When I first saw Amy Berg's powerful documentary Delivery Us From Evil back in 2006, the film's revelations shocked, angered and utterly appalled me. Ten years later, the film still packs an emotional punch, despite the quite unbelievable extent of child abuse throughout the Catholic Church now being common knowledge. The Boston Globe's 2001 investigations into the systemic abuse in Boston alone led to widespread news coverage, and, of course, Tom McCarthy's film Spotlight which dramatised these events won the Best Picture Oscar just earlier this year.
The power of Berg's film lies within the raw emotion laid out on screen. Interviewing both Father Oliver O'Grady, an Irish priest who raped an estimated 25 children in California between the 1970's and 1990's, and some of his victims, the film reveals the rippling affects the abuse has had on the individuals themselves as well as their families. The most powerful scene is the moment where Bob Jyono, the father of one of the victims, breaks down with anger and guilt, explaining how he invited O'Grady into his home only for the priest he trusted to repeatedly rape his daughter. O'Grady not only destroyed his family, but broke his faith in the church.
O'Grady himself speaks openly about his experiences. He apologises and expresses his regret over his actions, but there is a startling disconnect in his confessions. However, O'Grady is not the only one on trial here, as Berg expands the focus to the Church itself, and especially Cardinal Mahony, the man who knew about O'Grady exploits and did nothing to stop it. Rather than expelling the priest for his actions, the Church simply shifted him around the California area. The Church's cover-up is perhaps the most sickening thing of all, and the revelation that an estimated 10% of Catholic priests were known to be abusers is simply unforgivable. This is an agonising, yet necessary watch.
Often cited as one of the greatest films of all time, David Lean's The Bridge on the River Kwai is a colossal war movie, a big-budget action extravaganza, and, in many ways, a deep psychological study of the affects of battle and imprisonment. Bridge marked Lean's transformation from British art-house and kitchen-sink drama director to international mega-director, and while the film is nowhere near as perfect and polished as Lawrence of Arabia (1962), it is a thrilling and thoughtful story expertly executed, featuring one of the most heart-pounding climaxes I've ever seen.
In 1943, a flock of British World War II prisoners arrive at a Japanese POW camp in Burma. The senior commander, Colonel Nicholson (Alec Guinness), instantly clashes with camp commandant Colonel Saito (Sessue Hayakawa), refusing to order his officers to help his men build a railway bridge that will connect Bangkok and Rangoon, as such an order is a violation of Geneva Conventions. Nicholson's refusal lands him and his officers in the 'oven' - an iron box out in the sun - while the construction of the bridge is left to the rest of the soldiers, who naturally sabotage the work every chance they get. With Saito facing ritual suicide should the bridge fail to meet the deadline, he allows Nicholson to take over, developing a reluctant respect for the stubborn Brit.
Meanwhile, American prisoner Shears (William Holden) narrowly escapes the camp with his life, finding help in some native villagers who feed and nurse him, and send him on his way down river. As he enjoys his hospital stay with a pretty blonde nurse, he is approached by Brit Major Warden (Jack Hawkins) who informs Shears that he has been transferred from the U.S. Navy to the British army to assist in a commando mission, that is to be led by Warden, to blow up the bridge over the River Kwai shortly after its completion. Shears is appalled at the idea, but with the threat of punishment for posing as an officer looming over his head, he has no choice but to return the deadly jungle terrain he thought he had left behind for good.
The two stories are perfectly paced and structured, with the first half of the movie mainly dedicated to Nicholson's arrival at the camp and his desire to keep up his men's morale, with the second half spent with Shears, Warden, and their near-impossible mission. Guinness wasn't convinced of his performance as Nicholson, but his proud, wilful and heavily conflicted Nicholson is some of the best work he's ever done. When he is finally given command of the bridge, he instructs his men to build the best damn bridge possible, and they obey, somewhat confused. While it may seem like he's giving his men something to live for in such horrible, sweltering conditions, it soon transpires that there is more going on. Is it obsession, treason, or madness? It never becomes clear, and this mystery is of the many reasons why the film is still so fascinating almost 60 years on.
A lot has been written about the lack of historical accuracy, as the events covered in the film are somewhat similar to the building of the bridge over the Mae Klong by a mixture of European prisoners of war. The criticism is somewhat unfair, as Lean's film makes no claim to be based on actual events, and is instead an adaptation of Pierre Bouelle's novel Le Pont de la Riviere Kwai. If there is a valid criticism to be had, it is that the conditions of the camp are incredibly softened, and the Japanese ineptness for construction seems extremely unfair. The film should instead be enjoyed for what it is, a riveting action movie with emotionally and psychologically complex characters, featuring some outstanding on-location cinematography during an era when movies were still being filmed using sets. It won 7 Oscars, including Best Picture, Best Actor for Guinness, Best Director and Best Cinematography, and deservedly so.
