Proxy

US | 2013 | Directed by Zack Parker

Logline: A grieving woman is befriended by another damaged soul with both women finding their lives dangerously and irrevocably entwined with their respective partners.

An unusually impressive movie, much more so than it should be considering how far-fetched the narrative is, but therein lies the nasty rub, as Proxy proves that if you pull strings that are made of the right fabric and pull them the right way, you can execute a horror-thriller with serious panache. Zack Parker has managed to mix a rare cocktail, a heady beverage that will kick the bar stool out from under you.

Proxy is the kind of Brian De Palma return to form we’ve been itching for, minus the flashy camera tricks. Perhaps Brian should commission a script from Parker and his co-screenwriter Kevin Donner, then we’d have a seriously ciné descent into lusty madness. But, Zack Parker’s low-budget limitations doesn’t stop him from producing a compelling piece of cinema, even if it does take a little long to get to its rug-pulling denouement.

A heavily pregnant Esther (Alexia Rasmussen) is brutally assaulted (a truly disturbing scene) after leaving her final check-up at a clinic. She loses the baby, and consequently, she finds herself in a support group for grieving parents. Another mother, Melanie (Alexa Havins) befriends her, and Esther reveals the baby was conceived by sperm bank. Melanie claims her husband and baby were killed by a drunken driver, but at a later date Esther spies Melanie in a department store, hysterical, as, apparently, her son has just been kidnapped.

Now throw a vengeful lesbian lover and an unhinged husband into the stew.

Proxy twists and turns like a cut snake. Protagonists and antagonists veer and swerve with seemingly little rhyme or reason. But then, that is half the point, as this is a study of unreliable states of being, and perspectives via psychological imbalance makes for interesting viewing in the right hands. The cast of unknowns (with the exception of indie veteran Joe Swanberg), deliver convincing performances. These are some truly screwed up misfits indeed.

Which brings me to the clever play on the meaning of the title. Apparently there’s a form of psychosis that results in a behavioral pattern known as “Münchausen syndrome by proxy” where a parent or caregiver fabricates or exaggerates a child’s sickness or injury, or actually harms the child themselves, in order to gain attention from others. In simpler terms, it is a unique form of child abuse.

The literal meaning of the word “proxy” can be applied to Esther and Melanie who use each other (and others) for their own agenda, outside that of the aberrant medical condition. But enough wallowing around in the plotted mire of these characters’ wicked, wicked ways. The less you know about Proxy, the more pleasurable the headfuck is!

Proxy will divide audiences, no doubt. Those that relish the mischievous narrative structure, savouring the demented power games, the murderous perversion … and those that find the movie far too ludicrous and long-winded to be taken seriously. I’m definitely on the dark, dangerous and deadly side of the fence where the nightmare action is.

Proxy screens as part of the 8th Sydney Underground Film Festival, Saturday 6th, 10:30pm, Factory Theatre, Marrickville.

Suburban Gothic

US | 2014 | Directed by Richard Bates Jr.

Logline: An over-educated young man with paranormal insight returns to his small hometown, and finds himself at the mercy of everything wrong with it, including a vengeful ghost.

For his second feature the talented Richard Bates (Excision) turns up the comedy dial, turns down the perversity level, and broadens his appeal. The result is an entertaining supernatural romp that teases with romance, plays mischievously with horror, and manages to tie a purple scarf around the creepy old oak tree.

Raymond (Matthew Gray Gubler, a kind of prettier version of Johnny Knoxville) is the flamboyantly dressed prodigal son returned to less than proud parents, well, certainly dad, Donald (Ray Wise), isn’t that happy with how his son turned out. Raymond might be a tad queer, but he isn’t gay. Of course the bullies who slapped him around at school couldn’t care less about the truth. It seems only bar bitch Becca (Kat Dennings, playing, well, Kat Dennings) understands Raymond’s reserved, yet colourful personality.

Following some foul fiddling on Raymond’s property by meddling landscapers, the spirit of a young girl is unleashed, and the ghost of her papa ain’t none too happy either. It’s up to Raymond, with Becca’s keen help, to try and get everything hunky dory again.

If you can imagine Hal Hartley and John Waters having an adopted love child kidnapped by Tim Burton and Sam Raimi, then that Stockholm Syndrome delinquent would be the Suburban Goth kid playing silly buggers here. In fact, John Waters makes a cameo! As does Jeffrey Combs! And the Twisted Twins! And was that Mackenzie Phillips and Sally Kirkland too? I almost expected Bruce Campbell to make an appearance!

Suburban Gothic is kept buoyant by the charismatic cast and the delightful nuanced performances of the leads. I’ve not seen Gubler before, but he’s great to watch, and the sardonic chemistry between him and Dennings is perfect. Their scenes together are a hoot. Bates writes great characters and gives them spot-on dialogue; he’s one of the more exciting genre filmmakers on the scene. 

What gives the movie an extra splash of cult zing ping is Bates’ penchant for the crude and vulgar (a la John Waters) which rears its head in one scene in particular when Raymond is getting his rocks off watching some Latino web-cam porn on the computer and the vindictive spirit decides to play nasty by filling the ceiling lampshade fixture above him with … cum. Then the fixture bursts.

Suburban Gothic charms the braces off of you while it sticks its bristly, fetid tongue in your ear. Ergh! Yup, it’s that kind of kitschy-campy comedy-horror. Enjoy.

Suburban Gothic screens as part of the 8th Sydney Underground Film Festival, Friday 5th, 6:30pm, and Sunday 7th, 3pm, at Factory Theatre, Marrickville.

Haunter

Canada | 2013 | Directed by Vincenzo Natali

Logline: A teenage girl finds herself – and her family – trapped in a supernatural time-loop within the home, reliving each day over and over, until she makes an even more frightening discovery.

Like a less-than-stellar episode of The Twilight Zone, Haunter meanders into frame and quickly wanders into the foggy wilderness of mediocrity. It’s a cliché-ridden ghost story that relies on its twist to keep the bar raised, but the bar was never high enough in the first place. This is strictly haunting-by-the-numbers, with a saccharine feel-good ending.

Lisa (Abigail Breslin) is the moody teenager who becomes aware of a supernatural glitch in the time-space continuum of her home. She is forever washing the same clotches, being accused of losing clothes by her mother, who’s baking the same cake over and over and over; her birthday cake. It seems Lisa’s birthday will never, ever arrive.

After a few wash, rinse and repeats Lisa makes contact with another girl, Olivia (Eleanor Zichy), from the future. Olivia and her family are to be the next set of victims of a sinister serial killer, Edgar Mullins (Stephen McHattie). Yup, Lisa is a ghost. But unlike the rest of her family, she’s worked out she’s one, and it’s up to her to wriggle free from the dark spectral force that has surrounded and infiltrated the house. She’ll need help from Olivia, and the spirits of other previous victims.

Haunter is about waking up to the fact that you’re dead. It’s a spiritual thriller, weaving dangerously close to Christian territory. There is sweet little nightmare edge in this safe-as-houses horror; I’ve seen episodes of Antiques Roadshow that were more disturbing. Even the presence of McHattie (a wasted opportunity, if ever there was!) fails to provide any genuine menace.

Abigail Breslin is in a similar boat to Chloë Grace Moretz. They were great as child actors, but as they enter late adolescence they are not exhibiting much acting range. Of course, it could have a lot to do with the director whose previous movies have featured some very wooden performances. Natali is a former storyboard artist, and certainly his movies have a visual narrative that is so slick as to be like a television advertisement. But they leave me cold. Haunter is no exception.

What scares me the most is Natali is directing William Gibson’s Neuromancer.

Haunter is released in Australia by Umbrella Entertainment.

All Cheerleaders Die

US | 2013 | Directed by Lucky McKee & Chris Sivertson

Logline: A scheming high school student joins the cheerleading team in order to exact revenge on one of the football jocks, but a supernatural turn of events causes chaos.

I’m inclined to think Lucky McKee sold his soul to the Devil in return for the critical acclaim he received for his very impressive second feature May (2002), which has since gained a worthy cult status. His debut effort was the video feature All Cheerleaders Die (2001), and he and Sivertson, apparently, always intended on remaking it when the time was right. I think they should’ve left the dead cheer where it lay.

Maddy (Caitlin Stasey) takes it upon herself to seek sly revenge on the scumbag who was dating her childhood friend Alexis (Felisha Cooper) when she died following a cheerleading mishap. The alpha jock, Terry (Tom Williamson), immediately starts dating one of the other cheerleaders, Tracy (Brooke Butler). Maddy is disgusted. But she has another agenda which is revealed at movie’s end.

Leena (Sianoa Smit-McPhee) is the high school weirdo Goth misfit, and also happens to be Maddy’s ex-girlfriend. She’s into crystals and witchcraft. When things go tragically pear-shaped for the cheerleading team, including sisters Hanna (Amanda Grace Cooper) and Martha (Reanin Johannink), following a confrontation with the football jocks, Leena comes to the rescue with her trusty rainbow collection of supernatural crystal goodies. Before you can say “Iknowwhatyoudidlastsummer” the dead cheer gals are undead and thirsty for the taste of copper, preferably with a little field dirt thrown in. Maddy’s undercover revenge plan is knocked sideways as the girls fight strange new desires.

The casting and performances is the best thing about All Cheerleaders Die. Curiously there are three Aussie gals (Stasey, Sianoa Smit-McPhee, Johannink), all holding their Yankee own, especially Stasey, who deserves a much better vehicle for her talents. But if only the movie was as kickass as it thinks it is. McKee and Sivertson are trying to be clever by trying to subvert horror/exploitation clichés, only to fall into the snake pit they’re attempting to jump over. The tone shifts wildly, as does the plot. To make matters worse, the special effects - especially those involving the crystals – look chintzy as all hell. It’s a shame, because the trailer promised an uber-trashy irresponsible good time, but the trash factor is more bubblegum than filth. Apparently a Part Two is intended. I won’t be attending that game.

