Quack Quack

Certain movies require a certain frame of mind. For example, I owned Taxi Driver on DVD for at least a year before I even attempted to watch it. When the day came when I was in the mood to settle down into Travis Bickle "unique" world view, I knew it had to happen then. Until this past weekend, I lumped Lucio Fulci's controversial slasher THE NEW YORK RIPPER into this bracket. But not any more...

First off, a little background history on my first and only previous encounter with this much-maligned slice of Spaghetti Splatter. In the days before DVD, the only way to get hold of hard-to-find cult movies was via filmfairs on ropey VHS dupes, usually from Laserdisc. And it was one such trip across the pennines to Manchester that enabled me and a fellow cult film enthusiast to pick up uncut versions of Fulci's film and I SPIT ON YOUR GRAVE. Now that's a double bill, I can tell you.

My dubious VHS of NYR was a little fuzzy, and something had gone wrong with the sound, all of which added to the scuzzy feel of the film. Entertaining though it was, this was not a film I had planned to revisit anytime soon. Thanks to that same cult-enthusiast who made the trip to buy dodgy videos from dodgier characters, however, revisit it we did.

Our small but perfectly formed film collective took a trip into the seedy side of 1980's New York, and were thoroughly entertained throughout. Some of the more lurid scenes made me feel like I was watching a sex scene in the company of my parents, but not to worry. Francesco De Masi's thumping score stands up as a great example of Italian funk scoring, and the film has some of the most peculiar plot points I've seen outside of a traditional giallo.

Things I've learned from THE NEW YORK RIPPER

1) The rich are unequivocally sexual deviants
2) Never trust a man with two fingers missing from his left hand.
3) If you use a Donald Duck voice when talking to your terminally ill daughter on the phone, maybe try Mickey Mouse or maybe Goofy when you go out slicing up women.
4) In 1980's New York, radio DJ's were occasionally a bit flippant about murder.
5) Lucio Fulci's attitude to the fairer sex is a little dubious.

The second half of this big-apple-themed double hit, we witnessed the wonder that is ESCAPE FROM NEW YORK. Kurt Russell is a badass. That is all.

Thoughts on Cloverfield

Cloverfield's viral marketing campaign of last year threatened to choke any hope of living up to the hype, but I was pleased to find that the film itself does rise above it's hype-fuelled origins.

I was completely captivated for the whole duration (which admittedly is a short 87 minutes). The main criticisms of Cloverfield have been that the cast are all stock pretty-types and that documenting the event would rest roughly third on the "to do" list, after saving one's ass and maybe finding a McDonalds that is still open. I think both of these quibbles are linked to each other, in that the much-talked-about Youtube generation demographic (who tend to be the young and the beautiful) are most likely to document anything in their lives and put it on the internet, be it a boil on their arse or a massive monster tearing New York a new one.

I thought it was pretty amusing that Nokia seem to be the go-to guys in the event of mass hysteria (seriously, when have you ever had a mobile phone battery that works straight out of the pack? And while we're on the subject of batteries, where the hell did Rob get that camcorder battery? Maybe the battery is made with super-secret ingredients from the bottom of the sea, the procurement of which disturbed that gigantic beastie... just a thought)

The main feeling I got from Cloverfield was a palpable sense of tension throughout, and it's very rare that I find myself that involved in the action. When the film comes out on DVD (reportedly as early as April) it will have a space reserved on the "IN THE EVENT OF A MAJOR DISASTER, WE'RE ALL FUCKED" shelf alongside Right At Your Door and Threads.

I will have vengeance...

A few quick words on the subject of Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street.

We caught this on the preview weekend, and I have to say that my previous reservations were unfounded. Whilst not the biggest fan of musicals, I have to say that Tim Burton's 'Bava with ballads' as he described it is an absolute joy.

I was concerned about the much-maligned "Sing-talking", but I soon got used to it. Aside from a couple of numbers involving the secondary cast that I
felt fell a little flat, the songs are very impressive and serve to lighten what is an extremely dark tale. All these factors are a given for any viewer who has performed even the most scant amount of research before watching the film. I lost count of the number of people who fled for the doors when it became clear that spoken dialogue wasn't going make much of an appearance, and for those unfortunates I have no sympathy. Do your research people...

