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The Gentlemen (2019)
Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels III
Despite featuring three actors I hitherto believed as being amongst the most talentless in the anglosphere (Matthew McConaughey, Hugh Grant and Colin Farrell) 'the Gentlemen' somehow still delivers an entertaining and at times, visceral and refreshingly unwoke British crime comedy/drama. This is probably due, in no small measure, to the brilliantly nuanced and understated performances of Charlie Hunnam, Jeremy Strong and Eddie Marsan. The dialogue is sharp, often barbed but always discordantly faithful to the speaker's social class as if it had been transcribed by Martin Amis at his 'London Fields' peak. Unlike the late Mr Amis however, neither the film nor its director clearly take themselves too seriously. Redolent of Woody Allen's 'Broadway Danny Rose' in as much as the plot is revealed in retrospect by the whisky fueled anecdotes of an unreliable witness (Hugh Grant) the pace is unrelenting but never brusque. Now for the negatives. This is the 3rd time Ritchie has made the same movie so its frankly miraculous that the law of diminishing returns hasn't set in sooner. There's always room for a completely unconvincing 'Oirish' accent in a Guy Ritchie film and Colin Farrell doesn't disappoint here. Imagine Hurricane Higgins impersonating Brad Pitt from 'Snatch' impersonating Graham Norton and you're in the ballpark. For those Guardian reading African Trans poetry enthusiasts out there who think this movie 'racist' here's a spoiler alert: some of the characters in 'the Gentlemen' say horrid things to each other just like real people do in real life using language you will not approve of so go and lobby your MP to outlaw free speech.
Lady Ballers (2023)
Some Movies are disaster movies, some are just disasters...
I was initially loathe to go in too hard on a movie that has so many cameos from unwitting conservatives I encounter on a daily basis but Michael J Knowles, Andrew Klavan, Candace Owens, Ted Cruz, and Ben Shapiro just don't deserve to be associated with this catastrophic drivel. The creators must have wished in retrospect they had adopted the documentary style that succeeded so brilliantly for 'What is a Woman?' from 2022 for this Daily Wire project. Casting the glacially mordant Matt Walsh as a new age hippie guru is about as wise as having your CEO and founder Jeremy Boreing, write, star and Direct the whole fiasco as a hapless cuckold behind on his mortgage repayments. The basic premise for a comedy is ripe i.e. Should transgender women (read: biological men) be allowed to compete against biological women at sports? Unfortunately this never delivers on it's promise and the reasons are not hard to deduce. To satirise or lampoon a subject effectively, considerable comedic exaggeration is normally required to make the target look suitably ridiculous. In this instance however, very little suspension of belief is required from a transgender lobby that is invariably humorless, intolerant and resistant to any form of reciprocal dialogue with its opponents. To be fair, the Daily WIre's Matt Walsh has acknowledged this in a recent interview. Let's cut to the chase: Apart from Coach Gibson's daughter Winnie regurgitating (for the benefit of the bogus 'female' basketball team) the gender ideology she is assailed with by her school teachers there is not a single funny joke in the way too overlong 1 hour and 52 stamina sapping minutes. Avoid.
The Equalizer 3 (2023)
The Law of Diminishing Returns (but maybe not at the box office?)
Easily the weakest of what is yet but a trilogy although there are murmurs of a planned prequel which explores Robert McCall's past in the US Marines and DIA. That might be interesting but I fear they'll soon need a stunt double for the action scenes as even uber cool Denzel Washington cannot be entirely immune to the ravages of time. Scriptwriter Richard Wenk appears to have abandoned the episodic structure of the 1st two incarnations and instead gone for one long arcing narrative throughout. This may have been designed to allow more nuance and depth to the characters but to be honest, there is very little here apart from Antoine Fuqua's by now very finely homed craft of visceral pay back for bad people to be enjoyed by we ferociously good people. The setting in Italy is quaintly idyllic but the locals are strictly demarcated into those who would tend your garden while you are on vacation and those who would bury you in those same gardens if you don't pay your protection money to the local Camorra mobsters. You can probably guess where this is going. Yes, it's still good fun and certainly entertaining but you feel there's an attempt to draw a line under any anticipated sequel by implying RM just might hang up his gun, knuckleduster and icy stare to retire in this secluded little village on the Amalfi Coast.
