Germany | 2018 | Directed by Tilman Singer

Logline: A young woman enters a police station, while a doctor is chatted up by a woman at a bar. A demonic entity loiters, determined to finally be close to the woman it loves.

In arguably the most genuinely retro-vibed unclassifiable movie in years this German tale of supernatural possession and yearning operates perfectly like a bad dream, with oneiric logic, mood and tone. Drenched in atmosphere with a cool synth score from Simon Waskow, icy, muted 16mm cinematography from Paul Faltz, and a mesmerising performance from Chilean Luana Velia in the titular role, Luz is writer/director Tilman Singer’s paean to the existential horror of the late 70s - think Fulci meets Lynch - as theatrical as it is cinematic, as weird as it is entrancing. 


Several characters, including tomboyish cab driver Luz (Luana Velis), a psychiatrist, Dr. Rossini (Jan Blurhardt), and Luz’s old roommate Nora (Julia Riedler), become embroiled in dark shenanigans at a desolate bar, and a run-down, lonely police station. There is black magic at play, there is much manipulation, but it’s not entirely clear who is doing what to whom, as flashbacks merge with the present, as fantasy binds with reality, as a demon god seizes humanity. All will be revealed … or, suggested, in good, short time (the movie is just 70 minutes long).


Indeed, much of Luz feels like improvised, like some kind of organic Brechtian experiment in narrative. Singer’s controlled nightmare - apparently his film studies thesis - is a study in mood and tone, as rich in subtlety as it is restrained in special effects, yet still manages to provide a deeply satisfying and pervading sense of the creep factor. This is definitely an acquired taste, as it doesn’t offer much in terms of narrative coherency, instead layering ambiguity upon ambiguity. Like David Lynch’s Eraserhead, it is a dream of dark and troubling things, with smoky, lush imagery that burns onto the back of the retina. 


Luz is the confident and striking work of an exciting new filmmaker with loads of potential, and I can’t wait to see what he does next, as well as irresistible Luana Velis.

Luz screens Friday 30th November, 6.30pm, Sunday 2nd December, 8.30pm, Wednesday 5th December, 8.45pm (Lido), Saturday 1st December, 6.30pm (Classic) & Saturday 1st December 8.30pm (Cameo), as part of Melbourne’s Paracinema Fest. For full program please visit here.

Boiled Angels: The Trial of Mike Diana

Boiled Angels.jpg

US | 2018 | directed by Frank Henenlotter

 Logline: A documentary tracing the history of American underground comic artist Mike Diana and his arrest and conviction for obscenity. 

 Mike Diana remains the only artist in US history to have been found guilty and convicted of obscenity. This was back in 1994. In Florida. These days Diana is a celebrated artist who has exhibitions around the world and whose controversial work is featured in hardcover coffee table books. But back in the late 80s he was a talented, but angry teenager who illustrated his contempt at aspects of humanity with graphic abandon. 

Frank Henenlotter is a director well-versed in controversy and censorship, as he delivered such cult midnight fare as Basket Case, Brain Damage, Frankenhooker, and Bad Biology. He’s made docos before, one on sexploitation and one on the Godfather of Gore, Herschell Gordon Lewis, so it seems fitting that he tackle the untold story of Mike Diana and his “crimes”. As Neil Gaiman points out, what happened to Mike Diana is an appalling injustice, and it exposed the “noxious froth on the top of evil sewerage”. It was a volatile period, and Diana, being young and without the aid of money, was made an example of. 


Beginning with EC Comics and the Code of Authority, moving through Underground Comix, and Heavy Metal magazine, Henenlotter’s compelling portrait of Diana’s world and the bigger picture, infused with much satire, and visual flair, paints a truly damning frame of small town attitude let loose. But Diana wasn’t small-minded. He may have been carrying issues, though he claims to have had a happy childhood (though his sister spills a few crazy stories!), but the most unfortunate factor was that the Gainesville serial killer was on the loose, and Diana’s sadistic, sexually violent cartoons looked very similar, leading many to condemn the young man as a psychopath. Talk about a long bow being drawn. 


It’s fascinating history, with a macabre sense of humour (and added George C. Romero sage). At one point Diana is being interviewed and a black car drives past in the background, and Diana immediately notes that it’s detectives. Still on his case, twenty-five years down the track. Boiled Angels (the title refers to Diana’s damning ‘zine) is essential viewing for anyone interested in subversive pop culture. 

Boiled Angels screens Saturday 1st December, 3.45pm (Lido) & Tuesday 4th December, 6.30pm (Classic), as part of Melbourne’s Paracinema Fest. For full program please visit here.

Toronto After Dark Film Festival 2018 - highlights



Mexican director Issa López’s horror-fantasy hybrid (the original title, Siempre Vuelven, translates as “they always come back”) has already won a slew of awards, and had Guillermo Del Toro and Stephen King both waxing lyrical on Twitter, and it’s easy to see why. Her tale of several orphaned children banding together to fend off the brutal gangland tactics of the ever-present drug cartel and the ghosts of the murdered lingering close is the kind of narrative premise that appeals to the sensibilities of Toro and King, as they have both tackled their own tales of horror and adolescence. 

López has delivered a powerfully nuanced film, with superb performances from her young cast, especially Paola Lola as brave Estrella, trying to find out what happened to her mother, convinced of three wishes, searching desperately for closure. She befriends a ragtag group of boys, proves her mettle, and has them aid her on her dangerous quest, being pursued by vengeful gangsters. 


The production values are excellent, especially the cinematography, which captures the grit and grime, the inescapable sense of desolation within the ghetto. Yet there’s a kind of ruinous beauty to it all. And López doesn’t pull any punches with the inherent violence either, it’s a truly cruel world. The melding of the fantasy element is interwoven beautifully, as the young imagination conjures the fantastical in order to comprehend the horror of the adult world. 

The statistics of how many people, especially children, go missing each year as a direct result of the drug wars is truly harsh. It’s a reality where street kids are forced to become adults at a very tender age, weapons thrust into their hands, often out of the necessity for survival. Right from the start Tigers Are Not Afraid is a tense and compelling journey, moving inexorably deeper toward the dark truth, and almost certain to pull hard on your heart strings. 



Usually I’m not one for smart-arse horror comedies that try and be oh-so-self-aware-clever and end up compromising everything they’ve set out to encapsulate. However, there are always exceptions to the rule, and this little slasher spoof hits the meta nail right on the head. Directed by Brett Simmons, who made a forgettable scarecrow horror movie called Husk, comes out with both guns blazing. A wickedly original premise that holds up to the very end. And then demands some more. 

The movie opens with Sam (Fran Kranz), a kids camp counsellor covered in blood and holed up in a shed. He’s called his best friend Chuck (Alyson Hannigan), a horror movie geek, for help, as he’s sure he’s being hunted by a maniac killer, who has already butchered most of the other counsellors. He doesn’t remember large sections due to blacking out. Chuck asks a few pertinent questions, and it quickly dawns on the them that Sam might very well be the killer. Sam describes in detail the events that have lead to this moment of realisation. 


It might sound hokey, but this very entertaining movie ticks a lot of boxes. Firstly, the performances of the good-looking, mostly unknown cast, are terrific, with special note to Kranz in the utterly confused and desperate lead role. He has a kind of Steve Carroll dork factor, but is endearing, which is crucial, considering the predicament. Hannigan is Hannigan, and she delivers the perfect counterpart, over the phone, that is. Also of note is Brittany S. Hall as Sam’s ex-camp fling, Imani. 

The lush, retro-hued cinematography fits hand in glove, plus there are some choice kills, which is de rigour for a slasher flick. The movie is short, hilarious, and finishes with the perfect ending. Not surprisingly, it won awards for “Best Film To Watch With A Crowd” & “Film Most Want To See A Sequel To” at Toronto After Dark. Indeed, it’s the perfect popcorn and mates movie. And beers and blunts too, if you can. 



Another Latin-American entry, this one from Guillermo Amoedo, one of Eli Roth’s friends, who collaborated with him on Aftershock, The Green Inferno, and Knock Knock. This movie, however, is nothing like those three. The Inhabitant is a richly atmospheric shocker dealing with demonic possession, which unfolds in a classic mold, unlike Roth’s obnoxious, over-the-top style. Indeed The Inhabitant relies more on character and subtlety, and is all the more resonant and memorable for it. 

Maria (Maria Evoli), Camila (Vanesa Restrepo) and Ana (Carla Adell) are sisters, and have broken into a mansion, searching for a stash of money in a safe, from a tip-off to help Camila who is in a spot of trouble. But, their plans are scuttled by the discovery of the wealthy owners’ daughter Tamara (Nastash Cubria) strapped to a bed in the basement. The girl looks definitely worse for wear. The parents are desperate to be left alone. The sisters have their own demons, but those have been kept in the closest since they were teens. Until now. 


This is a movie of more than just diabolical invasion of the body. It is about the loss of faith, the theft of humanity, the sacking of sacred family trust. It is about the darkness within the darkness of the soul. Peer too closely into the shadows and they just might bite your face off. The Inhabitant has a tenebrous shroud that blankets everything. It’s an impressively nightmarish vibe, enhanced by the roving camerawork, down the hallways of the labyrinthine mansion, and strong performances from all the actors. 

Eschewing the usual viscera (though it is still violent) and arching histronics of other possession movies The Inhabitant still manages to create a genuinely chilling atmosphere, all icky dread and cold sweaty moments. It’s not a long movie, but it demands you pay attention, for the denouement is most satisfyingly apocalyptic, and coal black eyes have been staring intently in that direction. 

Toronto After Dark Film Festival 2018 screened October 11-19, Scotiabank Theatre. For complete program and all award winners please visit their site Toronto After Dark.

Sydney Underground Film Festival 2018 - shakers, movers, killers, players


Barbara Rubin & the Exploding New York Underground

Friday, September 14th, 8.30pm

Referred to as the Joan of Ark of underground cinema, Barbara Rubin’s contribution to the hugely influential scene that emerged out of the Big Apple in the mid-60s cannot be understated. Though she’s not as recognizable as Andy Warhol, she was just as instrumental, and in many ways the pioneer that inspired Warhol to embark on his own underground ciné endeavours, certainly she introduced him to The Velvet Underground. She was just 18 (going on 30) when she made Christmas on Earth (which she originally titled Cocks and Cunts), which played with double projection (a smaller frame projected inside another larger frame) and depicted free love in a way that shocked and fascinated audiences - even those minds wide open Manhattanites!


Rubin was as passionate and dedicated as she was demanding and stubborn, quickly making friends with fellow shaker and movers Allen Ginsberg and Jack Smith, and making a name for herself at whatever function or event she attended, or crashed. She kept a long-standing correspondence with her early lover and lifelong friend Jonas Mekas, and it is the ageing Mekas who shares some of the letters she wrote him. Many others of the period share colourful stories of Rubin and her commitment to the avant-garde film scene. 

Rubin died tragically at the age of 35, following the birth of her fifth child. This concise documentary, made by Chuck Smith, traces Rubin’s career from maverick teenager through to her radical shift in ideology when she married a French painter and mystical religious teacher and moved to France. But it is the period between the mid and late 60s when Rubin was the “moving force and coordinator,” as Lou Reed describes her influence on the artists of that time and place, that is most fascinating. An incredibly furtive and unbridled period, where culture and art and social mores collided, and it’s wonderful for Chuck Smith’s doco to lift Rubin from the kaleidoscopic, carnal chaos and put her on the pedestal she rightly deserves.  


Wobble Palace

Saturday, September 15th, 5pm

I know what you’re likely to say, you’ve seen one mumblecore indie relationship comedy of sexual misadventures you’ve seen ‘em all. But no! There is always another one that manages to charm with its egocentricities, its visual flair, with terrific performances, and effervescent dialogue. Eugene Kotlyarenko’s curious take on a pathetic relationship that really needs to end is the ripe juicy fruit worth biting into. Co-written with his co-star Dasha Nekrasova, Eugene (as Eugene) is, well, quite frankly a cuck (to quote Paige Elkington’s photographer character), a dishevelled narcissist who dresses appallingly and sweeps his long hair into a flowing toupee. His partner Jane (Nekrasova) is also a vague narcissist, but less obnoxious in her millennial angst. 

