Keri O'Shea

Editorial: When is a film so bad…it’s good?

Posted on August 25, 2012 by Keri O'Shea

By Keri O’Shea

Here at Brutal as Hell, it’s not all fun and games. As much as we spend time reviewing movies, comics and books, we occasionally like to grapple with profound philosophical questions. Yes, it’s true; today, for instance, I’ve been pondering a very important distinction – one which affects us all, and one we’ve probably all talked about at one time or another. Namely; how do we differentiate between those films which are simply bad, and films which are simply so bad, they’re good? What separates one ‘bad film’ from another, and what makes one movie worthy of wanting to share it with others?

In trying to get all this straight in my head, earlier today I asked people on Twitter to name some of their favourite godawful great movies. I wanted to compare them to my own choices, first and foremost, and then to think about any common traits these movies may have. And, wow. There are lots of you out there with some serious love for films you gladly admit are terrible! The most obvious connection between them seems to be that, for all the ways that they entertain us, these bad-good movies do not work as horror movies – in the sense that, although there’s plenty of scope for feeling repelled, they tend to fail at being scary. There has to be enough on offer to allow the viewer to forgive that fact. And there are plenty of films which definitely deliver on that score.

So, without further ado, here are some characteristics which I believe help to define the bad films which we so love.

1: Forget realism

I’ve found it very difficult to identify a ‘so-bad-it’s-good’ movie which deals at all in serious, realistic threat and serious consequences – or at least, succeeds whatsoever at this. If the filmmaker goes for a hard-hitting theme and then absolutely fails on all scores, then there is an outside chance that we’ll get a reluctant classic. However, a lot of the best-loved bad films seem to stick with the completely unreal. In so doing, they’ll probably dive in headlong with the following…

2: Surpriiiiiise!

Whether it’s one scene so extravagant and batshit insane that you just can’t believe your eyes, threat or an OTT response to that threat, or a laugh-out-loud story arc, it really pays to pull something unexpected out of the bag. A film can coast a long way on that. Films which are just bad often lack the full homage to WTFery which genre film fans love so much: we all like a strong calling card, and for that very thing we can forgive a hell of a lot. That is, as long as the ‘surprise’ motif doesn’t wind up being a complete cop out; it can feel like a cheat when the punchline is ‘this never happened’. I call it the Bobby Ewing clause, and it sucks.

3: Crap monsters and bad SFX

There seems to be something quite heart-warming about the appearance on-screen of a genuinely shit monster or ludicrous bad guy – doubly so, when the actors respond to it by actually running away or showing any concern whatsoever for what it’s doing. Heh! The response from viewers is usually like this – you switch immediately to mirth, and even start rooting for the monster – such an inadequate threat deserves our affection, after all, as do the filmmakers who get in there and have a go despite their obvious lack of materials. Observe, for instance, The Deathless Devil, made in Turkey in 1973: tell me you don’t adore that robot?

4: Gleeful excess + sense of fun

That is, going completely over the top on several fronts – be it more nudity than you can shake a stick at (though it’s not as though you would), ridiculous, anatomy-defying levels of gore, a huge body count or similar – but, and this is vital, doing it out of a sense of play, rather than any sense of obligation or perish the thought, cynicism. If a filmmaker shoves a load of crude gore into his or her movie because they think it’ll be a sales point or just because they feel beholden to shock, there’s a risk it could all miss the mark. Sure, your average horror fan will happily sit through boobs and blood in most contexts, but I maintain that most fans can differentiate between organic OTT and the stuff crowbarred in. Being organic – even if it’s organically deranged – is so, so important.

A phenomenon we’ve seen a lot of lately is filmmakers self-consciously trying to make cult films. They can try, sure, but there’s a real danger of shooting oneself in the foot; better to just make the damn movie, and if it garners a cult following, it does so organically and so much the better. (Of course there’s also a chance of making a truly great cult film, but that’s not our concern here!)

5: Vision

…And, of course, I don’t mean the sort of vision you’d associate with an auteur, the type of game-changing clarity of thought which revolutionises cinema. No, I am referring to that pigheadedness which gets shit done – somehow, and that which resides squarely in the ‘what were they thinking?’ category. Some filmmakers have ambition which can blatantly never be fully realised, but they proceed regardless. Their struggle can manifest itself in many ways – as a cold disregard for continuity (which is nearly always fun), as many, small, equally endearing mistakes, or in a pleasing illogicality. To be fair, many filmmakers are up against time and budgetary restraints which are always going to put a crimp on their plans, but we can still love the end result if it delivers on the entertainment front. In fact, the entertainment to be had can often be something quite other to what was intended, but that’s by the by.

Don’t forget, anything or everything mentioned above, when refracted through time and distance, increases exponentially in the ‘so-bad-it’s-good’ scale. It’s all always so much better with retro clothes and hair to look at, especially if those with the retro clothes and hair are being pursued through the oeuvre of bad film luminaries like, say, Vincent Dawn, and any culture shock to be had from a movie being foreign also helps its appeal tremendously.

The last point is definitely important…

6: Knowing when to STFU

Overstaying its welcome is always a bad thing for any film to do, but for a so-bad-it’s-good film, it can undo all of the ‘good work’ that we’ve discussed so far. Anyone’s enthusiasm for wild, improbably story arcs, scenery-chewing performances and underwhelming SFX can begin to wane when it’s prolonged past the point of novelty, and as conventional as it is, that tends to be around the ninety minute mark for me. Much longer than that and you start to get tired, whatever the set-up is. It pays never to let a story get boring, and if that means winding everything up in a non-convincing way, do you really think we are going to mind all that much?

With all of that said, I’ll leave you now with some awful, wonderful movie choices of my own. I never intended this to be the final word on the matter; I’d love to hear some of your bad film choices, and why you love them. But without further ado, here are some beauties…

Blades (1989)

Terror on the golf course as a sentient, pissed off lawnmower runs amok. Laugh! Swoon! Revel in the 80s knitwear! Troma gets it wrong for me a lot of the time, but here they get it right. ‘Right’ being a relative term, of course. You can, if you so wish, watch the entire movie on Youtube, courtesy of Troma.

