The Lords Of Salem

US | 2012 | Directed by Rob Zombie

Logline: A Salem radio host is sent a mysterious record, the music of which triggers Satanic hallucinations, or are they the evil doings of a coven of witches from centuries past?

I’m not a fan of Rob Zombie’s movies, plain and simple. I find them pretentious. Ok, I appreciate House Of 1000 Corpses (2003), his feature debut, but even that is patchy. I thoroughly disliked The Devil’s Rejects (2005), and I absolutely loathed his remakes of Halloween (2007) and Halloween II (2009). So why did I want to watch his latest? I must be some kind of glutton for punishment.

I’d read that The Lords Of Salem was a departure from the serial killer indulgences of his earlier movies and was playing more in the realm of the supernatural, witchcraft even. Actually, Satanism, to be precise. It is a departure, certainly it is his most “likeable” movie since his debut, as it features characters you actually give a fuck about, although he squanders that soon enough.

Sheri Moon Zombie (Rob’s wife) plays Heidi Laroc, a radio host, part of a trio called the Big H Team on Salem’s radio station. Her colleagues are Whitey (Jeff Daniel Phillips) and Herman (Ken Foree), and they have a fun, carefree time on the airwaves, so when Heidi has to collect a strange new promo record (in a wooden box no less) addressed using her birth name she doesn’t think much of it. But the music - credited to The Lords - contained in the groove of the vinyl has a very specific agenda.

Francis Matthais (Bruce Davison), a local author is hawking his new book on the radio show, and becomes very curious about The Lords (of Salem, as the DJs are callig them), and about the connection with Heidi. His investigative nature leads him into dark territory. But not before Heidi herself has entered the ominous room #5 in her apartment building where spectres of evil have been loitering with intent.

The Lords Of Salem starts off promisingly, and Mrs. Zombie is far less irritating than she’s been in the previous movies directed by her husband. The location shooting adds genuine old school atmosphere (some of it reminiscent of Ti West’s superb, and oh, so much more effective devil shocker The House Of The Devil from 2010). The movie’s intrigue really starts to kick in when Heidi is invited to have tea with her landlord, Lacy (Judy Geeson) and cohorts, Megan (Patricia Quinn) and Sonny (Dee Wallace).

But Heidi’s descent into hell quickly becomes a tedious and altogether tacky slide, furnished with low-rent visual effects, and a protagonist who fails miserably at trying to save herself, and thus give the movie an edge of genuine suspense. The villain – apart from the Cloven One Himself – is head witch Margaret Morgan (Meg Foster), burned alive in 1696 by Heidi’s ancestor. She has returned to wreak havoc on her killer’s bloodline.

Despite a veteran cast rich with horror history; Ken Foree from Dawn of the Dead (1978), Judy Geeson from Inseminoid (1981), Patricia Quinn from The Rocky Horror Picture Show (1975), Meg Foster (hideous as all hell!) from They Live (1988), and Michael Berryman and Sid Haig in non-speaking cameos, none of them manage to lift the movie’s game which sinks into a mire of risible pseudo-Jodorowsky-esque imagery (the dwarf demon?!) and disappears into the murk of Zombie’s indulgence.

I don’t think I will be playing this punishment game any longer.  

Blog: One Week in the Jaws of the Monster Fest Beast!

Thursday November 21st

Monster Fest is upon us, and I've been lucky enough to prise myself away from the warm and tender clutches of my family and make the pilgrimage south to the vast, character-strewn expanse they call Melbourne to attend the first seven days of Monster Pictures' annual celebration of new, independent horror and exploitation, with as much cult appeal as they can slap you across the face with. 

I arrive in time to find the Monster boys setting up in the Cinema Nova bar for the much-anticipated uber-exclusive Meet & Greet with Linda Blair, star of The Exorcist,(1973), but more importantly champion of lost dogs everywhere. Linda is Monster Fest's very special guest, and don't we know it! Despite her diminutive frame (I'm sure she's the same size as she was in The Exorcist!) Linda has a sturdy and charismatic presence and we're all looking forward to hearing her spew forth a pea soup of anecdotes from her time as Regan and beyond. 

But no. Linda decides it would be more pertinent to talk about her role as founder of the Linda Blair Worldheart Foundation, "a unique safe haven for animals providing top-quality, lifelong care to the animals it rescues." Now that's all well and good, but the ticket holders to this event probably wanted to hear more about working with special makeup effects extraordinaire Dick Smith, or director tyrant par excellence, Billy Friedkin. 

Linda eventually gets to her time on The Exorcist, but not until she's in front of the packed cinema audiences for the two scheduled screenings. Before the screenings commence she dutifully obliges the signing of specially-prepared "lobby" cards and whatever other Linda Blair mementos the ticket holders brought with them. 

There are some very serious Linda Blairists here; those wallflowers that only emerge from their cave shrines of obsession when the opportunity is a legitimate hot-under-the-collar up-close-and-personal with their idol. Most have brought DVDs and BDs of The Exorcist, although one guy has dusted off his VHS copy of Repossessed. Damn, why didn't I bring my DVD of Hell Night (1981)?! 

