Film Reviews by NP

This is a very choppily made, low-budget project that features heat-infused zombies and hatchet-faced cult actor Danny Treyo. Scenes fade away before they seem to have finished, characters come and go before we know them. And yet, there are some appealing performances from Nicole Carmela as Nicole Roberts and Thomas Downy as the Sherriff. Roberts’ boyfriend Ryan is played very self-consciously by Kevin Norman. Treyo makes little more than a cameo appearance, which is a shame. Playing the boobs that passes as titillation is Jenny Lin.

The volcano that erupts, giving birth to the ‘heat zombies’, contains the best of the varied (often CGI) effects, with the idea behind the zombies themselves proving to be effective. Probably as a concession to low finances is the sunny mid-day setting. How much more powerful these scenes would have been had they taken place at night.

Sadly though, this never really rises above the daytime soap style of execution, despite the occasional close-ups of gristle eating. We don’t really get to know most of the characters, and despite the standard pounding of the by-numbers music, things remain pretty dull.

Apart from a few impressively creepy images on the internet, I was unfamiliar with the idea and concept of ‘the Slender Man’. To quote Wikipedia, ‘The Slender Man (also known as Slenderman) is a fictional supernatural character that originated as a creepypasta Internet meme created by Something Awful forums user Eric Knudsen (also known as "Victor Surge") in 2009. He is depicted as a thin, unnaturally tall humanoid with a featureless head and face and wearing a black suit.’ I’m still not sure I’m any the wiser!

This then, is the film based around the character. And sadly, despite the efforts of a young cast saddled with irritating dialogue centred around writer David Birke’s idea of teen dilemmas (affairs of the heart, usually), this is a fairly half-hearted affair. It owes some of its ideas to the central concept of ‘The Ring (1999)’ and employs much use of mobile phones to communicate events. The title character looks good, but is really just another ‘bogeyman’ whose function it is to traumatise flirting adolescents and administer death by CGI. With such a potentially creepy central character, I’m not sure this is the best use of his talents.

My favourite character is Wren. Actress Joey Taylor transcends the triteness of some of her dialogue and emerges as not only the most likeable lass of the bunch, but someone you actually do not wish to see fall victim of the machinations of the Slender Man. Director Sylvain White cloaks most scenes in an effective, sinister cold shadow and the ambient score by Ramin Djawadi and Brandon Campbell does its best to sustain the atmosphere. Ultimately however, ‘Slender Man’ is disappointingly dull.

Of course you could, if you wanted to, lump much of ‘Hereditary’ in with the many other ‘is there something supernatural afoot, or is it all in the mind’ horror films that exist. But such is the slow-burning set-up, the very convincing performances and the assuredly weird direction (from Ari Aster, who also wrote this), that the resultant filmic experience is so much more.

My favourite performance, in some impressive company, is that of young Alex Wolff as Peter, son of Steve and Annie Graham (Gabriel Byrne and Toni Collette) and brother to poor Charlie (Milly Shapiro). Whilst Peter and his mother seem most susceptible to the demonic mischief going on, whilst Steve remains scared but sceptical, it is Peter who evokes most sympathy, even though he has a terrible guilty secret.

Throughout this 127 minute experience, I made several attempts to pause the DVD to fix a drink. Such was the power of the film, it remained unfixed. Whilst his doesn’t perhaps measure up to all the hype and positivity heaped upon it (it has been set alongside ‘The Exorcist’ and ‘The Omen’), it is nevertheless, an extraordinarily powerful and retrained horror story. Restrained because, for all the fevered emotion and tragically disintegrating personalities on display, there is relatively little gore or special effects. What there is, however, is exactly right.

Al of these things push the finale into dizzying heights of surreal hellishness. If you have any interest in horror, and especially if you may find yourself disillusioned by much current popular horror output, this two hours will make you horrifically happy.