Disney's The Lion King capped a highly lucrative 5 years for the House of Mouse, who were, before The Little Mermaid came along in 1989 and turned their fortunes around, in real danger. It seems ridiculous to think that the studio that now routinely make billions of dollars a year with their Pixar, Marvel and Lucasfilm output, as well as their recent fondness for re-imagining their so-called 'Disney Animated Classics' series in live-action, could have ever been in danger of actually going under. Yet Mermaid made the millions, Beauty and the Beast (1991) won critical adoration, and Aladdin (1992) charmed, and the rest is history.
I remember seeing The Lion King in cinemas back in 1994 with my mum, and not being particularly over-awed. I didn't shed a tear when Mufasa was betrayed, nor was I singing the songs to myself in the car ride home. However, it felt like I was the only one, as the film's popularity seemed to increase each year, with home release re-masters, soundtracks and a theatre production jamming every one of my senses, even now, 22 years later. It was because of this, and partially because I'm an old-school (1930's-60's) Disney loyalist, that I shunned The Lion King for all these years. After finally viewing it again, I wish I had a time machine to slap the 10 year old version of myself, as this is about as close to animated perfection as you can get.
For anyone who has somehow never seen the film, The Lion King tells the story of King Mufasa (James Earl Jones), a respected and formidable beast who rules over the Pride Lands of Africa. The arrival of his new son and heir, Simba (Jonathan Taylor Thomas and Matthew Broderick), is cause for celebration across the plains, except, that is, for Mufasa's weak and envious brother Scar (Jeremy Irons) and his hyena friends (Whoopi Goldberg, Cheech Marin and Jim Cummings). When Scar's plan to usurp Mustafa's throne ends in tragedy, Simba flees with guilt and shame, finding unlikely friends in the slow-witted warthog Pumbaa (Ernie Sabella) and motor-mouthed meerkat Timon (Nathan Lane). As Scar's rule leaves Simba's former homeland a hyena-ridden wasteland, will the would-be king fulfil his destiny and take back his crown?
From the enchanting, wordless opening scene in which Simba is shown off to the crowd to the tune of Circle of Life, to the savage, expressionistic climax which sees hero and villain have their final showdown, I felt completely immersed in this world, regardless of the fact that I knew the story back to front. This is Disney at its most thoughtful, magical and hilarious. Perhaps taking a page from Studio Ghibli's environmentally-aware book, the film shows a real respect for the natural world despite anthropomophising its characters and dabbling in pseudo-mysticism. Lane and Sabella shine as Timon and Pumbaa, two of Disney's most beloved comedic side-kicks, who also get to belt out one of their most beloved tunes in Hakuna Matata. I'll most likely never be convinced that Disney will manage to recreate the beauty and warmth of the likes of Dumbo (1940) and Bambi (1942) during their Golden Age, but The Lion King is the closest it's ever come.
Fresh off the critical success of Boyhood, a coming-of-age project 12 years in the making, writer/director Richard Linklater has returned to the genre he no doubt by now feels entirely comfortable in, the slacker comedy. Dubbed as a 'spiritual sequel' to one of his most beloved movies, Dazed and Confused (1993), Everybody Wants Some!! - a title taken from a Van Halen song - follows a group of baseball jocks in college over the course of 3 days before class, and arguably real life, finally starts.
It's Texas, 1980, and freshman and promising pitcher Jake (Blake Jenner) arrives at one of the two decrepit neighbouring houses set aside for the college baseball team, where he is greeted with a mixture of both excited curiosity and suspicious disdain. Finnegan (Glen Powell), Dale (J. Quinton Johnson) and Roper (Ryan Guzman), a few of the older students who welcome Jake and fellow freshman Plummer (Temple Baker) with a bit more warmth, take the new arrivals on a car journey around campus, where they prepare themselves for a few days of booze, drugs, parties, and trying to convince members of the opposite sex to sleep with them.
Linklater has a distinct feel for a sense of place. Like Dazed and Confused, he somehow manages to conjure up feelings of nostalgia for viewers who weren't even alive at the time. Having been born in 1984, I sadly wasn't there for the 1976 of Dazed or the 1980 of Everybody Wants Some!!, but the two films feel as if you're watching something made at the time rather than a period piece. Questionable fashion choices and even more questionable facial-hair are all present here, as is the obligatory classic soundtrack. which features an amusing rendition of Rapper's Delight amongst a more rock-based sound. The biggest issue people may have the film is that nothing much happens at all, so Linklater takes a huge gamble in assuming audiences will warm to its hefty ensemble.