While Linda's manager hovers with intent Ms. Blair enthusiastically poses for photos, one at a time, and chats about dogs. Then it's off to introduce the first screening of The Exorcist, it being the 40th anniversary and all. I attend the second screening, and Linda spends half and hour recalling her roundabout experience of working on the classic horror movie, repeatedly reminding us to pay attention to the dialogue and sound, and focus on the extraordinary work of all involved. Yup, gotcha. 

At one point Linda makes a remark that has me rolling my eyes in quiet tenuous response; the topical relevance of The Exorcist because the movie begins - still the movie's most brilliant sequence - in the doom-shrouded, dust-laden archeological history of Iraq, and America is still at war with Iraq. Still, Linda is charming and funny, and despite the drunken antics of a couple in the middle of the auditorium, one whom stands to ask if Linda is okay. As in; she made a disturbing psychosexual horror movie at the age of thirteen, is she "OK" now? Everyone guffaws. But it isn't really that funny. 

Linda talks about the fame game, but not nearly as much about her time on The Exorcist and other similar projects ... Hell Night, dammit, and disappointing no one mentions Exorcist II: The Heretic. Snigger. At the end of the long night, Linda was barely in her teens, and making such a special effects, drama-heavy movie as The Exorcist meant she was frequently bored to tears, desperately wanting to ride a pony instead.  

She got the pony eventually. And the stables. 

I watch The Exorcist with a focus on her performance, and it's very good. Always was. Linda exhibits a great set of adolescent nuances, most of which were natural expressions that William Friedkin cleverly elicited and captured. One could argue, just as Orson Welles did, that she started at the top ... 

A movie is shot on location and on sets. But it's made in the editing suite. The Exorcist is a superb example of visual narrative editing from a director renowned for pulling great work from his actors.

Thank you Linda for sharing some insights into that time and space. 

Friday, November 22nd

I am very hungover. 

There, I've said it. 

It's a wretched hive of scum and villainy at Cinema Nova for the official Opening Night of Monster Fest. Well, not really, but I wanted to use that line. 

A second screening of local feature Murderdrome (2013) has been scheduled for 7pm, as the original session at 7.30 has sold out. I attend with Monster Pictures' notorious publicist and his lovely young lady, and the movie is introduced by the writer/director Daniel Armstrong, the producer, and also one of its stars Louise Monnington (who also contributed as script consultant). 

Murderdrome took several years to make. Apparently they took a year off in the middle. So, like Peter Jackson's Bad Taste, it was a labour of love. And it shows on the screen. There is much love and enthusiasm, but also it's clunky as hell. 

It's the bitchfest antics of a bunch of roller derby gals (strictly rollerskates) who are settling scores on the skating rink, whilst a masked slasher on rollerblades is carving up the teams. Vengeance is a dish best served with rock and roll. 

The movie's best moments are technical achievements; the awesome opening title credits set over the main roller derby sequence and the classy special visual effects sequence at movie's end are the movie's highlights. 

Virtually all the "actors" are roller derby grrls, so the performances are very much on the dodgy side. There's also a serious ADR issue, which gets annoying very quickly.

Still, I take my hat off to anyone who gets a feature made. It can be hell on wheels trying to get it to completion. And it's always fun to watch it with the cast and crew. 

Afterward the opening night party swings hard into the night at LuWOW club in Fitzroy. A voodoo lounge with style to burn. La Bastard are the band, and they rock it with aplomb. It's surf and rockabilly music all night long with one of the proud club owners on DJ duties.

We end up at another club, Ding Dong, in the wee wee hours, but by that point the Pagan ciders and Polish brewskis are in a deep wrestle. I fail to make it on to the night's final destination, Cherry's. Apparently Linda Blair's special guest "DJ" set has been underwhelming. Damn, I wanted to catch her selection which I'm sure would've included The Runaways Cherry Bomb, Stevie Nicks & Tom Petty's Stop Draggin' My Heart Around, and Rick Springfield's Jessie's Girl. I'd have put money on it. 

Saturday, November 23rd

After struggling with a cider/beer hangover for most of the late morning and early afternoon (I have to have a nap after my scrambled brain, er, eggs), I am coerced into joining my hosts for the first of the day's Monster Fest screenings at 3pm. I want to avoid this particular debut feature as a colleague of mine has warned me. 

He is right. I hate it. 

Foresight Killer Instinct (2013), made by two very enthusiastic brothers from Ipswich, Queensland, sports some of the worst acting I've seen in quite some time. It was made on the smell of an oily rag, and looks it. The script (what script?) is all over the place, and feels like a short that had been stretched to breaking point. The so-called ad-lib dialogue from the cast has resulted in the movie currently holding the #11 spot on the list of most sweariest movies ever. 

It's a crime drama with a strange science fiction/horror bent. Another revenge tale with more pontificating and stewing than your average pot-boiler. Mind you, not many movies have a priest being crucified. The histrionic over-acting of Michael Edward Williams who plays the obnoxious Det. Lance Steel is something to behold, and keeps the movie buoyant, but really, it's all a hot mess. 