Zombie Lake (1981)

Zombie Lake has to be seen to be believed. Why, it’s just your common-or-garden tale of Nazis who emerge from a lake in France, with their faces painted green, their uniforms oddly dry as soon as they stagger to their feet, and – hang on – the underwater shots are in a swimming pool. And you can see the camera crew reflected in mirrors multiple times. There are lots of fun drinking games you can play with this – take a shot every time you see a mistake, for instance, and you’ll be under the table by twenty minutes in. A fine piece of entertainment, and no lie.

Demons 3: The Ogre (a.k.a. The Ogre) 1988

The Ogre! Linking to Troll 2 seemed to be a bit obvious, so, instead, here’s another movie referencing a mythical creature which has nothing to do with the mythical creatures in the early films it attaches itself to by way of its title. The Ogre sometimes gets linked to Demons and Demons 2, see, although it doesn’t have anything in common with them save the involvement of Lamberto Bava – who can be a bit touch and go, let’s be honest. See Graveyard Disturbance for further details. Anyway, sure, you get a bit of atmosphere in The Ogre, but a flimsy plot (nervous woman rents out a castle while she writes a horror novel and is surprised that it’s a bit creepy) and a dismally brilliant monster who marches around dressed like a dandy in pursuit of the smell of orchids, and you have a winner… of sorts.

DVD Review: Invincible Force (2011)

Posted on August 24, 2012 by Keri O'Shea

Review by Annie Riordan

Of all the crude, chauvinistic, immature gestures that little men with undersized penises make, my least favorite is the “suck it” gesture. The gesturer in question will flatten both palms, fingers together, as though about to execute a double karate chop. Instead, with pinkies in and thumbs out, the hands will be slammed against the upper thighs, fingers pointing down, forming a crude triangular framing of the genital area, indicating that the recipient of said gesture “suck it.” Why any man who has graduated from grade school thinks this is a cool thing to do is beyond me. It looks silly, implies ignorance and is about as attractive as watching a baboon fling its excrement. But the gesture itself perfectly sums up what Dan Schniedkraut’s “Invincible Force” is all about: insecurity, testosterone, the fragile male ego and the awesomeness of Finnish death metal.

Drew is nothing special, granted. He’s an average Joe living a nondescript life in Minneapolis, but he has a decent job (office janitor), a good friend in fellow pudge-pal Chris, and a sweet girlfriend named Amber, who doesn’t care that he’s overweight, balding and not rich. She loves him for who he is. Unfortunately, Drew himself doesn’t know who he is and doesn’t particularly love himself. The semi-recent death of his mother and a strained relationship with his father seems to have knocked him for more of a loop than even he cares to admit. Perhaps it was his inability to prevent his mom’s death that has forced him to realize that he has no control over any aspect of his life, and if there’s one thing that insecure males crave more than sex, it’s control.

Drew decides to get with The Program, a rigorous 90 day diet and workout regiment which promises to transform him from flabby manboy to ripped and shredded badass. It’s not an easy transition: it’s tiring, nauseating and just plain hard, but Drew sticks with it. Eventually, when the fat begins to recede and the muscle starts to timidly rise to the surface, Drew’s confidence grows. But with the confidence comes the plague of entitlement. He’s worked hard and is seeing results, therefore he deserves rewards. Confidence becomes arrogance.

He dumps Amber for being too fat. He makes fun of Chris for being chunky. He browses the OKCupid dating profiles like a third generation cattle farmer at a heifer judging contest. He constantly talks about erasing the negative influences from his life, not realizing that he is the biggest and most negative obstacle in his own way. Soon, Drew is speaking in a language as foreign to me as Central Siberian Ket. Muscle mass, protein intake, blahblahblah steroidal juicing stuff, etc. With his friends long gone and his job lost, Drew devotes himself entirely to The Program, descending into a dark, lonely world of madness, sports shakes and fiber bars.

My friend and fellow reviewer Chris Hallock referred – respectfully – to Invincible Force as a “damn ugly” movie. He’s right, and I couldn’t have said it better myself. It IS a damn ugly movie, but it’s also subtly brilliant and weirdly, sickeningly funny. It’s not a movie to be enjoyed by any means. Much like Schniedkraut’s previous film “Seeking Wellness” it is a film to be experienced. It’s a cinematic orbitoclast, slamming into your cerebral cortex and knocking loose the dark matter you never really wanted to acknowledge was there. We’ve all known guys like Drew, have wondered what the hell makes them tick and why they’re such oblivious douchebags. “Invincible Force” strives to answer those questions and does a damn awesome – and ugly – job of it. The truth is never pretty, and if there’s one thing that Schniedkraut does well, it’s the Truth, stripped naked and shoved right in your face. I can honestly say that I will never again take a shit without thinking of this film, and if you’re wondering what the hell that means, I implore you to find out for yourselves.

With an awesome soundtrack featuring Finnish band Maveth (oh goody, a new metal band for me to salivate over! and regardless of what Drew says, girls DO listen to metal!) and a cast of real people, Invincible Force is like walking in on your parents while they’re having BDSM sex. It’s icky and uncomfortable and totally unforgivable and – yeah – damn ugly. It needed to be made, and few people would have dared told it the way Schniedkraut does. It’s ugly for a good reason, which just makes the aftermath all the more beautiful.

DVD Review: Truth or Dare

Posted on August 23, 2012 by Keri O'Shea

Review by Keri O’Shea

When watching a great number of modern horror movies, there’s something I seem to find myself wondering: am I, the viewer, meant to empathise with the twentysomethings who are so often the main characters – or, are they being presented to me merely as stooges, awful human beings who are about to get punished? Should I care about them, or just rest easy in the knowledge that they’re about to be offed in a series of increasingly unpleasant ways? It’s a quandary which began to brew again as I sat through the opening scenes of Truth or Dare; here, we start by meeting a group of wealthy, spoiled students, all talk about their conquests, their cash, and their cocaine. It seemed very unlikely to me that director Robert Heath could expect us to sympathise with these people; so, it’s a testament to his direction, the writing and performances that, up against some serious issues, the film manages somewhat to break away from expectations.

We first meet friends Paul, Gemma, Chris, Eleanor and Luke at an end-of-term house party. The booze is flowing, the coke is going round, and before long everyone decides it’ll be fun to play a game of – you’ve guessed it – Truth or Dare. The game proceeds until the bottle stops at a quiet, nervous outsider called Felix, who requests a ‘truth’ question and makes the mistake of answering it honestly: he admits to having a crush on Gemma, which gets him a smack in the face from her boorish boyfriend, Chris. He leaves, hurt and embarrassed.