These two mean well, but they’re in a serious rut. The movie takes place over a few nights leading up to the infamous US election that saw Donald Trump takeover the Oval Office. Essentially it’s a comedy of manners, or errors to be precise, but it’s shot through an endearing gauze of melancholy, much of which is enhanced by Sean William Price’s gorgeous cinematography (he shot the Safdie brothers' Good Time in a similar wash of vibrant colour and retro flare). 


So we follow Eugene attempting to get laid via Tinder hookups, and his reckless treatment of bills and general lack of household hygiene. Then we follow Jane as she muses with her bestie (played by Elisha Drons), tries her luck with a skater boi, and indulges her needs with a douchebag named Ravi (Vishwam Velandy). But eventually - at a Halloween party where Eugene is dressed hilariously as Nosferatu - the two unlovers decide its time to talk turkey. Though its characters might likely irritate the pants off of some, Wobble Palace is poignant, engaging and frequently amusing, with genuinely memorable performances, especially Nekrosova, she’s one to watch for sure. Y'know, I think its one of my faves for the year. 


King Cohen: The Wild World of Filmmaker Larry Cohen

Saturday, September 15th, 9pm

You may not recognise the director’s name, but you’ll no doubt have heard of some of his cult classic movies, especially It’s Alive, Q - The Winged Serpent, The Stuff, or Hell Up in Harlem. Larry Cohen is a living legend, a prolific screenwriter for both television and the movies, and as a director, Cohen is the other side of the DIY coin, with Roger Corman on the flip. Cohen is a true filmmaker, a renegade spirit, a man on a mission, and Steven Mitchell’s documentary is a loving tribute to the tenacity of Larry and his approach to filmmaking. 

Featuring a huge array of talent spilling forth the often amusing tales of working on a Larry Cohen picture, or having had some involvement with the man, including Joe Dante, John Landis, Martin Scorsese, Mick Garris, Eric Roberts, Fred Williamson, Michael Moriarty, and many more. But Larry himself isn’t shy at waxing lyrical about his own work, describing Q as “the best big monster movie after Kong”. 


Just as entertaining as Corman’s World, the Roger Corman documentary from a few year’s back, King Cohen’s career in low-budget feature filmmaking, where he’d often shoot on the streets of Manhattan without a permit, taking advantage of a street parade in order to get high production value at minimal cost, or using restoration workers high up on the Chrysler building doubling as gunmen trying to shoot down the giant winged serpent. Where there was a way, Larry had the will. He was the guerrilla filmmaker that could teach Robert Rodriguez a few lessons! Although much of Cohen’s technique would give Health & Safety a headache, and certainly there is much that Cohen got away with that would be impossible with today’s strict filmmaking practices. Oh, and take note budding screenwriters for a link to ten of Larry's unproduced screenplays at the end of the credits. 


Christmas Blood

Saturday, September 15th, 11pm

A Norwegian slasher flick, known as Juleblod in Scandinavia, directed by the suitably named Reinert Kill, who has been making movies since he was 9. A bunch of pretty young women rendezvous in the small snow laden township of Honningsvåg for a booze-laden yuletide reunion. Sanne (Helene Eidsvåg), Elizabeth (Karoline Stemre), Ritika (Haddy Jallow), and Annika (Kylie Stephenson) arrive at the snug pad of Julia (Marte Sætren) to celebrate Xmas. Soon after Katja (Yassmine Johansen) and her boyfriend Christian (Andreas Nonaas) join them. But, Julia’s recently deceased mother was one of the many victims on the long list of a demented serial killer (Jorgen Langhelle), who savagely murdered dozens of folk many years earlier, was shot by police and incarcerated. But, of course, he’s just escaped, and donned his favourite Santa suit, armed himself with a sharp trusty axe, and has also arrived in the sleepy village of the midnight sun, with one thing on his psycho mind. 

Forget plot, as there is precious little in that department, for Kill is much more interested in the shenanigans of his soon-to-be offed protagonists. Who will die first, and how violently will they die? Kill certainly knows how to swing a camera, and he lays on the atmosphere with aplomb. The performances are solid, if a little distracting - whilst almost everyone takes in Norwegian (Elizabeth is a mute), Annika delivers her lines in Aussie English. But who pray tell is the killer Santa? And will police detective Rasch (Stig Henrik Hoff) save all the girls before another silent night, deadly night is done and dusted? 


Christmas Blood is one of those stalk and slash (or should I say stalk and split) flicks that demands to be seen with a keen cinema audience after several pilsners or maybe some mulled profondo rosso. It’s the kind of movie you hurl comments at the characters on screen; “Run faster you idiot!” and “Look out behind you!” But too late, the axe comes crashing down, and blood is splattered all over virgin snow. Or in this case, slutty snow. While there is no real rhyme or reason to this slay ride, it’s a fun frolic, easy on the eye, with some decent kills (although I wanted it to be gorier!), and it’s lean, mean style will be appreciated by the purist horror hounds.


The 12th Sydney Underground Film Festival screens 13th - 16th September at Factory Theatre, Marrickville. For more information, ticketing, and the complete SUFF program visit

Decks And The City


Glen J. Scrymgour’s portrait of Adelaide’s DJ scene is both a love letter to the art and passion (and frustration) of the modern disc jockey, and an open letter of dismay and despair at the seemingly irreparable damage done by the lock out laws which have wrecked havoc in Adelaide (and in Sydney). Melbourne has come out unscathed, having been the guinea pigs, but, for a only a few months before they were scrapped. But enough about Melbourne.

Adelaide once proudly proclaimed itself the Dance Capital of Australia. It is the home of Cam Banchetti, the legend known as DJ HMC, and even more famously so as Late Nite Tuff Guy, Australia’s “Godfather of techno”, a champion of the proper DJ, who respects the music and understands the dance floor, “It’s all about dancing, yeah? Right.” He is one of numerous Adelaidian DJs and industry figures who wax lyrical about the state of the art, and offer their opinions on the ever-changing, evolving landscape of electronic dance music. 


While much of the first half of the doco - with it’s oh-so-cute title - feels like its preaching to the converted, skimming the breadth of genres and sub-genres of electronic dance, each interviewee offering their take on their beloved style. It’s certainly an overview, and to the nightclub greenie or newbie, the doco offers a superficial look at what makes these musical styles tick and tock, but it feels very locked into the four-to-the-floor sensibility, with the exception of drum and bass and dubstep, and it’s a shame it doesn’t offer anything about the DJ roots of electronic dance music; funk, disco, soul, rare groove, new wave. Still, the predominately house music soundtrack, using a lot of local producers, is excellent. 

Fresh 92.7FM is regarded as Adelaide’s bastion of overground and underground dance music. Many of the DJs who feature in Decks also have shows on the station. While they acknowledge the importance of radio and community, many of the older DJs bemoan the current club scene as increasingly full of wannabes and rising DJs who have little respect for laying the foundations. The contemporary scene within the industry means that online stores, such as Beatport and Traxsource, feature a plethora of producers and a glut of music. Gone are the halcyon days of the physical record store where DJs would gather on shipment day to listen to a crate’s worth of new vinyl. Sure, there are a few boutique stores scattered here and there, but that era has passed. Instead DJs are now expected to be high calibre bedroom producers, and with technology being so advanced and relatively cheap, on one hand it makes it much easier for up-and-coming producers to deliver stuff, but the vast ocean of content actually makes it increasingly harder to be heard, or singled out. There is irony in that there groove. 


The digital vs. analogue argument rears its head, as it has been doing for the past ten years, and rightly so, LNTG says it shouldn’t be about the technology or format, the heart of the matter is the quality of the music. Fresh FM station manager Troy Been chimes in on programming local acts that have raised the bar, enough so that their stuff can play effortlessly back-to-back with the big international names. But the crux of Decks and the City appears to be the issue of the lock-out laws, its inevitable damage to Adelaide’s underground club scene, and the insidious effect the exempt casinos have had. This section of the doco occupies the last thirty minutes, and one can’t escape the feeling this was the impetus of making the documentary in the first place. 

Decks and the City is essentially an archival piece, capturing mostly the veteran X-Gens, with a clutch of dedicated Millennials, but hopefully it will end up as a date stamp, so when the lock-out laws are reversed we can look back on the dark period and say, thank God that misguided attempt at dealing with alcohol-related violence is over with. At the least, Decks is a solid tribute piece to the city’s diverse DJ personalities, and to the aesthetics of the profession. It’s made by someone with a genuine love of the DJ and its realm, and is aimed squarely at those who love nightclubbing, who love the healing power of electronic dance music.  

Decks and the City screens as part of the Melbourne Documentary Film Festival, Monday July 8th, 7pm (Howler). The doco screens with two other “EDM” docs, French Waves and Italo Disco Legacy.

Revelation - Perth International Film Festival 2018 - reviews in brief


Antonio Lopez 1970: Sex, Fashion and Disco

Monday 9 July, 3.15pm (Luna), Sunday 15 July, 5pm (Luna)

A sensational portrait of one of the key stylists of the heady, glam period of the late 60s and into the 70s, when disco began to emerge in the underground clubs, when cocaine was seducing the elite, and extravagant line drawings began to dictate what the magazine photo spreads were going to replicate. Bisexual Puerto Rican playboy Antonio Lopez was at the heart, body and soul of the glitterati storm of hedonism and creation, and James Crump’s colourful romp captures the celebratory essence of Lopez and his entourage, his muses, his vices, and his relationships with gusto and finesse.

Lopez was, without a doubt, the most influential fashion illustrator of Paris and New York during the ‘70s. He partnered with another ferocious talent, Juan Ramos, an art director, and together they ruled the lofts, studios, and dance floors they graced. They courted controversy and cultivated extraordinary chemistry. It’s amazing how furtive, yet loosely reigned the period was, with so many stories to spill. It’s a thrilling 90 minutes. 

Key models who wax lyrical include Lopez faves, Jane Forth (the brunette sans eyebrows) and Donna Jordan (the blonde with the toothy gap), also Patti D’Arbanville, Pat Cleveland, and the amazing Jerry Hall. Vogue’s Grace Coddington features, as does Jessica Lange, Bill Cunningham, and a young Karl Lagerfield. Everyone has wonderful anecdotes and memories. The soundtrack bounces along with awesome disco tunes. IN fact, the entire doco fizzes like a freshly popped bottle of Champagne, easily one of the best exhibits of a bygone era of the fashion industry, and essential viewing for fashionistas and cult celebrity pop culturalists.


Betty: They Say I’m Different

Friday 6 July, 3pm (Luna), Saturday 14 July, 1pm (Luna), Tuesday 17 July, 8.45pm (Luna)

This portrait has been a very long time coming, and while the end product - the result of intense searching (for the subject matter in the flesh) and extensive crowdsourcing (to help bring the documentary to the masses) - isn’t as wholly satisfying as one would hope, it rewards in a more intimate fashion, providing the hardcore funkateers with affirmation and the curious soul searchers with enlightenment. Betty Davis in her prime was a unique creature, but she’s been a recluse for the past thirty-five plus years. A UK/French team of filmmakers, lead by director Phil Cox, managed to find her, in Pittsburgh, and unearth kernels of truth from the mare’s mouth. But be warned, the Funk Queen does not reveal her full self; she prefers the version of herself from yesteryear to be the one burnt onto our retinas, and she prefers a scripted version of her story (seemingly spoken by a voice over artist). 

Betty Mabry wrote her first song at age 14, “Bake a Cake of Love”. At twenty-three, having already hung out with Jimi Hendrix and Sly Stone, she married Miles Davis, and altered his career. She recorded four albums between ’73 and ’76 (the last album wasn’t released until 2009) and during the tail end of the decade, whilst working on new material she dropped out of sight. She’d had enough. Her muse, her mojo – The Crow – had abandoned her. 

Betty Davis is a fascinating, enigmatic figure, as is her career. “Madonna before Madonna, Prince before Prince,” as Miles used to say. This short, but sweet documentary gives us a glimpse of her influence, through interviews with a couple of old friends, and with her band (who try in vain to woo her back). But, as there is very little actual footage or stills of Davis, much of the doco is constructed like a collage, and uses Davis’ spoken word to provide a quasi-narration. It’s evident she’s a damaged soul, a casualty, and still carries the emotional and psychological (physical?) scars inflicted by Miles and the industry, but thankfully Cox managed to coax just enough nuggets from her to help us understand why she went underground, and remind us of her extraordinary legacy. 


