Film Reviews by NP

Daisy has come to Hollywood to pursue her dreams. The apartment and surrounding areas where she lives are less than salubrious so she is confident her personal taser will halt any unwanted advances. With that kind of forethought, it is only ever a matter of time before she’s beaten to death. It happens with a hammer in the – currently under renovation – ‘luxury’ hotel, The Lusman Arms where she was staying. This place is populated by OTT stereotypes who are mainly played as caricatures. This gives The Lusman Arms a heightened sense of reality in which new arrivals Nell and Steven, refreshingly normal, seem instantly out of place.

Nell meets Chas Rooker, an elderly resident, whose job it is to provide (a) a sympathetic voice of reason, and (b) a lot of the backstory concerning how Jack Lusman, an occultist who built the place, mysteriously disappeared many years ago.

When the (implausibly and awkwardly framed) attacks come from the black-clad killer – utilising hammers, drills etc – the victims have proven to be so ridiculously excessive in character, the murders take on a cartoonish aspect, which I find neither terrifying or particularly amusing. Only towards the end, when the killer’s face is revealed in a long shot as he shrieks and howls like an animal in torment, does any sense of fear emerge. The stings and whirls of the incidental music that have been trying to convince us to be scared since the beginning, finally have some horror to embrace.

The idea of the building being cursed, and the killer being a ‘coffin birth, born of death’ is fascinating but is only briefly touched on. His possible spectral existence seems to have been eschewed in favour of whacky characterisations of the residents. This is a shame. The final ‘he’s dead – no he’s not – yes he is – no he’s not’ is inevitable before the thrash metal screams of the closing music roll over the credits.

The performances verge from the capable to the unconvincing (an abusive punk rocker is less than threatening). Only Angela Bettis as Nell really impresses, making the most of her character. She had proven excellent in the 2002 film ‘May’, in which she played a sympathetic outcast.

With one of the film’s final moments given away in the first few minutes, we find out that Jill’s boyfriend Adam is dead. Adam is that vital ingredient of any found-footage project, a fanatical film-maker. He spends so much time behind the webcam that we only really see him at the close, with an impressively rendered hole in his head.

Jill is a carefree wild-child, an unsuccessful artist who feels that a show staged inside an abandoned hospital, The Vergerus Institute for Troubled Women would help give her the exposure she craves, in more ways than one. Not long after they (illegally) enter the hospital, the couple talk about filming a sex-tape with her strapped to a bed. Momentarily abandoning her in that vulnerable position, Adam fails to realise that in his absence, she appears to have been entered by a malevolent spirit. From then on, her behaviour spills over from impetuousness into murderous intent and madness.

Sx_Tape is exceptionally well-played. Caitlyn Folley is terrific as the central character, persuasively and increasingly erratic. Her boyfriend Adam (Ian Duncan) is irritated by her behaviour, but goes along with her anyway. It isn’t until they meet up with two friends Ellie and Bobby that her behaviour gets really cruel. Bobby (Chris Coy) is an objectionable bully – we don’t know whether this is the influence of the spirits, or just an extension of his overbearing personality.

As the group unwisely re-enter the hospital, ‘Sx Tape’ becomes less focussed and less interesting, relying on endless investigation of (admittedly creepy) rooms and wards, punctuated by sightings of the very unfrightening spirit. Things are lifted toward the end as we realise the extent to which Jill has been influenced by the spirit, and yet further by an implausible ending which is nevertheless painfully amusing.

Online reviews have been unnecessarily scathing of ‘Sx_Tape’, mainly because any sexual activity is not as graphic as some people would like. As a found-footage project, I was thoroughly entertained by this, mainly due to the actors.

Scarlett Johansson won much acclaim for her playing for the unnamed woman in this strange and powerful film, which failed at the box-office, but received many positive reviews. She plays an unspecific alien who assumes the appearance of a young woman.

This reminds me a little of Chris Alexander’s ‘Blood for Irina’ (a favourite of mine which I mention at every opportunity!) – a wearied seductress who appears to have her victims ‘tidied away’ by an un-named male protector (or protectors), lingering scenes, not a lot of dialogue. Where it differs though, is in people’s reactions to the woman, who initially appears to pick up men with a calm confidence. They are mesmerised with her. The sight of hopeless Lotharios, alcohol fuelled antagonists who see her as sport, or those who just want to molest her. There are two exceptions. One man she picks up suffers from a facial disfigurement – his shy, inexperienced exchange with her is difficult to watch. She is fascinated with him, and he survives (for a while) the fate usually bestowed on her ‘conquests’. The other exception is a quiet reclusive man who genuinely seems to want to help her (her confidence has been worn away and she becomes virtually somnambulistic by this point – quite why is not clear), but there closeness comes to an end when sex is attempted and she appears incredulous at the workings of her own body.

