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Reviews
Wrong Turn 2: Dead End (2007)
This whole film is a complete Dead End
Wrong Turn 2 has probably the most apt film title of the year. Dead End. That just about says it all. How this film ever got out of the block I will never know.
The original Wrong Turn from 2003 was a genuinely atmospheric horror, with both suspense and characters to the fore. You can tell just how bad WT2 is by the fact that the first grisly murder takes place within five minutes of the film starting.
We are then plunged into the middle of a reality TV show involving six - or is it seven? - celebrities. Henry Rollins pops up as a US Marine, brought in to 'kick ass' while the various celebrities bicker and squabble as they are paired off and then go off into the woods to see if they can survive more than half-an-hour without a Mars bars, a mobile phone, or a roll of toilet paper.
So far so good, and I will admit I did almost enjoy the first thirty minutes. But boy, once the mutants appear, the film goes downhill faster than an episode of Dallas. The director was presumably trying to explore the 'mythology' of this mutant race by showing them up close and personal, but take it from me with people this ugly that's really not a good idea. There may also have been a bit of subtext about not judging others by their appearance, but again, given that the villains were so utterly repulsive, any message about not judging others on their looks is sort of lost as you reach in desperation for the sick bucket.
One of the more laughable scenes in the film involves Crystal Lowe trying to seduce a contestant down by the lake. Suggesting to the said contestant that he have sex with her on camera, the lovely Ms Lowe takes her top off to give the film its obligatory nude scene. But standing with her boobs on show is not the turn-on she hoped. Stunned when the object of her desire - the improbably named Texas Battle - rebuffs her advances, Crystal is further shocked to hear that the man's mother and six nieces would not approve of such behaviour. At this point you get the feeling Mr Battle is probably in the wrong movie.
As things get steadily worse we are subjected to some ludicrous so-called death scenes, as one by one the contestants meet a grisly end. In a film this bad a sense of humour can often be a saving grace, but unfortunately the script does not allow for it. The director, it seems, was going all out for blood and gore, but sadly all he ended up doing with is reviewer was provoking utter boredom.
My advice? - Watch the highly rated original, then forget they ever made a sequel. You'll thank me for it one day.
The Descent (2005)
Have we been here before . . . ?
Neil Marshall comes up with an idea for a horror film, and once again it smacks of everything from Deliverance to Alien, with more than a little Hammer horror for good measure.
The Descent is not a bad film, it's just completely unoriginal as, it seems, are all Marshall's films. The film starts with a clip of an accident, which I think involves a child dying. A year later the narrative picks up with six women uniting for a bonding trip as they go potholing. The mother of the dead child is on board, as well as one of the women who is, I think, subconsciously blamed for the accident. Either way, one of these women has 'issues' which you just know are going to come to a head at some point in a 'big scene' involving a confrontation and a few home truths.
Talking of truths, whenever I watch a Marshall movie I always get the sense I am watching a soap opera. Something like EastEnders. In other words something that tends to repeat itself over and over again.
After watching Dog Soldiers it confirmed my suspicion that Marshall, not unlike Wes Craven, is a man who can take an interesting premise and absolutely slaughter it up on the screen; and no, that's not a compliment, even though a horror director might take it as one.
Put simply The Descent is merely a mishmash of other horror films. There is a little of Deliverance in here - city types lost amid the wilderness - and a little bit of Alien - a group of people picked off one by one by a largely unseen monstrous entity, but The Descent never gets anywhere near the emotional impact of either of those two films. After watching Alien for an hour I felt like I knew the crew of the Nostromo; sadly, after watching this particular film I couldn't even SEE who was down in the cave, much less care about whether they lived or not.
Going by the other reviews on IMDb it seems Neil Marshall has his fair share of fans. Good luck to him, but on this evidence I simply can't see what the fuss is about. Perhaps next time someone should switch the lights on.
Dressed to Kill (1980)
Angie Dickinson in a slasher movie!
This is a glorious thriller, centred on Angie Dickinson - at least to begin with - a woman bored and frustrated by a largely dull marriage. She fantasises in the shower while watching her husband get ready for work, then recounts her problems to her psychiatrist.
On visiting her psychiatrist (Michael Caine), who encourages her to give voice to her feelings, she ends up in an art gallery. Making eye contact with a man who sits next to her, she ends up following him round the gallery, before then being pursued by him. None of this is particularly relevant to the plot, yet oddly enough, is in fact far more compelling than the plot. There are numerous close-ups; Angie looking surprised, Angie looking shocked etc.
