Film Reviews by NP

Michael (Owen Szabo) and Julia (Elizabeth Kell) travel to the Rocky Mountains in order to spend a romantic few days alone together. A likeable duo, their never-ending foreplay is nevertheless nauseating, and yet this is how directors Brad Helmink and John Rauschelbach feel they need to convey their feelings for each other.

They meet proprietor Henry (Kevin McClatchy) amidst a carnage of general untidiness when they arrive. No hint of an apology forthcoming, Henry proves to be … a bit of a twit, really. Ignorant and arrogant yet formidable, he refers to the couples as ‘kids’, so it makes no sense when Michael subsequently tries to ‘bond’ with him by reminiscing about past sporting achievements and telling him how passionate a lover Julia is. As such, much of the couple’s time together now becomes an awkward three-way thing.

The well-being of the twosome isn’t helped by the discovery of a dishevelled young girl Desi (Mandi Kreisher), seemingly kept prisoner in a locked room of the lodge. Why she hasn’t made her presence known before now is made clear when her relationship with Henry – not his real name, by the way – is revealed.

‘The Lodge’ is ultimately a well-made, nicely directed, convincingly acted horror thriller. There’s a good slow build-up of menace aided immeasurably by the superbly hypnotic score by Yagmur Kaplan. Not the most original or ground-breaking story you’ll ever know, but it makes no claims to be – although the DVD cover’s proclamation ‘The Shining meets Cabin in the Woods’ is guilty of overselling its effectiveness.

For a project with a running time in excess of three hours, ‘Frankenstein: The True Story’ seems in a hurry to get on with it, at least initially. Five minutes in, and we’ve already witnessed the death of Frankenstein’s brother William and his subsequent frustration with the fatality; his fianceé Elizabeth (Nicola Pagett) is exasperated by his plans to thwart death by recreating life – it seems as if the telling of the story has almost started without us!

Once we’ve been hurriedly ushered in, the pace slows considerably and most of the first ‘chapter’ proves to be extremely talkie. Many ominous musings about creating ‘the second Adam’, some realistic dismembered limbs and the steady unveiling of the incredible cast notwithstanding; it is a necessary build-up to Frankenstein’s obsession getting more delirious, and with his friend Clerval’s passing, it is finally time to put the impressive laboratory set to good use.

David McCallum as Clerval – in this adaption, a medical man (and brain donor) even more driven than Frankenstein himself - is afflicted by a physical malady that fuels his intent. A plethora of famous faces also includes Ralph Richardson, John Gielgud, Tom Baker (only months before his acclaimed role in Doctor Who), Peter Sallis, Yootha Joyce, and – excellent as Prima – Jane Seymour. Considering that Leonard Whiting as Frankenstein is the least prolific in that gang, he is never upstaged by his co-stars; one wonders why he didn’t enjoy a lengthier career.

Michael Serrazin’s very human looking creature is something of a disappointment initially, purely because he is so un-terrifying. No misshapen monster, his slender, bandaged form is indeed what Clerval seemed to be striving for. And yet, like Michael Gwynn’s human monster in Hammer’s ‘Revenge of Frankenstein (1958)’, this is a prelude to genuine tragedy – that the handsome, playful, contented child-man soon witnesses his looks deteriorate cruelly. It is telling that when ‘pretty’, his childish ways amuse his creator – as ugliness begins to take hold, Victor loses patience with him. Serrazin puts in a consistently superb performance throughout, ranging from charming, to vulnerable, miserable, vengeful and downright demonic.

The second and final chapter begins after the Creature’s unsuccessful suicide attempt and it is during this episode the already tenuous titular claim of a ‘true’ story becomes even more fractured – but that can be forgiven when the results are so entertaining.

Prima proves to overshadow the original creation in every way possible – embraced by high society, loved by all she meets, in fact infuriatingly perfect – especially at manipulation and bitchiness. In possibly this story’s most famous scene, she pays the price. The only bit of the original Agatha, with whom the creature had formed an attachment, is her head; in a splendid scene, in front of all, the dishevelled, betrayed, deteriorating creature, violently removes it.

After this, the pace enters the uneven phase it did at the beginning. In no time at all, a ship bound for America is an epic battle ground. The creature, now full of understandable hate, has a demented, fiendish persona – laughing as he hoists the terrified Polidori to his death (his – or Clerval’s – mocking chants of ‘Poli Dolly’ thrown against the stormy skies), reduced to skeletal scraps by the lightning he deplores.

