Fear(s) Of The Dark

Peur(s) Du Noir | France | 2007 | Directed by Blutch, Charles Burns, Marie Caillou, Pierre Di Sciullo, Lorenzo Mattotti, Richard McGuire

Logline: Several nightmarish tales of the macabre, grotesque and creepy delivered in heavily-stylised monochromatic animation by leading European artists of the surreal.

We’re so used to modern animation being saturated in colour, especially the stuff that comes out of Hollywood (Pixar and Dreamworks Animation), that a collection of animated tales in stark black and white seems strangely refreshing. Add to it a distinctly European (with a dash of Asian) sensibility and a healthy dose of surrealism and you’ve got the fabulously "noir" tales and interludes that make up the Franco fears of Fear(s) of the Dark, a title which plays deliciously with both its subject matter and its stylistics.

There are four main stories, plus one that is cut up and played between the four main tales, and another that is delivered as a series of shape-shifting interludes with narration. The movie opens with the hounds from hell barely being held in check by a ghoulish-looking leash-holder. These dogs snarl and devour anything that gets in their way including a lost little boy. Later they ravage a young gypsy woman. Eventually the dog-owner (?) gets his.

The first main tale describes in flashback a nervous young man’s romance with a very strange woman who enters his life not long after he’s lost his praying mantis pet. She becomes his lover and more, her personality transmogrifying along with her physicality. Carnal desire becomes very heavy and sticky for the young man. This was a most grotesque vision, and reminded me of David Lynch.

The second story is of a Japanese schoolgirl who falls foul of a Samuari ghost. There is blood spilled here (the only splash of colour in the whole 85-minute feature). The animation style leans toward anime but also seems vaguely, strangely South Park-esque in style too; unsettling, yet very striking.

The third tale is dreamy and painterly, with washes of grey and floating shadows. A man reflects back on a village terrorised by a monstrous beast. This is one of the standout stories visually. There are many stunning images that drift and coil like clear light over dark water, undulating with the potency of a beautiful, but dangerous dream.

The final tale is my favourite (although they’re all superbly made, no qualms there). A middle-aged man who never says a word, simply grunts and groans, has moved into an old house only to discover he’s not alone. It’s haunted and it ain’t gonna let him go. There are no shades of grey or cream here, it’s all either pitch black or white as a ghost. The shapes and patterns created by the shafts of light and the dense shadows make this the most visually striking tale of the whole collection.

Although this is adult fare, it’s not about gory viscera, graphic nudity or even expletives. The emphasis is on atmosphere, texture and tone, and Fear(s) of the Dark delivers in spades; black spades digging coal at midnight under a moonless sky.

Womb

2010 | Germany/Hungary/France | Directed by Benedek Fliegauf

Logline: A woman’s consuming love leads her to bear a clone of her dead beloved, raising him to adulthood where she faces unavoidable complexities.

Womb (released in the UK as Clone) is a movie of deep, emotionally charged, poetic moments. It is a narrative that lies in stillness and reflection, relies on nuance and subtlety, but at the core there is heartbreak and desperation. It is a powerful and unsettling tale that disturbs in the disquieting way a dream does as it lingers in your mind during those waking moments.

Rebecca is nine when she firsts meets Thomas who is ten. The time and place is never identified, but it is a coastal environment, and the science of human cloning is something that has been both embraced and shunned. This is a science fiction morality tale; not as explicit warning, but a timely reminder of the complex responsibilities and potentially awkward (to say the least) situations this bio-tech advancement will have on society’s ethics and the future of the human race.

Young Rebecca and Thomas forge an immediate close bond, but it isn’t to last, as Rebecca has to depart for Japan. She is gone for twelve years. When she returns they are adults, Thomas (Matt Smith) is an entomologist who moonlights as a political activist. Rebecca and Thomas resume their childhood sweetheart program, but their romance is shattered. Rebecca decides to walk the controversial avenue and visits the Department of Genetic Replication where she uses Thomas’s DNA (secretly supplied by the father, as the mother is loathe to) in a bid to reclaim what she lost: she is impregnated and subsequently gives birth to a baby boy who grows up looking exactly like young Thomas.

Benedek Fliegauf opts for a less obvious approach to the passing of time; there are no sub-titles saying “five years later” or “many seasons later”, but there doesn’t need to be, the visual narrative is strong and succinct enough. Eva Green should have been visually aged once Thomas reaches seventeen (or thereabouts), but as the movie is a symbolic tale, the emphasis on that level of realism is not important.

Peter Szatmari’s cinematography is stunning, icy blue widescreen vistas of the beach, shot on the Germanic island of Sylt, lots of long shots, tableaux. Fliegauf loves his photographic rule of thirds and uses it extensively, but never ostentatiously. There is a cool vibe, a warm chill to the mood, both visually and tonally. It’s an original screenplay, but it feels like it’s based on a novel; or possibly a play, especially the languid pace, small cast – all of who perform excellently – and only a clutch of locations.

Womb is a deep movie that swims in shallow waters; on the surface is a melancholic romantic fantasy, but underneath is a dark psychological drama; one woman’s mental health unhinged, her self-control slipping through her fingers like eels through a net. Womb is as insular and life affirming as it is tenebrous and primal. There is a dysfunctional carnality that is tugged and pulled as the strands of procreative reasoning fray.

What We Do In The Shadows

NZ | 2014 | Directed by Taika Waititi & Jermaine Clement

Logline: A documentary portrait of four very different vampires who share a house and attempt to live normally amongst mortals.

In the tradition of This is Spinal Tap, What We Do in the Shadows is a mockumentary that follows three undead men around their house and small town as they, mostly, make fools of themselves (a fourth vampire essentially remains housebound). It’s a low-budget affair, loose and rough around the edges, but infused with charismatic personalities, and it exudes a curious, fetid charm.

Viago (Taika Waititi) is a slightly goofy three-hundred-and-seventy-nine-year-old vampire. He tries to keep the household together and calls for flat meetings to address the state of the dishes. Deacon (Jonathon Brugh), aged 183, the young vamp on the block, hasn’t been pulling his weight. He thinks his suave sexiness warrants laziness. Then there’s Vladislav (Jermaine Clement), a mature 862-years-old, and the more decadent and nonchalant of the three flatmates. Finally there is Petyr (Ben Fransham), the uber-creepy Nosferatu, down in the basement. He’s about 8,000 years ancient, and looks it.

The three vampires present their issues and yearnings, explain their trials and tribulations: the struggle with living in a contemporary world, the age-old problem of having to avoid sunlight and drink the blood of mortals to maintain their youth. It seems the quaint old township of Wellington, New Zealand, has charmed the world-weary undead. But it is romance that continues to plague them.

Based on a short film Clement and Waititi made in 2006 What We Do in the Shadows feels like a short that’s been expanded to feature length. It’s a series of comical vignettes, with the vampires having to deal with the mundane day-to-day chores, but the jokes don’t always hit home, some falling flat, while others warrant barely a chuckle. I certainly wouldn’t describe the movie as “hilarious”, despite the quote being used ad infinitum on the movie’s poster design. Admittedly high expectation can be a dangerous thing.

