Reviews

In the directorial debut of special effects guru Paul Hyatt, young actress Rosie Day plays Angel, a deaf and mute girl who sees her family brutally murdered before she is dragged to the eponymous Seasoning House, where kidnapped girls are forced to into prostitution for soldiers of a bleak and senseless Balkan war. The first half of the film has a very dream-like quality to it, as Angel, who is enslaved to care for the prostituted girls, performs her daily routine of doping the victims, and then cleaning them up after they have suffered the soldiers often disturbingly brutal attentions. Hyatt has said he was heavily influenced by Pan's Labyrinth, and it certainly shows in this half as Angel silently wanders the seasoning house and we glimpse the world as she senses, or more accurately, doesn't sense it. But when ruthless soldier Goran, played by Sean Pertwee, and his men arrive on the scene, the same soldiers responsible for murdering Angel's family, she takes drastic action and the film swerves from darkly depressing, to a taut, tense and brutal game of cat and mouse. Rosie Day does well in the lead role, her character, subdued and distant in the beginning, shows signs of life as she recalls memories of her family, slowly bonds with one of the prostitutes who fortuitously knows sign language, and eventually comes to her aid as she suffers horrifically at the hands of one of Goran's men, the monstrous Ivan, while Goran himself is a fittingly cruel and tenacious main villain. The savage scenes of rape in the first half are offset by the brutal acts of revenge and survival in the second, each accompanied, as you would expect, by some great visual effects, but while the film is engaging throughout and comes to a satisfying conclusion, it felt slightly disjointed and meandered in places. However, that doesn't ever detract from the overall tone of the film, darkly foreboding and laced with a palpable sense of menace, it's a tense and disturbing ride.

This ambitious Polish science-fiction film first began production in 1975, but in 1977, with eighty percent of filming complete, the Polish government ordered production to stop and all sets, costumes and footage to be destroyed, over fears that some themes present in the film were an allegorical criticism of Poland's communist rule. The surviving reels of footage, smuggled out of Poland by the director and crew, lay dormant until the fall of communism and, although incomplete, the film was finally released in 1988. As much of the footage was lost or indeed never filmed, the narrative was incomplete and in a daring move Żuławski decided to narrate the missing scenes and include their destruction as part of the narrative, this narration being presented over footage of a busy Polish city that zips by the camera as Żuławski fills in the gaps, also providing clear dividing points between the three main acts.

The film itself deals with the cyclical nature of existence, the ethics of freedom, the power of belief and the dangers of allowing that belief to fuel ideology, all told through the anthropology of an emerging society created when three astronauts from Earth crash land on a distant planet. For the film's first act we follow the point of view Peter who records events on a video-camera, as he, Marta & Thomas attempt to survive and start a new life in the barren, alien wilderness. After Marta becomes pregnant and gives birth to Thomas' baby, the astronauts realise that the child is growing at an accelerated rate. The film jumps forwards erratically as we are presented with snippets of a society emerging in front of Peter's camera lens, as the astronaut's children grow to maturity and themselves begin to procreate. The children begin to deify their astronaut parents, who seemingly never age as generations pass. The first act ends with Marta and Thomas dead and Peter, now referred to only as 'The Old Man', alone in a society of his children who do not understand his ravings, nor why he will not die like the others and ultimately they begin to resent his presence. Eventually, Peter returns to his space-craft and sends his hours of recorded footage back to Earth.

The second act revolves around Marek, the owner of the space agency that funded the first mission, who himself heads to the planet to escape the pain of a lost love, only to find a savage, incomprehensible and divided society of people who have been awaiting his prophesied arrival. He is regarded as their messiah and through his eyes we are introduced to the advancements in the beliefs and structure of the society since we last saw them. Marek becomes embroiled in his role as deity, guiding the society under his rule and leading the charge against a race of bird- like creatures from across the sea called 'Sherns' who steal women to mate with and produce mutated half-human, half-Shern offspring. The final act takes place primarily on Earth, where another astronaut named Jack is attempting to discern what befell Marek's mission to the planet. He is caught up in an affair with Ava, the woman for whom Marek left Earth, and in a fit of drug addled depression he himself heads to the planet, only to find the people's messiah, Marek, crucified in grisly fashion. Ultimately, Żuławski is dealing with some heavy themes here, asserting that humanity has a need to continually create and destroy his gods, that without belief there cannot be understanding and that without understanding their can be no happiness.