Despite some unconvincing day-for-night shots, and a lacklustre dummy used for a clifftop stunt, this remains a visually impressive spectacle. ‘The True Story’ is an intelligent, brilliantly played take on the original novel. It also contains nods (deliberately or otherwise) to other filmic versions and yet presents its own very memorable version of the classic tale.

This terrific slow-burner is Spanish Director Jess Franco’s old dark house mystery in the style of a giallo – a historical one, no less. It is a spectacularly underrated film – consistent, intriguing, well-played and possessed of some impressive twists.

Lina Romay, in possibly her best role, plays Rita, shamed servant girl. Without the distraction of hubby Franco’s predilection for sex and gore, her performance shows what a true talent she was. Rita is humble and subversive, a million miles away from many of the other parts she played. Antonio Mayans, who would star with Romay years later in the notorious ‘Mansion of the Living Dead (1984)’, is excellent as Alfred, who may or not be Rita’s brother. Franco himself, never a hugely impressive actor, also gives what maybe his best performance as drunken old lawyer Andy. Dependable Alberto Dalbés as Major Brooks and Vincente Roca as Inspector Bore (pronounced ‘Borey’, fortunately) also spice up the 74 minute running time.

The direction is restrained – no lingering, graphic sex scenes or manically zooming lenses here – and really conveys a classic haunted house thriller. Indeed, Edgar Allen Poe is credited as an inspiration in the opening moments, although there is nothing specifically similar that I can see.

A darkly shot project – occasionally too dark – this drips with atmosphere, with Franco making the most of his splendidly intimidating location.

It is my own fault, of course. Watching a film about cannibals, directed by Jess Franco, was always going to be a gross experience. And true to form, only a short time into the 90 minute running time, explorer Professor Taylor’s wife Elizabeth has been eaten alive in uncomfortable close-up. The effects are far from sophisticated, the camera-work deliberately blurred, but this raw direction makes the gratuitous suggestions of innards being torn out and offal eaten wince-inducing and repulsive (the close-ups appear to be repeated later on in further attacks – which are mercifully few and far between). Jerry Taylor (Al Cliver) subsequently has his arm torn off, but otherwise manages to escape the cannibals who have invaded his would-expedition. Worse for his daughter, Lana. The cannibals have kidnapped her, calling her their White Goddess.

But not to worry – the wayward acting and truly atrocious dubbing numbs any effect of elongated revulsion. I am watching the French version of this, dubbed into American. As soon as a character speaks, we are relegated to the production levels of a porn flick (although there is no sex on display here, rare for a Franco film). Equally, guaranteed to break any intended atmospherics, the jazzy Daniel White music is typically inappropriate (other credited composers are Roberto Pregadio and Franco himself.

Years later, after being nursed back to semi-health by Lina Romay as Candy Coster as Ana the nurse, Taylor vows to return to the ‘jungle’ (which looks like a palm tree park and is shown to be located on the edge of bustling civilisation) with a group of people led by a rich couple who don’t believe his story anyway and think the whole thing will be a bit of fun. As luck would have it, by this time, his daughter is now a beautiful, blow-dried blonde (17 year-old Sabrina Siani, described somewhat uncharitably by Franco as the worst actress he had ever worked with). She is still the white goddess to the cannibals, however, most of which are moustachioed Caucasians with curiously hip haircuts. “Death to the white invaders,” yells the cannibal chief at one point, presumably not noticing the majority of his tribe are white themselves.

Franco’s disinterest in the cannibal genre is something he has never been shy about and it is possible these films were foisted upon him by producers at Eurociné. As such, much like his ‘Oasis of the Zombies’ a couple of years later, this is a perfunctory work – quite enjoyable and not without merit, but containing little that is compelling. The best thing is the acting from Romay/Coster and Al Cliver, whose performance is head and shoulders above anything else here.

Lana as a child is played by ‘Anouska’, who also played the little girl Helena in the film Franco deserted, ‘Zombie Lake (1981)’, subsequently directed by Jean Rollin.

This project is also known as ‘Die Blonde Gottin (The Blonde Goddess)’, ‘White Cannibal Queen’, ‘A Woman for the Cannibals’ and ‘Barbarian Goddess’.