Moving forward in time a few months, and – oddly – Felix has invited the gang to his birthday party, at his family home out in the countryside. They – perhaps equally oddly – accept the invitation despite the fight which happened the last time they all met up, but the lure of free booze is too great, and so they all head out to the house together. There, a groundsman directs them not into the grand old ancestral seat itself but towards a cabin in the woods, accessible only by foot. Off they go, walking the mile to the cabin, where they’re greeted not by Felix but by his older brother, military man Justin, who explains that there’s been a bit of a mix-up. Felix has been held up abroad, he tells them, and sorry I didn’t cancel with you in time, but come in anyway and have some champagne. Not too long after that, Justin suggests they play Truth or Dare again; and if the first game didn’t exactly go brilliantly, then the second is about to get far worse, as a lot of the issues surrounding Felix, his family and his ‘friends’ are about to be put under severe pressure.

There are some good, strong moments during this film, primarily born out of its neat pace shifts – one of which occurred just in time to stop my attention waning around the thirty minute mark, providing a real surprise. Truth or Dare’s sudden shifts work because they disrupt the film just that right amount; they happen when the film seems to be settling into quite a flat progression, with little, seemingly, on the horizon. Then, thump! The plot veers into new territory. Whenever this happens, you get a sense of the skill and ambition which is present here. However, that skill and ambition is often fighting against other elements, namely the overuse of various horror tropes.

Pegging the plot onto these oh-so familiar markers is a serious risk. Consider that, so far, we have a group of protagonists (with various ‘types’ represented) letting their hair down at the end of term, playing a titillating game of Truth or Dare, and picking on an outsider character. Then, later, the group of friends has an encounter with a gruff yokel and arrive at a cabin in the woods. I don’t think I can be accused of spoilers (seeing as how the image is splashed all over the press release and trailer) if I say the merry band then get tied to chairs and tortured. Sound familiar? Immediately, thanks to the use of these plot devices, the film begins to echo with all of the other films which have used all the same clichés. It hugely reduces the impact of the film on an individual level, because you cannot help but think of the last twenty times you saw all this happen on screen. With the tied-to-chairs thing especially, it’s become such a well-travelled channel in recent horror films that it has has now, quite frankly, become a rut. I’ll personally admit to being very sensitive to this motif in particular, but I’d argue that any film which utilises this type of on-screen ordeal has to fight an uphill battle in order to stand out from all the others. It’s a challenge which Heath and his cast & crew make a solid attempt at in several places, pulling several surprises along the way which counter expectations, but it takes them some time to break away from limitations which are ultimately self-imposed.

Truth or Dare felt like it knew where it wanted to go, but was maybe less confident about starting out, and for this reason, I’d say it’s more of a grower – straining against credibility in several places, sure, but engaging and enjoyable in places with twists along the way and some skilful uses of tension. Special mention must go to the stone-cold Afghanistan vet Justin, played by The Borgias actor David Oakes – his performance throughout definitely helps to sustain interest. Oh, and by the end I didn’t find myself loathing the twentysomethings, which must count for something…

Sharing in many of the flaws of modern horror cinema simply by repeating them, Truth or Dare nonetheless shows promise, and some real flair for dramatic intensity. It’s just a real shame that you have to get through the blue-filtered, ordeal horror deja-vu in order to appreciate all of that.

In the UK, Truth or Dare arrives on Blu-ray, DVD and VOD on the 27th August 2012 via Cine-Britannia/Showbox Home Entertainment.
In the US, The retitled Truth or Die arrives on VOD on September 1st and DVD on October 9th, via Bloody Disgusting Selects.

Movie Review: [REC]³ Génesis

Posted on August 23, 2012 by Keri O'Shea

Review by Nia Edwards-Behi

I have a feeling you might all misunderstand me when I compare REC3 to The Texas Chainsaw Massacre 2. You’re all going to think I hated it. Well, no. I love The Texas Chainsaw Massacre 2 almost as much as the original, and when I say REC3 is the Chainsaw 2 of this franchise, I mean it as an absolute compliment. Tonally completely – intentionally – different to its predecessors, REC3 doesn’t seek to replicate what made the first two instalments of this franchise successful, but rather takes it in a different direction, while maintaining and extending the franchise’s over-arching narrative.

Clara and Koldo are getting married. Their families are gathered and happy for the couple, many of them filming the event. Following the church service, revellers celebrate into the night…until something goes horribly wrong. Suddenly, guests start attacking each other, ripping out throats and tearing at human flesh. During the ensuing chaos, the newlyweds are separated. However, this is a passionate couple, and each is convinced of the other’s endurance. As their friends are dying around them, Clara and Koldo seek each other out in the chaos, desperately seeking an escape from their wedding from hell.

What is immediately most notable about REC3, compared to its predecessors, is that it completely drops the conceit of found footage. Well, not completely, perhaps, as a frankly brilliant pre-title sequence consists entirely of footage shot by wedding guests and the official wedding photographer…then, something happens, just before the film’s title appears on screen, that is so pointed and so brilliant that I solo-applauded my own TV screen. It’s the kind of scene that would get cheers from a crowd of horror fans, as sure we’re all bored of found footage by now. While lesser filmmakers keep trying to replicate the successful scares of films like REC, those behind the franchise are clever enough to bring something different to the table. As such, REC3 is traditionally cinematic in its style. With this change in style comes a suitable change of tone, further removing the film from its predecessors and likewise ensuring the franchise does not stagnate, as so many horror franchises do.

There’s nothing particularly outstanding about Plaza’s direction in this film, except to say that it is fast-paced and vital, gleefully following the carnage as it unfolds. Plaza, I’d say, lets his actors do much of the work, and rightfully so, because he’s assembled a great cast. There’s a great deal of black humour and the cast works wonderfully together, with chemistry between even minor characters helping the well-timed humour. The film’s strongest asset in this respect is easily the film’s lead, Leticia Dolera, who is utterly superb as Clara. The marketing for the film has exploited the attractive image of a bloodied Clara, her wedding dress ripped, wielding a chainsaw, and unsurprisingly so. It comes from one of the film’s finest sequences, and it encapsulates the spirit of the film nicely: this isn’t serious, this isn’t even all that frightening, but it is a damn lot of fun. Dolera as Clara is charming and powerful – for every sequence of gore there’s an equally excessive sweetness in her insistent search for Koldo. The sentimentality is over-played, purposefully, but the deftness of Dolera’s performance, along with that of Diego Martin as Koldo, means this sentimentality is never overbearing or annoying.