What was quite interesting was that there seemed to be no walkouts on account of the bloodletting - and make no mistake, this film is bloody. Not since the likes of Switchblade Romance has the red stuff flowed in such abundance in a mainstream multiplex. Once again, any criticism of the levels of gore on display beggars belief - when a film's main plot points include murder (in particularly nasty fashion via a straight razor) and cannibalism, it's safe to say you can expect a certain level of unpleasantness. As a seasoned horror fan, even I was taken aback by the first kill.

Now the film has been left to settle for a few days, the effectiveness of Burton's latest has become apparent. The smog and grit of old London is captured beautifully, so much so that you can almost smell it. Burton's trademark ghoulish humour is also in full effect, particularly in a slaughter montage set to a jaunty melody.

In all a fine addition to Burton's body of work and a return to form.

Now, I think I might go and get me a nice meat pie...

More Cronenberg...

Recently I got around to watching THE BROOD, one of several early Cronenberg films I picked up a while back.

It's one of the few films by the Canadian director that I had never seen (I'm ashamed to say) and I was not disappointed.

Where else can you find mutant children and Oliver Reed as a demented psychotherapist? I mean, would you trust Olly with your nearest and dearest?

Nothing too profound on this one, just a fine example of DC's early work.

Eastern Promises (David Cronenberg, 2007)

As is usual in the arena of the mainstream multiplex, the intelligent and interesting tend to be dwarfed by the big, the sensationalist and, above all, the stupid.

Admittedly, Eastern Promises has been around for a few weeks, and I somehow hadn't found the time to see it. What with being in Rome for two weeks in October at the film festival (reports to follow) and then the inevitable catch up on return, cinemagoing had fallen by the wayside a little. I still need to plan a jaunt over to Bradford this week to see the restored digital presentation of Hammer's Dracula...

So, yesterday was the last day at our local to catch David Cronenberg's latest. Being a fan of his work for many years ( I still vividly remember watching Videodrome and Dead Ringers on BBC2's sorely missed Moviedrome with Alex Cox) I've been especially impressed with his films of late. A History of Violence and, to a lesser extent, Spider navigated the mainstream to deliver Cronenberg's trademarks in the guise of genre thrillers. This tactic of using genre as a delivery method for the director's agenda is a regular technique of another HF favourite Takashi Miike, and Cronenberg has got it down to a fine art. To that end, Eastern Promises is another triumph from the (former) master of body horror.

I'm not one for plot spoilers, and so I won't break that tradition, but suffice to say that there are plot points in this film that I did not see coming. Viggo Mortensen is a revelation as Nikolai, driver for members of the Russian Mafia in London. Following on from his amazing turn in A History of Violence, he exudes an intensity that puts many actors to shame. Equally dependable here are Vincent Cassel and Naomi Watts, the latter with an English accent that is flawless. With many recent disappointing UK releases, it is refreshing to see such a riveting, intelligent film outside of a film festival. It's also the first film in a long while that has made it onto the DVD wants list...

Time Well Spent

DAY OF THE DEAD @ LEEDS INTERNATIONAL FILM FESTIVAL

It was with great optimism that myself and ex-Deranged Pictures boss Matt Rowan Maw took the train over to Leeds to sample the delights of DAY OF THE DEAD, the first daytime horror event that Leeds Film Fest have programmed.

Having attended several of the festival's NIGHT OF THE DEAD events at Hyde Park Picture House, where I had seen some great films (Versus, Wild Zero) and some not so great ones (Loft, Expiry Date) I knew the sort of thing to expect.

In the illustrious surroundings of City Varieties (an old music hall-style venue) the day kicked off at Midday in fine style with WAZ. The festival rep who did the introductions had a nasty habit of telling us too much about the films beforehand, so it was before a single frame had unspooled that we were told it was a dark serial killer film in the vein of Seven. He also revealed that the British production was set (and partially shot in) New York, with the majority being filmed in Belfast as a double for NYC.

