Film Reviews by NP

Down the main road that runs alongside the home of pompous local Civil Servant and critic George Maxwell (Michael Hordern) runs a delivery van – Shakespeare’s Deliveries, of course. Maxwell is immediately a caricature of authority; self-important, arrogant and very easy to manipulate. His ego is massaged sufficiently by a call from the local police to help rid a doomed warehouse of a gang of meth drinkers and vagabonds. The first glimpse we see of the mighty Vincent Price is behind a heavy moustache and police uniform, as he ushers Maxwell towards the unsightly crew of grubby tramps. Clipping them with his umbrella and advising them to leave the vicinity immediately, Maxwell finds the atmosphere quickly turns sinister as bottles are broken and the sneers and gurgles of the incapacitated characters are directed towards him. The two policemen stand by as the vagrants rip him to shreds. An exaggerated establishment figure he may be, it is nevertheless very satisfying to see his pomposity pricked like a balloon as it slowly dawns on Maxwell he is beyond help.

Maxwell is part of a group of similarly snotty art critics who have all savaged the career of hopeless Shakespearian ham Edward Lionheart (Price), who apparently killed himself as a result of their hostile reviews. Even his apparent suicide is an embarrassing over-the-top performance (the final goodbye to his critics is greeted by cruel sneers and jibes as, tortured by his own madness, he throws himself into the sea). Yet, he still lives, and with the aid of his daughter Edwina (Diana Rigg, unconvincingly disguised as a male throughout – I mention that not as a criticism; she is an extension of her father’s lack of subtlety after all), aims to kill every one of the group utilising scenes from Shakespeare’s finest.

It is difficult to name a favourite film from Vincent Price’s incredible career. For my money it comes down to his restrained performance as the cruel Matthew Hopkins in ‘Witchfinder General (1968)’, and this, the opposite extreme and a gift of a part for Price’s finely honed excesses. Often caked in the grotesquery of theatrical make-up, his playing of OTT Lionheart allows him every opportunity to give the largest of performances, whilst always remaining in character. And yet such is Lionheart’s self-belief and misplaced dignity, he becomes far more than a hopeless ham: he is a truly tragic, misunderstood figure, so engulfed in his theatricality that he is little else without it. His loyal daughter adds to this awful nobility, as do his audience of the meth-drinkers we saw at the start (they pulled him from the stagnant waters after his elaborate suicide). They applaud his over-acting in return for the coins he throws benignly toward them. Douglas Kickox’s tremendous direction adds further colour to this, closing his cameras tightly on Lionheart’s performances, barely containing them, and then zooming out slowly to find it being paraded in the isolation of an abandoned and ramshackle theatre. What an incredible creation Lionheart is.

With a cast including further veteran stalwarts as Joan Hickson, Arthur Lowe, Ian Hendry, Arthur Lowe, Robert Morley, Jack Hawkins, Dennis Price and Diana Dors, this is as great a horror film as Lionheart perceives himself. The finale is spectacularly sliced grand-guignol, with Rigg imploring the band of stoned vagrants to help her doomed father before being killed herself, leaving him trapped, totally deranged and beyond hope, in his burning theatre. This time, there is no mockery or sneering at his final performance. Hendry’s admiration for him is so grudging, however, it makes us wish he too had been one of the victims. An outstanding film.

Possibly a little groovier than many giallo films from this period, thanks to Maria Bava’s direction fused with an exotic score by Piero Umiliani, ‘Five Dolls’ opens with a swinging, debauched party culminating with a delightfully dishevelled Edwige Fenech (as Marie Chaney) faking her own bloody death. Those crazy kids.

We are introduced to a plethora of characters involved in a confusing myriad of affairs and casual romances, all acting like moustache-twirling villains. Taking time out from their lives to relax on a sumptuous, sun-kissed island, their vacation is marred only by the presence of a murderer in their midst. As they try unsuccessfully to find out about the mysterious Professor Farrell and his secrets in a series of playful, titillating asides and clandestine meetings, things become pretty complicated fairly quickly. Murders, missing money and ‘formulas’ … it all gets a bit much. In fact, it’s tempting not to worry about all that and concentrate instead in the visuals which are often breath-taking. There are various scenes held on the beach at night; I’m tempted to think a blue filter was applied to the camera during a sunny day to achieve the effect, but whatever, the results are visual indulgence – stunning. Umiliani’s bossa-nova score, with thick and chunky organ rhythms enhancing scenes in which characters search amidst lowing palm trees on the isolated beach for the latest corpse – rarely has the macabre looked and sounded so incredible.