The world Żuławski presents is stark and beautiful, the Baltic shores, Caucasus mountains and Mongolian desert providing the barren and isolated landscapes that so capture the imagination throughout the film, but also it's the wonderfully designed costumes and props and cold, grey-blue cinematography that lend these places a true alien feel. Overall 'On the Silver Globe' is as intriguing as it is impenetrable. The frenetic camera work launches us directly into the midst of the chaos on-screen, events later explained more by action than dialogue as characters descend further into erratic and emotional madness, exploring the reasons for their being and the world around them through pained and awkward ad-libbed philosophical diatribes. While the narrative is most certainly confused, partly because of the unique journey of the film's production and release, and partly because of the confounding dialogue, the over-reaching story told is one that still conveys a powerful message about the nature of belief in human society and the desire to comprehend our existence. While most certainly not a film for everyone, 'On the Silver Globe' is a tough two and a half hour experience to endure, but one that repays it's viewer's diligence with some compelling food for thought and some truly beautiful cinematic scenes.

Just saw a screening of this spiritual successor to The Wicker Man at the London FrightFest. Director Robin Hardy's film (based on his own book 'Cowboys for Christ') shares many similarities with the cult British horror classic that he found success with in the 1970's, but The Wicker Tree is different enough to stand-out on it's own and not be classified as more of the same, even if the basic plot-lines are almost identical. This time around it's about a born again duo of evangelical country & western singers who have come to Scotland as 'redeemers' to convert an isolated pagan village to the path of Christ. However, where The Wicker Man was at turns as equally dark as it was intriguing, The Wicker Tree is a far more satirical affair, with jibes aimed at the genre and the background and beliefs of the protagonists.

Christopher Lee makes a brief appearance as an old man in a flash back, who may or may not be intended as an elderly Lord Summerisle, but while his ill-health prevented him from taking on the role of the main villain his shoes are well filled by Graham McTavish, who provides some much needed fire and brimstone in contrast to the rather stilted performances from the two lead characters, although there were some good performances from the supporting cast, most notably Clive Russel as the butler Beame and Honeysuckle Weeks as the promiscuous pagan Lolly.

I found the setting and direction to be excellent and again Hardy has created an intriguing pagan culture that I would loved to have seen more focus upon, but while we all know what the outcome of the story is going to be at the outset of the film it often seems to concern itself more with poking fun than with captivating and intriguing, or even scaring the audience. It got a good share of laughs throughout and even a round of applause at one point, and I enjoyed it in that respects, but as a horror film, as a film doomed to stand in the shadow of The Wicker Man, I found it to be lacking.

Long thought lost, this 1965 film from first time director James Bruner was never released due to budget problems but eventually saw the light of day this year after the director recovered the original print and restored it for DVD release. Summer Children tells the story of West, a serious young man and old fashioned romantic at heart who struggles to fit in with the swinging culture of the 60's adopted by his peers. He, along with a group of friends, sets out to sail his father's yacht from the Californian coast to Catalina island for a few nights of partying, but his interest is centred firmly on the aloof and mysterious Diana, who at first appears indifferent to his advances. Into the mix comes West's friend Franky, a daredevil motorbike racer who couldn't differ more in personality from West and exemplifies the new culture West has so much difficulty coping with. Franky already has a girl, but his sights are also set on Diana, who regards him with barely concealed disgust. Yet when Diane gives in to both West and Franky's charms, trouble brews between Franky and the jealous West who can't accept Diana's free-spirited nature towards sex and romance. Ultimately it's a story of old cultural sensibilities failing in the face of the modern era. West represents the increasingly naive ideals of the past, his confusion and social awkwardness stemming from the belief that any women should be more than happy to settle with a handsome, successful young man and his jealousy stemming from his inability to comprehend the new ideas of freedom of love and relationships that the 1960's came to represent.

Like the director and writer, for many of the actors this was their first film and after it's failure none of the cast and main crew went on to star in, write or direct film again. It's easy to see why. The plot is a fairly simple affair, peppered with unnecessarily extended scenes of swinging 60's beach parties full of pop-culture music and lingo, while the dialogue is at times laughably bad and the delivery of many of the actors leaves much to be desired. The character of West comes across as overly forced, while Diana's character switches between the happy-go- lucky embodiment of swinging culture and a distant, brooding character of long pauses and meaningful glances that could have been sliced straight from an Michelagelo Antonioni film. Speaking of Antonioni, it's the cinematography where Summer Children really shines. Heavily influenced by the new wave of European cinema emerging in the 60's, director James Bruner hired cinematographer Vilmos Zsigmond (whose most notable work includes The Deer Hunter, Deliverance and Close Encounters) to lend his film a distinctly European style. The high contrast black and white film, heavily shadowed with a noir tint, looks spectacular as framed by the masterful Zsigmond. Light and shadow are used to brilliant effect and many techniques, such as shooting a night-time party on the beach in daylight or the way Zsigmond captures the play of light on water and the motion of the yacht, help create a visually stunning piece of cinema that makes up for what it distinctly lacks in narrative and dialogue with it's arresting and beautifully photographed imagery.