We find out why in the next ‘episode’, in which a logger in a snowy forest attempts to rape her, and tears the flesh from her back, revealing featureless jet-black skin beneath. His sudden fear propels him to douse her in petrol and set fire to her. Her descent from dominant, confident protagonist to cowering, submissive victim is cruel and frustrating.

I can’t help but feel that a few more explanations might have made this a more satisfying experience. It is based on a book of the same name which leaves far less to the imagination. However, this is a fascinating film, beautifully acted. It looks wonderful too, from the sight of the beautiful Johansson in relentlessly freezing, harsh conditions, to the brief but incredible glimpse of her true form. Spellbinding.

This is a tremendous low-budget shocker from Ireland and it stars one of the most convincing casts I’ve seen in a long, long time. From dinosaur-obsessed little scamp Billy (Calum Heath – one of the most appealing child actors you will see) to a truly incredible performance from Rupert Evans as David, everyone plays their parts to perfection, and I don’t use the word lightly.

If I’m brutally honest, ‘The Canal’ could have done with being perhaps ten minutes shorter. The ordeals faced by David are plentiful, but sometimes – as is often the case in these films – the continual reversion to ‘normality’ after a particularly frightening incident occurs once or twice too often. Other than that, the writing, direction and acting truly place the audience in the position of not knowing whether David is being shadowed by a ghostly child-murderer or he is the killer himself. Even as the end credits roll, we’re still not entirely sure.

This is a close-knit, intimate horror that unfurls at its own pace, slowly revealing – or appearing to reveal – clues as to the truth of events. We are in skilful hands here. Writer/director Ivan Kavanagh ensures that any confusion we experience is entirely deliberate, and when the scares become graphic, we really feel for the characters affected by them.

If there is any justice, Ivan Kavanagh has a fine future.

This is Sir Christopher Lee’s third outing as Dracula, and this time he has some dialogue. Already the character is far more effective here than in his last appearance, despite not being directed by the poetically-inclined Terry Fisher. Instead, Freddie Francis is at the helm, and marks his territory with heavy use of toned camera filters framing certain scenes that enliven the sometimes drab greys of the sets.

To once again make up for the lack of Peter Cushing as Dracula’s sworn enemy Van Helsing, we have two heroic types. Monsignor Ernest Mueller (Rupert Davies) is the man with the relevant vampiric experience, and to take on the brawnier side of things is Paul (Barry Andrews). For the young hero to be a hot-headed atheist is an interesting departure (even if such a development makes the character somewhat arrogant and hard to like), and also reveals that you cannot successfully stake a vampire without believing in the powers of good. I like this idea. It provides a nicely grisly scene when Dracula is staked but refuses to die. Lee, who made something of a habit of publically lambasting these films, felt this went against the wishes of Bram Stoker – but there’s no denying the impotent staking is one of the highpoints of the picture.

As the title suggests, blood plays a big – if fairly impractical – part in proceedings here. Who would have thought that that gash on the fallen priest’s head (Ewan Cooper) would produce a trail of the red stuff that should trickle down a rockface and into the very mouth of the Count to resuscitate him? Perhaps it is Dracula’s inexplicable will that this should occur. Also, the first time we see Dracula is in a reflection, despite the fact that vampires cast no reflection.

Despite these flaws, this is an entertaining film, from its psychedelic opening titles to the (somewhat implausible) revelation of a drained girl stuffed into a church bell, and especially the impressive rooftop scenes which muster up the dreamy atmospherics Terry Fisher favoured. The casting is good; Veronica Carlson’s debut is delightful as the somewhat chaste Maria, as is Barbara Ewing as the more worldly-wise and therefore doomed Zena.

I’m not sure I see what inspires people to make films like this. Parodies are fine, but when the parody itself is made with much less money and sophistication than the genre it is parodying, it’s difficult to see the point.