Once again, I admire the tenacity and ambition in getting a feature made, but as both Murderdrome and Foresight Killer Instinct illustrate; if you're working with a micro-budget (ie low production values) then you must make sure you get killer performances from your cast. It's imperative. No ifs, or buts. Both these features fail in that respect. 

The next movie on the roster is MUFF director and filmmaker Richard Wolstencroft's documentary The Last Days of Joe Blow (2013), a portrait of actor Micheal Tierney (the nephew of Hollywood B-legend Lawrence Tierney), whom decided to pursue a career as a porn star for several years. 

Wolstencroft has made an affectionate and intriguing peek into the machismo and machinations of porndom a la male. As we all know it's ultimately not to do with how good looking you are, but whether you can crack and hold wood. Ron Jeremy, the Hedgehog, is one of the hard survivors. He offers a few tidbits, but apparently, according to Wolstencroft, there's nothing behind the eyes. As with the majority of porn stars, they lost their souls a long time ago. 

Yup, it's ultimately a quiet tragedy. Joe Blow bows out, only to find he's got nothing to go to. The crossover (back) into the mainstream isn't that easy, and now he has numerous ghosts in the closet, and paranoia gnaws at his back. It probably didn't help maintaining a blog on Aleister Crowley for a while. 

We could have done without the Wolstencroft mugging that rears its head from time to time, but The Last Days of Joe Blow is an enlightening cautionary tale told with entertainingly and with attention to colour and an upbeat soundtrack. 

Next up is Andrew Truacki's The Jungle (2013), his anticipated follow-up to The Reef (2009), and the third installment in his "Trilogy of Terror". This is a disappointment. It feels like The Blair Witch Project (1999) meets Predator (1986). A thriller on serious slow burn, following a leopard conservationist in Indonesia whom finds himself, his cameraman and two Javanese trackers at the mercy of a jungle-dwelling creature. 

The moneyshot at movie's very end is a major letdown. It isn't a badly made movie, and their are some tense moments, but it has none of the genuine terror of his first two features, probably because the first two used real footage of a crocodile and Great White, expertly composited and edited with the actors. Time to remake Razorback Andrew. 

The evening's last two features, both debuts by next generation Australian filmmakers, are of a very high calibre. It's a further continuation of the found footage genre. 

First is Apocalyptic (2013), written and directed by Glenn Triggs, the second is Beckoning the Butcher (2013), written and directed by Dale Trotts.

Apocalyptic follows an investigative journalist and her cameraman as they visit a remote compound in the wilderness where a cult have been living undisturbed for more than twenty years. Their leader, the reptilian Michael Godson (Michael Macrae), is one dodgy fellow. His clan of women, young and old, are completely in under his trance. There'll be tears before bedtime. 

This is a slowburner, the dread creeping upon you like an ominous mist. By the final scenes you're on the edge of your seat. 

And then there are those final moments of doom. 

Apocalyptic is The Wicker Woman. 

In Beckoning the Butcher a curious young dude Chris (Damian Lipp) has convinced his girlfriend Tara (Stephanie Mauro), best buddy Brent (Tristan Barr), and two other girls Lorraine (Tilly Legge) and Nicole (Sophie Wright), to join him in an isolated farmhouse on the rural plains of Victoria. It is there that they test the latest ghost-hunting ritual Chris is renowned for on the Internet. 

I have goosebumps during a couple of scenes in Beckoning the Butcher. I have not felt these in a horror movie for a very long time. I can imagine watching the movie alone will be a terrifying experience. This is the scariest found footage movie I've seen since The Blair Witch Project. 

Both Apocalyptic and Beckoning the Butcher make excellent use of location, use no music - only sound effects - to superb effect. Both have terrific casts who deliver convincingly.  

Sure, both movies aren't telling us any new stories, or dealing with new horror tropes, but the stories they tell are spun with fantastic atmosphere and are very creepy, and in the case of the latter, genuinely frightening. I take my hat off to these director lads. They have big careers ahead of them.

Sunday, November 24th

It's time for the Monster Micro-Nasties Challenge: The Cannibal Project. The eight Grand Finalist teams have ten minutes to pitch their movie submission to a panel of judges and a live audience who will add their vote to the final score. 

My mate Jack Sargeant is one of the finalists, so I'll be rooting for him.

First up is The Collective, and the two team members pitching this forest-bound nymphs with teeth tale have raised the bar high. I'm impressed with their delivery and the storyboards they exhibit are stylish and atmospheric. In fact, if it wasn't for my loyalty to Jack's project Eaters, an arty auto-cannibalistic tale designed to disgust, I would be voting for The Collective. 

The other pitch that tickles my fancy is Devils, a horror-comedy set in a brothel with a porn star attached. It's probably the hilarious pitch approach that grabs my attention that the actual movie content; the producer has a bunch of sex toys (sponsors) to give away, and the guy next to me wins a Fleshlight for remembering the original title of the project (Gut-Munching Whores). He has the team sign the box and plans to not open it. Yeah, right. 