Marco Bellocchio's 'Vincere' is a dark and powerful film that follows Benito Mussolini's rise to power through the eyes of his first wife, Ida Dalser, who was seduced and then betrayed by Mussolini as he abandoned her and their son on his way to becoming Italy's dictator, ultimately disavowing any knowledge of their existence. The film starts with a stylish and operatic punch as a young Mussolini (played by Filippo Timi) veers away from socialism to form the National Fascist Party, the narrative speeding through historical events at a steady pace for the first half hour, interposed with newsreel headlines and archive footage projected on screen in a manner reminiscent of Lars Von Trier's 'Europa'. Abruptly the film shifts focus to Ida Dalser (Giovanna Mezzogiorno) as she is forcibly separated first from Mussolini, then from her own son and finally from the outside world as Mussolini attempts to cover up any trace of their marriage and has Dalser committed to an insane asylum.

Not only does this present a shift of perspective, but it's a stark shift in the film's tone too. Gone are the stylish and grandiose themes of revolution, seduction and upheaval, replaced by a tragic and startling performance from Mezzogiorno as her character descends further into mental illness. Filippo Timi provides a frenzied and forceful portrayal of both 'Il Duce' and the adult version of the dictator's unrequited son, but it's Giovanna Mezzogiorno's career defining performance that steals the show, showing Dalser as strong, resilient and somewhat naive in outset, harrowed, resigned and on the very brink by the film's close. Mezzogiorno's role is somewhat allegorical of the film as a whole, as like Italian society Dalser too was seduced and subsequently betrayed by the charm of the fierce and intelligent Mussolini. Ultimately with 'Vincere' Bellocchio and his lead actors present a mature and thought provoking look at one of the most clouded stories of Fascist Italy's past with an uncanny sense of style and dramatic flair and punctuated by the film's wonderful classical score. Remarkable.

Italian director Michelangelo Antonioni's 1964 piece 'Red Desert' is, on the surface, a film that deals with the changing face of the world under rampant industrialisation, but far more than that it's a comment on alienation and human adaptability in such a society. Guiliana (played by Monica Vitti) is the wife of petroleum plant manager Ugo. She lives in a spacious, modern apartment with Ugo and their small son, but there's an undercurrent of instability in Guiliana's persona, a feeling of unease and angst that Monica Vitti exhibits in Guiliana's every action. Vitti's portrayal of Guiliana is one of a woman on the point of a nervous breakdown, always fidgeting, wringing her hands, looking at unease and full of angst and continually walking away from conversations, forcing others to follow her. The way her character hugs close to walls at every opportunity is allegorical of her need to be surrounded by friends, family and loved ones, claiming that she "is only ill when I'm alone". We find out that Guiliana had recently been in a car accident and had spent a month in hospital being treating for shock, but unbeknownst to Ugo, Guiliana isn't adjusting well after her accident, while her husband remains entirely oblivious. Into the frame comes Corrado Zeller (Richard Harris), an engineer friend of Ugo on his way to set up a new petroleum plant in Patagonia. Zeller is a quiet, reserved man who, like Guiliana, is visibly at unease with his surroundings, however his life and work afford him the luxury of moving from place to place, while Guiliana feels increasingly trapped in her existence. Inexorably, Zeller and Guiliana are drawn to each other, Zeller recognising a kindred spirit of sorts and Guiliana casting out a cry for help that only Zeller is capable of recognising. The fact that Zeller picks up on this and is continually drawn to Guiliana, despite her unstable, demanding behaviour, immediately points to his attraction to her, but it's only after acting on his attraction that Guiliana comes to accept her station and encounters her defining realisation; people aren't cured, they adapt.