I am assuming ‘Petrified’ is one such film. It doesn’t invite itself to be taken seriously, yet there is nothing here particularly amusing. The most successful aspect of it is the main creature (a vampire mummy who turns many of its victims to stone). For a low budget venture, I’ve seen far less convincing monsters. And yet any scene with the creature is played and shot so badly that even the most invested viewer must find it hard to take things seriously.

To allow for some mild titillation, events occur in a hospital designed to cure nymphomania. We see lesbians attempting to have sex. I mention this because it leads to a joke in the script which demonstrates the level of finesse on display.

Experiments are being carried out of some patients allowing them to appear younger than their real age.

“She’s actually 61 years old”, points out the doctor.

“Ew,” pouts her lover. “You mean I’ve been muff-diving an old hag?”

Another gem is this:

“This is not of terrestrial origin.” “What, you mean like E.T.?”

I might not ‘get’ this film, and that’s fair enough. If there are those that find this entertaining, then I’m glad: presumably those who wrote and produced it had a hoot. But it really isn’t for me.

In some ways this could be the most realistic found-footage film of all that I have seen – in that it’s often impossible to work out what’s going on. Equally, the depictions of the group of teenagers getting drunk and swapping embarrassing stories is immediately tiresome.

As the story goes, a man (Eoin Macken, who also writes, produces and directs) gains possession of a second hand camcorder, and on it he finds footage that appears to depict the final hours spent by a group of currently missing Irish girls. Spending an evening in an abandoned warehouse isn’t everyone’s idea of a good way to celebrate a birthday, and tempers are frayed from the outset. These are flawed people. When they are attacked by vagrants, however, it comes as a relief the camerawork is shaky and obfuscates the resulting raw abuse.

When it is revealed there is a bigger, supernatural threat at large, the pace of the film slows. We are treated to quite slow scenes involving the characters reacting to barely glimpsed creatures not dissimilar to those in ‘The Descent’, and some unexplained sounds of a baby crying.

The found footage formula ends when ‘The Man’ has reached the finale and we return to more coherent, slick direction of regular film-making for what I feel is the least convincing part of the story. Having seen a group apparently slaughtered by demonic forces in a location that is familiar, would you then take it upon yourself to investigate that very area, unarmed and alone? Because I wouldn’t. Yet that is exactly what the man does. Would he not hand over the webcam to the police?

I justify his actions in this way: we saw him pawn his ring for cash. Perhaps he has a drug habit and is reticent to contact the law? I wouldn’t suggest for a moment that people who pawn their goods are addicts, but it’s the only reason I can imagine he doesn’t contact professionals to deal with this. Much as this lapse of logic happens in horror films, I found it difficult to get past here, which mars an otherwise very effective feature.

At first I wasn’t expecting much from this film. It seemed initially to be a clone of the ‘Saw’ films, but it proved to become much more than that. A group of ably acted, abrasive characters wake up in an abandoned building with no memory of how they got there.

As the films rolls on, we become aware that they all have grim stories to tell; their flaws are many and it appears they may even have ended up in Hell – especially as one of their number Daniel (Jason Martorino) is revealed as major villain with an assortment of partially successful demons (thankfully untouched by CGI). Having cast the cultured-sounding Martorino, I question the wisdom of then giving him lines like ‘just kill the mother-fucker already’ which sound unconvincing.

And yet his performance is otherwise very good – and so is that of the little girl Ceilia (Ellie O’Brien) who manages a potent performance even when given some punishing lines. A very enjoyable film.

If ever there was a curse on a project, it was surely cast upon Bram Stoker’s ‘The Jewel of Seven Stars’, for the film adaptions of this story have been ill-fated and, for the most part, disappointing in their execution.

This is sadly no exception. A sprawling story anyway, this adaption seems to go to great pains to complicate events further with flashbacks, unclear narrative and characters it is impossible to care about. The production has dated more than many others; it’s not obvious that the 1990’s had a ‘look’ (unlike the garish ‘80’s or the flares and collars of the ‘70’s), but ‘Legend of the Mummy’ proves that it had and possesses that ‘look’ in spades. It appears the designers took their inspiration from daytime US soap operas.

The mummy itself gets scant screen-time and is often filmed in extreme close-up, so we only get a glimpse of a hand or a bandaged jaw. It spends most of the film ‘stirring into life’ so we spend far too long with bland characters and the running time seems to last a lot longer than 96 minutes, despite the musical score’s attempts to convince us exciting things are happening. By the fourth or fifth time the creature seems about to go on a rampage, my enthusiasm has been strained.

