Thursday, 20 November 2014
A biopic of famed English painter J.M.W. Turner might not, at first glance, seem like the most likely subject for director Mike Leigh to take on. Leigh is known for his improvisational films dealing with contemporary issues, but- as films like Topsy-Turvy and Vera Drake show- he is comfortable in a period setting.
Mr. Turner follows the last quarter century of Turner's life, from his life in London with his beloved father, William Sr, (Paul Jesson) and housekeeper Hannah Danby (Dorothy Atkinson), to his relationship later in life with Sophia Booth, a widowed Margate landlady (Marion Bailey). It's episodic in nature but held together by a remarkable central performance by Timothy Spall as the titular Turner.
Spall won the Best Actor award at this year's Cannes Film Festival and it's not difficult to see why. He totally inhabits the role and yet gives such a grounded and unshowy performance. Turner is undeniably a brilliant painter but quite a rough character, concerned with his art and little else. He barely acknowledges his illegitimate daughters, giving them little more than the most perfunctory of attentions (in one of the funniest scenes of the film). He uses Hannah for his own gratification but doesn't seem to care much for her. However, there are moments of levity- his relationship with his father is nicely done (the interplay between Spall and Jesson is great and their relationship is believable), he seems the life and soul of the Royal Academy of Arts and there is a lovely understated nature to his relationship with Sophia. There's also a tremendous scene toward the end of the film where he rebuffs the offer of a private seller which is just a brilliant moment. Is Spall's performance worthy of an Oscar nomination? I'm not sure, but it is certainly one of the best given by one of Britain's most underrated actors.
Other performances are similarly strong: Jesson, Atkinson and Bailey all give great performances as the most important people in Turner's life. Lesley Manville is great in a cameo role as natural scientist Mary Somerville (who Turner helps with an experiment on light refraction) whilst David Horovitch gives a good turn as Turner's doctor.
Leigh's script is absolutely loquacious with long, intricate sentences for even the most basic of social greetings. It's initially quite tough to cope with but you soon get into the flow of speech. The film is a real feast for the eyes. Dick Pope's cinematography is just spectacular, with luscious shots of landscapes, seas and towns that is just sublime. All the costumes are similarly exquisite.
It occasionally veers into the indulgent and there are some scenes that feel a little extraneous, padding up the running time to two-and-a-half hours. I feel a ittle judicious cutting would not have gone amiss- for example, a scene where Turner sits through an excruciating conversation about gooseberries could easily go- and the impact of the film would not be lost. That said, it's a handsome film and a great performance by Spall so it's definitely worth your time.
Rating: 4 out of 5
Tuesday, 18 November 2014
Alan Turing was the man responsible for breaking the Enigma code, the machine that encrypted Nazi U-boat communications during World War Two. Capable of one-hundred-and-fifty billion combinations, at the stroke of midnight each day it would swap to another setting, making Britain’s studies during the last twenty-four hours all but worthless. Before Turing’s efforts, Enigma was considered unbreakable. Morten Tyldum’s (Headhunters) The Imitation Game isn’t a watered down, try not to offend anyone, biopic. Graham Moore’s first feature-length screenplay examines what a man with a such a mind would have been like, the moral dilemmas he faced conducting top secret research, and how Turing, a national hero unbeknownst to the British public due to the Official Secrets Act, was treated once it was discovered, in 1952, that he was homosexual.
Moore’s script could have been a two-hour mess, as it bounces back-and-forth across Turing’s life: The teenage years at Cambridge, bullied by the other students, and his growing awareness of his sexuality; his struggles to crack the ever-changing Enigma code; and the police investigation into Turing, suspecting that he is committing acts of “gross indecency”. You can tell the screenplay has been through numerous re-writes, there is not a single scene or piece of dialogue that feels redundant. Moore does that talented and rare thing of coming up with a fast-paced film that doesn’t scrimp on insights and observations of its lead character.
As for its lead character, Benedict Cumberbatch, you could argue, gives his best performance yet. An international star as Sherlock Holmes in the Steven Moffat/Mark Gatiss TV series, and playing the villain in Star Trek: Into Darkness and The Hobbit: The Desolation of Smaug, this performance is less showy than his more recent film and TV work. Here he treads a fine line between arrogant egocentric and anguished vulnerability. Tactless and dismissive of anyone without a mind anywhere close to his, Cumberbatch’s Turing displays naïve, childlike behaviour, whether it’s the blank, uncomprehending looks he gives when he watches men and women flirting, or how he curls up in a ball and cowers when threatened with violence. Turing asks, “Am I a man or a machine?” The answer, by the time The Imitation Game’s credits come up, is undoubtedly a man, but Turing needed someone or something – much like Christopher, the machine he built to break the Enigma code – to translate the thoughts and feelings going on inside him. Whether Cumberbatch wins an Oscar for his portrayal of Turing, he easily deserves a Best Actor nomination.
Keira Knightley, when given a role she can do something with, is a skilled actress. As cryptanalyst Joan Clarke, she is Turing’s interpreter; she knows him and what is going on inside his head. Tragically, what Turing fails to realise is that Clarke agrees to marry him because she doesn’t just understand him, Turing is the only man who understands her. Compassionate, but also fiery, frustrated that she has to work in secret with Turing and his team (a woman can’t be involved in such an important, undercover project), Knightley gives a wholly credible performance as Clarke.
While The Imitation Game is nowhere near as bland and mild as Brian Percival’s The Book Thief, you get the sense that Tyldum and Moore have played around with some of the facts. It feels like the truth’s been stretched when we find out one of the code-breaking team has a brother on a civilian convoy ship, Turing having the impossible decision of whether to save the ship and risk the Nazis knowing Enigma has been compromised. The biggest offender is Turing’s sexuality being hinted at rather than shown; this is far from Brokeback Mountain with a Cambridge graduate twang. Despite Cumberbatch doing a stunning job portraying Turing’s turmoil at having to lie day-by-day, trying to fool everyone, this is down to commercial rather than artistic reasons; getting the film a 12A instead of a 15 rating.
