Loma Lynda: The Red Door

US | 2008 | Directed by Jason Bognacki

Logline: A desperate woman descends into a fantasy nightmare world imagining her disturbed reality as two separate alternate versions of herself.

It appears as a forty-minute descent into the fractured, tortured, delusional mind of Fabi (Becky Altringer), an obese woman in an abusive relationship with a psychopath who goes by the name of Skylar (David Fine), the evil brother of Bob from Twin Peaks, pock-marked with piercing, oily pools for eyes.

A boulevard of broken dreams, the sunset strip where the sun has long gone down and the strip has been beaten. Tinseltown in a dark and heavy rain, but dry as a desert bone, and the birds of prey are hovering. These Hollywood dreams have become a nightmare. 

Has Fabi conjured two alternate beautiful, but no less damaged versions of herself; Loma (Aline Avakian), whose eyes are perpetually censored in some kind of strange shield of identity from the fourth wall, and Lynda (Iglesias Estefania), a voluptuous dark velvet woman who falls into the same tenebrous pit of snakes as her doppelganger.

Or is it Lynda’s distorted minds eye that we witness this perverse, yet seductive slide. This is an oneiric realm reminiscent of David Lynch, Alejandro Jodorowsky, and Dario Argento; a giallo-esque ciné fabric that is torn asunder by its own darkened dream weavings.

Neither Lynda, nor Loma, ever utters a word; a striking, undulating visual narrative, and a resonating soundtrack mostly drive the film, with Skylar’s voice puncturing the serenity with musings of domestic violence and stolen identity. Immorality dances with mortality.

Auteur Bognacki has created this compelling and enigmatic teaser, and has since completed another extended short, Beyond the Red Door, soon to be unleashed, forming the second half of what will become an 80-minute feature movie, The Red Door. I can’t wait to experience the fully fleshed psychogenic fugue of Loma Lynda, as she attempts to escape her reality and pass through the phantasy frame of the red door into some kind of blissful, tragic oblivion. 

I Spit On Your Grave 2

US | 2013 | Directed by Stephen R. Monroe

Logline: After a young aspiring model accepts a photo opportunity and is raped and left for dead she seeks savage revenge.

I was both intrigued, but admittedly highly skeptical, about a sequel to a remake of one of the more notorious exploitation movies of the past forty years, I Spit On Your Grave. I was intrigued because I thought the remake from 2010 was a surprisingly effective and well-made entry in that questionable of acquired sub-genre tastes, the rape-revenge flick. I was highly skeptical because I wondered what on earth could be brought to the table that hadn’t already been.

Stephen R. Monroe is a talented director, but why he chose to tackle the same grim subject matter twice is curiously indulgent. The only notable differences being the woman in the first is a struggling writer whilst the woman in the second is a struggling model, and the first movie takes place in rural upstate New York, whilst the second starts in New York City but spends most of the time Bulgaria. 

There are the redneck hillbillies vs. Euro sex trade contrast, but that’s tenuous. At the end of the long dark night these are movies about three very base things: humiliation, torture, and revenge. The rape-revenge movie has to balance the seesaw just right otherwise it becomes questionable in terms of its nightmare and pay-off. Not many get it right. Abel Ferrara’s Ms. 45 (1981, a.k.a. Angel Of Vengeance) and I’ll Never Die Alone (2007) are two movies balance the tone, dramatic narrative, and pay-off.

I’m not a fan of Meir Zarchi’s original from 1978, in fact I found in a particularly inept piece of filmmaking in terms of dramatic narrative, horror atmosphere, and performance, but there are scores of fans. I’m a fan of the remake; it’s a much better scripted, directed, and acted movie, with solid production values. I do have an issue with the victim’s abrupt change of character enabling her to become a killing machine, suddenly able to construct and execute a multitude of elaborate booby traps in order to exact her revenge. Indeed these are dishes best served cold, and in both the remake and its sequel serves them mighty chilled. 