When Nietzsche Wept (2007)
Fritz forgets his whip
Occasionally ridiculous in the dream/hypnotherapy sequences and borderline slapstick bio-pic in others, 'When Nietzsche Wept' somehow remained compelling enough to have me sit right through to the end despite an unconvincing father of psychoanalysis still having to show ID for the age of consent (Jamie Elman as Freud) and Katheryn Winnick as cigar chomping proto ladette femme fatale Lou Salome.
There is very little exploration of Nietzche's philosophical ideas here but instead his incredibly prescient innovation in the realm of psychology as seen through the prism of the incipient discipline of psychoanalysis in Vienna circa 1882. Ben Cross is brilliant as the likeable albeit conveniently repressed and commensurately flawed Dr Breuer, adrift in a loveless marriage, a materially successful career but bereft of passion, danger or excitement in his unfailingly dutiful life. Things start to resemble the relationship between poets Verlaine and Rimbaud at this point (see Agnieszka Holland's 'Total Eclipse' from 1995) with Nietzsche advising Breuer to throw off the shackles of his unthinking conformity and embrace his freedom. Nietzsche certainly never did this, having died a virgin (despite being portrayed in a whorehouse) and was an invalid for most of his adult life on a pension paid for by academia. Whether Breuer actually makes this existential plunge is open to debate as the Director would have us believe this whole extended sequence was under Freudian hypnosis. Armand Assante was assigned one of the most thankless casting gigs of all time by being asked to portray the most innovative and radical thinker humankind has produced in over a thousand years. My gut feeling, on a personal level is that when Friedrich Nietzsche entered a room, that room got larger i.e. Assante exudes a cynical but palpable personality consistent with what he sees as his remit but I suspect Nietzsche was silent, inscrutable and withdrawn which is clearly anathema to cinematic portrayals. The movie is based on Irvin D. Yalom's 1992 novel which I haven't read but is purportedly concerned with the idea of limerence which as an idea is about as robust as 'gender' in 2023.
Going Off Big Time (2000)
Liver Spots
Many 'British' gangster movies come across as cripplingly self conscious and 'GOBT' is no exception. Why this perceived inadequacy should be the case is unclear, given a likeable cast, strong story line, convincing but never gratuitous violence and a decent script. I didn't think Neil Fitzmaurice would provide sufficient gravitas to his role as 'Mark' but he is convincing throughout as a man who becomes a gangster by accident rather than the rest of his dim-witted crew who epitomize opportunistic wannabes. That said, the message that ex cons cannot get jobs when released so are forced to revert back to crime is facile and just seems another lazy shuffle of the victim's own marked card. There are some very adept twists which keep the action moving forward but given the Scouse talent for coruscating sarcasm and that Fitzmaurice is a distinguished comic writer, some of the humour is rather lame and a big disappointment. Bernard Hill is excellent as wily jailbird Murray but Dominic Carter less so as the cretinous Ozzie, a Looney Tunes version of practically anyone below 'Thug # 4 in bar', from 'Rise of the Footsoldier' or 'Lock, Stock & Two Smoking Barrels'. His burgeoning death-wish as evidenced by his mob slaying towards the end just doesn't convince on any appreciable level whatsoever. Bonus points for the film are earned by somehow casting Peter Kay as the Flipper character and you don't want to punch him into paralysis during his few seconds on screen.
Glass Onion (2022)
Inspector Leghorn and the Case of the Missing Laughs
It starts rather unpromisingly as if we are heading into a US Cluedo franchise somehow deserving of a voice-over by Foghorn Leghorn and starring the cast of Friends to make things more palatable for Hollywood audiences. Daniel Craig is likable enough as southern fried Inspector Benoit Blanc but why not dispense with his Norleans affectations and just be Detective Ben White? I mean, lordy lordy, comedy just may not be his thang' y'all? The talents of Kate Hudson and Kathryn Hahn are completely wasted on merely repeating 'Oh My God' over and over again throughout as if this might at some point provide a comedic denouement. Yep, the laughs are very few and far between hereabouts with Edward Norton (Fight Club) about as convincing as a scamming idiot savant billionaire as Ted Bundy was a feminist. That said, Director and writer Rian Johnson reverses out of this casting cul de sac with a very ingenious and entertaining sequence of flashbacks and POV shift revelations that add depth and nuance to what is, at heart, an Agatha Christie whodunnit? With contemporary influencers and technology gurus as the butt end of many of the gags. I haven't seen the earlier film from 2019 so can't say if this might be the law of diminishing returns setting in or not. The palpable chemistry between Craig and Janelle Monae is judiciously exploited to mask many of the film's worst faults of which the music is exempt (if you like the Beatles) Serena Williams has one of the funniest scenes playing herself from a fitness video. That's correct I am starting to run out of positives...