It's all very glossily done, and very entertaining. But when she emerges outdoors everything turns, very briefly, into a sort of sex comedy.
Lured into a waiting taxi by her mystery man, she duly gives in to his advances. For Dickinson, very nearly fifty, the scene is one which will have you either laughing or groaning. Losing her panties, she ends up on the floor of the taxi, hard at it while in full view of the cab driver. As her mystery man brings her to a fast and furious climax, she ends up having an orgasm so loud it drowns out the car horns in the traffic. It's a hoot.
Later, in the man's apartment she wakes up and decides to make a quick exit while she can. But while dashing about stark naked, she can't find her panties (they are still in the taxi) before she then remembers she's left her wedding ring in her lover's bed (Whoops!). To top it all, she then finds out her mystery man may be carrying VD.
As the film lurches into violent murder, which dominates the second half of the picture, the characters, as watchable as they are, simply fail to convince as much as Dickinson's. This dizzy blonde, eager to put some passion into her life, and then suddenly stunned at the price of her actions, is both compelling, funny, sexy, and totally sympathetic.
For an actress about to hit fifty, I was intrigued as to why Angie Dickinson took the role. But then this is Hollywood. She was clearly ready to do the nudity - even going full frontal - and though the film does not quite match her talents, there is enough on show here (if you pardon the pun) to satisfy fans of both the slasher genre and those leaning to an earlier era of crime.
The Terminator (1984)
The other Six Million Dollar Man!
$100million or more may have been spent to make the much celebrated sequel, but this, the original, stays longest in my mind, and I suspect a good many other people's too.
For all the hype about T2, that film simply does not have the narrative drive which is on show here. Fusing the concept of time travel with the theme of assassination, James Cameron's picture has echoes of such classics as Day of the Jackal; the extra twist here of course is that the Terminator would appear to be indestructible. It's as though Steve Austin (TV's Bionic Man) had transformed into Mr Hyde.
By creating a tightly written thriller, with an almost claustrophobic sense of tension to it, Cameron proved right at the start of his career he does not need a mega budget to make a great film. Indeed, it's significant to note that the two finest pictures of Cameron's career, critically at least, The Terminator and Aliens, are also the two films with the smallest budgets.
T2, Titanic and Avatar have reaped over $4 billion, but hand on heart, can anyone honestly claim those pictures, in regard to writing, direction, and a compelling storyline come anywhere close to the tension and sense of drama which he manages to evoke here in less than a couple of hours? I seriously doubt it.
Manhunter (1986)
Brian Cox proves that less is more
Released back in 1986, and disappearing without trace at the box office, Manhunter brought Hannibal Lekter to the big screen, and perhaps more importantly, showed just how nasty he can be without any form of violence.
As two families are murdered a few weeks apart in the southern states of the USA, the FBI make a connection to a lunar cycle and realise their killer is following a pattern. With a deadline imposed, the next full moon, and no clear leads, FBI chief Jack Crawford, with some desperation, pulls a retired agent out of the field.
That retired agent is Will Graham (a compelling William Peterson) who is faced with the unenviable task of having to go and meet Dr Hannibal Lektor in order to try and gain some insight into the mind of the killer (the 'Tooth Fairy') they are chasing.
For my money the scenes between Graham and Lektor are every bit as good (if not better) than those between Starling and Lector in Silence of the Lambs.
The key difference here is that Michael Mann never allows the tension of fear to ebb away between Graham and Lektor. As Lektor (Brian Cox) sits on the edge of his bed, his dark eyes never moving from the young FBI agent, he is conversational, even pleasant with Graham. He talks about aftershave, and about various magazines. Then casually asks for Graham's home telephone number. Never has such an innocuous request been delivered with such underlying menace.
As Graham and the FBI continue their hunt for the 'Tooth Fairy' ( a similarly impressive turn by Tom Noonan) it is Graham's growing mental turmoil which underpins the film. Reluctant at best to help his former colleagues, he is furious to find his wife and stepson targeted at one point, and as the clock ticks down toward the next full moon and the leads dry up one after another, you can sense the growing frustration build in Graham. This is not a man on a career mission: he does not even want the job. But as he tells his wife partway through the film 'It's gotta stop! (meaning the murders).
One small but key scene comes early on aboard an overnight plane. With the crime scene photos laid out on his lap, a dozing Graham is jolted awake by a stewardess. The passengers are asking to be moved, unnerved by the content of the photos.
It is these small touches by director Michael Mann which give the picture its heart. Lektor is not a cool icon, despite what Silence of the Lambs would have you believe; he is what Graham describes him as at the start of the film. He is 'insane'.