Curiously I Spit On Your Grave 2 nods its story credit head once again to Meir Zarchi’s original, so it’s not so much a sequel, but just another remake. It begs the question, why do it all over again? A more interesting sequel would involve gender reversal so that a young male model is manipulated, deceived, drugged, and then brutally tortured and sodomised by a group of female thugs armed with extreme sex “toys”. But no, instead we have another just beautiful young woman …

It’s particularly hard to believe in the case of the sequel that Katie’s abductors manage to get her from NYC to Bulgaria without a hitch. And it’s also very difficult to believe that a woman so badly beaten and traumatised would, within a day or so, have the strength, courage, and savvy to track down her assailants, overwhelm them and commit multiple murder as if on some kind of get out of jail free card.

But hey, those quibbles aside I Spit On Your Grave 2 is above average in terms of its production values and direction, and performances, especially Jemma Dallender as Katie (bearing a striking resemblance to Zoë Lund from Ms. 45), Joe Absolom as Ivan, and Mary Stockley as Ana, are strong. The revenge acts aren’t as extreme as I was hoping for, although the “vice” hits suitably below the belt.

I Spit On Your Grave 2 doesn’t have the same sustained tension as Monroe’s first remake, but as far as unnecessary remakes go, it’s a savage cut well above the rest. 

I Spit On Your Grave 2 is released in Australia on Blu-ray and DVD by Anchor Bay Entertainment o October 16th. 

The Conspiracy

Canada | 2012 | Directed by Christopher MacBride

Logline: Two intrepid filmmakers embark on a documentary mission to uncover the truth behind a secret society and find themselves in danger.

Conspiracy theories keep the world afloat, but increasingly the boat is rocked, and for some it is most definitely sinking. That the world’s ultimate power rests in the hands of just a few is the most widely spread conspiracy theory, and this brethren is pushing steadfast for a “new world order”. Every few years or so the world is distracted by another conspiracy, usually some kind of ominous catastrophe, such as “9/11”, whilst the ancient conspirators continue to plough on, digging deeper, shaking more hands.

Aaron (Aaron Poole) and Jim (Jim Gilbert) are making a documentary about a conspiracy nut called Terrance G. (Alan C. Peterson), who lives in a small downtown Manhattan apartment covered floor to ceiling with newspaper clippings. Terrance spends his time both mapping out degrees of separation between suspicious incidents, Government legislation, world events, and people of interest, and ranting through a loudspeaker on the street or in a city park.

Then Terrance vanishes.

Aaron and Jim take it upon themselves, and as a duty to their documentary, to find out what happened. They are introduced to the Mithras mythology, and to a very old secret society known as Tarsus. Soon enough they are equipped with tiny hidden cameras attached to their ties, and are infiltrating a clandestine event via acquired underground information.

Of course, it all goes terribly awry.

Christopher MacBride has fashioned a mockumentary, but this is no laughing matter. What begins as a genuine documentary (albeit faux) then segues into a found footage nightmare movie. The tension is ramped up, and the suspense during the movie’s final fifteen minutes is as palpable as The Blair Witch Project (1999). This is one conspiracy with frightening echoes of ancient ritualistic sacrifice.

Great use of location shooting, and solid performances, especially that of Aaron Poole, whom was excellent in the recent Last Will and Testament of Rosalind Leigh (2012). Despite guessing the denouement well in advance, I was still pleasantly surprised at the tweak MacBride gave it, which fueled the movie’s original premise, and provided a mysterious edge to end on.

The Conspiracy DVD is released on September 18 by Accent Film Entertainment.

The Conjuring

US | 2013 | Directed by James Wan

Logline: Two paranormal investigators help to free a family terrorised by a demonic force inhabiting their farmhouse.

James Wan is the Australian boy done good in Hollywood. First was the Saw (2004) franchise he created with screenwriter/actor Leigh Whanell, then Insidious (2010), and now The Conjuring, a true story that’s been kicking around Tinseltown for the past twenty years or more, has gone gangbusters at the box office. Made for a modest $US13m or so, it’s reaped more than $US120m. Surely Wan must have the keys to the city. So what’s he doing next? Fast and Furious 7. But I digress.