After the splatter-coloured opening credits, action man John Harrington (Stephen Forsyth) introduces himself in a voice-over as a paranoiac. Seemingly trapped in a loveless marriage with a wife who will not let him go, he is haunted by psychedelic dreams of some childhood trauma that seem to be tipping him towards murder. I describe him as an ‘action man’ not because he commits acts of great physical prowess, but because his perfectly manicured, coiffured, extravagantly made-up appearance makes him look like a male doll. Despite the distraction of his exquisitely chiselled features, Forsyth is good in the role, and throws himself into the character’s apparent lapses into violent insanity.

Director Mario Bava emblazons the picture with lush, packed visuals, much use of garish colour and hallucinogenic effects and the rasping musical strains of Sante Romitelli. He even at one point has the characters watching a scene from his own ‘Black Sabbath (1963). Although I feel that Bava’s style is too garish and brash to generate any real sense of horror – and I realise I am in the minority with this – Harrington’s continual confusion as to whether his wife is haunting him or not is well conveyed. With no real answers forthcoming, it is a genuine mystery as to what quite is going on.

While the regularity with which his dead wife appears and disappears threatens to get monotonous, this remains a solid entry into the giallo genre. If you are a fan of Bava’s work, there is undoubtedly much to enjoy here. As an entirely personal note, I find his style too stylised for my tastes and tends to obscure, instead of enhance, the mood.

There’s something faintly ludicrous about the opening shots of this ‘found footage’ entrance into George A Romero’s entry into his ‘Living Dead’ series. A live news broadcast is interrupted when corpses in the background come back to half-life and start attacking those around them. To me, found footage works best when you don’t see too much – the characters on screen reacting to something out of the audience’s vision works very well in that style. Fully made-up zombies fit better into a more stylised, ‘professionally filmed’ scenario.

Things don’t improve hugely when we meet a film crew, including actors playing actors playing both in front of, and behind the camera. ‘Hilarity’ ensures when two cast members ‘have to pee’, leaving the rest to view on the news reports how the dead are coming back to life. Amongst the teens, we have a uproariously well-spoken elderly ham Andrew Maxwell (Scott Wentworth) who clearly feels he’s demeaning himself by appearing in the film being made. Whispering, identical horny youngsters, someone (Jason – played by Joshua Close) who films *everything* despite being repeatedly asked not to, posturing, wall-to-wall expletives – all the staples of a teen horror, and by Romero’s standards, BAD. Apart from anything else, the advantages and unique qualities of the archive formula are simply not used here. The ‘story’ doesn’t need to be told in this way, and is just a gimmick. Could it be Romero was seeking financial success by attempting to attract the youth demographic?

It is explained at the beginning that, to make events more frightening, the young film-makers have added incidental music to events – and yet failed to edit out moments when (as is always the way in these things) the cameras start to fail and cut off.

Anyway, as events fail to progress, I am gagging for some cadaverous zombie to limp in and violently dismember people. When they eventually turn up, they are half-hearted, under-made-up and easily dispatched. The alleged good guys remain personality-free, rather a growing band of posers ‘doing what they gotta do’. How did Romero allow this to be made? To spend so much time with these people and for not one of them to effect any kind of personality for the duration is one thing, but when the undead action is as scarce as it is here, it makes for a hugely dull experience.

Happily, the next in the series ‘Survival of the Dead (2009)’ is a huge improvement on this.

In the midst of the inexplicable success of 1999’s CGI-fest ‘The Mummy’, this sequel to the previous year’s ‘Bram Stoker’s Legend of the Mummy’ slithered out onto the straight-to-video market. Like that first entry, this is cheap, hackneyed, badly acted and clichéd. However, whereas the first film barely featured a Mummy at all, this time we see more of the creature – much more. Christopher Bergschneider, billed as Anton Falk, plays a shorter, more overweight Mummy than I have ever seen, and is impossible to take seriously. By its very nature, such a creature should be skeletal, cadaverous, and that is not the case here. So it must be tongue-in-cheek. You would think. But no – it is played straight, or as straight as can be by this group of second graders. Strangely (or not), hunky braggart Morris (Michael Lutz) is the most convincingly played – you fully believe he is a lazy, arrogant, ignorant braggart. Also, he clearly fills the tight boxer-shorts he parades round in well enough for the casting director.