There are some good set-pieces and some others that don’t convince, and there are moments when thing seem at last to be building up some tension. This is always short-lived, though, and the finale, when we get there, is something of a mercy.

‘Dark Touch’ is very much open to suggestion. We are left with the impression of what is going on, but allowed to be certain of nothing. Young Naeve may well be abused by her parents, she may well have caused the conflagration that killed them. It is likely that she has some empathic understanding of other abused children, and it seems that they combine their unspecific telekinetic powers to gain a brutal kind of revenge.

Naeve seems both terrified of and embracing of her powers. Her parents and those who try ham-fistedly to understand her exchange meaningful glances with one another, but nothing is really said and no true progress is made.

‘Dark Touch’ is mostly filmed in stark, cold colours and visually contains many elements typical of horror films, of hauntings, and themes of possession. And yet this variant of (disturbing yet fantastic) themes is coupled with the (very real and abhorrent) subject of child abuse, which makes it difficult to categorise. Not that categorising a film is necessarily a desirable thing to do; often films that blur the line between subjects are very effective, but the approach often means that thematically, too many subjects are explored and none in satisfying detail for them to be truly effective.

As titles go, this isn’t one that trips of the tongue. The awkwardness continues throughout this low-budget would-be slasher, with variable acting and sound design. The opening moments, there to lure in the viewer, are amongst the least effective thanks to some artless CGI and mismatched sound dubbing.

Things pick up a little after the effective opening credits have rolled. One of the reasons I often enjoy low-budget productions is that they use, out of necessity at times, inventing ways of telling a story that negates the need for flashy effects. Such is the case here, with some interesting direction and camera angles used to partially obscure the details of some of the gory moments – of which there many. Much of the action takes place without dialogue, which adds an extra sinister layer to events.

This seems to be James Plumb’s project; he is credited as director and writer, but as the film is often a scene-by-scene recreation of a 1972 American horror, Plumb’s is a pretty ambitious claim. Discrepancies occur – the nicely seedy Wilfred Butler dies and leaves his house to grandson Jeffrey. When we meet Jeffrey, he immediately makes a bad impression – perhaps that is the point, inviting us to believe he is the masked, brutal killer who is this film’s violent protagonist. And Jeffrey is just a petulant boor with no charm whatsoever. When the killer is revealed to be Wilfred (not dead after all), we are left to wonder how old this man actually is, and how he manages to physically assault and kill so many people.

This is a fairly interesting, if mangled film in which the often underwritten characters’ sole purpose is the brief lead-up to their own murder.

‘Sometimes you get lost in the forest; sometimes the forest loses you.’

Set in a suicide forest in Japan (but filmed in Canada), it is the location that elevates this film beyond the ordinary. It looks wonderful, eerie, beautiful and is effectively lit.

The characters unadvisedly exploring the forest are a fairly likeable bunch of teens (which isn’t always the case) – there are the ‘nice’ kids (Maiko, Kyle, Terry and Amber) and there are the ‘idiots’ (Craig, Brody and Skylar - who think it’s a good joke to pretend to be a hanging corpse) – but as it turns out, the ‘idiots’ are more entertaining than their more saintly counterparts, especially as Maiko is, sadly, the least interesting of them all. Inexplicable, gory deaths and imaginative set-pieces abound.

The storyline doesn’t appear to make any sense other than our group of young friends are all victims of ‘a curse’. At one time it seems as if the police are involved, but events ensure they are as much victims of the curse as anyone. And yet, as the final reel reveals, they are at least in league with the evil. The confusion starts to become enjoyable toward the end, as if there is a dangerous chaos on display, but the film ends before this takes a satisfactory hold.

This looks good, is competently acted and has pace. It ticks all the boxes but fails to produce anything much that is out of the ordinary. A possible exception to this is that we don’t have a marauding mummy, but a human shaped jackal. This is not so much horror, rather an action adventure with horror scenes.

As a viewer and rabid fan of this genre, I wonder if my exposure to so many horror films has had a detrimental, difficult-to-please effect. If ‘The Pyramid’ was the first film of this type I had ever seen, would I be thrilled by it, unnerved by it, entertained by it? It is difficult to say, but the story fails to leave much of impression, even the resultant monster. Filmed in half-light, the scavengers glimpsed throughout are effective, but the ‘big reveal’ computer-enhanced creature at the end disappoints. This proves my firm belief that, unless done extremely well, CGI will suck the horror out of every horror film. The creature is nicely produced but is ultimately, just a cartoon.