Intelligent, unapologetically emotional, and compelling, The Imitation Game is one of the best character studies you will see in cinemas this year. Sensitively handled, this is a lesson in how important, defining moments in history should be portrayed on-screen. With all the awards buzz around the film, hopefully Hollywood will take note.
4 out of 5
Wednesday, 12 November 2014
Back at this year’s San Diego Comic Con, Christopher Nolan and Matthew McConaughey gave a press conference that was a masterclass in promoting your film, but telling you nothing about it. That’s the best way to go and see Nolan’s latest multi-million dollar epic; the less you know, the more you’ll enjoy it.
The plot starts off simple enough. In the near future, earth is dying, and food sources are dwindling. Ex-astronaut Cooper (McConaughey) is sent on a mission to save mankind; to search an unexplored galaxy for a planet where the human race can live on. Not only is Cooper concerned with saving our species, he also wants to return home so he can see his family again. That’s all straightforward; then Christopher and Jonathan Nolan (who both wrote the script) throw all sorts of smart, original, occasionally genuinely bonkers scenes at you.
If you search the online reviews for Interstellar, a number of them suggest that Nolan has stolen from Stanley Kubrick’s 2001: A Space Odyssey. While some of the space exploration is definitely influenced by Kubrick’s masterpiece, Interstellar has a beating heart underneath the push the envelope visuals. In many ways, Nolan’s latest project is a throwback to the eighties, films such as E.T., The Goonies, Raiders of the Lost Ark, where the world and the skies above were to be explored: outside your front door, there’s an adventure waiting. Considering Nolan gave us the downbeat, real-world superhero Dark Knight trilogy, Interstellar feels like it came from a more innocent, less complicated time. In Interstellar’s world, you either grow up to be a farmer or the gifted and talented become scientists. Children are taught that the moon landings never happened, just an elaborate hoax to bankrupt the Russians. NASA has been shut down for decades; planet earth has neither the time nor the money to spend on space missions. No one looks up at the skies any more, instead they shuffle round, surviving instead of living. McConaughey’s Cooper is your traditional hero, the same mould as Raiders’ Indiana Jones, or The Goonies’ Mikey. Cooper is a Texan rebel, refusing to be told what to do or have decisions made for him; he was never meant to live an ordinary life, working nine-to-five, only seeing the wonders of the world and beyond it on a TV screen.
As little as four years ago, Matthew McConaughey was the Go-To-Guy for Hollywood’s next lightweight, mediocre film. Drawing a line under his CV and taking lead roles in risky indie flicks such as Killer Joe, The Paperboy, and, more recently, The Dallas Buyers Club, McConaughey is suddenly one of the most talented and surprising actors working today. Once again, McConaughey is on first-rate form here as Cooper. Despite all the science and theories that feature throughout Interstellar, what stands out is its theme of family, how strong the bond is between two people who love and care for each other. McConaughey never squanders this; Cooper might be saving life on earth, but his priority is getting back to his children. It’s not spoiling anything to say that the mission does not go according to plan, and a scene where Cooper is forced to watch the consequences play out in front of him is heart-breaking to sit through. McConaughey has this rare talent of being able to draw you in with a flawlessly judged, absorbing performance, without chewing the scenery or overacting.
As you would expect with a Nolan film, all of the performances are strong, but most deserving of a mention is Jessica Chastain, who plays Cooper’s ten-year-old daughter, Murphy. McConaughey and Chastain’s scenes together are what Interstellar is all about. Murphy is her father’s daughter; unlike her peers, she is obsessed with finding out what our world and the stars have to offer. Chastain is McConaughey’s partner in crime, but she also gives him the dressing down he needs when he goes too far, putting himself in danger. The scene when Cooper tries saying goodbye to his daughter, Murphy refusing to speak to him, pretending he never existed, will have plenty of people welling up at the cinema.
Interstellar needs to be watched on the biggest screen you can find (I saw it on IMAX and it was borderline overwhelming!). Nolan swaps his long-time cinematographer Wally Pfister for Hoyte Van Hoytema (Let The Right One In, Her), Hoytema managing to get the balance just right with visuals that are desolate, but also give a sense of grandeur. Planets made up of skyscraper-sized waves, or frozen clouds, will wow audiences who pine for the summer blockbuster season.
Nolan’s first attempt at science fiction proper just misses the mark of being flawless. Whereas Inception’s dream within a dream rules were carefully and subtly explained, occasionally funny or thrilling to watch, Interstellar bombards you with Stephen Hawking levels of physics and expects you to keep up. Once or twice, I was wishing I had a rewind button so I could go over an explanation one more time. The last hour of the film changes gear and delves into theories such as there being not three, not four, but five dimensions, as well as gravity being a force that can time travel. Personally, I thought the third act was both clever and unpredictable, but I can understand why someone would find it irritating and have no idea what’s going on.
Thankfully, you can overlook the science lesson exposition as it’s all sandwiched between an unashamedly human and touching narrative that will stun die hard Nolan fans. Wormholes, black holes, and the vastness of space all look eerily beautiful (it’s not a rip-off of 2001, it’s 2001 after nearly fifty years of cinematic advances), but Nolan also shows us how family, loving someone and treasuring your memories, can be just as special. For me, my favourite science fiction films are Stanley Kubrick’s 2001: A Space Odyssey, Ridley Scott’s Blade Runner, and Duncan Jones’s Moon. I’m adding Interstellar to that list.
5 out of 5
Friday, 7 November 2014
Lou Bloom (Jake Gyllenhaal) is a petty thief, selling stolen fence wire and manhole covers to make money. When he witnesses a horrific car crash and the freelance film crew hovering around the scene, Bloom is inspired to start his own news crew business, tuning into the police radio and being first at the scene to record all the news worthy crimes and accidents: stabbings, home invasions, mass pile-ups. Selling his footage to the local morning news, the station’s editor (Rene Russo) demands more shocking, attention-grabbing stories, forcing Bloom to go to any lengths to cover the stories that will have wealthy, middle class America talking.