Anyway, the film’s fantastic climax makes it all worthwhile. Where REC and REC2 were, frankly, terrifying, REC3 is very much a film focused on fun, adventure and buckets of gore. There are some impressively gross moments (hand-held kitchen blender to the face, anyone?) and the film gleefully embraces the cartoonish appeal of such scenes without becoming silly or parodic. REC3 feels like it should have been made in the 80s on a much smaller budget, at times coming across like a Spanish Evil Dead 2 in its tone.

If REC3 is so different to its predecessors, how does it fit in to the franchise, then? Well, it fits brilliantly. The events of this film take place at more or less the same time as the events of the previous two (given as REC2 takes place immediately after the end of REC). As is pointed out in the making-of featurette, there are moments in REC3 when the events taking place in the apartment building that houses the Medeiros girl appear on television screens in the background of the wedding reception. Admittedly, I didn’t notice these without them being pointed out, but regardless, they don’t need to be there to provide a sense of cohesion. The source of the outbreak at the wedding is clear, the way the initial survivors attempt to escape is in keeping with what we’ve seen previously, and likewise what they face when they ‘escape’ is much the same. Once more, the change in tone suits the different setting, and does well to keep the franchise interesting.

I can’t help but wish that Jaume Balaguero hadn’t spent time making Sleep Tight (great though it is), and just went ahead and made REC4: Apocalypse already. The film will have a great deal to live up to, but if it can replicate the successful continuation of the franchise as Plaza has done with REC3, then Balaguero’s conclusion could be something special indeed. Given the final instalment’s title, there’s a hint there, perhaps, as to where the story’s going, and I welcome it; a grander scale befitting the development from claustrophobic found footage, to full-blown apocalypse. For the time being, at least, there are now three fantastic and inventive horror films to be watched and re-watched in anticipation of this conclusion.

[REC]³ Génesis arrives in cinemas on August 31st (UK) and September 7th (US) and is available On Demand now.

Retro Review: Invasion of the Bee Girls (1973)

Posted on August 18, 2012 by Keri O'Shea

Review by Keri O’Shea

If you’ve ever heard the expression ‘May you live in interesting times’ then you’ll probably see how this isn’t necessarily a good thing, and the folk around to remember the world back in 1973 would probably be able to tell you a lot more about that. See, the early Seventies were ‘interesting times’ alright. After the Summer of Love came the hangover, and the hangover was a bitch. The world had changed. Emancipated women were great in some ways, but perhaps a teeny bit threatening in others. And, we see that concern played up to its zenith in the schlocktastic Invasion of the Bee Girls, because you can often spot a germ of truth in even the wackiest mirrors. Invasion of the Bee Girls is wacky, but it’s not dumb.

When a horny old research scientist is found dead in a motel room of what is tactfully referred to as “extreme exhaustion”, it doesn’t take the guys at the morgue too long to work out that he died of a massive heart attack, which they reckon was brought on by strenuous playing away. If this was a regular Joe, that might be the end of the story, but the Brandt research lab where he worked had links to governmental business, so Special Agent Neil Agar (William Smith, giving David Warbeck a run for his money) is sent to Peckham, California to investigate.

Agar starts by interviewing the departmental librarian and assistant of the deceased, Julie Zorn (Victoria Vetri, probably best known for leaping to her death from the Bramford building in Rosemary’s Baby). Ms. Zorn might be wearing spectacles and she might have her hair pinned up, but as we all know, that makes her a mere few seconds away from Sexual Abandon and she quickly confesses as much to Agar. Maybe it’s this, or the fact that she’s a useful ally in finding out what has been going on at Brandt, or probably both, but anyway, they team up to try to find out what has been going on.

Meanwhile, more and more dead men start to stack up – all checking out in the same way – and it’s up to Agar and the town sheriff to try and prevent any more deaths. They propose a curfew and complete sexual abstinence in Peckham until they solve the case; this is an idea which goes down like a cup of cold sick amongst the (male) residents at the town meeting, despite the risks. Add to this the fact that a lot of the other horny old research scientists Agar interviews declare that they probably wouldn’t mind ‘coming and going at the same time’ and you can see how Agar and Zorn have their work cut out…

But what of the cuckolded wives, left behind by their husband’s motel-room deaths? Someone, somewhere, is contacting them to invite them to the Brandt laboratory to find out what happened to their husbands…and, once they have taken up this invite, something about them changes…hell, they emerge as horny as their dearly departed, and no men, it seems, are safe…

Oh, wow. Sure, Invasion of the Bee Girls has enough soft-core T&A to work perfectly well as a piece of titillation, which is fine, but it gets a lot of other things very right too, so it’s easy to see it as a bit more than that. For starters, it moves along at a good pace – building the plot quickly and letting the audience in on just that much more than Agar & Zorn are aware of, without providing a big plot reveal of what the mysterious lab invite means until around an hour minutes in (and, blimey, Tomorrow’s World was never like this). It’s also very funny, albeit in a rather skeevy way; a scene where a girl thinks she’s getting prematurely felt up by her boyfriend until she realises she’s sat on a dead man’s hand made me laugh out loud, and the outraged response to the sex ban likewise.

Alongside all of this, propped up by a decent working script and earnest performances, you can read a bit more into Invasion of the Bee Girls…if you’re so inclined, that is. If you’re not, keep watching, more breasts shall be along presently, For me, I couldn’t help noticing the anxiety surrounding sex throughout the film. It felt like it was poised between two schools of thought; there are the old boys, hur-hurring amongst themselves about which women are ‘frigid’ and which aren’t, confidently cheating on their wives, even some who are prepared to take what they want by force (oh, and did I mention some of the scenes here are actually pretty nasty?) By the same token, and for all their bluster about it being ‘the way they want to go’, some of them get their wish, and they’re left pathetic, naked, dead and blue for their trouble. It’s not sold to us as a noble exit, and I’d say we’re encouraged to empathise with the voracious women, rather than the men they seduce. As for the women, those women who break out of the passive, no-libido-of-ones-own pattern are obviously very dangerous indeed. More than that, women! With careers! And knowledge! And LIBIDOS! Will bring down society! Hey, I wonder if this movie was a formative influence on Mitt Romney?