The Irishman (2019)
I Heard You Paint Houses
Shame about the w.a.n.k.y title yes? (they should have used I Heard You Paint Houses, being the type of euphemism coined by those microcephalous enough to abrogate all moral responsibility for the suffering and death they have caused) Maybe overlong and rather self consciously 'epic' meditation on the Director's own past and that of America through the prism of political ends and criminal means. To his credit, Scorcese has never been guilty of glamorizing the violence of the mob and does strive to show us its self defeating and self perpetuating nature in movies like Goodfellas, Mean Streets and Casino. That said, I remain entirely unconvinced that the vast majority of those who profess to enjoy 'gangster crime dramas' have the faintest 'scooby' about the moral abyss that lies between the baptismal fount and the body washed up on the shore. It says a lot about our deficiencies as a species that entertainments like the Sopranos, Mindhunter, the Krays, Dexter et al continue to hold our imaginations in thrall to individuals we would gladly step over in the street. As the plot-line uses flashbacks almost exclusively throughout, the 'younger' De Niro, Pacino and Pesci are recreated via a new 'de-ageing' CGI process, which works very well in the main but there are instances where what is clearly a septuagenarian body attempting to move like a 29 year old one. Pesci was coaxed out of retirement to play the Russ Bufalino role and contributes a very understated but impressive performance i.e. He doesn't revert to type by sounding like Gordon Ramsay's dialogue coach. I had consigned De Niro to the luvvie retirement home a long time ago but this is a welcome (albeit ironic) return to former glories and he exploits with unsentimental poignancy the disparity between the frail and vulnerable narrator of the present with the earlier sociopathic teamster for whom killing was as integral to the daily routine as getting your kids ready for school. I still have no idea why anyone would ask Al Pacino to appear in front of either a camera or microphone for any reason ever. He is to acting what a concrete block is to sand sculpture. Worth noting is an excellent performance by Ray Romano (Everybody Loves Raymond) as the 'Mister Fix-it' mob lawyer. Despite my ingrained and habitual scorn for criminal scumbags who should be buried beneath the prisons, I actually enjoyed the Irishman and would rate this as being on a par with many of Scorcese's most celebrated films. If you have an interest in the speculative fate of 'missing' union leader Jimmy Hoffa, the Cuban Bay of Pigs debacle, JFK, Bobby Kennedy or Watergate then this is for you. Just be advised you won't receive any definitive answers but yet more nostalgia for versions of events that in all likelihood, most of us are covertly delighted will never be either completely debunked or confirmed.
A Cure for Wellness (2016)
Dorian Gray with pet eels
Great name for a horror director yes, but mercifully, he never tries to live up to it. Starts promisingly enough as a meditation on the rampant capitalism inherent in providing exorbitant rest cures for erm...uber successful capitalists. (Poachers farmed by Gamekeepers?) This idea is never explored in any depth however and we soon degenerate into a hybrid Lovecraft/Poe 'Dorian Gray with pet eels' style romp shot in the beautiful medieval castles of Germany. You know the back story drill: Aristocrat weds 'sis' in quest for racial purity and everlasting life. Scandalised local villagers break out the pitchforks and wreak their horrific revenge. 'Baron Douchebag' survives and attempts to dip his own daughter. Daughter (Mia Goth - yes really) with complete justification and some mounting 'daddy' issues, protests vigorously and is saved by young venture capitalist turned flotation tank surfer (Dane DeHaan) The movie looks fantastic but Verbinski seems to lose his nerve half way through and abandons a satisfying tension between the old stratification (hereditary peerage) and the new (corporate wealth) Based very loosely on Thomas Mann's Magic Mountain novel, a Cure for Wellness just ends up as a missed opportunity.
10 Cloverfield Lane (2016)
cabin fever psychodrama...