Screenwriter Dan Gilroy’s directorial debut is a mishmash of satire, comedy, and pulse-pounding thrills, with Gyllenhaal giving his best screen performance thus far. Gilroy has come up with a lead who will be looked on as one of the decade’s most memorable antiheroes. Bloom admits he never did well at school, but he studies articles and pours over videos on the internet. His dialogue is straight out of a business studies textbook; impressive words that, when you pick them apart, don’t mean anything. This isn’t a man who wants to be successful in the traditional sense – flash car, a pot of money that never runs out – he wants to run a business where he’s at the top of the ladder, with people below him, telling them what to do.
You’ll be surprised just how much you’ll laugh whilst watching Nightcrawler; a fifty-fifty split between brilliantly funny set pieces as the socially awkward, initially clueless Bloom blunders his way round crime scenes, shoving his camera in the face of witnesses and police officers, and nervous laughter, struggling to believe that Bloom and the TV station can get away with their morally bankrupt ideas as to what counts as news; the more grotesque and intrusive the footage, the higher the viewing figures. As Russo explains, politics, world news, current affairs makes up less than thirty seconds of their news summary, while five minutes is spent on “rich white folks getting killed by poor minorities.”
Gilroy’s script is a near-perfect character driven piece, which Gyllenhaal more than makes the most of. Wide eyed, barely blinking and stick-thin, his dialogue cold and detached; he’s saying one thing but thinking five steps ahead. You know there is something wrong with Bloom, but we’re never told what. Gyllenhaal keeps you guessing as to what’s going on inside his head, wondering how low he can sink so he can get his hands on some ratings-grabbing footage. This is a performance up there with Brando, De Niro or Pacino at the peak of their careers; Gyllenhaal is that stunning to watch.
The supporting cast all give performances you can’t fault. It’s hard to tell whose worse, Bloom or Russo’s editor, Nina. The TV station is under pressure with its falling ratings, Nina knowing she has a month to save her job. All she thinks about is whether the footage breaks any laws, never showing sympathy or concern for the victims or families. During one of many stand-out scenes, the news anchors are commentating on Bloom’s footage from a crime scene. Nina talks to the anchors through their ear pieces, telling them word-for-word what to say; she’s not interested in the facts, only in shocking and scaring the viewers. Four Lions’ Riz Ahmed is given another great role as Bloom’s skittish right-hand man and conscience, Rick. Rick is desperate for money and takes on the job as Bloom’s assistant, listening in to the police radio, giving directions, and filming. From the outset, Rick isn’t comfortable with his job, firing questions at Bloom that the viewer is thinking. When Bloom tampers with and breaks in to crime scenes, Rick wants out, but stays because he has no other job.
The only issue with Nightcrawler that stops it being flawless is its ending, or lack of it. Like the Coen Brothers’ No Country for Old Men, the film just stops. There is no tie up all the loose ends, wrap things up conclusion. You get the feeling that’s the point, Gilroy’s casting a judging eye on these materialistic, technology-obsessed times, where it’s increasingly difficult to get the facts about a news story instead of some misconstrued details. There’s no satisfying, happy ending here. This doesn’t ruin Nightcrawler, and it’s certainly not as jarring as the Coen’s film, but in the screening I watched, there was this this reaction of “Huh?” when the credits appeared. That aside, Nightcrawler is gripping, entertaining and mercilessly satirical; Gyllenhaal’s Lou Bloom is a character who will be compared to the likes of De Niro’s Travis Bickle or Dustin Hoffman’s Ratso. Slick, smart and nightmarish stuff.
4 out of 5
Thursday, 30 October 2014
I’ve not done a tally, I can’t back this up with any painstaking research or figures, but it’s a safe bet that horror has more films to its name than any other genre. You can point the finger firmly at Sam Raimi (Evil Dead), Daniel Myrick and Eduardo Sánchez (The Blair Witch Project), as well as Oren Peli (Paranormal Activity), if you’re looking for people to blame. Their low budget, worldwide box office decimating films inspired hundreds, if not thousands of filmmakers to pick up a camera, get a little bit of money together and try to scare people. Thanks to digital filmmaking, social media and straight-to-DVD aisles at the likes of HMV, it feels like dozens of horror films crop up each week. The problem here is that, while the majority of horror films out there are talentless trash, there are one or two titles that slip through the net, never to be seen or heard from again, and never reaching the audience they deserve. What follows, just in time for Halloween, is a list of horror films you probably won’t have a clue about, but are definitely worth your time, especially if you like jumping out of your seat or trying to watch the screen with your hands over your face. If you agree, disagree, or have any other suggestions, then please feel free to leave your comments/rage-fuelled rants below.
Colin (UK/English dialogue/97 minutes)
Back in 2009, Marc Price’s feature film debut, Colin, made the news headlines for having been produced on a near non-existent budget of £50 and, discovered at Aberystwyth’s Abertoir Festival, managed to get a limited release in cinemas (the truth is, while the filming of Colin cost a mere £50, the budget for post-production was a lot more).
Colin is another zombie film, but what makes this one different is that it’s entirely from the zombie’s point-of-view. Colin (Alastair Kirton) is a freshly reanimated corpse. As we watch Colin learn how to move around now that rigamortis has set in, as well as getting used to the taste of human flesh, we find out what he was like when he was alive, leading up to the heart-breaking circumstances which led to him ending up as one of the undead.
The budget for Colin is a huge strength as well as being a massive flaw. Price manages to do a lot with very little money; the violence is satisfyingly icky (zombie impaled on an umbrella is one of many highlights), plus there’s some imaginative sound design (Price stuck a microphone outside a window on Bonfire Night and plays this back throughout the film, sounding like faraway gunshots). On the downside, the lighting is occasionally atrocious, there are times when you’re squinting to see what’s going on, or a scene looks bleached out. Also, the editing is sometimes haphazard (you get the sense that Price had neither the time or money to do re-shoots), jumping to the next scene or cutting to another frame that, instead of feeling smooth and goes unnoticed, is jarring and disorientating.
What saves Colin is the script, which, considering there is very little dialogue except grunts and moans, is a perfect lesson in subtlety, as well as how to drip-feed information to the viewer. Colin shuffles through places he has visited before, stops and stares at objects that once meant something to him; inside this walking corpse, a tiny trace of the man is still there. Cleverly, all these locations, everything Colin has seen, ties up in the final scene where we are shown how he died.