Invasion of the Bee Girls is massively entertaining; it has enough of that retro schlock appeal to make it engaging in-a-time-capsule-sort-of-way, but it’s possible to see a little more at its heart too. The performance of the lovely Anitra Ford as Dr. Susan Harris is an added bonus here – oh, and it plays out to Thus Spake Zarathustra. Are you ordering it yet?

DVD Review: Monster Brawl

Posted on July 26, 2012 by Keri O'Shea

Review by Keri O’Shea

Do you remember when WWF had (almost) nothing to do with endangered wildlife and everything to do with pro-wrestling? (Let’s try to put Jake Roberts and Koko B. Ware out of our minds for now, if you please.) Anyway, if you do remember, and better still, if all of this means something to you, then you are likely to feel some affection for Monster Brawl, because evidently the world of wrestling really means something to the film’s director, Jesse T. Cook. Might I add, the affection you feel is likely to exponentially increase according to how much alcohol is in your system; there’s a one-drink tipping point between thinking ‘monster wrestling is silly’ and ‘let’s have a little bet! By the way, my good man, is there any of that gut-stripping cider left?’ Because that’s what we have here, folks: Monster Brawl is a sprawling episode of WWF, pitching creature against creature. I got into the spirit of things, and made myself a shiny British pound into the bargain. However, if you have no passion for the wrestling format then you may find yourself wondering where the plot, characterisation, and similar common features of feature films happened to go. They ain’t here.

For those of you completely unfamiliar with the world of American wrestling, allow me to describe it to you. The match takes place, usually between two wrestlers, under the careful eye of a referee who makes sure that no illegal holds are being performed, and confirms the eventual victory, which is achieved by pinning the opponent flat to the ground for the count of three. Being the referee is a dangerous job, and any proximity to fold-up metal chairs is likely to end badly. Commentating on all of this we usually have two or more announcers, and they’ll also link in to little segues where the wrestlers and their managers talk themselves up. Monster Brawl takes this very-familiar premise, and replaces the common-or-garden seven foot hulks with…

To be honest, with a bit of a strange posse of famous monsters. Some of them aren’t all that famous; some of the big players you’d expect don’t show up. Seeing as how this is a love letter from an 80s monster kid who also lived for Wrestlemania, I’d have thought Dracula would have made an appearance. Instead he sent his representative, it seems – a female vamp, who I’m sure is a lovely girl, but didn’t seem to have a classic monster forbear per se. Frankenstein’s creature is in there (and yes, I’m still calling him that, even though the movie pokes fun at people for continually harping on the distinction) and we even get a bit of the original novel’s text thrown in, but who the hell is Witch Bitch? Maybe Cook was having fun with the idea of the underdog; those poor wrestlers who would be sent up against better-known, better-paid behemoths to be thrown around like rag dolls. Still, I was expecting more of the whole hog. If you’re only going to make one monster wrestling movie, it would make sense to invite the full monster crew. But, hey, what we get is still entertaining.

Although monsters of varying fame are actually doing the fighting, the WWF/WCW/MMA vibe is carried on with the appearance of some very well-known faces. Herb Dean is the referee! Kevin Nash plays a manager! Is that Robert Maillet? And Jimmy ‘Mouth of the South’ Hart is here, still in full sway! I have to say, the presence of Hart was enough to put a grin on my face before the first five minutes of the film were out. Overlay that WWF with a dash of WTF, because you can add to all of this the presence of Lance Henriksen providing some voiceover work (and channelling the spirit of the Mortal Kombat games) and cult film legend Art Hindle. So, for film fans and wrestling fans, there’s a sizeable amount of talent-spotting on offer here. It all takes place in a spoooooky graveyard, too, with some warning that they have stirred up some ancient evil by hosting the fight there. As for the rest, you simply get to watch the fights, listen to the commentators, wait for the ancient evil to arise, and revel in all the slapstick.

So – is this a movie in the usual sense of the word? Nope, this is Famous(ish) Monsters’ Celebrity Deathmatch, but if you can check your brain at the door and allow yourself to be a kid again, then there is a lot of fun to be had here. I certainly had fun with it. Monster Brawl is a self-aware project too, with some genuinely funny moments and a lot of love for the various fandoms at its heart. If you take it seriously, you’re missing the point.

As well as the 89-minute feature (note: when films don’t overstay their welcome, this scores them a a big bonus point) you get a documentary on the making of the movie, some Jimmy Hart outtakes (I love the guy, but I would be slipping him bromide), and the official trailer. But hey, you can take a look at that below…

Monster Brawl is out on Region 2 DVD and available to download on 20th August, from Momentum.

This Comic Looks Great Naked: Hack/Slash by Tim Seeley

Posted on July 15, 2012 by Keri O'Shea

Review by Comix

How many horror movies have you watched? Is the answer a lot? I bet the answer is a lot. Now how many times have you watched the useless female lead stumble her way from one dead body to another while screaming at the top of her barely legal lungs? I bet a lot more. Well Hack/Slash finally gives our sweet, lovable lead character a well deserved makeover, by arming the young lass with a bat and, get ready for it, a brain. Oh, and a huge-ass, deformed body guard named Vlad. Similar to “Cabin in the Woods” type debauchery, the comic follows the wacky misadventures of the dubious pair as they fight their way through monsters, killers, and creatures of all types.

The stories are centered around our girl Cassie Hack, a tough but super-hot and barely dressed young go-getter who travels the country fighting what the comic calls “Slashers.” Slashers are your basic bad guys; you know, malevolent ghosts, serial killers, parasitic, flesh eating twins. The usual. If the Slasher is a living being, no problem, stab the prick and wash your hands. But if they’re dead, undead, or “other”, she battles them through a mix of ingenuity and severe body damage. Basically, if it works in B-movies, it works in the comic. Cassie fearlessly hacks and slashes (see what I did there?) her way through each issue while fighting her own inner demons, namely, the murderous legacy of her mother, a woman who killed and cooked several teenagers at a high school. As Cassie travels, she begins picking up a number of strange characters who lead to even stranger cases which lead to the strangest secret club called the Black Lamp Society, which might or might not have something to do with all this….strangeness. Needless to say, it’s a pretty great read.

