it’s always a bit of a gamble, and as the script refers to this confusion itself at a couple of points, writer Matt Redd and director Ryan Andrew Hooper are clearly aware of that. It does begin to knit together nicely, though, and although it meanders, it adds in enough fun developments and makes enough connections to hold interest. There’s a great cast, with a few of the stalwarts of the British film scene – Steve Oram, Smiley, Gary Beadle, Julian Glover – though for me, the funniest interplay is between Paul Kaye as Cliff and Iwan Rheon as Dom. In the case of Rheon, it’s good to see him playing, if another rogue, a likeable rogue this time, with a lot of warmth to him. The film also captures the rhythms and subtleties of Welsh conversation, which is great to hear – even if, by the same token, the screenplay can’t resist a dig at the English and a comment about non-Welsh speakers; these are constants, it seems, an otherwise uncertain world. However, elsewhere, good characters and characterisation generate some genuinely funny moments – these can be physical, light-touch or even a bit crude, but they all work together.

The Western elements aren’t simply here at the start of the film, either: The Toll keeps at it, overlaying a Western-style soundtrack over the cliffs and hills of Wales, alluding openly to Westerns in a few scenes and of course, heading towards a big pay-off before the film is over. Does it have to do a fair bit to justify its big pay-off? Yeah, but overall it hangs together well, and it manages a couple of additional surprises before the credits roll. At just an hour and twenty minutes, The Toll pitches things right: it feels as though there’s a lot going on, but actually, this is an economical film, one which tells an interesting yarn in an entertaining way. If there’s to be any more Welsh Western crime drama comedies, I’d happily watch them.

The Toll (2021) featured as part of the WOW Film Festival in March 2021. For more information, click here.

Far From the Apple Tree (2019)

Posted on by Keri O'Shea

Far From the Apple Tree is an engaging, if oblique study of the creative process: it takes in ideas of the ‘muse’, although it does so from a different perspective than usual, and it’s a considered, thoughtful piece of film which looks fantastic. We start out with an opening night at a gallery: one of the attendees, Judith (Sorcha Groundsell) is mesmerised by the photography on display by artist Roberta Rosslyn (Victoria Liddelle), and it seems that Judith has more than a passing interest in the medium herself, hoping to strike out with a career of her own. But we see her getting knocked back from a college place to study photography; getting established is clearly no mean feat.

Judith is surprised, then, to receive a call from Rosslyn herself, who says that she has ‘seen something’ in her and wishes to make her an offer. Judith is offered a kind of residency at Roberta’s home, cataloguing her photographic work. It’s a tantalising enough deal that Judith accepts, despite a few dubious internet searches about the artist’s background and her eventful life. Judith has to move in, but she has the offer of an exhibition herself at the end of the residency. The two women, alongside domestic help Suzy (Lynsey-Anne Moffat) begin to build a relationship. It’s at times strained, not least by the fact that Judith notices an uncanny likeness between herself and Maddy, Roberta’s deceased – or at least absent – daughter, and frequent model for her earlier work. Roberta suggests that her creativity has been extinguished since Maddy’s absence, but she hopes with this new impetus, she can get it back. As Judith gets to work, she herself becomes obsessed with Maddy both as a muse and as a girl whose disappearance is suspicious. The process of archiving Roberta’s work is spell-like, and the further Judith proceeds, the more tenuous her grasp on reality becomes.

The doppelgänger motif is a well established idea, particularly in horror cinema – which Far From the Apple Tree is in some respects a part of – and here it’s explored in terms of a better, more proficient version of self. Judith longs for the kind of presence and artistic nous which Maddy seems to have, and obsesses over her, as a figure both present and absent. Roberta is an interesting figure, refusing to be drawn on Maddy’s true whereabouts and an at-times overbearing presence in Judith’s life, which suggests from very early on in the film that she, too, sees Maddy in Judith. But all told, plot is not the key consideration here: you certainly get enough to justify the goings-on, but this is not a film which prioritises its narrative. Just as the art world forms the backdrop for Far From the Apple Tree, so the film itself is heavily artistic. It’s all strangely engrossing, and it looks amazing: this is a film which understands the power of a well-photographed and lit take, which it layers upon other well-photographed, well-composed scenes. There is an array of different cameras and shots, great interiors, a wealth of warm lighting, all interspersed with some of the more standard ‘trippy’ footage, but the overall impact is a positive one and the film looks stylish and engaging throughout.

I was also impressed by the natural, plausible characterisation: as much as Far From the Apple Tree looks the part, it also demonstrates some careful, light-touch writing, particularly for the growing relationship between Judith and Roberta, whose dynamic shifts around: at some points Roberta is maternal, at others she’s a difficult boss, and at others she’s a lost, vulnerable person in her own right. It’s all nicely done, and Judith’s attempts to deal with this whilst understanding the bigger picture of what is unfolding around her definitely holds interest. The whole focus on analogue tech is ubiquitous at this point; it does have a point to it here, though, which extends beyond simple nostalgia. And as for how all of this sounds, Rose McDowall provides the soundtrack and her style of neofolk works absolutely perfectly.

Far From the Apple Tree is an atmospheric piece of film with visual and musical flair: it works really well on these terms, and so long as you are okay with storytelling being lower in the mix than how the story is actually told, then there is plenty here to enjoy.

Far From the Apple Tree is available to stream via Redemption TV. Also available to buy on DVD: coming soon.