The Collective wins the competition. Not that surprising really. The director is a buxom, statuesque blonde in a tight red dress and her producer is a short 1950s-clad hipster with a serious mustache. They were a shoe-in. Jack's project scores the lowest. I guess the judges, or audience, aren't that keen on watching a man eating his own cancerous bowels. 

Neil Foley, the festival director, is over-the-moon at the event, feeling very confident it will become an annual fixture. Who knows what next year's project will be; rape-revenge? Nunsploitation? Lycanthropy? Perhaps, a creature feature! 

Local legend Dick Dale's notorious celebration of all things trashy has his moment basking in the Monster Fest dark sun. It's time for Trasharama! Mostly it's the crudest and cheapest looking shorts out to (dis)please. Very much an acquired taste, and the cinema is packed, so it's obvious there are loyal supporters. Each to their own, but for the most part it's not my cup of vomit. 

But there a couple of exceptions; Daniel Armstrong's elaborately-staged Alice in Zombieland which doubles as a kind of music video for hardcore industrial dubstep rapper Kidcrusher. The art direction, cinematography, and overall atmosphere of this chick-with-a-gun short is very impressive. 

The other short that gets my nod of approval is a disturbing, but compelling piece of home-invasion torture-porn called POV (Point Of View) from Benjamin Morton, which follows cyber-snuffer The Cyclops in his pursuit. I wonder who'll win the Trasharama short film competition? 

It's time for a break. There's the screening of Chocolate Strawberry Vanilla, local filmmaker Stuart Simpson's excellent Taxi Driver-esque black comedy which I've already previewed. I FaceTime my lovely wife and mug for my gorgeous son, and after discover I've been abandoned by my fellow horrorphiles, so I am left to my own devices. My stomach grumbles, so I wander up Lygon and chow down on a bowl of pasta and meatballs with a glass of Sangiovese. 

The Monster Fest evening finishes up with the much-anticipated screening of another of the next generation of super-talented young filmmakers. It's Sam Barrett's Sororal, an unashamed, ultra-impressive homage to the Italian giallo genre, so of course, it's dubbed a neo-giallo. 

Cassandra (Amanda Woodhams) is a tortured young artist suffering from violent visions. People around her are being murdered and she is the suspect. But it's not that simple. In fact, in perfect giallo fashion its downright complicated and convoluted, but drenched in more visual splendour, flair, and artistic abandon than you shake a primary colour gel at.

Sororal is the most visually stunning Australian feature this year. It's a hypnotic descent into psychic mayhem. Admittedly it's overlong, but when was a giallo ever concise? Amanda Woodhams' mesmerising central performance(s) holds the movie in the glow of love's supernature, slow-burning into your cerebral cortex. It's her feature debut, and she be going places. 

Co-writer and director Sam Barrett made a mediocre home-invasion flick a few years back called No Through Road (2008). But that's way behind him now. With a top-notch creative team behind him, his vision is one to behold. Big props to cinematographer Ivan Davidof, and to the absolutely amazing soundtrack from Christopher De Groot, who openly credits using only analogue synthesizers (Sequential Circuits, yes!) to create the superbly atmospheric score that even includes Goblin-esque moments of prog-rock. 

This analogue realm is what Barrett has created for the movie's world as well; all the costumes are 70s fashion, and, rather wonderfully, the movie is devoid of mobile phones, the dearth of modern cinema narrative. He even had the movie's photography utilise on-set gels, rather than adding the primary colours in post. I admire his purist approach. 

But enough gushing. 

Definitely the three standouts for Monster Fest so far are the lovely young chaps behind Apocalyptic, Beckoning the Butcher, and Sororal. I feel inspired.

Monday, November 25th

Today is the Fantastic Asia section of Monster Fest. Three features. Well, actually, three features and a 40-minute short. 

I love Asian cinema, but I'm not a fan of the ultra-schlock from the Sushi Typhoon canon. So I approach today's mini-programme with caution. 

First up is American ex-pat Norman England's extended short, New Neighbor (2013), starring J-horror and sex starlet Asami. A young woman, sexually repressed, is both curious and annoyed by her new neighbour's noisy sexcapades. Her mother is pushing, very firmly, for her to find a suitor, and more importantly, to get laid. 

Eventually curiousity gets the better of her and she ventures inside her neighbour's apartment (the door was left unlocked) and finds herself in a dangerously lascivious web of seduction. But as we know, there is no such thing as romance and adventure, only trouble and desire. 

I really want this short to end on some kind of Lovecraftian excess, but it ends as limply as a flaccid dick on a porn set. No weird wood here. What a disappointment. 

The feature, Zombie TV (2013) started as I feared it would; not my cup of puerile, juvenile sake. A magazine-style comedy of horrors made for adolescents and, worse, pre-pubescents it seemed! I last about fifteen minutes. It's doing my head in. 

I make the decision to avoid the other two features, I need a break from the cinema. 

I retire to my guest pad and end up watching The Golden Voyage of Sinbad (1973) on DVD. This was the kind of deep trash I was in the mood for; Caroline Munro, Tom Baker and the work of the late, great Ray Harryhausen (RIP). 