Whilst I think it is fair to say the result is definitely a case of style over substance (lots of people you don’t really like coming to blows in very sixties’ locations reminiscent of the model sets used in Gerry Anderson’s puppet series), there is much to enjoy. The images of the growing number of corpses being bagged up and hung in the cooling room amongst the animal cadaver food supply is delightfully sinister.

This reminds me very much of the Nancy Drew television series from the late 1970’s, but with a sprinkling of sporadic gore. Panic sets in in a small town when a little girl is taken from her bed late one night. Legends of a witch (Cassie Keller) living in the woods abound, so it probably isn’t wise to go searching for that very house – especially if you’re ‘a group of friends’ who think it might be a good idea to throw stones through the windows.

The teenage ensemble are less obnoxious than similar teen-casts, and the performances are quite good. There’s even a suggestion of diversity, when one girl (Sammy, played by Diana Weston) is rumoured to be a lesbian – she isn’t. The ‘scares’ are pure cut-price CGI Disney, despite some spookily set-up scenes.

Late on, when the witch captures some of the youngsters, their fate is more than faintly bizarre and might succeed in raising a smile rather than have you fearing for their lives. Looking like a cowled Darth Maul before slowly becoming more beautiful (and far more effective) the more her victims are drained, her reveal coincides with events succumbing to the familiar slasher format.

It’s a very odd project, is ‘The Wicked’. It’s a horror film, but seemingly made by people who have no idea what makes horror work. It isn’t down to a lack of budget, as apparently $1.5 was spent on this. It’s a world where the law enforcers are blatant pantomime bad boys, where there is plenty of dry ice and sinister music but absolutely no atmosphere and despite the characters screaming and panicking enthusiastically, it isn’t in the least bit frightening. Not without merit, this doesn’t really deliver the goods as the horror film it sets out to be.

This giallo features more cigarette smoking than in any other I’ve seen. Never a scene goes by without someone lighting up, putting one out or going about their business with a casual ciggie clinging determinedly to their lips. Also, as is often the case for this genre, the females are not only the victims, but are also far more decent and respectful than the men – certainly Stefano (Pietro Martellanza) is brazenly patronizing and awful to Valentina (Nieves Navarro, or Susan Scott for English audiences) at every opportunity, and his male co-stars aren’t much better. I really hoped I wasn’t going to be asked to believe in him as any kind of hero. The best of this rotten bunch is probably Gio (Simón Andreu), another chain smoker notable for constantly running out of matches.

Valentina, with her incredible mane of red hair, whilst under the influence of an experimental drug, has a vision of a young woman being brutally murdered by a villainous-looking character with a spiked glove. This shades-sporting felon appears to her from then on, many times. Is it a product of her addled mind, as bone-headed Stefano arrogantly suggests, or is the truth more sinister? One thing is certain – any answers don’t come easily in this convoluted, beautifully shot Italian thriller.

In a way, you hope that the villain is purely in her mind. The alternative, of a highly suspicious mac-wearing effeminate looking man in outsize sunglasses always lurking in an almost pantomime manner, not being seen by anyone but Valentina, becomes absurd.

Also absurd, in a thoroughly appealing way, is the somewhat formulaic way the villain (or villains), when unmasked, then take the time to gloat and explain how they got away with their fiendish plan. Here, these revelations precipitate a glorious climactic physical fight that only ends after a series of last-minute, life-saving shocks and surprises.

A little slow in places, and possessing some appallingly chauvinistic behaviour, this is nevertheless great fun and another pleasing addition to the genre.