Infinitum: Subject Unknown (2021)

Posted on by Keri O'Shea

Sci-fi of all stripes has often been naturally inclined towards exploring quantum theory: this alternative means to define reality lends itself to intriguing examinations of the human condition, which potentially makes for good cinema. It’s very much the case in Infinitum: Subject Unknown, a low-key but adventurous and thought-provoking low-budget film which spins together some very contemporary concerns with its own focus on quantum theory. We get a brief abundance of plot at the beginning, which goes some way towards establishing the opening premise (a sequence which also contains cameos by Ian McKellen and Conleth ‘Yes, Varys from Game of Thrones’ Hill). In the world of Infinitum, the ‘paraverse’ is a real phenomenon; it’s now largely seen as a place which affords great potential for human development, even potential evolution. But, to take advantage of this potential, subjects are needed.

Cue a glimpse of a familiar, but unfamiliar world with a woman waking, afraid and confined in an attic. It’s clear enough that she has no memory of where she is, or why; as she struggles to get free, she begins to experience split visions which indicate other ‘strands’ of reality concurrent with her own, with this point being neatly made by a glimpse through a nearby window momentarily revealing a very different scene outside. The woman (Tori Butler-Hart) therefore has some sense that her situation and environs are not quite right, but she instinctively knows that she must escape from this room. Wavering moments of consciousness impede her progress, and more than this she begins to undergo what she half-hears – from somewhere – are called ‘resets’, at which point she finds herself back in the same situation as she was when this all began. This continues, alongside the sense of having done it all before, which grows ever more pervasive. As the film progresses, it takes on the feel of being a puzzle to solve, with clues – recurring or otherwise – to be used. Steadily, the woman comes to understand that she needs to get to a place called the Wytness Centre, which we know is integral in this kind of human experimentation. But what is the best way to proceed, in a world of endless variables and possibilities?

There’s a great deal to commend here, but it does bear saying that the sci-fi at play in Infinitum is very subtle, with little emphasis on anything flashy or grand – at least, in the way of effects. There’s some, sure, but this is more used to reiterate the strangeness of Jane’s situation, adrift in a place which she doesn’t understand (which would scarcely be less odd even without the strange things she does see). There is a framework given however, hence the few ‘talking heads’ sequences featuring McKellen and Hill, and this is repeated later in the film: this helps to re-centre the film and its subject matter. It’s pretty unbelievable, by the by, that this was all shot on an iPhone. Not so long back this would have marked out a film as an interesting idea rather than necessarily a successful one, but how times have changed: whilst Infinitum is clearly shot on handheld, it’s impressive in quality and looks great. The re-use of the opening scenes to establish the helplessness of the protagonist is a little challenging – a kind of quantum Groundhog Day, if you like – but quicker edits help to move things along, without losing that important sense of Jane’s frustration. It’s very much Tori Butler-Hart’s film, by the way: whilst it’s great to have Ian McKellen and Conleth Hill on board for their roles, Butler-Hart is on-screen for almost every second, and a lesser actress could easily have lost the audience. She pitches it perfectly given the situations unfolding around her, and she does most of it without saying anything.

Does Infinitum: Subject Unknown resemble any other films out there? Perhaps in some respects, given its close focus on the implications of time, space and place shifting into something ungovernable: Synchronic (2019) came to mind in places, as in some ways, and I’m being in earnest here, so did that Tarkovsky-style of sci-fi which takes a minimal cast and a science-fiction premise and then explores its impact on the psyche, rather than plumping for emphasis on visuals. That all being said, there are also some surprising similarities to supernatural horror rather than sci-fi; the idea of a character who cannot understand what is happening to them or why they are alone reminded me of films like The Others (2001), to name but one. The rootlessness and fear, whether because of quantum physics or more supernatural causes, is similar.

But perhaps it’s the way in which contemporary concerns have crept into the sci-fi of Infinitum which will, in time, be one of its chief calling cards. It’s a film in which time is the only constant, but in its way, it’s a snapshot of an extraordinary time. The use of deja-vu, claustrophobia, anxieties about both present and future, loneliness and of course a deserted outside world which is both desirable and threatening; well, it’s not hard to see the lockdown during which this film was shot finding expression here, alongside the more fantastical content. All in all, Infinitum does a good job with its ideas and initiative, and it’s a subtle, unconventional and often surreal take on the horrors which could be sparked by science.

Infinitum: Subject Unknown hits VOD on 22nd March and DVD this April.

Music: interview with Jordan Guerette (Forêt Endormie)

Posted on by Keri O'Shea

We don’t cover a great deal of music here on Warped Perspective, but I’m delighted for that to start changing, and better still, to get to run a piece with vocalist and guitarist Jordan Guerette: I’ve liked his other band, Falls of Rauros, for some time: if you enjoy progressive black metal which blends with melancholic folk, then I recommend last year’s album Patterns in Mythology (and then work back from there to their previous releases). However, our contact came about via Jordan’s newer project, Forêt Endormie. The project is actually a departure from metal, being instead a chamber ensemble making use of varied instrumentation and vocals: it’s difficult to pin down, but it’s certainly experimental, and has a gentle, morose style which brings elements of folk to the fore. It’s beautiful, a random Bandcamp find which really rewards attention. Jordan was kind enough to talk to me about his music and his inspirations.

WP: So firstly, talk us through where the idea for Forêt Endormie comes from. Outside of Falls of Rauros, was it always your intention to do something of this kind?

JG: The idea for Forêt Endormie goes back to 2010 or so, while I was studying composition as an undergrad. I was really interested in starting a project that would be a vehicle for my more “classical” compositions, and would be equally at home performing in a concert hall or rock venue. I liked the idea of making albums with a dedicated group rather than rely on getting my music programmed on classical “New Music” concerts. I also wanted to include elements – like my voice – that don’t really fit in with what usually gets programmed on classical concerts. It took several years of gestation but in 2016 I wrote a piece called “String and Hammer Quintet” while working on my graduate degree, and I asked the musicians who I wrote it for to basically “start a band” with me. These folks became the first iteration of Forêt Endormie. 