Tuesday, November 26th

A little Canadian fare this evening. 

And some Euro deep trash. 

First up on the platter is Antisocial (2013), a movie I missed at SUFF earlier in the year. It's a low-budget affair, but looks quite slick and sports decent acting from the young attractive cast. Shame then about the far-fetched screenplay. 

It's New Year's Eve and Sam (Michelle Mylett) is feeling pretty sorry for herself. Things have gone pear-shaped on the romance front, and social media is not helping. She rendezvouses with a few friends at a house to gear up for a bit of a shindig. But there's a shitstorm brewing outside. 

The Social Redroom (read: Facebook) is causing quite the international stir it seems. A virus is infecting all who use the site and smart phone app turning them into crazed killing machines. It isn't long before the Redroom is spraying red stuff across all the red cups. 

Antisocial gets sillier as it tumbles along. I keep thinking of a very similarly-themed, but awesome low-budget flick from 2007 called The Signal that kicks Antisocial's arse into the middle of next week. But that movie is an exception, because I'm not much of a fan of movies that use computers and mobile phones as the interactive vessel of evil. I find the concept dull and un-cinematic. 

However I enjoy the pulsating electro-flavoured score, especially during the movie's ridiculous finale, and there is cool nightmarish imagery, washed in the movie's computer blue palette. I love the very last image, but is the Japanese flag reference (blood spot on a head bandage) intentional? I'm not sure. 

The main course is Dario Argento's Dracula (2013) - in 3D - an Italian-French-Spanish co-pro, starring Thomas Kretschmann as the Count, Rutger Hauer as Van Helsing, and Dario's daughter Asia as Lucy. 

This is a multi-million dollar production that has made about three grand in America. Yes, it has been a complete flop, panned by pretty much everyone. And it's easy to see why, but considering how bad the teaser trailer I saw a year ago, I am expecting something absolutely dire. Let's face it, Argento hasn't made a decent movie in twenty-five years! 

I find myself pleasantly surprised at how much I enjoy watching this most curious indulgence. Argento has made a movie that feels like a blend of Hammer Horror, Roman Polanski's The Fearless Vampire Killers, and those three-dimensional View-Master toys I used to look at as a child. 

The acting is ropey-as-hell (when Asia's Lucy pulls a "menacing" face at Rutger's Van Helsing the audience burst into laughter - and that wasn't the only time chortles and sniggers were heard coursing through the cinema ... there's the praying mantis, but I'll come to that shortly!), and Rutger Hauer, despite the privilege of the first Dutch actor to play the Dutch character, seems to be bored to tears. 

As per usual in an Argento movie, half the actors are Italians who speak marginal English, and as such their dialogue has been post-synched by another actor. This only accentuates the dodgy performances. I find myself distracted by the role of Tanja (Miriam Giovanelli), Dracula's voluptuous wench. I'm sure I'm not the only one.  

Argento has several of his old team on board; Luciano Tovoli (Suspiria) is the cinematographer, Claudio Simonetti (Goblin) is the composer, and Sergio Stivaletti is on special effects supervision (there are several decent gore gags). I wonder just how deliberate the old school 3D effect was, and I'm amused that the blood is Argento-typically too bright. It's a pity also that Simonetti's score is more beige wallpaper than memorably atmospheric. 

I mentioned a praying mantis earlier. Yes, there is a scene where Dracula terrorises in the form of a giant praying mantis. Suddenly, nothing else matters. There is only the outlandish absurdity of Dracula as a giant CGI praying mantis. The audience guffaw. It's a giant praying mantis! What else is there to do?!

The night is capped off with the second Canadian feature, Evil Feed (2013), a bizarre mishmash of hardcore horror, brutal combat, schlock comedy, and sex farce. I've not seen anything quite like it. The tonal shifts are extreme, but it all seems to gel, like a lubricant from hell. 

Director Kimani Ray Smith is a stuntman who has worked on dozens and dozens of big budget movies. This is his debut feature, and it kicks proverbial arse. But it is very much an acquired taste. 

Speaking of taste, this is an action-horror-comedy about cannibalism, and vengeance is a dish best served hot. And yes, there is spice; Alyson Bath as Yuki. 

The cinematography is fantastic; grimy, but lush, the special effects makeup is excellent, some great gore set-pieces, and the fight choreography is pretty cool too (obviously). The humour, much of it sex related, is crude, and while many of the jokes fall flat, many of them are filthy funny. 

Evil Feed is a cheeky, violent, sexy, weird monkey indeed. 

Walking out of the cinema I know that images from Dracula and Evil Feed will no doubt reverberate in my head for days to come, like the remnants of some strange, curious dream ... Tanja and Yuki beckoning to me like sirens. 

Obviously I'm deranged. 

I need a stiff drink.

A new friend, Cameron - Greg Mclean's personal assistant (yes, I grill him on Wolf Creek 2!)- invites me to join him and the talented Sororal director Sam Barrett for a nightcap at Naked For Satan, a rooftop bar on Brunswick Street. Unfortunately it's closed for the night. I suggest Black Pearl. Cam likes my style. And we meet Sam there, quickly finding ourselves ensconsed in ciné parlez. As you do.