The Warren Files (the movie’s working title) were the work of married couple Ed and Lorraine Warren. Apparently the case that involved the Perron family and their Rhode Island farmhouse in 1973 was the most supernaturally malevolent case they had ever investigated. It certainly makes for a creepy-as-hell movie.

The screenplay by twin brothers Chad and Carey Hayes is a solid number, up until the very end, when the most disappointing excuse for a happy ending serves up a family beachside memory as the saviour of the day. It’s a hasty, very lazy, and for the horrorphiles who’ve enjoyed the atmospheric and genuinely unnerving events up that point, real cop-out. Since when did the truth get in the way of a good horror movie? They should’ve taken inspiration from the very enjoyable, and surprisingly downbeat Sinister (2012).

The production values of the movie are high, the casting is excellent, and the performances of all are impressive; Patrick Wilson as Ed Warren, Vera Farmiga as Lorraine, Lily Taylor as Carolyn Perron, Ron Livingston as her husband Roger, and their five daughters, Andrea (Shanley Caswell), Nancy (Hayley McFarland), Christine (Joey King), Cindy (Mackenzie Foy), and April (Kyla Deaver).

The excellent score from Joseph Bishara is one of the movie’s standout elements. Curious to note that Bishara plays the demonic figure Bathsheba Sherma. In Insidious he portrayed the Lipstick Demon, and he also scored that movie.

Wan has made an old-fashioned horror movie relying more on a creeping sense of doom, with several excellent se-pieces, the most memorable and genuinely frightening being the scene when young Christine wakes and is terrified by a presence she believes is lurking behind the bedroom door. The use of darkness, combined with Bishara’s music powerfully nightmarish.

Although The Conjuring is not too dissimilar to Insidious, with paranormal investigators, doll-like demon ghosts, and the reliance on a deliberate retro-feel for the movie’s atmosphere, The Conjuring is a much better movie overall. But there is Insidious 2 due out later this year, and of course, The Conjuring 2 is in the works. Both movies were low budget (in Hollywood terms), but did a killing at the box office. Hollwyood producers are the worst repeat offenders. 

Antiviral

Canada | 2012 | Directed by Brandon Cronenberg

Logline: A scheming employee at a clinic that offers clients biological communion with celebrities finds himself in mortal danger after he deliberately infects himself with a virulent virus.

“A celebrity is a cultural construct that's unrelated to the human being, and continues to exist independent of the life and death of the human being … If you look at the deification of the saints and people elevated almost to the status of gods, repeated iconography, physical fetishism: you know, that desire for the finger bone of a particular saint, the relics. I don't think the problem is new and that we should all get hysterical about it, but I do think the mania that drives that industry is extremely unhealthy because it represents a loss of perspective.” --- Brandon Cronenberg

Syd March (Caleb Landry Jones) sells injections of live viruses harvested from infected celebrities to overly obsessive fans. It is a present/future where the cult of celebrity has transmogrified into a dangerous beast; para-socialising taken to extreme measures. For a price the zealous fanatic can feel their crush’s discomfort, taste their pain, live their disease. It’s a reality both unreal, yet perversely possible.

Syd also supplies samples of the viruses to the black market, smuggling them in his body, trying to stay one step ahead of other such biological pirates. It’s a cutthroat business, and you can trust no one. Not even the celebrity selling his or her own disease, and Syd discovers that super-celebrity Hannah Geist (Sarah Gadon) might not be quite as perfect as her visage appears.

This is Brandon Cronenberg’s first feature, expanded from a short film concept he cultivated in film school. It’s safe to say he has channeled much of his famous father’s early work into Antiviral, whether he admits it or not. The sterile atmosphere and minimal production design of David Cronenberg’s experimental features Stereo (1969) and Crimes of the Future (1970) are very evident, while the infectious paranoia, quietly hysterical tone of Shivers (1975) and Rabid (1977) also exudes.