But it's not just Guiliana's life she has to adapt to, it's her surroundings, beautifully brought to screen in what was, quite surprisingly, Antonioni's first foray into colour. With a telephoto lens to flatten the perspective, framing scenes purposefully out of focus and the use of disarming long-cut shots, Antonioni paints a bleached and chemical picture of post-war Italy, an Italy that expanded into an industrial super-power at an alarming rate. Antonioni was so adamant about how this world should be presented that he insisted on painting trees, barrels, walls and even whole fields to ensure the results he envisioned. An extreme measure, certainly, but a welcome one as the stark, sterile greys of this industrial Italy, juxtaposed here and there with flourishes of artificial, man-made colour, are often brought to the forefront of the viewer's mind when at times the pacing and ambiguity of the narrative create a lull in interest. Those man-made colours provide another allegorical point, alluding to how the society of this industrial community has adapted to the bleak repetitiveness of the environment by injecting splashes of primary colour into their surroundings. One criticism that's easy to level at 'Red Desert' is that it's an entirely singular film - Guiliana is undoubtedly the protagonist of this piece, but everyone else, even the ambiguous love interest Zeller, appears on screen barely defined. This might be a problem for anyone expecting a traditional narrative, but that's not what 'Red Desert' is about. There's no real progression of story here, only the progression of Guiliana's mental state, everything else is quite incidental and as such, is not admitted entry into Antonioni's vision. It's this bold vision that provides the films defining hallmark; the wonderful cinematography that surrounds Monica Vitti's accomplished, if somewhat overwrought, performance.

From Slovakian director Martin Sulík, Orbis Pictus is a strange film that follows a teenage girl, Tereza, on a fanciful journey as she's sent home from boarding school with a letter for her mother. As she travels in a childish and innocent manner through the Slovakian countryside, she has numerous strange encounters with a variety of people, such as a well-to-do mobster, a man marrying his brother's much older widow, a famous singer (whose fame Tereza is entirely ignorant of), an old woman buried up to her waist in the ground and a man employed seemingly to burn brand new clothes. All these people have stories to impart upon Tereza, and as the encounters become more and more surreal it becomes apparent that, as we see the film from a child's perspective, here a child's fantasy and imagination are melded with reality.

On the surface Orbis Pictus presents itself as a quirky and serene film about a young girl journeying in ignorance of the world around her. Yet there's an underlying sense of menace here, as through the various encounters Tereza's innocence is tested against a darker side of reality that, while only hinted at, is a disturbing presence all the same and sets up perfectly for the film's last revelations as we learn the contents of the letter and as Tereza finally comes face to face with her mother. Much like the bulk of the film, it's an entirely ambiguous ending, but one that carries perfectly the film's theme of reality versus imagination and innocence.

Set on the island of Macau in 1998 'Exiled' tells the story of five friends who grew up together in the gangs of Hong Kong. One of these five, Wo (Nick Cheung), has been in exile for many years after attempting to assassinate the crime boss of Hong Kong, Boss Fay (Simon Yam), but now Wo has a family and is tired of running, so he moves to Macau to make a new life for himself. Unfourtunatly, Boss Fay has not forgotten Wo's transgressions and sends another of the five friends, Blaze (Anthony Wong), to see Wo dead. However, while Blaze and his partner Fat (Suet Lam) must follow orders and kill their friend Wo, the remaining two friends Tai (Francis Ng) & Cat (Roy Cheung) are intent on protecting him, even if it means going against Boss Fay and becoming exiles themselves. This predicament and the decisions than the five friends must make provide the films intrinsic themes; brotherhood, honour, loyalty and friendship, themes not at all uncommon in the HK action genre.

Likewise, there's a great sense of familiarity across the board here. Actors such as Anthony Wong, Simon Yam and Francis Ng are all veterans of HK action films, and Johnnie To's direction itself recalls the hey- day of HK action with numerous nods to Tsui Hark and John Woo. But despite this film evoking a sense of deja-vu at almost every turn, it's a fantastically paced movie that's all the more better when regarding the sum of it's parts. Anthony Wong & Francis Ng provide stalwart performances as the films two leads and they are supported by a fantastic cast; Suet Lam and Roy Cheung as their stoic partners in crime, Simon Yam as the crazed, bat-crap insane mob boss, Richie Ren as a sharpshooting police sergeant and Eddie Cheung as bizarre deal-broker and pimp. Meanwhile, the setting, cinematography and soundtrack all conspire to create a wonderful backdrop for the convoluted plot. Also, Macau is presented as an idyllic sort of place, always in the shadow of Hong Kong, and the cinematography and setting only help further this idea with many outdoor shots and vibrant yellows and oranges and greens employed throughout. Macau was a Portugese colony for much of it's history, which I believe To alludes to through the films soundtrack which at times sounds almost like a spaghetti western and serves to immediately set 'Exiled' apart from To's previous films and those of his peers, many of which star the same actors.