After all, the bulk of the characters are indistinguishable jocks doing bong hits and offering their unique blend of wisdom for the majority of the film. While this approach may run its course before the credits roll, there is some genuine wisdom to be found here, along with a tinge of sadness. Everybody Wants Some!! is a love letter to that time of your life when you are filled with optimism and the world is yours to explore, and Jake and his friends' journey of discovery and fulfilment is a rite-of-passage experienced by most young men and women. It could also be interpreted as a search for identity as the group wander from their usual disco haunt and try out line-dancing, a punk concert, and a themed costume party set up by performing arts majors, including the auburn-haired girl of Jake's dreams (Zoey Deutch). Call it what you will, but the film's power lies within Linklater's eye for nostalgia, delivering a final shot that captures more feeling than most films struggle to create in 90 minutes.
At the time of writing this review, it's been just over a month since the shocking and tragic news of gifted Russian-born actor Anton Yelchin's death in a freak car accident. He left behind a trail of films in his wake, and a few more to come (including his role as Chekov in Justin Lin's Star Trek Beyond), and it's quite astounding just how prolific an actor he was during his short career. One of his final films, released not long before his death, is also one of his best. Writer/director Jeremy Saulnier's follow-up to his critically-acclaimed Blue Ruin (2013) is a stunning exercise in survival horror.
It begins with the Ain't Rights, a punk band on their way to a gig that turns out to be a waste of time. After an uncomfortable social media interview, the band - consisting of Pat (Yelchin), Sam (Alia Shawkat), Reece (Peaky Blinders' Joe Cole) and Tiger (Callum Turner) - are thrown a gig at a dingy bar in small-town Oregon. It's the type of place adorned with Confederate flags and fascist graffiti on the walls, and, in true punk style, the band introduce themselves with a rendition of Dead Kennedy's Nazi Punks Fuck Off. After the gig, the group find themselves locked in a room holding an unlicensed gun after accidentally witnessing a brutal murder. The situation worsens when club owner and neo-Nazi party leader Darcy (Patrick Stewart) turns up to deal with the situation.
The events that follow are pure horror stripped down to the bone, sometimes literally. There's nothing supernatural or indeed unbelievable about the situation, just a group of inept youngsters facing off against a small army of bruising, well-organised skinheads armed with weapons designed to inflict grisly damage and a pack of trained pit-bulls. The violence is ugly and wince-inducing, with the awkwardness of the ones often inflicting the pain only heightening the sense of desperation and utter dread of the situation. The tension is only broken by the ramblings of a somewhat confusing sub-plot, which unravels itself through half-heard mumblings, and this only distracts from the immediacy of the central plot thread.
Saulnier asks quite a lot of his cast, as even the heroes of the story aren't the most likeable bunch. They steal petrol, drink beer, cause trouble - pretty much what you would expect from a real-life young band trying to make a buck. But Yelchin has always been especially skilled at eliciting sympathy from any character he has played. As he and his companion Amber (Imogen Poots) - a close friend of the murdered girl - fight desperately for their lives, you are willing them all the way, rather than becoming frustrated at their ineptitude. Stewart also makes an impression as the quietly menacing skin-head leader, a role played completely against type, and it's a shame he isn't given more to do. The actor said he knew he wanted to take on the role when he was left terrified at home after finishing the script, and no doubt you'll be making sure the doors are locked once the credits role too.
It seems that whenever an animated film is a hit nowadays, a sequel is a given and the idea of a franchise gets the studio heads salivating. The quality tends to decline as the movies go on, with the exception of the Toy Story films, yet as long as the money piles up they'll just continue to churn them out - the increasingly unbearable Ice Age franchise being the worst offender. It was never in doubt that the hugely successful Kung Fu Panda (2008) would get a sequel, and when it came it was surprisingly good; a feast for the eyes backed by Gary Oldman's fantastic vocal performance and a serious undertone of genocide. It's taken 5 years for number 3 to finally arrive, so was a third instalment truly justified?
Well yes and no, with a lot more emphasis on the yes. The series' strongest suit has always been the visuals, and the explosive, exciting action sequences here are some of the best in animation history. But the ideas running through the first two films were more or less 'stay true to yourself' and 'follow your dreams', and here it seems to be highlighting the importance of family, themes which are interchangeable and simplistic. So more of the same then, but that isn't necessarily a bad thing. Picking up the story not long after the events of Kung Fu Panda 2, Po (Jack Black) is still juggling his time between his adoptive father Mr. Ping (James Hong) and his noodle stand, and training with Master Shifu (Dustin Hoffman) and the Furious Five.
While Po is viewed as a hero and seems to be enjoying his celebrity status a bit too much, Shifu reminds him of his position as the Dragon Warrior, and feels it is time that the chubby panda takes on more responsibility by training his friends Tigress (Angelina Jolie), Monkey (Jackie Chan), Mantis (Seth Rogen), Viper (Lucy Liu) and Crane (David Cross) in the art of kung fu. Meanwhile, ancient warrior Kai (J.K. Simmons) battles his former friend Master Oogway (Randall Duk Kim) in the Spirit Realm and steals enough of his chi to return to the Mortal Realm. Using the chi of defeated masters in the form of jade warrior soldiers, Kai hopes to seek out Po and defeat the famed Dragon Warrior. However, Po is somewhat distracted by the return of his actual father Li (Bryan Cranston), a jolly panda who hopes teach his son the delights of being a panda.
