T2 Trainspotting

UK | 2017 | Directed by Danny Boyle

Logline: Being the continuing misadventures of the main characters from Trainspotting, set twenty years after their first set of exploits. 

Nostalgia is heroin for old people, so the saying goes. Indeed, nostalgia can be a real spike of joy for those of us keen to reminisce, to revisit good times past. Generation X are notorious nostalgians, maybe because we’ve seen such massive changes in the way society operates over the past thirty years, the way the sub-cultures have eaten themselves, and shat out strange new permutations of defunct methods to our collective madness. 

We live in a cinema age where there are more remakes, re-imaginings, reboots, sequels, and prequels, than anything remotely original. Hollywood jumps on the rights of a successful foreign film so they can churn out an English-language piece of mediocrity faster than forty-eight-frames-a-second. So why did Danny Boyle decide to revisit, arguably, the most cherished from his mixed oeuvre bag? Since Trainspotting (1996) became an instant cult classic with a legacy as potent as a hit from Mother Superior. 

Irvine Welsh wrote a sequel to Trainspotting. It was called Porno, published in 2002, set ten years after Trainspotting, and follows the mischief of most of the central characters. Using Porno as a springboard Boyle had been wanting to make a sequel to Trainspotting since 2009. John Hodge had delivered a brilliant screenplay adaptation of the first novel, and, as such, re-wrote an early draft of the sequel, and has crafted a superb follow-up, taking plot points from Porno and fusing them with elements from Trainspotting. It’s a very clever manipulation of giving audiences - especially those who saw the original movie twenty years back - that nostalgia fix, yet also playing on the universal angst and ennui of “What the fuck have I done with my life?” 

Mark Renton (Ewan McGregor) has returned to Scotland, after living in Amsterdam, for his mother’s funeral. He decides to reunite with Spud (Ewen Bremner), still a junkie and trying to commit suicide. Renton then chooses (life?) to reconnect with Sick Boy (Jonny Lee Miller), who is now a coke addict, running a dilapidated pub, and making dosh from blackmail schemes with young Veronika (Anjela Nedyalkova). Meanwhile Begbie (Robert Carlyle) escapes from prison, and proceeds to return to a life of crime. When he hears that Renton is back in town, he swears bloody murder. 

I reviewed Trainspotting back in the day, describing it as “riotously entertaining” and that it was a rarity, living up to the massive hype that it was riding on. I also remarked that it was full of deadly irony, held a sheer exuberance in storytelling, and sported “an eclectic soundtrack, great surreal juxtapositions of sound and image, sharp and cynical dialogue, and exceptional performances”. I feel fairly safe in saying that Leith lightning has struck twice for Mr. Boyle. While T2 might not possess quite the same immediate shock’n’thrill (although it does have its fair share of nudity, profanity, drug use, and violence) which the original movie oozed in such liberal quantities, and one could argue we have been somewhat desensitised in these twenty years since the original movie came out, yet this new set of exploits is just as brilliantly constructed, and just as blackly funny. 

Boyle is the English Scorsese, the kind of director Guy Ritchie has always hoped he’d be compared to. The very best movies Boyle has directed; Shallow Grave, Trainspotting, 28 Days Later, and 127 Hours, all exhibit a masterful control of mise-en-scene, of purely cinematic storytelling, each one their own beast, with their own distinct visual style. T2 is proudly a sequel, working alongside the first movie, and interweaving with it too, but it is also a bold stand-alone tale of opportunity and betrayal, of stories told, remembered, re-lived, discarded, treasured. 

The ending is perfect. 

I’ve not been interested in much of the cast’s careers, but they deliver exemplary work here. The soundtrack is bang on, featuring exciting new music and cool retro classics - Blondie’s “Dreamin’’ and Iggy Pop’s “Lust for Life” - that fit hand in glove, and the cinematography from Anthony Dod Mantle is fantastic too.

Give it time, but I know, T2 is another stone cold instant cult classic. Well, definitely for us nostalgians. 

Aliens

1986 | US | Directed by James Cameron

Logline: Ripley, lone survivor of Nostromo, awakens to find herself caught up in a mission to rescue a colony based on the moon she escaped from fifty-seven years earlier. 

Ridley Scott’s Alien (1979) was made for $US11m. Seven years later the director of the hugely successful sf-action flick that made Schwarzenegger a megastar, The Terminator (1984), is handed the reins to the plight of Ellen Ripley, and he delivers a $US18m blockbuster, considered by many science fiction and horror fans as one of the greatest sequels ever made. At the time it was regarded as a milestone in special effects and a kick-arse action flick, albeit less of a horror movie than the original movie. So how does it hold up thirty years down the track? 

Ripley (Sigourney Weaver) is awoken from cryogenic sleep fifty-seven years after she escaped from the Nostromo, just before it self-destructed, and has been drifting through space. The Weyland-Yutani company has been terra-forming the moon LV-426, the same on Ellen and her dead crew visited in the first movie. But now communication has been lost with the colony and Ripley reluctantly joins a investigative/rescue mission with a bunch of hung-ho marines. Ripley must confront her worst nightmares. 

Aliens is essentially a war movie, with strong ‘Nam undertones. It grossed around $US180m and was nominated for seven Academy Awards, quite unusual for such an intense genre picture. What was less apparent at its time or release has become glaringly obvious thirty years later, and what has dated it, and it many ways harmed its aesthetic appeal, especially when compared to the original Alien movie. Maybe it's unfair to compare it to Alien, since the two movies are so different, but there are undeniable factors at work and play between both movies that must be compared. 

Ridley Scott’s original movie employed an aesthetic that George Lucas had pioneered with Star Wars (1977), the weathered universe look, the used hardware, the dirt and grime. Before Star Wars most science fiction movies looked clean and shiny. Scott employed Roger Christian, a brilliant art director, set decorator and props specialist, who had been responsible for much of the Star Wars look. Christian gave Alien a very convincing look. You really felt the Nostromo was a mining ship, the world loved authentic. To compliment the production design and art direction Scott’s cinematographer, Derek Vanlint, captured the movie in an appropriately tenebrous light. 

It is Adrian Biddle’s cinematography in Aliens that makes the movie suffer from being lit like a television show or commercial, as it’s flat, especially in the ship interiors. The depth-of-field, so strong and dynamic in Alien, is absent, and the costuming, make-up and hair design are all victims of mid-80s fashion. Cameron also chooses to show more of the Sulaco ship descending through LV-426’s atmosphere, and the dodgy compositing dates the movie terribly. Scott was much wiser in that department, evident in both Alien, but also Blade Runner (1982), which is curious considering Cameron’s background as a special effects technician.

One of Alien’s strongest elements is the almost documentary feel to the visual and performance style. The acting isn’t nearly as convincing as in Alien, and the dialogue reflects this also. Although David Giler and Walter Hill, who had worked on the script for Alien (from an original draft by Dan O’Bannon), had provided the story on Aliens, it was Cameron who wrote the screenplay. Cameron’s approach is more mainstream, appealing more to a younger audience, whereas Alien, although given the same R classification, was always intended for adults, and it’s arty b-movie legacy gives it an intensity and longevity that eludes Aliens. 

There’s no denying Stan Winston’s brilliant special effects work in Aliens, and the production design of much of the movie is still amazing, especially the armoured personnel carrier, and, of course, the xenomorph queen. My favourite moment is still Bishop’s unfortunate encounter with the “bitch". 

I was genuinely surprised at my somewhat adverse reaction to Aliens, after having not viewed it for many years. I still rate the movie very highly, but the elements that have dated it weigh heavily on my impression now, and have made my love of Alien intensify. Aliens feels much more of a bubblegum movie, not as dark as The Terminator (that Newt cuteness), certainly not as as affecting as Alien (I never felt much for any of Aliens’ victims), but it entertains with gusto, and its legion of hardcore fans will always champion it regardless of its 80s trappings. 

Something Wild

US | 1986 | Directed by Jonathan Demme

Logline: A free-spirited woman coerces a man into joining her on a weekend of fun and adventure, until the woman’s ex-con husband appears on the scene. 

Jonathan Demme began his filmmaking career in exploitation, most notably the cult women-in-prison flick Caged Heat (1974). He has made dozens of features, documentaries, and television episodes, and while he is most famous for directing The Silence of the Lambs (1991), it is this comedy-thriller-romance that remains his most colourful, surprising, and entertaining. It’s a riot from start to finish, an instant cult classic, thirty years young. 