If you are taking a trip to the snowy forests of Alaska, or indeed anywhere at all, then this film's lead Marcus (Jared Cohn) possesses every trait you would be wise to leave at home. I'm no prude, but every sentence simply has to be littered with the f-word, every word has to be squealed out in the most petulant way possible, and every overtly aggressive gesture is just begging for the little weasel to receive the best kicking available. His sister and her friend, not hugely appealing themselves, have my every sympathy for having to spend time with this absolute tool, as he searches for marijuana plants. That's right, he is an excessive weed smoker, and that may be the reason he is portrayed in this manner. Rather than being stoned and laid back, he is forever in the midst of a temper tantrum as he travels to locate more marijuana. Don't do drugs, kids - is that the message - or you'll become a boorish loudmouth like Marcus? Have I said enough to convey how appalling this character is? To be honest, I doubt it. I'm not sure any one character has tempted me to turn off a film before, at least not for a long time. Only the nicely filmed locations, occasionally spooky isolated atmosphere, and the furious hope that I'll see Marcus suffer stop me giving up on this.

There are some moments of gore, or more specifically, meat. There are also some nicely shot moments of jeopardy for our leading man who, after carelessly losing his co-travellers and has no-one to talk to, does us the favour of keeping his gob shut. Overwhelmingly, though, this is a choppy, curiously edited film. Things happen, events occur, nothing moves forward. And then suddenly, it ends. The storyline, which is not unlike Adam Nevill's 'The Ritual' in places, doesn't really pick up momentum. I admire director and co-writer Max Perrier for appearing to try something different with his approach to this (and the excellent score by Miksa Kovek adds further layers to the horror), but his abhorrent main character tests the patience, and the rest of the production isn't consistent enough to make amends for that.

This is a fairly lame horror film very much in the mould of several unambitious TV Movie-style productions. It’s competently made, albeit over-reliant on jump-scares. It’s adequately acted, despite the fact that all the characters are bland and unlikable. It is as if no-one concerned really cares and are simply ‘going through the motions’.

Events involve a Ouija board and the resultant spirit’s fixation on pretty obnoxious young Sara (Tara Shayne) her lacklustre boyfriend Frank (Marty Dew) and dull silly-billy Santiago (Richard Muller). It is Santiago’s irritating antics that provide a great many of the early jump-scares. We also meet Sara’s parents who spend the vast majority of the running time rushing around after another one of their daughter’s tantrums.

Scenes with an apparently possessed nana are directed with a certain flair, and occasional encounters with the spectral Samara-type girl are well staged. And yet such moments are few and far between, with the remainder proving to be lacklustre.

A vintage slight against radio personalities is that they have a ‘perfect face for audio’. Stephen McHattie, who plays outspoken Disc Jockey Grant Mazzy, has a great for ‘Pontypool’, a thoughtful Canadian horror. His every beleaguered expression add great weight to his performance here, as he is essentially the voice that informs us of a growing sense of unease around the town. His producer Sydney (Lisa Houle, McHattie’s real life wife) shakes her head in despair every time Mazzy says something deliberately provocative, and capable young Laurel-Ann (Georgina Reilley) holds things together with a quiet calm. All three central characters are instantly likeable, their professional relationship fascinating, especially the constant ‘creative disagreements’.

All this provides a solid background to the growing panic and horror that is spreading steadily throughout the outside world. A lot is asked of our three main characters. Their growing panic is all we have to communicate the evolving virus outside. It’s a long time before we leave the studio. We are as shut away as they are. I’m not sure I’m entirely convinced by the manner in which the disease is spread, but such reasoning does lead to some very memorable moments.

Deliberately going against the ‘show, don’t tell’ rule in this way won’t appeal to everyone, but I find it a very worthwhile – and above all, innovative – way of telling a story. The reverting to a pre-taped story (of a missing cat) takes on a more sinister turn because it means that the station is no longer broadcasting live. Writer Tony Burgess (who wrote the novel on which this is based) and director Bruce McDonald ensure that things never become dull.

The blizzards that cast an unforgiving white shadow over the ‘outside’ adds another layer of isolation and bleakness to this highly enjoyable production. Highly recommended.