Okay, so while it’s not as hopeless as Diablo Cody’s attempt at a femme fatale high school undead horror movie, Jennifer’s Body, All Cheerleaders Die is more like a mish-mash of The Craft, Heathers, and Bring It On, except all those movies worked a dream. Maybe the problem lies more with Sivertson, but Lucky’s namesake isn’t doing him any favours. The Woods was a snoozefest, Sick Girl was a disappointing entry in the Masters of Horror series, and The Woman wasn’t nearly as subversive as it should’ve been.

Fuck it, I'm gonna throw a sexist spanner in the works. I know I said the casting was solid, but call me old fashioned; since when did cheerleaders’ prerequisite not include big busts?!

Nurse

US | 2013 | Directed by Douglas Aarniokoski

Logline: A nurse who spends her extra-curricular time luring cheating married men and murdering them finds her mission complicated by the arrival of an attractive new nurse.

Nurse 3D, using its official title (there’s something incredibly tacky about movies that incorporate their gimmick into the title), is an odd movie. It’s not a good one either. In fact, it’s not even a good bad one, which perhaps it’s trying to be, since it obviously plays mostly for laughs. And therein lies the grindhouse rub, but more on that later.

I’d been waiting ages to see this movie, having been lured by the teaser poster campaign well over a year ago, and eventually the trailer that seemingly promised a uber-sexy, ultra-trashy indulgence. I had hoped to see it in the cinema in its 3D-shot format, but alas, it wasn’t to be. Neither was I able to organise a home 3D screening. A shame really, because from what I watched the 3D would’ve made the movie a damn sight more entertaining.

Abby Russell (Paz de la Huerta) is the titular (snigger) nurse, by day strutting through the corridors of All Saints Memorial in her ludicrously high pumps and thinking nasty thoughts, but by night, she slips into her sluttiest gear, dons a mountain of makeup, tousles her wild hair (was that a wig?), and hits the nightspots on the hunt for the scum of the earth; those married men with wedding rings in their pockets keen to cheat on their wives with some pretty young thing.

Abby has a burning agenda, but it’s newbie nurse Danni (Katrina Bowden) who unknowingly throws a spanner in the works. Abby has a soft spot for the ladies, and although Danni is betrothed to Steve (Corbin Bleu), Abby knows he’ll soon fuck up, leaving Danni all vulnerable and alone. In the meantime there’s psychotherapist Larry Cook (Martin Donovan), and Dr. Morris (Judd Nelson) to satisfy her bloodlust. Best get cracking.

Douglas Aarniokoski rams his slick flick full of all the obvious exploitation trappings, but this is no Piranha remake. It’s not even a Machete or Planet Terror. They eat this bitch for breakfast. It doesn’t even deserve to be slapped in my Deep Trash bin. Nurse is a contradiction from start to finish, failing in almost every department, except probably the 3D one, but I can’t comment there (and I strongly doubt I’ll revisit the movie just for the three dimensions, despite my intention before I started watching).

Okay, so the acting is mediocre at best. Paz de la Huerta is awesomely seductive in the posters, but her strange accent and delivery fits very awkwardly with the rest of the performances, not to mention her ungainly stride. Judd Nelson’s career highlight was more than twenty-five years ago, ‘nuff said. Martin Donovan, how embarrassing. Kathleen Turner, was that you?!

The less said about the screenplay the better, but exploitation flicks were never about the plot, so I’ll let that one slide. But where are the practical gore effects?! Nurse relies on CGI, which is wrong, wrong, wrong! But the most annoying thing of all is the nudity, or lack there of. Abby does get her gear off a few times, but, very oddly, she keeps her brassiere on. We can see she’s waxed clean as a whistle (which, by the way, is so NOT grindhouse), but why she keeps her bra on is a mystery (actually, I think it’s because Ms de la Huerta’s breasts are asymmetrical).

Co-star Katrina Bowden has two showers with her knickers on, clutching her arms to her side to hide her breasts. What the fuck?! Why would you cast actors in such a movie if they weren’t prepared to do the nudity properly?! (I suppose I should be directing that complaint to Rodriguez too (re: Jessica Alba in Sin City).

If you stripped all of Nurse’s strange nudity and plastic gore away, you’d be left with the kind of pain no amount of medication would fix. Forget the comedy, watch Autopsy instead.

Nurse 3D Blu-ray is distributed in Australia by Roadshow Entertainment.

A Serbian Film

Srpski Film | Serbia | 2010 | Directed by Srdjan Spasojevic

Logline: A veteran porn star agrees to participate in one last movie in order to make a clean break from the business, only to discover later that he has been involved in a soul-crushing snuff film.

A furiously dark and uncompromising portrait of corruption and abuse, focusing on one man’s nightmare ne plus ultra, a descent into the most unimaginable real horror borne from his career, his fear, his life-blood. A Serbian Film, the title seething with the darkest of irony, its intent bent on the most scathing of social commentary portrays an appalling plummet over the edge of the abyss.

Milos (Srdjan Todorovic) is married to a beautiful wife Marija (Jelena Gavrilovic) and has a curious young son, Stefan (Luka Mijatovic). They are a close-knit family, but true happiness eludes them. Milos wants out of the adult industry, and when a lucrative opportunity presents itself Milos takes the bait. A colleague, Lejla (Katarina Zutic), sets him up to meet charismatic art-porn director Vukmir (Sergej Trifunovic) who makes Milos an offer he can’t refuse, while keeping the finer details a mystery.

When Milos discovers, much to his concern, the more perverse elements of Vukmir’s direction he wants his contract cancelled. But Vukmir isn’t open to negotiation. Milos has been mickey-finned. The red light turns to green, but Milos isn’t going anywhere. His groin throbs. His head reels. Everything blurs and fades to black.

The second half of A Serbian Film follows Milos as he uncovers what happened to him during his three-day black out. As shards of extreme violence and depravity pierce Milos’ vision – which, ostensibly, is the viewer’s – the narrative switches back and forth between the events occurring during his drug-addled waking nightmare and Milos struggling to comprehend and deal with the aftermath. What might have appeared disturbing before he blacked out is nothing compared to what is returning to his disorientated mind.

Subliminal images and an intense soundtrack enforce Milos’s fractured memories. He’s been pumped full of a drug that Vukmir likens to “Viagra for bulls”. He has become a “he-goat” as Vukmir muses, a slave manipulated into the most depraved performances, all in the name of dark art for the black market. Vukmir believes himself to be an artist working with the flesh and souls of the victim, because the victim is the priciest sell in the world, the victim feels the most and suffers the best.

Spasojevic has made one of the most controversial and provocative movies ever. It has been banned or censored in most countries. The version released in Australia was shorn of a few minutes, most notably in two scenes depicting pedophilia. Ironically these cuts would have only served to confuse the viewer as to what exactly had occurred and effectively blur the intended impact, they certainly wouldn't have "protected" the viewer as the censor’s might think they’re doing. Shortly after the Australian cut version was approved, an appeal was launched and subsequently the movie was banned altogether.

This is a thematically complex movie; intriguing, sensual, grotesque, shocking, repulsive, exhilarating, mesmerising, and deeply harrowing. I challenge anyone who happens to see the movie not to be moved – in the broadest sense – in some way. This movie doesn’t just slap you in the face; it punches hard, a king-hit that simultaneously kicks your feet out from under you. It’s the art of atrocity that takes the bull of darkest human behaviour by the horns, guaranteed to shock the most jaded transgressive cinephile.

There are the implications of a country plagued by war and atrocity and the loss of identity, the power of individuality, of freedom of speech, of the schizophrenic world of false morality. A Serbian Film is Shakespearean in its arc and the scope of its thematic elements, also its psychological and visceral impact, and most importantly, in the tragedy of its tale. With rich and dark cinematography, a brilliant electronic score that throbs and pulsates like a primordial beast, and uniformly excellent performances from its cast this is arguably the most powerful post-modern horror movie ever made, dealing explicitly with the horror genre’s most potent elements: sex and death, innocence and corruption.

A Serbian Film is a dark horse that kicks like an angry mule.

Willow Creek

USA | 2013 | Directed by Bobcat Goldthwait

Logline: Armed with a video camera a Bigfoot enthusiast and his supportive girlfriend venture into the same forest territory where the controversial late 60s film footage of Sasquatch was captured.

I like Robert Francis “Bobcat” Goldthwait's style. Known chiefly for his unhinged black comedies, most notably the excellent God Bless America, but also for directing cult television, such as Chappelle’s Show and Crank Yankers, he turns his attention to the sub-genre that everyone loves to hate; found footage. He then throws in one of America’s most beloved myths: Bigfoot. It’s a dangerous mix, but Bobcat pulls it off.

Jim (Bryce Johnson) is a Bigfoot geek, not an expert by any stretch (he doesn’t seem to know exactly what year the infamous 1967 Patterson & Gimlin 16mm footage was filmed). His girlfriend, Kelly (Alexie Gilmore), has tagged along with him to visit Bluff Creek, a sandbar near Willow Creek, in Northwest California. Jim is a firm believer, whilst Kelly is a steadfast skeptic. She humours her boyfriend, acting as camera operator for his video diary. They interview locals, make jokes about a Missing Person notice, and enjoy the hefty Bigfoot Burger.

Following directions from one of the Bigfoot tourist stores Jim and Kelly are confronted by an aggressive local, no doubt a marijuana cultivator, who tells them to get the hell out of Dodge. Jim isn’t about to give up the ghost, since he knows an alternate route. Soon enough they’re at the end of the road and it’s time to don the backpacks. After several hours traipsing through the wilderness, with another hour to go before they reach their destination, Kelly insists they set up tent. Jim is brave enough to skinny-dip in a freezing waterhole. Kelly laughs at her goofy boyfriend.

Someone, or thing, has disturbed their campsite. Kelly is unnerved. Jim is quietly excited. That night they are woken by the sound of wood knocking on wood, and a faint cooing. Or is that a woman weeping? Or is that some kind of strange coyote wail? Branches and twigs are being broken. It’s moving closer …

This scene of Jim and Kelly being terrorised lasts a quarter of an hour. One very long, unbroken take, filmed from Jim’s video camera on a tripod inside the tent. It’s incredibly tense.