Kirton’s performance in the lead role is something genuinely special (leaps and bounds ahead of Nicholas Hoult in 2013’s Warm Bodies). He does more than snarl and chomp on the living, there are tender moments where Colin sees something he recognises, lengthy close-ups showing him struggling to remember; not all the lights are switched off upstairs. If you don’t feel something during the closing scene with Kirton and Leanne Pammen, then you really are a zombie. It’s impressively well-acted, made even more upsetting because you are shown a day-to-day life we all recognise and we’re waiting for the inevitable to happen.
If you can stick with Colin through the technical gaffs, you’ll be handsomely rewarded. It’s intelligent, inventive, and you’ll be surprised at just how unashamedly it wears its heart on its sleeve.
3 out of 5
Dead of Night (UK/English dialogue/99 minutes)
Walter Craig (Mervyn Johns) is unprepared for a meeting with a group of people that he recognises, but has never actually met. As the guests tell each other their own supernatural tales, Craig realises that they are all part of his recurring nightmare, which, little by little, is coming true. Craig’s nightmare always ends the same way, with murder and madness; will the same thing happen now he is awake?
Dead of Night is the first and easily the best example of the horror anthology. Plenty of films have tried to recreate what Ealing Studios came up with back in 1945 (Twilight Zone: The Movie, Creepshow, V.H.S.), but what has always been the problem with portmanteau pieces is that not all of the short films are up to the same standard; there is always at least one story that is weaker than the others. Dead of Night is the exception: all of its ninety-odd minutes are inspired and fiendishly creepy. The reason that Dead of Night, which regularly features in online Best Horror Films Ever Made lists, has been mentioned here is because when I talk about it with friends, they have never seen or heard of it. It’s as if Dead of Night is this big secret amongst horror fans; only the genuine film buffs know about it.
Five stories make up Dead of Night, based on works by, amongst others, Hitchcock’s screenwriter Angus MacPhail, and HG Wells. All of these stories are of varying length, but never outstay their welcome. A racing driver who escapes death when he has a premonition of a bus driver dressed as an undertaker, avoiding the crash by refusing to get on the bus; A woman discovers the ghost of a murdered child during a game of hide-and-seek; Two golfers play for the hand of a woman they both love, except the winner cheated, causing the other golfer to commit suicide and return as a vengeance-seeking ghost. The two best tales are the story of Peter, who sees a different reflection in the mirror his wife bought (a Victorian room instead of their plush flat), sending him mad, his personality changing to that of the mirror’s original owner, and the final – and most infamous – segment which stars Michael Redgrave as a ventriloquist whose dummy takes on a life all of its own (Redgrave’s performance still, nearly seventy years on, manages to unsettle viewers. When Redgrave and Hugo are together, you struggle to work out who’s controlling who). Forget Child’s Play’s Chucky or The Conjuring’s Annabelle, Dead of Night’s Hugo is still the scariest doll ever to appear on film, who can still talk and move when Redgrave is out of the room. Everyone thinks it’s a clever parlour trick, but only Redgrave knows the truth.
If these stories sound clichéd or done-to-death, that’s because Dead of Night did it first. It might show its age with how stiff-upper-lip British it is, but for a studio famously associated with quaint, inoffensive comedies, arguably their most enduring film is a near-perfect example of subtle, intelligent frights. When the wraparound story involving Craig and the guests is concluded, even the most addicted horror fans will be shaken up. Dead of Night was an experiment for Ealing Studios, to try something new – hence the stylised use of lighting to give the film this sense that you’re watching a waking nightmare; what you’re seeing looks real, but it doesn’t feel quite real enough – and it came up with a template not just for horror anthologies, but for the genre as a whole. Dead of Night may have been imitated, its ideas blatantly stolen, but it still has the power to get right there underneath your skin.
5 out of 5
Donkey Punch (UK/English dialogue/99 minutes)
For a while, Oliver Blackburn and David Bloom’s screenplay, Donkey Punch, was stuck in development hell; no one would fund it and no one was willing to star in it. Why? Well, take a look at the subject matter…
At a Spanish resort, three girls meet up with a group of posh lads who have their own yacht. Despite the fact that the lads may as well have “Dodgy” tattooed on their foreheads, the girls join them for a party on said yacht. Much drink and drugs later and two of the girls end up in an orgy, during which one of them violently (and graphically) dies. The lads become obsessed with saving their own skins, while the remaining girls try to make it off the yacht alive.
Let’s clear one thing up first; the orgy scene, which caused uproar amongst critics, censorship, and anyone else who wanted to throw their two-penneth in. Did it justify all the fuss that was made back when Donkey Punch was released? Honestly, no (it’s not 9 Songs or Y Tu Mamá También). What makes the scene so shocking is the donkey punch itself, shown during an uncomfortable close up and featuring some retch-inducing sound design.
Blackburn’s film is an unremittingly cynical look at current and future generations of teenagers, where porn is freely available through social media, body image is put under the microscope and preached about in glossy magazines, and young adults are peer-pressured into binge drinking and drug taking. Donkey Punch is about as far from comfortable, family-friendly Byker Grove as you can get.
What makes Donkey Punch stand out amongst the teeming number of teenage horror films is the script. Once the set-up is out the way, this is when the tension kicks in, the lads scheming and double-crossing each other. Friendships, even family ties, mean nothing as they each try and get away scot-free. Praise has to go to Blackburn and Bloom’s screenplay for having two teenage female leads that aren’t constantly whimpering and showing their cleavage. Kim and Tammi are both feisty and smart. The boys think they can lie to and intimidate them, but the girls hatch their own plot to escape the yacht with the evidence they need. This is uncomfortably credible stuff, Blackburn and Bloom knowing exactly how young people interact.