When we first meet night-time radio host, the permanently dishevelled Charlie Crowe, he comes across as a boor. When we subsequently meet his gold-digging ex-wife, his foul estranged son and arrogant replacement husband, we sympathise with him a little. He has no time for time wasters on his radio show, and ridicules and dismisses a caller who claims to … ‘see’ things. You might successfully identify that as a mistake.

This is a surprisingly effective horror. I’m not sure why I am surprised by this, but I found the attention to detail and expertly handled, often subtle chills employed by director/writer Matthew Arnold immersive. The casting is very good, with a range of idiosyncratic, convincing performances. And the story does its best to convince us that events actually took place (not that I have reason to doubt it) by some actual footage from news items at the time, and features some actual radio callers to Crowe’s show.

The idea of ‘shadow people’ is an intriguing one, and makes great horror. Since film production began all those many decades ago, shadows have played a huge part in sinister visuals – so the notion they may have a life-force of their own is very attractive. ‘Shadow People’ is certainly not faultless however – sometimes the interspersed real-life footage slows things down too much, and this is a slow-burning story anyway. Also, it should be mentioned that ultimately, this is quite an intimate tale, focussing on what Crowe would do – or wouldn’t do – to make his life more satisfactory, rather than any major wider-spread scares, which never dominate proceedings for very long.

This is an extraordinary tale, featuring the return, after a 40-year incarceration, of the notorious Coffin Joe, long believed dead. With nothing more than some huge, curling fingernails, José Mojica Marins (a bearded Brazilian Bela Lugosi, who also directs and writes) cuts an imposing figure, and it isn’t long before he is up to his metaphorical horns in evil. It doesn’t go all his way by any means, however, as he appears to be haunted by the ghosts of those he has wronged in the past – a past illustrated by many flashbacks.

This is very much a sequel rather than a standalone film and as such, I found myself enjoying the Faust-ian imagery and the demonic nature of Marins’ heightened performance rather than trying to figure out precisely what was going on (the previous two instalments were produced in the late 1960s). As it makes no great effort to embrace a viewer unfamiliar with any earlier chapters, things can dissolve into a dark soup of shouting and wailing (and torture), a soup not thinned by any sympathetic characters or anyone an audience can relate to. Everyone we meet is a grotesque of sorts, and what they may lack in empathy, they succeed in collectively conjuring up a relentless environment of horror.

His mission is to ensure the ‘continuation of his blood’. That is, he very much likes the idea of procreation. We are not spared this, either. It is a grisly, saturating scene, carried out without ever removing his Mephistophelean top hat and cape.

It wouldn’t be entering into the spirit of things to question why the authorities wait until Coffin Joe has committed many bloody atrocities since they reluctantly released him from jail, before investigating his activities. This is a world within a world, and if you are in the right frame of mind, is hellish and immersive. If not, it comes across as being somewhat one-note.

Four ‘young friends’ travel to the snowy Utah mountains so they can be alone to argue, make up and argue a little more. As things go, this low-budget horror is something of a roller-coaster. Normal conversations are punctuated with sudden moments of sullen anger, which immediately disappear, allowing the conversations to continue as normal. The outbursts, and reactions to them, come and go and then vanish. Such disjointedness is either an inconsistent script, or director/writer Brandon Scullion trying to persuade us that, out in these freezing wastes, evil lurks.

So these kids: Mallory (Arielle Brachfeld, probably the best performance here) self-harms, Eric (Chris Dorman) is an alcoholic, Becca (Sarah Greyson) might be pregnant and the other? Seth (David Lautman) has secretly come all this way to bury to dismembered body-parts of his mother. That he returns to the cabin to find his mother (Maria Olsen) alive and well and waiting for him is a good scare.

This eerie tale is cursed by some typical low-budget trappings – often stilted acting and sound issues resulting in dialogue being drowned out. The locations are excellent however, the snow adding an extra degree of isolation so important in conveying the levels of danger the characters find themselves trapped in.