I go with the broad consensus view on this one i.e. Everyone thinks the first hour or so is brilliant but then there's a fork in the road where we all diverge. This is a kinda 'sister' movie to its predecessor Cloverfield from 2008 but for me, doesn't really qualify as a sequel. As a character study of three individuals trapped in what we and they are led to believe is a post nuclear strike bunker, John Goodman, Mary Winstead and John Gallagher Jr are quite brilliant. They deliver the sort of cabin fever psychodrama that must result for those where proximity is not through choice. Goodman's performance alone is worth the admission price on its own. He manages to exude a subtly unnerving blend of pragmatic survivalist, grieving father and putative child abductor in practically every frame. As I don't want to divulge the ending for y'all I'll just say that if you like it, you'll consider the movie a masterpiece. Failing that, like me you'll just see it as a missed opportunity.
What We Do in the Shadows (2014)
Kiwi bloodsuckers
The premise of four flatmates in New Zealand who are 21st Century vampires is probably the nadir of 'plausible' but a likeable cast, scalpel sharp script and a healthy respect for what is being lampooned somehow conspire to make this work brilliantly. New Zealand cinema has always punched above it's weight as evidenced by Deathgasm, Once Were Warriors, Stickmen and (early) Peter Jackson: Bad Taste, Braindead, Meet the Feebles etc. The success of the so-called 'Mockumentary' genre seems to rest entirely upon a familiarity with the target genre that often dwarfs that of it's most lauded exponents e.g. Spinal Tap. The only precedent I can cite from What We Do in the Shadows is maybe, Man Bites Dog from 1992 where a camera crew are invited to follow a Belgian serial killer around for the purposes of a documentary. That sounds grim, but the makers of What We Do in the Shadows clearly understand that getting shot in the head for the contents of your purse and having your blood drained by a fictitious predeceased predator are poles apart when it comes to taste.
Shortwave (2016)
if you take the sex out of horror you're left with just forensics.
A real slow burner this one so stick with it as after 65 minutes of torturous fasting the ending is 'everything you can eat' in 20. Josh and Isabel Harris have lost their infant daughter by some sort of mysterious disappearance/alien abduction which is never really explained save some momentary back story jump-cuts to imply the latter.
As to how at least 6 inquisitive children and one supervising adult simply evaporate into thin air from within a nursery school library without so much as a protesting shush!, in the time taken for Mrs Harris to visit the rest room is anyone's guess. The other yawning chasm in the plot is the lack of any Police presence at the house after the same Mrs Harris viciously attacks her husband's boss with a (very large) knife stabbing him repeatedly (but not fatally, we learn almost by way of a casual shrugging rejoinder in the aftermath)
As the grieving couple, the performances of both Juanita Ringeling and Cristobal Tappia Montt are portentously overwrought to the point of 'method' slapstick and although I wouldn't dare pretend I know what it feels like to lose a child, it's clear the actors don't have the first clue either. The ending is extremely violent and on the cusp of gratuitously gory but as to why an alien species would resort to Grand Guignol slayings of these pesky humanoids in their midst is a question the Director needs to reverse engineer for his promised sequel. The art-house cinematography reminded me in places of Lars von Trier's obliquely hallucinatory Antichrist which is considerably more pretentious and also centered around a couple mourning a lost child. The radio transmissions that Josh Harris and his assistant (Kyle Davis) have identified as being of extraterrestrial origin makes for an intriguing story but apart from the aforementioned transparent artifice of setting up the inevitable sequel, no attempt is made to explain the events that are depicted. Intelligent movies don't need to continually remind us of the fact and Phillips has yet to learn that if you take the sex out of horror you're left with just forensics.
The Devil's Candy (2015)
A metal horror movie that goes up to 11...
It's maybe only surprising how long its taken for horror inspired metal to flow in the opposite direction. This is the movie that Rob Zombie can only dream of making (and it ain't really that good regardless) Director Sean Byrne claims to have based his story on fellow Aussie Nick Cave's song 'Red Right Hand' together with a trace of the Crossroads/Faustian pact myth that permeates so much of the horror and supernatural genres. Throw in some referential nods to 'The Shining' and you have fertile soil for a decent pant-filler certainly. No-one however is going to forgive a plot hole where Mr & Mrs Hellman (yes really) purchase a desirable property at a rock-bottom price due to the previous occupants being violently murdered yet they DON'T change the locks? Key holder Pruitt Taylor Vince has long commanded the 'wall-eyed portly uncle you don't let enter a Scout hall unchallenged' role and he doesn't disappoint here. Ethan Embry seems hopelessly miscast as the hippy inked artist forced to sell his soul on cutesy bank foyer commissions (which is kinda ironic seeing as how banks are clearly more diabolical than the Belial art gallery depicted here) His wife (Shiri Appleby) is the least 'metal' of all the family but easily the most convincing. Daughter (Kiara Glasco) has the emotional range of a toddler and like most of the audience, I suspect we would happily accelerate her intended grisly demise just to stop her incessant screaming drowning out the (decent) soundtrack for 5 minutes. That said, this is one loud and unapologetic independent movie where the extremities of dynamics seem to mirror those found in the Metal from which it derives so much of its inspiration. A metal horror movie that goes up to 11 but rarely registers above 5 for this reviewer.