Charlie (Jeff Daniels) is a yuppie, a city slicker, with a suit that itches. He thinks he’s got away without paying the bill at a cafe, but out on the sidewalk Lulu (Melanie Griffith) grabs him by the collar and hits him up for doing a runner. There’s an instant attraction of sorts, or at the least, some kind of curious tension. Lulu offers to drive him back to the office, and that’s where it all goes pear-shaped. Or maybe that should it be grapefruit-shaped? 

Lulu is a sassy opportunist, which is putting it mildly. Charlie is a gullible fool, with a heart of gold. Together they hit the high road outta town. But both are harbouring secrets, and soon enough the layers will be peeled back, and it’ll be all hands on deck, there might even be tears before bedtime, if Lulu’s dangerous husband Ray (Ray Liotta) has anything to say about it. He’s fresh out of prison, and keen to get back in the saddle. 

E. Max Frye penned the screenplay while he was still in film school. Demme committed to making it almost immediately, and a studio deal was struck very quickly. While Kevin Kline was considered for the role of Charlie, Chris Isaak was going to play Ray, but dropped out. I don’t think either of those guys could’ve brought the same kind of wonderful nuances that Daniels and Liotta did. In fact, both of them, and Griffiths, all deliver fantastic, career performances, and all three were nominated for a Golden Globe. 

One of the surprising elements is a score composed by Laurie Anderson and John Cale. But, the most notable surprise is in the movie’s brilliantly constructed and handled tone, which shifts dramatically after the half-way mark when Ray enters the movie, at the high school reunion Lulu takes Charlie along to. Liotta exudes such an implicitly volatile energy (something he’s brought to later movies many times over) that what has been a happy-go-lucky, quirky, odd couple-buddy flick, suddenly shifts gears and becomes a menacing thriller. 

There are some very funny scenes, and there are a bunch of amusing cameos/bit parts, including filmmakers John Sayles, as a motorcycle cop (although you’ll be hard-pressed to recognise him behind the police-issue shades), and John Waters, as a used car salesman (perfect casting!), also character legends Walter Tracey as a country squire, and Charles Napier as an irate chef. Special note must go to the high school reunion band, The Feelies, whom I was briefly convinced was Talking Heads in musical disguise (Demme had directed Stop Making Sense a couple of years earlier). 

Something Wild is one of those rare mix-genre creatures; perfectly cast, wonderful dialogue that rings true with humour and authenticity, and dynamic direction that captures a real sense of urgency and playfulness, yet can pull a punch and pull the rug out when the moment demands. I was never much of a fan of either Daniels or Griffith, but, let me tell you, if you’ve never seen this movie, do yourself a favour, Something Wild is definitely something wicked.  

Cul-De-Sac

UK | 1966 | Directed by Roman Polanski

Logline: On an isolated beach castle property an eccentric husband and his wayward wife are set upon and driven to distraction by a desperate gangster and his befuddled accomplice.

“Here we are!” ... “Where?” ... “In this shit…”

A dark comedy of manners and errors, this is minimalist Kafkaesque perfection from Polanksi and his frequent co-screenwriter Gerard Brach. Cul-De-Sac means “bottom of the bag”, or “dead end”, and that is precisely where this movie begins and ends. There are no practical solutions, only anguish, despair, betrayal, and heartache, but shot through with an existential angst and muse that is sheer brilliance. It is apparently Polanski’s personal favourite, and it has been in my top ten favourite movies of all-time for as long as I can remember. 

Two incompetent, injured gangsters on the run, Richard (Lionel Stander) and Albie (Jack MacGowran), find themselves on the sandy road leading to Northumberland’s Holy Island of Lindisfarne, where a beautiful castle property is perched. The tide is not their friend, and soon enough their car is waterlogged and immobile. Dick must seek assistance, as his friend and colleague is badly wounded, so he heads off to get help from the castle owners, who happen to be the meek and eccentric George (Donald Pleasence) and his young, mischievous wife Teresa (Françoise Dorléac). 

Before long there is a strange and amusing power play going on between Dick, George, and Teresa. Dick has arranged for his boss, Mr. Katelbach, to come and collect them, but visiting friends of George’s, including a secret lover of Teresa’s, get in the way. It’s a weekend of situations, to say the least. 

The superb black and white cinematography is by English veteran Gilbert Taylor (who had already shot Polanski’s Repulsion, made back-to-back with Cul-De-Sac, and would shoot Macbeth for him a few years later). Knowing how much friction Taylor had with George Lucas, ten years later on Star Wars, it’s curious how Polanski and he worked together, knowing just how much Polanski has control of his movies’ composition and mise-en-scene.

Brach and Polanski’s screenplay is a playful riff on Waiting for Godot (in fact, a working title of the movie was When Katelbach Comes). Most of the humour is not in actual gags, but in the subtle nuances of character, and it is undeniably one of Polanski’s richest, in terms of character and characterisation. It forms a curious relationship with his debut feature, Knife on the Water, which deals with the power play between three people on a yacht. There is a very similar atmosphere, even though Cul-De-Sac is less of a thriller, though it does feature some thrilling moments. 

Donald Pleasance is exceptional as the awkward George, slowing losing his grip. It’s an early career performance, but, that said, he is challenged every step of the way by the gruff charisma of Lionel Stander, who chews the scenery with a veritable chomp. The two men, as mannered and idiosyncratic as they are, deliver one of the finest comedic counterpoints in cinema history. It’s an absolute joy to watch them rub up against each other, whilst Françoise Dorléac (Catherine Deneuve’s elder sister, who was tragically killed in a car crash a year later) slithers around like a delicious serpent, the ivy to make the men itch further, and for the trainspotters, there’s a very young Jacqueline Bisset, hiding behind sunglasses. 

Cul-De-Sac is one of those movies I can watch again and again; a fifty-year-old movie whose tone, mood, atmosphere, visual style, and performances are pure cinematic pleasure. A masterful collection of odd moments as rewarding and bewildering as the best dreams. 

The Party

US | 1968 | Directed by Blake Edwards

Logline: Instead of being fired a clumsy Indian movie star is accidentally invited to a Hollywood party where he creates havoc. 

With two successful Pink Panther movies under their belt director Edwards and star Peter Sellers decided to try something a little different, but the same. Instead of a bumbling police inspector Sellers would play a bumbling foreigner, essentially a Bollywood star let loose in Hollywood, like a bull in a china shop. The result was an instant cult classic, in the vein of Buster Keaton and Charlie Chaplin. 

Sellers plays Hrundi V. Bakshi, an Indian star on the set of an elaborate Hollywood production, on a vast desert location. Sellers hardly looks Indian, but that’s not the point. It’s vaguely “blackface” politically-incorrect, but again, that’s not the point. Bakshi is a goon, a buffoon, always putting his foot in it, and sure enough, he haphazardly plants the sole of his sandal square on a detonator, whilst trying to fix the strap.  

The enormous fort set on the side of a dune is blown to smithereens … before the director has called “Action!” There is a look of disbelief as the calamity of the situation blankets the production. But this isn’t the first time the Indian actor has caused a disruption, as he has been upstaging the other actors, and generally causing mischief. The destruction of the expensive set is the last straw.

Back in Tinseltown the movie’s executive producer is informed of the catastrophe and the culprit who has been fired. He jots the name down on the nearest bit of paper, which happens to be the bottom of an invite list, unbeknownst to the producer. The list is then sent to the producer’s assistant for invitations to be sent out. And before you can say, “Birdie num num!” Bakshi finds himself spruced up and arriving at the plush Hollywood villa ready to party. Bakshi is essentially goodhearted, but he’s just a clumsy fool. It starts with a lost hush puppy, and ends in a lot of foam, but add a bit of booze to the equation and wahey, it’s everyone for themselves, as the caviar hits the fan! 

Edwards fashioned the script with the Waldman brothers, Tom and Frank, based on a very simple 50-page outline, but most of the movie was improvised, with each scene filmed in sequence, especially one the party starts. This daring experiment provided Sellers with all the comedic fuel he needed to cultivate his brilliant creation, and as such, much of the humour, whilst mostly slapstick, is also character-based and cumulative, like the most memorable comedies. 

Much of the The Party is free of dialogue, and this gives the movie it’s distinct old Hollywood feel. It also imbues the movie with its wide demographic appeal. The Party has always been a staple of the Christmas period television, where families can enjoy an hilarious escapade-cum-romance and not worry about vulgarity, profanity, or nudity as the butt of jokes. That said, there is something strangely, yet innocuously perverse about The Party, perhaps it’s the Bollywood-in-Hollywood element?