Madeline’s Madeline

Wednesday 11 July, 8.30pm (SX), Thursday 12 July, 8.30pm (Luna), Saturday 14 July, 4.30pm (Luna), Monday 16 July, 4.15pm (Luna)

Filmmaker-cum-actress Josephine Decker has made a striking and compelling hybrid coming-of-age film that stirs theatrical and cinematical ingredients into a heady, surreal brew that spins and twirls like an elaborate pantomime dream. At the sensitive centre, the awkward heart of it, is young Madeline (played with extraordinary charisma and nuance in her debut by Helena Howard), a teenager dealing with an overwrought, highly strung, emotionally stunted mother (a terrific performance from Miranda July), and caught in the complicated, emancipative constraints of a theatre group, lead by the intense, elusive Evangeline (Molly Parker, another stellar performance). 

Can Madeline release the freedom she yearns for? Can Madeline jettison the baggage she’s been burdened with? Can Madeline separate the unreality of her existence from the reality of her life? Can Madeline’s Madeline find the right way home? 

Combining the intense dynamics of her central characters with a vibrant, expressionist mise-en-scene, and aided by beautiful cinematography (brilliant work from Ashley Connor), Decker has harnessed a truly unique piece of work. Credit must also go to the scripting team (a story consultant, a story editor, and a dramaturg) who helped Decker and her co-scriptwriter Donna di Novelli in sculpting this oneiric study of rehearsal (and I use that word loosely) and performance (I use that word broadly), of challenge and submission. It’s a bold and unpredictable journey of self-discovery fashioned with a vulnerable edge.



Saturday 7 July, 9.35pm (Luna), Sunday 8 July, 8.45pm (Luna), Friday 13 July, 8.45pm (Luna)

If Coppola’s Godfather collided with Refn’s Pusher the result might look and behave a little like the Eastern Bloc killdozer shout known as TOTEM, a shattering portrait of the collapse of a Polish mob, focusing on the tension between two brothers, the elder enforcer Igor (Michal Sobolewski) and the younger thug wannabe known as Savage (Karol Bernacki). Igor runs the drug business with an iron fist, whilst his good-for-nothing barely adult sibling cleans up the mess, usually washing the blood and dirt off the runners’ cars. An incident involving the Serbian mob occurs which sets off a trail of betrayal and destruction. Caught in the crossfire are a pregnant girlfriend, a young parent, and the brothers’ mute and haunted mother.

TOTEM is grey as concrete and just as hard. There are few, if any, smiles managed within this dog eat dog world, just each man and woman attempting to stay alive for that extra day longer, maybe long enough to get the hell out of Dodge, but there’s always something that pulls you back in. Climb the ladder, but watch the bottom, there’s always someone who will try and kick it out from under you. 

Solid performances from the entire cast - it’s a brutal undertaking. While it seems a budgetary decision prevents depicting any of the more extreme violence on camera, the atmosphere and tone still seethes with menace and reverberates with brutality, and the ending will shock even the most hardened gangsterphile. TOTEM is this year’s Suburra, but less pretty, more nihilistic. 


For more information on the festival please click here


65th Sydney Film Festival - a wild mix of emotions

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The Blood Of Wolves

Sunday, 17 June, 8.45pm, Event Cinemas 9.

“Eating other animals is what humans do to survive.” It’s a line spat in the opening moments of this hardboiled gangster yarn, and it essentially sums up the entire sprawl of skullduggery and betrayal that oozes like foul sweat, stinks like blood, that gives this Japanese 80s-neo-noir the steel bollocks it demands. Set in Hiroshima, amidst the battles between yakuza clans and the law caught in the middle, it howls with retributive intent. 

Ôgami (Kôji Yakusho) is the no-nonsense detective who is out with a vengeance, determined to bring the gangsters to justice. He doesn’t beat about the bush, he beats the bush up, and then some. The rookie under his odious wing is Hoika (Tôri Matsuzaka), who likes to use the book properly, for applying routine procedure rather than using it as a weapon for extracting information. The two men become inexorably embroiled in the machinations of the underworld, as it becomes dangerously apparent that Ôgami has a few crucial dark skeletons in his closet.

At over two hours the movie has quite distinct halves, with much chaos and mayhem in the first, then seemingly settling down a little in the second, becoming subdued, even poignant, but the violence seethes, the wrath will bubble over soon enough, and there will be hell to pay. Based on a bestselling crime novel, Lone Wolf’s Blood, director Kazauya Shiraishi skillfully employs a dark sense of humour that writhes through the narrative, and pulls no punches with gritty, brutal combat. It’s like a cross between the dirty honour games of Beat Takeshi, with the carnage and charisma of Takashi Miike.


Ghost Stories

Extra Festival screening: Tuesday, 19 June, 9.30pm, Dendy Newtown.

Anthologies are always a mixed bag, both literally and figuratively. Writers and directors Jeremy Dyson and Andy Nyman have adapted their wildly successful UK stage show (which came to Sydney a few years back) into a nightmare combo; three tales with a wrap-around that holds them all snug as bugs in a rug. While there have been a bunch of anthologies out of the US in recent years, there hasn’t been a decent entry from Britain in yonks. Ghost Stories might not be brilliant, but it packs enough spooky ideas and twisty-twists into its hour-and-a-half that it’s well worth the ghost train ride.

Professor Goodman (Jeremy Dysan) is out to debunk anything that purports to be paranormal activity. He’s known for jumping onstage at psychic conventions and embarrassing everyone, which he then highlights on his exposé TV show. But after a respected academic invites him to debunk three real humdinger cases Goodman is soon floundering in the deep dark end of the bad dream pool.

Although I saw the Sydney stage production, I had forgotten most of the plot(s), until the very end of the movie, when it all comes together in nightmarish clarity. I’m glad, because it meant the frayed reveal was altogether more entertaining in a creepshow way. There are a couple of proper “Boo!”s, Martin Freeman is in terrific form (probably my favourite performance of his outside of The Office), and the wrap-around narrative rewards the viewer in many ways.  


One Day

Anna (Zsófia Szamosi) is a mother of three children, and husband to Szabolcs (Leó Füredi). Over one 24-hour period we see Anna do what millions of other middle-class women do, dealing the trials and tribulations of parenting. But what makes Anna’s situation especially trying is a reveal right at the start of the movie when family friend Gabi (Annamária Láng) arrives at the apartment to have a dialogue with Anna. The two women step out to a wine bar where Gabi tries to reassure Anna that she did not have an affair with husband, it was just a few silly texts. Anna is not impressed, but she listens to Gabi.

The movie’s narrative follows Anna as she weaves through the day’s tasks, arrangements, and classes, balancing her own part-time teaching with full-time motherhood, whilst the burden of her husband’s infidelity and lack of responsibility increasingly bears down on her into the wilderness of the nighttime. Anna is a pillar of strength, but even pillars crack under strain. It doesn’t help that the kitchen sink is broken. It adds insult to injury that she barely has enough time to even worry.

A brilliantly sustained central performance and great support from the child actors, One Day is the debut feature of Zsófia Szilágyi, and captures a docu-drama edge, with natural lighting, and unpretentious, but succinct editing. The thematic spine, the ironic blade of truth, that in order to survive the overwhelming pressures of adulthood one sometimes reverts, for better or for worse, to the shelter of childishness. An understated, affecting study of domesticity and humanity.



Director Kevin MacDonald is one of the great modern documentary filmmakers, from the brilliant, heart-stopping re-creations of Touching the Void through to the poignancy of his rasta biopic Marley, he pulls together the best elements to suit and enhance the subject matter. With his latest he has fashioned a documentary about the life and career of one of pop’s brightest flames, Whitney Houston, a teenage ghetto girl pushed hard by her industry-worn mother Cissy, held fast by her family ties, especially her two older brothers, held even closer by her confidante and secret lover Robyn, championed by the world (she holds a significant number of industry records), and ultimately brought down by the personal demons and drugs that overwhelmed her. It’s one of pop culture’s great tragedies.

Last year the SFF brought us an excellent doco that traced a very similar arc, Whitney: Can I Be Me, made by another top-notch investigative director, Nick Broomfield. It was so emotional, to quote the diva herself. Now, just one year later we are hit with another heartbreaking account of Whitney’s meteoric rise to fame (the extraordinary first album and its singles, the Superbowl performance, and, of course, The Bodygaurd) and her struggle beyond. Macdonald manages to prize a truly ugly truth that involves Dionne Warwick’s sister Dee Dee. It’s devastating. MacDonald had full access to family for this doco, and all are very candid about what went down backstage. Except for that dirty rat Bobby Brown, who refuses to discuss the hugely significant cocaine and crack use, claiming, inexplicably, that it was never an issue and shouldn’t be included in the doco. He was an arrogant douchebag then, he’s an asshole to the end.

Both Whitney documentaries make great companion pieces as very little footage overlaps (the rare grainy video footage of 14-year-old Whitney singing in front of the church choir being the only piece that comes to mind). Both docos tell the same tragic story, but with their own style and singular content. Whereas Broomfield’s uses a lot of never-before-seen footage from Whitney’s last successful tour, MacDonald’s has the endorsement of the surviving family, warts and all. Essential viewing, regardless of whether you listened to her music or not. 


For information and ticketing please visit the Sydney Film Festival website here.



A Night Of Horror & Fantastic Planet International Film Festival - 2017 picks

THE MARSHES poster.jpg

The Marshes

Friday, December 1st, 7pm

What starts out looking like it might be a throwback to the eco-horror flicks of the 70s (Frogs, Prophecy, Long Weekend) becomes a twist on the famous Aussie folklore of the jolly swagman, as three intrepid university researchers – the more experienced Pria (Dafna Kronental), her friendly rival Ben (Matthew Cooper), and eager Will (Sam Delich) – spend a couple of nights deep in remote marshland in an endeavour to save a threatened ecosystem. Almost immediately there is the threat of arrogant local hunters, and the distant sound of duelling banjos fills the air, but there is something much more terrifying lurking in the long reeds, and soon enough our three hapless biologists are desperately trying to avoid becoming jumbuck tucker. 

Writer/director Roger Scott’s background is as a lighting technician, and this has guaranteed that his debut feature looks sensational, with excellent work from cinematographer Govanni Lorusso. Scott tackles the slasher horror tropes with gusto, injecting a Jeepers Creepers-esque menace, and toying with the audience’s perception of what is real and what is imagined. The performances are solid, with Kronental holding fort, and the "monster" of the movie kept effectively in the periphery. There are some genuinely horrifying moments, and the ending is suitably nightmarish. You won’t want to be a-Waltzing Mathilda any time soon after this visit to the wetlands.



Friday, December 1st, 9pm

A German/Canadian co-production, and second feature for Norbert Keil, co-writing with Richard Stanley (Hardware, Dust Devil), this is a ravishing study of identity and longevity, a kind of internal apocalypse of the soul, looking and feeling like a cross between early David Cronenberg and Nicolas Winding Refn’s recent Neon Demon. It’s a sumptuously shot and staged science fiction thriller, with strong elements of body-horror.

Young and beautiful Kira (Rebecca Forsythe) goes home with a man to his small, but plush NYC apartment. But he soon vanishes, and it seems the pad has become hers. Along with a newly acquired flaky dry skin condition on her finger, which soon, and alarmingly, spreads to her body. She visits Dr. Crober (Barbara Crampton), a dubious dermatologist, for treatment, but finds little relief. Instead she discovers a more satisfying solution, which proves to be especially horrific for others. Her new friend, Sophia (Lucy Aron), just might have some of the more important answers that are itching like ivy under Kira’s soft, flawless complexion, or maybe the nightmare is just beginning?

Ravishing in its design and complex in ideas, if perhaps a little convoluted, Replace rides on the performance of charismatic Forsythe who does a more-than-competent job. Genre cult favourite Crampton, sporting icy cool contacts, only has a few scenes, but provides the movie with further gravitas. The twist ending reveals both a poignancy and desperation, whilst trainspotters might prick their ears on nods to John Carpenter.