Despite Alessandro Carloni and Jennifer Yuh's third instalment sharing a lot in common with the two that came before both thematically and story-wise - despite the introduction of the ingenious jade warriors and equipping Kai with a sense of humour, the film is again about Po tapping into unknown powers to defeat an evil baddie - it retains the series' effortless charm. Black is again on form as, well, Jack Black, and his distinctly American brand of humour at odds with the more straight-faced bad-asses surrounding him is one of the key aspects to these movies' success. But the real plaudits must go to the visual effects department, who have stepped up their game no end to create a truly wonderfully realised world. Dreamworks apparently have plans to make six Kung Fu Panda films, and although I'll certainly watch them if they're made, this trilogy-capper seems to be a fitting closure.
George Marshall's The Blue Dahlia marked the third time leads Alan Ladd and Veronica Lake starred together in a film noir - following This Gun for Hire and The Glass Key (both 1942) - and, more notably, the first time that legendary author Raymond Chandler penned an original screenplay. Chandler's infamous struggle to finish the screenplay after the studio refused to shoot his original ending - while filming was rushed through in fear of Ladd having to return to the Army - works both in favour of the film and against it. On one hand, The Blue Dahlia is a rather scrappy, messy noir, lending it a certain ruggedness, and on the other hand the film's climax seems rather sudden and out of the blue.
Three discharged Navy officers, Johnny (Ladd), Buzz (William Bendix) and George (Hugh Beaumont), arrive home after serving in the South Pacific. Before Johnny returns to his wife Helen (Doris Dowling), the three stop for a drink and almost get into a fight when Buzz, suffering from shell shock and a metal plate in his head following a war injury, demands that a fellow officer turn off the loud 'monkey music' that causes him to suffer from delusions. At his home, Johnny returns to discover his wife drunk and having a none-too-discreet affair with nightclub owner Eddie Harwood (Howard Da Silva). Livid, Johnny threatens her with a pistol before leaving and eventually hitching a ride with Joyce Harwood (Lake), who just happens to be Eddie's ex. When Helen turns up dead the next day, Johnny finds himself on the run from the law with a mystery to unravel.
While it was understandably overshadowed by Howard Hawks' masterpiece The Big Sleep released the same year, The Blue Dahlia is a solid piece of film-making, bolstered by a suspenseful central murder mystery that keeps you guessing until the very end. Ladd is suitably stoic and hard-boiled as the protagonist, but the film undoubtedly belongs to Bendix as the unpredictable and somewhat tragic damaged war hero, with the film's opening scene establishing just how loveable yet threatening his character can be. Chandler didn't warm to Veronica Lake, famously dubbing her 'Moronica Lake' and suggesting she works best when she keeps her mouth shut and sits pretty. His comment was certainly unfair - Lake was an enigmatic screen presence - and Chandler punishes her with a rather slight amount of screen-time and a character who fails to offer any real impact on the plot. Still, this is a clever, engrossing noir, with special mention also going to Da Silva, one of the victims of the Hollywood blacklist.
I must have seen Kung Fu Panda, either in its entirety or snippets here and there, over 20 times since its release in 2008. While its relatively simple tale of an underdog who has been laughed at throughout his entire life learning to fulfil his unexplored potential is nothing new, it remains effortlessly entertaining and the kind of film you can catch halfway through and still enjoy what it has to offer. Although the title promises plenty of fat jokes, and there are certainly plenty, the film goes beyond simply appealing to kids with sight gags by working in Chinese mysticism, some wonderful voice acting, and stunning animation that would only get better and more ambitious as the series went on.
Clumsy panda Po (Jack Black) lives in the Valley of Peace, a scenic ancient land in China overlooked by the Jade Palace, home to the legendary kung fu masters. While he dreams of joining the Furious Five - a gang of ass-kicking kung fu specialists consisting of Tigress (Angelina Jolie), Monkey (Jackie Chan), Mantis (Seth Rogen), Viper (Lucy Liu) and Crane (David Cross) - Po spends his days making (and eating) noodles with his father Mr. Ping (James Hong). When he spectacularly enters the Palace during the choosing of the 'Dragon Warrior', Po finds himself picked out by the wise old Master Oogway (Randall Duk Kim) as the one to stop the evil Tai Lung (Ian McShane), an escaped snow leopard seeking revenge on Master Shifu (Dustin Hoffman) and his Furious Five.