The Party never gets old, with Sellers at the top of his game, whilst the support cast are also very funny, and Henry Mancini provides a playful score. I’m very surprised that the movie hasn’t been remade with a current comedy star, but also very happy that it hasn’t been tampered with. No one could ever deliver with the same subtle brilliance the way Sellers did. The Party is comedy gold. 

The Party Blu-ray is released by Via Vision.

Thief

US | 1981 | Directed by Michael Mann

Logline: An ex-con and seasoned safecracker looking to settle down takes on a lucrative job for the mafia, unaware of the long-term implications.

All the hallmarks of Michael Mann’s distinctive style can be seen here in his debut feature (he’d made a few shorts and a TV movie prior). Based on the novel (read: exploits) by real-life jewel thief John Seybold, writing under the pen name Frank Hohimer, titled The Home Invaders: Confessions of a Cat Burglar, Mann wrote the screenplay, executive produced, and directed this thoroughly accomplished neo-noir tale with James Caan in a career performance. At its Cannes premiere it screened under the title Violent Streets. 

Frank (Caan) is keen to get out of the business that has almost set him up for life. He’s already done ten plus years in the can, and since being back on the street he’s set up two solid businesses, a bar and a car dealership, whilst working as a professional gem thief with his accomplice Barry (James Beulshi). But the most important part is missing; family. He has been courting one of his cashiers, Jessie (Tuesday Weld), and he propositions her.

Frank’s expertise is seemingly brought to the attention of Leo (Robert Prosky, in impressive villain form), who is an associate of a man who owes Frank money. But Leo is the boss of the Chicago mob and he has plans for Frank. He offers Frank serious money, but Frank is reluctant to deal with big egos. After an intense rendezvous with Jessie, and a meeting of the minds, Frank decides to do do one large score for Leo, so he can retire and settle down with Jessie, and an adopted baby, courtesy of Leo’s black market dealings. 

It must have all looked great on paper. 

As in all classic noir, the best laid plans are scuttled, sabotaged, damaged beyond repair, or simply fucked up beyond all recognition. In Frank’s case, the perfect crime comes hopelessly undone, and Frank refuses to be the captain going down with the ship. There will be blood, but none of it will be spilled on Frank’s bronzed Armani silk shirt if he can help it. There will be casualties, though, nihilism will rear its ugly head. 

From the opening heist scene, establishing Frank’s prowess, his professional minimalism, slipping away through the back streets after stealing the hot rocks, Mann’s skill as a director is evident, his aesthetics clear. The cinematography, from Adrian Biddle, is rich and dark, the wet streets, the vivid neon, the deep shadows, the intense, driven performances. 

Tangerine Dream provide the pulsating synth-rock score, and it’s a beauty. I was reminded of Scarface, released a couple of years later, and wondered if Brian De Palma was influenced in any way, as there is a certain vibe, both in the look and the sound, that is quite familiar with De Palma’s gangster epic. 

It’s a shame Tuesday Weld isn’t given more to chew on, her Jessie role is pretty thankless. She’s a great actor, and the nuances and intelligence she imparts in her character really demanded moire screen time, more involvement. It is Jessie who gives Frank the impetus to get out, yet when the going gets tough, Frank gives her the coldest shoulder. It’s a borderline tragedy. 

It’s not Michael Mann’s best movie - Heat takes that place on the mantlepiece - but I’m confident in putting it amongst his top three. Like the Coen brothers’ debut, it is that visually and thematically distinctive and impressive. 

Thief two-disc (Theatrical Version and Director's Cut) Blu-ray and DVD is released through Via Vision.

Bonus features include audio commentary from director Michael Mann and lead actor James Caan. 

The Autopsy Of Jane Doe

UK | 2016 | Directed by André Øvredal

Logline: Father and son medical examiners investigate a mysterious murder victim with no apparent death and discover increasingly disturbing signs that a malevolent supernatural force is involved. 

Following the critical success of his Trollhunter found footage horror fantasy hybrid Norwegian Øvredal changes his approach entirely with his third feature and delivers one of the year’s creepiest movies. Whereas as Trollhunter was more of creature feature romp with tongue in cheek, The Autopsy of Jane Doe is definitely a darker and affecting piece of work. This is unbridled nightmare material, and likely to unnerve the most jaded horror fans. It’s also one of the most original horror movies in recent years. 

Austin (Emile Hirsch) and his father Tommy (Brian Cox) work as medical examiners in the family-owned business. Late one night the local Sheriff delivers a young woman’s body who had been discovered in a shallow grave in the basement of a house where several brutal murders had taken place. She is apparently dead, but appears in pristine condition. Austin is due for a date with girlfriend, Emma (Ophelia Lovibond), so dad sends him off, but Austin gets a bad case of the guilts,  so he postpones the date til later in the evening, so he can assist his father and get the cause of death sorted quickly. 

With the two men working together in the underground facility a storm begins to rage above ground. As the corpse can’t be immediately identified she is given the police procedural moniker of “Jane Doe”. Her glazed eyes are milky, and odd sign. She has dirt under her fingernails and toenails. Her tongue has been severed. But this is only the beginning. The night will get darker and the atmosphere of dread will soon turn to abject terror as Jane Doe begins to reveal her true nature, her origin, her purpose. 

Building on classic horror elements Øvredal steadily creates an overwhelmingly ominous vibe. It’s essentially a two-hander, and a chamber piece, as almost the entire movie takes place in the examining room. It’s a superbly executed piece of cinema that could easily have fallen prey to feeling like a filmed play, or a short film padded out to feature length. The sound design is one of the movie’s highlights, especially the punctuation use of a small bell tinkling, tied to the toe of a corpse, a reminder of an old-fashioned method of careful morticians who didn’t want to end up burying a person who wasn’t quite dead yet, as was often the case during plague times. Also excellent is the prosthetic work. 

Cox and Hirsch give excellent performances. Apparently Martin Sheen was originally cast in the father’s role, but had to pull out. Cox is perfect, and I can’t imagine Sheen giving a better performance. Special mention must be made on Olwen Kelly, who plays Jane Doe, laying fully nude and prone on an autopsy table, as it would be easy to describe her role as thankless, however, it is her sustained stillness (she is a yoga expert); her ability to control her body and breathing, and thus, she’s amazing, the most convincing dead body I’ve ever seen in a feature.

The less one knows about The Autopsy of Jane Doe the better. For the trainspotters there is a neat little clue to the nature of the nightmare in the poster art. There are a couple of very effective shocks, and the narrative tightens its screw of dread with consummate control. Best watched late at night, alone, with all the lights off.

Rogue One: A Star Wars Story

US | 2016 | Directed by Gareth Edwards

Logline: A small faction of the Rebel Alliance, lead by a vengeful young woman, attempt to steal the plans for the Empire’s new weapon, the Death Star. 

I left my cynicism at the door when I watched The Force Awakens, episode VII in the Star Wars saga, directed by J.J. Abrams, and I really enjoyed the movie at the time. The more I thought about the movie in the weeks and months that followed the less impressed I was with it. The whole facsimile of episode IV element - and it’s a huge one - weighed more and more heavily. The sheen of the movie turned to floss, the movie began to taste and feel like Hubba Bubba bubblegum, all uber-flavour and great for blowing the bubbles of my youth, but soon enough the flavour was gone and the gum was no longer fun to chew. 

Gareth Edwards, who made Monsters, one of my favourite movies of the past ten years, and who delivered a great Godzilla re-boot a few years ago, is at the helm of this prequel, which dovetails straight into A New Hope like hand in Rebel glove. The story is essentially the brainchild of John Knoll, the special effects whiz from Industrial Light & Magic, who took his cue from the first paragraph of the opening scrawl to A New Hope; “It is a period of civil war. Rebel spaceships, striking from a hidden base, have won their first victory against the evil Galactic Empire. During the battle, Rebel spies managed to steal secret plans to the Empire's ultimate weapon, the Death Star, an armoured space station with enough power to destroy an entire planet.”  

The screenplay is by Chris Weitz and Tony Gilroy, and while Rogue One isn’t a plot-point for plot-point direct copy of A New Hope it does rely heavily on the nostalgia for the original movies, but is that such a bad thing? While its merits as a stand alone movie can be debated, with character punctuation involving certain crucial roles within the Empire, it does provide a wealth of peripheral nods to the original trilogy that will appeal like gems to the more geeky of Star Wars fans, for example, the aggressive ugly mug who later accosts Luke in the Mos Eisley cantina, and the same hologram chess game from onboard the MF, making brief appearances. It is these references that enrich the movie as a whole, and are handled by Edwards with care and intelligence. 