OUR EVIL poster.jpg

Our Evil

Saturday, December 2nd, 5pm

A Brazilian nightmare that burns like the coals from hell, Mal Nosso (as it's known in Portuguese) tells the tenebrous tale of Arthur (Ademir Estevez), a man plagued by guilt and hounded by his own spiritual power (through flashbacks), who is forced into extreme measures to save his kin, the soul of his teenage daughter, Michele (Luara Pepita), from the clutches of a terrible demon, by enlisting the aid of a sociopathic hired killer, Charles (Ricardo Casella), whom in the movie’s early scenes indulges in some truly horrific set-pieces.

It’s a pitch-black fable that smoulders on serious slow burn, but ultimately rewards those with patience, though it’s not a long film, just held in check by a very low-budget. Still, the performances are strong, and the atmosphere, whilst thin, fills with the tone of real horror darkness. Despite the barebones production values, there are some impressive practical effects, and the look and presence of the demonic entity is worth the price of admission; This isn’t everyone’s cup of poisoned Holy Water, a truly original hybrid of phantastical elements within the confines of a domestic drama, think Under the Shadow with a glint of Martyrs.



Sunday, December 3rd, 5pm

Elton (Nicholas Wilder) is a deeply troubled man. He is preoccupied with the loss of his four-year-old sister Ayla, who died mysteriously many years earlier. His partner, Alex (Sarah Schoofs) and his brother James (D’Angelo Midili) are concerned for his mental wellbeing. His mother, Susan (Dee Wallace), seemingly humours his obsession, but ultimately, she too is worried. Especially when Elton turns up with a mute, wild-eyed adult woman (Tristan Risk), whom Elton insists is his long-lost sister. The bond he shares with the woman/Ayla feels as real as the blisters that have formed on his wrist. But when you stare into the dark abyss, the abyss stares back into you.

My favourite movie of this year’s festival, Ayla is writer/director Elias (Ganster)’s second feature, and despite its inherent low budget, it’s a very accomplished psychological horror, a provocative study of grief and mental illness, with a stunning central performance from Wilder, and effectively understated work from Risk. The limitations of the budget mean this is not a special effects movie, but more a potent and atmospheric mood piece, lingering with melancholy. The ending is a deeply curious and elusive muse on the dangerous control of the unhinged mind, probing creepily with the tangled psychic roots of the supernatural. Truly eerie and fascinating is Ayla.


A Night Of Horror & Fantastic Planet International Film Festival screens at Dendy Cinemas Newtown, Thursday, November 29th – Sunday December 3rd. For full program and tickets click here



Revelation - Perth International Film Festival - 20th anniversary highlights!

Are We Not Cats

Friday July 7th, 8.10pm, Sunday July 9th, 5.10pm, and Monday July 17th, 8.40pm

Things are not going well for young Eli (Michael Patrick Nicholson); during a failed attempt to connect with his girlfriend he loses his job as a garbage collector, and his girlfriend gives him the flick. At home his parents inform him they are selling the apartment, so now he’s out on his arse. And it’s the middle of winter, in the middle of America, so it’s freezing. Eli manages to purloin his dad’s old truck, and he scrabbles a delivery job, but it only ends in frustration. However, as a result he meets Anya (Chelsea Lopez), a pretty eccentric who works at a logging facility. She’s involved with another guy, but it doesn’t mean they can’t hang out at her crazy warehouse abode. But there’s something else that has them tangled together…

This is writer/director Xander Robin’s feature debut, after a string of shorts, one of which was a version of this feature, which describes trichophagia, the strange desire to eat hair. You see, both Eli and Anya have something in common, they both have an obsessive-compulsive fascination with devouring human hair. Eli plucks the tiny hairs from his arms and his beard, but it appears Anya’s habit might be a little denser. 

Easily the most unusual hybrid independent movie I’ve seen in a while, Are We Not Cats slinks along its path as a kind of dark charming comedy of errors, as awkward Eli attempts to free himself from the confines of his depressing existence by embarking on slightly nefarious activity, such as getting trashed at weird underground parties, stealing large cumbersome musical instruments, and imbibing dangerous concoctions. There is romance to be found, but first there is the odour of body horror that is permeating this tentative bond between feline Anya and rogue tom Eli. 

The tone and mood of Robin’s curious blend is what lingers longest, but it is the excellent performances of the two leads that really binds the movie, like a big, dank, comfy fur ball. Are We Not Cats is both icky and yummy in equal measure, the cold and warmth providing it such character and flavour, and even though the end is really silly, you’re already hooked, like catnip.


Monday July 10th, 6.45pm, and Saturday July 15th, 12.15pm

German director Ulrich Seidl is no stranger to controversy, a self-styled maverick who exposes the dark underbelly of society - mostly the middle class and upper-middle class, the complacent suburbanites, or the morally corrupt elite - by painting portraits of them in the midst of their surrounds - their comfort zones - studying them from a careful distance, framing them with an acute sense of irony, a delicately dark sensibility. 

With his latest documentary - a detached study - Seidl focuses his sights on the beast that is the trophy hunter, and with expert aim he targets their blatant ignorance, but this is not immediately apparent. Safari is a difficult film, as on the surface it seems that Seidl is being too complacent, offering no subjective point of view. The ethical standpoint is presented only in the form of the hunted; the wildebeest, the zebra, the giraffe, as a a couple of German and Austrian families “stalk” and gun down the creatures on their natural habitat, the African savannah. 

These keen shooters have a “menu” to choose from, and each animal demands a particular price for its head and hide. They use euphemisms to disguise the savagery of their so-called sport; to wound an animal is to “sketch”, to kill is to “bag”, a potential trophy animal is a “piece”, the animal’s spilled blood is called “sweat”. The killers (I’m loathe to use the word “hunter”) praise each other upon each kill, declaring “Hunter’s hail”, with “Hunter’s thanks” as response. They describe their practice as a kind of deliverance, justifying their actions with tenuous claims. 

Siedl punctuates the hunting process (of which we never see the animals actually being shot, or even in line of sight, only the trophy hunters lining up their rifles, steadying them on special gun poles, complimenting each other) with tableaux shots of them seated in their camouflage huts, or in front of their mounted trophies, then juxtaposes these with similar portraits of the indigenous people, slaughtering the animals, skinning them, staring vacantly into the camera, gnawing on the bone and gristle of the carcass, giraffe jerky hanging from a wire. 

Safari is a compelling, yet disturbing observation, and one bound to provoke anger and upset.

Watch the Sunset

Tuesday July 11th, 9pm, Thursday July 13th, 8.45pm, and Sunday July 16th, 8.45pm

Tristan Barr plays Danny, an ice addict attempting to clean up his act and life. He’s trying to tidying up loose ends, make amends with his girlfriend, Sal (Chelsea Zeller), so they can leave town with their child Joey (Annabelle Williamson). But there are demons to deal with, the meth connections who aren’t so keen on Danny making a break. Shane (Aaron Walton) and Russell (Michael Gosden) have their own agenda, and there will be blood and tears spilled before the sun goes down. 

There’s nothing new in the story; the crooked and corrupt trying to make a straight line to safety and redemption, it’s an age-old tale, told a thousand times. But it is how Barr tells it, which gives Watch the Sunset its balls, its kudos. It’s a key collaboration between Barr, who co-wrote the screenplay with Gosden and Zeller, and whom co-directed with Gosden, and with co-producer Daniel Lipp, who also serves as the movie’s cinematographer, with the way the movie is shot that is most remarkable. 

Watch the Sunset unfolds in real time, in a single unbroken shot (take). It’s a roughly seventy-minute drama that takes place over a late afternoon in the bogan suburbs of Melbourne, as Danny drives around and makes his drop-offs and pick-ups. First up he delivers ice casualty Charis (Zia Zantis-Vinycomb) to a motel. He’ll come back to her later. Then he finds Sally and Joey to explain the situation and, hopefully, map out their future. But thugs are lurking. 

What the movie lacks in its performance department, and the acting and characterisation isn’t entirely convincing, it certainly makes up for it in tone, atmosphere, and conviction. For a movie that spends most of its time zoned in on Danny, it’s a tense and compelling piece of cinema, with some truly impressive camerawork from Lipp, and includes one very “Wow, how’d they do that?!” moment. The dramatic intent is palpable, and the fluidity of the camera lifts the game considerably, which is interesting, as the one-take technique could easily have come across as purely gimmicky. Watch the Sunset is a flawed gem. 

Orange Sunshine

Thursday July 13th, 2.45pm, and Monday July 17th, 6.45pm

Purple Haze might be the most famous of the acid trips from the 60s, immortalised in the song by Jimi Hendrix, but there was another batch of LSD from the same decade that has finally had its tale told, and the culturally important, bigger story that surrounds that tab that turned an international generation on. There were three types produced at the same time, Yellow Sunshine, Blue Sunshine, and Orange Sunshine, and it was the navel hue that shone most brightly in hippie’s eyes. In sun-kissed California the Brotherhood of Eternal Love was formed, a spiritual clan of surfers and their lovers and friends who were passionate in spreading their hippie manifesto as wide as they could through the magic of their self-made LSD, regardless of the legal danger that lay ahead. 

The Mystic Arts World was created in Laguna Beach, California, and this psychedelic emporium and the neighbourhood become a haven for hippies, and Orange Sunshine became the Coca-Cola of LSD. One of the last batches ever made was 100 million tabs. Now, if that’s not turning the world on, what is? Yes, they were outlaws, but they were the best cowboys ever. But one can’t ride the rodeo forever. It is inevitable you will come off your horse, and some will fall harder than others. For the Brotherhood, the long arm of the law eventually pulled them all to the dust. 

Filmmaker William A. Kirkley has fashioned a superb documentary, one of the best I’ve seen in ages. As both date-stamp and cultural history piece Orange Sunshine is a beacon of the strength of friendship and community and a sobering reminder that as curious and good-hearted as humans can be, we are not invincible, but we are resilient, and we are industries, to a fault. What Kirkley’s take offers, rather unusually, is the other side of the story, albeit not as in-depth; the perspective of the law. It is the cult of personality of the Brotherhood that burns most fiercely, but is is a cautionary tale, and it is a tale that brims with emotional fragility. 

Michael and Carol Randall, Travis Ashbrook, Ron, Rick, and Wendy Bevan, Michael Kennedy, the late Johnny Griggs. These are names you’ve probably never heard before, but they are as important to the social and cultural history of the hippie movement, and the creative influence of LSD on the arts, as Timothy Leary (who does feature in this doco) and Ken Kesey. These guys weren’t acid casualties per se, though they have paid their own price, individually, and collectively. Orange Sunshine, with all its wonderful Super-8-flavoured recreations, is as endlessly fascinating as it is, ultimately, moving, and that is the mark of a truly great documentary.

You Never Had It: An Evening With Bukowski

Friday July 14th, 8.30pm, and Saturday July 15th, 2.45pm

“You know, and I know, and they know …” Charles “Hank” Bukowski was one of America’s truly gifted writers, able to pull flowers from the garbage, and trash out the good in everyone, including, most pertinently, himself. He was the Great Self-Depreciator. Lubricated heavily with red wine and reeking of Pall Mall cigarettes, the man could conjure some of the most eloquent and rugged descriptions of the broken American Dream ever put to paper. Thankfully we also have a small clutch of films and videos of the man waxing lyrical and spitting vitriol, and a few autobiographical features (Tales of Ordinary Madness and Love is a Dog From Hell).

You Never Had It is made from tapes recently unearthed from the garage of an Italian journalist, Silvia Bizio, who interviewed him back in 1981, in his San Pedro home. Assembled by director Matteo Borghardt, it’s roughly an hour long, and the raw, hazy u-matic footage shows Hank, his long-time partner (or “nurse”, as he introduces her) Linda Lee, Bizio, and a couple other friends of Bukowski, seated around a coffee table in his living room, ploughing through bottles of red wine, and smoking up a storm. Bizio elicits some wonderful kernels of Bukowski sage amidst career anecdotes, many of them grumbles, but many of them humble joys. He states defiantly that not everything he says is so. 