Not one to ever take itself too seriously, Hack/Slash spends most of its time riffing on the horror genre and giving fan service (by fan service, I mean tits and panty shots.) The comic is a great back hand to an industry stagnant in its portrayal of women in horror, even if the lead character is dressed in the sluttiest clothes this side of the stripper pole. There’s a lot of fun name dropping and geekery to be had as well, such as Cassie teaming up with Chucky, or spending several issues running around a comic convention trying to stop a serial killer dead set on murdering real-life comic book creators. Basically, Hack/Slash becomes a running horror joke that eventually pans out to an actual story, so if you’re hungry for both laughs and frights, this is the way to go.

Created and originally written by Tim Seeley, the comic is currently printed through Image Comics. The first several story arcs were actually published by Devils Due Publishing, but due to some legal issues, Seeley pulled the comics from them and began writing it for Image Comics, which is pretty awesome. Image Comics is best known for the iconic Spawn and its willingness to bring in indie-made comics to the big stage, so it was a really good move for the Hack/Slash crew. Though Seeley owns the comic, the credit for its continued publishing really goes to several authors and illustrators who have worked under Seeley’s consultations. Thanks to him and his people, Hack/Slash has literally blown up on the comic scene. The series has been adapted into a stage play, there have been talks of a movie, and Cassie Hack herself is an honorary Suicide Girl. You heard right, she’s naked on the internet! To the computer!

I know you want to pick up this sweet series and Image Comics has made it incredibly easy to do so. There are ten actual graphic novels that were released, collecting all the horror and mindless savagery, but if you don’t want to spend your precious money on ten separate collections, there are also four omnibuses collecting all the comics. The graphic novels and omnibuses have various pencil tests and cover galleries, so you can get into the nitty-gritty details that go into making big-breasted she-heroes. A word of warning of though! Apparently, there has been several reports of poor binding with the omnibuses, so purchase with caution. The books are regularly available at your local comic book stores or anywhere that sells fine printed media, so go get yours! Trust me, you’ll never find a better set of…ahem, comics anywhere else…

DVD Review: Pasolini’s Hawks and Sparrows (1966) and Pigsty (1969)

Posted on July 14, 2012 by Keri O'Shea

Review by Keri O’Shea

I think it’s fair to say that, if you’re a regular visitor to Brutal as Hell, then you probably mainly know director Pier Paolo Pasolini for his last film, Salò, or The 120 Days of Sodom. Despite having almost nothing to do with the horror genre (because, come on, it really doesn’t) Salò continues to enjoy a solid reputation amongst genre film fans, its reputation as the go-to movie for on-screen excess still intact come what may. However, Salò really isn’t all that representative of Pasolini’s earlier work. The aggression and shock tactics he was ready to use in 1975 have some precedents, but generally, films like Hawks and Sparrows and Pigsty are a long way away from his most notorious project…

Hawks and Sparrows (Uccellacci e uccellini) is a picaresque; a father and son (played by comic hero Totò and Ninetto Davoli respectively) are wandering on the outskirts of Rome, contemplating life, death, and similar weighty topics when…they encounter a crow. Nothing so unusual about that, except this is a talking crow. A left-wing intellectual talking crow. Together with the bird, they continue their debates on religion as they go, with Mr. Raven offering an anecdote from the 13th century which he thinks will be of interest. The telling of the story transports father and son into said century. Now they are two monks, who have been bidden by their abbot to go forth and preach the word of God to both hawks (‘the proud’) and sparrows (‘the meek’). They take this edict very literally, and try to commune with nature to fulfil it. Meanwhile, life in their century goes on – it’s a world of slums, loan sharks, and an Italy struggling to claw itself into the modern day.

This isn’t a great movie, truth be told. It’s very low on action and plot whilst its languid, dreamlike pace wasn’t for me; there was also the issue of the film’s comedy elements. Pasolini himself said that some audiences laughed a great deal and some didn’t; I’m in the ‘didn’t’ camp, and this was underlined by the amount of uproarious mirth on screen which I never shared in. There were some lunatic touches which offered moments of physical comedy (show me the person who doesn’t laugh at an old woman being beaten over the head with a sheaf of wheat by a monk) but by and large, this film didn’t land with me. Too abstruse, too self-conscious. Where it is interesting, however, is in the glimpses of a modernising, but poor Italy, having a debate with itself (through the characters) about class politics and religion. Pasolini has a superb eye for framing shots and the contrast between wide open spaces and the tumbledown tenements of the urbanising areas looks wonderful.

Although very different from Hawks and Sparrows, Pigsty (Porcile) also runs two tales in different time periods, but the atmosphere here is much darker and more ominous. The voice-over which talks of cannibalism and generational angst soon gives way to a desolate landscape inhabited by (almost) mute savages, ever hungry (even for human flesh) and watchful. This soundless world is conflated with scenes from 60s Germany, and a privileged young couple called Julian and Ida. Ida tries continually to provoke Julian with her verbal sparring but it seems he is uninterested in her; eventually he admits he is in love, but not with her. Soon after this revelation he falls into a cataleptic state (hey, we’ve all had conversations like that). Ida and his family try to understand why this has happened – and the revelation, when it does come, might make them wish they hadn’t.

Heavy on the allegory, Pigsty has much to say about modern society as a wasteland, and of even the most bourgeois of folk as being little more than beasts, but these political messages in the film make for a very difficult film to watch. The huge contrasts between the silence of the savages’ world and the interminable dialogue of the bourgeois is grating; in communicating ‘the message’ of Pigsty, Pasolini makes his characters repetitive, petty and unnatural. He himself calls the film ‘experimental’; personally, my tolerance for experimental cinema is rather low. Again, there are some flashes of action, even brutality in Pigsty, but the general torpor of the movie is its main feature. Whilst I’m not a massive fan of Salò, I’ll say this for it: it’s never boring.