Discussing silver screen art as movie war stories; Sam proclaiming the original theatrical release of Apocalypse Now as the definitive version, whilst Cam states emphatically that Pieces of April is brilliant. But isn't that the one with Katie Holmes, Sam and I reply. 

I do love chewing the movie fat.

Soon enough its 2am. Time to head back to my Coburg den for some shuteye and fever dream of lusty vampyres ...  

Wednesday, November 27th

It's a hot day. The most consistent day of weather since I've been down here. 

After sleeping in, and after two good coffees from across the road at the Post Office Hotel, I decide to stay indoors and watch a screener for one of the upcoming movies I'll be missing, since I fly back to Sydney tomorrow afternoon. 

Across the River (Oltre il Guado, 2013), is an Italian production from director Lorenzo Bianchini (co-written with his wife) set on the wilderness border of Italy and Slovenia. A wildlife conservationist, played by Renzo Gariup, is the movie's lone, central character. A man dedicated to his work, tagging foxes and boar, and checking remote cameras. 

He travels in his van, fords a river (and almost doesn't quite make it) and later comes across a derelict, ruined village. It is here that his loneliness will be challenged. The stone and wood remains of the settlement are haunted. 

Very reminiscent of the chilling, minimalist vibe of Andrei Tarkovsky's Stalker, Across the River is an eerie, deeply atmospheric, and damn creepy account of a man being slowly and steadily terrorised by ghosts. This tale is on serious slow burn, smoldering with coals of earthy, unctuous fear. 

Beautifully shot and photographed, washed in stoney greys and soiled in a perpetual rain, almost entirely without dialogue, with a drifting, melancholy score, Across the River is a movie that creeps on you and plants its hand firmly on your shoulder with an icy grip. 

Across the River screens on Saturday, November 30th, 11pm, at Cinema Nova. 

At 7pm it's time for the Q&A via Skype with the special makeup effects legend that is Tom Savini. Originally Tom was to be one of Monster Fest's special international guests, but unfortunately due to a last minute conflict of work dates he was unable to leave the US. Thank Christ for Skype. 

Zak Hepburn, host of Nova's Cultastrophe, is on moderating duties, and he is fully up for the position remarking on Facebook that if the thirteen-year-old version of himself knew this was going to happen ... I hear ya Zak. 

It might be 3am or so in the States, but Tom is bright and cheery, and answers all of Zak's finely-honed questions wonderfully. I get to throw a couple at him, and his replies are gold: In what movie does he consider is his best work? Tom replies that From Dusk Till Dawn is his best performance (everyone cheers, as this is the movie we'll be watching straight after), but in terms of special effects makeup he reckons Creepshow (1982). He pauses, then corrects himself, "Actually, Day of the Dead" (1985). I nod with satisfaction, as rightly so, Romero's zombie masterpiece features Savini at his spectacular creative zenith. 

Zak relays another question of mine, "Apart from your own amazing work, what other special effects makeup work do you consider to be the benchmarks of the art?" Savini is quick to respond, citing Rob Bottin's work on The Thing (1982), Dick Smith's work on The Exorcist (1973), and Alien (1979), which would mean the late, great, Carlo Rambaldi. I feel very good, as my two questions have elicited answers that include three of my all-time favourite horror movies. 

Tom gets his Sydney girlfriend to fetch the infamous dick gun prop that his From Dusk Till Dawn character Sex Machine is equipped with. The audience roars with approval. He also admits he hasn't yet see the remake of Maniac (2012) yet. A few of us shout out that its awesome. Tom nods, "I know, so I've heard."

Time for the main feature, and Robert Rodriguez's action-horror-comedy From Dusk Till Dawn (1996) holds up very well for a movie getting close to twenty years old. Many of its stars look decidedly younger, especially Juliette Lewis, John Hawkes, Danny Trejo. The Tarantino-penned screenplay (from a story by KNB Effects Group's Robert Kurtzmann) is one of the cinephile's less obviously Tarantino-esque, and less pretentious and indulgent, and Rodriguez directs with zany, dynamic flair.  

George Clooney delivers one of his finest portrayals, Tom Savini's vamp and Cheech Marin's Chet Pussy are both still hoots, but the movie's ultimate scene-stealer is still Salma Hayek as Santanico Pandemonium; her volupté immortalised. 

And that's my One Week in the Jaws of the Monster Fest Beast blog wrapped up. 

What have been my top five? Keeping mind I haven't seen several of the movies still to screen, and excluding the two cult classic screenings, my favourites would be, in no particular order: Sororal, Beckoning the Butcher, Apocalyptic, Contracted, and Chocolate Strawberry Vanilla.

Big props to the Monster Pictures crew; Neil, Grant, Leslie, and Ben, also to Zak, Cinema Nova, to Annabel and Tom, and to my other new Melbournian friends, it's been a blast! 