WP: Your lyrics and titles are all in French: can you please tell us more about the importance of this aspect of the project?

JG: The French language has long been a passion of mine. I am finishing up my seventh year as a French teacher in a public high school, and French language was my secondary area of study while at university. I also noticed that a lot of the composers that resonated with me were French or Belgian – Debussy, Satie, Messiaen, des Prés. 

I feel connected to the language ancestrally and I do feel like it suits the music that I write. I also feel more comfortable singing in a language that’s not my mother tongue, although I recognize that may sound strange. It’s kind of like there’s a little bit of distance between the words I write and how they impact me emotionally. Singing in French sort of lets me be more detached from what I’m singing about, almost like I’m ridding myself of it.

When we’re performing locally it’s reassuring that most of our local audience can’t understand the intensely personal lyrics that I’m singing. Although, a French friend of mine saw us live in Portland and said that he couldn’t understand the words either, so…

WP: What different musical styles influence Forêt Endormie? I noted a lot of what I’d describe as an English folk sound – does that sound accurate, at least to an extent?

JG: You’re definitely on to something! Since I was small I have loved music that is influenced by “English folk” and “Celtic” music, including scores to fantasy movies and video games. I think my introduction to these styles came through New Age music, like Enya, and a compilation of Celtic/New Age music that my Dad and I used to listen to a lot when I was small (The Celtic Heartbeat Collection 2). Another early exposure was playing Ralph Vaughan Williams’ Folk Song Suite in my high school’s concert band – the melodies and harmonic movement in that piece stuck out to me among the music I was learning at that age.

Today, I love John Dowland, Pentangle, Loreena McKennitt, Paul Giovanni & Magnet’s score to The Wicker Man.

WP: You have a very diverse set of musicians working alongside you in Forêt Endormie. How do each of your different backgrounds and styles come together on this project?

JG: I am fortunate to play with musicians who are specialists in different styles and professionally perform jazz, Arabic music, western classical music, and progressive metal. I think a common thread is that most of us went to university for music and are able to read notation and discuss music with a high degree of nuance. Also, everyone I play with is versatile, and listens to all sorts of different music rather than just sticking to their chosen genres. This is important for me – not that a musician “listens to everything” necessarily, but doesn’t box themselves in and is musically curious.

Even more than that, everybody I play with is an extremely thoughtful person, and I am fortunate to be friends with them. I think that has a positive effect on the music!

WP One of your lyrical themes is based around the harshness of the natural world – rather than the picturesque, it’s more centred on the dangerous or the downright hostile in nature. This seems similar to the ideas held during the Romantic era, this idea of nature dwarfing and dominating mankind. What draws you to this kind of focus in your lyrics?

JG: We tend to view nature just as this beautiful thing, because that’s how most of us get to experience it. In my privileged life, I experience nature this way too. And obviously the natural world is beautiful, no question about it. Every climate, every region of the world is pretty amazing. But we live so comfortably and are sheltered from the sheer brutality and uncaringness that is also a part of the natural world. I used to romanticize this idea in my head and sometimes out loud, that we’d better off giving up our comfortable lives and returning to a simpler society, but now, I’m aware of how privileged I am to be able to live in a warm home and have plenty of time to write music. Almost no one in human history can say that.

That being said, I do think that our comfort can sometimes amplify anxiety and depression. For people like me, who have no god or really any spiritual aspect to their lives, it is difficult to grapple with those questions like “what’s my purpose?” when our needs for food and shelter are met relatively easily, at least compared to our ancestors. Lots of time to focus on our individual selves can make us feel like our personal problems are more important and urgent than they are.

So during the writing of Une voile déchirée I was working through these ideas, and conjuring a sense of place and how we are all just temporarily visiting these places seemed to help me expel some personal anxiety. The places and imagery on the record are hostile to humans – the open ocean, underneath storm clouds, a growing forest fire, barren fields – and are metaphors for obstacles we face in our lives, reminders that we’re part of a bigger picture.

WP: What do you feel you can do, thematically and lyrically, with this kind of chamber music which may elude other musical styles?

JG: I think I can take advantage of more different sonic colors, than in more rock-based styles. There is a relatively set instrumentation in Forêt Endormie but I have left it open enough that I feel we could really use whatever instruments we want on the next record. This is less true in other styles, metal especially, that rely on a certain instrumentation. I really, in the context of Forêt Endormie, can do whatever I want musically, which is quite fulfilling.

Lyrically, I have thought about how a more narrative concept album could work well in the context of Forêt Endormie. I also feel no obligation to write “verses” and “choruses”, in fact, I feel a strong push not to.

WP: Forêt Endormie is a quite young band which has always existed in the digital age – alongside the likes of Spotify, Bandcamp and so on. To your mind, what are the pros and cons of being a musician during this time?

JG: As someone who released their first albums in the mid-noughties and so never had a pre-Internet music career, I actually do think that for what I do artistically, the landscape has never been better. It seems like there are more people listening to more different styles of music than ever before, and I’ve been really fortunate to receive the attention of some of these listeners. I just don’t think that the older model of marketing through record stores would have allowed me the career I’ve had so far. And that’s nothing against record stores! I love them and I was a record store manager before I was a teacher. I know a lot of people lament the current state of the industry, and many musicians are worse off than they were 30 years ago, but I actually somehow feel optimistic about the state of the music industry.