Found footage flicks have two main issues that need to be dealt with in order to be taken seriously by the True Believers. The first is: camera battery life duration. Now these days consumer cameras have batteries that can last anywhere from five to nine hours, so if Jim and Kelly weren’t videoing every step of their hike, and Jim had brought a couple of spare battery packs, then its easy to accept the battery situation.

The second issue is: videoing under duress. As their nightmare progresses Kelly descends into the early stages of hysteria. She isn’t capable of maintaining any kind of video documentation. Jim, on the other hand, is a pillar of strength, or appears to be. The movie doesn’t require either Jim or Kelly to be fleeing and videoing at that same time. The shit hits the fan pretty damn quickly.

WARNING! CONTAINS SPOILER!

Which brings me to the movie’s denouement, which worked fine for me. I’m sure this ending will polarise many audiences. Bobcat wisely chooses not to reveal Bigfoot in any graphic way. In fact, Bigfoot doesn’t even get a glimpse. Earlier Jim and Kelly find some bloodied hair caught on a tree root, but that could belong to a bear. Jim and Kelly, huddled together, push their way through the thick undergrowth, aware that something very menacing is very close by. A frightening growl is heard, and something very strong definitely attacks the couple.  What does get seen in the light of the camera poses a very intriguing situation: a startling, disturbing close encounter with a filthy, near-naked elderly woman. Followed by brief violent chaos, followed by camera dragged along forest floor, followed by poor Kelly screaming, and several - yes several - subsequent beastly howls in the dark of the forest night.

What the fuck?! Yup. It could be that Mr. Sasquatch may be having inter-special relations with one of its Stockholm Syndrome victims. Perhaps I’m stretching the animal logic a little, maybe not. But this is what I really like about Willow Creek. It’s a dirt-cheap production, filmed very economically, unpretentious, sports two likeable characters, well-acted, some funny dialogue, but best of all, it delivers some genuine nightmare madness into the equation without trying to solve a fifty-year-old mystery. While it might be as scary as The Blair Witch Project, its certainly but much better than the recent, very disappointing The Jungle.

The Babadook

Australia | 2014 | Directed by Jennifer Kent

Logline: A single mother, plagued by the violent death of her husband, battles with her son's fear of a monster lurking in the house, but soon discovers a sinister presence all around her.

Jennifer Kent is an actress-turned-director, and like most of those that have made the same transition, her understanding of the craft and discipline of acting has made sure she elicits exceptional performances from her actors. Her debut feature is a showcase of exemplary acting from an adult and a child, made all the more powerful by clever shooting and editing, since The Babadook is quite the nightmare material that would’ve given any seven-year-old the serious heebie-jeebies.

Essie Davis, most recently notable in the brilliant Burning Man, and the superb television mini-series The Slap (both 2011), plays Amelia, a widow and mother-at-the-end-of-her-tether. Seven years after she lost her husband, Oskar (Benjamin Winspear), the father of Samuel (Noah Wiseman), her son, the grief is still preventing her from living the social life she deserves. Young Sam’s behaviour is troubling. His overactive imagination is beginning to show tears at the sides of sanity, as he is convinced a beast of sorts is living under his bed, and, as a result both mum and son are losing sleep.

To complicate matters, there’s the children’s book that has creeped onto the bedroom shelf, “Mister Babadook”, a grim pop-up fable that treads very much from the darkness. Amelia tries to hide it, but it makes more than just its literary presence known. Soon enough the tenebrous supernatural entity from the book has permeated the household and it’s by no means chanting a lullaby.

Kent made a short, Monster, back in 2005, and it’s a monochromatic gem, rather creepy, but infused with a sly black sense of humour that rears its head at film’s end. Kent has spread that short’s dark cape into an impressive feature with a stunning use of a very modest budget. The art direction is terrific, all muted greys, blacks, and charcoal hues – especially in the home where most of the movie takes place. Mister Babadook’s design (Tim Purcell plays the black creature-figure, as he did in the short) is fantastic, as is the titular pop-up book paper engineering.

Much of the way Kent directs reminds me of the nightmarish elements that made Takashi Shimizu’s Ju-on so powerful. And, even Dario Argento could take note of Kent’s inventive and effective use of atmosphere and suggestion, something that has been missing from the Italian master’s oeuvre for more than twenty years!

I was really having a great time with The Babadook, especially loving Jed Kurzel’s classic score (can Kurzel do a hat-trick, having also brilliantly scored Snowtown?), until the last quarter of the movie when the spectre’s malevolent presence began to dissipate and that wonderfully dark atmosphere began to clear. The reason? The power of love. Yup, that ol’ chestnut; the same nugget that saved – but in horrorphile’s eyes emasculated - The Conjuring. And, curiously, both movies are similar in their Neil Gaiman-esque creepiness, even genuinely frightening in moments. Such a pity those darkly bellowing clouds of imaginative horror have become morning mist by the end of the movie.

It’s not that I’m cynical (well, I can be), but movies like The Babadook and The Conjuring could be up there with the very best, if only they played out their denouements in the same way as movies such as Invasion of the Body Snatchers, The Texas Chain Saw Massacre, Halloween, The Thing, The Descent, Martyrs. You get my drift? To be a True Believin’ horror movie there’s got to be darkness at the end of the tunnel.

Not light.

You can’t get to tame the beast.

Watch Jennifer Kent's Monster short:

Godzilla

US | 2014 | Directed by Gareth Edwards

Logline: A giant lizard battles two giant malevolent insect creatures and wreaks havoc on San Francisco whilst the people of San Fran try to stay out of the way.

It’s the sixtieth anniversary of Toho’s Gojira, the Japanese daikaiju symbol of the WII destruction of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. The “gorilla-whale” re-boot is a monstrous 350-ft lizard-like behemoth that rises from the depths of the pacific to equalize Nature’s off-set and do battle with two hideous industrial beasts, part bat, part moth, machine-like demons fueled by an insatiable thirst for radioactive material. These creatures are nicknamed MUTOs (Massive Unidentified Terrestrial Organisms).

Edwards keeps reasonably faithful to the spirit of Japan’s original series of “daikaiju eiga” (monster movies). The Godzilla design is bang-on, even down to the keloid scarring, with a bear-like snout and a komodo-like body. This is one monster movie that carries serious weight. This is easily the biggest spectacle movie of the year (I think the next Transformers flick will be eating Godzilla’s dust). And I take my hat off to Gareth Edwards’ 700-strong team of CGI artists; the execution (pun intended) of San Francisco’s collateral damage has to be seen - and heard - to be believed. If Godzilla doesn’t win Oscars next year for visual effects and sound design I’ll eat my crocodile boots.

There’s a sensational cast on display (yes, display, because they play second fiddle to the mayhem), with Bryan Cranston, David Strathairn, Juliette Binoche, Elisabeth Olsen, and Ken Watanabe heading the field. Aaron Taylor-Johnson, from Kick-Ass, does a solid job in the lead. The screenplay was never going to win any awards, but hey, this is Godzilla, GODZILLA. It's extraordinary how Edwards has gone from Monsters to Godzilla.

My biggest gripe, and perhaps it is this issue that prevents the movie from being the “four-and-a-half star” movie that I had hoped it might be, is that while Edwards deliberately creates an atmosphere very similar to Steven Spielberg’s Jaws, teasing the audience without exposing his Ace until quite some way into the movie, he upstages his main act with one of those damn MUTOs by having the beastoid cause considerable menace and damage before we even get to see Godzilla in all his magnificent terrifying glory.

Speaking of Spielberg, Edwards’ has delivered a movie very similar in tone and style to the Hollywood wunderkind, even down to the insistent score. There are also some James Cameron-esque action moments too (not surprisingly, Cameron was at one time going to direct a Godzilla re-boot). All in all, Godzilla probably suffers under the sheer weight of its own hype. Let’s face it, any self-respecting science-fiction/horror lover has been squirming in their seats ever since those awesome teaser trailers first came out, and for the most part Godzilla doesn’t disappoint, but whether I’ll watch it again in a hurry, I’m not sure. And therein, perhaps, lies the scaly rub.

The Battery

US | 2012 | Directed by Jeremy Gardner

Logline: Two bickering friends travel across the country back roads from abandoned house to derelict house trying to keep one step ahead of the zombies.

Gardner’s debut feature is the itch he loved to scratch. He wrote the screenplay, co-produced it, and is one of the two lead actors. Apparently the budget was $US6 grand and shot in just fifteen days in Connecticut. Now that’s guerrilla filmmaking. It’s somehow fitting that the concept is a zombie apocalypse, but not the usual horde vs. anti-hero antics.

Ben (Gardner) and Mickey (Adam Cronheim) are former baseball players, now survivalists. They spend their time slowly and surely making their way across New England, encountering the living dead from time to time, playing ball to pass the time, and making idle chat and pseudo-argumentative conversation. The movie’s title refers to the collective baseball term for the pitcher and the catcher. And it is this to-ing and fro-ing that keeps The Battery’s languid momentum swaying.

Mickey prefers to have his headphones on, the music taking his mind off the inherent doom of their situation. Ben is more proactive, instigating the use of walkie-talkies, and unwittingly sowing the seeds of further doom. The two young men find themselves at the wrong end of the stick when Annie (Alana O’Brien) and her companion Egghead confront them on a lonely stretch of road.

If Kevin Smith had decided to make a zombie movie, it might’ve turned out something like The Battery, except The Battery isn’t nearly as self-conscious as a Kevin Smith flick. But the real problem with Gardner’s feature is exactly that, it’s a feature. It’s really a short film that’s been padded out extensively. A fifteen-twenty minute running time would’ve been perfect.

The whole last ten minutes or so reminded me of the superb Kiwi zombie short, Zombie Movie (2005). Solid performances, a backbone of comic blackness, and an unpretentious, but striking visual style keep The Battery from being struck out; it’s the slacker flick for zombieheads.