Seven friends venture into the wilderness for a hunting trip. They are fairly dour bunch most of the time, which is something of a relief when one considers a young ‘group of friends’ are usually represented as permanently drunk/stoned/horny, obnoxious and arrogant. Their world, as represented here, is small-town Florida, full of local stores and local outskirt communities, gatherings, cheroots and respectable upbringings. Sonny (Glen Powell) is the only character who seems to have his own agenda.

As their collective hunt continues, it seems there is ‘something’ out there in the Everglades, leaving a slew of butchered animal cadavers in its wake. One of their number, wistful soldier Sean (Zane Holtz) remains troubled by his experiences during active service, and the sense of impending doom isn’t exacerbated when his friend Matty’s mother senses the ‘call of the wind walker’ through what appears to be the spirit of her son, who is currently missing.

I am no expert on Native American history or culture, but there are suggestions of a wendigo spirit, of a shaman, as well as a generous sprinkling of subtle gore. The threat seems to be deliberately vague anyway, which will frustrate some. A mix of ‘The Thing (1982)’ styled spiritual possession and cannibalism is skilfully scattered throughout the mystery – unfortunately laced with an unnecessary rock music score which often succeeds in undermining the mood – but it works for me, mostly. It is good, spooky, potent, slow-burning story-telling.

When Sean promises Lexi (Castille Lanon), “I can kill this,” no-one is hugely confident because, whereas we meet several carriers of the virus itself, we witness nothing tangible controlling them. However, a hurried explosive climax delays – rather than destroys – the problem.

Intriguing rather than essential, a mixture of certain styles and inspirations rather than focussed, this is a recommended horror.

Directed with assurance by writer Damon Vignale, ‘The Entrance’ is a true gem. To review it in any way, it is unavoidable to include some spoilers which will affect your enjoyment!

Ryan James (Michael Eklund), drug dealer, is alone and afraid in a multi-storey car-park. With the aid of the Janitor (Ron Sauvé), he flees. He is interviewed by Detective Porhowski (Sarah-Jane Redmond), who explains he has been kidnapped with four others. The others have been killed, all of them having dark secrets (rapist, child abuser etc). Porhowski, meanwhile, is considering quitting the police force to work with her businessman father (Bernard Cuffling).

Driving home, the detective is held at gunpoint by an escaped James who explains he had been set free by ‘the Janitor’ only if he provides another life to take – and Porhowski will be his replacement. Soon, she is in the thrall of the possessed Janitor and the Devil (one assumes), where they try to convince her to shoot the man who raped her six years before. It seems she needs to have a dark secret of her own to join them. She resists.

Later, she is once more confronted by Ryan James, now possessed by the same spirit that inhabited the Janitor (revealed by the passing on a circular tattoo on the hand). It seems James has caused her father to succumb to a fatal heart attack. As the spirit within James laughs hysterically, Porhowski aims her gun at him, seemingly intent on killing him.

This is where the story ends. My take is that the action of her shooting James would provide the spirit with the means of possessing or recruiting her to his minions. The whole production is left beautifully open ended in a way that is purely open to speculation.

Made on a low budget, ‘The Entrance’ is compelling, a series of twists and turns every step of the way. Some are explained, some left deliberately vague. The cast are superb throughout, especially Redmond. It has a similarity to parts of the ‘Saw’ franchise, but is a superior horror/thriller in its own right, and strongly recommended.

I wasn’t expecting to like this. In my view, the original Amityville film was a distinctly average entry into the haunted house trend that seemed to be prevalent in 1979. Several sequels later, I wasn’t hoping for much. Usually under such circumstances, I’m more predisposed to find merit, especially when the reviews seem particularly harsh. However, watching 'Amityville Playhouse' - and there's no getting away from this - is a chore.

As grieving Fawn Harriman, Monèle LeStrat injects her role with a consistent disinterest. The flatness of her every delivery is Gielgud-ian when compared to ‘bad boy’ boyfriend Kyle (Linden Baker) and the other three young people who accompany Fawn to investigate the abandoned playhouse she has been left by her recently deceased parents. As a plus, the wooden performances at least aren’t assured enough to adopt the posturing swagger the script seems to want them to possess, and some of the put-downs between the alpha-males might, in more capable hands, be quite amusing.