WP: And finally – I’m interested to hear about any of your future plans, with Forêt Endormie or anything else – Covid-19 of course allowing…

JG: During COVID I’ve been working on a lot of new music and I’m making the transition to doing music full-time. Falls of Rauros has written and recorded a new album in the last several months – we actually just approved the masters a few days ago! That should be out later this year, hopefully during the summer. I’m also composing music for video games, one of which is called Revenot and is out in beta (“pre-release” version) for Android. I’m also scoring a short film in the spring. A new Forêt Endormie album will come together over the next several months, with plans to release in 2022. 

As far as live performance goes, it’s hard to make plans right now. Some of the festivals I was booked on have been cancelled two or three times already, so I’m not really even considering trying to make plans to play live until conditions improve. Normally, I perform often, and it’s been strange to not have that as a part of my life, but it has afforded me more time to write. Forêt Endormie hasn’t played a single show since the release of Une voile déchirée, and it is starting to seem like we’ll have another record out before playing live again! 

Thank you so much for the opportunity to chat about our music!

WP: Thank you Jordan! You can check out the band and support them on Bandcamp: check them out here. The Falls of Rauros page is here.

Dementer (2019)

Posted on by Keri O'Shea

Dementer sets out everything it’s going to do in its first few minutes – and, to its detriment, it doesn’t move forward from there. Firstly, we get the horror archetypes – the backwoods setting, the naked girl running through crop fields to a discordant soundtrack, the intimations of something occult – and then, bam, we’re given something not just realistic, but in some respects real, with a cast of largely non-actors, at least a few of whom are unlikely to have realised that they’re in a film at all. This feels like an odd lurch from one thing to another, and unfortunately, this weak link between supernatural/psychological and real overshadows the rest of the film, never being united by a narrative nor leading to any sort of tangible finale.

After the trippy intro, we are introduced to Katie (Katie Groshong), just at the point she gets a new job as a care assistant at a home for adults with mental disabilities. She seems to settle well, but it seems there’s more to Katie. To piece it together, she seems to be rootless, detached from her friends and family whilst occasionally spending time with an odd clan, and she’s undergoing unsettling hallucinations which impinge on the day to day. As she explains to the other care staff, she isn’t much of a sleeper, anyway. Using a notebook – one of her only possessions – she begins going over and over instructions for some sort of ritual. These preparations involve one of the residents, a woman with Down’s Syndrome called Stephanie (Stephanie Kinkle, director Chad Crawford Kinkle’s sister). Stephanie starts to get ill around the same time, but is that as a result of the ritual, or is the ritual intended to be protective?

To be clear, I was a huge fan of Jug Face, the debut feature by the same director, and continue to regard it really highly: I said back in 2013 that I was excited by what it promised for the future, and given its sense of style, its execution and its great cast (Larry Fessenden returns in Dementer for a brief appearance), it more than holds up. Of course, getting independent films made is tough going, which may well be why it’s been some time between that film and this; also, by no means are filmmakers expected to take the same trajectory in later works – even though there is some slight overlap between Jug Face and Dementer, as seen in the presence of an unknown occult force which impacts upon the unsuspecting. Okay. But, sadly, there’s little sense of the finesse of the earlier film here, even given that its abstract nature is deliberate. It’s very unpolished, with lots of unscripted conversation which ebbs and lulls, but then gets drowned out with the ‘surreal’ elements: footage of shorthand-for-creepy objects such as dolls, candles and bones, a relentlessly twanging soundtrack and a voiceover intoning about blood and devils. It’s by no means an issue solely in Dementer, but there needs to be a moratorium on thinking that a few shots of antlers etc. by night give us all the atmosphere we could ever hope for. Creepy objects are okay when they’re grounded in a narrative; I simply don’t think they do the job alone. Likewise, insinuations of animal cruelty are unwelcome. It’s a funny thing, but many of the issues which I had with Sator, made in the same year as Dementer, match up, albeit that Sator is as painfully quiet as Dementer is occasionally loud. Some audiences clearly can and do forgive much in the pursuit of atmospherics and mood; others need more explication, a sense of a direction of travel. A fractured mind alone is not enough for me.

It pains me to have had this experience as, in several respects, Crawford Kinkle has made some brave decisions in his inclusions here. It is still beyond rare to see the world which is inhabited by people with profound learning difficulties, as if you don’t work in that world or visit people who live in it, you’ll barely be aware of it. It’s reality, but an almost parallel reality, not one which most people would recognise. Rarer still is it to centre your film on a person with Down’s Syndrome and do so sensitively; Stephanie Kinkle is obviously quite profoundly affected by her condition, something which no doubt created special considerations, but at no point is anything here tokenistic. That is commendable, as much as it’s unusual. I believe that Chad Crawford Kinkle is a talented filmmaker who took a swing at some unexpected stylistic decisions and inclusions here; it’s clear to see that, but Dementer simply lacks too much explication and development to really work as a cohesive, gripping film.

Dementer (2019) released to VOD on 2nd March 2021.

“A few buckets of blood!” Interview with MUFX artist Ruth Pease

Posted on by Keri O'Shea

Lots of film fans thoroughly enjoy the make-up effects which contribute so much to the quality of our favourite horror films, and god knows we all have our own opinions about film FX, but not so many of us know much about it as an industry in its own right. With that in mind, I thought it would be fun to ask an established MUFX artist, Ruth Pease, about her work. She’s been doing it for around twelve years now: you can see a little more of what Ruth gets up to by supporting her on Instagram: 4th Storm, and her new project, Actual Witch Hands (more on which shortly!) I’ve known Ruth for a long time and we lived together for a while, too, at around the time that she was first getting interested in making human limbs out of latex or doing up her mates as (very grisly) zombies: it wasn’t so unusual to receive a text asking me to ‘keep the clay head in the lounge hydrated’, or similar! Anyway, without further ado…

WP: thanks for talking to the site! OK so, my first couple of questions are probably going to address some questions others may have, as I know lots of people are interested in your line of work without maybe knowing that much about its finer points. Tell us: what did you do in terms of training, and how was getting established as a make-up artist after you qualified?