Here Comes the Devil

Ahí Va el Diablo

Mexico/USA | 2013 | Directed by Adrián García Bogliano

Logline: Whilst on a family trip two adolescent children vanish after exploring the nearby rocky hills, are later found and returned, but they are not the same beings.

I’ve seen several of Bogliano’s features and he’s a great stylist of low-budget atmospherics. In fact “atmosphere” is one of the key elements of his movies that makes them so memorable. Not surprisingly he cites Roman Polanski as one of key influences, and certainly Bogliano knows a thing or two about suspense, and about the darker undercurrents of humanity.

Whereas Bogliano’s early features traded on the grindhouse vibe of giallo and rape-revenge, his latest is like a cross between Picnic at Hanging Rock (1975) and Invasion of the Body Snatchers (1956); it’s a supernatural thriller with strong horror overtones. Here Comes the Devil creeps like the boogeyman and stings like an alien wasp.

Felix (Francisco Barriero) and Sol (Laura Caro) are being put through the wringer. The emotional trauma of losing their children, then have them returned, only to discover a local sex predator may have molested them is almost too much to bear. So they become vigilantes (in the movie’s most graphic horror sequence), but there is something much darker at work, something beyond the pale.

What Here Comes the Devil is possessed with scenes that are crafted with a genuine eye and ear for nightmarish authenticity; those terrifying visions that float with normality, yet are horribly, horribly wrong. There is a tenebrous shroud of the macabre that inexorably engulfs this tale of doppelganger dread. I’ll Never Die Alone (2007) is Bogliano’s most confronting movie, but Here Comes the Devil is his most affecting; the fragility of parental security, alienated offspring, darkened sexuality.

There is a dangerous sensuality that permeates Bogliano’s movies, and it is in Here Comes the Devil that it is most delicate and elusive. Laura Caro gives an excellent performance as wife and mother in angst most deep. Also notable are the two pubescent children, Michele Garcia as older Sara and Alan Martinex as young Adolfo, while Julio Pillado’s spooky ambient soundtrack sharpens the atmospheric edge of the movie.

I feel Bogliano is steadily moving toward an English-language movie, which I suspect is next. I am both excited by the prospect of a sizeable budget, especially as I trust Bogliano would utilize practical effects over CGI, but I fear he will lose some of that oh so effective intimacy and, well, that nightmarish je ne sais quoi! So before that happens grab this Devil by the horns!

Here Comes the Devil screens as part of Melbourne’s Monster Fest, Saturday, November 30th, 3pm, at Cinema Nova. 

Contracted

US | 2013 | Directed by Eric England

Logline: A young woman has a one-night stand, and, much to her dismay, discovers she has contracted some kind of extreme infection.

Samantha (Najarra Townsend) is having a bad day. Actually turns out she’s gonna have a bad few days, but let’s start at the beginning. She’s having trouble with her new lover, Nikki (Katie Stegeman), or to be precise, Nikki has lost interest. She’s having issues with her mother (Caroline Williams), or to be precise, Sam’s mum suspects her daughter has slipped back into bad habits. But, the worst is yet to come.

Her best friend Alice (Alice Macdonald) is having a house party, and Sam arrives in a glum mood, only to be hit on by Riley (Matt Mercer), and reminded of her illicit habits by local drug dealer Zain (Charley Koontz). Alice coerces Sam to have several shots, let her hair down, get happy. Nek minnit, Sam is unknowingly sipping from a Mickey Finned red cup from some guy called BJ (Simon Barrett) and having unprotected sex in his car.

Over the next three days Sam’s physical health deteriorates rapidly. It’s pretty obvious she’s caught some kind of heinous venereal disease from that asshole at the party. Sam is preoccupied with winning back Nikki, keeping her mother and Riley at bay, and having to explain her situation to Alice. But that ghastly pink eye is enough to ring anyone’s alarm bells, not to mention the crotch rash and vaginal bleeding. Oh, and that maggot is a bit of a worry too.

Contracted begins with an intriguing prologue sequence; a corpse in a morgue appears to be interfered with. Was that a tag with a radioactive sign tied to the dead girl’s toe? A man zips up the body bag. He leaves the hospital in the dead of night.

The extremity of Sam’s physical decay is very reminiscent of another movie released earlier in the year, Thanatomorphose. Both movies deal with a female perspective, and revolve around sexual conquest and communication frustration. Thanatomorphose is a more surreal, expressionist, and ultimately claustrophobic journey down the river Styx, whereas Contracted ultimately reveals itself to be a close-up, singular vision of zombieism.

Eric England’s directorial style is strong, and he elicits solid performances from his cast, especially Najarra Townsend, a darling of the Californian indie short film scene, but also Katie Stegemen and Alice Macdonald. Nice to see 80s cult final girl Caroline Williams from The Texas Chainsaw Massacre Part 2 (1986) in a role (a couple of face lifts down the track!)