“You should always be a little ahead of your time,” Hank explains, and though he hates talking about other writers, as that’s like drinking water when you’re in the bathtub, “I drink wine in the bathtub”, he reminds us, he continues to mention a couple of authors who he respects, including Albert Camos, whose novel The Stranger he admires. But he is quick to add that he doesn’t read books, instead pointing to Lee, “She reads the books, I write them.” Later he takes the small group on a tour of the small abode, gesturing to his writer’s desk, “This is where I fuck my soul …”

It’s a drifting, detached, yet strangely intimate portrait, steeped in the kind of just-out-of-reach melancholy that Hank’s poetry and prose bathes in with gentle abandon. Asked how he manages to capture such hard truths and insightful observations on human frailty Bukowski takes a sip from his small glass goblet, a drag on his fag, and replies with gruff softness, “If you get the shit kicked out of you long enough, long enough, long enough, you have the tendency to say what you mean. In other words, you have all the pretence beat out of you… My father was a great literary teacher, taught me the meaning of pain, pain without reason.” And therein lies Hank’s most beautiful rub.


For complete program and further screening information visit here

64th Sydney Film Festival – Documentary Highlights

Whitney: Can I Be Me

Wednesday June 7th, 6:30pm (Event 4) & Friday June 9th, 6:30pm (Dendy Newtown)

It’s another Amy. Well, almost. Amy Winehouse died at 27, Whitney Houston died at 48. But there are many other similarities, chiefly, a propensity for addiction, the abuse of drugs, her manipulation by the music industry, her family, and most, significantly, her husband. All of these elements helped to corrode her already fragile self-esteem. Whitney has gifted, but she was also very vulnerable. Seasoned and provocative UK documentarian Nick Broomfield (who made the excellent 2003 doco Kurt & Courtney), along with veteran music industry filmmaker Rudi Dolezal, has fashioned the incredibly moving story of Whitney’s early life, her extraordinary career, and her tragic death. 

Using previously unseen video footage taken of Whitney’s “My Love Is Your Love” world tour (which was her last successful tour) as the doco’s backbone, the story of the pop singer’s childhood unfolds around it; as a girl, singing with her mother’s gospel choir, hanging with her two older brothers, who introduced her to marijuana, and probably cocaine, at a young age. She was thrust into the deep end of showbiz when she was signed and molded as a “white” pop singer, despite wanting to sing proper r&b (“Can I be me?” she’d always plead). She was booed (for selling out) at the Soul Train Awards in 1989, the same event she met Bobby Brown, the so-called bad boy of r&b. He got Whitney into booze, she got him into coke, and eventually they started doing crack. 

Their daughter, Bobbi Kristina, was born, but they were already sliding down a very slippery slope unable to stop. Whitney’s soul mate friend, Robyn Crawford, was kicked out of the entourage, which broke Whitney’s heart. You don’t need to be familiar with Whitney Houston or a fan of her music to appreciate this fascinating portrait of talent gifted and squandered, of emotional fragility and corrosion. It’s unlikely there’ll ever be another Whitney Houston, and as heartbreaking as this tale is, it’s a necessary one to tell. 


Friday, June 9th, 6:15pm (Dendy Newtown) & Monday June 12th, 8:20pm (Dendy Opera Quays)

“The death of a woman is unquestionably the most poetical topic in the world,” said Edgar Allen Poe, and the gialli movies of the 60s and 70s made them their centrepieces. Brian De Palma, who has rebuffed claims of ripping off Hitchcock for most of his career, also champions their peril in cinema; “Women are more sympathetic creatures in jeopardy, plus they’re more interesting to photograph.” 

Alfred Hitchcock’s shower scene in Psycho (1960) is a standout sequence in a standout movie. The masterful director broke so many rules with Psycho, not least by refusing to directly follow North by Northwest another colourful romantic adventure. Instead he took Robert Bloch’s pulp shocker and turned it into a case study of successful cinematic rule-breaking, and the murder of Janet Leigh’s character one-third of the way into the movie was the clincher. 

Alexandre O. Philippe has made a thoroughly engaging, fascinating, and often quite funny, examination of this iconic scene. 78 was the number of camera set-ups for the scene, and 52 was the number of shots that ended up in the final edited scene. Numerous celebrities, actors, directors, and film technicians offer their thoughts, including Bret Easton Ellis, Elijah Wood, Eli Roth, Richard Stanley, Walter Murch, Karyn Kusama, Neil Marshall, Guillermo del Toro, and, of course, Jamie Lee Curtis. You may know Psycho well, but I bet you didn’t know the shower scene quite like this. Scintillating stuff. 


Saturday June 10th, 8:45pm (Event 4) & Sunday June 11th, 8:50pm (Dendy Newtown)

Florian Habicht has framed a very kooky picture of the extended “family” that work in the Southern Hemisphere’s most successful theme-park, Spookers, a fun place outside of Auckland, New Zealand, where people go to get frightened, and in some cases so spooked they actually crap their pants (a “code brown” for the unfortunate staff who have to clean it up on a semi-regular basis). The Spookers clan took over a derelict mental institution that sits on the edge of a small forest. Perfect. The owners, Andy and Beth Watson, also created a huge maize maze (which was the original Spookers experience) to add further bang for your boo! 

It’s a frequently funny, and disarmingly poignant look at the kinds of young people that have been taken under the Walton’s wing. They’re “freaks” in the most affectionate way, or “carnies” to outsiders, fringe-dwellers who have finally found a home. It’s amusing to learn that Beth has never watched a horror movie, and sad to learn that the zombie bride is HIV. Habicht lets the freaks tell their stories, and in true Kiwi style, they are happy to admit their foibles, quick to champion their bosses, and keen to stay in character. 

Spookers is the first family movie, and also the first documentary programmer Richard Kuipers has included in his "Freak Me Out" section, and it fits hand in glove. A colourful delight, with a great soundtrack, Spookers may have been New Zealand’s best-kept secret, but now, due to Spookers, it’s going to be added to every travelling horrorphile’s bucket list. 

A Modern Man

Sunday June 11th, 3:45pm (Dendy Opera Quays) & Sunday June 18th, 7pm (Event 9)

Documentarian Eva Mulvad’s portrait of virtuoso violinist and sometime Armani and Hugo Boss model Charlie Siem is a quietly compelling look into a kind of elusive loneliness, an almost silent quest for happiness; that contentedness people take for granted, that no amount of money or fame or striving for perfection can ever attain. But the search continues, the gaze burns on. 

Siem seems to have most of what most people can only dream about. He is young, but mature, very handsome and composed, incredibly talented (not only can he play a fiddle like there’s no tomorrow, but he’s a dab hand tickling the ivories too), is fabulously wealthy, has loving parents (a Norwegian father and English mother) and sisters, and is charming and quick-witted to boot. But. Turning thirty he reveals he hasn’t had a relationship in six years, and he doesn’t have any friends. He spends most of his downtime in fancy hotel rooms and ritzy plaza cafes. He spends spare change on a new Porsche, and is told by his personal masseuse that his detached bond with his mother – and competitive bond with his tycoon father - is the reason why he seemingly can’t connect with any prospective partners. 

Charlie is very likeable, but he’s driven, a machine tuned for maximum delivery in very specific areas; classical music and a toned physique. It’s unlikely any woman is going to be able to break through that chiseled front, and Charlie knows it. But, for the moment, maybe even the next ten years, his career is top priority, and if that means more modelling to expand his musical presence, then bring in the next photographer, and measure him up for his next performance suit, for this is one man who is resolute in his modernism. 

Roller Dreams

Sunday June 11th, 7:15pm (Event 9)

Aussie editor-turned-director Kate Hickey’s loving tribute to a very special time in dance culture’s history, a period during the free-wheelin’ late 70s and 80s when Venice Beach, California, become the hot spot for improvised roller dancing is both a wonderful date-stamp, but is also surprisingly affecting and poignant. The veterans and survivors of this curious scene, mostly black folk - and a clutch of funky honkies - congregated along the beach promenade and listened to rollerskating jams (called Saturday) and electro-funk boogie tunes on ghetto-blasters, while crowds, sometimes into the hundreds, would gather to watch these street dance hustlers roller-strut and glide their stuff, each known for their individual styles and moves. 

Oakwood Venice, originally referred to as the slum by the sea, became known in the 70s for its bohemian influence, a kind of wild, wild west full of roller cowboys and cowgirls. Roller Dreams focuses on the recollections and musings of a small bunch of these cats; Tyrell, Larry, Sally, Jimmy, Duval, and, last but not least, Mad. They’re older and crotchety now, but they’ve got stories to tell, most importantly, the destructive power of racism and police prejudice that eventually ruined the Venice Beach roller scene. 

Venice Beach became gentrified, it happens. There was an ethnic cleansing, the anxious affluent manipulating the council. Noise control came down hard. Gangsta rap didn’t help either. It’s such a shame to see, time and time again, while the physical landscape changes, yet the social climate remains tainted, poisoned by racism. Even when Hollywood wanted a piece of the Venice pie, back when the 70s ended, they whitewashed it, with Roller Boogie, Skatetown USA, and Xanadu all featuring exclusively Caucasian casts. But socio-political gripes aside, let the retro-cultural magic of Roller Dreams spin your troubles away. 


Sunday June 18th, 4:20pm (State Theatre) & Sunday June 18th, 8:35pm (Event 9)

New Zealand director Roger Donaldson has several hefty notches on his belt, having kickstarted the New Zealand film industry proper with Sleeping Dogs in 1977. He went on to direct my favourite Kiwi feature, Smash Palace, and my favourite Kevin Costner flick, No Way Out. His first directing credit was a short documentary for television on Burt Munro, a Kiwi motorcycle land-speed record holder. He returned to Burt for a feature biopic, The World’s Fastest Indian, and has returned, once again, to the world of speed and champions, this time with the story of Bruce McLaren, the humble Kiwi motor racing legend who conquered the world of Formula One racing and lead the longest-running and most successful racing team ever (behind Ferrari). 

By using archival stills, Super-8, 16mm, early videotape, and combining them with talking heads of his weathered colleagues and wife (four of whom passed away during the making of the film), and reenactments, the story unfolds of young Bruce’s peerless passion for driving and his knack for custom engineering and pioneering design, which eventually lead him to pole position in all the major racing championships. But there is a tragedy lurking in the background of this tale of sweat, motor oil, and sweet Champagne. Bruce McLaren died behind the wheel of his new M8D, whilst test-driving it at high speed in 1970. He was just 32. McLaren is the fraternal documentary to Senna (2010). 

On one hand McLaren is strictly for the rev-heads, as it doesn’t dig that deep into the bigger picture of what drives certain people, like Bruce, to drive at such crazy speeds on narrow, treacherous circuits. That fascinating philosophy is barely touched on. On the other hand, McLaren is a compelling and smartly-paced portrait that exudes much charm, character, and poignancy, chiefly by the main interviewees. McLaren is a winner. It’s curious to note that there were two pioneering McLaren enterprises that came out of New Zealand, one developed top shelf audio equipment for the serious audiophile, the other developed world class auto equipment for the serious petrolhead.


For more information and ticketing please visit the Sydney Film Festival website here.  

Stranger With My Face International Film Festival - 2017

The Tasmanian horror festival with a focus on female filmmakers returns for its fifth year. Originally founded by Briony Kidd & Rebecca Thomson, the festival is programmed and run by Kidd over the course of four days, this year 4th - 7th May, and amongst showcasing a small selection of features and shorts, it also sports numerous Q&As and symposiums, as well as being home to the 48-Hour Tasploitation Challenge. 

This year’s program includes the following features: The Book of Birdie from the UK, Dearest Sister, a co-pro from Laos/France/Estonia, the American anthology XX, Innuendo from Australia, and three retrospective screenings; Wes Craven’s 1991 The People Under the Stairs, and from New Zealand, Gaylene Preston’s Mr. Wrong (1984) and Perfect Strangers (2003). The cinematographer from People Under the Stairs will be present for a Q&A, and Gaylene Preston will be present for Q&As for both her screenings. 

Mr. Wrong was one of those runaway success stories, a sleeper that kept a lot of Wellingtonians awake back in 1984. I remember it ran in Wellington for months and months. A micro-budget affair, based on a story by Elizabeth Jane Howard, the screenplay was co-written by Preston, Graeme Tetley (who would go on to script several other successful New Zealand movies, such as Vigil, Bread & Roses, Ruby and Rata, and Out of the Blue), and director Geoff Murphy. 