Taking inspiration from the Chinese kung-fu movies of the 1970's as well as American geek culture, Kung Fu Panda works both as a physical comedy and an action spectacular. Although the characters frequently defy the laws of physics and seem incapable of getting hurt, the action scenes are well choreographed and exciting, with McShane voicing his role with whisker-twirling relish. There are also hints at backstories and questions raised about Po's past (why on Earth is his father a goose?), and the film is wise enough to leave the answers to future instalments and trusting in its simple introductory tale of a misfit finally finding a home. While the majority of the Five don't really find a moment to shine individually, Hoffman lends a certain gravitas to his tragic backstory and relationship with the deadly Tai Lung. The pratfalls will entertain the kids and the gentler moments will no doubt charm the adults, something that Dreamworks generally fails to do with its animated efforts, so it's no doubt that the series remains the jewel in it's crown.
Freddie Francis' Nightmare is one of those lesser-known movies from Hammer Films which usually finds itself lumped together in box sets dominated by their more popular Dracula, Frankenstein and The Mummy series. It's obscurity is slightly unfair, as this black-and-white psychological horror-come-slasher unravels itself cleverly and with a healthy dose of style. Written by Hammer regular Jimmy Sangster, Nightmare conjures up a fair share of creepiness despite its age, and often feels somewhat Hitchcockian in its execution.
Janet (Jennie Linden) is a young girl attending boarding school. At night, she is plagued by nightmares of when she witnessed the stabbing of her father at the hands of her deranged mother. As her mental state worsens, she is sent back home to her guardian Henry Baxter (David Knight) and assigned a nurse Grace Maddox (Moira Redmond). Soon after arriving, Janet starts to have visions of a woman she has never seen before with a huge scar on her cheek. Essentially a movie broken into two parts, the second act cannot be summarised without giving away a spoiler.
The visuals are rather bland - Hammer tended to churn out movies quickly and cheaply to serve as a starter for the main event in cinemas - but the black-and-white photography gives the film a gothic, and almost noirish, sense of style. While Knight is enjoyably smug, the rest of the cast fail to make any real impression, with the pre-Women in Love (1969)Linden extremely lucky to find herself cast after a number of preferable choices, including Julie Christie who chose to make Billy Liar instead, were unavailable. But the film's flaws are to be expected - it is a quickie B-movie after all - and it makes the most of its limitations. The plot's mystery is engrossing and the pacing is odd yet intriguing, and I would recommend Nightmare to any fan of British horror.
Alex Proyas's return to directing following a 7 year hiatus couldn't have come at a worse time. Just as the film industry was up in arms about the #OscarSoWhite debacle, Gods of Egypt arrived in cinemas boasting a near-all Caucasian cast despite being set in Africa. The demand for diversity in Hollywood duly followed, and rightly so, but the questionable casting isn't even the worst thing about the film. Gods of Egypt is a bloated, garish and nonsensical piece of trash, the cinematic equivalent of Raheem Sterling's bathroom. Is this really the same visionary who brought us The Crow (1994) and Dark City (1998)?
Sadly it is, and it completes a steady quality decline in Proyas's output which began in 2004 with his middle-finger to Isaac Asimov, I, Robot. On paper, the big-budget tale of Gods living amongst humans battling it out for the throne may seem like the perfect the opportunity for some campy, brain-on-auto-pilot fun. However, it fails to even offer any sort of camp appeal due to a cast either gobbled up by the video-game cutaway special effects or so utterly devoid of charisma. The main offender is Brenton Thwaites, a young actor who looks like he's been custom-built to appeal to any teenage girls in the crowd. He plays Bek, a human living in a thriving Egypt governed by ten-foot Gods, and sadly he is our protagonist.
Bek, along with his pretty girlfriend Zaya (Courtney Eaton), witnesses the handing-over of the crown from the abdicating Osiris (Bryan Brown) to his dashing and popular son Horus (Nikolaj Coster-Waldau). The coronation is rudely interrupted by Osiris's uncle Set (Gerard Butler), who feels that the time has come for him to rule, killing his brother and ripping out his poor nephew's eyes in front of a terrified crowd. With the Egyptians forced into slavery to satisfy Set's greed and vanity, Bek, a talented thief, swipes the plans to Set's vault in the hope of stealing back Horus's eyes and assisting him in defeating his uncle. But when Zaya is killed after the successful theft, Bek strikes a deal with Horus to help guide him through Set's pyramid in exchange for returning Zaya from the underworld.
The main question lingering over the head of Gods of Egypt is why was this film made? For a modern blockbuster from a talented director, the film lacks maturity and brains. For a film possibly designed to appeal to fans of explosion-heavy sci-fi/fantasy extravaganzas such as Michael Bay's Transformers franchise, the CGI is often embarrassingly bad. And for anybody hoping for a throwback to the kitschy B-movies of the 1950's and 60's, where giant monsters and grotesque gods mingled with us puny humans, you will find more charm in one frame of any movie involving the work of Ray Harryhausen than you will for the entire 2 hours of Gods of Egypt. The whole thing just feels oddly out of place, paling in comparison to even the most sickly of recent CGI-fests. Re-telling essentially the exact same story told a thousand times since Homer put ink to paper, this could be re-titled as A Simpleton's Guide to the Hero's Quest. Utter tripe.