That said, there is something undeniably fascinating about the power which Lektor exerts from his cell. Brian Cox's lines are hardly more than The Terminator's, yet he uses them just as shrewdly. Contemptuous of the authorities which hold him behind bars, and mistrustful yet oddly respectful of his nemesis Graham, Cox's Lektor is a man with time to burn, and a score to settle.
By contrast, the 'Tooth Fairy' is indeed a tortured soul. Resentful of society, and brutalised by a childhood which sadly the film does not touch on (for that you need the book), Tom Noonan brings depth and even sympathy to a character who has already murdered ten people before the film even starts.
Better or worse than Silence of the Lambs, the comparison makes no difference to Manhunter. It is mightily impressive from beginning to end.
Salvador (1986)
Fasten your seat-belts for a furious ride.
Salvador was made at the height of Reaganism in the 1980s, and depicts events in that country in the early 80s through the eyes of Richard Boyle, an American journalist.
Boyle is a walking disaster at the start of the film. It opens in San Francisco (I think), where Boyle has been dumped by his girlfriend, given an ultimatum by his boss, and then pulled over by the police for driving an illegal car.
The man is on borrowed time, and when he and friend Dr Rock hear of the tempting life on offer in Central America (cheap drugs, cheap booze, and easy women) they head for El Salvador.
Taking the film by the scruff of its neck, Stone drags this movie, kicking and screaming towards its ferocious climax.
We watch Boyle (a mesmerising James Woods) undergo something of a Damscus-like conversion as his hedonistic approach to life gives way to mounting fury as he sees first his new girlfriend's brother all but beaten to death, then one of his closest friends face an even greater threat as it becomes apparent the ruling force (a right-wing militia backed by US money) is rapidly destroying the country from within.
I notice some of the comments on IMDb seem to take issue with Stone's style of film directing, in short accusing him of preaching. In defence of him, ask yourselves this: how many other US film directors would even consider making a film like this? Quentin Tarantino perhaps? Maybe John McTiernan? What about Ron Howard or Steven Spielberg? Let's be honest, most of them would be too afraid of harming their careers by launching such an all-out offensive on the very nation which gives them such a privileged lifestyle. I'd probably be the same if I had their talent: play safe and get rich.
But that is exactly what makes an Oliver Stone film so special. Stone has probably never made a 'safe' film in his life, and I doubt he ever will.
El Salvador is perhaps the greatest film of a career which may yet have some more to say. The picture crackles with the energy of a director who is afloat on sheer passion and righteous fury.
The Texas Chain Saw Massacre (1974)
If Carlsberg made horror films . . .
Apologies for the tag line, but The Texas Chainsaw Massacre is, quite probably, the best horror film in the world.
Forget the script on this one, forget the camper van that's out of petrol, forget even the crazy old man in the opening ten minutes, and just concentrate on the growing sense of menace which Tope Hooper brings to the screen, under the veneer of a blazing hot Texan sky.
Van Gogh said orange was the colour of insanity. Well I think the soundtrack to this film is very possibly the SOUND of insanity. The screeches, the claustrophobic wailing, the sense that somebody is doing something nasty just off camera . . . it's almost like being in an abattoir (or what I imagine being in an abattoir is like).
This is one of the few films I've seen where you almost feel you can touch the picture, or even smell it. There is something palpable about what is being shown up on the screen. Tobe Hooper manages to convey a sense of realism which has rarely been reached before.
When one of the boys opens the screen door of the farm and calls out Hello . . . There is an utter silence. The only thing I think you can hear are the flies. Insects are shown in huge close-up, the hum of wasps sounds fleetingly like a blast of stereo. Even the long dry grass out in the back yard has a faintly eerie look to it as Sally and her friends stop off to look for petrol.
To be bluntly honest there is nothing new about the storyline. Five kids lost in a strange place has been a staple of horror for as far back as anyone can remember. What lifts this film above just about every other picture in the genre is the sheer presence of the film.
For those reared on a diet of modern-day horror (ie Scream, I know What You Did Last Summer, Cabin Fever etc) do yourselves a favour when you've an hour or so to spare and watch what happened when Tope Hooper and his crew turned up in Texas back in 1974.
This is the finest horror I have ever seen. It's got a minimal script and the characterisation may seem sparse to non-existent. It's worth noting though, the performance of Marilyn Burns as Sally Hardesty. It is hard to portray terror convincingly on screen. Very hard, in fact. Yet Burns at times seems almost to be losing her mind. Was that really acting we were watching, or was she just absolutely s@#* scared at what was happening to her?