The Battery is distributed in Australia by Accent Film Entertainment.

Martyrs

2007 | France/Canada | Directed by Pascal Laugier

Logline: Two young women, both victims of abuse, forge a close bond as children, and upon release from the clinic they set out for revenge, only to jump from the frying pan into the fire. 

One of the most startlingly brutal nightmare movies of the past decade Martyrs challenges even the most jaded horrorphiles with its unusual narrative arc, with its jarring, dramatic first act, a prolonged and unbearable middle act, and its extraordinarily grotesque, yet strangely meditative third act … and the stunning epilogue.

A French/French-Canadian co-production that is a systematic assault on the senses, Martyrs is at times expressionistic, even surreal, then utterly naturalistic, almost cinema verite-style. Like Eli Roth’s Hostel: Part II, – and not too dissimilar to the concept of evil just below the surface so popular with David Lynch – it portrays a terrible underworld where money and power can let you indulge in your most depraved desires, where victims become pieces of ragged art to a human agenda of a truly heinous design.

Never has the uber-wealthy been portrayed in such a cruel perverted fashion. The hell that Lucie (Mylène Jampanoï) and Anna (Morjana Alaoui) pass through is of truly Biblical propotions. This is a vision of suffering that makes most other horror movies pale in comparison, but so very well-made that it puts all those low-rent torture porn attempts to utter shame (I won’t even bother to name any of them).

The word “martyr” is derived from the Latin word for “witness”. Those rare humans that suffer agonising pain, but will not be broken, finally seeing beyond death into the mysterious void that has caused so much intrigue to for theological muse. Does this after-life actually exist? Only the martyrs know, but none have ever survived to actually relate their experience, their vision.

Pascal Laugier pushes the envelope, at times his brutality is far-fetched, especially during the extended incarceration section in the middle of the movie, but there is a palpable atmosphere and tone of dread that exudes from the narrative that compels the viewer. The acting is top notch, especially Jampanoï, her hysteria and ferocity is amazing to watch. Laugier’s direction is taut and the production design is very impressive. If only more of the left-field horror movies could command the same high calibre level of filmmaking; intelligent and stylish.

Martyrs is a nightmare theological phantasy, it’s over-the-top, yet the director has the reigns firmly in his clutches. It’s the kind of horror movie that polarises audiences; it’s ferocity and oddness will alienate some, while its uncompromising attitude and its imaginative twists will make others squeal with dark delight. This is the kind of grueling experience that would make for the perfect initiation viewing for newbies into a hardcore horror club.

Long live the extreme flesh!

The Raid 2

Indonesia | 2014 | Directed by Gareth Evans

Logline: A cop is forced to go undercover, infiltrate a gangster syndicate and climb through the hierarchy to expose the police and political corruption at the top.

In 2011 The Raid, also known as The Raid: Redemption, and as Serbuan Maut (Death Raid) in its home country, brought writer/director Gareth Evans, an ex-pat Welshman, into the living rooms of extreme action diehards and slapped them in the face. A simple narrative, yet driven by an intensely choreographed ballet of ultraviolence, The Raid became an instant cult classic, and for many a new benchmark in visceral action.

The Raid 2 (with the subtitle Berandal as its closing credits) is actually the movie Evans intended to make first, but it was a far more ambitious production and he wanted to create a memorable back story for his lead character, so The Raid: Redemption was produced first. The box office and critical acclaim secured the sequel’s green light. As far as sequel’s go, it’s arguably a better movie; a more complex narrative, more elaborate set-pieces, more intensity, stronger performances, and, most importantly to the diehard action fans, it’s much more violent.

Rama (Iko Uwais) had a hard time in the high-rise apartment block that was the centre piece of The Raid. He was beaten black and blue. In The Raid he gets beaten blacker and bluer. But not without causing enough mayhem himself to last three Hollywood action flicks! Evans’ extraordinary fight sequences are something to behold. But – and for me, this is a big “but” – one must take all the hand-to-hand combat sequences with a grain of salt. They are very cartoon-like. 

Each thug takes their turn and is knocked silly. Real fights simply don’t happen like that. In this respect both The Raid, and even more so with The Raid 2, the combat content harks back to the now very dated stylistics of the Hong Kong movies of Jackie Chan and other martial arts flicks. They are enjoyable on an immediate level, but make no sense within the framework of the rest of the movie which is attempts to be realistic.

It’s utterly absurd when Rama has been battling it out for ten minutes against scores of goons all armed to the teeth, with barely a scratch on him, and suddenly is hit by a glancing machete. Next scene he’s nursing a flesh wound in his hotel room as if his life depended on it. Later still and all that’s a distant memory as he’s back in the thick of it. There’s really no rhyme or reason in this twisted odyssey of violence and thuggery.

But on a beer and popcorn level it works incredibly well. Unless another Dredd is released this year (I much preferred that over The Raid) then The Raid 2 will easily take out top honours for action flick of the year. Hell, it’s even one of the most violent movies of the past few years! The production is slick, and the villains are nasty. The Raid 3 is already in pre-production, as is a Hollywood remake of The Raid. Boom! 

Fin

Spain | 2012 | Directed by Jorge Torregrossa

Logline:  A group of old friends have gathered for a reunion, but soon discover that the absence of one friend is the explanation for the unfolding of ominous supernatural events.

Smoldering with suspense, bristling with intrigue, coiled like a snake ready to bite, and as elusive as it is enigmatic, Fin is a feature that promises far more than it ultimately delivers, but the ride to the beyond is a solid, very well-acted, drama-thriller.

Despite the involvement of Sergio Sanchez on co-writing duties (he penned The Orphanage), the movie spends far too much time meandering around the characters rather than getting to the bones of the story: the end of days.

Director Torregrossa’s background is in Spanish television, but he shows flair in his mise-en-scene. He certainly can elicit excellent performances, a shame then that the majority of the characters are less-than-interesting. Thankfully the most charismatic ones last the distance.

Essentially Fin becomes a waiting game, as the cosmic elements take their aim on the poor, hapless friends. Seems their old buddy Angel (Eugenia Mira) – the Prophet – might just be right after all. There’ll be tears before bedtime, tears before the Armageddon. Quietly does it.

The movie’s most captivating moment is when the thunder and lightning occur at just after midnight, and all power is zapped. None of the cars electrical equipment works, and then the first friend vanishes. It’s a tense and unsettling situation. From there the friends are on the move, and the narrative becomes a chase; the remaining friends trying to find anyone who hasn’t disappeared, before they all disappear.

The screenplay is based on a novel by Daniel Monteagudo, and I’m sure it reads more compellingly than the movie. It’s a shame then that Fin doesn’t work quite like it should. It simply plateaus far too soon, and as such you lose interest in the outcome. When the end finally arrives, it’s an anticlimax. Ultimately, Fin is a thriller that begs for more thrills. 

Wolf Creek 2

Australia | 2014 | Directed by Greg Mclean

Logline: Several backpackers fall prey to a psychopathic, pig-hunting, outback serial killer.

When it was announced a sequel to Wolf Creek (2005) was in the works, there was a mixture of excitement and reservation amongst the horror community. Most horrorphiles rate the first Wolf Creek as a superior movie, and was easily the best Australian horror movie in a very long time. Genuinely disturbing, atmospheric, frightening, and original, Greg Mclean’s low-budget, old-fashioned, yet very modern take on the slasher flick was an instant cult classic.

Nearly ten years have passed since Mick Taylor (John Jarrett) carved up the screen with his big hunting knife and sent chills down spines with his wicked cackle. Mick’s back, with a few days to kill, and he’s gonna chew through more than just a bit of scenery. Wolf Creek 2 once again reminds it audience that the film is based on true events, and that 30,000 people go missing in Australia every year, and whilst 90% of them are found in the first month, some are never found at all.

The based on actual events tag is tenuous at best, despite the unofficial inspiration for both movies coming from convicted Australian serial killer Ivan Milat and the crimes known as The Backpacker Murders. No one really knows what went on between Milat and his victims, and certainly Paul Onions, the one-that-got-away, didn’t end up in a mental institution.

The screenplay for Wolf Creek 2 is co-written between Mclean and Aaron Sterns (who has published a prequel novel about Taylor’s exploits), and combined with Greg’s visual flair, this sequel has been aimed squarely at the American mainstream market. The movie was even cut by two minutes from its original Australian R to get an MA, so that in America it will receive an R, and not an NC-17.

But it’s not just the graphic violence that’s been conditioned (to be fair, the movie is still very violent, and there is a very messy headshot early on the movie, though in all honesty, its execution smacks of surreal black comedy more than genuine horror); the entire movie has been fashioned for audiences beyond the horror field. In fact, Mclean unashamedly wears a few cult classic American movies on his homage sleeve; Duel (1971) and The Texas Chainsaw Massacre Part 2 (1986), with a hint of Mad Max flavour thrown in for good measure.

Wolf Creek 2 is more of an action-thriller with horror overtones. For those who haven’t seen the original, or aren’t True Believers, it makes for an entertaining fright ride, but there are some serious issues that make Wolf Creek 2 a failure compared to its superior predecessor. Mick Taylor was a genuine nightmare presence in the original, now he’s much more of a wisecracking Crocodile Dundee on a murder spree.

The audience felt significant empathy with the victims of the first movie because they were believable characters with natural chemistry, very likeable, and, most importantly, we spent time with them first. The victims in Wolf Creek 2 are cardboard cutouts, perfunctory at best. The main contender, Paul Hammersmith (read: Onions), is charismatic, but overacted by Ryan Corr, and the audience are encouraged (whether intentionally or not) to root more for the villain, as Taylor is easily the most developed, most gregarious character of the movie. This is the problem that plagued the Freddy Krueger character in the A Nightmare on Elm Street series; he became the “hero” of the movies, and as such the nightmare boogeyman element quickly dissipated.