It’s a tiny bit disappointing when, in the third act, the gore and the running-around-screaming that Donkey Punch cleverly avoids gets chucked at the screen. There are plenty of didn’t-see-that-coming twists as everyone is lying and scheming, while the last fifteen/twenty minutes is predictable –
if fast-paced and frantically edited – girl trying to stay alive horror (including a scene with an outboard motor that feels like an outtake from Evil Dead). The train doesn’t exactly come off the tracks, you just wish Blackburn and Bloom had somehow managed to keep the slow-burning dread going for the length of the film.
Is Donkey Punch an exploitation flick? No arguments there. It is also a smartly written, ridiculously intense thriller. Donkey Punch isn’t some nasty, grubby little film; Blackburn is a talented director who makes good, claustrophobic use of his one location. Tired of the same old formulaic horror? For the most part, Donkey Punch puts a line straight through the seen-it-all-before clichés.
4 out of 5
Fear(s) of the Dark (France/French dialogue with English subtitles/85 minutes)
Fear(s) of the Dark is a portmanteau piece from the imaginations of some of the big names in graphic art and cartoon animation (Lorenzo Mattotti, Richard McGuire and Charles Burns, to name just three). Everyone involved in this project was given the same brief, to come up with a short film inspired by their most twisted and disturbing nightmares. Considering the number of people involved and how loosely the film is constructed, the results are, by-and-large, outstanding.
The first short film, from the mind of Charles Burns, is fidget around in your seat, unsettling Cronenberg-style body horror, as a nameless boy, obsessed with collecting bugs, discovers an insect he’s never seen before. He keeps it in a glass jar in his bedroom, but when the jar breaks, the creature has gone. Grown up, the boy takes his childhood bed with him to university, where he falls for fellow classmate Laura. Having spent the night in the boy’s flat, Laura wakes to find a nasty-looking cut on her arm. Gradually Laura begins to change, both in personality and appearance. The twist here is that Burns takes all the usual traits with body horror, but also throws obsessive love and controlling relationships into the mix. Burns’ twenty-odd minute contribution is both bizarre and ridiculously uncomfortable to watch.
Film number three is good old fashioned horror, relying on atmosphere to scare you rather than sudden jolts. Drawn by Lorenzo Mattoti, a narrator tells us of an incident from his childhood. People and animals have gone missing from the village where the narrator would spend his summer holidays. At the same time, the narrator makes friends with another boy, who only appears when the two of them are alone; no one has ever seen them together. The narrator starts wondering if his strange friend and the disappearances are connected.
Mattoti’s short film is one of the strongest, visually, as his traditional hand drawn illustrations are moving in front of you; there are moments where you will stop and take in how impressive the animation looks. This, combined with sparing and smartly used sound design (there is no orchestral score, instead we hear the wind blowing through fields, church bells chiming, rasping breaths – all minimalist and pared down) makes for an eerie several minutes. You never see this monster that’s stalking the village, but you’re constantly reminded that it’s somewhere unseen and nearby.
The strongest and most frightening piece comes from Richard Maguire. It’s a simple enough plot: a man takes shelter from a snow storm in an old, abandoned house. He thinks he’s alone, but begins to suspect otherwise. With a palette of black and very little white ink, Maguire pushes the animation as far as it will go. Not only will you be on tenterhooks while you watch the closing part of Fear(s) in the Dark, you will also be wondering how the hell they managed it, Maguire having some twisted fun with his silent protagonist who explores a pitch black house, having only a candle to help him. Maguire’s film also has the best sound, dotting it with lingering strings that suddenly give a short, shrill stab to make you jump. Footsteps are heard from somewhere close by (followed by a blackout on screen, just to raise the unbearable tension even more); a bottle rolls across the floor, only to be stopped by something unseen; the almost constant wailing gales that are heard inside the house. The end of Maguire’s story (and the film as a whole) has a nasty sting in its tale that plays with the animation you’ve been watching; it’s hard not to have a wicked smile on your face as the credits roll.
Tragically, not all of Fear(s) of the Dark’s films are up to the same standard. Marie Caillou’s attempt at Asian horror throws one jolt straight after another at you and more-or-less repeats this over and over. There is virtually no plot to speak of (a little girl is experimented on to make her nightmares come to life), which wouldn’t be so bad if the scares were well-paced, but it’s impossible not to become numb to the loud noises and clichéd ghosts and spectres that fill up the majority of Caillou’s running time.
In-between all of the short films is Blutch’s tale of a ghoulish, evil marquis who wanders the landscape with his vicious hounds. Everyone the marquis comes across is torn to pieces by his pet pooches. Blutch’s pencil drawn segments look fine and you can’t help but wonder where this is going. In the final part of Blutch’s story, it’s hard not to be disappointed as it’s not a case of seeing the twist coming a mile off, you can see it from outer space.
Thrown in amongst all this are Nicole Garcia’s rants as she ticks off near enough all the fears and worries that psychiatrists are forced to listen to from their patients. Accompanied by various, ever-changing shapes that move across a white background, it’s anyone’s guess as to why Garcia appears in the film. Her scenes aren’t terrifying, or strange, or disturbing; they’re just annoying.
The best way to watch Fear(s) of the Dark is to have it on fast forward. Skip Marie Caillou, skip Blutch if you have to, and definitely skip Nicole Garcia. Once that’s all out the way you can enjoy some fiendishly imaginative horror, and rewind those set pieces where the animation is like something Walt Disney’s monstrous, evil twin would come up with.
3 out of 5
Grabbers (UK/English dialogue/94 minutes)
Flesh eating aliens versus the Irish – Grabbers is every bit as fun and laugh till your guts hurt funny as it sounds. A meteorite lands off the coast of Erin Island, warning the arrival of a giant tentacled alien that feasts on human flesh. Fighting to stop the invasion, Gardas Ciarán O’ Shea (Coupling’s Richard Coyle) and Lisa Nolan (Love/Hate and Primeval’s Ruth Bradley) discover the one way to kill the alien: alcohol in the blood. Lots of alcohol in the blood.
Jon Wright’s Grabbers is a smart homage to the so-bad-they’re-good monster movies you find late at night on some never-heard-of digital channel. Yet unlike these films, Grabbers has a page-after-page perfect script written by Kevin Lehane that pokes fun at itself, has plenty of tense, sometimes scary, set pieces, and characters that aren’t just onscreen so they can be killed off.