Interestingly, this is filmed in Canada and the UK, giving at least a feel of variety in location. The conversations between all the characters we meet is purely to provide backstory for each other. With the preliminary scenes so clumsy and hackneyed (much conversation seems to concentrate on the peaks and troughs of being a ‘douche’), one would hope when the scares begin – because there have to be scares don’t there? – that things might improve.

Things don’t improve. In addition, nothing of any note occurs. A spirit appears to be in possession of the playhouse and the kids meander throughout it all, listless and bored. Any sliver of atmosphere or creepiness is completely out of the question, but while the location is shot quite well, ‘Amityville Playhouse’ is guilty of the worst crime of any sub-par production – it is rather boring.

Unhappily for urine fans, about three quarters of the film elapses before someone has to inevitably ‘take a pee’ (although as it’s butch Jevon (Logan Russell) who is caught short, he’s taking a ‘p**s’). You would hope this might sign-post as if often does, something creepy happening. You would hope. Meanwhile, Fawn’s English geography teacher spends the entire running time haplessly researching Amityville’s local history. By the time he makes any progress, sadly, I had long since lost interest.

How can there possibly be anything comforting about a giallo film, that cold, ruthless and brutal world in which ‘Lizard in a Woman’s Skin’ is a shining example? Could it be the haze of nostalgia for the period in which such films were made, the lush and vivacious production values that belies the lack of a huge budget? Could it even be the game of spotting the actress uncomfortable with cigarettes playing the part of an awkwardly casual smoker? Whatever it is, ‘giallo’ is a fairly stylised genre that straddles murder/thriller/horror with much success.

Familiar British face Stanley Baker here plays Inspector Corvin. Baker gives his usual exemplary performance (Corvin’s habit of – dubbed - whistling isn’t convincing, however), despite this being a period in his life when his own financial challenges required him to appear in films that diminished his star-billed status. His son Glyn later described ‘Lizard…’ as ‘a movie which makes absolutely no sense whatsoever.’ Stanley himself declared that he enjoyed everything he worked on, ‘including the bad pictures’.

I love the look Director Lucio Fulci gives this. Trippy psychedelia contrasts with some very sombre, often rainy locations to great effect: the false sense of safety in the warmly lit indoors, fighting with the sinister frostiness outside. The comfort of sex against some truly disturbing, if not always convincing, special gore effects (a shocking sequence involving dismembered canines required the makers to prove no real animals were hurt at the time). These things conspire to transport the audience into a dangerous world that is rarely quite real, and all the more effectively unnerving for that. This dreamy, druggy atmosphere doesn’t serve to make the complex plot any clearer, however!

As is often the way, revelations come thick and fast during the latter moments, and whilst it is true to say that another viewing may well help me make total sense of developments, the finale is a visual tour-de-force and stays in the mind for a good while after the credits have rolled. A word too for Ennio Morricone’s score; whilst it is a given that he produces some incredible melodious soundtracks, this has certain similarities to my favourite of all his works, that of his music for ‘Maddalena (1971)’. Beautiful.

Four wide-eyed girls bid farewell to their parents as they embark on a trip together, promising to be good. As soon as their parents are out of sight however, rock music hi-jacks the soundtrack, off come most of the clothes, their walk turns to a swagger: instant transformation! They’re not such good girls after all.

They have names, but that’s all that separates them. This important character-establishing time is taken with sardonic asides and pouting. When a lot of attention is devoted to ramifications of the inevitable ‘I have to go pee’ line, you know development is hardly at the forefront of the minds of those who filled their time writing this.

Technically, the blurring and cutting off of voices and soundtrack are so glaring, they appear to be an artistic decision. In no time at all, their stay at a cabin in the woods has become a series of grunts, modulated and looped shrieks, incomprehensible and occasionally creepy images and repeated scenes, often too dark to make out. The girls, in their tiny shorts, react and become more entwined with the growing evil.

This is nearly an interesting exercise in nightmare – in the kind of delirious, unnerving crash-chaos and gory hellish manner as practiced by ‘Evil Dead (1981)’ or ‘The Grudge (2002)’. Although the tumbling into spiralling horror is frightening in its turgid confusion, and indeed tries to emulate effects on moments from the afore-mentioned films, sadly, it succeeds mainly in testing the patience.