Such is the visceral power of this film it is not hard to see why Tobe Hooper clearly found it such a hard act to follow. Having seen his Poltergeist film which followed in the 1980s, you can only speculate that his producers reined in the huge talent which was on display here in order to make Poltergesit more acceptable for a family audience.
Making films like this must be exhausting. After watching it for the first time on television I was numb for several hours afterwards. The Texas Chainsaw Massacre isn't simply a horror film, it is THE horror film.
Cold Comfort (1989)
Beware this good Samaritan
As the snow gets deeper and the night draws in, local outcast Floyd finds a stranded motorist on the edge of town. Taking the man home to his dilapidated house-cum-farm, Floyd offers the unconscious traveller to his teenage daughter Dolores.
The relief which the waking motorist Stephen feels at being rescued, is quickly replaced by one of growing discomfort and then fear as he realises he is at the mercy of an unbalanced and indeed psychotic man. Starting as it means to go on, the film turns the screw ever tighter on Stephen.
The most fascinating aspect of the film however is not the plight of Stephen, but the peculiar and even bizarre relationship between Floyd and his daughter.
After watching the film I did begin to wonder Is Dolores really Floyd's daughter at all? By taking stranded stranger Stephen back to his house, the suggestion is Floyd is a decent soul. But by then remarking casually to his daughter that, if she doesn't like him, they can 'feed him to the dogs' it is clear Floyd has lost almost any empathy with the outside world.
Dolores, by contrast, is an engaging and attractive girl. Touchingly played by Margaret Langrick, the girl is both excited by the arrival of Stephen, and intrigued by the glimpse of the outer world he offers, a life of hotels, restaurants, women and work.
As the two form a tentative bond, provoking the first stirrings of dangerous jealousy in Floyd, it grows increasingly clear Dolores will try any trick she can to engineer herself away from the rundown house and the isolated existence she lives with her father.
This brings me back to my original question: Is the girl really Floyd's daughter or the victim of an abduction? I did wonder whether Dolores may have arrived at the house in similar circumstances to Stephen; perhaps clutched as a baby from a tourist's car, or snatched from an unsuspecting mother.
The stark backdrop of the icy wilderness and a haunting score, add to the growing unease which director Vac Sarin creates from the opening moments. Few films have ever managed to convey in such compelling fashion the need for human contact.
As threatening and deranged as Floyd is, he is also deeply lonely and lacking in both physical good looks and social graces. He holes himself up in a house miles from anywhere presumably because it is (i) cheap, and (ii) the one place where no-one judges him.
Yet above that loneliness and insecurity simmers a psychotic temper, and a raging jealousy which is determined to keep Dolores by his side and stop Stephen at any cost from reaching outside help.
You want Stephen to escape what quickly becomes a nightmare, and even more for Dolores to somehow find a happy place in life, yet over them both towers the increasingly unstable Floyd.
Adapted by Richard Beattie from the play by James Garrard, the film maintains its tension right to the final moments. A claustrophobic and unsettling psycho-thriller, with winning performances, and an ending of haunting and poetic poignancy.
The Blair Witch Project (1999)
If you go down to the woods, PLEASE take more than one camera
After seeing this film way back when it was released I came out of the theatre struck dumb and feeling rather nauseous. Not due to anything horrifying up on the screen - if only there had been - but simply down to the jerky and repetitive camera-work.
Blair Witch is an admirable idea, yet the directors stick too rigidly to their premise. By using one camera they induced seasickness in me, and no doubt a good many other people going by the comments at IMDb. To provoke fear you often have to create a sense of scale and movement - think Jaws, Texas Chainsaw Massacre and Psycho to name but three. Fear is just as much about open spaces and a sense of isolation as it is about dark corners and close-ups.
Clearly the premise of the film - three film students, missing for five years - demanded certain limits on the storytelling, yet sometimes you have more to play with than you realise. If the story is that compelling, and in fairness the Blair Witch idea was good, no matter what the vengeful critics say, then you wonder how much better this film might have been had suddenly a second camera appeared, tracking the threesome through the woods. Told lucidly enough, the audience would probably not even question it.
Some of the reviewers of this film have been harsh to put it mildly. No, it's not a great horror film, but it is an important one if for no other reason than it shows what can be done with basic equipment and a few thousand dollars.
As I write this review, some ten years or so after seeing Blair Witch for the first time, we are in the middle of a recession, yet what d'you know, James Cameron has just spent $300million making Avatar, some ten years after spending $180million to make Titanic.