The whole cast are clearly having fun and are all in on the joke. Richard Coyle plays a cop who enjoys his job for the sole reason that nothing ever happens, meaning he can drink all the time. On first appearance, O’Shea seems like a waste of space in a policeman’s uniform, but when things take a turn for the weird he’s fearless, able to come up with a plan, and has a Bruce Campbell smart answer for everything. Ruth Bradley is a by-the-book cop with bigger balls than any of the men. She does everything by the book, obsessing over red tape, but when the locals start getting chewed up, that’s when Bradley gets her hands dirty. Surprisingly, for a horror film, Bradley does very little cowering or screaming, instead finding whatever weapons she can to turn the alien into gooey mush. Russell Tovey (Being Human, Him and Her) has made a career out of playing anxious, whingeing characters, doing the same here as biologist Dr Adam Smith. Tovey is brilliant in these roles, again giving us plenty of laughs here as he struggles to maintain order and professionalism when the alien is discovered, ultimately ending up getting drunk with everyone else.
For a low budget horror, the CGI in Grabbers is impressive to watch. Having its tongue firmly in its cheek, you could forgive the film if the special effects were a bit ropey, yet the alien manages to look more convincing than most of the monsters you’re supposed to believe are tearing down buildings in the big budget summer blockbusters.
Cinematographer Trevor Forrest manages to set up plenty of scares, whilst also showing off just how stunning Erin Island is. In one of Grabbers’ best set pieces, the camera follows a woman running round her bungalow, forced to listen to her husband’s screams as he’s ripped apart by an alien on the roof; it’s startling stuff. Forrest also gives us plenty of Michael Bay sunlit shots of fields, hills and beaches that span for miles. Grabbers was made on a fraction of the budget of US horror films, but it proves you can still be creative with the visuals instead of doing what a lot of zero budget productions rely on: point and shoot.
Grabbers is top-drawer horror. Kevin Lehane has written minute-after-minute one-liners and sight gags, whilst never giving a second thought to killing off the main characters without any warning. If you like your scares alongside some big, howling laughs, then you need to treat yourself and find a copy of Grabbers on DVD.
4 out of 5
Pontypool (Canada/English dialogue/96 minutes)
As Alexandre O Philippe’s documentary, Doc of the Dead, explained, zombies have become so commercialised now (you have 12A-rated films, cuddly toys, TV shows, video games, real-life thrill seeker experiences – and that’s just the tip of the iceberg!) they have gone beyond the point of saturation. Everyone is so familiar with the living dead – how it all works, their weaknesses, what you should or shouldn’t do when the dead no longer fancy staying dead – that it’s a tough job now to scare or surprise audiences when you’re coming up with a new zombie film.
Amongst the countless horrors featuring flesh-eating corpses that were released over the last decade, Bruce McDonald’s Pontypool is up there at the top-end of the list. Set in Pontypool, Ontario, rather than Pontypool, South Wales (although that would make for an interesting film), the local radio station realises that a zombie virus is infecting the town. The difference here is that the virus is passed on by “infected words,” which, when heard, turn you into an undead monster. The survivors at the radio station have to somehow work out what those words are, without making the problem worse.
What makes Pontypool such fun to watch is that Tony Burgess’ script (adapted from his novel, Pontypool Changes Everything) meddles with the zombie ethos in such a small, smart way, then runs away with it, exploiting this new take on walking corpses for all it’s worth. The zombies themselves only turn up in a handful of scenes, instead the radio station relies on outside help to work out what’s going on: their ‘eye in the sky’ reporter spies military vehicles blocking all roads in-and-out of the town; a 911 call is played back live on air; a report comes in of fishermen fighting with police. Set largely within the four walls of the studio, this is claustrophobic, uncomfortable, mess-with-your-head stuff.
Stephen McHattie (A History of Violence, Watchmen) is the star of the show as the station’s cynical, deadpan DJ who relishes a shocking news story, instead relegated to the early-morning slot due to his drinking and letting his mouth run away with him. McHattie is sick of the bland, run-of-the-mill radio show he has to present, so when he tries to cover the events that are taking place in-and-around the town, desperate to make sense of what’s happening, you quickly realise he is far from prepared for the big news story he’s been aching for. McHattie’s expressions seize hold of you, his rubber-like face contorting throughout the film, from snarls, to wide-eyed stares, to all-out panic. The visuals might be low budget, repetitive, but it’s McHattie who keeps you watching.
It’s not all tense, grim horror. Tony Burgess dots the film with some quotable one-liners as well as the odd visual gag. McHattie delivers the dour humour like a seasoned stand-up comic (“Do we really want to provide a genocide with elevator music?”), while Hrant Alianak’s entrance tells you all you need to know about his kooky, played solely for laughs, character, Doctor Mendez, as he fights his way out of an air duct. Mendez’s job may just be to fire off reams of exposition, but Alianak has a lot of fun as the eccentric doctor.
Pontypool is a suspenseful, brilliantly original horror film. McHattie gives everything he’s got to the role, delivering his lengthy monologues with venomous spite and a sneer. It’s not all about atmosphere either, there’s plenty of subtext on the media’s responsibility, the thin line between sensationalism and reporting the facts (McHattie hounds a reporter to get as close as he can to a zombie), as well as the banality of language. People put messages on Facebook about what they’re eating, or how long they’ve spent at the gym; all these people engaged in meaningless conversation that almost amounts to a plague. McDonald and Burgess are also quick to point out the other side of the argument; meaningful words that are used to divert us from or disguise the facts
Pontypool has plenty of brains instead of the run-of-the-mill gore and set pieces you usually see in zombie films. It’s also unusual in horror to say that something is one-of-a-kind, but McDonald and Burgess do just that. This is a smart, off-the-wall ninety minutes that you’re guaranteed to enjoy. Also, stick with it until after the credits, there’s a self-contained short film that follows; Sin City with its tongue firmly in its cheek.