I think the problem – and I do salute director and writer Michael and Gerald Crum for attempting an ongoing fevered nightmare that defies structure – is that there is no middle ground. One minute, we are in the bland land of badly-defined sexualised teen-girls rebelling – the next, and with no preparation, we are given all-encompassing noises and images and incoherence only to be found in the depth of nightmare. What characters there were become garbled mannequins, their unfathomable plight only scattered with occasional meaningless dialogue. The ending, when it comes, happens mid-sentence. Perhaps a little less trying to be weird and a little more help for the audience to know what it is supposed to be afraid of would help ‘Cypress Lake’ communicate the scares it batters us over the head with, with more success.

Get a group of males together round a table, give them a pack of cards, and they think they’re Al Capone. In a flashback to 1927 and a lengthy gambling session, the owner of the island on which their den is based, gambles the entire property away and then, pretty unhappy with the situation, shoots himself. Subsequent shadowy noises suggest his spirit remains, however.

Back up to date and much of the interest the story has thus far garnered evaporates sharply with the seemingly inevitable introduction of the standard ‘group of friends’ – and yet these ‘standard’ people have no names; instead they are all ‘dude, bro, man or chicks (plural)’ – or occasionally ‘a**hole’ (one of them is called Mike, played by someone called Randy Wayne unsurprisingly; as the sensible one, he may be slightly less moronic than the others). Not one of them isn’t punch-able. Blemish free, horny, rock kids with no personality but the ability to remind you at every turn, that if they really existed, you’d cross the road to avoid them. You just know there’ll come a time when one of them ‘has to pee’ – and sure enough, that box is ticked too. Lance Henrikson, who is a universe better than this party-fuelled shallow mid-island sweaty nonsense, makes a few appearances. But we don’t see much of him – there is so much more happening, man: the kids are getting drunk and stoned.

What on Earth makes directors/producers (Marty Murray) feel the necessity to clog up their projects with a host of personality-free, manicured non-descripts and drag their work down to the same level as every other such film? The quest to attract the opposite sex knows no bounds here. Powder-puff catwalk girls look coy as hunky males eye up their ‘candy asses’ (everybody probably works out when not copping off). Guys brag about chicks checking them out and pout sulkily when other chicks dismiss the idea due to jealousy. This pristine bubble of a world is crying out to be punctured.

Back in 1972, low-budget exploitation guru Pete Walker produced ‘The Flesh and Blood Show’ for about a fraction of the time and budget it took to cobble this shallow nonsense together. It wasn’t perfect, but made much better use of an isolated seaside theatre for some good creepy moments.

Although some effort is clearly made towards the end to inject some excitement into the proceedings (there is an effective moment when an army of ghosts watch the departing survivors from the water, but even the ghosts are good looking!), this is mainly dross – a routinely constructed tension-free horror with a cast of posturing cretins, scarce chills, and is ultimately a slick waste of time that leaves you gagging for it to end long before events stutter to a dribbling climax and soft-rock at last brings down the curtain.

This is a hidden gem of a production directed by Dominic Brunt, who in his ‘day job’ plays Paddy in missable UK soap opera ‘Emmerdale’. He has directed a number of horror films, and this one concerns two brassy market stall girls and what happens when they are blackmailed.

To begin with, this runs as a convincingly comedic venture with Bex (Victoria Smurfit) and Dawn (Joanne Mitchell) trying to keep their market stall afloat whilst fending off coarse but pretty hilarious amorous advances of low life customers (including eccentric oddball comedian Charlie Chuck as Nev). They also need to escape the extortion racket carried out by local villain Si (Adam Fogerty). Jeremy (Jonathan Slinger), a smiling charmer enters their lives and appears to have the answer to their problems.

Events twist and the reveals are rarely less than disastrous for the two leads. It seems extreme measures are needed.