No doubt one of the most discussed scenes of Wolf Creek 2 will be the Oz history quiz Taylor forces Hammersmith to play. It is here that the movie becomes a black comedy, and it is here that all plausibility gets thrown to the desert wind.

I’m not denying Wolf Creek 2 doesn’t look great (as usual in a Mclean movie, the cinematography is superb), and there’s an awesome set-piece involving a truck running down a hillside (so that’s where some of the $7 million budget went, ‘cos I was hard-pressed to work out how Wolf Creek could cost less than a million, and the sequel cost nearly ten times as much!), but the movie lacks the consistent tone and atmosphere of dread of the original, and the violence is nowhere near as realistic, even if it appears to be more sadistic, bloody and intense.

And why Mick Taylor does what he does at movie’s end makes no sense whatsoever. 

Wolf Creek 2 is eating the Australian box office for breakfast, and it’s great that genre filmmaking is making such an impact, even if it has been so calculated. But for the True Believers, Wolf Creek 2 is homogenised. Let’s hope Greg’s next movie isn’t “Beyond Thunderdome”. 

My nightmare pleasures of 2013

It was slim pickings this year. But three of my favourites are Australian productions.

In some semblance of order. Maybe. 

EVIL DEAD

KISS OF THE DAMNED

RESOLUTION

CONTRACTED

BECKONING THE BUTCHER

V/H/S/2

100 BLOODY ACRES

THE CONJURING

APOCALYPTIC

WORLD WAR Z

And Honourable Mention goes to the 3D conversion re-release of Jurassic Park. Twenty years down the track and the movie's best sequences - the T-Rex breaking out of the compound - still kick arse, and most surprising of all, the entire movie felt like it had been directed for 3D. 

Carrie

US | 2013 | Directed by Kimberly Peirce

Logline: A meek, adolescent girl, with a religiously fanatical mother, and a victim of bullying at school, discovers she has powerful telekinetic powers.

Brian De Palma’s 1976 adaptation from Stephen King’s brilliant debut novel is a movie of its time, yet despite the various elements that date it, it is still a superb example of cinematic suspense wrapped around a portrait of abuse and revenge. The cast were perfect: Sissy Spacek as the shadow that exploded, Piper Laurie as her insufferable mother, Amy “My Name is Susan Snell” Irving, William Katt as heart of gold Tommy Ross, Nancy Allen as pretty bully Chris, John Travolta as her Billy brawn, and Betty Buckley as poor P.E. teacher Miss Collins.

As a rule I’m not one for remakes, certainly not of movies that hit the mark the first time around. However, there are exceptions to the rule, and in the case of Carrie, I became excited about seeing the remake as I realised how much topical relevance there was within its narrative, and how it could be given the modern bullying treatment with kick-ass style.

I was very wrong. Kimberly Peirce’s remake is a complete and utter missed opportunity. Some dude called Roberto Aguirre-Sacasa has been called upon to update Lawrence D. Cohen’s original screenplay adaptation, and it’s flat as a pancake. Now, it’s arguable I know, but this is the remake that Diablo Cody should’ve been hired to write, or at least to provide dialogue and characterisation. Okay, so I hated Jennifer’s Body (2009), but her work on Evil Dead (2013) was good, and her screenplay to Young Adult is excellent. Her hip feminine angle would’ve been perfect for this vehicle.

Whereas Brian De Palma’s Carrie has style to burn, Kimberly Peirce’s Carrie is artless. You’d be hard pressed to recognise the same dramatic intensity evident in Peirce’s debut feature Boys Don’t Cry (1999), even with the likes of Julianna Moore in the role of Margaret White, Carrie’s mother. Mind you, she was pushing shit uphill in the shadow of Piper Laurie’s performance.

Chloe Grace Moretz showed promise as a child actor, but having seen her in Let Me In  (2008), Kick-Ass 2, and now this, I realise she has a limited range. I kept thinking of numerous other actors who would’ve played Carrie White with far more conviction. The annoying - and I’m sure deliberate - casting switch of having a tall striking blonde play the role of Amy, and a short less striking brunette play Chris (De Palma’s version has it the other way around) frustrated me no end, yet I had to let that one guy, since most of this Carrie’s audience won’t have seen the original, and if they did, they’d probably be laughing all the way through it.

And therein lies The Rub. Contemporary audiences watching this Carrie will no doubt enjoy a tale of extreme supernatural revenge, and not roll their eyes at the nude-less girls' changing room scene, the anti-climatic prom night, or later still when Carrie's powers enable her to split the road open. 

As for the original movie’s most famous shock … fuggedadoubit!

The Lords Of Salem

US | 2012 | Directed by Rob Zombie

Logline: A Salem radio host is sent a mysterious record, the music of which triggers Satanic hallucinations, or are they the evil doings of a coven of witches from centuries past?

I’m not a fan of Rob Zombie’s movies, plain and simple. I find them pretentious. Ok, I appreciate House Of 1000 Corpses (2003), his feature debut, but even that is patchy. I thoroughly disliked The Devil’s Rejects (2005), and I absolutely loathed his remakes of Halloween (2007) and Halloween II (2009). So why did I want to watch his latest? I must be some kind of glutton for punishment.

I’d read that The Lords Of Salem was a departure from the serial killer indulgences of his earlier movies and was playing more in the realm of the supernatural, witchcraft even. Actually, Satanism, to be precise. It is a departure, certainly it is his most “likeable” movie since his debut, as it features characters you actually give a fuck about, although he squanders that soon enough.

Sheri Moon Zombie (Rob’s wife) plays Heidi Laroc, a radio host, part of a trio called the Big H Team on Salem’s radio station. Her colleagues are Whitey (Jeff Daniel Phillips) and Herman (Ken Foree), and they have a fun, carefree time on the airwaves, so when Heidi has to collect a strange new promo record (in a wooden box no less) addressed using her birth name she doesn’t think much of it. But the music - credited to The Lords - contained in the groove of the vinyl has a very specific agenda.

Francis Matthais (Bruce Davison), a local author is hawking his new book on the radio show, and becomes very curious about The Lords (of Salem, as the DJs are callig them), and about the connection with Heidi. His investigative nature leads him into dark territory. But not before Heidi herself has entered the ominous room #5 in her apartment building where spectres of evil have been loitering with intent.

The Lords Of Salem starts off promisingly, and Mrs. Zombie is far less irritating than she’s been in the previous movies directed by her husband. The location shooting adds genuine old school atmosphere (some of it reminiscent of Ti West’s superb, and oh, so much more effective devil shocker The House Of The Devil from 2010). The movie’s intrigue really starts to kick in when Heidi is invited to have tea with her landlord, Lacy (Judy Geeson) and cohorts, Megan (Patricia Quinn) and Sonny (Dee Wallace).

But Heidi’s descent into hell quickly becomes a tedious and altogether tacky slide, furnished with low-rent visual effects, and a protagonist who fails miserably at trying to save herself, and thus give the movie an edge of genuine suspense. The villain – apart from the Cloven One Himself – is head witch Margaret Morgan (Meg Foster), burned alive in 1696 by Heidi’s ancestor. She has returned to wreak havoc on her killer’s bloodline.

Despite a veteran cast rich with horror history; Ken Foree from Dawn of the Dead (1978), Judy Geeson from Inseminoid (1981), Patricia Quinn from The Rocky Horror Picture Show (1975), Meg Foster (hideous as all hell!) from They Live (1988), and Michael Berryman and Sid Haig in non-speaking cameos, none of them manage to lift the movie’s game which sinks into a mire of risible pseudo-Jodorowsky-esque imagery (the dwarf demon?!) and disappears into the murk of Zombie’s indulgence.

I don’t think I will be playing this punishment game any longer.  

Blog: One Week in the Jaws of the Monster Fest Beast!

Thursday November 21st

Monster Fest is upon us, and I've been lucky enough to prise myself away from the warm and tender clutches of my family and make the pilgrimage south to the vast, character-strewn expanse they call Melbourne to attend the first seven days of Monster Pictures' annual celebration of new, independent horror and exploitation, with as much cult appeal as they can slap you across the face with. 

I arrive in time to find the Monster boys setting up in the Cinema Nova bar for the much-anticipated uber-exclusive Meet & Greet with Linda Blair, star of The Exorcist,(1973), but more importantly champion of lost dogs everywhere. Linda is Monster Fest's very special guest, and don't we know it! Despite her diminutive frame (I'm sure she's the same size as she was in The Exorcist!) Linda has a sturdy and charismatic presence and we're all looking forward to hearing her spew forth a pea soup of anecdotes from her time as Regan and beyond. 

But no. Linda decides it would be more pertinent to talk about her role as founder of the Linda Blair Worldheart Foundation, "a unique safe haven for animals providing top-quality, lifelong care to the animals it rescues." Now that's all well and good, but the ticket holders to this event probably wanted to hear more about working with special makeup effects extraordinaire Dick Smith, or director tyrant par excellence, Billy Friedkin. 

Linda eventually gets to her time on The Exorcist, but not until she's in front of the packed cinema audiences for the two scheduled screenings. Before the screenings commence she dutifully obliges the signing of specially-prepared "lobby" cards and whatever other Linda Blair mementos the ticket holders brought with them. 

There are some very serious Linda Blairists here; those wallflowers that only emerge from their cave shrines of obsession when the opportunity is a legitimate hot-under-the-collar up-close-and-personal with their idol. Most have brought DVDs and BDs of The Exorcist, although one guy has dusted off his VHS copy of Repossessed. Damn, why didn't I bring my DVD of Hell Night (1981)?! 

While Linda's manager hovers with intent Ms. Blair enthusiastically poses for photos, one at a time, and chats about dogs. Then it's off to introduce the first screening of The Exorcist, it being the 40th anniversary and all. I attend the second screening, and Linda spends half and hour recalling her roundabout experience of working on the classic horror movie, repeatedly reminding us to pay attention to the dialogue and sound, and focus on the extraordinary work of all involved. Yup, gotcha. 