This is an assured and accomplished debut with a tour-de-force performance from Caleb Landry Jones who possesses a unique charisma. Support acting is adequate, but the character of Syd March dominates the narrative. The production design, especially that of the Ready Face consoles, is superb, as is the powerful and brooding electronic score from E. C. Woodley. Some nice special effects makeup too, and special note must go to the real(istic) injections.

Antiviral is a very dark satire; the humour is tenebrous, in contrast to the cinematography’s white lighting and the stark, often white, production design. The lust for celebrity fashioned into a sexual metaphor; the hyperdermic needle penetrating the skin. Cronenberg merges body horror and science-faction, and, just like his father, Brandon is a strong and deliberate visualist, with a keen eye for composition and careful camera movement, in this case often shooting characters in profile, a symbolic reference to the “profiles” celebrities keep. Brandon even creates a fictional corporation – The Lucas Clinic – just as his father has done many times.

It seems like father, like son. A tear off the old flesh, you might say. And I’m very okay with that. 

World War Z

US | 2013 | Directed by Marc Forster

Logline: A United Nations pandemic expert travels across several countries in a desperate search for the origin of, and a possible cure to, a zombie plague that is rapidly decimating the world’s population.

Based on the novel by Max Brooks, written as an “oral history” (rather than a traditional narrative it is compiled of individual accounts, giving the science/horror fiction a sense of urgency and docu-drama realism) and inspired by the oral history book on WWII by Studs Terkel and the zombie movies of George Romero, World War Z is a curious apocalypse movie.

Brad Pitt plays Gerry Lane the central figure, although the novel has no lead characters. It is his journey and plight the movie’s narrative is hitched to. Lane’s enjoying a little family time when the zombie nightmare hits Philly, and before you can say “Jack be nimble, Jack be quick …” there’s undead chaos on the streets. Lane and family are whisked off a building top and onto an aircraft carrier. Lane is briefed and set into United Nations duty motion.

Despite Max Brooks’ nod to Romero’s zombie carnage Forster’s movie is virtually bloodless. It certainly has no gore whatsoever. It has been deliberately directed to avoid any such grue, rather than being cut by censors to avoid an adult rating. The screenplay has had several cooks stirring the spoon, and critics and audiences were being warned another Heaven’s Gate was on the cards. Truth be told, WWZ is a very solid picture.

Don’t go in expecting your typical zombie gut-crunching mayhem. WWZ is closer in its apocalyptic rage to 28 Weeks Later, sans entrails. Forster has fashioned a tense and fast-paced nightmare thriller with some great set pieces, including a superb airborne sequence. The large-scale scenes of zombie craziness are over-the-top, but staged very effectively.

Brad Pitt is, well, Brad Pitt, but it works for the movie. My biggest gripe was that despite maintaining a sense of realism throughout the movie, when Lane is forced to amputate a soldier colleague’s hand there is no bloodshed. The DIY operation is implausibly clean and free of the huge trauma it would induce in the soldier, especially when Lane then cauterizes the huge wound. This big slip really grated on me, but it wasn’t enough to ruin the movie. 

The ABCs of Death

US/New Zealand | 2012 | Directed by 26 directors

Logline: Twenty-six short films that involve death and are individually based around a word beginning with each letter of the alphabet.

Unusual bedfellows; American and New Zealand, this concept from co-producer Ant Timpson (well-known in NZ for being the director and programmer of the Incredibly Strange Film Festival) is far more successful on the page than it is in the flesh, so to speak. A two-hour anthology of twenty-six short films with the tenuous thematic content of “death”, each short directed by, mostly, up-and-coming horror directors from various different countries, each short (roughly five minutes long) is a single word title (with one curious exception) from a letter of the alphabet.

I was expecting great things from this ambitious project. I’d heard good things, and there were numerous directors onboard whose feature work I had enjoyed. I was bitterly disappointed. Of the twenty-six shorts there were just a precious five that stood head and shoulders above the rest of the compilation in terms of the calibre of execution and wit (admittedly their word selection lacked imagination, but they made up for it with interpretation).