Murphy was probably still riding high from the huge success of his road movie, Goodbye Pork Pie, which came out a few years earlier. In fact, both movies, along with Smash Palace (1981), were part of the first wave of Kiwi movies to make an impact overseas. In 1986 Mr. Wrong was released on VHS in the States, and re-titled Dark of the Night. Quentin Tarantino must have seen it while he was working at Video Archives, as he was eventually quoted as saying how impressed he was with the movie in particular the unconventional (plain Jane by Hollywood standards) casting of Heather Bolton as the central character.

Bolton plays Meg, a lonely Wellington woman, who buys a second hand Jaguar (a beautiful machine), and finds that the car is haunted. David Letch is perfectly cast as a leering stalker (he’d appear as Spider in David Blyth's cult exploitation-horror Death Warmed Up released the same year), as is Perry Percy, as a silent ghost waiting for revenge. Meg struggles with her fear and the car’s supernatural clinginess.

It’s a classic example of the low-key, but surprisingly effective approach Kiwis have had in telling cinema stories. Sure, the movie moves a little slow for a horror, and the suspense and scares, while atmospheric, aren’t exactly going to have you on the edge of your seat, yet there is a quaintness to the movie, both in performance and vibe, that works in its favour, especially watching it more than thirty years later. Thom Burstyn’s cinematography (with legendary Alun Bollinger doing the camera operating) is excellent, especially the location shooting, in particular a creepy set-up with the car by a creaking fence by the edge of the cliff, up on Paekakariki Hill. 

Mr. Wrong has aged in a pleasantly surprising way. For X-Gen Kiwis it's curious to spot the local actors in their younger years (including a very young Rebecca Gibney in a blink and you’ll miss her moment), but it’s also a fascinating example of very economical, but effective storytelling. 


Mr. Wrong screens at 8pm, Friday May 5th, followed by Q&A with director/co-writer Gaylene Preston, Salamanca Arts Centre, Hobart, Tasmania, as part of the Stranger With My Face International Film Festival

"Fright Night" mini horror fest

For Film’s Sake is an organisation focusing on diversity within the film industry and championing gender equality. As more and more female filmmakers are rising up and making strong independent, artistic, and challenging ciné statements, particularly within the genre of horror, it’s becoming increasingly clear that their voices are proving to be more exciting and interesting than the majority of male filmmakers. I’m generalising, of course, but FFS’s “Fright Night” mini-festival, being staged at a pop-up Sydney venue, “Alaska Projects” (in a darkened carpark!) is all about hearing the female voice in horror roar sharp and loud. 

In conjunction with the Los Angeles mini-festival Etheria Film Night, comes a selection of four short films that are accompanying three features, all screening on one night. The Puppet Man (US), Nasty (UK), The Stylist (US), and Black Cat (AUS), all play alongside the new horror anthology XX (which consists of four segments), new twisted, blackly comic drama Bitch, and the fangtastic, late 80s cult classic Near Dark

Jill Gevargizian’s short The Stylist is an elegant tale of one very troubled woman’s search for perfection. Claire (Najarra Townsend) is a hair stylist working in a small salon. She may appear pretty and composed, but she has a very dark and disturbing nature. It is the end of another working day, and the last client, Mandy (Jennifer Plas) arrives with the simple request of wanting to look perfect for her boss’s 25th anniversary celebrations. Claire offers Mandy a wine, then quietly listens to her rant and gossip, as she shampoos and treats the woman’s blonde locks. Soon enough it is time for Claire to do her other thing. The thing that helps her deal with her own ingrained insecurity, her dark desire for some kind of elusive beauty, of “perfection”. 

I saw Jill’s first short, Call Girl, a few years back at Sydney Underground Film Festival, and was very impressed with her style and originality. She continues her collaboration with screenwriter Eric Havens, this time mining her own experiences as a hair stylist, but portrayed as a slice of “Sweeney Todd” meets Maniac nightmarishness. The Stylist works a charm due to Jill’s assured direction, Colleen May’s excellent special effects, Nicholas Elert’s brooding score, but particularly fast rising star Najarra Townsend’s superb performance, who left a memorable impression on me after seeing Contracted a few years back. 

The Stylist’s final scene punctuates the film with an emotionally resonant edge, pushing the horror into unusually melancholy territory, and proving that “Jill Sixx” is a director whose debut feature will no doubt be something worth waiting for. 


"Fright Night"

Saturday, April 29th, 6pm

Alaska Projects - Level 2, Kings Cross Car Park, 9A Elizabeth Bay Road, Elizabeth Bay, Sydney. 

Tickets ($30) for the event can be purchased at

MidWest WeirdFest - inaugural opening night!

Happy Hunting

Friday, March 3rd, 6pm - with introduction and Q&A with the filmmakers.

Warren (Aussie ex-pat Martin Dingle Wall) is a man on the edge of the abyss. He’s scrambling to get enough dosh together to retrieve his baby daughter from across the US border, born to a Mexican woman. He attempts to sell some crystal meth to a couple of rednecks, but that scenario goes very rotten. Now he’s in a real bad situation, and to make matters worse, he’s a chronic alcoholic, complete with paranoia and tremors when he hasn’t had a drink for a few hours. 

En route to Mexico Warren finds himself in the no-horse town of Bedford Flats where he meets Steve (Ken Lally), an eager chap who leads a small 12-step recovery group. Warren’s gonna need some assistance sooner than later. But this tiny dump - population 135 - has a dark history, and it’s time to put some new bison on the run. 

Dang, this sweaty, grimy horror-thriller might be riddled with cliches, the kind of b-movie which woulda ended up lost on the bottom shelves of video stores about to go bust, then dumped in the sale bins, but the two buddies - Joe Dietsch and Lucian Gibson - behind this dust-laden, hillbilly shoot ‘em up have put together a real tasty, entertaining piece of exploitation fare that never tries to be anything other than a rollicking, spit-in-yer-face, ultra-violent deliverance, and yessiree, it delivers in spades! Yeeee-hah!

Lucian “Louie” Gibson is the son of Mel, and this is his and Dietsch’s first feature, having worked together on a couple of TV mini-series. The two filmmakers have written, directed, and edited Happy Hunting, and they sure know how to throw a camera around, with Dietsch as cinematographer, it looks fantastic, certainly the movie’s most striking element. The performances are all solid, with Lally threatening to chew the desert scenery to bits in the movie’s second half. 

Hunter and the hunted movies are a dime a dozen, but Happy Hunting, despite its routine plotting, is keen as mustard, taking the bison by the horns, and shooting from the hip, right down to the blackly comedic Trumped-up denouement. In fact, the whole movie smacks of bloodied satire, perhaps even a loose-as-hell study in going cold turkey. Hell, if I scull a few more shots of bourbon, I’ll probably slap this short, sharp piece as a cult classic in the waiting. Make sure you catch it on the big screen, its moody and grey, its mean and its restless. 

MidWest WeirdFest screens at the Micon Downtown Cinema in Ear Claire, Wisconsin, Friday March 3rd - Sunday March 5th. Get tickets from here. 

A Night Of Horror - The first weekend!


Thursday, November 24th, 7pm

What better way to kick off the 10th anniversary of this legendary festival than with zombie action in a strip club. An unashamedly exploitative b-movie dressed up in, no wait, hell no, this flick isn’t dressed up at all, it’s running amok, buck naked, and aiming it’s crooked teeth straight for the jugular. The perfect piece of horror trash for sculling beer, stuffing popcorn, and hurling inappropriate comments at the screen. Peelers is a hot date flick for the romantically challenged. Director Sevé Schelenz, a Canuck fest alumni, and screenwriter Lisa DeVita, have concocted a loud, brash, and crude party movie for flesh fiends. 

A small town strip club owner, Blue Jean (Wren Walker), is determined to defend her turf, even if it’s the final night of business, when the club is infiltrated by a messy, gross infection causing patrons and staff alike to become hideously sick and attack savagely. It’s every man and woman for themselves. There’s a definite dark streak of humour dripping off the sweat-splashed, blood-soaked walls of this dive bar. Wren Walker is definitely alpha female. Grab a bat, clutch your balls, peel it back, and prepare to be slapped and tickled. If you want elevated horror, you’ve come to the wrong bar, this joint is strictly for perverse thrills and spills. 

We Are Not Alone

Thursday, November 24th, 9pm

With a firm nod to The Exorcist and The Amityville Horror, this intensely atmospheric, Peruvian account of demonic possession (apparently based on true events) is a sombre, tenebrous, slow-burn (but not long) affair. It’s essentially a chamber piece, set almost entirely within a house, and with just three main characters, Mónica (Fiorella Diaz), her husband Mateo (Marc Zunino), and their eight-year-old daughter Sofia (Zoe Arévalo), plus the support of the well-intentioned father, and troubled soul, Padre Rafael (Lucho Cáceres).

The family have just moved into a new home on the outskirts of Lima. Almost immediately Sofia becomes the pet of some supernatural presence, but soon enough the force that is haunting the house focuses on Mónica, turning her into an insomniac and playing mercilessly on her perceptions. Everything moves into very familiar territory, but director and co-screenwriter Daniel Rodriguez has excellent control of the mise-en-scene, teasing the audience brilliantly, and adding genuinely deep, creep factor. It’s superbly shot, and the three performances, especially Fiorella Diaz, are the splendid horns on the pentagon cake. Great last shot too. 

Paranormal Drive

Friday, November 25th, 7pm

It’s not often a Ruski horror movie makes the rounds, and this supernatural shocker is a cut deep above most haunted vehicles - and there have been plenty of those. Marshrut Postroen (as it’s pronounced in its native language) follows the plight of Andrey (Pavel Chinaryov) and Olga (Svetlana Ustinova) and their wee daughter Kyushu (Vitaliya Kornienko). Andrey has just got a great deal on a used BMW SUV. It’s seemingly in immaculate condition, so surely they haven’t bought a lemon, right? This is no lemon, this is hell-on-wheels. Haunted by the horrific murder of a woman by her deranged husband the car and its proverbial ghost play malevolent games with the new family.

Director Oleg Assadulin has fashioned a slick and tense journey indeed. Sensational cinematography and terrific editing lift an essentially run-of-the-mill idea into a nerve-wracking 85-minute dark carnival ride. But it’s the performances from the two parents that really carry the movie. You can feel the tension ratcheting up, the paranoia descending like darkness. Andrey has been playing bad boy with young Lena (Diana Melison) and the spectre wants revenge vicariously through Olga. Can they get Kyushu to her grandmother in time? There’ll be tears before bedtime, for this is one hellbent phantom determined to spill blood on the asphalt. 

Smoke and Mirrors: The Tom Savini Story

Friday, November 25th, 9pm

Director Jason Baker, a special effects makeup artist, took several years to paint an intimate and revealing portrait of one of cinema’s greatest modern makeup magicians. Tom Savini has been responsible for creating some of the most memorable set-pieces and characters in horror movies since the 1970s. For True Believin’ horrorphiles he’s a household name, up there with Dick Smith, Rob Bottin and Rick Baker, one of the pioneers. His technique owes a lot to the illusionary art of the golden age, in particular Lon Chaney Jr. His credits include George Romero’s seminal zombie flicks Dawn and Day of the Dead, and Creepshow, The Burning, Friday the 13th and Friday the 13th; The Final Chapter, and many more. All of Savini’s amazing work on these movies are showcased in this fascinating doco, and if it's just to see this body of work in one sitting, hell, it's worth the price of admission!

But like the best documentaries, Baker chooses not to narrate or try and sway the viewer, instead letting Savini do most of the talking, and a bunch of his colleagues and luminaries offering insight into his magic and attitude, including his adult daughter’s heartfelt recollections. From his time as a Vietnam combat photographer, through his breakthrough work on Dawn of the Dead, ultimately delivering some of the most impressive practical effects and prosthetic monsters in modern cinema history, to eventually opening a special effects school, and passing his skilled knowledge onto award-winning Greg Nicotero of KNB EFX. The turbulent life and brilliant career of a gregarious exhibitionist makes for essential viewing. 

Gehenna: Where Death Lives

Saturday, November 26th, 9pm

A Japanese/American co-production and helmed by special effects whizz Hiroshi Katagiri, it’s the tale of a group of of opportunist entrepreneurs who have traveled to Saipan, a lush US-owned island in the Western Pacific, to search for the new spot for a resort. It seems they’ve found the perfect spot, but a derelict bunker on the site left over from WWII presents a few possible issues. The small group enter the bunker to explore the underground tunnels and rooms only to find a subterranean hell where they are terrorised by their own nightmarish secrets and forced to attack each other. 