One of the genuinely laugh-out-loud scenes is a nocturnal confrontation between our undead subjects and a pack of roaming lycanthropes. The vampires pass the werewolves and words are exchanged, expletives even. Anton (Rhys Darby in fine dry form) immediately addresses the standoff, “We’re werewolves, not swearwolves!”

This is a broadly entertaining vampire comedy that squeezes every inch of humour from the vampire lore. The performances are solid, though I found Clement’s curiously subdued. Ultimately it’s a shame the movie isn’t as eccentric or quirky as Flight of the Conchords or Boy, or the overall comic tone a few shades darker, as I think that would’ve given the movie the delicious neck cult flavour it so clearly demands. 

The Green Inferno

US/Chile | 2013 | Directed by Eli Roth

Logline: A group of student activists arrive in the South American jungle to save the rainforest from destruction, but are captured by a cannibal tribe.

Not to be confused with a lame Italian exploitation flick of the same name, since Eli Roth’s “homage” to Ruggero Deodato’s notorious gut-munchin’ chunk blowin’ cult classic Cannibal Holocaust is simply glossy trash, and should never be considered as anything but a travesty of the cannibal sub-genre of nightmare movies. Roth's movie is a lame turkey indeed.

I’ve come to the conclusion that Eli Roth is almost as reprehensible to the horror genre as Rob Zombie, a filmmaker who claims to be a True Believer, but continues to wreak havoc on the scene. The Green Inferno is Roth’s first film as director in seven years. Admittedly Hostel: Part II was a decent Euro-flavoured exploitation piece that was much better than it deserved to be, especially considering how dreadful the first movie was, and I’m not a fan of the messy Cabin Fever, so it looks to me like Roth sold his soul to the Devil for Hostel: Part II.

His story credit for The Green Inferno might’ve look okay on paper, but the screenplay, with his Aftershock writing colleagues Guillermo Amoedo and an uncredited Nicolas Lopez, is diabolical. Aftershock was a trash-fest, and The Green Inferno is no different. In fact, six of the actors – as well as the cinematographer and editor - from Aftershock surface in the jungle, including pretty young thing Lorenza Izzo, whose pained deer-in-the-headlights look sums up the entire movie. She plays Justine, the movie’s central protagonist, and the menstruating sacrifice to the female circumcision gods in Roth’s infernal catastrophe.

A bunch of gung-ho student environmentalists spurned on by charismatic activist Alejandro (Ariel Levy) travel from NYC to the Peruvian rainforest to save the Amazonian flora and fauna from the natural devastation of ruthless urban expansion. Everything seems to go to plan … until the flight out goes into a tailspin. Then it’s out of the frying pan and into the tribal fire; civilised skin vs. savage flesh, and nothing’s off the menu. 

There are so many things wrong with The Green Inferno, I don’t know where to start. In a nutshell: it's juvenile and puerile. Apparently Cannibal Holocaust is the movie that made Eli Roth want to be a director, and The Green Inferno was the original title of Deodato’s pioneering found footage nightmare. But the two movies are worlds apart. For the most part Deodato’s is grounded in gritty cinema verite realism, and is genuinely shocking, whereas Roth’s production is a hammy cartoon; over-lit, over-wrought, and its atmosphere (or lack thereof) is utterly unconvincing. It’s simply too clean and pretty to take seriously, and its far from being any kind of mondo shocking.

Roth’s uneven tone, penchant for scatological humour, self-indulgence, dire dialogue are rife. One of the students suffering extreme diarrhea while the natives laugh and gesture, and later the prisoners manage to stuff a plastic bag of marijuana down the throat of one of their dead before she’s cooked up in the tribal smokehouse. The pot smoke manages to get the entire tribe stoned, falling out of their tree ripped even, thus enabling the prisoners to stage an escape. It’s preposterous.

Greg Nicotero and Howard Berger’s special effects makeup is okay at best, and at worst as stiff or rubbery and unrealistic as the work they produced for Roth in the first Hostel movie. What’s with that?! KNB have delivered some kick-ass stuff over the years, but in Roth’s six million dollar romp in the jungle the results are mediocre. The editing might have something to do with the lack of impact, so I wonder if Roth was forced to cut anything out to avoid an NC-17? Not that I really care anymore.

And what’s with the no real nudity bullshit? Lorenza Izzo is tied down, about to have her womanhood cut off, and the next thing she’s managed to KO the torturer and miraculously has donned a tiny string bikini.

The late, great True Believin’ critic Chas. Balun, who was Cannibal Holocaust’s great champion, famously tagged Deodato’s movie with the line, “The one that goes all the way.” My message to Roth: Don’t go there, unless you’re gonna go all the way.  

Cannibal Holocaust roasts and eats The Green Inferno for breakfast, picks the fat and gristle from its teeth, and spits the bone splinters in the jungle dust.

Proxy

US | 2013 | Directed by Zack Parker

Logline: A grieving woman is befriended by another damaged soul with both women finding their lives dangerously and irrevocably entwined with their respective partners.

An unusually impressive movie, much more so than it should be considering how far-fetched the narrative is, but therein lies the nasty rub, as Proxy proves that if you pull strings that are made of the right fabric and pull them the right way, you can execute a horror-thriller with serious panache. Zack Parker has managed to mix a rare cocktail, a heady beverage that will kick the bar stool out from under you.

Proxy is the kind of Brian De Palma return to form we’ve been itching for, minus the flashy camera tricks. Perhaps Brian should commission a script from Parker and his co-screenwriter Kevin Donner, then we’d have a seriously ciné descent into lusty madness. But, Zack Parker’s low-budget limitations doesn’t stop him from producing a compelling piece of cinema, even if it does take a little long to get to its rug-pulling denouement.

A heavily pregnant Esther (Alexia Rasmussen) is brutally assaulted (a truly disturbing scene) after leaving her final check-up at a clinic. She loses the baby, and consequently, she finds herself in a support group for grieving parents. Another mother, Melanie (Alexa Havins) befriends her, and Esther reveals the baby was conceived by sperm bank. Melanie claims her husband and baby were killed by a drunken driver, but at a later date Esther spies Melanie in a department store, hysterical, as, apparently, her son has just been kidnapped.

Now throw a vengeful lesbian lover and an unhinged husband into the stew.

Proxy twists and turns like a cut snake. Protagonists and antagonists veer and swerve with seemingly little rhyme or reason. But then, that is half the point, as this is a study of unreliable states of being, and perspectives via psychological imbalance makes for interesting viewing in the right hands. The cast of unknowns (with the exception of indie veteran Joe Swanberg), deliver convincing performances. These are some truly screwed up misfits indeed.

Which brings me to the clever play on the meaning of the title. Apparently there’s a form of psychosis that results in a behavioral pattern known as “Münchausen syndrome by proxy” where a parent or caregiver fabricates or exaggerates a child’s sickness or injury, or actually harms the child themselves, in order to gain attention from others. In simpler terms, it is a unique form of child abuse.