At one point Linda makes a remark that has me rolling my eyes in quiet tenuous response; the topical relevance of The Exorcist because the movie begins - still the movie's most brilliant sequence - in the doom-shrouded, dust-laden archeological history of Iraq, and America is still at war with Iraq. Still, Linda is charming and funny, and despite the drunken antics of a couple in the middle of the auditorium, one whom stands to ask if Linda is okay. As in; she made a disturbing psychosexual horror movie at the age of thirteen, is she "OK" now? Everyone guffaws. But it isn't really that funny. 

Linda talks about the fame game, but not nearly as much about her time on The Exorcist and other similar projects ... Hell Night, dammit, and disappointing no one mentions Exorcist II: The Heretic. Snigger. At the end of the long night, Linda was barely in her teens, and making such a special effects, drama-heavy movie as The Exorcist meant she was frequently bored to tears, desperately wanting to ride a pony instead.  

She got the pony eventually. And the stables. 

I watch The Exorcist with a focus on her performance, and it's very good. Always was. Linda exhibits a great set of adolescent nuances, most of which were natural expressions that William Friedkin cleverly elicited and captured. One could argue, just as Orson Welles did, that she started at the top ... 

A movie is shot on location and on sets. But it's made in the editing suite. The Exorcist is a superb example of visual narrative editing from a director renowned for pulling great work from his actors.

Thank you Linda for sharing some insights into that time and space. 

Friday, November 22nd

I am very hungover. 

There, I've said it. 

It's a wretched hive of scum and villainy at Cinema Nova for the official Opening Night of Monster Fest. Well, not really, but I wanted to use that line. 

A second screening of local feature Murderdrome (2013) has been scheduled for 7pm, as the original session at 7.30 has sold out. I attend with Monster Pictures' notorious publicist and his lovely young lady, and the movie is introduced by the writer/director Daniel Armstrong, the producer, and also one of its stars Louise Monnington (who also contributed as script consultant). 

Murderdrome took several years to make. Apparently they took a year off in the middle. So, like Peter Jackson's Bad Taste, it was a labour of love. And it shows on the screen. There is much love and enthusiasm, but also it's clunky as hell. 

It's the bitchfest antics of a bunch of roller derby gals (strictly rollerskates) who are settling scores on the skating rink, whilst a masked slasher on rollerblades is carving up the teams. Vengeance is a dish best served with rock and roll. 

The movie's best moments are technical achievements; the awesome opening title credits set over the main roller derby sequence and the classy special visual effects sequence at movie's end are the movie's highlights. 

Virtually all the "actors" are roller derby grrls, so the performances are very much on the dodgy side. There's also a serious ADR issue, which gets annoying very quickly.

Still, I take my hat off to anyone who gets a feature made. It can be hell on wheels trying to get it to completion. And it's always fun to watch it with the cast and crew. 

Afterward the opening night party swings hard into the night at LuWOW club in Fitzroy. A voodoo lounge with style to burn. La Bastard are the band, and they rock it with aplomb. It's surf and rockabilly music all night long with one of the proud club owners on DJ duties.

We end up at another club, Ding Dong, in the wee wee hours, but by that point the Pagan ciders and Polish brewskis are in a deep wrestle. I fail to make it on to the night's final destination, Cherry's. Apparently Linda Blair's special guest "DJ" set has been underwhelming. Damn, I wanted to catch her selection which I'm sure would've included The Runaways Cherry Bomb, Stevie Nicks & Tom Petty's Stop Draggin' My Heart Around, and Rick Springfield's Jessie's Girl. I'd have put money on it. 

Saturday, November 23rd

After struggling with a cider/beer hangover for most of the late morning and early afternoon (I have to have a nap after my scrambled brain, er, eggs), I am coerced into joining my hosts for the first of the day's Monster Fest screenings at 3pm. I want to avoid this particular debut feature as a colleague of mine has warned me. 

He is right. I hate it. 

Foresight Killer Instinct (2013), made by two very enthusiastic brothers from Ipswich, Queensland, sports some of the worst acting I've seen in quite some time. It was made on the smell of an oily rag, and looks it. The script (what script?) is all over the place, and feels like a short that had been stretched to breaking point. The so-called ad-lib dialogue from the cast has resulted in the movie currently holding the #11 spot on the list of most sweariest movies ever. 

It's a crime drama with a strange science fiction/horror bent. Another revenge tale with more pontificating and stewing than your average pot-boiler. Mind you, not many movies have a priest being crucified. The histrionic over-acting of Michael Edward Williams who plays the obnoxious Det. Lance Steel is something to behold, and keeps the movie buoyant, but really, it's all a hot mess. 

Once again, I admire the tenacity and ambition in getting a feature made, but as both Murderdrome and Foresight Killer Instinct illustrate; if you're working with a micro-budget (ie low production values) then you must make sure you get killer performances from your cast. It's imperative. No ifs, or buts. Both these features fail in that respect. 

The next movie on the roster is MUFF director and filmmaker Richard Wolstencroft's documentary The Last Days of Joe Blow (2013), a portrait of actor Micheal Tierney (the nephew of Hollywood B-legend Lawrence Tierney), whom decided to pursue a career as a porn star for several years. 

Wolstencroft has made an affectionate and intriguing peek into the machismo and machinations of porndom a la male. As we all know it's ultimately not to do with how good looking you are, but whether you can crack and hold wood. Ron Jeremy, the Hedgehog, is one of the hard survivors. He offers a few tidbits, but apparently, according to Wolstencroft, there's nothing behind the eyes. As with the majority of porn stars, they lost their souls a long time ago. 

Yup, it's ultimately a quiet tragedy. Joe Blow bows out, only to find he's got nothing to go to. The crossover (back) into the mainstream isn't that easy, and now he has numerous ghosts in the closet, and paranoia gnaws at his back. It probably didn't help maintaining a blog on Aleister Crowley for a while. 

We could have done without the Wolstencroft mugging that rears its head from time to time, but The Last Days of Joe Blow is an enlightening cautionary tale told with entertainingly and with attention to colour and an upbeat soundtrack. 

Next up is Andrew Truacki's The Jungle (2013), his anticipated follow-up to The Reef (2009), and the third installment in his "Trilogy of Terror". This is a disappointment. It feels like The Blair Witch Project (1999) meets Predator (1986). A thriller on serious slow burn, following a leopard conservationist in Indonesia whom finds himself, his cameraman and two Javanese trackers at the mercy of a jungle-dwelling creature. 

The moneyshot at movie's very end is a major letdown. It isn't a badly made movie, and their are some tense moments, but it has none of the genuine terror of his first two features, probably because the first two used real footage of a crocodile and Great White, expertly composited and edited with the actors. Time to remake Razorback Andrew. 

The evening's last two features, both debuts by next generation Australian filmmakers, are of a very high calibre. It's a further continuation of the found footage genre. 

First is Apocalyptic (2013), written and directed by Glenn Triggs, the second is Beckoning the Butcher (2013), written and directed by Dale Trotts.

Apocalyptic follows an investigative journalist and her cameraman as they visit a remote compound in the wilderness where a cult have been living undisturbed for more than twenty years. Their leader, the reptilian Michael Godson (Michael Macrae), is one dodgy fellow. His clan of women, young and old, are completely in under his trance. There'll be tears before bedtime. 

This is a slowburner, the dread creeping upon you like an ominous mist. By the final scenes you're on the edge of your seat. 

And then there are those final moments of doom. 

Apocalyptic is The Wicker Woman. 

In Beckoning the Butcher a curious young dude Chris (Damian Lipp) has convinced his girlfriend Tara (Stephanie Mauro), best buddy Brent (Tristan Barr), and two other girls Lorraine (Tilly Legge) and Nicole (Sophie Wright), to join him in an isolated farmhouse on the rural plains of Victoria. It is there that they test the latest ghost-hunting ritual Chris is renowned for on the Internet. 

I have goosebumps during a couple of scenes in Beckoning the Butcher. I have not felt these in a horror movie for a very long time. I can imagine watching the movie alone will be a terrifying experience. This is the scariest found footage movie I've seen since The Blair Witch Project. 

Both Apocalyptic and Beckoning the Butcher make excellent use of location, use no music - only sound effects - to superb effect. Both have terrific casts who deliver convincingly.  

Sure, both movies aren't telling us any new stories, or dealing with new horror tropes, but the stories they tell are spun with fantastic atmosphere and are very creepy, and in the case of the latter, genuinely frightening. I take my hat off to these director lads. They have big careers ahead of them.

Sunday, November 24th

It's time for the Monster Micro-Nasties Challenge: The Cannibal Project. The eight Grand Finalist teams have ten minutes to pitch their movie submission to a panel of judges and a live audience who will add their vote to the final score. 

My mate Jack Sargeant is one of the finalists, so I'll be rooting for him.

First up is The Collective, and the two team members pitching this forest-bound nymphs with teeth tale have raised the bar high. I'm impressed with their delivery and the storyboards they exhibit are stylish and atmospheric. In fact, if it wasn't for my loyalty to Jack's project Eaters, an arty auto-cannibalistic tale designed to disgust, I would be voting for The Collective. 

The other pitch that tickles my fancy is Devils, a horror-comedy set in a brothel with a porn star attached. It's probably the hilarious pitch approach that grabs my attention that the actual movie content; the producer has a bunch of sex toys (sponsors) to give away, and the guy next to me wins a Fleshlight for remembering the original title of the project (Gut-Munching Whores). He has the team sign the box and plans to not open it. Yeah, right. 

The Collective wins the competition. Not that surprising really. The director is a buxom, statuesque blonde in a tight red dress and her producer is a short 1950s-clad hipster with a serious mustache. They were a shoe-in. Jack's project scores the lowest. I guess the judges, or audience, aren't that keen on watching a man eating his own cancerous bowels. 

Neil Foley, the festival director, is over-the-moon at the event, feeling very confident it will become an annual fixture. Who knows what next year's project will be; rape-revenge? Nunsploitation? Lycanthropy? Perhaps, a creature feature! 