Overall Johnnie To's 'Exiled' is a film at odds with itself. On one hand it's a stylish, over the top Hong Kong gangster film, on the other it's a melancholy movie about friendship and the past, but for the most part these two sections perfectly compliment each other. Some may find the plot somewhat confusing, but it's brilliantly presented with a veteran cast, some amazing action set-pieces and a few moments of inspired direction. Also, 'Exiled' left me with a good number of things to consider afterwards (for instance; what appeared to be a continuity error actually ended up providing another facet to one of the characters that I had not previously considered) which is more than I can say for most action films.

Johnnie To & Wai Ka-Fai's Mad Detective is a film that turns the Hong Kong crime genre upon it's head. Based around the simple concept of a man that can see everyone's hidden persona's, Mad Detective is anything but formulaic and right from the very start dissuades any notion that this is just another flashy HK crime flick. Lau Ching-Wan stars as the eponymous Mad Detective, Inspector Chan Kwai-Bun, a brilliant detective forced into retirement when his methods and actions become a little too bizarre. Alongside him Andy On plays young Inspector Ho who tries to enlist the aid of retired Inspector Bun to solve a complex murder case involving a missing police officer and a suspect with multiple personalities.

What follows is a highly ingenious, highly inventive and above all, highly entertaining piece of cinema. Paced perfectly, this viewer sat on the edge of his seat, intrigued and enthralled in equal measure and delighting and the simple, unrestrained freshness of this film and it's premise. Lau Ching-Wan plays his part exceptionally well as the oddball Inspector Bun, throwing all semblance of logic out of the window as he investigates the case, but it's a straight faced performance; there's no comedy here as the plot and it's characters take themselves very seriously. However, despite this it's hard not to find humour in some of the scenes involving multiple personalities, and whether this was the directors intent or not, it does provide a handful of light hearted moments that help to break up this complex and down-right weird film into more palatable pieces.

Overall, if you're looking for a crime film that's as inventive and intriguing as it is enjoyable, you can't go wrong with Mad Detective. See it now before Hollywood does an inevitable remake.

This seems to be quite a divisive movie - on the one hand, it's a breathtaking work of cinematography and the director creates a wonderfully dense and oppressive atmosphere through the stark environment that plays backdrop to the films chaotic events, the sparse and suspenseful dialogue and the droning martial industrial soundtrack. On the other hand, this is an experimental film marketed as an action movie - on more than one occasion I saw it mentioned in the same breath as 2007's Beowulf or the recent remake of Clash of the Titans. I can only assume that anyone viewing the film under a pretence of similarity with those aforementioned movies would be greatly disappointed, and even though I largely enjoyed the movie at home I have to question whether i'd feel the same after viewing it in the cinema.

You see, nothing much happens in Valhalla rising. The film ostensibly tells the story of One-Eye, a savage mute living a life of captivity among the pagan tribes of Scotland and forced to fight in brutal death-matches. He eventually wins his freedom and joins with a group of Christian mercenaries intent on reclaiming the holy land, but once their voyage begins things take a turn for the weird and they find themselves stranded in a strange land seemingly untouched by civilisation. Although the plot is fairly straight forward, the manner in which it's handled is decidedly experimental and vague and leads one to believe that there's a deeper subtext to be found.

The film is broken into a number of sections, each labelled in a religious tone as much of the movie seems to be a comment on the differences between the pagan religion of old and the invading Christian beliefs - the protagonist himself recalls Odin, with his solitary eye and cryptic visions of the future, and while the Christian characters stumble blindly towards their fate, pleading and begging for mercy, One- Eye heads unflinchingly into the fate laid out for him, just like the pagan chieftains at the beginning, knowing their days were numbered in the face of the relentless tide of Christianity.

Overall i'd recommend Valhalla Rising - it's certainly not a movie for everyone, not a movie i'd ever watch with company and certainly not a movie i'd try and sell as an action blockbuster, but Nicolas Winding Refn has succeeded here in creating a deep and intriguing world with this film and on a relatively meagre budget. There are some fantastic performances from the cast, a handful of vicious and bloody fight scenes and beautiful, arresting imagery throughout. It's a film that has left me contemplating it's meaning long after I had finished watching, and while it's not an experience that may appeal to many, ultimately it's films like this that inspire and intrigue that are the one's worth watching.