The literal meaning of the word “proxy” can be applied to Esther and Melanie who use each other (and others) for their own agenda, outside that of the aberrant medical condition. But enough wallowing around in the plotted mire of these characters’ wicked, wicked ways. The less you know about Proxy, the more pleasurable the headfuck is!

Proxy will divide audiences, no doubt. Those that relish the mischievous narrative structure, savouring the demented power games, the murderous perversion … and those that find the movie far too ludicrous and long-winded to be taken seriously. I’m definitely on the dark, dangerous and deadly side of the fence where the nightmare action is.

Proxy screens as part of the 8th Sydney Underground Film Festival, Saturday 6th, 10:30pm, Factory Theatre, Marrickville.

Suburban Gothic

US | 2014 | Directed by Richard Bates Jr.

Logline: An over-educated young man with paranormal insight returns to his small hometown, and finds himself at the mercy of everything wrong with it, including a vengeful ghost.

For his second feature the talented Richard Bates (Excision) turns up the comedy dial, turns down the perversity level, and broadens his appeal. The result is an entertaining supernatural romp that teases with romance, plays mischievously with horror, and manages to tie a purple scarf around the creepy old oak tree.

Raymond (Matthew Gray Gubler, a kind of prettier version of Johnny Knoxville) is the flamboyantly dressed prodigal son returned to less than proud parents, well, certainly dad, Donald (Ray Wise), isn’t that happy with how his son turned out. Raymond might be a tad queer, but he isn’t gay. Of course the bullies who slapped him around at school couldn’t care less about the truth. It seems only bar bitch Becca (Kat Dennings, playing, well, Kat Dennings) understands Raymond’s reserved, yet colourful personality.

Following some foul fiddling on Raymond’s property by meddling landscapers, the spirit of a young girl is unleashed, and the ghost of her papa ain’t none too happy either. It’s up to Raymond, with Becca’s keen help, to try and get everything hunky dory again.

If you can imagine Hal Hartley and John Waters having an adopted love child kidnapped by Tim Burton and Sam Raimi, then that Stockholm Syndrome delinquent would be the Suburban Goth kid playing silly buggers here. In fact, John Waters makes a cameo! As does Jeffrey Combs! And the Twisted Twins! And was that Mackenzie Phillips and Sally Kirkland too? I almost expected Bruce Campbell to make an appearance!

Suburban Gothic is kept buoyant by the charismatic cast and the delightful nuanced performances of the leads. I’ve not seen Gubler before, but he’s great to watch, and the sardonic chemistry between him and Dennings is perfect. Their scenes together are a hoot. Bates writes great characters and gives them spot-on dialogue; he’s one of the more exciting genre filmmakers on the scene. 

What gives the movie an extra splash of cult zing ping is Bates’ penchant for the crude and vulgar (a la John Waters) which rears its head in one scene in particular when Raymond is getting his rocks off watching some Latino web-cam porn on the computer and the vindictive spirit decides to play nasty by filling the ceiling lampshade fixture above him with … cum. Then the fixture bursts.

Suburban Gothic charms the braces off of you while it sticks its bristly, fetid tongue in your ear. Ergh! Yup, it’s that kind of kitschy-campy comedy-horror. Enjoy.

Suburban Gothic screens as part of the 8th Sydney Underground Film Festival, Friday 5th, 6:30pm, and Sunday 7th, 3pm, at Factory Theatre, Marrickville.

Haunter

Canada | 2013 | Directed by Vincenzo Natali

Logline: A teenage girl finds herself – and her family – trapped in a supernatural time-loop within the home, reliving each day over and over, until she makes an even more frightening discovery.

Like a less-than-stellar episode of The Twilight Zone, Haunter meanders into frame and quickly wanders into the foggy wilderness of mediocrity. It’s a cliché-ridden ghost story that relies on its twist to keep the bar raised, but the bar was never high enough in the first place. This is strictly haunting-by-the-numbers, with a saccharine feel-good ending.

Lisa (Abigail Breslin) is the moody teenager who becomes aware of a supernatural glitch in the time-space continuum of her home. She is forever washing the same clotches, being accused of losing clothes by her mother, who’s baking the same cake over and over and over; her birthday cake. It seems Lisa’s birthday will never, ever arrive.

After a few wash, rinse and repeats Lisa makes contact with another girl, Olivia (Eleanor Zichy), from the future. Olivia and her family are to be the next set of victims of a sinister serial killer, Edgar Mullins (Stephen McHattie). Yup, Lisa is a ghost. But unlike the rest of her family, she’s worked out she’s one, and it’s up to her to wriggle free from the dark spectral force that has surrounded and infiltrated the house. She’ll need help from Olivia, and the spirits of other previous victims.

Haunter is about waking up to the fact that you’re dead. It’s a spiritual thriller, weaving dangerously close to Christian territory. There is sweet little nightmare edge in this safe-as-houses horror; I’ve seen episodes of Antiques Roadshow that were more disturbing. Even the presence of McHattie (a wasted opportunity, if ever there was!) fails to provide any genuine menace.

Abigail Breslin is in a similar boat to Chloë Grace Moretz. They were great as child actors, but as they enter late adolescence they are not exhibiting much acting range. Of course, it could have a lot to do with the director whose previous movies have featured some very wooden performances. Natali is a former storyboard artist, and certainly his movies have a visual narrative that is so slick as to be like a television advertisement. But they leave me cold. Haunter is no exception.

What scares me the most is Natali is directing William Gibson’s Neuromancer.

Haunter is released in Australia by Umbrella Entertainment.

All Cheerleaders Die

US | 2013 | Directed by Lucky McKee & Chris Sivertson

Logline: A scheming high school student joins the cheerleading team in order to exact revenge on one of the football jocks, but a supernatural turn of events causes chaos.

I’m inclined to think Lucky McKee sold his soul to the Devil in return for the critical acclaim he received for his very impressive second feature May (2002), which has since gained a worthy cult status. His debut effort was the video feature All Cheerleaders Die (2001), and he and Sivertson, apparently, always intended on remaking it when the time was right. I think they should’ve left the dead cheer where it lay.

Maddy (Caitlin Stasey) takes it upon herself to seek sly revenge on the scumbag who was dating her childhood friend Alexis (Felisha Cooper) when she died following a cheerleading mishap. The alpha jock, Terry (Tom Williamson), immediately starts dating one of the other cheerleaders, Tracy (Brooke Butler). Maddy is disgusted. But she has another agenda which is revealed at movie’s end.

Leena (Sianoa Smit-McPhee) is the high school weirdo Goth misfit, and also happens to be Maddy’s ex-girlfriend. She’s into crystals and witchcraft. When things go tragically pear-shaped for the cheerleading team, including sisters Hanna (Amanda Grace Cooper) and Martha (Reanin Johannink), following a confrontation with the football jocks, Leena comes to the rescue with her trusty rainbow collection of supernatural crystal goodies. Before you can say “Iknowwhatyoudidlastsummer” the dead cheer gals are undead and thirsty for the taste of copper, preferably with a little field dirt thrown in. Maddy’s undercover revenge plan is knocked sideways as the girls fight strange new desires.