Where I absolutely can’t fault these films, though, is in how they have been presented by Masters of Cinema. The transfer of each film (Hawks and Sparrows being in black and white, Pigsty in colour) is impeccably done, with rich blacks, bright whites without any ugly glare, and crisp colours. Likewise, the sound quality is excellent and the dialogue is very clear. Each release is also accompanied by a lavish booklet: these are well-researched and interesting, containing essays, interviews, viewing notes and liner art.

So, if you’re a Pasolini completist, interested in the history of film, or if you simply want to see what else this director worked on before his best-known project, then these releases might have something to offer. Otherwise, these movies are, to be blunt, a challenge, and won’t be all that accessible to most film fans – or at least, they certainly weren’t to this one…

Hawks and Sparrows and Pigsty are released on DVD as part of the Masters of Cinema series on 23rd July 2012.

DVD Review: The Pact

Posted on July 12, 2012 by Keri O'Shea

Review by Annie Riordan

Death is the great equalizer, and funerals are not for the dead, but rather for the living. It’s an opportunity to show the deceased the respect owed them, to reflect and forgive, and to pray for the salvation of the soul, both your own and that of the deceased. It’s a chance to show yourself humbled and to acknowledge that, despite whatever differences you may have had in life, you can forgive the sins of the flesh and rejoice in the homecoming of the spirit.

I call bullshit on that crap. And so does Annie Barlow.

Annie sees no reason why she should come to her mother’s funeral. The woman was a cold, abusive, pinch-faced old bitch who made the lives of both Annie and her sister Nicole a living hell. Ding Dong the miserable cunt is dead and good riddance, as far as Annie is concerned. And I agree. We owe the dead nothing they didn’t earn. Not even respect. You reap what you sow, and if reincarnation is for real, I hope the majority of my family come back as feeder mice.

None of Nicole’s guilt-tripping seems to be having the desired effect, and Annie stands firm on her promise to never again set foot in her mother’s house, funeral and public opinion be damned. But then Nicole goes missing, and Annie is forced to make the trip to San Pedro to find out what happened. At first it seems like Nicole, a former junkie, has simply gone off the rails again. But she’s left her possessions behind this time: laptop, cell phone, daughter, etc. She’s also a no-show for the funeral that she so stubbornly insisted both she and Annie attend. Annie and her cousin Liz return to the old house that night with little Eva in tow, unsure what to do next.

The decision is made for them when Liz disappears from her bed and a hostile ghostly presence forces Annie and Eva from the house. Now there are two women missing, vanished without a trace, and the cops don’t believe Annie’s tale of ghosts for one second. Left on her own to figure this weird shit out, Annie finds herself dogged by an infuriated poltergeist who wants Annie to know of the horrors hidden in her mother’s house, and of the horrors that are still taking place there.

I love a good ghost story, especially a ghost story whose ending I cannot figure out in the first five minutes and which genuinely scares the crap out of me. The Pact managed to do both. Do you have any idea how very rare that is? Original stories are on the verge of extinction in the world of horror films, although I cannot be the only hardcore Lovecraft fan who failed to catch the parallels between this film and HPL’s “The Lurking Fear.” Whether or not the similarity was intentional, I don’t know. I also don’t care. I AM still wondering though if the two major character names – Barlow and Glick – were a nod to Salem’s Lot. Not that it’s important. I just like catching little things like that.

And there’s a lot of little things like that to catch in this film. As soon as it was over, I backed it up and watched it again, scanning for all the subtle little clues I’d missed the first time around. I’m still finding them. It’s rare that I’ll watch a film repeatedly, but this is one I’m happy to now own as I will be watching it again. And again.

With the exception of Caspar Van Dien, I’ve never seen any of these people before. But they all turn in impressive performances, absorbing their roles completely. And why the hell isn’t Haley Hudson – who here plays a sweet, blind psychic girl – famous yet? She’s intensely gorgeous. In fact, everyone in this film is uniquely, startlingly beautiful in the most unconventional of ways. Against the stark, bleached out Polaroid beauty of the film, they stick out like sentient Van Goghs: slightly flawed, sharpened by sorrow, bright as hard candy.

If I have one gripe about the film, it’s the very end. It felt tacked on and forced and did not flow with the rest of the film. But if you stop the disc on the last fadeout of Annie’s face and pretend it ends there, this movie is warped perfection. Intriguing, beautiful and scary as hell.

DVD Review: Midnight Son

Posted on July 12, 2012 by Keri O'Shea

Review by Annie Riordan

I gotta be honest: I am sick to fucking death of vampire films. There was a time when the vampire film was my absolute favorite sub-genre of horror. But that was back in Ye Olde Days when men were men, women were women and vampires were butt-ugly parasitic ghouls who did not sparkle, were not pretty and did not dress like extras in a Cradle Of Filth video. Salem’s Lot, Nosferatu, Subspecies…now THOSE were vampires: disgusting, unrepentant, disease-ridden. Fuck Twilight. AND Anita Blake. Shit, fuck Lestat too. I don’t want pretty, poetry spouting underwear models with fangs, and I sure as shit don’t want the epitome of plague characterized as the ultimate in romance.

When I first saw the cover box for Midnight Son, I cringed, certain I was in for a Twilight-inspired teen soap opera sex-a-thon, where becoming a vampire is like winning the lottery, bestowing grace, beauty and full wardrobes from Hot Topic to the lucky immortal chosen few.

I was wrong.

Thank. God.

Jacob Gray isn’t going to be modeling for any romance novel covers anytime soon. As guys go, he’s pretty normal: he’s got a nice indie vibe going on with his floppy hair, pasty pallor and button down shirts. He has very pretty eyes. But he’s nothing special…at first glance, anyway. Eking out a meager existence as a night shift security guard in the heart of inner city L.A., Jacob is utterly alone and seems content to stay that way. However, a sudden surge of insatiable hunger – a hunger which cannot be satisfied despite the massive amounts of food Jacob inhales during a single sitting – drives him to the doctor. The diagnosis: malnutrition with a possible side serving of anemia, an explanation which makes no sense to either the doctor or Jacob. Frustrated, Jacob shrugs it off and returns to his existence as a nocturnal garbage disposal…until the night he decides to taste the puddle of blood left behind by a big fat steak.