It’s the classic study of a motley crew in close quarters in even closer encounters with their worst enemies; themselves. The word “gehenna” derives from the Hebrew and is referred to in Jewish and Christian faith as a kind of realm of hell. For the tourists in Saipan it is indeed a hell-on-earth. Katagari has created an intensely claustrophobic showcase for a plethora of phantasmagoric images, shrouded in shadows, bursting forth with evil. It is a grim, labyrinthine, and relentless experience with some excellent special effects, as to be expected! 

Bornless Ones

Sunday, November 27th, 7pm

The evil dead have returned once again. Cabins in the woods are not your friends. Poor Emily (Margaret Judson) just wants to make her pitiful brother’s existence a little better. Zach (Michael Johnston) suffers from cerebral palsy. Along with her boyfriend Jesse (Devin Goodsell), his mate Woodrow (Mark Furze) and lover Michelle (Bobby T), they’ve arrived at a small remote alpine abode in order to provide Zach with some tranquility. The cabin was a cheap purchase, but what Emily and co. don’t realise is that the deceased estate holds a hell of a dark secret. Let the demonic shit hit the fan. 

Writer/director Alexander Babaev isn’t interested in re-inventing the wheel, so he makes sure the chaos is steady and nasty. Take a bunch of stereotypes, throw in a little exploitative nudity and raunch factor, lace with a perverse sense of humour, elicit solid performances from the cast, deliver some great gore gags, and you’ve got a bloody fun night out with the demons. Bornless Ones delivers in jokers and spades. 


All screenings at Dendy Newtown, Sydney.

For more information, the complete festival programme, and tickets visit

A Night Of Horror International Film Festival Celebrates its TENTH anniversary!

I'm proud to announce Australia's premiere - and longest-running - genre film festival celebrates its tenth anniversary this year, with a cracker program! I've been supporting the Sydney-based festival since its third year, and this is my third year as short film programmer (my second as head of international horror shorts). 

Presented by Deadhouse Films, The 10th annual A Night of Horror International Film Festival, and Fantastic Planet: Sydney Sci-Fi and Fantasy Film Festival, screen simultaneously at Dendy Cinemas Newtown from November 24 to December 4, 2016. 

“The 10th annual festival is going to be our biggest event yet,” says festival director Dean Bertram. “Featuring over 100 films, several international filmmaker guests, multiple parties and a horror filmmaking master class; Sydney's genre fans and filmmaking community are going to be treated to eleven days of the best and freshest horror, sci-fi, and fantasy from around the globe.”

The festival opens on Thursday November 24, with the Australian premiere of the international festival hit PEELERS, plus a Q&A with special international guest: Canadian director Sevé Schelenz. And in keeping with the spirit of the bloody hilarious film, the screening will be followed by a “zombie and strippers” themed after party.

The closing night film, presented by Monster Pictures, is the outrageous Sundance hit THE GREASY STRANGLER. The screening will be introduced by the film's stars Michael St. Michael and Sky Elobar, and followed by a special “Greasy Gala” after party. Audience members who come in GREASY STRANGER inspired costumes have a chance to win prizes given to them by the stars of the film themselves! 

On Saturday, November 26 the festival presents a Horror Filmmaking Masterclass. Several of the festival's guest filmmakers will present an in depth look at the horror feature filmmaking process: from developing and financing, through production and post-production, to distribution and festival strategies. This is must attend event for anyone wanting to produce their own feature film.

Along with the full program of feature films listed below - most of which are Australian premieres - the festivals maintain an impressive commitment to short films: Showcasing over seventy of the world's most stunning genre shorts from twenty different countries.

The short film programs are: FANTASTIC VISIONS (international sf/fantasy), LOVECRAFT X (H.P. Lovecraft-inspired by/adapted from), AUSTRALIAN HORROR GALA, AUSTRALIAN SF & FANTASY GALA, WORLD OF DREAD (international horror) [Ed: programmed by yours truly!], and AMAZING ANIMATIONS (international animated sf/fantasy & horror).

For tickets, full schedule of films, and more information about the festival, visit:

Full list of feature films screening at the 2016 event follow:

THE AUTOPSY OF JANE DOE (dir: André Øvredal) From the director of TROLLHUNTER! Brian Cox (THE BOURNE IDENTITY, TROY) and Emile Hirsch (INTO THE WILD, LONE SURVIVOR)  play father and son coroners who receive a mysterious homicide victim with no apparent cause of death. As they attempt to identify the beautiful young "Jane Doe," they discover increasingly bizarre clues that hold the key to her terrifying secrets.

BORNLESS ONES (dir: Alexander Babaev) Fans of EVIL DEAD will eagerly devour this atmospheric and demon-filled fright-fest. Starring Australia's own Mark Furze, this is the best and bloodiest cabin-in-the-the-woods film in years.

DEAD BULLET (dir: Erik Reese) Desperate to turn his life around, a hard-luck gambler risks everything to sell stolen casino chips to a ruthless criminal. It's the worst bet of his life. With a fantastic cast, non-stop thrilling twists, and the spectacular backdrop of desert and casinos, DEAD BULLET is a top notch addition to the neo-western heist movie. 

FOUND FOOTAGE 3D (dir: Steven DeGennaro) In the same way that SCREAM deconstructed the slasher sub-genre in the 90’s, FF3D takes a found-footage horror movie and populates it with people who are aware of all of the rules, tricks, and clichés of the genre. They know how to make a found footage movie. But do they know how to survive one? 

GEHENNA: WHERE DEATH LIVES (dir: Hiroshi Katagiri) The terrifying directorial debut from special effects artist Hiroshi Katagiri (A.I., WAR OF THE WORLDS, THE HUNGER GAMES). When a group of property developers are trapped in a bunker beneath sacred native land, they soon discover that there are worse fates than death waiting in the claustrophobic darkness. Appearances from genre favourites Lance Henriksen (ALIENS, MILLENNIUM) and Doug Jones (HELL BOY, PAN'S LABYRINTH) add to one of the most frightening films of the festival season.

GELO (dir: Gonçalo Galvão Teles, Luís Galvão Teles) Ivana Baquero – star of PAN'S LABYRINTH, THE NEW DAUGHTER and THE SHANNARA CHRONICLES - captivates in this emotionally charged and unforgettable sci-fi mystery. Born from the DNA of a frozen ice age corpse, Catarina grows up incarcerated in an isolated palace. A film student named Joana, falls madly in love with Miguel - only to see him tragically ripped from her hands during a journey to a snowy mountaintop. What can possibly unite Joana and Catarina? How many lives are there in one lifetime?

THE GREASY STRANGLER (dir: Jim Hosking) Every year at Sundance one film takes pundits totally by surprise, in 2016 that film was Jim Hosking’s THE GREASY STRANGLER. This is a film like no other, a greasy smorgasbord of filth and depravity that is as repulsive as it is sweet – part comedy, part horror, part love story, all greasy mayhem! The kind of film that festival audiences adore and the kind of film that once seen cannot be erased from the mind.

NEIL STRYKER AND THE TYRANT OF TIME (dir: Rob Taylor) If DOCTOR WHO was genetically spliced with STAR TREK, by a mad scientist with a wicked sense of humour (who also threw in a sprinkling of malevolent goblin puppets just for giggles), you might have something resembling this soon to be cult classic. And with STAR TREK's Walter Koenig on board, this film boldly goes to new comedic heights.

THE NIGHT OF THE VIRGIN (dir: Roberto San Sebastián) On New Year's Eve a desperate and lonely young man is lured back to the apartment of an attractive older woman. The man thinks he is in for a night of pleasure, and perhaps the night of his life. He is half way right... because he is never going to be the same after he experiences what this night will bring. A dark - and darkly humorous - journey into strange and forbidden territories. Some scenes are so outrageous that you won't be able to sit still in your seat. 

ORION (dir: Asiel Norton) In a desolate future, where science is a memory, and mysticism and savagery rule the wasteland, a hunter (David Arquette in a transformative performance) must save a virgin (Lily Cole, SNOW WHITE AND THE HUNTSMAN, THE IMAGINARIUM OF DOCTOR PARNASSUS) from a cannibalistic shaman. ORION is a visionary thriller and unique exploration of the post-apocalytpic sub-genre. 

PARANORMAL DRIVE (dir: Oleg Assadulin) Russian genre cinema continues to accelerate with this jump-in-your-seat supernatural chiller. A Russian family road tripping across country in their newly purchased car, are unaware of the vehicles horrifying history. Will they survive its dark secrets and reach their final destination?

PARASITES (dir: Chad Ferrin)  The industrial barbarianism of downtown Los Angeles is equal parts player and punisher in this survive-at-all-costs tale of a group of friends who get lost in the seedy streets where they encounter a crazed gang of homeless derelicts. One surviving man escapes on foot, naked and unarmed. With only instinct to guide him, can he survive this coliseum of horror? 

PEELERS (dir: Sevé Schelenz) The festival horror hit - with over 50 international festival screenings - is premiering in Australia at A Night of Horror. Festival alumni Sevé Schelenz (SKEW) serves up a riotous horror action flick: filled with zombies, strippers, gore, gags and chainsaws!

PLANK FACE (dir: Scott Schirmer) From festival alumni, and emerging master of confrontational horror cinema (FOUND, HEADLESS, HARVEST LAKE), comes this shockingly original tale of a man forever transformed by a savage clan of back-woods women.

SCANNERS (dir: David Cronenberg) A Night of Horror is delighted to present a special 35th anniversary screening of SCANNERS, the mind-bending blend of horror and sci-fi from genre master David Cronenberg (THE FLY, A HISTORY OF VIOLENCE, EASTERN PROMISES).  The film is one of most important and best loved gems of the 70s-80s exploitation boom. Here's your chance to see the film the way it was meant to be seen: On the big screen, in all of its head-exploding glory!

THE SECOND COMING: VOLUME 2 (dir: Richard Wolstencroft) Australian film maverick Richard Wolstencroft won the “Best Australian Film” award at Fantastic Planet last year, for Volume 1 of his SECOND COMING series. Now, Richard returns with Volume 2. Based on the poem by W. B. Yeats, this final confronting instalment continues to delve into the underbelly of occultism, physics, and political paranoia, as it travels over multiple continents, and through the lives of an eclectic group of fascinating characters. 

SHE'S ALLERGIC TO CATS (dir: Michael Reich) Indie hit of this year's Fantasia Film Festival, SHE'S ALLERGIC TO CATS is a genre-defying mind-trip filled with mesmerising imagery formed by an 80s video art aesthetic. A video artist and reluctant dog groomer (Mike Pinkney), falls head over heels for a gorgeous client (Sonja Kinski). One problem: his run down Hollywood home is infested by rats, and she's coming to visit.

SMOKE AND MIRRORS: THE TOM SAVINI STORY (dir: Jason Baker, USA) A legend in the modern horror movie business, Tom Savini revolutionised special effects makeup in cult classics such as DAWN OF THE DEAD, FRIDAY THE 13TH, and CREEPSHOW.  This fascinating portrait on his life and career features interviews with George Romero, Robert Rodriguez, Greg Nicotero, and many more, along with juicy clips of Savini’s work, and exclusive behind the scenes. 

SOMNIO (dir: Travis Milloy) Trapped in a futuristic prison cell, and watched over by a faceless warden, a wrongfully imprisoned man must escape his intolerable present by travelling into a violent yet romantic-tinged memory from his past. A Kafkaesque nightmare blended with a sci-fi premise reminiscent of the best of P. K. Dick. Lovers of cerebral science fiction will adore this haunting film.

TAX SHELER TERRORS (dir: Xavier Mendik, Francesco Giannini, Deke Richards) Fans of exploitation cinema will be mesmerised by this Canadian documentary - reminiscent ofAustralia's NOT QUITE HOLLYWOOD -  which explores Canada's golden age of horror and sci-fi, from the 1970s into the '80s, when a lucrative tax incentive program enabled the production of a slew ofgenre classics from DEATH WEEKEND through BLACK CHRISTMAS and MY BLOODY VALENTINE to David Cronenberg's early masterpieces SHIVERS, RABID, THE BROOD, and SCANNERS. 