The casting and performances is the best thing about All Cheerleaders Die. Curiously there are three Aussie gals (Stasey, Sianoa Smit-McPhee, Johannink), all holding their Yankee own, especially Stasey, who deserves a much better vehicle for her talents. But if only the movie was as kickass as it thinks it is. McKee and Sivertson are trying to be clever by trying to subvert horror/exploitation clichés, only to fall into the snake pit they’re attempting to jump over. The tone shifts wildly, as does the plot. To make matters worse, the special effects - especially those involving the crystals – look chintzy as all hell. It’s a shame, because the trailer promised an uber-trashy irresponsible good time, but the trash factor is more bubblegum than filth. Apparently a Part Two is intended. I won’t be attending that game.

Okay, so while it’s not as hopeless as Diablo Cody’s attempt at a femme fatale high school undead horror movie, Jennifer’s Body, All Cheerleaders Die is more like a mish-mash of The Craft, Heathers, and Bring It On, except all those movies worked a dream. Maybe the problem lies more with Sivertson, but Lucky’s namesake isn’t doing him any favours. The Woods was a snoozefest, Sick Girl was a disappointing entry in the Masters of Horror series, and The Woman wasn’t nearly as subversive as it should’ve been.

Fuck it, I'm gonna throw a sexist spanner in the works. I know I said the casting was solid, but call me old fashioned; since when did cheerleaders’ prerequisite not include big busts?!

Nurse

US | 2013 | Directed by Douglas Aarniokoski

Logline: A nurse who spends her extra-curricular time luring cheating married men and murdering them finds her mission complicated by the arrival of an attractive new nurse.

Nurse 3D, using its official title (there’s something incredibly tacky about movies that incorporate their gimmick into the title), is an odd movie. It’s not a good one either. In fact, it’s not even a good bad one, which perhaps it’s trying to be, since it obviously plays mostly for laughs. And therein lies the grindhouse rub, but more on that later.

I’d been waiting ages to see this movie, having been lured by the teaser poster campaign well over a year ago, and eventually the trailer that seemingly promised a uber-sexy, ultra-trashy indulgence. I had hoped to see it in the cinema in its 3D-shot format, but alas, it wasn’t to be. Neither was I able to organise a home 3D screening. A shame really, because from what I watched the 3D would’ve made the movie a damn sight more entertaining.

Abby Russell (Paz de la Huerta) is the titular (snigger) nurse, by day strutting through the corridors of All Saints Memorial in her ludicrously high pumps and thinking nasty thoughts, but by night, she slips into her sluttiest gear, dons a mountain of makeup, tousles her wild hair (was that a wig?), and hits the nightspots on the hunt for the scum of the earth; those married men with wedding rings in their pockets keen to cheat on their wives with some pretty young thing.

Abby has a burning agenda, but it’s newbie nurse Danni (Katrina Bowden) who unknowingly throws a spanner in the works. Abby has a soft spot for the ladies, and although Danni is betrothed to Steve (Corbin Bleu), Abby knows he’ll soon fuck up, leaving Danni all vulnerable and alone. In the meantime there’s psychotherapist Larry Cook (Martin Donovan), and Dr. Morris (Judd Nelson) to satisfy her bloodlust. Best get cracking.

Douglas Aarniokoski rams his slick flick full of all the obvious exploitation trappings, but this is no Piranha remake. It’s not even a Machete or Planet Terror. They eat this bitch for breakfast. It doesn’t even deserve to be slapped in my Deep Trash bin. Nurse is a contradiction from start to finish, failing in almost every department, except probably the 3D one, but I can’t comment there (and I strongly doubt I’ll revisit the movie just for the three dimensions, despite my intention before I started watching).

Okay, so the acting is mediocre at best. Paz de la Huerta is awesomely seductive in the posters, but her strange accent and delivery fits very awkwardly with the rest of the performances, not to mention her ungainly stride. Judd Nelson’s career highlight was more than twenty-five years ago, ‘nuff said. Martin Donovan, how embarrassing. Kathleen Turner, was that you?!

The less said about the screenplay the better, but exploitation flicks were never about the plot, so I’ll let that one slide. But where are the practical gore effects?! Nurse relies on CGI, which is wrong, wrong, wrong! But the most annoying thing of all is the nudity, or lack there of. Abby does get her gear off a few times, but, very oddly, she keeps her brassiere on. We can see she’s waxed clean as a whistle (which, by the way, is so NOT grindhouse), but why she keeps her bra on is a mystery (actually, I think it’s because Ms de la Huerta’s breasts are asymmetrical).

Co-star Katrina Bowden has two showers with her knickers on, clutching her arms to her side to hide her breasts. What the fuck?! Why would you cast actors in such a movie if they weren’t prepared to do the nudity properly?! (I suppose I should be directing that complaint to Rodriguez too (re: Jessica Alba in Sin City).

If you stripped all of Nurse’s strange nudity and plastic gore away, you’d be left with the kind of pain no amount of medication would fix. Forget the comedy, watch Autopsy instead.

Nurse 3D Blu-ray is distributed in Australia by Roadshow Entertainment.

A Serbian Film

Srpski Film | Serbia | 2010 | Directed by Srdjan Spasojevic

Logline: A veteran porn star agrees to participate in one last movie in order to make a clean break from the business, only to discover later that he has been involved in a soul-crushing snuff film.

A furiously dark and uncompromising portrait of corruption and abuse, focusing on one man’s nightmare ne plus ultra, a descent into the most unimaginable real horror borne from his career, his fear, his life-blood. A Serbian Film, the title seething with the darkest of irony, its intent bent on the most scathing of social commentary portrays an appalling plummet over the edge of the abyss.

Milos (Srdjan Todorovic) is married to a beautiful wife Marija (Jelena Gavrilovic) and has a curious young son, Stefan (Luka Mijatovic). They are a close-knit family, but true happiness eludes them. Milos wants out of the adult industry, and when a lucrative opportunity presents itself Milos takes the bait. A colleague, Lejla (Katarina Zutic), sets him up to meet charismatic art-porn director Vukmir (Sergej Trifunovic) who makes Milos an offer he can’t refuse, while keeping the finer details a mystery.

When Milos discovers, much to his concern, the more perverse elements of Vukmir’s direction he wants his contract cancelled. But Vukmir isn’t open to negotiation. Milos has been mickey-finned. The red light turns to green, but Milos isn’t going anywhere. His groin throbs. His head reels. Everything blurs and fades to black.

The second half of A Serbian Film follows Milos as he uncovers what happened to him during his three-day black out. As shards of extreme violence and depravity pierce Milos’ vision – which, ostensibly, is the viewer’s – the narrative switches back and forth between the events occurring during his drug-addled waking nightmare and Milos struggling to comprehend and deal with the aftermath. What might have appeared disturbing before he blacked out is nothing compared to what is returning to his disorientated mind.

Subliminal images and an intense soundtrack enforce Milos’s fractured memories. He’s been pumped full of a drug that Vukmir likens to “Viagra for bulls”. He has become a “he-goat” as Vukmir muses, a slave manipulated into the most depraved performances, all in the name of dark art for the black market. Vukmir believes himself to be an artist working with the flesh and souls of the victim, because the victim is the priciest sell in the world, the victim feels the most and suffers the best.