Local legend Dick Dale's notorious celebration of all things trashy has his moment basking in the Monster Fest dark sun. It's time for Trasharama! Mostly it's the crudest and cheapest looking shorts out to (dis)please. Very much an acquired taste, and the cinema is packed, so it's obvious there are loyal supporters. Each to their own, but for the most part it's not my cup of vomit. 

But there a couple of exceptions; Daniel Armstrong's elaborately-staged Alice in Zombieland which doubles as a kind of music video for hardcore industrial dubstep rapper Kidcrusher. The art direction, cinematography, and overall atmosphere of this chick-with-a-gun short is very impressive. 

The other short that gets my nod of approval is a disturbing, but compelling piece of home-invasion torture-porn called POV (Point Of View) from Benjamin Morton, which follows cyber-snuffer The Cyclops in his pursuit. I wonder who'll win the Trasharama short film competition? 

It's time for a break. There's the screening of Chocolate Strawberry Vanilla, local filmmaker Stuart Simpson's excellent Taxi Driver-esque black comedy which I've already previewed. I FaceTime my lovely wife and mug for my gorgeous son, and after discover I've been abandoned by my fellow horrorphiles, so I am left to my own devices. My stomach grumbles, so I wander up Lygon and chow down on a bowl of pasta and meatballs with a glass of Sangiovese. 

The Monster Fest evening finishes up with the much-anticipated screening of another of the next generation of super-talented young filmmakers. It's Sam Barrett's Sororal, an unashamed, ultra-impressive homage to the Italian giallo genre, so of course, it's dubbed a neo-giallo. 

Cassandra (Amanda Woodhams) is a tortured young artist suffering from violent visions. People around her are being murdered and she is the suspect. But it's not that simple. In fact, in perfect giallo fashion its downright complicated and convoluted, but drenched in more visual splendour, flair, and artistic abandon than you shake a primary colour gel at.

Sororal is the most visually stunning Australian feature this year. It's a hypnotic descent into psychic mayhem. Admittedly it's overlong, but when was a giallo ever concise? Amanda Woodhams' mesmerising central performance(s) holds the movie in the glow of love's supernature, slow-burning into your cerebral cortex. It's her feature debut, and she be going places. 

Co-writer and director Sam Barrett made a mediocre home-invasion flick a few years back called No Through Road (2008). But that's way behind him now. With a top-notch creative team behind him, his vision is one to behold. Big props to cinematographer Ivan Davidof, and to the absolutely amazing soundtrack from Christopher De Groot, who openly credits using only analogue synthesizers (Sequential Circuits, yes!) to create the superbly atmospheric score that even includes Goblin-esque moments of prog-rock. 

This analogue realm is what Barrett has created for the movie's world as well; all the costumes are 70s fashion, and, rather wonderfully, the movie is devoid of mobile phones, the dearth of modern cinema narrative. He even had the movie's photography utilise on-set gels, rather than adding the primary colours in post. I admire his purist approach. 

But enough gushing. 

Definitely the three standouts for Monster Fest so far are the lovely young chaps behind Apocalyptic, Beckoning the Butcher, and Sororal. I feel inspired.

Monday, November 25th

Today is the Fantastic Asia section of Monster Fest. Three features. Well, actually, three features and a 40-minute short. 

I love Asian cinema, but I'm not a fan of the ultra-schlock from the Sushi Typhoon canon. So I approach today's mini-programme with caution. 

First up is American ex-pat Norman England's extended short, New Neighbor (2013), starring J-horror and sex starlet Asami. A young woman, sexually repressed, is both curious and annoyed by her new neighbour's noisy sexcapades. Her mother is pushing, very firmly, for her to find a suitor, and more importantly, to get laid. 

Eventually curiousity gets the better of her and she ventures inside her neighbour's apartment (the door was left unlocked) and finds herself in a dangerously lascivious web of seduction. But as we know, there is no such thing as romance and adventure, only trouble and desire. 

I really want this short to end on some kind of Lovecraftian excess, but it ends as limply as a flaccid dick on a porn set. No weird wood here. What a disappointment. 

The feature, Zombie TV (2013) started as I feared it would; not my cup of puerile, juvenile sake. A magazine-style comedy of horrors made for adolescents and, worse, pre-pubescents it seemed! I last about fifteen minutes. It's doing my head in. 

I make the decision to avoid the other two features, I need a break from the cinema. 

I retire to my guest pad and end up watching The Golden Voyage of Sinbad (1973) on DVD. This was the kind of deep trash I was in the mood for; Caroline Munro, Tom Baker and the work of the late, great Ray Harryhausen (RIP). 

Tuesday, November 26th

A little Canadian fare this evening. 

And some Euro deep trash. 

First up on the platter is Antisocial (2013), a movie I missed at SUFF earlier in the year. It's a low-budget affair, but looks quite slick and sports decent acting from the young attractive cast. Shame then about the far-fetched screenplay. 

It's New Year's Eve and Sam (Michelle Mylett) is feeling pretty sorry for herself. Things have gone pear-shaped on the romance front, and social media is not helping. She rendezvouses with a few friends at a house to gear up for a bit of a shindig. But there's a shitstorm brewing outside. 

The Social Redroom (read: Facebook) is causing quite the international stir it seems. A virus is infecting all who use the site and smart phone app turning them into crazed killing machines. It isn't long before the Redroom is spraying red stuff across all the red cups. 

Antisocial gets sillier as it tumbles along. I keep thinking of a very similarly-themed, but awesome low-budget flick from 2007 called The Signal that kicks Antisocial's arse into the middle of next week. But that movie is an exception, because I'm not much of a fan of movies that use computers and mobile phones as the interactive vessel of evil. I find the concept dull and un-cinematic. 

However I enjoy the pulsating electro-flavoured score, especially during the movie's ridiculous finale, and there is cool nightmarish imagery, washed in the movie's computer blue palette. I love the very last image, but is the Japanese flag reference (blood spot on a head bandage) intentional? I'm not sure. 

The main course is Dario Argento's Dracula (2013) - in 3D - an Italian-French-Spanish co-pro, starring Thomas Kretschmann as the Count, Rutger Hauer as Van Helsing, and Dario's daughter Asia as Lucy. 

This is a multi-million dollar production that has made about three grand in America. Yes, it has been a complete flop, panned by pretty much everyone. And it's easy to see why, but considering how bad the teaser trailer I saw a year ago, I am expecting something absolutely dire. Let's face it, Argento hasn't made a decent movie in twenty-five years! 

I find myself pleasantly surprised at how much I enjoy watching this most curious indulgence. Argento has made a movie that feels like a blend of Hammer Horror, Roman Polanski's The Fearless Vampire Killers, and those three-dimensional View-Master toys I used to look at as a child. 

The acting is ropey-as-hell (when Asia's Lucy pulls a "menacing" face at Rutger's Van Helsing the audience burst into laughter - and that wasn't the only time chortles and sniggers were heard coursing through the cinema ... there's the praying mantis, but I'll come to that shortly!), and Rutger Hauer, despite the privilege of the first Dutch actor to play the Dutch character, seems to be bored to tears. 

As per usual in an Argento movie, half the actors are Italians who speak marginal English, and as such their dialogue has been post-synched by another actor. This only accentuates the dodgy performances. I find myself distracted by the role of Tanja (Miriam Giovanelli), Dracula's voluptuous wench. I'm sure I'm not the only one.  

Argento has several of his old team on board; Luciano Tovoli (Suspiria) is the cinematographer, Claudio Simonetti (Goblin) is the composer, and Sergio Stivaletti is on special effects supervision (there are several decent gore gags). I wonder just how deliberate the old school 3D effect was, and I'm amused that the blood is Argento-typically too bright. It's a pity also that Simonetti's score is more beige wallpaper than memorably atmospheric. 

I mentioned a praying mantis earlier. Yes, there is a scene where Dracula terrorises in the form of a giant praying mantis. Suddenly, nothing else matters. There is only the outlandish absurdity of Dracula as a giant CGI praying mantis. The audience guffaw. It's a giant praying mantis! What else is there to do?!

The night is capped off with the second Canadian feature, Evil Feed (2013), a bizarre mishmash of hardcore horror, brutal combat, schlock comedy, and sex farce. I've not seen anything quite like it. The tonal shifts are extreme, but it all seems to gel, like a lubricant from hell. 

Director Kimani Ray Smith is a stuntman who has worked on dozens and dozens of big budget movies. This is his debut feature, and it kicks proverbial arse. But it is very much an acquired taste. 

Speaking of taste, this is an action-horror-comedy about cannibalism, and vengeance is a dish best served hot. And yes, there is spice; Alyson Bath as Yuki. 

The cinematography is fantastic; grimy, but lush, the special effects makeup is excellent, some great gore set-pieces, and the fight choreography is pretty cool too (obviously). The humour, much of it sex related, is crude, and while many of the jokes fall flat, many of them are filthy funny. 

Evil Feed is a cheeky, violent, sexy, weird monkey indeed. 

Walking out of the cinema I know that images from Dracula and Evil Feed will no doubt reverberate in my head for days to come, like the remnants of some strange, curious dream ... Tanja and Yuki beckoning to me like sirens. 

Obviously I'm deranged. 

I need a stiff drink.

A new friend, Cameron - Greg Mclean's personal assistant (yes, I grill him on Wolf Creek 2!)- invites me to join him and the talented Sororal director Sam Barrett for a nightcap at Naked For Satan, a rooftop bar on Brunswick Street. Unfortunately it's closed for the night. I suggest Black Pearl. Cam likes my style. And we meet Sam there, quickly finding ourselves ensconsed in ciné parlez. As you do.

Discussing silver screen art as movie war stories; Sam proclaiming the original theatrical release of Apocalypse Now as the definitive version, whilst Cam states emphatically that Pieces of April is brilliant. But isn't that the one with Katie Holmes, Sam and I reply. 

I do love chewing the movie fat.