Set during Japan's feudal period 'Sword of the Stranger' tells the story of a young orphan boy named Kotaro who finds himself pursued by ruthless group of soldiers in the employ of China's Ming Emperor. With no idea as to why he is being chased Kotaro desperately enlists the help of a mysterious 'ronin' named Nanashi (literally meaning Nameless or No Name) who has the curious habit of fighting with his sword sheathed, although this doesn't appear to make his skills any less lethal. As the reasons behind the Ming's pursuit become apparent Nanashi finds himself having to relive and face up to the past that has for many years haunted him if he is to have any chance of saving Kotaro from his would-be captors.

Directed by first-timer Masahiro Andō and produced by Bones 'Sword of the Stranger' is a real visual treat. The high-octane fight scenes are lavishly animated and expertly choreographed with a visceral sense of speed, but that's not to say the scenes without action aren't just as beautifully presented. The artwork and animation remain consistently excellent throughout and while some may find the colour palette subdued, the scenes of wanton bloodshed provide a stark contrast against the almost ethereal depiction of the landscape.

In terms of the story 'Sword of the Stranger' does nothing you won't have seen before, but has the definite virtue of not trying to do too much. The film is expertly paced, never once dragging or out-staying it's welcome - a pleasant surprise considering this is Masahiro's directorial debut. The characters will seem pretty standard to most, Kotaro is initially standoffish and reluctant to show his vulnerability while Nanashi attempts to hide his wounded past through humour and an anti-hero attitude straight out of a Clint Eastwood western. Ultimately events force both Kotaro and Nanashi to open up and trust each other, but the point is never forced home and feels like a natural progression for the characters.

Overall 'Sword of the Stranger' is a spectacular achievement and not just for the superlative animation. The characters are believable and more importantly likable, the story is entirely engaging without ever feeling bloated, the music is suitably epic and the visuals are thoroughly intoxicating, the end result is a highly enjoyable anime feature that remains entertaining from start to finish.

Damiano Damiani's 1966 film 'A Bullet for the General' is one of the first examples of the Zapata Western, a sub-genre of the Spaghetti Western that mostly dealt with political themes during the Mexican Revolution of the early 20th century. Gian Maria Volontè plays El Chucho, the leader of a Mexican bandit gang who earn their pay selling arms to revolutionaries - he meets with a suave gringo named Bill Tate (played by Lou Castel) who claims to be on the run from the law and soon finds himself inducted into the group and deep in the heart of the Mexican revolution.

Despite the simple sounding premise 'A Bullet for the General' displays a great depth of character as the protagonists relationships shift with the plot before inevitably exchanging roles. The first hour or so seems like a standard western affair with lots of the usual train hi-jacks and bandit raids, but as the characters develop and their relationships become more strained we see some marvellous performances from the suspicious El Chucho, his brother El Santo (a fanatical Christian revolutionary played by Klaus Kinski) and the cool and un-flustered Bill 'Niño' Tate.

The doubt displayed by El Chucho towards Tate really sets up the finale, and as the film nears the heart of the revolution Tate's motives become clear - but that doesn't stop Damiani pulling a nice twist at the end, endearing Volontè's character and providing a juxtaposition to the characters he made famous in some of Sergio Leone's classic Spaghetti Westerns. In a film dealing largely with role-reversal this is particularly apt.

I didn't quite know what to expect from 'A Bullet for the General', I hadn't previously heard of the director and apparently this was his first foray into the Western genre - but I was pleasantly surprised with the outcome. Providing a good mix of action and politics with commendable performances from Volontè, Kinski and Castel 'A Bullet for the General' is an intriguing and unique example of the Spaghetti Western and well worth your time whether you're a fan of the genre or not.

Christopher Lee stars in this bizarre avant garde film commenting on censorship in Franco-era Spain that presents documentary footage along with surreal, overexposed scenes in which Christopher Lee walks around Barcelona, witnesses a kidnapping, visits a museum and has silent encounters with a woman. The documentary footage comes in the form of Spanish film-makers talking frankly about censorship in their country and is interspersed with footage from a pro-Franco film glorifying the actions of the army, but it's the surreal scenes starring Lee that are the highlight here. Shot in high-contrast black and white that gives a bold, yet dreamlike quality to the footage, many of the scenes are also exquisitely framed, yet there's no dialogue, no narrative. Any audio we do hear in these scenes is asynchronous from the action on screen - for instance, a conversation occurs, but we aren't able to hear anything but a phone ringing incessantly. While these images are often beautiful and certainly striking, there seems little in the way of meaning. Things get even more confusing when half way through the film breaks to Christopher Lee on stage. He announces that the director asked him to improvise, so he sings some opera and then reads a portion of The Raven by Edgar Allan Poe. Right. Whatever. I've been told that this film is 'a masterpiece of unconscious narrative', but to me it seems little more than some artsy, yet undeniably beautiful footage, used soullessly to bookend fifteen minutes of directors venting about censorship, with a dose of weird for the sake of weird surrealism thrown in for good measure. While probably not worth your, or anyone's time, it is beautifully shot and Christopher Lee looks very suave and dapper while doing not very much at all.