Spasojevic has made one of the most controversial and provocative movies ever. It has been banned or censored in most countries. The version released in Australia was shorn of a few minutes, most notably in two scenes depicting pedophilia. Ironically these cuts would have only served to confuse the viewer as to what exactly had occurred and effectively blur the intended impact, they certainly wouldn't have "protected" the viewer as the censor’s might think they’re doing. Shortly after the Australian cut version was approved, an appeal was launched and subsequently the movie was banned altogether.

This is a thematically complex movie; intriguing, sensual, grotesque, shocking, repulsive, exhilarating, mesmerising, and deeply harrowing. I challenge anyone who happens to see the movie not to be moved – in the broadest sense – in some way. This movie doesn’t just slap you in the face; it punches hard, a king-hit that simultaneously kicks your feet out from under you. It’s the art of atrocity that takes the bull of darkest human behaviour by the horns, guaranteed to shock the most jaded transgressive cinephile.

There are the implications of a country plagued by war and atrocity and the loss of identity, the power of individuality, of freedom of speech, of the schizophrenic world of false morality. A Serbian Film is Shakespearean in its arc and the scope of its thematic elements, also its psychological and visceral impact, and most importantly, in the tragedy of its tale. With rich and dark cinematography, a brilliant electronic score that throbs and pulsates like a primordial beast, and uniformly excellent performances from its cast this is arguably the most powerful post-modern horror movie ever made, dealing explicitly with the horror genre’s most potent elements: sex and death, innocence and corruption.

A Serbian Film is a dark horse that kicks like an angry mule.

Willow Creek

USA | 2013 | Directed by Bobcat Goldthwait

Logline: Armed with a video camera a Bigfoot enthusiast and his supportive girlfriend venture into the same forest territory where the controversial late 60s film footage of Sasquatch was captured.

I like Robert Francis “Bobcat” Goldthwait's style. Known chiefly for his unhinged black comedies, most notably the excellent God Bless America, but also for directing cult television, such as Chappelle’s Show and Crank Yankers, he turns his attention to the sub-genre that everyone loves to hate; found footage. He then throws in one of America’s most beloved myths: Bigfoot. It’s a dangerous mix, but Bobcat pulls it off.

Jim (Bryce Johnson) is a Bigfoot geek, not an expert by any stretch (he doesn’t seem to know exactly what year the infamous 1967 Patterson & Gimlin 16mm footage was filmed). His girlfriend, Kelly (Alexie Gilmore), has tagged along with him to visit Bluff Creek, a sandbar near Willow Creek, in Northwest California. Jim is a firm believer, whilst Kelly is a steadfast skeptic. She humours her boyfriend, acting as camera operator for his video diary. They interview locals, make jokes about a Missing Person notice, and enjoy the hefty Bigfoot Burger.

Following directions from one of the Bigfoot tourist stores Jim and Kelly are confronted by an aggressive local, no doubt a marijuana cultivator, who tells them to get the hell out of Dodge. Jim isn’t about to give up the ghost, since he knows an alternate route. Soon enough they’re at the end of the road and it’s time to don the backpacks. After several hours traipsing through the wilderness, with another hour to go before they reach their destination, Kelly insists they set up tent. Jim is brave enough to skinny-dip in a freezing waterhole. Kelly laughs at her goofy boyfriend.

Someone, or thing, has disturbed their campsite. Kelly is unnerved. Jim is quietly excited. That night they are woken by the sound of wood knocking on wood, and a faint cooing. Or is that a woman weeping? Or is that some kind of strange coyote wail? Branches and twigs are being broken. It’s moving closer …

This scene of Jim and Kelly being terrorised lasts a quarter of an hour. One very long, unbroken take, filmed from Jim’s video camera on a tripod inside the tent. It’s incredibly tense.

Found footage flicks have two main issues that need to be dealt with in order to be taken seriously by the True Believers. The first is: camera battery life duration. Now these days consumer cameras have batteries that can last anywhere from five to nine hours, so if Jim and Kelly weren’t videoing every step of their hike, and Jim had brought a couple of spare battery packs, then its easy to accept the battery situation.

The second issue is: videoing under duress. As their nightmare progresses Kelly descends into the early stages of hysteria. She isn’t capable of maintaining any kind of video documentation. Jim, on the other hand, is a pillar of strength, or appears to be. The movie doesn’t require either Jim or Kelly to be fleeing and videoing at that same time. The shit hits the fan pretty damn quickly.

WARNING! CONTAINS SPOILER!

Which brings me to the movie’s denouement, which worked fine for me. I’m sure this ending will polarise many audiences. Bobcat wisely chooses not to reveal Bigfoot in any graphic way. In fact, Bigfoot doesn’t even get a glimpse. Earlier Jim and Kelly find some bloodied hair caught on a tree root, but that could belong to a bear. Jim and Kelly, huddled together, push their way through the thick undergrowth, aware that something very menacing is very close by. A frightening growl is heard, and something very strong definitely attacks the couple.  What does get seen in the light of the camera poses a very intriguing situation: a startling, disturbing close encounter with a filthy, near-naked elderly woman. Followed by brief violent chaos, followed by camera dragged along forest floor, followed by poor Kelly screaming, and several - yes several - subsequent beastly howls in the dark of the forest night.

What the fuck?! Yup. It could be that Mr. Sasquatch may be having inter-special relations with one of its Stockholm Syndrome victims. Perhaps I’m stretching the animal logic a little, maybe not. But this is what I really like about Willow Creek. It’s a dirt-cheap production, filmed very economically, unpretentious, sports two likeable characters, well-acted, some funny dialogue, but best of all, it delivers some genuine nightmare madness into the equation without trying to solve a fifty-year-old mystery. While it might be as scary as The Blair Witch Project, its certainly but much better than the recent, very disappointing The Jungle.

The Babadook

Australia | 2014 | Directed by Jennifer Kent

Logline: A single mother, plagued by the violent death of her husband, battles with her son's fear of a monster lurking in the house, but soon discovers a sinister presence all around her.

Jennifer Kent is an actress-turned-director, and like most of those that have made the same transition, her understanding of the craft and discipline of acting has made sure she elicits exceptional performances from her actors. Her debut feature is a showcase of exemplary acting from an adult and a child, made all the more powerful by clever shooting and editing, since The Babadook is quite the nightmare material that would’ve given any seven-year-old the serious heebie-jeebies.

Essie Davis, most recently notable in the brilliant Burning Man, and the superb television mini-series The Slap (both 2011), plays Amelia, a widow and mother-at-the-end-of-her-tether. Seven years after she lost her husband, Oskar (Benjamin Winspear), the father of Samuel (Noah Wiseman), her son, the grief is still preventing her from living the social life she deserves. Young Sam’s behaviour is troubling. His overactive imagination is beginning to show tears at the sides of sanity, as he is convinced a beast of sorts is living under his bed, and, as a result both mum and son are losing sleep.