So then, an ancient Mummy has been found and placed in an insecure country compound and is placed on a slab, entirely open to the peccadillos of the young students staying there. Cretin Morris takes away an amulet so to impress chipper, chirpy Janine (Michelle Erickson), whilst Norman (Trent Latta), the butt of everyone’s jokes – who initially appears to be autistic – is actually an Aztec priest. Luckily for Morris, Janine is instantly in love with him when he gives her the amulet, so that’s nice. The big fat Mummy, buried with a circular blade (which makes you wonder why he didn’t use it to slice his bonds and escape his incarceration all those thousands of years ago) stalks the compound during an endless storm after the picturesque young people. For a compound, the location seems more like an average sized house, which is adequate, as only about 7 people are staying there.

Actually, I quite enjoyed this. It’s not quite so bad it’s good, but it is along those lines. The dialogue is ham-fisted and clichéd, but it’s eventful, well-paced and as cheesy as a cheese-burger in a stilton sandwich. It is an old style chiller – although not really very chilling – with a small budget and an undistinguished cast. It just isn’t particularly good on several levels, but perfectly enjoyable on another.

“Your time on this planet is over, Don!” I’m pretty sure that dialogue has as much to do with Bram Stoker as everything else on display here. And yet I still enjoyed this more than the Brendan Fraser efforts.

Once you have been introduced to the non-descript but bombastic strains of Universal’s familiar opening music, and a hand wiping away cobwebs on the credits to reveal the film’s title, you might be lead to believe this isn’t going to be a measured, skilfully balanced exercise in horror. By this time, the name Lon Chaney (no longer ‘Jr’) topping the bill pretty much guarantees a monster stomp-around to give the kids a scare and amuse the adults. Veteran Evelyn Ankers also stars (she and Chaney often shared a fractious relationship professionally, but she starred in many films with him). However, it is a black wigged Louis Allbritton who plays the female lead, Katherine Caldwell, the flowing robed maiden with a faraway look in her eye who has the dubious privilege of marrying the curiously named Alucard. But hang on – Alucard backwards is … oh, of course.

It could be argued that the chunky, out-doorsy Chaney is miscast in many of his horror roles. He is, I think, no more suited to playing a seductive vampire lord than he is to playing a cadaverous mummy or a sympathetic Frankenstein monster. And yet, with that in mind, he makes a particularly good job of the role here. Restrained for the most part, quietly spoken and disinclined to overplay the titular character, it comes as little surprise that, rather than the son, he is playing Dracula himself!

The story, by Universal veteran Curt Siodmak, is very good – creepy, and tinged with a macabre sense of romance and lost love. The loser is Frank Stanley, the hero, who is not afforded any kind of ultimately conclusive ending. Robert Paige plays him exceptionally well, making his decline a convincing emotional journey. The other Siodmak, Robert, co-directs this effectively too, making the most of the supernatural elements. The first meeting of Alucard with his bride, features the vampire emerging as mist from a floating coffin, and then appearing to hover above the water. Although the effect is attempted very economically, it is a great moment. Later on, Stanley shoots at Alucard; Katherine shelters behind him, and the bullet passes harmlessly through the Count and into his wife, apparently killing her. Later, the image of the bat biting its victim is captured in silhouette. All terrific stuff.

The story follows the machinations of the original film – Dracula has a face-off with his knowledgeable nemesis, in this case Professor Lazlo (J. Edward Bromberg), and is overcome by the power of goodness; later, a child is found with mysterious bite marks. And yet events are handled so engagingly that there’s never a sense of restatement.

This is a refreshingly sinister and engaging film, sometimes unfairly lumped in with the Universal ‘quickies’ produced around this time. It is very intelligently and respectfully written, and to my mind, Chaney has never been better.

The effects of ‘The Blair Witch Project (1999)’ should never be underestimated in my view. With it came to many peoples’ attention a whole new way of telling (mainly horror) stories: found footage. It was a phenomena, a huge low-budget hit. The inevitable backlash from the fickle public mainly whinged about the effects of ‘shaky’ webcam making the delicate souls in the audience feel queasy. Imagine then, if a film could be told using static security cameras endlessly filming every room in a haunted house. Perfect! For a limited time, it was certainly very effective.