The comedy just manages to stay the right side of reality – Bex and Dawn are necessarily sharp-talkers, living in an area crawling with men who simply want them for one thing. They have become ‘master of the put-down’, and they are extremely witty. When events become darker, and their families (including Dawn’s autistic son and eccentric mother played by Rula Lenska) are threatened, it is impossible not to wish Si and his blackmail racket a bloody, gory destruction. Whether or not that happens, is not for me to say – but there’s an animated sequence following the end credits that is not to be missed.

Great fun.

After a terrific opening involving a charismatic cop Detective Mark Lewis (Frank Grillo) investigating a houseful of apparent corpses, we flit back in time to find out how the tragedy occurred. Here, my heart momentarily sank, as it seemed we were to be treated to the dreaded ‘group of friends’ prevalent in films like this: fast-talking picturesque teens all bitter and moody because of some banal relationship disaster (one of the number, Michelle (Cody Horn) is secretly pregnant). But luckily, ‘Demonic’ only flirts with such soap-operatics to establish the characters before flitting back and forth to an interview with the only survivor, John (Dustin Milligan). Such back and forth shenanigans ensure you have to pay attention, which is of course, No Bad Thing. John, the poor sap, is being interviewed by psychologist, Dr. Elizabeth Klein (Maria Bello), who informs him he may go to jail as a result of the carnage and no other suspects.

I enjoyed this for many reasons. It’s dark and gritty, like a supernatural version of something like CSI and other punchy police dramas the US do so well. It is also set in Louisiana, a locale that brings happy memories of ‘The Mummy’s Curse (1944)’ – it may be by the Kharis association, but the raw, humid, swampy location seems to work well with this kind of horror. Also, the acting is universally good, with the young cast soon shaking off the shackles of initial worries concerning precocious, bland stereotypes. The production as a whole is polished and foreboding, faced-paced and atmospheric. Will Canon does an excellent directing job; all scenes are packed with visual interest that highlights every cobweb and speck of dust in the ramshackle house.

As the title suggests, demonic rituals appear to have been carried out at the remote house the five friends investigate. Unwisely, a séance is carried out which appears to unleash all kinds of spirits, none of them you would want to share an elevator with. Familiar jump-scare-tactics – upturned crucifixes, slamming doors, hideous faces in mirrors, use is even made of found-footage filming to confound what we think we know – all of these are used restrainedly and against a backdrop of convincing grit and gloom. There’s even a twist ending.

‘Demonic’ doesn’t set the world on fire, but is a fine, solidly produced way of spending 83 minutes.

This follow-up to the ground-breaking film that introduced many of us to the Found Footage concept is a ‘fictional re-enactment of events following the events of The Blair Witch Project.’

It starts promisingly, with Burkittsville residents being irritated and financially bolstered by the notoriety their town has attracted. Some dialogue is rank, (“There are always naysayers who come here and say … nay.”) and the characters are pretty unlikable and stereotypical (we are introduced to Kim (Kim Director) lying back on a grave, smoking, dressed all in black and daubed with heavy make-up – so she’ll be a goth then). Erica (Erica Geerson) is a Wiccan and therefore sensitive to whatever ‘curse’ may or may not be out there. They seem to be a bit stoned and listen to rock music and might possibly have just stumbled off a catwalk. Text book, picturesque teens. A disappointing development after the realism displayed by Heather, Mikey and Josh from the original.

This is a major flaw. Main character Jeffrey (Jeffrey Donovan) has a history of hospitalisation and is victimised by the local Sherriff (who seems to have strolled straight out of ‘The Dukes of Hazzard’). And yet because of his uncharismatic, postured playing, it is impossible to sympathise with, or feel anything for him or his plight. Tristine (Tristine Ryler) is really the only sympathetic, or realistic character present …

And yet, this sequel is undeserving of the critical drubbing it has received. It has some great unnerving moments: the stuttering doll-like creature Tristine sees in the hospital, the image of her drowning her dead, bloodied baby in a stagnant pond (would anyone who suffered a miscarriage during such an unnerving trip seriously then consider continuing with that trip?), the slow drifting into delirium … and the ending, where the group watch the recording they made of themselves and it contradicts their memory of events is a pretty neat way to wrap things up.

The temptation could have been to produce another docu-drama, but events here are deliberately stylised in such a way, the audience is in no doubt it is watching a professional production.