4 out of 5
A Tale of Two Sisters (South Korea/Korean dialogue with English subtitles/114 minutes)
Loosely based on the Korean folk tale Rose Flower, Red Lotus, sisters Su-Mi (Im Soo-Jung) and Su Yeon (Moon Geun-Young) return home, having spent time in an institution recovering from a recent ordeal. It’s clear from the outset that the girls’ stepmother (Yeom Jeong-A) has something to do with what happened, as she begins a tirade of physical and psychological abuse. As the stepmother’s actions become more unpredictable, it’s as if something is waking up within the walls of the isolated family home, something ghostly and evil.
Kim Jee Woon’s A Tale of Two Sisters is infamous amongst horror fans, yet the reason why its made this list is, when I speak to friends who love going to the cinema and being scared out of their minds, they haven’t the first clue what it’s about. A Tale of Two Sisters was the first Asian horror to get a major release in the US, as well as getting a hatchet job remake by Charles and Thomas Guard under the name The Uninvited. Woon’s film is one of, if not the best example of South Korean scares. It is a textbook lesson in not just how to frighten the viewer, but leave them cowering in their seats when the credits roll.
Most of the jolts and uncomfortable levels of dread is thanks to Lee Mo-gae’s cinematography, having been influenced by Kubrick’s The Shining and Wise’s The Haunting in making the haunted house a character in its own right. Here, Su-Mi and Su Yeon’s home is literally tainted by their past, corridors and rooms looking like they’re being swallowed up by shadows and darkness. The only bright colour in an otherwise muted palette is red, suggesting terrible things have happened inside these walls. Mo-gae’s slow-moving tracking shots suggest the camera is stalking the characters, watching intently as we view the sisters and the girls and their stepmother in space invading close-up. Accompanied by some smart sound design, the old house banging and creaking through the night, Jee-Woon makes you question whether the sisters have been driven mad, struggling to tell what is real.
Yeom Jeong-a gives arguably Asian horror’s finest performance as the volatile, at times truly scary stepmother. Even when she’s calm, smiling in front of her husband and stepchildren, it’s not a comfortable smile, as if this brief moment of kindness is merely an act that she is struggling to carry on with. The real person, the real stepmother, is the one who locks Su Yeon in the closet, tinges of rage and desperation in her wide eyes.
Im Soo-Jung and Moon Geun-Young are both startling as the sisters. Im is the only person who will challenge, even lash out at her stepmother. At times Im’s hostility is uncomfortable to watch, and you wonder just how much of this toxic family history is really Jeong-a’s fault. Moon, on the other hand, is the complete opposite; cowering and submissive, dependant on her sister. Moon has very little dialogue in the film, withdrawing into herself, becoming almost mute as her stepmother’s abuse escalates. It’s only in those brief moments when her and Im are alone that she behaves like a typical, care-free teenager.
Kim Kab-Su has to get a mention as the girl’s eerily passive stepfather. You suspect that he knows more about what’s happening, his aloofness, almost stranger-like behaviour in front of his children a way of coping, shunning the truth.
Jee-Woon’s screenplay is insanely maze-like and complex; those not paying close attention will probably end up wondering what the hell’s happening by the time the credits come up. Not all of the details add up when you stop and think about them, but there are one-or-two twists here that will leave you dazed and bewildered. You get the sense that, while Jee-Woon does a near perfect job with the script, his mind is on the atmosphere and the scares, which you cannot fault.
Asian horror is now a film industry in its own right, yet Jee-Woon has crafted a number of set pieces that will stay with you and make you flinch whenever you think of A Tale of Two Sisters (the girl under the kitchen sink!). Jee-Woon’s film will have you shuffling round in your seat thanks to its squeezing, tightening tension as it reaches its horrid climax, quite likely letting out a pit-of-your-gut moan as you witness some of the horrific – but inspired – imagery. A Tale of Two Sisters will give both your brain and your underarm deodorant a serious workout; the closest you’ll get to David Lynch translating one of Grimm’s fairy tales to the screen.
5 out of 5
Whistle And I’ll Come To You – 1968 and 2010 versions (UK/English dialogue/1968 version: 42 minutes; 2010 version: 52 minutes)
Another entry here that always makes the Scariest One-Hundred lists, but I’ve only chatted to a couple of people who have seen it, is Jonathan Miller’s short film adaptation of Montague Rhodes James’s most famous ghost story, Whistle and I’ll Come To You, My Lad, which was shown on the BBC back in 1968. While Andy de Emmony’s version didn’t trouble the viewing figures when it was shown on Christmas Eve 2010 (M.R. James would read his work to his students at King’s College Cambridge on Christmas Eve), and is unlikely to be remembered as fondly as the original, both versions are smart, imaginative interpretations of James’s work.
In Miller’s retelling, we’re introduced to Parkins, a professor who is on holiday in East Anglia. Whilst walking along the Suffolk coast, he finds an ancient-looking whistle. Blowing the whistle, Parkins is convinced that someone or something is following him along the shore, his dreams plagued by surreal, fearsome nightmares. In James’s story, Parkins is young and articulate. Here he is played by Michael Hordern, who comes up with a disturbing portrayal of an aging man out of place with the world. This Parkins is someone usually surrounded by books and artefacts, he does not come into contact with people or the outdoors. You question whether Parkins is eccentric or if he is suffering the early onset of dementia, struggling to convey the thoughts in his head, sometimes getting angry and frustrated in social situations.
Dick Bush’s cinematography is what creates such a bleak, choking atmosphere in the 1968 adaptation. The landscape of East Anglia isn’t just a backdrop for what’s happening; it’s just as much a character as Parkins. Shot in black-and-white, there are times when the sea, the sand, and the sky all look as if they have merged into one. For most of the time, Parkins is the only person seen walking across these external shots, suggesting that not only is this desolate coastline beginning to crumble, so too is Parkins’ mind. Unusually, there is no score in Miller’s film, instead the wind and the waves make up the majority of the sound, adding to the protagonist’s feelings of unease and isolation.