I was really disappointed with the results of several of the directors whose previous work I know and like; “P is for Pressure” by Simon Rumley (Red, White, and Blue) seemed completely out of place, lacking any kind of horror elements, “M is for Miscarriage” by Ti West (The House of the Devil) was a bad gag that wasn’t even slightly funny, just made you gag as the camera plunged into the bloody debris, and “R is for Removed” by Srdjan Spasojevic (A Serbian Film) was nowhere near as outrageous and nightmarish as it should have been, and “Y is for Youngbuck” by Jason Eisener (Hobo with a Shotgun) left a truly unpleasant taste in my mouth.

Then there was the mediocre efforts of “B is for Bigfoot” by Adrian Garcia Bogliano (I'll Never Die Alone "I is for Ingrown” by Jorge Michel Grau (Let Sleeping Corpses Lie), both of which had the potential to be much more frightening and disturbing than they actually were. Grau’s personal message in the end credits stating that 200 women are murdered in Mexico each month, “the horror is not on the screen”, was the anthology’s most powerful indictment. But it’s the POV surfer “G is for Gravity” by Aussie Andrew Truacki (Black Water, The Reef) that had me bewildered. I watched it three times and still didn’t get it.

I’m not sure what Ant Timpson’s original brief was to the director’s (apart from giving each director six months, six weeks and six days to deliver), but the scatological element that reared its ugly head in more than a few of the shorts failed to impress me, let alone tickle my fancy (and where, pray tell, was the token Kiwi-directed short?!) The shock aspect of a few also to move me in any intelligent way; any horror aesthetic lost under the weight of contrivance; Timo Tjahjanto’s “L is for Libido” was far from titillating, Yudai Yamaguchi’s “J is for Jidai-geki” was that perverse splatstick sub-genre that is either your cup of green tea or not, while Noboru Iguchi’s “F is for Fart” was utterly execrable.

So, just what were the half-decent shorts then? The expressionistic colour-texture wash, “O is for Orgasm” by Hélene Cattet & Bruno Forzani (Amer), who played with the French phrase “petit mort” (little death), the wry “Q is for Quack” by Adam Wingard (You're Next), one of two shorts (and easily the better one) that dealt with the filmmakers struggling to fit the anthology brief, “X is for XXL” (one of two shorts that weren’t based on actual words) by Xavier Gens (Frontiers) saved its horror ‘til the end, and delivered properly, and the two best shorts of the entire bunch: the urgent, creepy, and bang-on effective “U is for Unearthed” by Ben Wheatley (Kill List).

Lee Hardcastle’s brilliant “T is for Toilet”, whose claymation shorts and horror spoofs on are a highlight (check out Chainsaw Maid 2 and Done in 60 Seconds. With Clay), delivered the anthology’s best short. Despite my dislike for scatological humour, Hardcastle’s little boy’s worst nightmare was superb filmmaking. It was also the “goriest” and most inspired, considering the title. I hope to see a feature from him one day.

Anthology’s are a tricky thing to get 100% right. The ABCs of Death bit off far more than it could ever hope to chew, however, the clutch of good shorts - especially Lee Hardcastle’s – make the crap ones worth enduring (or skipping entirely, depending on your tolerance).

The ABCs of Death is released in Australia by Monster Pictures.

Resolution

US | 2013 | Directed by Justin Benson & Aaron Moorhead

Logline: A man visits his old friend in a last ditched effort to help him beat addiction, but they fall foul of the locals, in more ways than one.

Resolution is one of those movies that creeps up on you, quietly pulls the rug, and leaves the sting of its slap on your face for days, weeks, maybe even months. This is a slow-burner, but the psychological wound will scar. A nightmare movie for sf heads, its time-space mysticism for horrorphiles. Lovecraftian in its cosmic horror, with reality bite wounds the size of grizzly bears.

Michael (Peter Cilella) leaves his girlfriend/wife in the city to drive into remote bushland and stay with his dear buddy Chris (Vinny Curran) who is not dealing with life too well. The plan is to get Chris off the ice (crystal meth) once and for all and bring him back. This means handcuffing the delusional bearded one inside the cabin he’s squatting in and hanging tough whilst Chris goes cold turkey.