To complicate matters, there’s the children’s book that has creeped onto the bedroom shelf, “Mister Babadook”, a grim pop-up fable that treads very much from the darkness. Amelia tries to hide it, but it makes more than just its literary presence known. Soon enough the tenebrous supernatural entity from the book has permeated the household and it’s by no means chanting a lullaby.

Kent made a short, Monster, back in 2005, and it’s a monochromatic gem, rather creepy, but infused with a sly black sense of humour that rears its head at film’s end. Kent has spread that short’s dark cape into an impressive feature with a stunning use of a very modest budget. The art direction is terrific, all muted greys, blacks, and charcoal hues – especially in the home where most of the movie takes place. Mister Babadook’s design (Tim Purcell plays the black creature-figure, as he did in the short) is fantastic, as is the titular pop-up book paper engineering.

Much of the way Kent directs reminds me of the nightmarish elements that made Takashi Shimizu’s Ju-on so powerful. And, even Dario Argento could take note of Kent’s inventive and effective use of atmosphere and suggestion, something that has been missing from the Italian master’s oeuvre for more than twenty years!

I was really having a great time with The Babadook, especially loving Jed Kurzel’s classic score (can Kurzel do a hat-trick, having also brilliantly scored Snowtown?), until the last quarter of the movie when the spectre’s malevolent presence began to dissipate and that wonderfully dark atmosphere began to clear. The reason? The power of love. Yup, that ol’ chestnut; the same nugget that saved – but in horrorphile’s eyes emasculated - The Conjuring. And, curiously, both movies are similar in their Neil Gaiman-esque creepiness, even genuinely frightening in moments. Such a pity those darkly bellowing clouds of imaginative horror have become morning mist by the end of the movie.

It’s not that I’m cynical (well, I can be), but movies like The Babadook and The Conjuring could be up there with the very best, if only they played out their denouements in the same way as movies such as Invasion of the Body Snatchers, The Texas Chain Saw Massacre, Halloween, The Thing, The Descent, Martyrs. You get my drift? To be a True Believin’ horror movie there’s got to be darkness at the end of the tunnel.

Not light.

You can’t get to tame the beast.

Watch Jennifer Kent's Monster short:

Godzilla

US | 2014 | Directed by Gareth Edwards

Logline: A giant lizard battles two giant malevolent insect creatures and wreaks havoc on San Francisco whilst the people of San Fran try to stay out of the way.

It’s the sixtieth anniversary of Toho’s Gojira, the Japanese daikaiju symbol of the WII destruction of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. The “gorilla-whale” re-boot is a monstrous 350-ft lizard-like behemoth that rises from the depths of the pacific to equalize Nature’s off-set and do battle with two hideous industrial beasts, part bat, part moth, machine-like demons fueled by an insatiable thirst for radioactive material. These creatures are nicknamed MUTOs (Massive Unidentified Terrestrial Organisms).

Edwards keeps reasonably faithful to the spirit of Japan’s original series of “daikaiju eiga” (monster movies). The Godzilla design is bang-on, even down to the keloid scarring, with a bear-like snout and a komodo-like body. This is one monster movie that carries serious weight. This is easily the biggest spectacle movie of the year (I think the next Transformers flick will be eating Godzilla’s dust). And I take my hat off to Gareth Edwards’ 700-strong team of CGI artists; the execution (pun intended) of San Francisco’s collateral damage has to be seen - and heard - to be believed. If Godzilla doesn’t win Oscars next year for visual effects and sound design I’ll eat my crocodile boots.

There’s a sensational cast on display (yes, display, because they play second fiddle to the mayhem), with Bryan Cranston, David Strathairn, Juliette Binoche, Elisabeth Olsen, and Ken Watanabe heading the field. Aaron Taylor-Johnson, from Kick-Ass, does a solid job in the lead. The screenplay was never going to win any awards, but hey, this is Godzilla, GODZILLA. It's extraordinary how Edwards has gone from Monsters to Godzilla.

My biggest gripe, and perhaps it is this issue that prevents the movie from being the “four-and-a-half star” movie that I had hoped it might be, is that while Edwards deliberately creates an atmosphere very similar to Steven Spielberg’s Jaws, teasing the audience without exposing his Ace until quite some way into the movie, he upstages his main act with one of those damn MUTOs by having the beastoid cause considerable menace and damage before we even get to see Godzilla in all his magnificent terrifying glory.

Speaking of Spielberg, Edwards’ has delivered a movie very similar in tone and style to the Hollywood wunderkind, even down to the insistent score. There are also some James Cameron-esque action moments too (not surprisingly, Cameron was at one time going to direct a Godzilla re-boot). All in all, Godzilla probably suffers under the sheer weight of its own hype. Let’s face it, any self-respecting science-fiction/horror lover has been squirming in their seats ever since those awesome teaser trailers first came out, and for the most part Godzilla doesn’t disappoint, but whether I’ll watch it again in a hurry, I’m not sure. And therein, perhaps, lies the scaly rub.

The Battery

US | 2012 | Directed by Jeremy Gardner

Logline: Two bickering friends travel across the country back roads from abandoned house to derelict house trying to keep one step ahead of the zombies.

Gardner’s debut feature is the itch he loved to scratch. He wrote the screenplay, co-produced it, and is one of the two lead actors. Apparently the budget was $US6 grand and shot in just fifteen days in Connecticut. Now that’s guerrilla filmmaking. It’s somehow fitting that the concept is a zombie apocalypse, but not the usual horde vs. anti-hero antics.

Ben (Gardner) and Mickey (Adam Cronheim) are former baseball players, now survivalists. They spend their time slowly and surely making their way across New England, encountering the living dead from time to time, playing ball to pass the time, and making idle chat and pseudo-argumentative conversation. The movie’s title refers to the collective baseball term for the pitcher and the catcher. And it is this to-ing and fro-ing that keeps The Battery’s languid momentum swaying.

Mickey prefers to have his headphones on, the music taking his mind off the inherent doom of their situation. Ben is more proactive, instigating the use of walkie-talkies, and unwittingly sowing the seeds of further doom. The two young men find themselves at the wrong end of the stick when Annie (Alana O’Brien) and her companion Egghead confront them on a lonely stretch of road.

If Kevin Smith had decided to make a zombie movie, it might’ve turned out something like The Battery, except The Battery isn’t nearly as self-conscious as a Kevin Smith flick. But the real problem with Gardner’s feature is exactly that, it’s a feature. It’s really a short film that’s been padded out extensively. A fifteen-twenty minute running time would’ve been perfect.

The whole last ten minutes or so reminded me of the superb Kiwi zombie short, Zombie Movie (2005). Solid performances, a backbone of comic blackness, and an unpretentious, but striking visual style keep The Battery from being struck out; it’s the slacker flick for zombieheads.

The Battery is distributed in Australia by Accent Film Entertainment.

Martyrs

2007 | France/Canada | Directed by Pascal Laugier

Logline: Two young women, both victims of abuse, forge a close bond as children, and upon release from the clinic they set out for revenge, only to jump from the frying pan into the fire. 