Miller’s Whistle and I’ll Come To You is well-known for its climactic scene, where Parkins sees someone or something rise up from the bed in his room, hidden by a sheet, making its way towards him. A mixture of slow motion shots of this thing slowly standing up in the bed, as well as close-ups of Parkins’ horrified expressions, are combined with Hordern’s wild, animal-like whimpering. Whether you watch the scene for the first time, or you’ve seen it several times, it is always intense and unnerving.
In James’ short story, there is no question that Parkins witnessed something supernatural, whereas Miller has you question what you saw, never providing any answers. Could everything we’ve seen have come from the mind of a man who has no way of coping with the outside world, who would rather mumble and talk to himself than interact with other people? Miller leaves you to decide.
When first I saw Andy de Emmony’s interpretation in 2010, I wasn’t keen. While the basic plot of M.R. James’ story was there (Parkins wandering the beach alone, convinced he is being followed), it was too different; there was no resemblance to James’ Whistle and I’ll Come To You, My Lad, or Miller’s one-off drama. It wasn’t until I watched it again that I appreciated it, and the more I watched it, the more I enjoy it.
In Neil Cross’s screenplay we start off by seeing Parkins moving his wife, whose mind has been wiped away by dementia, into a care home. He feels guilty, heartbroken; the head nurse suggesting he should go on holiday, try to take his mind off things. Parkins goes to the seaside town where he and his wife spent their honeymoon. Walking along the beach, he finds a wedding ring (not a whistle) with the Latin words “Quis est iste qui venit” (“Who is this? Who is coming?”) inscribed on the inside. Once Parkins picks up the ring, he believes he is being followed by someone on the shore. He runs, yet they still manage to keep up with him. In his hotel room at night, despite being the only guest there, he hears someone stood outside his room, banging on the door, demanding to be let in.
In the 2010 version, Parkins is played by Jon Hurt, in what is, I would argue, one of his best screen performances. Hurt’s Parkins is haunted not by ghosts or demons, but by grief and guilt. “There is nothing inside us,” he tells hotel manager. “There are no ghosts in these machines. Man is matter, and matter rots.” Parkins is angry at what happened to his wife, forced to watch the woman he loves taken away from him. This is why he refuses to believe in the afterlife, or ghosts; the world is what it is, there is nothing mysterious or supernatural about it. Even as events on the coast and in the hotel become even more frightening and hard to explain, Parkins refuses to believe that this is anything out of the ordinary.
This time, instead of East Anglia, Parkins wanders the West Country shores. Rob Hardy’s visuals are both spectacular and haunting: windswept beaches that spread out for miles, jagged cliffs, and no one around except Hurt, a tiny figure in this vast landscape. The Edwardian hotel where Parkins is staying, with its long, dim corridors, dust sheets covering the furniture, reinforces the theme that everything is eventually a shadow of it what it once was.
Like Miller’s original film, the sound design in de Emmony’s reimagining is eerily brilliant. There is almost no dialogue here, a few pages at most. A score accompanies a number of scares this time round, but its sparingly used, understated, quivering electronics. In the hotel, Parkins is tormented by natural sounds such as knocking, the rattling of the door handle, fingernails scraping across the floor; all accompanied by the whistles and moans of the wind outside. For most of the film, you don’t see what is after Parkins, you only get glimpses, such as a figure wrapped in white sheets stalking him on the beach, or long, bony fingers appearing under the door to his room. Otherwise you only hear whatever this thing is, which is what makes Emmony’s tale so powerful. When you finally see this “ghost,” it’s nowhere near as haunting as the ending to Miller’s film, but you will still end up cowering in your seat.
Both Miller and de Emmony’s adaptations of Whistle and I’ll Come To You are staggering examples of using landscape and sparing sound design to create atmosphere. I’ll even stick my neck out and say that de Emmony’s version stands virtually shoulder-to-shoulder with Miller’s original film. Both versions have the power to scare viewers in totally different ways: Miller’s version uses dreamlike and bizarre imagery, as well as a performance from Michael Hordern that stays with you long after you’ve seen it; de Emmony’s vision is less a ghost story at times, and more like a psychological study on grief and human frailty, using motifs and images that are common in James’s writing. There’s no cheap shocks or anything predictable to be found in either film, just good old-fashioned slow burning tension that British cinema has a history of doing so well.
Whistle and I’ll Come To You (1968): 4 out of 5
Whistle and I’ll Come To You (2010): 4 out of 5
Tuesday, 28 October 2014
Marvel Studios held a press conference today to announce their latest batch of movies in the Marvel Cinematic Universe. Responding to DC's announcement last week of their upcoming movie roster, Marvel brought out some of the big guns and announced the properties from 2016-2019.
As we already know, Avengers: Age Of Ultron (which premiered a downright brilliant first trailer earlier this week) and Ant-Man are Marvel's properties for 2015.
But coming up in 2016 will be:
Captain America: Civil War
May 6, 2016 (US)
The Russo Brothers (who directed Captain America: The Winter Soldier) are back to direct
And if that isn't enough, later in the year comes:
November 7, 2016 (US)
Scott Derrickson (The Exorcism Of Emily Rose) has been confirmed as director.
There was no casting news on who will be playing the Sorcerer Supreme, despite several news reports over the last few days that Benedict Cumberbatch is firmly in the frame to star.
Moving in to 2017, which is gearing up to be a bumper Marvel year,
Guardians Of The Galaxy 2
May 5, 2017 (US)
James Gunn will come back to direct the sequel
July 28, 2017 (US)
No director announced - but interestingly, Ragnarok means 'The End Of All Things'
November 3, 2017 (US)
No director has been announced - however, Chadwick Boseman (Draft Day, Get On Up) has been confirmed to play T'challa/Black Panther
It was confirmed that Black Panther will appear in Captain America: Civil War and will be seen in costume.
But there's still more! In 2018, you will see...
July 5, 2018 (US)
It was announced that this particular Captain Marvel will be Carol Danvers, making this Marvel's first female-led superhero movie.
November 2, 2018 (US)
No casting or director named for this project
But before all of that in 2018, we're in for an absolute doozy:
Avengers: Infinity War
Part One will hit cinemas May 4 2018 with Part Two in cinemas May 3 2019
Certainly some very intriguing and very exciting projects here!