Blood seems to be the answer, and the corner butcher shop has plenty to spare. Downing cow blood by the cupful is the only thing that quiets the unholy rumbling in Jacob’s belly. Feeling much improved, life is looking up for Jacob and he even meets a pretty girl hawking smokes and candy outside of a techno joint late one night. Granted, Mary is probably not the best girl to get involved with: she’s got issues for damn sure, not the least of which is a hefty coke habit. But she’s pretty, and willing and all but rapes Jacob on his couch during their first date. Score!

But Mary’s rotting sinus tissues pick that moment to disintegrate. Her nose ruptures, Jacob gets his first taste of living blood, and shit gets really real really quickly. Soon, he’s as much of a junkie as Mary, scoring fresh blood from a corrupt hospital med tech and watching himself evolve into a full blown fiend, incapable of controlling his own violent impulses. He can’t help it, doesn’t like it and doesn’t know how to stop it. And when he realizes, too late, that he is capable of infecting others with his affliction, any control he once had over the situation is ripped away and gone forever.

Midnight Son is apocalyptically gorgeous: bleak, nihilistic, hopeless and irreversibly damaged. Jacob may not be a verminous creature, but neither is he a stately courtesan. He’s tragically normal and painfully human, and never more so than when he realizes that he isn’t. No slouch either is Maya Parish, who I mistook for Sarah Wayne Callies at first, second and third glance. She’s smoking hot and has cute underwear, but she also looks like she hasn’t slept in 30 years and never washes off the last application of eyeliner before applying the next. She’s haggard and grungy and I bet she smells like menthols and slightly skunky perfume. In other words, she nails it.

Oh, and Larry Cedar is in this movie! Do you guys even know how happy that makes me? I love Larry Cedar! What the fuck do you mean “Who the hell is Larry Cedar?” You people sicken me. Got to get these muthafuckin’ men off the wing of this muthafuckin’ plane.

But back to the movie itself. It’s familiar, almost classic in its story, but still unlike any other vampire movie you’ve ever seen. And you need to see this one, if you haven’t already. Period, end of story.

Book Review: Annul Domini by Ingrid Pitt

Posted on July 9, 2012 by Keri O'Shea

Review by Keri O’Shea

Ingrid Pitt seemed to live several lives in her seventy-three years; with regards her career, she’s of course best known for her roles in classic horror cinema like Hammer’s Countess Dracula and The Wicker Man, but she was also an accomplished writer. Her ‘Bedside Companion for Vampire Lovers’ was no second-rate book trading off her name and pretty face – it was a well-researched, well-structured piece of non-fiction. And, judging by the evidence of Annul Domini: The Jesus Factor, Ms. Pitt was equally adept at writing novels. The only sadness about this is that it comes to us posthumously.

In terms of scope, Ms. Pitt grapples with some hefty historical and philosophical perspectives here; rather than horror (although certain horrors come to the fore during the book’s course) what we are dealing with here is the potential ramifications of time travel. Specifically; what if you could deliberately alter the course of significant past events? In the alternate universe of Annul Domini, we’re invited to consider this. The idea of altering the past to effect changes in the present is an imaginative boon for writers, but it can all get out of hand so easily. In a lesser grasp, this non-linear story could have collapsed under its own weight – but it does not, and although on first glance the topic didn’t seem to be one I’d enjoy reading, I was gripped by it.

We start with what appears to be a personality crisis: Robin Firth awakes to find he isn’t…himself, anymore. He’s sharing a body and a mind with a village idiot called Haddaq, and trying to wrest control from the madman. Oh, and he’s no longer in modern-day Britain, but in the Middle East, around two thousand years before the time Robin was born. Gradually, his story is revealed. The modern world to which Robin belongs has been riven with political extremism and religious totalitarianism – to the extent that, using a technological process, Robin has sent his ‘self’ back two millennia, to try and influence the story of Jesus Christ. The story is split between different points in time and different characters, as various outcomes play out in the present. However, it is what Pitt does with the very familiar story of Jesus – or, what we consider the story – which is really engaging, and actually very brave.

I am not a religious person, but I am familiar with stories of Christ’s life and death, to the point that the finer details are not something to which I’ve given much thought. Utilising the sizeable gaps in what the Bible has to say and playing with what even many self-professed Christians take for granted, Pitt develops an intriguing spin on the characters which are so well-known, but so weakly-delineated. The chief result of this is that Pitt invigorates and humanises these people. Being bold with physical description is a large part of this – giving the main players ages, appearances, height and weight, touch, taste, even ailments, makes them believable as men and women. Allowing space to think about their motivations is also important here. She spins an ingenious web around them of supporting characters, even inventing new apostles as a way of demonstrating that what gets left in and what gets left out of stories has its importance.

There is some nicely-handled prose, with elements of black humour woven throughout and a good balance between description and descriptive economy. You get the impression throughout Annul Domini that Ingrid Pitt knew a great deal about the history of the Middle East, thanks the the ease of the discussions of politics and society of the time. The potential chink in the armour for me was always going to be the science fiction parts, which provide the possibility for action to be taken in the past. Baffling or unbelievable science can always trip up an otherwise solid story – can even be laughable, which you definitely don’t want in a story like this, black humour in some of its aspects or not. Here, there were moments where I began to feel incredulous, but luckily, lengthy descriptions of the time-travel process usually give way to more philosophical points permitted by the premise, rather than getting too bogged down in the sci-fi aspects. The book never gets too preachy, too prescriptive, or too technical.

Conceiving a world which could have been alongside worlds which might have resulted, Ingrid Pitt has crafted a compelling, thoughtful novel, making bold decisions and playing fast and loose with established dogma to create something new. I’m not sure whether the devout would be mortified or intrigued by what she’s done; for my part, and within the context of the story, it’s just very interesting to consider her ideas. Ultimately, the thread which runs through the novel is of the huge importance of mythologies, and Pitt does a fine job of making this very point.

The book itself is a neat volume with a colour cover, nicely laid out with clear font and font size. There is a foreword from Ingrid Pitt’s husband Tony Rudlin – the man who rediscovered all of these unpublished manuscripts after her death – followed by thirty-eight chapters and an epilogue. If you are curious to see what the legendary horror icon could do with her creative abilities, then this is a fine place to start looking.