Although it is now lost in the annals of 1980's slasher movies, Terror Eyes, or Night School, has at least one claim to fame. The tale of a motorcycle helmet-wearing killer armed with a kukri blade and a distaste for co-eds was deemed so vile that it was placed on Britain's notorious 'Video Nasty' list and banned. Such is the irony of the video nasty list, Terror Eyes will never be totally forgotten now thanks to Mary Whitehouse and her crusade. And arguably, it shouldn't, as although the film manages to tick off every cliche in the slasher handbook, it delivers a few effectively-staged set-pieces more in common with the giallo genre.
The basic premise is that Boston is under attack from a serial killer dressed head-to-toe in black leather, whose identity is permanently disguised by a motorcycle helmet. The first murder we witness sees a young teacher's aide get her head lopped off after being forced into a rather twisted merry-go-round ride. Educated cop Lt. Judd Austin (Leonard Mann) is the detective assigned to the case, along with his trusted, wise-cracking partner Taj (Joseph R. Sicari). Their investigations lead them to a local college and to the classroom of anthropology professor Vincent Millett (Drew Snyder). Millett is an expert on tribal rituals in Borneo, where the skulls of defeated enemies are often worn as trophies. Austin spots a similarity to the way the victims heads are being removed and left submerged in water, and so investigates Millet and his relationship to his young assistant Eleanor (Rachel Ward) further.
Possibly the most alarming thing about Terror Eyes is not the dodgy effects or lack of plot, but the fact that it was directed by the same guy who gave us Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, Ken Hughes. You would never guess it though, there's no sickly sets or questionable Cockney accents here, but Hughes' experience in mainstream Hollywood may be the reason that Terror Eyes feels a slight step above the usual slasher fare. The build-up to the moments of routine butchery are patient and manage to generate a little tension, more akin to Argento than, say, anything found in the Friday the 13th series. But for the most part, this is standard slasher fare, chocked full of awkward cop banter, wooden acting, annoying comic relief, and a bizarre erotic shower scene during which Millet rubs a sort of berry paste all over a moaning Eleanor.
Mark Waters' Vampire Academy, based on the hugely successful series of young-adult novels by author Richelle Mead, spends so much of its 100-plus minute running time trying to explain itself and attempting to conjure the same level of mass hysteria that surrounded the likes of the Twilight and Harry Potter books, that it isolates nigh-on everybody apart from those already completely in love with the source material. It's an uncomfortable hybrid of the aforementioned Twilight (sexy vampires!) and Harry Potter (a secret school for magical types!), yet makes Stephanie Meyer and J.K. Rowling's work seem like Dostoyevsky in comparison.
Rose Hathaway (Zoey Deutch) and Lissa Dragomir (Lucy Fry) have run away from St. Vladimir's Academy, trying desperately to live like real humans do. Rose is a Dhampir, a half-vampire, half-human hybrid who has dedicated her life to protecting Lissa, a royal Moroi (peace-loving vampire), and the two share a psychic connection which allows Rose to occasional eavesdrop on Lissa. A year after fleeing the school, they are re-captured by 'dreamy' Russian Dhampir Dimitri (Danila Kozlovsky), who whisks them both back into the care of headmistress Kirova (Olga Kurylenko), but not before battling off some red-eyed Strigoi (evil vampire). Once back, Lissa is the victim of a series of attacks, including dead animals being left for her to find, and threats scrawled on her wall written in blood.
It's the slightest of plots, yet Vampire Academy still somehow manages to feel over-stuffed. While Rose struggles to explain the entire universe as well as several characters' back-stories via her own brand of sarcastic narration ripped shamelessly from Juno (2007), there's little time to catch up with what is actually going on and no time at all to care. Even for a film that feels like it was based on a teenagers' work of clumsily sculpted fan-fiction (although I haven't read the book), the complete absence of wit and social observation comes as a shock given the film boasts the talents of Daniel Waters, who wrote the wonderfully dark Heathers (1988), and his brother Mark, director of the surprisingly hilarious Mean Girls (2004). Any plans for a franchise were quickly and thankfully scrapped when the film bombed upon release, and it's not difficult to see why. The whole experience is stilted and awkward, and Deutch is unbearably annoying throughout.
Ever since writer/director/producer/actor Eli Roth made audiences squirm with unimpressive yet popular horror sequel Hostel: Part II and directed arguably the best of the three faux-trailers shown in between Robert Rodriguez's Planet Terror and Quentin Tarantino's Death Proof in their failed experiment Grindhouse back in 2007, the once-horror prodigy has fallen under the radar. For his big comeback, he turned to a long-dead sub-genre for inspiration - the cannibal flick. These blood-spattered, animal-torturing movies churned out in Italy during the 1970's and early 80's are clearly movies Roth holds dearly, especially Cannibal Holocaust (1980). But the main issue with taking heavy inspiration from what are generally appalling movies - Ruggero Deodato's masterpiece aside - is that you're going to end up with another appalling movie.