Perhaps what's really bugged the film industry, and even some of the audience, is that two young film-makers found a way to dwarf the mega budget releases of Hollywood with a film that made more money than 90% of Hollywood, yet for no more than thirty thousand dollars.
Blair Witch is not great, but it does have something important to say; namely that you don't HAVE to have a $300million budget in order to make a hit film these days. That surely, is reason to be hopeful.
London to Brighton (2006)
True greatness
Few films ever live up to expectation, and when I read the blurb for this one I did wonder if there might be a similar letdown.
Not likely, though.
Paul Andrew Williams has crafted a drama, with thrilling overtones, which could stand almost as a companion piece to Gary Oldman's Nil By Mouth from 1997. Yet this is a film which stands entirely on its own, and even puts Nil By Mouth in the shade with an ending both realistic and poignant.
The performances are excellent. Georgia Groome is disturbingly believable as a 12 year-old girl caught in the world of vice, and Lorraine Stanley, as a prostitute caught between her conscience and a need to stay alive, is similarly gut-wrenching. Also effective is Sam Spruell as a very unpleasant man called Stuart Allen, a man representative of the London underworld, and a man determined to track the above two young women down with frightening and horrific consequences.
The star turn though, is arguably Johnny Harris. As Derek, he will make your flesh crawl, yet, despite his many shortcomings - and be warned, his character is repellent - there is something also vaguely humorous about him. His facial expressions when talking and listening to his boss are comic to behold. Derek is terrified of Spruell's Mr Allen, and with good reason. That terror, combined with his own greed and need to save his own neck give the film an extra dimension.
This is a seriously good film.
It is not easy to watch, and some of the violence and language are hard to take, but in a tepid film industry such as Britain's, the arrival of a talent such as this should be noticed.
Paul Andrew Williams, it's time to make your next move. May it be as great as this one.
Dog Soldiers (2002)
My deepest sympathy to all werewolves . . .
Watching this well-meaning but deeply flawed exercise I was reminded of a classic John Carpenter film from 1976. Inspired by Rio Bravo, Carpenter decided to make a modern-day equivalent to that western and came up with the genuinely thrilling Assault On Precinct 13.
My point in mentioning this is there is nothing wrong in copying an idea from someone, just so long as you put your own stamp on it.
From what I've seen of Neil Marshall's films, this director - gifted though he is at staging action set-pieces - appears to have no idea of how to put a genuine stamp on anything.
Dog Soldiers is what you get if you go into the editing rooms of Predator, Alien, The Howling, the aforementioned Assault . . . and a dozen other action/thriller/horrors.
There is nothing remotely original about it. Not to labour the point, but in Assault On Precinct 13 the twist of that Seventies thriller was two implacable foes - the law and the criminals - being forced to pull together to withstand the siege of a Latino gang upon a Los Angeles police station.
Here there is no such twist, nor any such tension. Well, there is, but the twist when it comes is not so much a surprise as inevitable, or at least should be if you know anything about the werewolf myth.
I'm tired of British film directors who seem unable or unwilling to go that extra yard and come up with something genuinely original. Can it really be that hard?
This is the British film industry, folks, not Hollywood. It would be nice if we could find more directors such as Paul Andrew Williams (London To Brighton) whose films capture a mood and an originality alive within British cinema, rather than simply trying to cash in on a craze which seems to have started in a video arcade or in a Hollywood mall.
I suppose I'm in for a long wait.
Pulp Fiction (1994)
Are we supposed to be laughing?
If Pulp Fiction were meant to be a comedy I'd be tempted to give it 7/10 for sheer effort. It's got John Travolta in a wig (check out that ponytail!) Uma Thurman pretending to be a dancer, and Mr Quentin Tarantino himself in yet another cameo trying to prove he can act, and proving beyond all doubt that he can't.
Amid the farce and supposedly knowing humour of this film there is one shining light. The performance of Samuel L Jackson as a hit-man stands out as one of the performances of the 1990s. It's a shame the director got his hit men mixed up and put Travolta at the heart of this film; with Jackson front and centre this could have been a first-rate crime drama, with the added intrigue of a man atoning for some truly wicked sins.
Travolta is miscast as Vincent. He plays a hit-man who talks about hamburgers on the way to murdering his victims. Not because this is what hit men do, but because Tarantino is so desperate to be seen as cool his hit men simply MUST do something different.