"You will now listen to my voice. My voice will help you, and guide you still deeper into Europa. Every time you hear my voice, with every word and every number, you will enter a still deeper layer, open, relaxed and receptive. I shall now count from one to ten. On the count of ten, you will be in Europa. I say; One, and as you focus your attention entirely on my voice you will slowly begin to relax. Two, your hands and your fingers are getting warmer and heavier. Three, the warmth is spreading through your arms, to your shoulders and your neck. Four, your feet and your legs feel heavier. Five, the warmth is spreading to the whole of your body. On six I want you to go deeper. I say; Six, and the whole of your relaxed body is beginning to sink. Seven, you go deeper and deeper and deeper. Eight, on every breath you take, you go deeper. Nine, you are floating. On the mental count of ten, you will be in Europa. Be there at ten. I say; Ten."

And on the narrators command we are transported into Europa; Lars von Trier's dark and brooding film noir masterpiece that deals with themes of guilt and manipulation in post-war Germany. The protagonist is Leopold Kessler, an idealistic American of German descent who has come to Germany to work with his uncle as a first-class sleeping-car conductor. There he meets and is seduced by a strikingly beautiful young woman named Katharina, whose father owns the rail company Leopold now works for. As he is drawn into Katharina's world he encounters the problems Germany is trying to face; a sense of national guilt over their countries actions during the war, a dark depression settling on Germany's national psyche and the realities of living in an occupied and defeated country. The occupiers, meanwhile, concern themselves with administering tests to determine German citizens culpability in Nazi actions during the war, and dealing with the insurgence threat of the Werewolf (a group of commandos and Nazi sympathisers set on sabotaging Allied interests). But as Germany faces it's past, so must Katharina, admitting to the now smitten Leopold that she used to be a member of the dreaded Werewolf group.

In a way, the story is almost incidental in the face of the spectacle of Europa. The plot is a standard thriller affair wrapped in allegory, with characters, music and cinematography so deeply recalling film noir that you have to wonder whether von Trier is offering up a pastiche or a homage, but it's through his wonderful cinematic technique that Europa becomes something truly unique. Using all sorts of visual trickery such as double exposure, superimposition, aft and foreground projection, highly-choreographed, Hitchcock-like camera movements and splashes of unexpected colour in the deep and oppressive high-contrast black and white world of Europa (a technique Spielberg would later ape to widespread acclaim in Schindler's List), von Trier presents a composite image that shows the films larger themes. Through the hypnotic presence of Max von Sydow's narrator who commands Leopold on his journey, the clever use of colour and interleaved images, the familiar plot and noir sensibilities, the way the occupying US forces manipulate the situation for their own gain and the way Katharina manipulates Leopold, the viewer is in turn expertly manipulated and taken along for the ride. The plot offers no surprises, everything is foreshadowed and hinted at via one method or another, but through von Trier's manipulation the scenes remarkably lose none of their impact. Undoubtedly Europa is a cinematic masterpiece, but more for von Trier's technique and than anything else.

Shôhei Imamura was already a well known name in Japanese cinema by 1968, having worked as an assistant to legendary film-maker Yasujirō Ozu and with a string of light-comedy, drama and documentary successes under his belt. 1968's Profound Desires of the Gods was to be his biggest undertaking yet, however the film's production was fraught with problems, running wildly over-budget and with the original shooting schedule of 6 months spiralling to 18 months by the films completion, a lot was riding on the success of the film, for both Imamura and production company Nikkatsu - unfortunately for both, the film was a huge failure at the box-office, too obscure and unconventional to gain the mainstream success it's production costs demanded. After it's failure Imamura retreated to documentary work for more than a decade, while Nikkatsu would not make such a lavish, high budget production again for many years. This huge failure probably goes some way to explain the film's lack of recognition on the international stage. For many years it was entirely unavailable to English speaking audiences, but thankfully that all changed last year with Eureka! entertainment's deluxe blu-ray release finally opening up Imamura's lost and misunderstood masterpiece to an international audience.