Face (1997)
Bang Average
One of the common barbs hurled in the direction of this movie is that it cribs from a very successful British gangster movie that only appeared 12 months later (Lock Stock and Two Smoking Barrels from 1998)
Notwithstanding this crass dissimilitude, how many female directors has there been on a gangster movie?
Judged on that basis, Face would fail any serious test of its credentials but it's NOT really a gangster movie i.e. This is, I suspect at heart a rather botched attempt at a social critique of the UK circa the 80's. It purports to equate Thatcher's 'greed for all' manifesto as interpreted by a poorly educated working class demographic who supplant 'entrepreneurial zeal' with 'stealing other's ill gotten gains'. The fact that the vast majority of this social strata chose to NOT steal, NOT intimidate and NOT defraud is clearly lost on the director. The script often betrays Bird's misguided idealism as being more than a tad wet behind the ears e.g. Young and beautiful left wing activist (Lena Headey) knowingly dates an ex Communist now armed robber (Robert Carlyle) in the risibly gauche belief that he is 'better than his accomplices' and will leave them behind for a morally upright future. The humour is uniformly lame and merely renders the violence as inconsequential (the unwitting coup de grace for any moralistic agenda) Ray Winstone and Robert Carlyle are worth anyone's time even on inferior material such as this but the political and the personal just get hopelessly muddled here. Damon Albarn appears as the young hoodlum Jason. He sucks hugely and get's shot in the head early on. Even his portrayal of a blood splattered cadaver is unconvincing.
Nil by Mouth (1997)
Charlie Creed-Miles steals the show
This is a bleak but ultimately redemptive tale of (non) working class life in 'sarf' London. I suspect that it's roots are very close to those from which Oldman emerged. Drug addiction, unemployment, crime, domestic violence and infidelity, gender politics that resemble social apartheid, alcohol and substance abuse together with a moral compass where affection is either bang out of order, attributed to weakness or simply a tool for the manipulation of others. Could have descended into a hand wringing apology for modern anomie but Oldman's writing wisely dispenses entirely with the political implications of any culpable middle class abrogation (unlike that of Mike Leigh) Ray Winstone and Kathy Burke are both superb in this but perhaps the real surprise is Charlie Creed-Miles as the young junkie 'Billy' Although he appears to have gone on to become what could be deemed a 'jobbing actor' I'm surprised he didn't subsequently land more high profile leading roles. Those of you who enjoy the work of Mike Leigh will find much to savour here and I couldn't help but notice a feint echo of Lee Tamahon's equally unflinching Once We Were Warriors from 1994.
Starry Eyes (2014)
Satan's Casting Couch Potatoes
If Goethe had set his Faust story in the USA but with a 'Hooters' waitress as the protagonist dreaming of that one audition where the big time beckons, you have the first 30 minutes or so of Starry Eyes. I'd hesitate to call this 'horror' as it's a decent psychological/occult thriller up to this point but things take some very unnerving twists long before the end. It maybe straddles too many genres to really work as a unified whole despite it moving up very smoothly through the gears to encompass possession flick/body horror, home invasion slasher and splatter gore fest in equal measures. The ending is as gory and plain vanilla nasty as it is unexpected but on the downside?, the film industry as Satanic Luvvies Sanctum was very old and very tired a long time ago. Worth seeing but don't expect too much innovation or originality. Gene Simmons' son Nick has a small cameo role in this. Hint: look for the talentless musician who says very little but still irritates hugely.