It gets worse. Vincent is assigned to look after his boss's wife and duly ends up on the dance floor. Quite why this is supposed to be so iconic I have absolutely no idea. John Travolta moves like a bored polar bear at times, and Uma Thurman may as well be on heavy medication for all the good she is. Rarely do you have sympathy for Hollywood superstars, but watching these two I did wonder whether the pair of them might consider early retirement. If nothing else, I guess this scene offers a cautionary warning to anyone fond of a hamburger; eat too many of 'em and you too could end up like John Travolta.
Throw in Bruce Willis as a disillusioned boxer, Harvey Keitel as Wolf, Tim Roth and Amanda Plummer as a pair of hold-up artists, and, well, you've got a film not a million miles away from a Robert Altman picture of the Seventies. Or indeed a John Cassavetes film.
This is my problem with Tarantino; you watch his films and wonder if you've seen it somewhere before. Reservoir Dogs was a deserved success - critically, at least - but with Pulp Fiction we've been here before many times.
Its rating on this website suggests it is up there with The Godfather, and that, frankly, is the biggest laugh of the lot. Come to think of it, maybe I was right all along; maybe it IS a comedy after all.
Withnail and I (1987)
We'll probably be found DEAD in here next spring!
It's 1969. Broke, depressed, living on methylated spirits (do NOT try that at home), our intrepid heroes, Withnail (Richard E. Grant) and Marwood (Paul McGann) endeavour to get away from their dingy London flat and escape to the English countryside, courtesy of Uncle Monty's cottage.
Our two heroes want to be actors, and, being of an artistic leaning (ie, no use to man nor ornament) they arrive at the cottage with no food, no water, no matches, and no idea of where to find any.
This film is not only achingly funny, it is also a satire on the Sixties. The greatest decade known to man is exposed as a vanity project, a mouthpiece if you like for a generation of people who want it here and want it now. Marwood is touched by the Sixties, but in many ways Withnail IS the Sixties. 'I'm going to be a STAR!' he shouts atop a mountain overlooking the beautiful lakes.
On a tiny budget Bruce Robinson manages to capture perfectly what the Sixties probably felt like - or at least what I imagine it felt like. So redolent of its time does it seem I half expected a St Trinian's schoolgirl to wander in to their derelict London pad in a straw boater and stockings. In fact there is a very brief cameo by some schoolgirls in the film. Withnail memorably refers to them as 'SCRUBBERS!'
The two leads are ably supported by Richard Griffiths's Uncle Monty, an hysterically over-the-top has-been, who yearns to tread the boards one more time as Hamlet, despite being nearly big enough to fill the Globe Theatre on his own.
But the best supporting role of all has to be Danny, played by an almost unrecognisable Ralph Brown. The monologue he delivers near the film's end, cautioning his friends about the end of the Sixties and the come-down which is imminent, is both insightful and humorous.
I heard that Bruce Robinson wrote this film as a sort of tribute to a friend who passed away not long after the Sixties had passed. For anyone interested it is well worth the effort of buying the screenplay in book form and reading Robinson's own intro to what has rightly become one of the most iconic screenplays of British - or indeed any - cinema.
The film is almost poetic in both its language, its humour, and its sense of an era which is about to close.
Withnail may well BE the Sixties, but Withnail and I, is surely what Britain has become, a nation that so desperately wants to be a STAR!
Mad Max (1979)
The legend starts here . . .
If the rumours are correct, Goerge Miller put this futuristic action thriller together for something less than half a million dollars.
Take note, James Cameron.
I've no idea how Miller did it, but in bringing Mad Max to the screen, along with the Goose, the Toe-cutter et al, he crafted a story with an almost mythic ring to it and gave the world a screen icon who stands alongside The Terminator and even James Bond.
The opening shot of a policeman spying on a couple having sex in a field through the viewfinder of his rifle, promises an edgy, perhaps deviant film. A car then races into view, tearing up the Outback at something like ninety miles per hour, and as Max and the Goose rev up their car and motorcycle, so a legend is born.
Every single dollar and more is up on the screen, and while the action sequences stand out as both exhilarating, what really elevates Mad Max up a notch is the characterisation. Max is not a killing machine, nor a ruthless agent of the law; he is a family man, and someone merely trying to stay alive. Heroics are not his game. Not yet, at least.
The excellent Steve Bisely as Goose is every bit as good - better even perhaps? - as Gibson in the title role. Equally good is Joanne Samuel as our hero's young wife, but for my money the man who really makes this picture is Hugh Keays-Byrne.
As the Toe-cutter, Keays-Byrne adds an air of genuine menace to a villain who grows in stature the longer the film goes on. I was not sure whether Keays-Byrne was a genuine English actor or not, but either way he provides a nemesis for Max, and the catalyst for a transformation from home-loving family man to a homicidal loner gunning for revenge as the bleak Australian landscape gives way to a riot of roaring engines, explosions, and tragic deaths.