RP: It took a long while to figure out that I wanted to pursue a career in makeup. After many existential detours and a variety of call centre and night shift jobs, I decided I wanted to be a mortician – but on the realisation that I couldn’t afford the courses and didn’t even have a science GCSE, I turned up at Bristol College on sign-up day with no idea. Having spent most of my youth watching horror, I signed up to Film Studies, wrote a script about a man who ate himself and came to the conclusion that making a living out of blowing people’s heads up (I watched a lot of Troma) would be a cool way to live. Horror was kind of the only thing I knew about.

I did a lot of playing around with fake blood and amputating my fingers at home & then signed up to a Media Makeup Diploma, completed that and did a Specialist Makeup Design degree in London. 

Following that was a couple of years of being broke as hell, using every penny to get to interviews for short films I wasn’t going to be paid to design. Many, many low/no pay jobs later while working in a film makeup shop, I’d built up enough contacts to start actually living as a freelance artist. But even now, I never feel like I can relax and work will just flow in – you’ve got to be pretty resilient and do a lot of hustling. Somehow I’m still lucky enough to be working.

WP: What do people not realise about your profession?

Sometimes it can be incredibly unglamorous – waking up at 4am to drag your body weight in kit across London to potentially start your day with shaving someone’s arse may not be what people imagine I guess – but that’s been a genuine day for me. It’s all kind of like the Wild West out there – I’ve had to fight production companies who decided not to pay my team after two months of solid work. I’ve worked a 23-hour day from “Action” to “Wrap” before. There’s a lot of imbalance – there’s still a lot of diversity issues, nepotism, bullying and general bullshit. But I’ve also met some of the most inspiring, kind and talented people – it’s a ridiculously fun and creative job, so as long as you try to support the people who need and deserve it. By blocking out the negativity and staying grounded, it’s very rewarding. I’m (almost) always incredibly thankful to be hired for each job. But there’s definitely highs and lows – as with anything! 

WP: Tell us about some of your favourite kinds of SFX to work on…

By far my favourite work is anything horror-related – anything nostalgic is even better! I love recreating injuries, throwing blood around and making everything look like it’s from the 80s. I like the challenge of making something genuinely scary using practical makeup – there’s so much reliance on jump scares and CGI mouths gaping-open type stuff. It’s so much fun to create something that’s just horrible on its own.

WP: And, following on from that question, what have been some of your favourite film or TV projects, and why? What would be an absolute dream-come-true project for you?

Weird fun horror related projects are always the best – everything I’ve ever done with Prano Bailey-Bond has been incredible, so Censor really was a total dream. Her interests are very similar to mine, so I’m always so grateful to be involved in anything she creates. Likewise, Richard Peter Hunter is one of my favourite directors to work with: check out Skeletons, a short film about an ageing sex line worker who escapes a crooked marriage after she falls in love with a corpse. It involved slit throats, stabbings, a smashed in skull & lots of creative makeup…. although, not all of it made the cut.

A dream come true project would be something that combines horror and comedy like Garth Marenghi’s Darkplace or Extra Ordinary. I obviously love gore – but working on a comedy set is such a great experience because it truly relies on people enjoying themselves. So combine that with a few buckets of blood or turning someone into broccoli & it’s definitely the dream!

WP: Of course lockdown (or lockdowns!) will have had an impact on your work, as is the case for practically everyone in the country right now. As you see it, what has that impact been like for the film and TV industries and how has it personally affected you?

My first thoughts were, wow – I have the worst job for this situation! Then followed the panic and the realisation that I have zero transferable skills. The rare jobs I had during lockdown often involved me not being allowed to actually apply makeup, instead having to direct the cast and creepily stare over their shoulder while they did their own makeup, which was incredibly frustrating and not ideal for anyone. Turning up to work looking like you’re an extra from The Crazies was challenging, too. It’s definitely made me consider how sustainable a career like this can be in these apocalyptic times. That’s not even taking into consideration about how Brexit might affect things too. Might be time to get that Science GCSE!

WP: If you had to nominate three make-up effects practitioners who are particularly special to you – either personally influential, or you otherwise admire their work – who would they be?

Greg Nicotero – not only such a lovely guy, but the absolute king of zombies – plus he rocked a mullet in the 80s and embodied everything I thought was awesome about those crucial years of MUFX. Plus he tolerated me drunkenly breaking into the VIP area of Fright Fest 16 years ago to talk to him about a gore zine I was making called ‘Hammered Spleen’.

Rob Bottin – His work on The Thing was and probably still is the most incredible MUFX I’ve ever seen. His dedication to the beautiful work he created was so above and beyond that, by the end of filming, he was hospitalised. He grew up with a passion for horror and monsters and clearly brings that into everything he does. I’ve never met him, but I’d like to think he was a cool dude, too. 

Dan Martin – Dan is a wonderful bloke and I’ve worked with him a few times now, including on Censor. Not only has he done some of the most incredible & hideous FX in recent times – including the horrifically realistic scene of the death of Dead in Lords Of Chaos, but also the wonderfully disturbing creatures in Color Out Of Space. He’s one of the busiest people I know, but always seems to make time to help you out, plus he’ll join in with your on set weirdness too, because basically he’s just as big a horror nerd as the rest of us… actually, more so!

WP: Do disasters happen? Have you had any experiences which have been particularly exasperating or otherwise not what you’d want? Of course, you don’t have to name any names!