Justine (Lorenza Izzo), a freshman at Columbia University, starts to involve herself with the on-campus social activism after her eye is caught by the group's hunky leader Alejandro (Ariel Levy). Soon enough, Justine, Alejandro and the rest of the bearded, bead-wearing hipster types that make up the group are heading to the Amazon rainforest to highlight and hopefully stop an evil corporation who are tearing down chunks of a United Nations-protected area and massacring the native tribes in the process. When their plane crashes and poisoned darts start to fly into their necks, the group discover that the local tribe would rather be feasting on their flesh or mutilating their genitals.
Visually, The Green Inferno looks rather splendid with cinematographer Antonio Quercia nicely capturing both the lushness and the natural brutality of the Amazon. There are also some very convincing effects work done during the scenes of dismemberment and eye-gouging, with plenty to satisfy gore-hounds. But aside from the technical aspects, there is little else positive to say about the film. Izzo is the only one who convinced me that she was a professional actor, with the rest a bunch of extremely annoying lambs for the slaughter, struggling with an awkward script. While I didn't care much for either Cabin Fever (2002) or the Hostel movies, there was enough there to established Roth as a film-maker of promise. Here, it seems he's lost his way, fumbling around from one scene of gore to the next and managing to defy all sense of logic at the same time. Where Cannibal Holocaust got under your skin, The Green Inferno just gets on your nerves.
The fourth instalment of the already-tired Hellraiser franchise signalled the last time that original creator Clive Barker would be involved, and also the final film of the series to be shown on the big screen, with the subsequent sequels heading straight to VHS or DVD. Doug Bradley, who at this point was the only surviving cast member from Barker's terrific 1987 original, described Hellraiser IV: Bloodline as the "shoot from Hell", and its troubled production saw director Kevin Yagher demand his name be removed from the credits, instead opting for the go-to pseudonym Alan Smithee. While things never looked good for the film, Part IV of Miramax's cult franchise isn't actually quite as bad as you would expect.
In 2127, engineer Dr. Paul Merchant (Bruce Ramsay) uses a robot to solve the Lament Configuration puzzle box on board space station The Minos. The opening of the box destroys the robot, and Merchant is taken in for questioning by a group of armed guards suspicious of his intentions. Whilst being interrogated by the groups leader, Rimmer (Christine Harnos), Merchant reveals that he is part of a cursed bloodline that stretches back to 18th-century France, where his ancestor, toy-maker Phillip L'Merchant (also Ramsay), builds the box for a rich aristocrat who desires to summon a slave-girl from Hell. While L'Merchant fails to prevent the demon Angelique (Valentina Vargas) arriving in our world, generations later New York architect John Merchant (Ramsay again) is haunted by visions of the box, building a skyscraper resembling the Lament Configuration.
After two sequels with little to recommend other than Kenneth Cranham's wonderfully over-the-top thesping, Bloodline at least attempts to inject a fresh take on the Hellraiser universe. The decision to portray the arrival of Hell on Earth over three vastly different time periods is an interesting one, even if it is somewhat clumsily handled and often poorly acted. Yet for the bulk of the film we are stuck in the less-interesting modern day, or 1996, and it is here that Bloodline suffers from formulaic storytelling. The introduction of the demon Angelique offers the chance for some twisted sexual tension between her and Pinhead (Bradley), yet this isn't explored enough, and ultimately fizzles out in favour of more time with the over-exposed, iconic Cenobite, whose role was significantly beefed up by the studio following Yagher's departure. It's certainly one of the best of the series' sequels, yet given how bad the movies that followed are, that's hardly saying much.
Billed as writer/director Jeff Nichols' first venture into mainstream film-making and his first stab at a genre piece, Midnight Special still manages to keep things grounded and rugged despite its sci-fi credentials. Clearly a throw-back to the alien-among-us movies of the 1980's, such as E.T. The Extra Terrestrial (1982) and Starman (1984) - movies Nichols no doubt grew up watching - there are shady government officials, a suspicious cult, a sympathetic young investigator, a protective father, and a young boy with some astonishing, otherworldly abilities. Yet there's also the Southern setting, an unhurried pace and the presence of Michael Shannon, all key ingredients in the film-maker's oeuvre that help Midnight Special avoid being yet another homage to a bygone era.