Profound Desires of the Gods is an engaging, provocative and bizarre piece that ostensibly explores on a number of different levels the duality of Japan's relationship with it's own culture and tradition versus the tide of modernisation and influence from the outside world. The story takes place on the fictional, but obviously Okinawa-inspired, southern Japanese island of Kurage and centres on the lives of the Futori family, who hold the claim to the oldest blood-line on the island. It is quickly made apparent that the Futori's are heavily inter- bred and are shunned and ostracised by the island's community, who refer to them as 'beastly' and believe that their incest is responsible for the islands misfortune. The family's patriarch, old and possibly-senile Yamamori, is both Father and Grandfather to Toriko, a dumb-witted girl whose childlike manner belies her almost feral desire for sex, while Toriko's Mother and Yamamori's Granddaughter Uma is a 'noro' or seer, who lives away from the family at the local shrine (the last remaining fresh water source on the island). Meanwhile, Uma's Son Kametaro is the most normal of the group and struggles to come to terms with his incestuous feelings for his sister Toriko and the islanders distaste for his family, while his Father and Yamamori's son Nekichi is imprisoned by his Father at the bottom of a flooded pit for his crimes against the community (dynamite fishing, and attempting an illicit incestuous relationship with their seer, his sister Uma) and given the near-impossible task of dislodging a huge boulder that has blocked the flow of water to the island's rice fields.

The rice fields point to a recurring parallel in the film, representing Japan's traditional agricultural past versus the modern uptake of sugar farming that the islanders turn to after the rice fields become untenable. Yamamori's desire to see the rice fields restored represents his families struggle to retain their ways in the face of the islanders scorn, while the incestuous relationship his family is born from and the parallel it poses to the islands' creation myth (where two sibling deities are married) represents the uneasy relationship some have with their superstitious past and their desire to see it forgotten from the islands culture. This is the central theme of the film, which in itself is a product of the mindset of Japan as a whole at the time the film was made, a Japan almost embarrassed by it's past and wanting to be perceived as modern thinking on the world stage. Although the Futori's incest marks them as outcasts and the negative results of such relationships are on display for all to see, Imamura effectively paints the family as sympathetic characters, symbolising traditions and religious and superstitious beliefs that fall in the face of modernisation, while casting a disapproving eye on the effects Western influence ultimately has on the island.

Profound Desires of the Gods is a complex and often bewildering film that moves at a disjointed, almost leisurely pace. Imamura has us firmly positioned entirely as voyeurs for much of the film, always watching events unfold at a distance, his characters enveloped by wide-angle shots of the beautiful Okinawan scenery that provides us with a cinematic feast for the eyes. His themes of east versus west and tradition versus progress are always present, yet never hammered home until the films climax, leaving the viewer to piece together the entangled web of the Futori's relationships and admire the films cinematography and the natural beauty of Okinawa. And in that regard, the film is a huge success, making up for what it lacks in pacing and narrative with sheer visual beauty and a deeper subtext that ultimately paints Kurage island and it's inhabitants as an allegory for what Imamura perceived as an increasing abandonment of Japanese culture and tradition to serve modern and Western needs. Surreal and thoughtful throughout, accompanied by beautiful and expertly shot visuals and with a message that's as pertinent today as it was then, Profound Desires of the Gods most certainly isn't a film for everyone, but it is in equal turns an epic and singular piece that surely must rank among Imamura's best.

Shot entirely in black and white and set in a barely inhabited post- apocalyptic world where the atmosphere has rendered humanity mute, Luc Besson's feature length début was nothing short of ambitious. The plot ostensibly follows The Man as he scavenges for parts to keep his light aircraft in repair - venturing out into the wasteland he stumbles across a hospital where he meets The Doctor, a man living in fear of The Brute (played by Jean Reno) who is attempting to gain entry to the hospital and kill the Doctor. Through non-verbal communication, The Man and The Doctor come to help each other in an attempt to survive and keep The Brute at bay. Despite the innovative premise and stark, stylish beauty of Besson's direction, the film moves at an odd pace whereby it's more confusion and intrigue that keeps the viewer watching, rather than for any substance of character or story. The daring decision to have next to no intelligible dialogue throughout doesn't help matters, as the viewer is left to piece together the characters motives without explanation, but it's the score (the epitome of awful 80's synth soundtracks) more than anything else that dates the film and hindered this viewers enjoyment. While still worth checking out for any fans of Besson, the post-apocalyptic genre and cinema in general, it's not the easiest of films to watch, but one that rewards the viewer in spades through Besson's fantastic direction.