Oh hell yes! Luckily I’ve escaped mainly unharmed from such examples – but I remember a time when we set up a whole slit neck scene – the actor was hanging upside down, waiting to be drenched in blood, everything went perfectly, apart from the camera wasn’t recording and we had to pretty much re-set from scratch, but by this point the slit was a reservoir of blood & just wouldn’t look as good as the first (non) take.

There was a time we had to book a well known actor in to what we thought was a salon to get a spray tan – it turned out to be a tent in someone’s lounge – luckily they had a good sense of humour! Then there’s the times cast forget to have a prosthetic injury removed and go off into the world looking like they should be dead. I know one guy had an ambulance called for him! There’s many more – but I dare not tell most of them!

WP: How can filmmakers best work with make-up teams to get the best experience, in your professional view?

There’s been many times when MUFX is seen as a real time consuming pain in the arse. They have to give up a lot of time for application, there’s often a big re-set if everything gets covered in blood – probably a costume change too. I think it’s always good to have a proper conversation with shot by shot story boards, so you know exactly what will be seen and how the director wants it to be played out so you can plan it well in advance. Often you’ll ask for 45 minutes to do an application and watch the time disappear, knowing the AD will ask if you can do it in five minutes instead. If you know there’s going to be a complicated MUFX scene in the day – give it the time it needs. Trust your artist – shoot the closeups first, so it looks fresh and at its best. Most importantly, make sure your artist has all the caffeine they need. 

WP: You were involved in the much-awaited and upcoming horror movie Censor: tell us a little about that…

Censor was the dream project I’d always wanted to work on. I’d worked with director Prano Bailey-Bond for a few years including HMU designing her horror shorts, Shortcut and Nasty. She’s an incredible director, plus just a really lovely, kind and enthusiastic person. Censor is 80s horror set in the Video Nasty era – something close to my heart, having spent my youth watching dodgy copied VHS tapes of banned horror with this particular interviewer! (Halcyon days! – Keri.) We wanted it to look like an authentic British 80s world, so I did weeks of research watching episodes of Crimewatch and local council films from the era. Plus, it was a great reason to rewatch the Video Nasty list and episode of Shoestring. 

Every department were incredible, so you knew it was going to be special.

We have Dan Martin to thank for all the great gore you seen in the film, but obviously I can’t give any of that away! I pretty much spent the whole of the shoot staring at Niamh Algar’s forehead as she wears a wig for the entire film – but what a forehead! She was so much fun to work with and her performance was totally mesmerising. I had such an amazing team (Bethany Lewis and Hannah Belford) and it made the whole shoot a joy to work on.

WP: And finally, can you tell me anything about any exciting upcoming projects – current events notwithstanding?

I’ve heard pubs are opening soon! 

But apart from that exciting news – I actually spent seven weeks last year in Estonia shooting a horror-themed multiple choice interactive feature, which will be available on app Whatifi at some point very soon! Lots of blood and madness!

Also, during lockdown I started an online store called Actual Witch Hands – selling shirts featuring weird occult themed illustrations I’ve created. It’s been really cool to do something different but equally creative and, of course, horror inspired! 

I’m really just looking forward to seeing Censor in a proper cinema and for everyone else to see it, too! 

Many thanks to Ruth for her time!

Frightfest Glasgow: Out of the World (2020)

Posted on by Keri O'Shea

Out of the World (2020) was the second film of the weekend to open on a man carefully cleaning a knife; however, tonally, this film couldn’t be more different to Vicious Fun. It’s immediately made clear that this is not to be a standard-issue villain, but even though director Marc Fouchard humanises his lead character in a series of slow, deliberate ways, he’s no less fearsome, no less repellent, ultimately. It appears that this young man (unnamed until almost the film’s close) is living out of his cab; he spends his spare time making music; he has a succession of regular customers, who seem to like him. This is a brooding character who manages to look aloof and distant, even from the people he has in the back of the cab – despite their physical proximity. That is, until he picks up a young woman named Amélie (Aurélia Poirier). Something about the way she places her head against the car’s door to ‘feel’ the music playing (she’s Deaf) draws him to her. Here, beyond the grim clue of the knife, is the the first real indicator that all is not well with this man: he follows her into the dance academy where he drops her off, watching her. One thing is clear: whatever darkness is crowding him out is going to find an outlet. It is finding an outlet. Through no fault of her own, Amélie acts as a catalyst, becoming the focus of his fantasies and propelling his misogyny for every other woman found lacking into bitter, brutal violence.

So there’s a sense, in watching Out of the World, that you’ve just dropped in on someone already in a downward spiral, but it’s engrossing – even if, and I say this as a woman, it was unsettling to the point of being barely palatable. In presenting this guy as someone with certain vulnerabilities, are we meant to empathise with him in any way? I would say we are. The sombre, even in some regards tender performance of Kevin Mischel at least partly suggests so but the slow and gruelling set pieces featuring female terror are very difficult to excuse. Weighing the close, intimate shots of Leo’s hands, his eyes, against the palpable terror of those he assaults is a big ask, particularly given the style of the horror. This isn’t cartoonish, OTT gore, or splatter; we’re not expected to fantasise all of this away. It’s deliberate, unflinching. In effect, it’s every worst nightmare, and what’s more, the suggestion that Leo does all of these things because he needs to ‘purge’ himself, as if female flesh offers catharsis for the tormented artiste, is – and let’s be honest here – vile. This kind of super-charged incel content is patently not for everyone; I certainly had my moments with it, and found it a big ask in several respects.