The sequels may have had bigger budgets, but this film stands as an example of what one film director can do when pushing himself, and his crew, to the absolute limit under the merciless antipodean sun.
Four Weddings and a Funeral (1994)
Everything that's wrong with Britain
Anybody who remembers when this film came out might recall seeing one Elizabeth Hurley at the premiere. She arrived with Hugh Grant on her arm, and was wearing a black dress which seemed to be tied together with safety pins. When she turned sideways, she looked almost naked.
The reason I mention this is because the dress drew more attention than the film, and anyone who bothered to see it (the film, that is) would understand why.
As Bob Hope once memorably said, 'There'll always be an England - even if it's in Hollywood.' Therein lies the problem of this picture.
It is so desperate to be liked by American audiences it turns its core subjects into stereotypes in order to pander to the overseas image of the British upper class twit.
I'm only surprised that they didn't bother filming the entire picture within the confines of Buckingham Palace, that way even Prince Charles might have got a walk-on part and a few lines. God knows, he couldn't have been any worse than Hugh Grant.
Incidentally, the aforementioned Elizabeth Hurley has no part in this film. Nor does her dress.
Wes Craven's New Nightmare (1994)
Disappears up its own backside
How on earth anybody can find this pile of manure remotely scary is beyond me.
When this first came out (in 1994) I noted it was Wes Craven's New Nightmare. Be warned, there's nothing new about it. Craven is back to flogging a dead horse, as he's done many times throughout his misguided career.
The sad reality is that Craven is given far too much credit in a genre where he is, at best, an average talent. Compared to the brilliance of Robert Wise (The Haunting), Alfred Hitchcock (Psycho) and Tobe Hooper (The Texas Chainsaw Massacre), Mr Craven stands as a mere footnote in the annals of horror.
Sorry if this sounds like a rant against Craven, but frankly I'm fed up with Freddy Krueger. After watching Scream a while back I did think Craven could not possibly get any more self-referential or tedious than he already is. Clearly I was wrong.
Scream (1996)
Great opening . . . then I fell asleep
Amazing. I honestly don't know how Wes Craven does it. He takes another genuinely interesting premise and absolutely slaughters it on screen - and I'm not referring to the body count here.
The opening ten minutes are admittedly great. Drew Barrymore reaching for the phone, only to find herself in conversation with a stalker is inspired. What a pity then about the rest of the film.
Back in the mists of time when horror movies used to scare people - The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, The Omen, Psycho - Scream would probably have passed without notice. But since The Evil Dead, it seems you don't have to scare people anymore, you simply have to amuse them.
Quite honestly, I don't care about Jason's mum, nor about Jason, nor about who was hiding behind the curtain with a machete in their hand and wearing a stocking over their head halfway through Prom Night III.
The genre of horror lost its teeth some time ago. Just occasionally a modern day classic will rear its head. If you want to see real true horror, watch Wolf Creek from about 2005.
For those of a less demanding taste watch this drivel, masquerading as a horror film and stuffed full of characters straight out of any number of American sitcoms. Which brings me back to my earlier point: how does Wes Craven manage to slaughter so many genuinely good ideas?
I recently saw his New Nightmare aka Nightmare On Elm Street Part 7, and it was virtually identical to Scream. The same sets, the same characters, the same supposed shocks you can see coming from a mile off. The only difference of course was in place of the tiresome Freddy, we have some tiresome bloke in a mask waving a fake knife.
Fake just about sums it up.
Runaway Train (1985)
A film of rare power
An infamous prisoner, Manny (John Voight) has been incarcerated in a high security prison (somewhere in Alaska it seems).
The warder (John P Ryan) is resolved to break any man who dares to defy his brutal regime, while Manny believes he can prevail against anything which man, or indeed nature, can throw at him.
A dangerously edgy Eric Roberts is determined to share in the glory of Manny's bid for escape, but while our two protagonists seek to break the system, it seems fate, chance, life, call it what you will, has other ideas.
There is a surprise, and very welcome, appearance by a toned down Rebecca DeMornay, and strangely her performance is typical of the film. Nothing here is what it first appears.
An action thriller which ascends to something far greater and succeeds beyond expectation is filled with memorable performances. Roberts has never been better than as Buck, a glib, flash and impressionable young convict, both in awe of Manny, yet equally resentful of the way the older man treats him. As for Voight . . . well, make up your own mind. Angelina Jolie may make the headlines these days, but her dad was one hell of an actor in his day.