Girl on the Third Floor (2019)
An oscar for the family dog
Despite a 'straight edge' wrestler (CM Punk) failing entirely to convince in the role of disgraced lawyer, philandering husband, recovering alcoholic and wannabe handyman (Don Koch) this gets incredibly good after a very sluggish opening half hour. That said, the best performance on screen until the redeeming entrance of Mrs Koch (Trieste Kelly Dunn) towards the conclusion is that of the family dog (Cooper) who exhibits a range and nuance of expression that dwarfs those of both scorned 'ghost' hooker (Sarah Brooks) and 'ethical' African American lawyer (Travis Delgado) The ominously unnerving visuals advance the story far better than the dialogue and it's the uber creepy house and the aforementioned Cooper doing most of the heavy lifting here. You also get a superb twist thrown in for good measure. It's gory in places yes, but never gratuitously so as the psychological dismantling of an already very flawed man (Mr Koch) is the real payback here. Carries a deferential nod from debut Director Stevens in the direction of the Shining, the Amityville Horror and the Devil's Candy.
El hoyo (2019)
No Exit from the hell of consumerism
This is certainly not for the squeamish but incredibly prescient and relevant given the current global pandemic. Redolent of Cube and Snow Piercer, it explores the iniquities of a vertical structure where those who take more than they need simply create a self perpetuating cycle of resentment, distrust, cruelty and revenge. Heavily allegorical and all three movies can be reduced down to variations of Goethe's Faustian pact narrative. (you can also throw into the mix a critique of capitalism and the occasional echo of Sartre's No Exit) Yes, the 'child as the message of redemption' riff at the conclusion is a tad w.a.n.k.y but this is otherwise, hugely enjoyable from start to finish.
Prog trivia: that the lead (Iván Massagué) is a dead ringer for Frank Zappa.
À l'intérieur (2007)
Betty Blue directed by Rob Zombie
As a modern albeit unimaginative reboot on the slasher genre, it succeeds wholesale but as an example of the much heralded 'new wave of french horror' a la Martyrs and Sheitan, it falls flat on its eviscerated derriere. Two pregnant mothers at the wheel collide in a car crash. One baby survives, the other does not (and why, with a perfectly roadworthy 'significant other' sperm donor passenger on board isn't one of them safely ensconced in the rear seats?) Under normal circumstances I wouldn't spoil the plot hereabouts but most of you are smarter than this. Grieving mother Béatrice Dalle seeks to exact revenge by stealing the unborn child of the other. It's brutal, gory and nasty but almost unremittingly dumb and there are moments when you start to think the premise was as flimsy as: what would Betty Blue (in which Dalle starred) look like if directed by Rob Zombie under excessive product placement demands from the ketchup industry. For those who think lines such as: (La Femme) Kill me. You already have profound will appreciate the dearth of dialogue and thank the translators for the slow moving subtitles.
The Old Ways (2020)
If Cheech and Chong had been cast in the Exorcist...
I was thinking recently that of all the world's accents, the least conducive to conveying terror and dread might just be Mexican. Can you imagine the Exorcist with Father Merrin and Father Karras portrayed by Cheech and Chong respectively invoking the same intended gravitas?. Picture my delight therefore at discovering a contemporary exorcism film that takes place in Veracruz, Mehiko. Rest easy Gringos, as any unwitting humour is absent entirely and the economy of the dialogue throughout is probably deliberate. Although the Old Ways doesn't bring anything new to the table genre wise, it does have a back story depth that very few even attempt. Kudos are due therefore to Director Christopher Alender's subtle and understated handling of his theme which posits the spiritual and moral anomie prevalent in the first world is fertile ground for all manner of psychological maladies to thrive. (real or imagined, with demonic possession being just one manifestation of this) Our heroine Cristina is a high achiever US emigrant journalist who lives in a state of heroin injected spiritual perdition c/f her cousin Miranda, who remained in Veracruz, is infinitely more naive but considerably wiser in the ancient brujeria wisdom from which the movie is clearly inspired. Perhaps the denouement might be considered a tad predictable but it shouldn't spoil your enjoyment of what is a very accomplished horror which manages to weave in a moral fable in a place where we would have least expected one.