Rogue One is, essentially, an espionage war movie, and rumour has it that a substantial amount of the movie was re-shot, after Disney executives became alarmed with the rough cut Edwards delivered earlier in the year. They told Edwards he’d made a war movie, to which he replied, yes. But apparently that’s not what Disney really wanted. Rogue One is certainly still a movie with a lot of battling going on, but one wonders just how much was actually re-shot. One rumour mill suggested between 40-50%, whilst another source told me he had inside knowledge that up to 80%. That seems excessive, and unrealistic, considering the release date. But something tells me somewhere there is another version of Rogue One that is much darker in tone and probably more violent. Maybe it will become the holy grail of bootlegs amongst Star Wars fans in years to come. It’s always fun and interesting to have those illicit treasures floating around. But I digress … 

One of Rogue One’s key successes, as opposed to Abrams’ super-glossy, ultimately hollow episode, is how close in mood, tone, and its visual style, it is to the original Star Wars movie, Episode IV: A New Hope. There are no wipe edits, John Williams’ legendary score rears its head in just a few scenes, and only the fourth moon of Yavin makes an appearance in the location department, but there is a genuine sense of exhilaration and intrigue which Edwards conjures. Admittedly, at times the sense of humour pokes its head up a little higher than I anticipated, most notably with the character of K-2SO, an Imperial droid who has been acquired and re-programmed for use by the Rebel Alliance. He’s like a cross between C-3PO and Chappie. He’s definitely funny, but the reliance on him for comic relief veers dangerously close to He Who Will Not Be Named for fear of jinxing the movie. 

Performances are solid, with Felicity Jones, Diego Luna, and Ben Mendelsohn (who is really shining in his career of late) standouts, while it’s curious to note just how multi-racial the cast is compared to George Lucas’s original trilogy. The production design is superb, the battle sequences thrilling, and the new locations are spectacular; the security of the Imperial residing in a lush Dubai-like tropical paradise, but a giant Jedi knight rock in the desert, wtf?!

Rogue One will no doubt have its cynics, but I’m proud to say, I’m not on that haters’ boat. Okay, admittedly, I don’t like that they’ve opted for full CGI on a crucial character. It’s the same issue I had with Tron: Legacy. I’d have much preferred an actor who looks the part, rather than attempting to digitally create a character from 1977. It’s all in the eyes. But hey, Rogue One, is awesome sauce. I might even go as far as saying it’s my second favourite movie of the entire saga. Now that’s a rogue move. 

Tonight She Comes

US | 2016 | Directed by Matt Stuertz

Logline: After a girl goes missing, two of her friends, and two strangers, find themselves trapped in a cabin in the woods, and dealing with a demon.

This hipster-looking director, delivering his second feature, is unafraid to twist the tropes, and is not shy at pushing the boundaries of what might be considered that all-too-important indie-mainstream crossover threshold. Tonight She Comes is a wild, unruly beast, and, ultimately, it rewards in such memorable ways that whatever reservations you might have had during its first half hour are torn asunder once the serious shit starts to hit the fan. 

Yes, the first half an hour is a curious affair, filled with stupid, annoying characters and behaviour, and a puerile sense of humour. One wonders if it’s a parody or just something ill-conceived. James (Nathan Eswine) is a rural postman, and his buddy Pete (Adam Hartley), is along for the ride. Meanwhile Ashley (Larissa White) and her friend Lyndsey (Cameisha Cotton) arrive at a lakeside cabin for a little girly r&r, whilst waiting to rendezvous with Kristy (Dal Nicole). But Kristy isn’t feeling herself anymore. 

At the risk of spoiling the fun Tonight She Comes spills along with crude hi-jinx, obscure POVs, and a strange perspective. Just whose story is being told here? Do we really care about these idiots? Or is this all an elaborate ruse by the young writer/director to lure us into a false sense of the absurd, only to pull the shagpile carpet out from under us? Indeed Tonight She Comes is riddled with sly and not-so-sly references, wearing its influences on its sleeve like flair on a uniform. Stuertz is brazen, and goes bolder still, once we’re introduced to the weirdo locals, Francis (Frankie Ray), and his offspring, Felicity (Jenna McDonald), and her older brother Philip (Brock Russell). 

It becomes quickly apparent the cabin family have been up to no good, although they claim to be setting things right. There is a demon afoot, and there will be hell to pay, unless everyone does exactly what Fah-liss-ah-tay says. The clock countdown continues, and the blood starts to flow unabated, and not just arterial either. You’ll wrinkle your nose if you get my cyclic drift. 

Tonight She Comes is a great-looking movie, with high production values, especially the awesome, mostly practical, special effects. The performances from an unknown cast are bang on, but special mention must go to McDonald as bogan daughter, and Ray, as her papa. They deliver the backwoods banter with aplomb. Also of note is the retro-vibed score from Wojciech Golczewski, tapping into the synth-driven suspense with seductive ease. 

It’s a riotous, entertaining assault on the senses, and as the chaos continues to ensue, the audience knows that awesome poster design and its matter-of-fact tagline wasn’t dicking around. Like a red river to a black ocean, this demon is hellbent. Fighting fire with fire seems to be the only option, and it’s getting damn close to midnight. 

Many will probably consider Tonight She Comes to be jumping on the It Follows bandwagon, but this vivid nightmare delivers in spades what It Follows only manages in spoonfuls. It’s short and as coppery-sweet as us True Believers’ like it. I hope it gets a theatrical, because horrorphiles would be served a grand injustice not to see this, loud, on the big screen. 

The Night of the Virgin

La Noche del Virgen | Spain | 2016 | Directed by Roberto San Sebastián

Logline: A desperate young man goes home with an older woman only to find himself caught up in an elaborate and nightmarish birth prophecy. 

You think you’ve seen it all? Oh no, think again. There are still wonderfully dark, festering corners of nightmare filth waiting to be scooped up and flung at the screen, all in the name of extreme entertainment. This is one night you won’t forget in a hurry. Prepare to be shocked, prepare to be offended, prepare to be appalled, but most importantly, prepare to see one of the best horror movies of the year, because this onslaught has its tongue rammed so far into its cheek there’s an ulcer. 

Nico (Javier Bódalo) is at a New Year’s Eve party, waiting to rendezvous with some mates. He invades the personal space of a couple of women on the dance floor, only to be met with a drink flung at him and vomit on his shoes. But then he meets Medea (Miriam Martín), a cougar on a mission, and before he knows it he’s standing in her darkened hallway, all fingers and thumbs. Medea warns him not to step on the cockroaches as it’s bad luck. Crunch. Oops. Too late. This mess is going to come back and haunt him something awful. 

To describe Medea’s abode as unkempt would be a huge understatement. Her bathroom alone makes “The Worst Toilet in Scotland“ look positively pristine, if you know what I mean. But Nico doesn’t really mind. He just wants to get his rocks off, and it seems fairly obvious Medea is up for accommodating his lusty agenda. That’s until she falls asleep on him, and he’s left to his own perverse devices. 

To describe this movie as simply a dark sex comedy would be doing it a grave injustice. This is the kind of oily black, inspired comedy of errors that will appeal to those that get their kicks from the most heinous of gags. If you can imagine the fiendish, absurd extremities of Takashi Miike, Frank Henenlotter, and early Peter Jackson, even Pedro Almodovar, rolled into one gleefully unsavoury, and at times hilarious, delight, then you might get to grips with the wild proclivities of this scatological gem. 

The two central performances are awesome, as it is, essentially, a two-hander. Almost the entire movie takes place in Medea’s apartment, so you could even call the movie a chamber piece. Ha ha, yes! The art direction is superb, and the special effects, courtesy of an outfit called Bacon FX, are outstanding. It’s a triumph of splattery design. 

In fact, I’ve not seen as much bodily fluid ejaculated, projected, discharged, and excreted in a horror movie since, I don’t know when. Keep a barf bag handy, or at least a box of tissues, as you may find yourself feeling the urge to wipe your clammy hands. But it’s all fantastic, nasty fun, as only the Spanish can do. Seriously, do yourself a favour and get weird and dirty with Nico. Real dirty. 

There are losers, and then there are Losers, and Nico is one of the latter. But he is our hero, our champion. It is this pathetic angle that gives The Night of the Virgin its true visceral edge. But, very importantly, make sure you stay to watch the end credits, for during there is a return to the New Year’s Eve television coverage which bookends the narrative, and a particular news story that pulls it all into brilliant perspective. 

Yup, The Night of the Virgin is definitely one of the most outrageous, and original horror movies I’ve seen in many years. 