TELEIOS (dir: Ian Truitner)  A genetically perfected crew are on a rescue mission to recover a deep space mining vessel. All that remains of the drifting space ship's crew is a catatonic male human, and a subservient female android. But with its precious cargo missing, and the rescue party themselves becoming unhinged, they must race to discover not only the location of the ships's missing cargo, but what happened to the rest of its murdered crew. A taught sci-fi action/thriller which brings to mind sci-fi classics from ALIEN and EVENT HORIZON to BLADE RUNNER and EX MACHINA.

TONIGHT SHE COMES (dir: Matt Stuertz) After a girl goes missing, two of her friends and a mysterious set of strangers find themselves drawn to the cabin in the woods where she disappeared. They will laugh, they will drink, they will kiss, they will have sex, and THEY ALL MUST DIE. A clever and often hilarious film that spins into unpredictable and shocking directions. With plenty of gore, laughs, and shocks: TONIGHT SHE COMES will leave even the most jaded horrorphile satiated.

WE ARE NOT ALONE (dir: Daniel Rodriquez) Based on terrifying true events. Mateo, his eight-year-old daughter Sofía, and his fiancée Mónica move into an old house. Sofía feels a disturbing presence in their new home. Mateo attributes the child’s warnings as a ploy to come between him and his new bride to be. But as the supernatural presence grows, the family's salvation might require the ultimate sacrifice... Fans of paranormal and haunted house films will shiver in delight at this atmospheric tale of terror.

More details are available at the festivals' official website:

Sydney Underground Film Festival's 10th anniversary dark delights!

We Are the Flesh

Friday, September 16th, 10.30pm

If Gaspar Noe raped Alejandro Jodorowsky the bastard offspring might look, sound, and behave like this perverse mind-fuck of a movie from Mexican director Emiliano Rocha Minter. It’s a sexual baptism by ciné fire, a bewildering and shocking existential study of identity, crisis of faith, and freedom. Or maybe it’s just about sexual entrapment and carnal oblivion. Whatever the hell it’s about, it’s a wildly sensual and visceral experience, part Enter the Void, part Holy Mountain, and part snake eating its own tail for nightmarish measure. Tenemos la carne is a journey that will test your boundaries, it will grab your crotch, lick your neck, and then slap you hard across the face.

But what is it about? Two young adults, a brother (Diego Gamaliel) and sister (Maria Evoli), find their way into a derelict building, seeking refuge from an apparent ruined outside world, and are befriended by a madman (Noé Hernandez), who has been surviving on his own, making oil from animal fat, and dosing himself with an elixir of some kind. He preaches a kind of sex magick. He is, without a doubt, one of the most genuinely creepy and quietly menacing characters you will ever see on screen. He coerces the two siblings to engage in sexual intercourse, and that’s just the start of their descent into this cavernous wilderness.

We Are the Flesh is demanding and gruelling, it drips and it oozes, it is confronting and unapologetic, it screams and it crawls. The performances are wonderfully unhinged, the production design and cinematography grimy and lush in equal measure. Leave your sensibilities behind, shed your inhibitions, throw caution to the wind, and let yourself be embraced, groped, and ravaged by this subversive piece of lurid art-porn.

I Am Not a Serial Killer

Saturday, September 17th, 2pm

A UK production set in Clayton, Minnesota, this independent thriller, with strong science fiction and horror undertones, is one of the year’s most surprising movies. It feels like a kind of Catcher in the Rye gone awry. A Cat Sick Blues on the back of a White Reindeer. Yes, it’s blackly comic, rather disquieting, disturbing even, and yet, never fully becomes the horror movie you’re expecting it to be. This is Irish writer/director Billy O’Brien’s third feature, and it’s a highly atmospheric and accomplished tale of teenage confusion wrapped up in a small town mystery.

There is a serial killer on the loose and John Cleaver (Max Records) is being bullied at school. He understands himself to be a borderline liability; that if he doesn’t keep control of his emotions, especially his rage, he will murder people. He assists his mother, April (Laura Fraser), a mortician, and he seeks therapy from Dr. Neblin (Karl Geary), who is keen to help John get through this difficult period. John feels a sense of abandonment from his father, and he tries to act normal, but he struggles with an even stronger sense of ennui. Matters become complicated when John suspects his next door neighbour, the elderly Crowley (Christopher Lloyd), as the town’s psycho butcher.

Great performances from the leads, and a suitably chilled tone add real weight to this curious caper. Though the ending doesn’t quite hit the mark it should, and the movie definitely demands a pay-off, the rich characterisations and its dark sense of humour provide the movie with more than enough mettle. This is the less hysterical, alternate Stranger Things, and well worth it too.

Trash Fire

Saturday, September 17th, 6pm

Owen (Adrian Grenier) and Isabel (Angela Trimbur) are having some problems. Well, to be precise, Owen is the one with the big issues (he’s an emotionally stunted bulimic orphan), and poor Isabel is the long-suffering girlfriend who deserves better. Perhaps Owen can sort his shit out (if his therapist doesn’t keep falling asleep), or maybe his demon drink will devour him? There are definitely some skeletons in his closet that need rattling, but truth be told, the wool’s been pulled over his eyes, this lamb is off to the slaughter.

Trash Fire is Richard Bates Jr.’s third feature, and he loves scraping horror’s funny bone. I’m a huge fan of his first movie, the nightmarish, contemporary fable Excision (2012), and while I enjoyed Suburban Gothic (2014) for what it was, a latter John Waters-esque melodrama, I was hoping Bates would return to the sharper, darker edge he brandished on his debut. Trash Fire is a stunning, immersive piece of work, with sensational performances, especially Grenier and Trimbur. The light reflecting off this satirical blade is brilliant. Easily one of my favourite movies of the year.

With the kind of razor-sharp dialogue and jaded characters you might find in a Bret Easton Ellis novel, combined with the clean, symmetrical, widescreen compositions favoured by Stanley Kubrick, Richard Bates has fashioned a scathing, but truly memorable study of relationships, and the spectre of vengeance. Owen is an asshole, a prick, but you can feel the familial thorn in his side. Isobel matches his snide remarks with her own acerbic wit, and the two of them play a game, set and match of wicked verbal tennis. But let’s not forget the two characters whose presence and agendas will throw big spanners into the proverbial clockwork; Owen’s tough-as-nails grandmother, Violet (Fionnula Flanagan), and his deeply scarred younger sister Pearl (AnnaLynne McCord).

There’ll definitely be tears before bedtime. And there will be blood.

For further information on the complete SUFF program and venue visit

19th Revelation - Perth International Film Festival - reviews in brief


Friday, July 8th, 6.45pm, Monday July 11th, 6.45pm, and Saturday July 16th, 8.45pm

First things first; you have not seen a movie like this ever before, and are unlikely to see anything quite like it again. Yet, there is much going on that will remind you of things you’ve experienced. It’s both comforting in its familiarity, yet frightening in its strangeness. It is, most definitely, an acquired taste. But if you’re keen for the mustard, then pass the ketchup, let’s all grunt and screech, beat our chests, and fling food together. Steve Oram (from the brilliant black comedy, Sightseers, directed by Ben Wheatley, who is also the executive producer on this) wrote, directed, edited, co-produced, and performs in this extraordinary “study”. Have you ever imagined what daily domestic and social life would look and sound like if humans acted like apes? Yup. Consider yourself warned. 

Oram plays Smith. He and his mate, Keith (Tom Meeten), step out of the “jungle” and gatecrash a small party in a suburban terrace home that belongs to Barabara (ex-pop star Toyah Willcox), her young adult daughter Denise (Lucy Honigman), young adult son Og (Sean Reynard), and new father figure Ryan (Julian Rhind-Tutt), who was previously their washing machine repair man. Original patriarch, Jupiter (Julian Barratt), has been banished to the backyard. What ensues is the usual power games and inter-relationship shenanigans, only with a lot more crude, vulgar, and violent displays of emotion. This is, quite possibly, the most brilliant expression of human savagery ever depicted on film. It’s also funny as all hell. Think Shane Meadows’ Small Time meets Lars Von Trier’s Dogville meets Mike Leigh’s Naked meets Monty Python, and you might get an inkling of the inspired social satire masquerading as low-brow hi-jinks that Oram put together in just two weeks, and shot in medium format. Forget Trash Humpers, this is the real shit, and one of my faves for the year.

Little Sister

Friday July 8th, 10.30pm, Saturday July 9th, 12.45pm, and Sunday July 17th, 6.30pm

I’m a big fan of writer/director Zach Clark’s White Reindeer, and while his new family melodrama is not as subversive or quite as black in the humour stakes it’s still a very enjoyable left-field romp through domestic dysfunction and familial foibles. This time round Clark wants things a little rosier for Christmas. It's a yuletide family reunion, albeit with a few casualties and edgy hilarity along the way, otherwise it just wouldn’t be a Zach Clark slap. It's definitely his most accessible movie. But take that with the parson’s nose. If you get my turkey drift. 

Colleen (the lovely Addison Timlin from The Town That Dreaded Sundown remake) is heading home for festivities with her damaged family, after learning her older brother, Jacob (Keith Poulson), has returned from his Iraq tour of duty. Colleen used to be a goth, but now she’s a nun. Her brother is hiding out in the family guest house. Which makes sense, since his entire head is one big lump of burn scar tissue. Mom (Ally Sheedy) is borderline. She pops pills and smokes pot to self-medicate. Colleen has the good news work cut out for her. Clark gets wonderful performances from his entire cast, especially Timlin and Sheedy, both who shine in delightful contrast. 

The Other Side

Saturday July 9th, 3.20pm and Sunday July 17th, 3pm

There is a sense of the forbidden, of danger, that simmers below the surface of this Louisiana docudrama, like the spicy flavours of a Southern gumbo, just waiting to hit your tastebuds. It’s a curious perspective, drifting along the everglades, wandering through the trailer park, meandering like a snake, hitting to bite. This is where the lost souls survive and the quiet rages on. This is a carefully composed observation on a part of America so entrenched, you can almost smell the desolation and fear exuding from the screen. It’s darkly fascinating, and utterly compelling. 

It’s an Italian production, and director Roberto Minervini is keen to simply observe, but with a very precise eye, both in the coverage and the editing. The subjects themselves are so relaxed in front of the camera that the result almost feels like it’s more of a slow-burn thriller than an actual documentary. There’s the trailer park lovers who are meth addicts rolling from one hit to the next. He knows they need to get clean, and the only way for him is for another stint in jail. She’s more concerned about the effect his mother’s passing will have on him. The narrative shifts to a group of cocky, anti-government militia, self styled as the New America Infidels, who are preparing for when the freedom goes to ground and martial law is enforced. The swamp on the other side is thick with dysfunction and discontent, and it makes for a beautiful wound. 


Wednesday July 13th, 9pm and Sunday July 17th, 12.45pm

The small township of Bridgend, Wales, on the edge of a forest, has become infamous for a bizarre and seemingly inexplicable phenomenon. Since 2007 there have been almost eighty suicides, with nearly all of the victims being teenagers and hanging being the choice of death. The adults and parents of the community have been left heartbroken and confounded. Danish director Jeppe Rønde has fashioned a gripping and very disquieting drama about the youth culture that exists in Bridgend, and focuses on the relationship between impressionable teen Sara (Hannah Murray) and her father Dave (Steven Waddington), who arrive in town. Dave is the town’s new police inspector. Hannah is immediately the “new kid in town”. She becomes involved with Jamie (Josh O’Connor), and soon enough is pulled deeper into the murky world of the suicide cluster.

Excellent cinematography by Magnus Nordenhof Jønk and a brooding score from Karsten Dundal add much weight to the movie, which sits like a cross between River’s Edge and Twin Peaks. It doesn’t offer any real answers to the mystery of the teenager’s morbid motivation, suffice to say, there is very strong peer pressure, and an online chat room presence that provides a psychological wedge. Combining the age-old “they just don’t understand us” chestnut, and the whole “truth is stranger than fiction” flag, Bridgend slides on down the proverbial dark railway track of elusive nightmare fabric into the pool of fire. Solid performances all-round from a cast of mostly unknowns.


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