The scene where he counters Buck's grand plan of a trip to Las Vegas by urging the young man to find a job - any job - and work his way up to become president of the company is both moving and telling. It could have been rather worthy, yet it's anything but. Manny knows his own chances have gone; he is aware however there is a slim - albeit remote - chance for a young man like Buck to still make something of himself.
I was reminded while watching this film how quickly time can pass. As the train of the title thunders along the tracks - an allegory for life itself? - we are left wondering if any of this group can survive.
As the police close in and the hostility of the natural environment takes on a lethal grandeur, the battle of wills between Ranken (John P Ryan's memorably sadistic warder) and Manny turns from hunter and hunted to something approaching biblical proportions. The two men define each other. Ranken has to catch Manny to prove the system cannot be beaten, yet equally that very system from which Manny is running - prison - has turned him into the minor legend he is among his fellow cons.
It is no surprise to learn that Akiro Kurusawa is the man behind the original story. Note too, the presence of Edward Bunker as a screenwriter. A one-time criminal who has turned life on its head and found redemption through a rare talent for the written word. Manny would be proud of him.
RUNAWAY TRAIN is a film of rare power, which leaves its mark on your mind and your heart, all under the guise of an action thriller. Whoever would have thought it?
An Evil Streak (1999)
Lynsey Baxter steals the show.
A psychologically savage portrayal of twisted desire which centres on Trever Eve's loathsome, yet oddly likable character.
It is written by Andrea Newman. Yes, she of A Bouquet of Barbed Wire, and just like that drama this contains a highly controversial sexual element. Yet there is a twist at the heart of it; Eve's character has become impotent (at least I think that is his problem) and as a result his predilection for voyeurism takes a highly disturbing turn.
Yet while Eve takes top billing it is Lynsey Baxter who steals the show. Her performance as Catherine is riveting. Acting as a confidant of sorts to Eve's voyeur, she emerges as the most magnetic character on screen, while the scene of her riding a lover hard as she knows she is being watched by Eve is both deeply erotic and oddly amusing.
This confirms Lynsey Baxter as a compelling - and nubile - screen presence while showing Andrea Newman has not lost her touch of crafting drama that can provoke thought as much as it can shock sensibilities. Evil indeed.
Harper's Island (2009)
A gem of a mystery horror
After watching the first episode I got the sense Harper's Island was trying to ape the style and set-up of Hollywood slasher films.
But it's a whole lot better than that.
Descending on the island for the nuptials of Henry and Tricia, the friends and family of the bride and groom seem initially oblivious of the fact that one or two of their number are starting to mysteriously vanish.
But by episode five a genuinely shocking scene lifts this drama into the realms of a horror/thriller, and in many respects the style and plotting start to resemble Final Destination.
Some reviewers seem to find the actions of certain characters dumb, but that is the nature of horror. Everyone does dumb things in horror stories; if they didn't the psychos would never get their chance.
What places this series above so many of its kind is that through sheer pace and a sense of atmosphere, the characters - dumb or not - really start to have an effect on you. You want them to live. That makes it a lot better than a slasher movie where most of the time you can't wait for the cast to die.
There are countless murders and more blood shed than in many a Hammer horror, yet there is a thread of humanity here that can sometimes leave you choked.
And if nothing else, it should give the tourist trade for the Seattle area a boost. Northwestern USA has never looked so striking, murders or not! Roll on the DVD.
Open Water (2003)
A haunting and deeply affecting experience
The premise could hardly be scarier . . . you're lost in the Atlantic ocean with no boat . . . and then you see a shark's fin cut the surface.
Both leads do well, but Blanchard Ryan is particularly impressive, trying to hold it together as she and her husband face the horrors of the deep. By taking time to set the story up, the director builds characterisation to the point where you feel you are practically in the water with these two people. On widescreen it should work particularly well.
The first twenty minutes are admittedly slow, but that only makes the final act all the more compelling.
This is not a fun movie, but it is a powerful one. Comparisons have been made to Jaws, yet this is a different scenario here. While Jaws left you shaken and thrilled, this film will leave you haunted; not only by the epic nature of the ocean, but even by its savage beauty.
There is no loud music here, nor any shock tactics, just two very scared people, looking out for one another and trying to stay alive long enough so as to be rescued. The sea has never looked more frightening, or more ominous, and the sense of dread at what lurks beneath those waves is captured perfectly by the director.
Watching it at the cinema I left the theatre absolutely stunned. Simply put, it is a minor masterpiece.