One of the most startlingly brutal nightmare movies of the past decade Martyrs challenges even the most jaded horrorphiles with its unusual narrative arc, with its jarring, dramatic first act, a prolonged and unbearable middle act, and its extraordinarily grotesque, yet strangely meditative third act … and the stunning epilogue.

A French/French-Canadian co-production that is a systematic assault on the senses, Martyrs is at times expressionistic, even surreal, then utterly naturalistic, almost cinema verite-style. Like Eli Roth’s Hostel: Part II, – and not too dissimilar to the concept of evil just below the surface so popular with David Lynch – it portrays a terrible underworld where money and power can let you indulge in your most depraved desires, where victims become pieces of ragged art to a human agenda of a truly heinous design.

Never has the uber-wealthy been portrayed in such a cruel perverted fashion. The hell that Lucie (Mylène Jampanoï) and Anna (Morjana Alaoui) pass through is of truly Biblical propotions. This is a vision of suffering that makes most other horror movies pale in comparison, but so very well-made that it puts all those low-rent torture porn attempts to utter shame (I won’t even bother to name any of them).

The word “martyr” is derived from the Latin word for “witness”. Those rare humans that suffer agonising pain, but will not be broken, finally seeing beyond death into the mysterious void that has caused so much intrigue to for theological muse. Does this after-life actually exist? Only the martyrs know, but none have ever survived to actually relate their experience, their vision.

Pascal Laugier pushes the envelope, at times his brutality is far-fetched, especially during the extended incarceration section in the middle of the movie, but there is a palpable atmosphere and tone of dread that exudes from the narrative that compels the viewer. The acting is top notch, especially Jampanoï, her hysteria and ferocity is amazing to watch. Laugier’s direction is taut and the production design is very impressive. If only more of the left-field horror movies could command the same high calibre level of filmmaking; intelligent and stylish.

Martyrs is a nightmare theological phantasy, it’s over-the-top, yet the director has the reigns firmly in his clutches. It’s the kind of horror movie that polarises audiences; it’s ferocity and oddness will alienate some, while its uncompromising attitude and its imaginative twists will make others squeal with dark delight. This is the kind of grueling experience that would make for the perfect initiation viewing for newbies into a hardcore horror club.

Long live the extreme flesh!

The Raid 2

Indonesia | 2014 | Directed by Gareth Evans

Logline: A cop is forced to go undercover, infiltrate a gangster syndicate and climb through the hierarchy to expose the police and political corruption at the top.

In 2011 The Raid, also known as The Raid: Redemption, and as Serbuan Maut (Death Raid) in its home country, brought writer/director Gareth Evans, an ex-pat Welshman, into the living rooms of extreme action diehards and slapped them in the face. A simple narrative, yet driven by an intensely choreographed ballet of ultraviolence, The Raid became an instant cult classic, and for many a new benchmark in visceral action.

The Raid 2 (with the subtitle Berandal as its closing credits) is actually the movie Evans intended to make first, but it was a far more ambitious production and he wanted to create a memorable back story for his lead character, so The Raid: Redemption was produced first. The box office and critical acclaim secured the sequel’s green light. As far as sequel’s go, it’s arguably a better movie; a more complex narrative, more elaborate set-pieces, more intensity, stronger performances, and, most importantly to the diehard action fans, it’s much more violent.

Rama (Iko Uwais) had a hard time in the high-rise apartment block that was the centre piece of The Raid. He was beaten black and blue. In The Raid he gets beaten blacker and bluer. But not without causing enough mayhem himself to last three Hollywood action flicks! Evans’ extraordinary fight sequences are something to behold. But – and for me, this is a big “but” – one must take all the hand-to-hand combat sequences with a grain of salt. They are very cartoon-like. 

Each thug takes their turn and is knocked silly. Real fights simply don’t happen like that. In this respect both The Raid, and even more so with The Raid 2, the combat content harks back to the now very dated stylistics of the Hong Kong movies of Jackie Chan and other martial arts flicks. They are enjoyable on an immediate level, but make no sense within the framework of the rest of the movie which is attempts to be realistic.

It’s utterly absurd when Rama has been battling it out for ten minutes against scores of goons all armed to the teeth, with barely a scratch on him, and suddenly is hit by a glancing machete. Next scene he’s nursing a flesh wound in his hotel room as if his life depended on it. Later still and all that’s a distant memory as he’s back in the thick of it. There’s really no rhyme or reason in this twisted odyssey of violence and thuggery.

But on a beer and popcorn level it works incredibly well. Unless another Dredd is released this year (I much preferred that over The Raid) then The Raid 2 will easily take out top honours for action flick of the year. Hell, it’s even one of the most violent movies of the past few years! The production is slick, and the villains are nasty. The Raid 3 is already in pre-production, as is a Hollywood remake of The Raid. Boom! 

Fin

Spain | 2012 | Directed by Jorge Torregrossa

Logline:  A group of old friends have gathered for a reunion, but soon discover that the absence of one friend is the explanation for the unfolding of ominous supernatural events.

Smoldering with suspense, bristling with intrigue, coiled like a snake ready to bite, and as elusive as it is enigmatic, Fin is a feature that promises far more than it ultimately delivers, but the ride to the beyond is a solid, very well-acted, drama-thriller.

Despite the involvement of Sergio Sanchez on co-writing duties (he penned The Orphanage), the movie spends far too much time meandering around the characters rather than getting to the bones of the story: the end of days.

Director Torregrossa’s background is in Spanish television, but he shows flair in his mise-en-scene. He certainly can elicit excellent performances, a shame then that the majority of the characters are less-than-interesting. Thankfully the most charismatic ones last the distance.

Essentially Fin becomes a waiting game, as the cosmic elements take their aim on the poor, hapless friends. Seems their old buddy Angel (Eugenia Mira) – the Prophet – might just be right after all. There’ll be tears before bedtime, tears before the Armageddon. Quietly does it.

The movie’s most captivating moment is when the thunder and lightning occur at just after midnight, and all power is zapped. None of the cars electrical equipment works, and then the first friend vanishes. It’s a tense and unsettling situation. From there the friends are on the move, and the narrative becomes a chase; the remaining friends trying to find anyone who hasn’t disappeared, before they all disappear.

The screenplay is based on a novel by Daniel Monteagudo, and I’m sure it reads more compellingly than the movie. It’s a shame then that Fin doesn’t work quite like it should. It simply plateaus far too soon, and as such you lose interest in the outcome. When the end finally arrives, it’s an anticlimax. Ultimately, Fin is a thriller that begs for more thrills. 

Wolf Creek 2

Australia | 2014 | Directed by Greg Mclean

Logline: Several backpackers fall prey to a psychopathic, pig-hunting, outback serial killer.

When it was announced a sequel to Wolf Creek (2005) was in the works, there was a mixture of excitement and reservation amongst the horror community. Most horrorphiles rate the first Wolf Creek as a superior movie, and was easily the best Australian horror movie in a very long time. Genuinely disturbing, atmospheric, frightening, and original, Greg Mclean’s low-budget, old-fashioned, yet very modern take on the slasher flick was an instant cult classic.