Dario Argento’s daring interpretation of Gaston Leroux’s famous horror/tragedy/romance foregoes the traditional disfigured character of Erik (the absence of mask makes a nonsense of the DVD cover and promotional blurb), the Phantom. Instead, Julian Sands plays him as a handsome, tortured, long-haired whisperer unexplainably raised … by rats. It is a curious development. Instead of being ugly to look at, he is ugly in the way he deals with anyone who gets in his way, or in the way of his relationship with Christine Daaé (Asia Argento). Also, of course, the film is robbed of one of its previously defining moments: the unmasking scene and reveal of the cruelly misshapen mass beneath.

So is it political correctness that informs the lack of scarring? Good grief no, for we have much nudity, horrible things done to rats and the overweight, not to mention the rat catcher himself and comedy dwarf side-kick. We have a telepathic Phantom who instantly falls in love with Christine, and she falls instantly in love with him too. With all the eccentrics around him, Erik is saved from becoming the least interesting character by the great and violent rages he displays, at one point raping Christine, for which she appears to forgive him.

Production-wise, this is an impressive gala of colour and spectacle. Certain scenes in which the camera flies around the spacious theatre remind me of James Whale’s joyful exploration of Frankenstein’s laboratory during the creation of the monster’s Bride in the 1935 classic. The murky catacombs where bad things happen to ne'er-do-wells, the expanse of the theatre and the Phantom’s lair, all look wonderful and are effectively lit.

‘Tonally’, as the phrase goes, ‘this is all over the place.’ Despite some very exuberant singing miming, Argento’s Christine is a naturally played beauty, yet most of those around her are grotesques. The awkward sex-scenes don’t do much to convince us of the central love and romance. And yet, this is bizarrely enjoyable. Lots of silliness, some moving moments and mixed interpretations of gore. A fine central performance from Sands, in a look that occasionally invites unfavourable comparisons with 80’s wailer Michael Bolton; an array of special effects, sometimes convincing, sometimes not so much, and a strangely distressing ending involving a cavern full of heartbroken rats.

Originally known as ‘Adaline’, this was repackaged and retitled ‘The Conjured’. This blatant similarity to the popular ‘The Conjuring’ films gives you some idea of the originality on display here.

I wouldn’t wish to do Bidisha Chowdhury’s project a disservice; this is modestly budgeted and appears to be a labour of love, but despite the goodwill, and the cast doing their best, there isn’t anything remotely new attempted.

The film opens in a gory way, which is out of place with the more sedate nature of what is to come. When Daniela (Jill Evyn) inherits a mansion from an Aunt in the middle of nowhere and her friend exclaims, “I didn’t even know you had an Aunt,” you are sure what the next line will be (“I didn’t know I had an Aunt either,” in case you’re wondering). Nice bloke John (Lane Townsend) turns up and proves inordinately helpful one way or another. He’ll be the main villain then, will he? Well, will he? No-one smiles like that all the time.

There’s an abusive ex-boyfriend and a mentally handicapped character as further possibilities, but really, things are extremely predictable here. It won’t keep you guessing. Undemanding chills, with occasional scenes of sex and gore to keep you from picking up the crossword.

The nasty blood-red delights of Hammer films a few years before had instantly rendered horror adaptions like this somewhat genteel (which is one alleged reason why Hammer themselves slid out of favour about a decade later). Indeed, one of the joys of this 20th Century Fox production is the glimpse it shares of another, softer world - a world of crisp manners, phrases like 'stuff and nonsense', elegant houses and rolling summer gardens. Not a tracksuit or a gold chain in sight.

Away from this fond reminiscing, 'The Innocents' is a terrific and beautifully acted horror story about two demonic children. And yet the youngsters, so well-played by Martin Stephens (as Miles) and Pamela Franklin (as Flora), may be somewhat mannered, but never brattish as young performances can be (relentlessly chirpy, if anything). Deborah Kerr (as naïve Miss Giddens) and Megs Jenkins (Mrs Grose) are wonderful as the two extremely well-meaning women placed in charge of the juveniles, who gradually, are revealed to possess extraordinary perceptive powers. Peter Wyngarde, the unofficial face of the late 1960s, is unnerving as the sombre Peter Quint.