The Night of the Virgin screens as part of Sydney's A Night Of Horror International Film Festival, Friday, December 2nd, 9pm, Dendy Cinemas Newtown

Threads

UK/Australia | 1984 | directed by Mick Jackson

Logline: The last few months before a nuclear holocaust, the attack on the industrial city of Sheffield, England, and the long-term effects of such an event. 

I first watched this movie when it was originally broadcast on television, which is what it had been produced for, in the mid-80s. Watching it again more than thirty years later very little of what made it so powerful has dated. With the world in the political state that it is, it is as pertinent as ever. A third World War will leave no victors, only a wasteland of terminal-ill survivors, with the poison spreading the world over. 

Although it is often referred to as the UK’s answer to The Day After, which was made the year before, also for television, although it was released in cinemas in some countries outside of the US, Threads was first commissioned by the head of the BBC after he was directly affected by watching the British docudrama The War Game (1965). Mick Jackson had already just worked on a documentary about a possible nuclear holocaust, on an episode of Living Proof, and as such he brought a certain gravitas to the production, essentially expanding on the ideas and scenarios delivered in the A Guide to Armageddon episode. 

The main narrative crux of the movie focuses on two families, the middle-class Becketts and the working class Kemps, who live in the city of Sheffield, in northern England, a city whose primary industries are metal works, coal, and chemical manufacture. Ruth Beckett (Karen Meagher) is set to marry Jimmy Kemp (Reece Dinsdale). We see their courtship in the months leading up to an nuclear attack. The other storyline follows the the Home Office, and its Chief Executive (Michael O’Hagen), and the officials as they follow the escalating exchange between NATO and the Warsaw Pact, the threat of war becoming all too real, and the desperation as several nuclear warheads detonate over England land and sea. 

As one would expect the consequences are catastrophic. Using the 1980 British Government exercise findings known as “Square Leg”, the filmmakers project a series of statistics which are presented as inter-titles - dramatic punctuation, if you will - depicting many things, but chiefly the level of destruction and the number of casualties. Around 17-30 million would be killed, with between 10-20 million unburned corpses left scattered around the country in the aftermath, as the survivors would not be able to dispose of them properly.

After the first month cholera, dysentery, and typhoid would be rife. Looting would be a huge problem. Food stocks and supplies would diminish rapidly. Basically, it would be a return to the Middle Ages, with no foreseeable solution to the ravaged land. The nuclear winter would continue on for decades, and Threads shows us some of the horror up until thirteen years after an attack, with Ruth’s teenage daughter Jane (Victoria O’Keefe) attempting to get by in a very dark and desolate future.

Carl Sagan, who was one of the many consultants on the production, introduced the wider public to the concept of the nuclear winter, and Threads is the first fictional drama to portray such a cataclysmic scenario. The Day After only deals, as the title says, with the immediate aftermath, and is nowhere near as harrowing as what Threads illustrates. 

As the production is several years before the introduction of CGI the use of stock footage from WWII and military archives portrays the effects of nuclear devastation. We’ve seen many of these images before, but it doesn’t diminish their power. Though the exterior production values aren’t very high, but one can see how skilfully Jackson directs the scenes of panic and chaos to bring as much impact. It might seem a bit like a cross between two grungy British dramas, the veteran Coronation Street and cult post-apocalyptic The Survivors, but it’s the fact that Jackson specifically chose unknown actors for his cast, and their naturalistic performances, that brings a Ken Loach realism to the story (unlike the casting of pretty faces, Steve Guttenberg, John Lithgow, JoBeth Williams, and Jason Robards in The Day After).

Very wisely, there is no music used (unlike The Day After, which although used sparingly still jars as emotionally manipulative), however I couldn’t help but conjure the use of Sheffield electronic outfit The Human League and many of their brooding, early, experimental tracks, such as Almost Medieval, Zero as a Limit, Dreams Of Leaving, and The Black Hit of Space, which I would be curious to hear used in context. 

Threads is a bitter message of hopeless grief, and one of the most stark political statements ever made. 

The Ballad of Tam Lin

UK | 1970 | Directed by Roddy McDowell

Logline: An ageing seductress uses her wealth and supernatural wiles to control a brood of young folk, while her favourite, becomes enamoured with a local village girl, and thus becomes the subject of her jealousy. 

"And ance it fell upon a day/A cauld day and a snell/When we were frae the hunting come/That frae my horse I fell/The Queen o Fairies she caught me/In yon green hill to dwell.”

Loosely based on an ancient Scottish ballad, “Tam-Lin”, by Robert Burns, it was the last screenplay of William Squires who wrote for American television. Roddy McDowell turned down the returning role of Cornelius in Beneath the Planet of the Apes to direct his only movie, and after it’s belated US release it vanished, only to surface sporadically on television in a re-cut, re-titled version disowned by McDowell. It wasn’t until 1998 that McDowell’s intended cut of the movie (complete with lengthy intro from Roddy himself) surfaced on VHS, and in recent years this director's cut has been given a restored Blu-ray release.

In this version of the celtic legend a glamorous and mysterious woman, Michaela Cazaret, known affectionately by her entourage as Micky, brings her swinging London set out to her enormous country manor where she indulges them in her games and toys. She has one regular bedfellow, Tom Lynn (Ian McShane), but I’m sure the inference is that she is lovers with them all. She is like a strange, beautiful Mother Hen, and Tom is her strutting peacock. 

Into the picture wanders young Janet (Stephanie Beacham), the daughter of the local vicar, and she takes Tom’s fancy. Now Tom’s heart is aflutter, but his mind is under the lock and key of Ms. Cazaret. No matter how much cognac he swills, he can’t get Janet out his head. Meanwhile Elroy (Richard Wattis), Micky’s aide-de-camp (pun intended), has his eye on the wayward stud. Reporting back any tomfoolery to the mistress of the manor, or, as the US re-cut version refers to her, The Devil’s Widow. 

"And pleasant is the fairy land/But, an eerie tale to tell/Ay at the end of seven years/We pay a tiend to hell/I am sae fair and fu' o fles/I'm feared it be mysel.”

Ian McShane is brilliant in the role of the handsome, hapless Tom Lynn (see the play on the title?). HIs Tom portrays the necessary confidence, and quiet arrogance, superbly. In counterpoint Micky’s vulnerability, her emotional fragility (how much of it is feigned?), works into his groove, then buckles his strut. Whilst the deer-in-the-headlights, butter-wouldn’t-melt innocence of Janet is the river running between them. Tom plunges in, Micky throws in piranha, can Janet save Tom? 

For the trainspotters there are several young faces in the support cast - Micky’s harem - that will bring a smile. Keep a look out for Joanna Lumley, Sinéad Cusack (several years before she married Jeremy Irons), Hammer girl Jenny Hanley, and Bruce Robinson (yes, the director of Withnail and I!) Also of note is the score by Stanley Myers, and several folk songs performed by Pentangle. Oh, and a couple of fabulous cars to boot! 

Very much influenced by, and a fractured, satirical reflection of the swinging London of the late 60s, coupled with a dark, insidious Wicker Man edge, this tale of greed, jealousy, cruel manipulation and the power of true love, is a nightmare dressed in the threads of a fairy tale. Apparently a tribute, a gesture of love, to legendary star Ava Gardner, who was in her late 40s when she made this. A curious gesture, indeed. 

"But the night is Halloween, lady/The morn is Hallowday/Then win me, win me, an ye will/For weel I wat ye may.”

During the movie’s first half the elements of a traditional horror movie are barely apparent, with the scent of its romantic interludes seemingly overpowering any foul stench, but following Janet’s declaration and bombshell to Micky, and it’s all on for young and old. During the second half, and especially in the movie’s last twenty minutes or so, Roddy pulls out all the stops, showing great technique, and the movie becomes as intense a nightmare as Don Siegel’s Invasion of the Body Snatchers. 

It’s a shame McDowell never directed any further movies, as he showed a distinctive style (I loved his use of stills during the courtship of Tom and Janet by the stream), and great understanding of the poetic, both light and dark, power of cinema narrative. Indeed, Tam Lin is a very atmospheric film! I believe the interfering by the studio and executive producers brought McDowell such frustration and despair that he vowed never to direct again. So we are left with just one curious, peculiar, rare gem, that must be savoured like a fine lilac wine. 

“Out then spak the Queen o Fairies/And an angry woman was she/Shame betide her ill-far'd face/And an ill death may she die/For she's taen awa the bonniest knigh/In a' my companie."