Nearly ten years have passed since Mick Taylor (John Jarrett) carved up the screen with his big hunting knife and sent chills down spines with his wicked cackle. Mick’s back, with a few days to kill, and he’s gonna chew through more than just a bit of scenery. Wolf Creek 2 once again reminds it audience that the film is based on true events, and that 30,000 people go missing in Australia every year, and whilst 90% of them are found in the first month, some are never found at all.

The based on actual events tag is tenuous at best, despite the unofficial inspiration for both movies coming from convicted Australian serial killer Ivan Milat and the crimes known as The Backpacker Murders. No one really knows what went on between Milat and his victims, and certainly Paul Onions, the one-that-got-away, didn’t end up in a mental institution.

The screenplay for Wolf Creek 2 is co-written between Mclean and Aaron Sterns (who has published a prequel novel about Taylor’s exploits), and combined with Greg’s visual flair, this sequel has been aimed squarely at the American mainstream market. The movie was even cut by two minutes from its original Australian R to get an MA, so that in America it will receive an R, and not an NC-17.

But it’s not just the graphic violence that’s been conditioned (to be fair, the movie is still very violent, and there is a very messy headshot early on the movie, though in all honesty, its execution smacks of surreal black comedy more than genuine horror); the entire movie has been fashioned for audiences beyond the horror field. In fact, Mclean unashamedly wears a few cult classic American movies on his homage sleeve; Duel (1971) and The Texas Chainsaw Massacre Part 2 (1986), with a hint of Mad Max flavour thrown in for good measure.

Wolf Creek 2 is more of an action-thriller with horror overtones. For those who haven’t seen the original, or aren’t True Believers, it makes for an entertaining fright ride, but there are some serious issues that make Wolf Creek 2 a failure compared to its superior predecessor. Mick Taylor was a genuine nightmare presence in the original, now he’s much more of a wisecracking Crocodile Dundee on a murder spree.

The audience felt significant empathy with the victims of the first movie because they were believable characters with natural chemistry, very likeable, and, most importantly, we spent time with them first. The victims in Wolf Creek 2 are cardboard cutouts, perfunctory at best. The main contender, Paul Hammersmith (read: Onions), is charismatic, but overacted by Ryan Corr, and the audience are encouraged (whether intentionally or not) to root more for the villain, as Taylor is easily the most developed, most gregarious character of the movie. This is the problem that plagued the Freddy Krueger character in the A Nightmare on Elm Street series; he became the “hero” of the movies, and as such the nightmare boogeyman element quickly dissipated.

No doubt one of the most discussed scenes of Wolf Creek 2 will be the Oz history quiz Taylor forces Hammersmith to play. It is here that the movie becomes a black comedy, and it is here that all plausibility gets thrown to the desert wind.

I’m not denying Wolf Creek 2 doesn’t look great (as usual in a Mclean movie, the cinematography is superb), and there’s an awesome set-piece involving a truck running down a hillside (so that’s where some of the $7 million budget went, ‘cos I was hard-pressed to work out how Wolf Creek could cost less than a million, and the sequel cost nearly ten times as much!), but the movie lacks the consistent tone and atmosphere of dread of the original, and the violence is nowhere near as realistic, even if it appears to be more sadistic, bloody and intense.

And why Mick Taylor does what he does at movie’s end makes no sense whatsoever. 

Wolf Creek 2 is eating the Australian box office for breakfast, and it’s great that genre filmmaking is making such an impact, even if it has been so calculated. But for the True Believers, Wolf Creek 2 is homogenised. Let’s hope Greg’s next movie isn’t “Beyond Thunderdome”. 

My nightmare pleasures of 2013

It was slim pickings this year. But three of my favourites are Australian productions.

In some semblance of order. Maybe. 

EVIL DEAD

KISS OF THE DAMNED

RESOLUTION

CONTRACTED

BECKONING THE BUTCHER

V/H/S/2

100 BLOODY ACRES

THE CONJURING

APOCALYPTIC

WORLD WAR Z

And Honourable Mention goes to the 3D conversion re-release of Jurassic Park. Twenty years down the track and the movie's best sequences - the T-Rex breaking out of the compound - still kick arse, and most surprising of all, the entire movie felt like it had been directed for 3D. 

Carrie

US | 2013 | Directed by Kimberly Peirce

Logline: A meek, adolescent girl, with a religiously fanatical mother, and a victim of bullying at school, discovers she has powerful telekinetic powers.

Brian De Palma’s 1976 adaptation from Stephen King’s brilliant debut novel is a movie of its time, yet despite the various elements that date it, it is still a superb example of cinematic suspense wrapped around a portrait of abuse and revenge. The cast were perfect: Sissy Spacek as the shadow that exploded, Piper Laurie as her insufferable mother, Amy “My Name is Susan Snell” Irving, William Katt as heart of gold Tommy Ross, Nancy Allen as pretty bully Chris, John Travolta as her Billy brawn, and Betty Buckley as poor P.E. teacher Miss Collins.

As a rule I’m not one for remakes, certainly not of movies that hit the mark the first time around. However, there are exceptions to the rule, and in the case of Carrie, I became excited about seeing the remake as I realised how much topical relevance there was within its narrative, and how it could be given the modern bullying treatment with kick-ass style.

I was very wrong. Kimberly Peirce’s remake is a complete and utter missed opportunity. Some dude called Roberto Aguirre-Sacasa has been called upon to update Lawrence D. Cohen’s original screenplay adaptation, and it’s flat as a pancake. Now, it’s arguable I know, but this is the remake that Diablo Cody should’ve been hired to write, or at least to provide dialogue and characterisation. Okay, so I hated Jennifer’s Body (2009), but her work on Evil Dead (2013) was good, and her screenplay to Young Adult is excellent. Her hip feminine angle would’ve been perfect for this vehicle.

Whereas Brian De Palma’s Carrie has style to burn, Kimberly Peirce’s Carrie is artless. You’d be hard pressed to recognise the same dramatic intensity evident in Peirce’s debut feature Boys Don’t Cry (1999), even with the likes of Julianna Moore in the role of Margaret White, Carrie’s mother. Mind you, she was pushing shit uphill in the shadow of Piper Laurie’s performance.

Chloe Grace Moretz showed promise as a child actor, but having seen her in Let Me In  (2008), Kick-Ass 2, and now this, I realise she has a limited range. I kept thinking of numerous other actors who would’ve played Carrie White with far more conviction. The annoying - and I’m sure deliberate - casting switch of having a tall striking blonde play the role of Amy, and a short less striking brunette play Chris (De Palma’s version has it the other way around) frustrated me no end, yet I had to let that one guy, since most of this Carrie’s audience won’t have seen the original, and if they did, they’d probably be laughing all the way through it.

And therein lies The Rub. Contemporary audiences watching this Carrie will no doubt enjoy a tale of extreme supernatural revenge, and not roll their eyes at the nude-less girls' changing room scene, the anti-climatic prom night, or later still when Carrie's powers enable her to split the road open. 

As for the original movie’s most famous shock … fuggedadoubit!