The locations are excellent and the whole production is very well shot, but I think ‘Book of Shadows’ is a (perceived) failure because while it is good, it isn’t brilliant – and it needed to be brilliant to match the virtually insurmountable success of the first.

“She’s a witch, maaan!”

This is a curious film that seems to be about many things, at least initially. Tyler (Stephen Chambers) sees his mother dead on the landing of his family home. She has overdosed on pills apparently, and the realisation sends him on a nervous break-down. When his friends come round, he is hiding in a cupboard. When they try to help him, he attacks them with a knife.

A while later, Tyler has seemingly recovered, helped by a course of therapy. To build bridges, he and his friends agree to meet in a snowbound retreat for a ‘boys’ weekend’. They seem to be a tight group, and soon, Tyler is back at the heart of the friendship – only Everett (James Gilbert) seems to want to scupper things; he seems determined to ply him with alcohol, which is inadvisable given Tyler’s course of medication.

Big lad Bobcat (Matthew Amyotte) sports a bald plate that is never, ever convincing. It is a curious directorial decision, but made so we can hear dialogue about baldness keeping him virile and ‘having the kids to prove it’ (which is an unknowing dig at Jim (Glenn Matthews), who is secretly impotent). All this spurs on further antagonism later.

So when Tyler, outside in the wastes alone, finds what appears to be a corridor in the middle of the woodland, he feels his sanity crumble. And yet he proves to be the only one who can see through the violent chaos that ensues between the group.

Sadly, at least for me, the latter half of the film dissolves into a trippy mesh of special effects and shouting. This would appear to be a logical progression from the enjoyably illogical events that lead up to it, but I found these developments less satisfactory, although Tyler’s story at least achieves a sense of closure within the chaos.

Samantha (Najarra Townsend) is a somewhat prickly, somewhat supercilious, usually unimpressed party girl who only has eyes (and smiles) for assured posh girlfriend Nikki (Katie Stegeman) – who is even less pleasant that she is! After being stood up at a party, Samantha has unprotected sex with BJ (Simon Barrett) – who may or may not have spiked her drink - only deciding against the idea once he is on top of her in the back of his car, the windows having had time to heavily steam up.

Seemingly as a result of this, Samantha begins to suffer a series of increasingly harrowing afflictions – heavy loss of blood, tinnitus, disorientation, cramps, heightened veins, hair-loss etc. Despite Samantha’s lofty characteristics, Townsend plays her very well and it is impossible not to empathise with her when her illness spirals out of control. What helps our empathy is the furthering reveal of Nikki’s character as utterly self-absorbed, and try as she might, Samantha will never figure in her life because she (Nikki) is always entirely preoccupied with herself and her sexuality.

To discuss the character of BJ– ‘Contracted’ opens with a scene of him having sex with a corpse in the mortuary where he works. It’s actually quite difficult to work out what is happening, which is a shame as the whole reason for Samantha’s decline is based on this detail. It is interesting that, for all his notoriety, we never clearly see his face (in the sequel, he is even played by a different actor).

Another slight issue I have is that the unfortunate girl’s physical decline is not always entirely consistent- sometimes her teeth are blackened, sometimes not; her eyes deteriorate into whiteness only to improve before deteriorating in the next scene. This isn’t a major problem by any means; it just means her transition from living to ‘other’ isn’t always a smooth one!

As a diary of what happens when pretty people are not so pretty anymore, this is interested and wince-inducingly watchable. It reminds me of 2012’s ‘Thanatomorphose’, which also features a young woman becoming increasingly decomposed and attempting to handle the situation alone. Here, the attitude of Samantha’s unsympathetic doctor (who judgementally suspects an STD) and mother appears to explain her reticence to seek further outside help.

Written and directed by Eric England, the first sequel (‘Phase II’) was released in 2015, and a further instalment is due for late 2017. I thoroughly enjoyed this, not ever knowing where the story was headed – instead, just ‘enjoying’ Samantha’s turmoil. Whether any explanations as to the nature of the malady will be revealed doesn’t really matter as long as the story is this horrifying and enjoyable.