WAZ does have shades of a low-budget version of David Fincher's film in tone and style, but comparisons in this case are pointless. Stellan Skarsgard stars as Eddie Argo, a cop who is investigating a series of brutal murders that appear to be linked by the concept of WAZ (or W DELTA Z) - the theory of the selfish gene. As the story progresses, Eddie and his idealistic partner Helen Westcott (Melissa George) discover that one of Argo's old investigations may be the key to cracking the case.

As low budget thrillers go, WAZ was ok. It seems to be fairly squarely-aimed at the post-Saw audience, but the unusual title and lack of sensationalist shocks might mean that the film would be a hard sell for the multiplex crowd.

Next up was ESPECTRO, a sometimes-supernatural horror from Columbia. The plot concerns Vega, a woman recovering from a traumatic event who moves into a spooky-spooky apartment block complete with peculiar neighbours. Vega's agoraphobia leads her to install a bunch of video cameras in her apartment, and surprisingly enough, weird things start appearing on the grainy video screens. With a promising premise, it was a shame to see Espectro devolve into a dull mess of a movie and one of the first disappointments of the day (but dear god, not as much of a stinker as the next one).

One of my pet-peeves with cinema of any kind is a plot-twist that simply doesn't fit. You could debate twist-endings ad nauseam, but the simple fact of the matter is that Espectro took practically every stylistic device of Japanese supernatural horror and used them as window-dressing for what turned out to be a throughly natural conclusion.

To say that I was disheartened by THE DEVIL'S CHAIR is something of an understatement. I can honestly say that this one of the most puerile and insulting films I have seen in recent memory, regardless of genre. Director Adam Mason has produced a hateful and incomprehensible tirade against.. well... everyone really. A mental patient returns to the scene of his girlfriend's violent death (caused by the titular chair) at a derelict asylum with a group of researchers. The first problem I have with the film is the incessant voiceover by lead actor Andrew Howard, a mouthpiece for Mason's dubious misogyny and blokeisms. Howard's godawful Jason Statham-like performance renders the film a tension-free experience. A ludicrous plot-twist about a hour in puts the final nail in what is already a bloated, shit-filled coffin. Plot details aside, the director's stamp of arrogance bleeds through the entire production via the aforementioned voiceover. If Mason set out to offend then he has certainly succeeded, but the incessant ranting at the audience (particularly the oh-so-current references to gorehounds and torture porn) was uncomfortable at best. 90 minutes of being shouted at by an angry man an inch from your face is what this felt like. Thank god for Neil Marshall.

After a quick bit to eat, we were back in for what turned out to be the first highlight of the day. Sion Sono's EXTE is a film that defies categorisation. A Japanese horror movie that playfully debunks your expectation and has some of the most peculiar scenes I think I've ever seen, EXTE is a unique beast. It stars Chiaki Kuriyama (Go-Go Yubari in Kill Bill Vol 1) as a trainee hair stylist who comes across some hair extensions that have a less than wholesome story attached to them. Said hair extensions belong to a dead girl who is found in a shipping container and thanks to a strange morgue assistant, the cursed accessories make their way into salons and wreak havoc. Now instead of blood or slime, this film's chosen effect is human hair and lots of it. It grows out of incisions, mouths and even eye sockets in some of the weirdest imagery you'll have seen since the last Sion Sono film. An out there wonder and destined for cult status.

The final film of the day was The Orphanage, produced by Guillermo Del Toro and Spain's entry for the foreign language category of the Oscars. Quite how Spain is able to get it so right is beyond me when so many other nations fail at scare tactics, but get it right they do. A woman returns to the orphanage where she grew up with her husband and son with a view to reopening it, but as time goes on it becomes clear that the place is still inhabited. The stage is set for a classic ghost story which recalls The Innocents and The Changeling in fine fashion. The thing I loved about the Orphanage was that it was steeped in the tradition of ghost films, but still managed to carve out a niche of its own. A fantastically creepy seance sequence (that to my mind recalled Poltergeist) is just one element of a film that could transcend its expectations.

So in conclusion, two very good films, one not bad and two bad films (one particularly so). Leeds Film Festival is over for another year and here's hoping we get a DAY OF THE DEAD II.