Next Door

Naboer | Norway/Denmark/Sweden | 2005 | Directed by Pål Sletaune

Logline: A man who has recently been dumped by his girlfriend becomes embroiled in the strange and seductive behaviour of his two neighbours, only to find his grip on reality disintegrating. 

The word “naboer” in Norwegian means “neighbours” and it’s a more accurate description of the movie, but accuracy is not what this movie intends to deliver. This is a movie about fractured perspective and delusion, it’s fantasy vs reality, dream into nightmare. It’s a superbly constructed thriller body with a sharp spine of horror. Hitchcock meets Polanski meets Lynch and all of them getting on like a house on fire. 

John (Kristoffer Joner) is visited by his ex, Ingrid (Anna Bache-Wiig), who has come to collect some of her stuff she left in his first storey apartment. She is wary of John, and when her new boyfriend Åke (Michael Nyqvist) honks his horn she waves to him from the window to signal that she is not being threatened. John is bewildered, and insists he would never do anything to harm Ingrid. Ingrid reminds John of his brutal fantasy. 

John is approached by his next door neighbour Anne (Cecilie Mosli), who asks for his assistance in moving heavy furniture inside her apartment. She’s a bit odd. John then meets Anne’s friend Kim (Julia Schacht), who is also a bit strange. The two women seem to know something John doesn’t. Anne slips away, and Kim tries to seduce John with sadomasochistic behaviour. John gets carried away, and things start to get messy. Very messy, indeed. 

Next Door is very much a chamber piece. It operates like a piece of theatre, but is undeniably cinematic in the way it is executed. Almost the entire movie takes place inside John and his neighbours’ apartments and in the corridor outside. Like something out of a Lynch movie, the hallway is curved, bending into the unknown, an interior “lost highway”. Like a Polanski movie it is John’s perspective that the audience is locked into, John’s growing unease, his climbing dread, an overwhelming sense that everything is becoming slow and steadily unhinged. 

Just who are these two women?!

Sletaune’s screenplay is tight as a drum, and he elicits sensational performances from his small cast, especially Joner and Schacht, and fans of the The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo movies will recognise Nyqvist. The psychosexual thematic content is provocative and edgy. I’m surprised Hollywood hasn’t already remade it for the American palette, it screams to be dominated, but Tinseltown would never be able to make it as good as Sletaune has, unless he’s seduced in the same way George Sluizer was after he made the original Dutch-language The Vanishing, and then five years later remaking it for Hollywood and completely compromising the ending. I shudder to think how Next Door could/would be compromised and ruined. 

Next Door’s labyrinthine setting, both literally and figuratively, works wonders; it is claustrophobic, yet curiously expansive. As John’s mind begins to fragment, he fumbles desperately with the truth, scrambling to fit the pieces of his reality jigsaw back together again, only to realise... he hasn’t realised anything. The mind is a fragile, yet malleable thing. Indeed, some doors should never be opened, warns the movie’s tagline. And once opened, they can never be closed. 

Do yourself a favour, find this movie (ignore the lame cover art), and watch it, the revelation is a cracker. 

Jigoku

Hell | Japan | 1960 | Directed by Nobuo Nakagawa

Logline: A group of sinners involved in interconnected tales of murder, revenge, duplicity, and adultery all meet at the Gates of Hell.

“Hear me! You who in life piled up sin upon sin will be trapped in Hell forever. Suffer! Suffer! This vortex of torment will whirl for all eternity.”

Shiro (Shigeru Amachi), is engaged to Yukio (Utako Mitsuya), the daughter of his theology professor. One night he is driving with his college colleague, Tamura (Yoichi Numata), and suggests a short cut down a dark country road. Unfortunately they hit a drunk yakuza, and Tamura, who is driving, decides to leave the scene, insisting no one saw the crime. Shiro and Tamura read in the newspaper that the gangland member has died of his injuries, but there were no witnesses. But, there were. The mother of the yakuza. She, and the girlfriend, conspire to seek revenge on the two men that perpetrated the crime. 

So we have two sins presented; murder and vengeance. But there are more to come. By the halfway point of the movie there are several others whose paths will cross, whose sins have been exposed, and whose torment will be just as ghastly. For it is these folk who will suffer the various lower realms of the underworld, in the movie’s final third, which is depicted as a surreal, phantasmagorical landscape inspired by the infamous hell-scroll paintings, the unique stylistics of Butoh theatre, and embracing the ero-guro-nansensu of Japanese ciné lore!

The movie’s opening title sequence is mesmerising in its own absurdist way, heavily stylised with painted credits on cards, primary colour filters, and Shintoho nudies posed on either side, while a director’s voice calls, “Action!” A black streak of satire throbs quietly in the background of the entire movie. The mise-en-scene and cinematography are nothing short of extraordinary. The production design and art direction is stunning, and the special effects are terrific - the gore gags alone are the first of their kind, pre-dating Herschell Gordon Lewis by a few years. 

There is a curious perspective on morality and roles at play in Jigoku. Just who is Tamura, really? He materialises on several occasions out of the blue, and behaves with a knowing smile, wearing unusual colours (compared to everyone else). It’s as if he is a spook for the Devil, but then he becomes caught up in the same undoing as everyone else. He admits to be being evil, even calls himself a demon. But his intentions are blurred. 

And what are we to make of poor Shiro? He is the central protagonist, as bewildered by everything as we the audience, and yet, he is more innocent than guilty, so why should he be punished so? Perhaps he represents that evil-by-association element, of which he is most definitely tainted to. He hasn’t chosen his friends wisely, and he could’ve been more proactive at the right moments. But hey, dams da breaks. You make your futon, you sleep in it. That’s the way the fortune cookie crumbles. 

Nakagawa had made eight other horror movies during the 1950s, and this was to be the last. Like some kind of mutant take on the Faust fable treated as a lurid, oh so lurid, study of seeking salvation, of the lack thereof, due to the overwhelming nature of sin to shroud our mortal lives. There is no other movie quite like Jigoku, way ahead of its time (in its own universe, even!), and yet, intrinsically locked in its own present, on the crest of the Japanese new wave, a pioneer of extreme cinema (I’m sure Takashi Miike learned a thing or two from this movie), and an adventurous step sideways from the familiar kaidan-geki movies so popular in Japanese film history.

Jigoku is not meant to be seen as some kind of theological treatise, it is to be experienced simply as pure, expressionist cinema; as striking, bizarre, and powerful as the oneiric tapestry and inescapable dread of true nightmares. 

Hell or High Water

US | 2016 | Directed by David Mackenzie

Logline: A divorced father and his ex-con older brother resort to a desperate scheme in order to save their family's ranch in West Texas.

The last movie I saw of Mackenzie’s was Young Adam, back in 2003. He’s made seven features since then, and this one is an absolute cracker, I’m sure his doubt best yet. It’s a modern-day Western with noir undertones. The script (which had been kicking around on the un-produced hot list since 2011) is written by actor-cum-writer/director Taylor Sheridan, who penned Sicario, and it’s a blistering tale of desperation unraveling, infused with gritty violence, and punctuated by sharp dialogue, shot from the hip. 

Toby (Chris Pine) has hooked up with his loose cannon brother Tanner (Ben Foster), who’s just a year out of prison and deadset on making trouble for himself. Toby has bridges to repair with his two adolescent sons, and the best way he knows how is to make sure the homestead and the oil beneath it becomes their property. To do so he needs some serious cash, and he needs it delivered to the bank before the foreclosure. This is imperative, hell or high water. 

Tanner and Toby begin robbing local banks, collecting small, but tidy sums, nothing too greedy, that way they’re not ending up with traceable dough. But Sheriff Hamilton (Jeff Bridges), on the eve of retirement, becomes hellbent on sorting these lads out, especially after the robbing spree drama escalates. Hamilton’s deputy Parker (Gil Birmingham) has to endure Hamilton’s crass jokes for a few more days. Toby has to put up with Tanner’s inherent obnoxiousness for about the same. 

Sporting three high calibre performances, Hell or High Water canters along steadily, providing cattle prods at all the right spots. It’s a beautifully paced thriller, and the chemistry between Pine and Foster is fantastic, neither have been better. Bridges pulls out a gnarly, grizzled, and oh-so-stubborn pearler of a performance, arguably a career best, and it’s the perfect, languid counterpoint to the hot shots he’s pursuing. Special nod to three small roles; the sassy diner waitress, Jenny Ann (Katy Mixon), the no bullshit T-Bone waitress (Margaret Bowman), and the oddly uncredited role of Emily (Melanie Papalia), who attempts to seduce Toby at the casino. 