The film begins rather frantically as two men, Roy (Shannon) and his old friend Lucas (Joel Edgerton), escape some unknown threat in the middle of the night with a young boy, adorned with UV-blocking goggles, in the back seat. Their intentions are shady, and we soon learn that the FBI are hunting the men in the hope of rescuing the child, Alton (Jaeden Lieberher), who is clearly special in some unique way. Alton is Roy's son, and it's revealed that his father took him away from a shady cult led by the enigmatic Calvin Meyer (Sam Shepard), whose nightly sermons would consist of seemingly random numbers that were once spoken by prophetic Alton. As the curious investigator Paul Sevier (Adam Driver) tries to unravel the mystery of the boy and the reasons for his abduction, Roy and Lucas must dodge state troopers and gun-wielding cult members to deliver Alton to his excommunicated mother Sarah (Kirsten Dunst) and prepare for the huge event that has been prophesied.
For what is essentially a chase movie, Midnight Special moves incredibly slow at times. While the bursts of action or sudden violence that pepper the film are all the more exciting because of the shuffling pace, it can be a bit of slog at times, especially when the movie keeps you in the dark about a lot of which is going on. It very much reminded me of Nichols's second film, Take Shelter (2011), in which Shannon's troubled father's possible descent into madness manifests itself in his obsession over building a bunker that would shield his family from whatever catastrophic event he foresees. While the mystery was one of the main aspects that helped make that movie incredibly memorable, it does somewhat take away some of the sense of wonder in Midnight Special, even though it would seem that Nichols chose to reveal little until the end to do just the opposite.
Despite its pacing flaws, the film is still incredibly absorbing. The Southern setting is one I find oddly romantic, and Nichols is a master at immersing you in the world, something he did astonishingly well in the land of swamps and charismatic outlaws in 2012's Matthew McConaughey-starring Mud. The world of fleapit motels, empty, neon-lit gas stations and tough, righteous men is the perfect fit for a story rooted in science-fiction. There's something timeless about the setting, and this helps Midnight Special achieve its hat-tipping to the works of Spielberg, Carpenter et al. Nichols also does wonders with the film's humble budget, creating a few standout set-pieces that work better than most CGI-overkill blockbusters. Yet at its heart, the film remains a family drama with the fatherly bond between Roy and Alton always front and centre, and Nichols has stated that it is very much his reaction to becoming a father. It may not be everyone's cup of tea - I'm sure mainstream audiences will be put of by its leisurely pace - but Midnight Special is a rewarding experience if you stick with it.
Luciano Ercoli's Death Walks on High Heels begins with the murder of a famed jewel thief on board a train by a balaclava-clad killer with piercing blue eyes. The police suspect the slaying may be linked to a recent heist during which millions of francs worth of goods were taken, and believe that the missing loot is in the possession of the departed's daughter, Nicole Rochard (Nieves Navarro, here billed as Susan Scott), whose life may be in imminent danger. They may just be right, as the beautiful exotic dancer starts to receive phone calls by someone speaking through a voice-changer. After discovering a pair of blue contact lenses at the home of her boyfriend Michel (Simon Andreu), she flees to England with rich admirer Dr. Robert Matthews (Frank Wolff), only to discover that her would-be assassin may still be lurking.
Regularly paired with Ercoli's fellow giallo Death Walks at Midnight, made the following year, Death Walks on High Heels may not contain the same skill for ingeniously-structured set-pieces of Dario Argento or the gore level of Lucio Fulci, but it has in spades that other key ingredient of the giallo - fun. Many of the Italian thrillers to emerge in the 1970's contain a suitably bonkers and convoluted plot, but High Heels can boast one of the best. It's a film in which anyone and everyone could be the one behind the mask, with inexplicable red herrings at every turn and more than a few moments of extensive, but required, exposition. It plays on the camp appeal of the genre, and very much succeeds in doing so.
There's also Nieves Navarro/Susan Scott, who is not only unbelievably gorgeous, but also manages to transcend the usual roles her type of character gets to play in these types of films (eye candy) and stands out as a playful presence. She also delivers a marvellously bizarre performance in the first of her exotic dance shows we get to see it, which she performs in blackface while wearing a trimmed afro wig as Wolff looks on utterly enamoured. It's weirdly endearing, and highlights the void between now and then in terms of our attitudes towards political correctness. If you try and piece the puzzle together yourself, you'll probably leave yourself in a spin. Like many of the best gialli the Italians have to offer, view it with a blind acceptance of anything the film throws at you and it'll zip by in a flash.
The power of Berg's film lies within the raw emotion laid out on screen. Interviewing both Father Oliver O'Grady, an Irish priest who raped an estimated 25 children in California between the 1970's and 1990's, and some of his victims, the film reveals the rippling affects the abuse has had on the individuals themselves as well as their families. The most powerful scene is the moment where Bob Jyono, the father of one of the victims, breaks down with anger and guilt, explaining how he invited O'Grady into his home only for the priest he trusted to repeatedly rape his daughter. O'Grady not only destroyed his family, but broke his faith in the church.