Yet for all that, this is a skilfully-directed film; it uses long stretches of silence very artfully, with Mischel communicating a great deal whilst saying very little, in keeping perhaps with There Will Be Blood; other similarities came to mind with, and it’s perhaps obvious, Taxi Driver (1976), although De Niro is positively garrulous (and virtuous) in comparison. Picking up on one of Taxi Driver’s key influences, Out of the World shares some of the traits of Dostoevsky’s tormented souls, such as seen in The Dream of a Ridiculous Man or Notes from Underground. There’s the same dishevelled, disdainful anti-hero, on the verge of mental collapse. Amélie is a wonderfully well-wrought character in her own right, albeit – via her Deafness, and via the fact that Leo prefers her as an abstract concept than as a real person – she gets little means to assert herself or speak up for herself, and that makes her into a rather tragic figure, who certainly doesn’t deserve this man blundering into her life with a set of murderous hang-ups. Whilst there is something of a lull as the film lingers on the attempted courtship, there’s only a little kindness to offset the misery before things are once again heading for their shocking, sad and seemingly inevitable conclusion. Once it’s locked in, the film escalates steadily; one thing I’ll say for this is, by the end, you have quite happily dispensed with any grain of the empathy which we seemed to be encouraged to feel at the very start.

This is not an easy watch and what’s more, it refuses the sort of neat resolution which would answer some important questions about all of this: I could perfectly well understand criticism of the unmitigated, seemingly baseless cruelty on display. But for all that, this is a masterclass in unsettling, upsetting cinema.

Out of the World (Hors du Monde) screened as part of the Glasgow Frightfest weekend (online version) in March 2021.

Frightfest Glasgow: Vicious Fun (2020)

Posted on by Keri O'Shea

Knowing how to balance the horror and the comedy in a horror comedy is a fine art, and one which eludes many filmmakers; it’s not so with Vicious Fun, a film which gets it absolutely right. This is a dark, very funny battle of wills, with a sharp script and a great cast, revelling both in its humour and its violence.

The year is 1983: after spending some time lovingly sharpening an array of knives, Mr Red Flag is heading out for a drive, when he spies a lone young woman in need of a ride. Things…don’t pan out as you might expect, given that summary of the situation; more on this anon. We meet Joel (Evan Marsh), a film writer (egad) who is very fussy about the horror genre he specialises in. Outside of horror, though, he’s a bit of a loner, and he’s unlucky in love, having a huge crush on his housemate Sarah (Alexa Rose Steele) which is going nowhere. One night, on a whim, he decides to trail the guy with the good car who has just taken Sarah out on a date, suspecting him of being married, but really just hoping to get some dirt on him which would mean Sarah sees him as the hero of the hour and therefore, boyfriend material. He follows the guy to a Chinese restaurant, and gets him talking – finding Bob (Ari Millen) fairly receptive to a conversation, although he hears a few things he’d rather not know about – and so Joel gets completely obliterated accordingly, running briefly into the lone female from earlier in the film, before blundering into a store cupboard and passing out.

When he wakes up, he gets back out into the restaurant again but it seems there’s some kind of meeting taking place after hours: Joel has to quite quickly try to work out what’s going on, so he can bluff his way back out the door. It transpires, though, that this is a group meeting of serial killers – one of whom, though fashionably late back to the restaurant, is Bob, and one of whom is Carrie – the woman from earlier. He’s going to have to use all of his wit and persuasion to navigate this situation, especially when Bob kindly decimates his cover story.

The success of this film hinges significantly on Joel as a character, but Marsh’s performance is more than up to it: Joel is very likeable, fallible and very funny. He has a very expressive face and watching the different shades of realisation washing over him – especially given his killer hangover – is hilarious. But as the film expands its focus and we get more from the other characters, they all work terrifically well too. Carrie (Amber Goldfarb) is a good foil to the other members of the group, and you have to appreciate Ari Millen’s turn as Bob – there’s a little Patrick Bateman in there maybe, but he manages to be a very charming psychopath, and more than distinguishes himself. It’s great to see Julian Richings, too, who seems to enjoy his role as Fritz. The whole set-up of circle time for killers is a fun one, and allows a neat integration of the horror and comedy elements as they swap stories and plan more victims.

I’ve commented recently about the surfeit of 80s nostalgia in genre film and how it always tends to do similar things, and Vicious Fun can be counted in with that: it seems almost a rite of passage now to have a shot linger lovingly on, say, a clunky old answering machine, but so far as the 80s setting goes it’s done well enough, with a good soundtrack too. There’s no real reason for the 80s thing, but it’s a fond homage, and a lot is done with this film’s run time: we get references to slashers, to true crime and to horror fandom itself, with a few barbs here and there for film writers, which did make me laugh; touché to director and writer Cody Calahan on that one. The film has a good pace and plenty of plot twists, none of which feel needless or underdeveloped. Vicious Fun is a grisly, often caustic comedy of errors which doesn’t let up or slow down at any point.

Vicious Fun screened as part of Glasgow Frightfest (online) in March 2021.

Frightfest Glasgow: The Old Ways (2020)

Posted on by Keri O'Shea

Possession horrors are almost always based around Catholic lore, and demons are dispensed with via Catholic means. But this, surely, isn’t the whole picture: other traditions and cultures must have their own spin on this kind of horror. Well, The Old Ways at least initially purports to provide a different spin on the genre; however whilst it does some things very well, ultimately it doesn’t really break away from rather more staid, tried-and-tested elements.

We start with a little girl witnessing a possession scene (woman in nightgown – demons don’t like day clothes – rituals being read over her prostrate form) and then – cut to present day, where this is the same girl, all grown up. Cristina (Brigitte Kali Canales) is of Mexican descent but lives and works in the US; she’s back in Mexico, however, to do a report on local rituals and traditions, visiting a cave in a place called La Boca. Or she was; she’s since been confined in a room by two strangers; the elderly woman of the pair examines her, and confirms that she has ‘it’ inside her; the ‘it’, it seems, is a demonic force, something which attached itself to her at La Boca, and they can’t let her go until this is dealt with. The arrival of cousin Miranda (Andrea Cortés) provides a friendly face but it seems that Miranda, too, believes that this phenomenon is real. Time passes, rituals occur, and it seems that they might just be on to something: even Cristina begins to see it their way.