Hell or High Water is one of those movies you sense how the story is going to play out, and you’re looking forward to it, yet the slight curve it takes is incredibly rewarding. The final scene is masterfully handled, and it fits like grubby hand in cowboy glove. Sheridan and Mackenzie are not trying to reinvent the wheel, they just know, like the best horror filmmakers, that if you put the right actors in place, give them some meat to chew on, gift them authentic locations, and shield them with atmospheric music, and you’ve got yourself a sure-fire winner.  

Along with Blood Father, Hell or High Water is easily one of the best non-horror genre flicks this year. Forget the old school histrionics of The Hateful Eight, this is where the real dust is being kicked up. Another fave to add to my list. I smell major accolades on their way. 

Dread

UK/US | 2009 | Directed by Anthony DiBlasi

Logline: Three American college students undertake a project tackling people’s perception of fear only to have one of the students unravel and explode. 

Clive Barker’s original short story, “Dread”, which is included in his Books of Blood Volume 2, is substantially different from the version adapted for the big screen by director Anthony DiBlasi, and the differences, especially the ending, have had many Barker fans in a quiet rage. I’ve not read the short story, but I’m aware of the dramatically different direction that original narrative takes.I discovered this after watching DiBlasi’s movie, which made me certainly very curious, especially as Barker is one of the producers onboard the movie production, but it didn’t change my opinion of the movie. 

Stephen (Jackson Rathbone), a student on an American university campus, is about to undertake a cinema thesis, and he’s befriended by Quaid (Shaun Evans), another student. Quaid convinces Stephen to do a joint project, recording interviews with subjects about their greatest fears, and the dread that eats away when they think about such fears. Stephen asks his colleague Cheryl (Hanne Steen), an editor whom he fancies, if she’ll come onboard, which she does. The three begin interviewing subjects, but the results aren’t what Quaid is after. He wants much more grittier stories. 

Quaid has a big skeleton in his closet. Well, actually, more like a demon. He reveals his childhood horror to Stephen, after he learns of Stephen’s childhood loss. Cheryl comes clean with a tale of woe of her own. Now we’re getting somewhere thinks Quaid, but the best is yet to come. Y’see, Quaid is a fairly traumatised individual, and he needs to work through some issues. As a young boy he witnessed the brutal slaying of his parents at the hands of a psychopath wielding a sharp axe. This double murder is the movie’s opening scene, and it packs a sensational wallop. 

But there are more wallops to come. Dread has a nasty left hook, and there are a couple of blows that are almost sucker punches. I must hand it to DiBlasi, he’s delivered a seriously good horror movie. He understands the use of tension and suspense and, more importantly, he understands the power of a moment of extreme violence - a gore gag, if you will - and that it is heavily reliant on the editing and lighting. Dread uses both to very good effect in a number of set-pieces. 

There is a fourth, pivotal character, Abby (Laura Donnelly), another student, a very pretty girl afflicted with a huge black birthmark that covers half her face. She has a crush on Stephen, but she is crushed by her own insecurity issues. Quaid, it seems, has an agenda. And following a violent outburst, everything will soon collide. As the movie is an English-American co-production, there are a few English actors amongst the leads. Evans and Donnelly are both British, each with strong native accents (Liverpudlian and Irish, respectively), yet they sport bang on American accents, I had no idea, and I’m usually pretty good at spotting them. All the leads deliver excellent performances, I couldn’t single out anyone. 

Admittedly there is an element of the far-fetched that begins to creep into the story fabric, but not enough to ruin the enjoyment of a thoroughly gripping tale, a truly nightmarish scenario that only comes to the harshest of light in the movie’s final quarter. If you think you know how this one’s going to pan out, think again. This is one for the True Believers. 

Dread was picked up by After Dark Horrorfest and released as one of their “8 Films To Die For” in 2010. It is up with the best of the series, alongside The Abandoned (2006), Wicked Little Things (2006), Borderland (2007), Autopsy (2008), The Brøken (2008), and two Aussie ones, Dying Breed (2008) and Lake Mungo (2008). 

Angst

Austria | 1983 | Directed by Gerald Kargl

Logline: A violent sociopath is released from prison and immediately breaks into a secluded home where he inflicts his sadistic, murderous fantasies on the three occupants. 

It’s taken me the better part of twenty years to finally see this movie, as it has not been an easy film to find. It was banned in many countries for a long time, so it existed in a bootleg foreign-language form, and only in the past couple of years has it been officially available in a version with English subtitles. It is an extraordinary piece of cinema, far more powerful than I anticipated. I was expecting a dingy, grimy, relentless assault. The kind of unctuous experience that would leave me feeling like I needed a shower, not too dissimilar to the effect of watching Maniac (1980), for the first time. It was relentless alright, but there was a minimalism and unique atmosphere that was undeniably poetic. 

Erwin Leder plays the man at the centre of the movie. He is unnamed, credited simply as The Psychopath, and he is certainly a man deeply unhinged. The movie was titled Schizophrenia in France when it was released on Blu-ray in 2012, but the original title, which means "anxiety" in English, translates as “fear” in Austrian. This double-edged sword fits the movie snugly, for this is a portrait of moral desolation, a study of extreme violence, of isolation and loneliness. It is, without a doubt, one of the most powerful depictions of the intense drive, the erratic behaviour, the impulsiveness, and inherent nihilism of the serial killer, and Leder delivers a blistering performance. 

Kargl wrote the screenplay with his cinematographer and editor, Zbigniew Rybczński. In the wake of the movie’s controversy resulting in financial issues for his follow-up project Kargl abandoned directing features, and as such Angst is the only movie he made. Instead he made commercials, documentaries and educational films. Rybczński, on the other hand, went on to direct music videos for artists including Art Of Noise, Simple Minds, Pet Shop Boys, and many more. His extraordinary camerawork on Angst has to be seen to be believed, it is nothing short of revelatory. 

In fact, one of the most impressive things about Angst is just how modern the vibe is. The visual stylistic in which it is mostly shot, frequently from a roving crane - that feels like a drone - and also from a body-cam strapped to Leder, gives the movie a distinctly contemporary feel, much like the Steadicam used in Come and See, another movie that feels ahead of its time, despite it being set in World War II. Then there’s the pulsating and percussive electronic score by Tangerine Dream’s Klaus Schulze. 

Angst was definitely ahead of its time in terms of its technique. Combined with its bold premise, and uncompromising narrative, including several brutal murders, one in particular that left such a bitter taste in the director’s mouth that he insisted on darkening the image during the killing scene on the Blu-ray release in order to dilute the horrific nature of the scene. 

There are two versions of Angst, one is considered the director’s cut and the other is considered the distributor’s version. The international distributor for the home video release insisted on a prologue sequence that would clarify the sociopathic and murderous background of the killer to the audience before his release from prison, rather than the subjective point-of-view from the killer which is relayed in bits and pieces by voice-over narration during the course of the movie. 

The director’s cut begins with the convicted killer’s release from prison, having murdered his mother, which is explained in voice-over, but not shown. The prologue is entirely necessary. But the director’s cut also includes the darkened scene of the murder of the young woman (Silvia Rabenreither) . By altering the visual impact of this scene Kargl is essentially doing what Steven Spielberg and George Lucas did with E.T. and Star Wars, respectively; they retroactively re-stamped a new moral view, and in doing so ruined two very powerful scenes that spoke volumes about the respective characters and the overall tone of the movie. 

Angst is a gruelling experience for those unused to such extremism, but it’s a brilliant and unique piece of cinema and aesthetically rewarding for cinephiles and horrorphiles prepared to go the distance. I’m not surprised it is one of Gaspar Noe’s most influential films, he refers to it as “the rarest masterpiece of cinema.” 

Don't Breathe

US | 2016 | Directed by Fede Alvarez

Logline: A trio of young burglars break into the house of a blind man who they suspect is hoarding a fortune in cash, only to discover he isn’t quire the invalid they anticipated.

In the follow-up to his excellent Evil Dead re-imagining the South American director teams up again with screenwriter Rodo Sayagues for an original take on the Wait Until Dark premise. The result is a superbly-paced, brutal thriller with a horror streak that kicks in during the second half. Alvarez is a talented director in terms of his handling of suspense and mise-en-scene, but the screenplay is riddled with annoying inconsistencies and discrepancies. 

Rocky (Jane Levy), her boyfriend Money (Daniel Zovatto), and friend Alex (Dylan Minnette) are experienced thieves, breaking into wealthy Detroit homes, and stealing jewellery, expensive apparel, and cash, when they can find it, and they have no qualms about trashing the homes they burglarise. Rocky comes from a less-than-ideal home environment, with a white trash mother and boyfriend. She wants to take her kid sister and escape to a better life. She agrees to take part in once last robbery. 