Katie and Micah live in the unlikeliest haunted house. No dank corridors or Victorian era décor – this is a thoroughly modern homestead devoid of dank shadows and possessed cellars. The couple are likeable and real, and Katie Featherstone and Micah Sloat are naturalistic performers and have a certain casual chemistry. The production is genius in its simplicity. Watching stilted views of familiar rooms command the attention, dare the audience to examine every inch of the scene for any sign of unnatural movement – and even if nothing happens, there is growing tension merely in being so drawn into it.

Micah’s scepticism in the face of visiting psychic (Marc Fredrichs) marks him out quite early as fairly vexatious, especially when Katie seems to have been sensitive to paranormal activity from a young age. And yet every horror film needs a sceptic. I remember being very irritated by him when I first saw this, but watching again, I find he is a lot more understanding than I gave him credit for.

Unspectacular occurrences are a lot more effective because they are filmed as ‘live’, and we get the couple’s instant, undiluted reactions to them. The scene where Katie is simply standing beside the couple’s bed, staring at Micah’s sleeping form, doesn’t sound much on paper, but is incredibly sinister. Such moments, gradually built up throughout, are simple and unnerving – far more so in this film than in the numerous sequels and prequels, which desperately introduce new characters and build unreasonably on the ‘curse’ (which is not that interesting) to try to maintain the interest. To my mind, the only sequel that works is 2014’s ‘The Marked Ones’, because it is a fairly self-contained ghost story in its own right.

Yet ‘Paranormal Activity’ should have remained a very effective one-off, in my view. Its huge success persuaded Paramount Pictures, who had bought the film from its original independent distributors, to add a new ending, which would then lead into further numerous ways of wringing money from what had become a new franchise.

At the end of my first viewing of this, I had to turn all the lights on in every room, just to make sure there wasn’t a figure standing there. A sure sign the film has done its job …?

I’m a firm believer that rain can add atmosphere to any scene, whether on film, television, book or photograph. The downpour that accompanies many of the events at the beginning of this Duccio Tessari directed giallo is welcome after the very lengthy introduction, via a never-ending opening credits sequence introducing many starring characters.

The rainstorm adds additional horrific grit to the murder of beautiful student Françoise Pigaut (Carole André), after which toupee-sporting sports presenter Alessandro Marchi (Giancarlo Sbragia) is arrested. We then learn his wife is having an affair with his lawyer, and that even after Marchi’s incarceration, further murders take place …

‘The Bloodstained Butterfly’ has garnered much praise for resisting the flamboyant nature of many giallos and concentrating, in a very measured way, on the various characters and possible murderers. The police investigations are methodical and Silvano Tranquilli’s Inspector Berardi and his men spend as much time in the dark about things as we are. The reluctance to dwell on gore, sex or elaborate plot details tend to make many events quite dull viewing in my view.

Usual giallo standouts are very much in evidence here: Gianni Ferrio’s score is wonderful, the locations, drenched in sun or hammered by rainfall, are spectacular throughout. The reveal at the end is entirely in-keeping with the restrained manner throughout the 95 minutes – satisfying but hardly spectacular.

Clearly made on a shoestring budget, at nearly two hours much of the interest in the fabled witch in the woods wears thin - which is a shame, because this film has its heart in the right place.

Stefanie Tapio plays Deb, an appealing young photographer who occasionally exhibits a callous nature. Although she looks about 12 years old, she and her friends are presented as a variant on the usual ‘rock chick’ – their exploits are accompanied by high school grunge music, and they spend a fair amount of time discussing the merits, or otherwise, of ‘boys.’ But they are an otherwise unaffected bunch, and worlds away from the usual manicured prom brats we often get in stories like this. The acting is occasionally ropey but competent for an independent film. What lets things down though is the sluggish, drawn-out plot. The first half in particular drags and it is a pity some judicial pruning didn’t cut the running time down by about half an hour.

Things become rather more interesting when friend Karen (Karis Yanike) appears to get kidnapped by a spooky bunch of hooded figures in the woodlands. No-one else seems remotely bothered about her disappearance. Added to that, after a mysterious illness sweeps over Deb’s family, she teams up with brother Mark’s friend Brent (Jeremy Gillmore) to try and make sense of this blurred mystery.