Await Further Instructions (2018)
A petri dish of Pinter, Sci-Fi and the English family
For at least 70 minutes this emanates a cramped, skewed and menacing paranoia you only usually meet in something like English playwright Harold Pinter. I think Grant Masters' resemblance to Michael Jayston circa the Homecoming from 1969 may have forged this connection in my mind. As a sci-fi parable on fake news, social media, Brexit, xenophobia, and blind devotion to strong leaders no matter how monstrous, the jury is still out but as a meditation on that petri-dish of neuroses called 'British family life' it succeeds brilliantly. A Christmas family reunion for the Milgrams* soon opens more wounds than it closes. The racist Grandpa who taunts his son as 'an effeminate clerk' who in turn bullies his spouse and offspring by way of sublimated revenge. The equally racist (and by implication) feckless daughter, pregnant with 'Jock' partner's child, who abuses her brother Nick's Indian girlfriend. All this makes for a very tense Xmas dinner where the only creature in attendance safe from further torment is probably the turkey. The late Johnny Kervokian, a Cypriot born filmmaker raised in the UK, would have encountered first hand the racist insecurity at the heart of the British psyche and he handles his cast and themes with deft assurance and objectivity throughout. Things do tend to fall apart thereafter alas, and the ending has certainly polarised many movie goers. For me, you could hack off the w.a.n.k.y techno/apocalyptic ending entirely and still have a compelling and unflinching family psychodrama.
*They ain't called the Milgrams for nothing. The Milgram experiments measured the willingness of study participants from a diverse range of occupations with varying levels of education, to obey an authority figure who instructed them to perform acts conflicting with their personal conscience. Participants were led to believe they were assisting an unrelated experiment, in which they had to administer electric shocks to a 'learner'. These fake electric shocks gradually increased to levels that would have been fatal had they been real. In the movie, the family receive similar instructional messages from their TV which is being controlled by some unknown predatory entity (not Rupert Murdoch but slightly better looking all told)
Last Shift (2014)
Great value for it's modest outlay in cinematic resources
Rookie cop's first day on the force has her assigned to looking after an abandoned Police Station prior to it's permanent closure the next morning. Bored but eager to please her superiors, the likeable and beautiful Officer Loren (Juliana Harkavy) avoids encroaching tedium until things take a distinctly sinister turn and her routine chore turns into a harrowing ordeal. Reference points are fairly easy to spot in the last Shift, from Assault on Precinct 13, the criminally neglected Let Us Prey from the same year, to echoes of the Manson family cult but it's never derivative and manages to exploit its single location/solitary actress budget limitations to telling effect. Some of the imagery is genuinely unsettling so it's not a horror for the feint of heart (and if any are, they ain't worthy of the name) There is also a plot twist at the conclusion I genuinely didn't anticipate which is well worth sticking around for. More psychological thriller with horror elements than standard issue horror, it's a tale of an idealistic young woman's mental disintegration when confronted with ghosts of the past (real or imagined) and a very interesting tangent on how so many otherwise rational and intelligent females somehow get sucked into the black hole event horizons of the likes of Charles Manson, Ian Brady, Richard Ramirez, Jimmy Boyle, David Koresh, Warren Jeffs, Keith Raniere et al. Credibly creepy throughout, choc full of jump scares and with a knack for tourniquet tight suspense, the Last Shift might have a few glaring plot holes here and there but is great value for it's modest outlay in cinematic resources.
Nobody (2021)
the John Wick franchise (cat lover's edition)
Starts promisingly enough and carries faint echoes of Joel Schumacher's Falling Down from 1993 but soon degenerates thereafter into a very pale albeit stylish imitation of the John Wick franchise (cat lover's edition) Bob Odenkirk is likeable as the ex FBI assassin 'Hutch' who has retired to a life of suburban domesticity to be disrespected and unloved by his family and bored in a dead end job he hates (a.k.a. 'reality' for the rest of we 'nobodies') A bungled robbery at his home however, where he is judged not to have acted bravely in the face of danger soon coaxes him back into the saddle to take out the entire Russian mafia in less than 60 blood spattered, head imploding, knife wielding, gun toting, bone shattering minutes. The violence is as visceral and ludicrous as any wannabe Tarantino could possibly devise but this is state of the art pushback fantasy for emasculated bank clerks the world over. It's very well made and unfailingly professional throughout but so was the Transporter Trilogy. Dumb, derivative and double dipping by writer Derek Kolstad who somehow managed to sell his John Wick story to two different studios. Director Ilya Naishuller is a founder member of Russian indie Rock band Biting Elbows. There is overwhelming evidence that Rock stars cannot act so why should they be any better at directing?