They get a tip-off on a loner (Stephen Lang) living in a desolate part of the city who is apparently sitting on a load of cash. Sounds like the perfect crime is waiting for them to perpetrate. Scoping the man’s house they see that he’s blind and has a big brutish dog. All the other homes in the street are derelict. They wait until nightfall to drug the dog, infiltrate the house, drug the owner, and locate the safe. Everything seems to be running smoothly. 

Of course, everything quickly goes pear-shaped, and the three teenagers find themselves at the mercy of a war veteran with more than his fair share of wounds, and perhaps a few skeletons in his closet. It’s gonna be a long night. 

Whereas Wait Until Dark focused on an innocent blind woman trying to survive a home invasion, Don’t Breathe focuses on several naive thieves trying to survive an experienced soldier defending his turf. You know what these young guys are doing is very wrong, but you can’t help but feel for them once the shit starts to hit the fan. Alvarez has fun with the cat-and-mouse game, and then ramps up the shock factor in the movie’s last half an hour. Belief needs to be suspended somewhat, but it’s certainly what gives Don’t Breathe the horror cajones. 

Levy, who played Mia in Evil Dead, is fantastic in the central role, and certainly a talent to watch as her career takes off. Lang provides the perfect counterpoint, equally charismatic, but glazed and huge. Zovatto and Minnette are solid, but the movie definitely belongs to Levy and Lang. 

Now as much as I enjoyed Don’t Breathe, and it’s easily one of the most effective cinematic thrillers of recent years, there were some very annoying holes in the writing. I can’t discuss them without revealing spoilers, suffice to say, they have bugged the hell out of me. One involves the capacities of what a blind man would be able to achieve, and the other involves inadequate police work. One is revealed early on in the movie and the other is revealed at movie’s end. 

If there is a sequel, and let’s assume there will be one since the $10m movie has made close to $100m at the box office, then all belief will need to be suspended big time. If they don’t make a sequel, then the movie sits comfortably as a great exercise in suspense. Oh, and one other thing, I’m really not digging this trend for horror movies to be given pseudo-meta titles such as You’re Next, Don’t Breathe, and the upcoming Get Out. Sinister and Insidious were bad enough, but this is just flat out lazy. 

Green Room

US | 2015 | Directed by Jeremy Saulnier

Logline: A cash-strapped punk band find themselves trapped and fighting for their lives following an incident at their gig in a remote neo-Nazi venue.

Filmmaker Saulnier made his first feature, Murder Party, on the smell of a bloodied handkerchief. Six years later, with the help of crowd-sourcing and shrewd financing, he delivered one of the standout movies of recent years, Blue Ruin, a very grim study of revenge and violence executed with the kind of assured panache that reminded me of the great directors of the 70s. There was much expectation on what would be his difficult third feature. 

But I have a confession to make. I first saw Green Room at the Sitges Film Festival in October last year. The movie-watching schedule for Sitges is exhausting, especially when you’re also doing a lot of networking and drinking. The session for Green Room was a late one, and I didn’t fare too well, nodding off frequently, and even having to make an emergency slash during a crucial part of the movie (I ended up missing one of the gore set-pieces!) In the end my memory of the movie was that it wasn’t anywhere near as impressive as Blue Ruin, but in the months after I had to remind myself that the experience of it had been severely handicapped. 

Watching it a second time recently I discovered I had missed far more of it than I realised. The movie is an excellent chamber piece, a thriller with a strong backbone of horror. I still think Blue Ruin is a more powerful and resonant narrative, but Green Room packs serious punch. I also still have reservations with the casting of Patrick Stewart as the central villain, Darcy. He is forever etched as Captain Picard and Professor X, I couldn’t quite remove those characters from my mind enough to engage him as the scheming, ruthless owner of the skinhead club. 

The rest of the cast are solid and includes great performances from Imogen Poots as Amber, Anton Yelchin (R.I.P.) as Pat, and Alia Shawkat as Sam. Also of note is Macon Blair (the lead in Blue Ruin) playing Picard’s, er, I mean Darcy’s right hand man, and a bunch of unknowns playing the neo-Nazi thugs. If Darcy had been played by an unknown Green Room’s tone of menace would’ve been lifted tenfold. 

One of the elements that stood out so strongly in Blue Ruin was Saulnier’s attention to the graphic realism and sudden impact of violence. Once again he displays a Scorsese-like punch with the ultra-violence; Green Room sports some truly savage and horrific injuries, made disturbingly realistic, although it must be said, there is no way Pat would be able to endure his extreme wounds for so long without passing out from nerve damage and loss of blood. But hey. 

Just as there was a sadistic streak of jet-black humour that run like an dangerous undercurrent though much of Blue Ruin, there is the same malevolent comedic tone hissing and spitting in the background of Green Room. It’s a very unique sense of humour and one that will continue to give Saulnier the kudos he so obviously owns. Along with a handful of other contemporary directors, such as Ben Wheatley and Jeff Nichols, Saulnier is carving his own way into a great new wave of savvy, fearless, idiosyncratic directors who are delivering powerful and original pieces of cinema.

Oh, and for the record, I reckon Pat's Desert Island Band is The Police.  

Alice, Sweet Alice

US | 1976 | Directed by Alfred Sole

Logline: After a young girl is murdered during her first communion, her strange and withdrawn older sister becomes the main suspect.

Alfred Sole isn’t the only notable horror director who started his feature career in the adult movie industry, there’s Abel Ferrara and Wes Craven, even Francis Coppola made a softie before Roger Corman offered him the chance to direct Dementia 13. Sole only directed four movies, the other notable one being the unctuous Tanya’s Island with Vanity rejecting her abusive lover for the affections of a huge ape. But I digress. 

Alice, Sweet Alice was originally released as Communion, a title Sole fought hard to keep, but due to copyright issues which resulted in the original studio dropping the movie from its distribution schedule, it was picked up by another company who feared the general public would confuse it for being a Christian film. Curiously, the title was inspired from a line in a Catholic publication, and it’s Catholicism which has its feathers seriously ruffled by the movie’s premise. Alice, Sweet Alice is a murder mystery pinned by religious piousness. 

Alice (Paula Sheppard) is a troubled twelve-year-old. Her eight-year-old sister Karen (Brooke Shields in her feature debut) is about to have her first holy communion, and Alice is jealous of her mother’s attention on her younger sister. She behaves badly, frightening her sister by wearing a mask, and generally acting up. She becomes the centre of attention when her sister is strangled to death in the church by a figure wearing the same mask just prior to the ceremony, and Alice is, quite justifiably, the main suspect. 

What unfolds is essentially a whodunit, and many critics over the years have pointed out how similar in atmosphere, tone, and mise-en-scene the movie is to the Italian gialli, even saying Alice, Sweet Alice is the closest American movie to a genuine giallo. But not only in its design, many of its cast have that striking European look, from Linda Miller as the highly strung mother Catherine, to Mildred Clinton as Mrs. Tredoni, the housekeeper for Father Tom (Rudolph Willrich), and even Paula Sheppard. Sheppard’s casting is particular fascinating, as she was nineteen at the time of filming. Although its obvious she has a young woman’s figure and voice, it is her unusually short stature and her round baby face that allows her to play the role of adolescent Alice. Her contrasting young and mature physicality gives her a compelling visual edge, one that Sole uses to great effectiveness. It’s a shame, Sheppard made Liquid Sky in 1982 and then abandoned her acting career.

The movie is set in the early 1960s, but there isn’t much, apart from the cars and Catherine’s hair style, that date stamp the story. It is definitely the giallo-esque qualities of the movie that make it far more memorable than other murder mysteries of the period, even if it isn't that scary. Sole’s wonderful use of widescreen and closeup compositions, and some of the editing, are very much of the gialli school of technique, as are the brutal kitchen knife attacks. Bill Lustig was one of the special effects guys, and he would go on to direct Maniac five years later. 

It’s curious then that Sole remarked that he had not watched any gialli, but openly admitted to being influenced by Don’t Look Now, Les Diaboliques, and the thrillers of Hitchcock. I’m surprised Alice, Sweet Alice hasn’t been remade. It was re-released theatrically in the US in a cut version in 1981, under the title Holy Terror, and to cash in on Brooke Shields fame. For nearly twenty years it was bootlegged from television screenings, until finally Anchor Bay released it officially on VHS in 1997, and then DVD a couple of years after that.