You can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make him drink, and Chris is one stubborn mule, but Michael is determined. However Murphy’s Law lives in these here woods … not to mention menacing meth-heads, and traces of something far weirder. The cabin video set-up is playing silly buggers, it seems. And what’s with the French Ufologists who have been documenting activity within the Native American grounds for the past twenty years?

Easily the most original and satisfying horror movie I’ve seen in ages, Resolution plays cleverly with the found-footage sub-genre, without edging wholesale into obscurity-for-obscurities-sake, and with the ominous presence of something far more dangerous, more fiercely intelligent, and more frightening than any rogue psycho meth-head looking for their next fix.

Excellent performances from the two leads keeps the relatively incident-free narrative compelling and buoyant, with their contrasting personalities, and a keen darkly comic edge infused in their dialogue. The movie is essentially a two-hander, and much of the movie takes place within the confines of the cabin, but it never feels claustrophobic or contrived.

As the situation deepens/darkens the nightmare screw tightens, and the psyches of both men are tested. Paranoia comes to stay and both men strap the madness on, despite moments of fraternal reassurance and domestic distraction. The audience becomes desperate in their desire for Michael to succeed in rescuing Chris from his demon addiction, but more importantly for both men to survive the compound of their undoing.

When the resolution arrives and the doors of perception are breached, breaking on through to the other side, the looming Darkness is there with open arms, and does not suffer fools gladly.

Resolution is released in Australia by Accent Film Entertainment. 

You're Next

US | 2011 | Directed by Adam Wingard

Logline: At a rare anniversary in the country an extended family are terrorised by a gang of masked intruders, revealing that one of the victims knows a thing or two about survival.

The home invasion sub-genre has been around for several decades, but its popularity amongst contemporary horror directors has risen ten-fold in the last ten years. There aren’t that many that are actually any good. First and foremost, it’s the performances that have to be top-notch for any kind of convincing element of terror to ring true, and frequently that’s where the ball is dropped. There’s also the element of suspense, and that too is a delicate and often mistreated factor.

The best of the home invasion flicks of the past decade are the brilliant Them (2006), a co-pro between Romania and France, the UK Cherry Tree Lane (2010), and the Spanish Kidnapped (2010). These three movies have superb suspense, acting, and are soaked in atmosphere, whether it be a palpable claustrophobia, a disturbing visceral edge, or a truly frightening sense of realism.

You’re Next opts for a blackly comic sense of humour thrown into the mix. Like his contemporaries, especially Ti West, who makes a cameo in You’re Next, director Adam Wingard fashions his home invasion flick with a firm 80s feel, both in visual style and in execution. Even the whole “You’re next” scrawled in blood on the window or wall is lifted straight from the 1980s’ slasher sub-genre. To be honest, I think it’s a lame title if ever there was. Perhaps if it had been misspelled as “Your Next” I would have appreciated a garish sense of the villain’s laziness/idiocy.

Wingard directs competently enough, and as editor he understands the effectiveness of a horror visual narrative, playing on numerous sight gags and horror tropes (like a killer under the bed), and those animal masks (a wolf, a goat) add a modicum of creepiness, but despite a couple of shocks, the movie is precious light on any genuine sense of terror.

As for the horror, there is a fair amount of blood spilled; a crossbow bolt to the head, a couple of throat slashings, an axe to the head, numerous stabbings, and even an OTT Peter Jackson moment with a blender to the head. But the blood is far from realistic (one of my pet dislikes), and from the moment I saw the pinky-red stuff I was disappointed. It’s not rocket science to get it right (I know, I worked on Braindead (1991) and those boys nailed it!)

Performances are adequate; with rising Aussie star Sharni Vinson (curiously not having to don a fake American accent) providing the movie with a decent dose of charisma and chutzpah as the black sheep girlfriend. Also of note is Re-Animator (1985) actor Barbara Crampton as the anxiety-ridden mother, and AJ Bowen and Joe Swanberg as the sibling rivalry.