Soon enough its 2am. Time to head back to my Coburg den for some shuteye and fever dream of lusty vampyres ...  

Wednesday, November 27th

It's a hot day. The most consistent day of weather since I've been down here. 

After sleeping in, and after two good coffees from across the road at the Post Office Hotel, I decide to stay indoors and watch a screener for one of the upcoming movies I'll be missing, since I fly back to Sydney tomorrow afternoon. 

Across the River (Oltre il Guado, 2013), is an Italian production from director Lorenzo Bianchini (co-written with his wife) set on the wilderness border of Italy and Slovenia. A wildlife conservationist, played by Renzo Gariup, is the movie's lone, central character. A man dedicated to his work, tagging foxes and boar, and checking remote cameras. 

He travels in his van, fords a river (and almost doesn't quite make it) and later comes across a derelict, ruined village. It is here that his loneliness will be challenged. The stone and wood remains of the settlement are haunted. 

Very reminiscent of the chilling, minimalist vibe of Andrei Tarkovsky's Stalker, Across the River is an eerie, deeply atmospheric, and damn creepy account of a man being slowly and steadily terrorised by ghosts. This tale is on serious slow burn, smoldering with coals of earthy, unctuous fear. 

Beautifully shot and photographed, washed in stoney greys and soiled in a perpetual rain, almost entirely without dialogue, with a drifting, melancholy score, Across the River is a movie that creeps on you and plants its hand firmly on your shoulder with an icy grip. 

Across the River screens on Saturday, November 30th, 11pm, at Cinema Nova. 

At 7pm it's time for the Q&A via Skype with the special makeup effects legend that is Tom Savini. Originally Tom was to be one of Monster Fest's special international guests, but unfortunately due to a last minute conflict of work dates he was unable to leave the US. Thank Christ for Skype. 

Zak Hepburn, host of Nova's Cultastrophe, is on moderating duties, and he is fully up for the position remarking on Facebook that if the thirteen-year-old version of himself knew this was going to happen ... I hear ya Zak. 

It might be 3am or so in the States, but Tom is bright and cheery, and answers all of Zak's finely-honed questions wonderfully. I get to throw a couple at him, and his replies are gold: In what movie does he consider is his best work? Tom replies that From Dusk Till Dawn is his best performance (everyone cheers, as this is the movie we'll be watching straight after), but in terms of special effects makeup he reckons Creepshow (1982). He pauses, then corrects himself, "Actually, Day of the Dead" (1985). I nod with satisfaction, as rightly so, Romero's zombie masterpiece features Savini at his spectacular creative zenith. 

Zak relays another question of mine, "Apart from your own amazing work, what other special effects makeup work do you consider to be the benchmarks of the art?" Savini is quick to respond, citing Rob Bottin's work on The Thing (1982), Dick Smith's work on The Exorcist (1973), and Alien (1979), which would mean the late, great, Carlo Rambaldi. I feel very good, as my two questions have elicited answers that include three of my all-time favourite horror movies. 

Tom gets his Sydney girlfriend to fetch the infamous dick gun prop that his From Dusk Till Dawn character Sex Machine is equipped with. The audience roars with approval. He also admits he hasn't yet see the remake of Maniac (2012) yet. A few of us shout out that its awesome. Tom nods, "I know, so I've heard."

Time for the main feature, and Robert Rodriguez's action-horror-comedy From Dusk Till Dawn (1996) holds up very well for a movie getting close to twenty years old. Many of its stars look decidedly younger, especially Juliette Lewis, John Hawkes, Danny Trejo. The Tarantino-penned screenplay (from a story by KNB Effects Group's Robert Kurtzmann) is one of the cinephile's less obviously Tarantino-esque, and less pretentious and indulgent, and Rodriguez directs with zany, dynamic flair.  

George Clooney delivers one of his finest portrayals, Tom Savini's vamp and Cheech Marin's Chet Pussy are both still hoots, but the movie's ultimate scene-stealer is still Salma Hayek as Santanico Pandemonium; her volupté immortalised. 

And that's my One Week in the Jaws of the Monster Fest Beast blog wrapped up. 

What have been my top five? Keeping mind I haven't seen several of the movies still to screen, and excluding the two cult classic screenings, my favourites would be, in no particular order: Sororal, Beckoning the Butcher, Apocalyptic, Contracted, and Chocolate Strawberry Vanilla.

Big props to the Monster Pictures crew; Neil, Grant, Leslie, and Ben, also to Zak, Cinema Nova, to Annabel and Tom, and to my other new Melbournian friends, it's been a blast! 

Here Comes the Devil

Ahí Va el Diablo

Mexico/USA | 2013 | Directed by Adrián García Bogliano

Logline: Whilst on a family trip two adolescent children vanish after exploring the nearby rocky hills, are later found and returned, but they are not the same beings.

I’ve seen several of Bogliano’s features and he’s a great stylist of low-budget atmospherics. In fact “atmosphere” is one of the key elements of his movies that makes them so memorable. Not surprisingly he cites Roman Polanski as one of key influences, and certainly Bogliano knows a thing or two about suspense, and about the darker undercurrents of humanity.

Whereas Bogliano’s early features traded on the grindhouse vibe of giallo and rape-revenge, his latest is like a cross between Picnic at Hanging Rock (1975) and Invasion of the Body Snatchers (1956); it’s a supernatural thriller with strong horror overtones. Here Comes the Devil creeps like the boogeyman and stings like an alien wasp.

Felix (Francisco Barriero) and Sol (Laura Caro) are being put through the wringer. The emotional trauma of losing their children, then have them returned, only to discover a local sex predator may have molested them is almost too much to bear. So they become vigilantes (in the movie’s most graphic horror sequence), but there is something much darker at work, something beyond the pale.

What Here Comes the Devil is possessed with scenes that are crafted with a genuine eye and ear for nightmarish authenticity; those terrifying visions that float with normality, yet are horribly, horribly wrong. There is a tenebrous shroud of the macabre that inexorably engulfs this tale of doppelganger dread. I’ll Never Die Alone (2007) is Bogliano’s most confronting movie, but Here Comes the Devil is his most affecting; the fragility of parental security, alienated offspring, darkened sexuality.

There is a dangerous sensuality that permeates Bogliano’s movies, and it is in Here Comes the Devil that it is most delicate and elusive. Laura Caro gives an excellent performance as wife and mother in angst most deep. Also notable are the two pubescent children, Michele Garcia as older Sara and Alan Martinex as young Adolfo, while Julio Pillado’s spooky ambient soundtrack sharpens the atmospheric edge of the movie.

I feel Bogliano is steadily moving toward an English-language movie, which I suspect is next. I am both excited by the prospect of a sizeable budget, especially as I trust Bogliano would utilize practical effects over CGI, but I fear he will lose some of that oh so effective intimacy and, well, that nightmarish je ne sais quoi! So before that happens grab this Devil by the horns!

Here Comes the Devil screens as part of Melbourne’s Monster Fest, Saturday, November 30th, 3pm, at Cinema Nova. 

Contracted

US | 2013 | Directed by Eric England

Logline: A young woman has a one-night stand, and, much to her dismay, discovers she has contracted some kind of extreme infection.

Samantha (Najarra Townsend) is having a bad day. Actually turns out she’s gonna have a bad few days, but let’s start at the beginning. She’s having trouble with her new lover, Nikki (Katie Stegeman), or to be precise, Nikki has lost interest. She’s having issues with her mother (Caroline Williams), or to be precise, Sam’s mum suspects her daughter has slipped back into bad habits. But, the worst is yet to come.

Her best friend Alice (Alice Macdonald) is having a house party, and Sam arrives in a glum mood, only to be hit on by Riley (Matt Mercer), and reminded of her illicit habits by local drug dealer Zain (Charley Koontz). Alice coerces Sam to have several shots, let her hair down, get happy. Nek minnit, Sam is unknowingly sipping from a Mickey Finned red cup from some guy called BJ (Simon Barrett) and having unprotected sex in his car.

Over the next three days Sam’s physical health deteriorates rapidly. It’s pretty obvious she’s caught some kind of heinous venereal disease from that asshole at the party. Sam is preoccupied with winning back Nikki, keeping her mother and Riley at bay, and having to explain her situation to Alice. But that ghastly pink eye is enough to ring anyone’s alarm bells, not to mention the crotch rash and vaginal bleeding. Oh, and that maggot is a bit of a worry too.

Contracted begins with an intriguing prologue sequence; a corpse in a morgue appears to be interfered with. Was that a tag with a radioactive sign tied to the dead girl’s toe? A man zips up the body bag. He leaves the hospital in the dead of night.

The extremity of Sam’s physical decay is very reminiscent of another movie released earlier in the year, Thanatomorphose. Both movies deal with a female perspective, and revolve around sexual conquest and communication frustration. Thanatomorphose is a more surreal, expressionist, and ultimately claustrophobic journey down the river Styx, whereas Contracted ultimately reveals itself to be a close-up, singular vision of zombieism.

Eric England’s directorial style is strong, and he elicits solid performances from his cast, especially Najarra Townsend, a darling of the Californian indie short film scene, but also Katie Stegemen and Alice Macdonald. Nice to see 80s cult final girl Caroline Williams from The Texas Chainsaw Massacre Part 2 (1986) in a role (a couple of face lifts down the track!)

The moody ambient electronic score from Kevin Riepl was excellent, and the special effects makeup from Mayera Abeita was also notable, especially those “infected” contact lenses. Although England shied away from showing anything gross, the suggestion was adequate for the movie’s tone. I had more of an issue with having to suspend my belief on some of Sam’s decisions regarding her well being, and the actions of her doctor. And, unfortunately, the final scene of the movie lurches into unintentional comical territory.

Flaws aside this is a low-budget indie dark delight, mostly due to Najarra Townsend’s natural charisma and assured performance, the throbbing atmospheric soundtrack, and the fresh (!) approach to a genre staple. 

Contracted plays as part of Melbourne’s Monster Fest, Thursday November 28th, 6:15pm, at Cinema Nova.