Director Jack Clayton and cinematographer Freddie Francis extol the virtues of the black-and-white world and pack each scene with detail of comfort and splendour, only to offshoot them with moments of increasing unease.

This is a rich, fruity, beautifully made British horror film directed, written by and starring Andy Nyman as Philip Goodman (co-director Jeremy Dyson has an uncredited cameo as a DJ). Goodman is a solitary investigator committed to debunking the ‘myth’ of the paranormal. After meeting his hero, former paranormal investigator Charles Cameron (a deeply unpleasant individual reduced and ill, living in squalor) he is offered three cases and challenged to investigate them. Thus we are supplied with the trilogy of tales in this anthology.

Paul Whitehouse plays Tony Matthews, night watchman, haunted by something nasty in an empty warehouse. Alex Lawthur is Simon Rifkind, a teenager who stumbles across a rattled demon whilst driving through woodland. Mike Priddle, played by Martin Freeman, brings the trilogy to a close troubled by a poltergeist whilst waiting for his son to be born.

Of course, things are rarely as they seem, and it is only after these stories are told that things become really weird, and there’s a pleasing smattering of MR James-inspired moments. It is possible that the dénouement might be seen by some as disappointing, but the slow-burning lead-up to that moment is very effective.

This latest offering from North Bank Entertainment takes place in Dunwich – or Jonesworld - a Neverland that occasionally features in Andrew Jones’ films, where some people speak with American accents, and some people don’t. The very British décor indicates we’re on UK soil, but I get the impression the film is supposed to be set Stateside. The most American American is Beckham-browed policeman Brodie Sangster (Jamie Knox). He is seeing potty-mouthed Jennifer (Sarah John), daughter of Frank, Sangster’s boss.

This isn’t one of North Banks’ best. It’s inevitable that with such a prolific turnover, not every release will be a zinger. There’s a bigger cast here than usual, and none of the characters are particularly interesting. Also, sound problems that plagued certain scenes in earlier films is still an issue which, after all this time, is irritating. I enjoy the way clips from black and white horror films are sprinkled throughout the action (I recognised ‘White Zombie’, ‘Carnival of Souls’ and ‘Nosferatu’ amongst others), but ultimately the story of resurrected wrong-doer Jack Cain misses the mark more often than not.

One of the great things about going into horror films without knowing anything about them is the realisation, at a certain point somewhere down the line, that it’s going to be ‘a certain kind of film.’ That point came pretty quickly with this Ari Kirschenbaum directed/written oddity. And I was still wrong. Initially, I quite liked it, but I imagine that such an abstract approach might come across as a series of set-pieces and effective imagery – because that’s exactly what it is, at least in the first half. Sadly, the second half degenerates into a kind of wacky comedy.

Charlene Amoia plays Deputy Hancock who, alongside Sherrif Pete (Vladimir Kulich), come to realise that some demonic force has infiltrated their small-town jail and its inmates. Apart from the slow but often effective story-line and insistent electronic score, there is a lot of reliance on CGI. Whilst none of it breaks the spell Kirschenbaum is striving to weave, some leaves a lot to be desired, while much of it is more effective than you might expect. Events are divided into Tarantino-like chapters.

A switch to colour from the greyed-out imagery some way into the running time threatens to rob events of their sinister intimacy but actually, this is not the case. The colours used are bleached-out and sickly in hue and create their own sense of unease. And yet there is a growing through-line of sardonic humour here that suggests not everything should be taken seriously – and many of the possessed zombie-types invite hilarity rather than terror (in black and white, they look frightening – reminiscent of ‘Salem’s Lot (1979)’ in some scenes; when in colour, they degenerate into the kind of cartoon menace you see on the cover of Iron Maiden albums). Sadly, this threatens to render everything we’ve seen thus far inconsequential.

So, tonally, I am not sure what this is aiming for. Again, it seems a deliberate nod to the Tarantino style of occasionally ‘heightened’ film-making. In this case, I am honest enough to say that whilst it must have been great fun to make, I do not know what kind of film this strives to be, and as such, the result are baffling.