The small town gradually cut off from normality due to this spreading sickness is effectively, and economically, conveyed. The low budget allows the blossoming curse to project an intimate, sticky, dirty sense of horror. The finale is unspectacular but surprisingly creepy. Lovecraftian, even. Whilst effective, it is a pity it didn’t end more conclusively. After staying with Debs for so long– Director and writer Dorothy Booraem (this film marks debuts both for her and Tapio) clearly put a lot of work into every scene, and she was determined to use it all – it would have been more satisfying had the denouement not been so opaque.

This is a very early giallo film, and already makes really good use of what would become staples in the genre. Lurid colours (lots of blues and deep reds and mauves), lots of young ladies the victims of violent distress, a mysterious black gloved killer, and some briefly gory scenes.

It seems to me that Director Mario Bava’s eye for exaggerated colour palettes inspired films like ‘Suspiria (1977)’, and the music by Carlo Rustichelli also adds to the striking visual set-pieces.

A dazzling and gory production for its time, the story beneath is somewhat ponderous and something I found difficult to engage with. As with ‘Suspiria’, I found the directorial flourishes a distraction rather than an enhancement, although certain scenes undoubtedly work very well. The characters are somewhat drowned in the stylish presentation too, although the acting throughout is accomplished.

The number seven crops up more than once in Giallo films – ‘Seven Deaths in the Cat’s Eye’, ‘Seven Blood Stained Orchids’, and this. Doll faced beauty Barbara Bouchet plays Kitty, surviving sister to Evelyn, a precocious, violent creature, who has seemingly perished. However, events seem to emulate the old family curse in which, every hundred years, the ‘Red Queen’ is raised from the dead to kill seven times. Classic images of stabbings by an unknown black-gloved figure with dark hair and a red cloak (1973’s ‘Don’t Look Now’ imagery seems to owe a lot to this) follow.

Red actually crops up rather a lot in this, on clothes and cars – splashes of crimson in the midst of pleasingly rainy night scenes; either a subtle clue as to the identity of the killer or a ‘red’ herring.

Magnificently moustachioed Marino Masé plays the chief inspector (Toller), the dapper gentleman trying to unravel this enigma, whilst looking uncannily like Freddie Mercury in certain scenes. This whole dark mystery is presented very much as a television horror/thriller than a film – more so than most giallos, I’d say.

The ghost-faced killer is featured only very sparingly, which is a shame as she is featured prominently on promotional material and looks effectively sinister.

Another well crafted, solid giallo film.

Miguel (Alexander Waechter), a man afflicted with a particularly unrealistic facial scar, is sent to an asylum for rape and murder. With little evidence that he is cured, he is released five years later and immediately resumes his hobby of peering and leering at highly made-up women bedecked – barely – in stunning early 1980’s attire. One reason for his behaviour appears to be his forbidden love for his sister Manuela (Nadja Gerganoff), who is happy to parade herself around him in suggested poses and revealing clothes but is appalled at continuing their forbidden relationship.

Various characters come and go, sinister suggestions of stalking young girls is accompanied by Gerhard Heinz’s mostly magnificent score (Pink Floyd were originally approached), and improbable and brightly coloured murders take place.

Euro sleaze, eurotrash, eurotica or euro-horror: there are plenty of labels for allegedly exploitation films such as ‘Bloody Moon’, but a lot of them are unfairly maligned by the lazy definition. A lot of films directed by Spanish Director Jess Franco are far better than their reputations suggest. This, however, fits squarely within that category (Franco himself has labelled it s**t). It is Franco’s contribution to the slasher genre.

The first half is remarkably tame. For the most part, watching this is something of a chore, with much of the running time seemingly made up from scenes spliced in from other films. Stunning locations and pretty girls and boys aside, this is something of a chore, especially when the characters display such unstinting stupidity, often on the promise of sex.

Yet it is worth continuing. The murders increase in frequency and bizarre gratuity (beheadings, stabbings and a knife protruding somewhat improbably from a nipple). The character of Angela (Olivia Pascal) staggers from witnessing one obscene set-piece after another and understandably is the scream-queen of this particular project. The scenes she witnesses actually gather together the somewhat isolated moments from earlier on and give them a coherency I wasn’t expecting.

In the end, against my earlier misgivings, ‘Bloody Moon’ ends up with a satisfying bloodbath filled with imaginative moments and a fairly convincing twist. Not Franco’s best film, then, but somewhere in the middle.