This is certainly an attractive film: it looks great, sounds great, and it pulls off some neat tricks – such as the way in which Cristina is lit to look quite otherworldly, so that you could easily believe that all is not well with her, and the claims about her could be true. For the first half of the film she seems strangely impassive, which again, fits the bill and contributes to the suspense. The Old Ways is at its strongest in the way it’s structured, knitting together different moments in time towards a whole – this does create a few issues with depth, as the first ritual is up and going way before we find out the back story, but as events come together, it fits together fairly well.

There are elements of a ‘stranger in a strange land’ here, too, as although Cristina is Mexican by birth, she has not spent time there since childhood, has forgotten how to speak the language and regards the traditional beliefs unfolding around her as completely alien. However, for all that, the rituals performed by the bruja aren’t a million miles away from what we would recognise; the language is different, but the grimoires (accessible enough with a Spanish-English dictionary) look like all grimoires in horror films. In fact, the horror tropes have followed Cristina to Mexico in abundance; it’s a shame that we didn’t get more specific lore explored, it really is, as that would have really distinguished the horror on offer from a number of other films. The Exorcist (TV series) is clearly a big influence here, right down to some minor details, so if you’ve seen that series, then there will be few surprises here. A few pacing issues creep in, too – understandable, given most of the film occurs in a single room – and (minor spoiler) animal killing always feels like a cheap shot to me, but events pick up as the film progresses, and The Old Ways can boast some well-developed scenes, even if you wait for them.

The Old Ways is by no means a bad film, and it’s a decent enough horror film: coming from a director who has tried his hand at a Muppets movie more recently than he’s worked on a horror project, I suppose it’s fairly extraordinary that it’s emerged at all. For all that, if you’re a fan of the genre then you will pretty much know what’s coming, and once the timeline slots into place, there are no really remarkable resolutions or lessons. It hasn’t taken possession-style horror in a new direction, not really, but it’s a decently entertaining hour and a half.

The Old Ways screened at Glasgow FrightFest (online) on the weekend of 5th March 2021.

PG: Psycho Goreman (2020)

Posted on by Keri O'Shea

PG: Psycho Goreman is a film which pays homage all over the place. Whilst watching, I found myself thinking of all of the following: Jase and the Wheeled Warriors, Mac and Me, Power Rangers, Tokyo Gore Police and Bad Taste. It’s clear that director Steven Kostanski is both an ardent nostalgist and an SFX fiend; PG Psycho Goreman is, however, a very straightforward story really, which has its own mythology but yet (with some handy on-screen text) tells us a tale of good vs. evil where Earth has become a prison for a very bad entity who tried to take over the universe. This is a fun film, though I really regret not catching it at a festival screening because it feels tailor-made for that kind of – few-beers-in, not too much heavy plot to deal with, entertainment which is amplified by the presence of other film fans -vibe.

After we’ve established that the very bad entity is still imprisoned on earth somewhere, we cut to two kids at play. Older brother Luke (Owen Myre) fails to win at a ball game which him and his sister Mimi (Nita Josee-Hanna) have clearly invented, and his forfeit is – for reasons not entirely clear – to dig a ruddy big hole in the garden. In so doing he disturbs an intergalactic prison box and a mysterious jewel. The kids decide it’s probably best all round to just fill in the hole again, which doesn’t work, and after a few strange lights are seen, the hole mysteriously re-opens again, freeing the entity. The kids track the entity down.

This alien doesn’t have an awful lot of time for humans, but thanks to the gem, he can’t harm them. It seems that this gem is even more phenomenally powerful than that; not only does it prevent the entity from harming them, it also means that he/she/they, soon renamed Psycho Goreman by Mimi, has to obey the children. Great: just what a tyrannical ten year wants, eh? Thing is, this grand reawakening has come to the attention of some more equally-matched forces in a galaxy far, far away – and they might just have to intervene.

PG: Psycho Goreman is indeed another one of those films – to be cynical, yet another one of those films which has opted for a distinctly 80s look and feel, showcasing this in the now canonical ways: you have to make analogue tech part of your screenplay, for example, and the SFX you use should not only be practical (no arguments here), it also needs a certain kind of straight-to-video aesthetic to qualify, but – as these effects are probably fairly cost-effective, whilst having a decent, OTT look, it does mean that a film can add layer upon later of zany, improbable, bloody sequences. Psycho Goreman certainly does. Whilst for practical reasons you could probably say that PG himself is the most derivative monster (a dash of the Gill-man and a dab of the generic husky-voiced demon), there are some really beauts in here, with some great fight scenes and some worthily-excessive feats of design. So there’s a cheap and cheerful aspect, but enough of it to build a fun whole. I found the gore FX far more palatable than Mimi, to be honest: the actor does a great job playing what we could politely call a gregarious child, and it fits in with the generally cartoonish aspect of the film, but my word: Mimi is Very Much, and your ability to gel with this character will probably have a large impact on how you take the film overall.

What I will say, though, is that it’s refreshing to have a film which is as straightforward as this: with the exception of some guff about love, it has no vast and ponderous subtext, no serious points and instead, a proliferation of special effects and spectacle. PG: Psycho Goreman is deliberately daft and, even shorn of a sympathetic festival crowd, it’s a good laugh. If you ever wondered what would happen if you spliced E.T. with Meatball Machine, then here, you might just find your answer.

PG: Psycho Goreman is available on DVD and Blu-ray on March 16th 2021.