There’s nothing new under the sun here, but the movie is entertaining on a superficial level. Nowhere near as effective as Ti West’s 80s-soaked The House of the Devil (2010), or the other over-rated house invasion flick many will compare this to, The Strangers (2008), but You’re Next will no doubt provide ample buzz for Ms. Vinson.

You’re Next screened as part of the 60th Sydney Film Festival. 

Evil Dead

US | 2013 | directed by Fede Alvarez

Logline: Whilst staying in a remote forest cabin five friends are terrorised by an evil supernatural presence that steadily possesses each person turning them into malevolent demons.

“Kunda ... Estrata ... Montose ... Conda.”

Oops.

Don’t say it, don’t write it, don’t hear it. The words of warning scrawled within the Natorum Demonto, the Book of the Dead. But of course, it’s too late. And now all hell will break loose.

Fuck yeah. I’ve been hanging for this mayhem for some time having seen the awesome teaser trailer to the remake of Sam Raimi’s The Evil Dead (1981), one of my favourite horror movies, some time back. When I first read about Sam Raimi giving the green light to a remake of his own movie (there was even talk he would direct), I was very reticent indeed. As a rule I don’t much care for remakes of cult classics.

Sure The Evil Dead is a very low-budget, poorly acted, almost camp tour-de-gore. But, in the same vein of championship of many of the movies of Dario Argento, it’s less to do with the movie’s limitations, and more to do with the movies extraordinary atmosphere and tone. In that respect I felt the idea of tampering with Riami’s original was tantamount to treason.

But I’ve had to eat my words, and I don’t mind the taste.

Raimi selected Fede Alvarez after he saw the impressive sf short Panic Attack! (Ataque de Panico!). Federez has tilted his hat to Raimi without the movie being a slavish regurgitation of events. Evil Dead drops the “The”, which in itself is a curious nod to the way horrorphile’s refer to Riami’s original. But Alvarez’s version is in many ways very different, yet sits in a position that could almost be as direct sequel to the original movie.

Five new victims, and the same cabin, thirty years down the track, perhaps? Well, the fact that Ash’s “The Classic” ’73 Oldsmobile Delta 88 is sitting derelict near the cabin suggests the first movie has already happened. The cabin looks identical, even the same clock is on the wall! And most notably, there is no Ash character.

But the possession technique the demons use is much more linear, the Book of the Dead looks quite different, and the cabin is owned by the parents of the brother and sister, not by the doomed Professor Knowby, from the original movie.

Many critics and some audiences have slammed Evil Dead for being shallow and excessively violent, but they’ve completely missed the point. Evil Dead is an instant cult slap in the face for jaded horror fans. It’s a hark back to the Scarlet Age of Horror, and if I need to get up on my crusty soapbox and shout it out I will. Thank you Fede Alvarez for using almost entirely practical special effects, prosthetics, for employing realistic blood and gore, for not opting for comic relief, for using beautifully tenebrous cinematography, and casting relative unknowns.

Jane Levy is excellent in the role of Mia, the sister who is battling a drug addiction. Lou Taylor Pucci is also impressive as the foolish friend who writes and recites the dreaded incantation. I wasn’t as convinced by Shiloh Fernandez as Mia’s brother, and I felt the movie didn’t need the late-in-the-game family discussion the two sibling’s have, but these are small quibbles.

When I read that Diablo Cody was involved in the screenplay I rolled my eyes, as I thought her horror screenplay Jennifer’s Body was clueless, but her character and dialogue tweaks are minor, and if you’re familiar with her you’ll be able to pick some of these moments, and they work fine.

I didn’t much care for Star Trek Into Darkness, but then I’m not a Trekkie, and that movie appeals hugely to the diehard fans. I guess the same can be said for Evil Dead, if you’re a fan of the original you’ll appreciate the references and yet you’ll admire the purity of Alvarez’s horror stylistics, he’s made his version for the True Believers.

Oh, and make sure you stick around ‘til the end of the credits.

“Groovy.”