The moody ambient electronic score from Kevin Riepl was excellent, and the special effects makeup from Mayera Abeita was also notable, especially those “infected” contact lenses. Although England shied away from showing anything gross, the suggestion was adequate for the movie’s tone. I had more of an issue with having to suspend my belief on some of Sam’s decisions regarding her well being, and the actions of her doctor. And, unfortunately, the final scene of the movie lurches into unintentional comical territory.

Flaws aside this is a low-budget indie dark delight, mostly due to Najarra Townsend’s natural charisma and assured performance, the throbbing atmospheric soundtrack, and the fresh (!) approach to a genre staple. 

Contracted plays as part of Melbourne’s Monster Fest, Thursday November 28th, 6:15pm, at Cinema Nova.

The Banshee Chapter

US/Germany | 2013 | Directed by Blair Erickson

Logline: Whilst researching the disappearance of a friend who had experimented with a powerful psychotropic drug, an investigative journalist becomes embroiled in a government cover-up that threatens her sanity and her life.

Project MK Ultra was the code name of US government research operation that experimented on human behaviour from the early 1950s to the early 1970s. The CIA ran it, and most of its activities were illegal, not to mention ethically reprehensible, and utterly inhumane; manipulating people’s mental states and altering their cognitive functions through the (mis)use of psychotropic drugs such as LSD and DMT.

Much has been written and said about this outrageous sanctioned use of dangerous methodologies and administration of sensory deprivation, emotional abuse, and psychological torture upon unsuspecting college students, hospital patients, and prison inmates.

The Banshee Chapter takes the element of malevolent spectres and the conspiracy theory chestnut, and throws them into a dark pit of paranoia and supernatural dread. Intrigue is for the intrepid, but be careful what you wish for, because you might just get it. Or, to be precise, curiosity killed the cat.

Katie Winter plays Anna Roland, the journalist on a mission. She’s fearless, or maybe just reckless. Michael McMillian is her dear friend James, who imbibed a dose of DMT, Dimethyltriptamine, a dangerous psychedelic compound, and one that was used extensively during the MKUltra years. James and his colleague have both vanished. Anna is determined to find out what happened.

Ted Levine plays a Hunter S. Thompson-esque Thomas Blackburn, a renegade author lost in the wilderness, but with more than a few yarns, half-truths, and dirty white lies to spill. When Anna is invited to join in on a mind-expanding session, she does, much to her better judgment. Be careful what you’re looking for, because you might just find it.

Performances are good, especially Ted Levine who brings a charming sense of eccentricity to the movie’s atmosphere. Katie Winter certainly has screen presence, but she wasn’t always the most convincing.

With the low-budget ingenuity of Session 9 (2001) and The Blair Witch Project (1999), using location shooting, and relying on the presence of the unknown, with occasional shocks – and there are some real doozies – Blair Erickson has fashioned a very effective little spooker. I was reminded of the creeping doom of Absentia and Skew, two strong indie flicks from 2011. See The Banshee Chapter and prepare to be seriously spooked out.

The Banshee Chapter screens in 3D as part of Melbourne’s Monster Fest, Saturday November 30th, 5pm, Cinema Nova.

Frankenstein's Army

Netherlands/US/Czech Republic | 2013 | Directed by Richard Raaphorst

Logline: Near the end of WWII Russian soldiers in Eastern Germany discover a secret Nazi lab that has been experimenting with the radical surgical procedures of Dr. Victor Frankenstein.

Utilising the “food footage” genre to tell the macabre tale of Hitler’s last-ditch attempt to win World War II, Richard Raaphorst’s absurd and campy horror pantomime is far more interesting in its concept than its execution. Adolf doesn’t make an appearance, but his bat-crazy notion of using the body parts of dead Ruskies to assemble super-soldiers, affectionately called “zombots” in the movie’s end credits, is put to graphic use.

The zombots are stitched together steampunk killing machines, part zombie, part robot, and it is up to the ragtag Russian soldiers to try and put an end to this madness, before all humanity is lost to Frankenstein’s monstrous army!

I really wanted to like this movie, but I was never engaged. The characters are dull, and the best action-horror set pieces come too late in the movie. The shaky-cam point of view perspective (inherent in any found footage flick) has very questionable in a period movie set in 1945; surely there were no 16mm cameras with built-in microphone. And certainly no such cameras could run by themselves (as the camera does in the movie’s final scene).

The special effects and the design of the zombots are the movie’s strongest elements. The gore effects are all practical prosthetic effects, and for the most part they are excellent; especially the finger dismemberment and cranial surgery sequences. The steampunk zombots, all corkscrews, stilts, rotary blades, and visors, are captivating whenever they’re on screen, but it was a shame the overall tone of the movie wasn’t darker still, and as such the zombots presence even more menacing, instead they seem more mischievous than terrifying.

Mary Shelley gets a character credit, but I’m not sure what she’d make of the bastardization of her beloved mad scientist. Frankenstein’s Army would probably make a great musical, in the vein of The Rocky Horror Picture Show and Repo! The Genetic Opera, which would be even less my cup of tea, but probably garner more of a cult following in the long run.

Attention Frankenstein completists and steampunk enthusiasts.

Frankenstein’s Army is released in Australia by Madman Entertainment. 

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.