This first ‘sound’ horror film opens with some stunning graphics. For years, silent films only had visuals to tell their story, so already the art of matte painting used as backgrounds had been implemented successfully. So as Renfield (Dwight Frye) makes his way by carriage through the Universal films backlot, it is transformed, very impressively, into Transylvania! The first words spoken are from Carla Laemmle, niece of studio founder Carl Laemmle (she died as recently as 2014 aged 104).

After local murmurings of vampires and Walpurgis Night, the camera allows us inside the dusty basement of Castle Dracula, where small animals scamper away as a selection of coffins betray their supernatural hosts. Three somnambulistic women and one man are revealed in near silence. These are beautiful, classic horror scenes. Dracula moves but rarely speaks. When he does, it is to welcome Renfield and then glides up a colossal stairway leaving his somewhat fey guest scrabbling through outsized spider’s webs.

Bela Lugosi had been playing Dracula on stage for some years and by 1931 made the role his own on film. It was a sensation. For a few months, he was an undisputed movie superstar, a horror icon. This story – which he described as a blessing and a curse – would be mentioned in virtually every interview and article about him until his death. He is magnificent, alien and captivating in these opening moments. The first time you see him, you notice how theatrical he is. When you watch him again, he is never quite as theatrical as you remember. He moves slowly, like a hungry lizard and is at one with the thick, macabre, frightening atmosphere – when he is removed from that, however, his performance takes on an anachronistic aspect.

After an opening that is as near perfect as any in horror, Renfield loses his mind and is presided over by Martin, a warder at the sanatorium, (a truly grotesque, comedy-mock-cockney character who refers to his client as a ‘loonie’) and the horror is restricted almost entirely to Dracula’s persona (on the rare occasions he is on screen) because the action is placed very much in the (then) present day. From here, it seems very much that we are watching a filmed theatre production, a drawing room drama. The camera barely moves, performances are very crisp and clear and static. The heroine Mina (Helen Chandler) is a meek, fragile, bloodless thing (perhaps The Count prefers subordinate females to Frances Dade‘s feistier Lucy) and her beau (David Manners) is even wetter. Of course, it is easy to note the difference in filmic styles from over 80 years ago – but ‘Dracula’ has dated less well in this respect than other films made during this era.

As The Count is staked by Edward Van Sloan’s Van Helsing, it is off-screen. We hear a groan (trimmed on the insistence of the censor) and it is rather anti-climactic. One would have hoped that any sequel would give Lugosi’s Dracula a more memorable send-off. What a shame it was with Abbott and Costello, 17 years later.

Horror was a largely unknown genre in 1931, so Universal’s trepidation was understandable. Whilst Lugosi approached his role with full-blooded confidence, it’s a pity the studio didn’t do the same.

This is an example of what makes a successful found-footage picture. Two likeable film-makers Jodie and Kevin (Jane Barry/Geoff Pinfield) visit a ‘doomsday cult’ populated mainly by women and lead by Michael (David MaCrae). They appear unnaturally happy and contented. Something is clearly wrong, but answers aren’t forthcoming in any great hurry. When they come, they are covered in a subtle way – strong hints of necrophilia, murder and a not unpredictable final outcome are covered in a solid, entertaining manner. Solid is one thing, however, and I found myself wishing the excellent performances (Barry and Pinfield have great chemistry, and MaCrae succeeds in making Michael a thoroughly convincing, unhinged monster) and mood of unease could have been embellished with a few more genuinely frightening scenes. What we had, even at the end, was fairly repugnant, but not terribly frightening.

As is sometimes the case with found-footage projects, the ending is open to interpretation. Although events certainly appear to be heading in a certain direction, I didn’t expect things to end as they did. (Spoilers) There were four different endings shot, and this is the one the crew were most happy with. I’m not sure I wouldn’t have preferred the character of Kevin, who disappears towards the end, to reappear. Still, with the ending as it is, the earlier prophecy of ‘apocalypse’ might well have come to fruition …

A mention too for the tremendous cinematography. Misty early mornings and sunrises certainly make the idea of the isolated cult seem an appealing one, even if their methods were a lot less wholesome.