Forgotten

​Original Title: Du Hast es Versprochen

Germany | 2012 | Directed by Alex Schmidt

Logline: During a reunion trip on an island two women, who were once childhood friends, are haunted by events from their past.

A handsomely mounted production, this supernatural chiller plays on the memory and loyalty, and of the blurry lines of morality when fogged by juvenile intent. Two adult women are brought together but find their friendship tested when a tragic event from their childhood rears its head and threatens to ruin their lives.

Hanna (Mina Tander) works as a physician at a large hospital, and attends an overdose victim Clarissa (Laura de Boer) who recognises her.  The two women immediately rekindle a long-dormant friendship. Spontaneously they decide to revisit the island where they holidayed as children twenty-five years earlier.  Hanna needs a break from her adulterous husband and brings her 7-year-old daughter Lea (Lina Kolhert).

But the island holds a dark secret that Hanna has conveniently forgotten about. Clarissa hasn’t. And neither has the local fishmonger Gabriela (Katharina Thalbach) whose daughter Maria (Mia Kasalo) died under tragic circumstances all those years ago.  There are ruins in the forest that harbour those dark memories, the guilt and the vengeance.

Alex Schmidt directs with an assured hand and gets great atmospheric mileage from the location shooting on the island. The two female leads are very charismatic and their strong performances keep the narrative conceits at bay. There’s a few twists and turns, with the most dramatic one near the end, and whilst not a doozy, it gives the movie a much-needed kick-up the backside, as things have sagged by the end of the second act.

Forgotten plays mostly as a mystery thriller, but there are some nice visceral moments, and things certainly get rather bloody in the climax. The German title translates as You Promised It, a reference to the young girls’ game playing. But there is a parallel board that the adults find themselves on, and its unsure who’s playing who, and just how the game will play out.

Forgotten plays as part of the Australian German Film Festival and screens in Sydney’s Palace Verona, Thu May 9, 6:30pm, Melbourne’s Palace Coma, Sat May 11, 8:45pm, and  Perth’s Cinema Paradiso,  Sat May 11,  9pm. 

The Mansion

US | 2013 | Directed by Andrew Robertson

Logline: A family struggling to survive in the years following a catastrophic plague are forced to abandon their home to try and find an apparent safe house somewhere in the north.

A debut feature, and a very accomplished one at that, Andrew Robertson’s thriller   takes a page or two from the cinema aesthetics of John Carpenter and with the tone of John Hillcoat’s The Road, and the slow-burn epic quality of Stephen King’s The Stand and The Walking Dead series, The Mansion resonates of a high calibre. This is a character study with style to burn.

Washed-out, deadened landscapes, but shot through with a desolate beauty, this is America’s Georgia land, full of melancholy and tranquillity, but bristling with feral danger and ominous echoes. Some great disaster has taken place, most probably a pandemic. All the institutions have perished, humans died in the millions. Survival is for the lucky.

It’s very satisfying watching a cast of complete unknowns all delivering excellent performances; Carter Roy as Jack, Amy Rutberg as his wife Nell, eve Grace Kellner as their daughter Birdie, Chris Keis as Kyle, and Sebastian Beacon as wild card Russell, but also props to a few of the marauders, Mark Ashworth, Joe Manus, and Travis Grant.

Apparently made on the smell of an oily rag (around $US50k), The Mansion was shot entirely on location, and uses its budget wisely; solid actors, convincing art direction, atmospheric cinematography, some impressive practical effects and special effects makeup (used only sparingly), but most notably, the terrific, subdued, but highly original score composed by Carbon Based Lifeforms.  

The taut, minimalist screenplay is by Robertson and producer Lilly Kanso, eschewing contrived action set pieces and unnecessary exposition for a brooding tension and the occasional well-punctuated confrontation. This is the kind of movie that sets the tone right from the opening images and sustains it right to its closing shot. Andrew Robertson could be the new Jeff Nichols, I look forward to his next feature.

The Mansion screens as part of Sydney’s Fantastic Planet vs. A Night Of Horror International Film Festival, Dendy Newtown, Thursday April 18th, 7pm.