Film Reviews by NP

We’ve all been attracted to an unattainable someone. It can’t just be me. Jorge (Hector Kotsifakis) is likeable, presentable, respectable and lonely. He spies local girl Isabel (Paulina Ahmed) and contrives to continually run into her in shops, while she is out jogging etc. We’re not sure whether she has been made aware of him or not, but there is a hint of knowing in her eyes as he attracts her attention once again, this time whilst pretending to tend to his car.

Sadly, it is too late by then, for pretty soon she has been tranquilised and tied to a chair in his cellar, miles from where anyone can hear her screams. As you may imagine, she goes through several humiliations as Jorge’s spiralling instability continues to make itself known. Apparently while filming, Ahmed would remain tied to the chair between takes, so as to allow her performance a sense of reality.

Jorge is at odds with most horror madmen. He is perfectly calm and composed virtually throughout. Even his attempted suicide attempt is approached without fanfare. Yet Isabel’s ordeal becomes ever more tortuous and is difficult to watch. As an audience, we are willing her on to gain revenge.

Even I am not going to spoiler the outcome of this. It could be said that reading up the DVD packaging etc, or IMDB tells you all you need to know about the kind of film this is, but it is played so realistically (with Ahmed in particular turning in a powerhouse performance) and events are staged so methodically by Director Diego Cohen that what emerges is wince-inducing and compelling.

Like its sequel The Dead 2: India (2013), Directors Howard J. and Jonathan Ford expertly refine the balance between impressive masses of the living coming at you relentlessly, and the expanse of isolated landscapes – in this case the wilds of Africa – that alternate between stark beauty and deadly wasteland.

Lieutenant Brian Murphy (Rob Freeman), sole survivor of a plane crash, survives meetings with many staggering blank-eyed members of the undead, and is rescued by initially resentful Sergeant Daniel Dembele (Prince David Osei), whose lone mission is to locate his son, lost in the zombie-strewn wilderness.

It is impossible not to get drawn into this maelstrom. How the zombies ever came to be is only fleetingly touched upon. It doesn’t really matter – they are there, and there are loads of them.

There were many behind-the-scenes problems when filming, doubling the initial six-week schedule. Most severely, Rob Freeman contracted malaria and was placed on an IV drip in a local hospital, which saved his life. That this critically acclaimed project was finished at all, never mind with such impressive results, is hugely impressive.

The storyline, again like its sequel, is simply around 100 minutes of what often seems like a doomed attempt to escape walking cadavers. There’s no machismo posturing, no smartass comments as yet another shambling wreck has its head blown apart. It meanders a little in the middle, but every step is taken to make sure full advantage of the landscape is used to full advantage and what emerges is very satisfying indeed.

A group of teens … well, that’s a less than promising start. Vest-sporting, gum-chewing and riddled with hormones and attitude, I find such characters far more terrifying and off-putting than any demonic forces they will probably bluster into. This bunch are just exactly that – impossible to like and pure fodder for ‘whatever is out there’, hopefully to be despatched in the foulest way possible, and yet this cast lack the confidence and assuredness to keep their characters from attaining the true heights of swaggering numb-skullery of other ‘teen’ ciphers. To coax me out of this uncharitable view is the fact that this is directed and co-written by José Ramón Larraz, the man behind 1972’s legendary ‘Vampyres’.

The one character who emerges from the melee of manicure and highlighted hair is a comedy stout fellow Peter (Jerry Kernion) who quotes scenes from famous horror films much to the amusement of his cohorts. “At least it’s dry,” says one hunk as they enter an abandoned building in which they feel compelled to shelter from the storm. “I hear coffins are dry too,” he replies. When it eventually happens, his demise is the goriest and most effective of them all.

Unusually for Jarraz (this was his last horror), there is little sex or gore. When such scenes do come around, however, they are powerfully staged. Two of the group are having sex, and the beautiful young woman featured in many unnerving photographs hung on the walls appears to be watching them. Interspersed with other photographs, this time of corpses and disfigurement, the scene is one of quiet, effective horror.

Hitch-hiker Jack – a dreadful Clark Tufts – looks like he may be responsible for the deaths, when they eventually happen. In an arena where most performances are static, his awfulness excels.

This is not unenjoyable if you don’t take it too seriously. It is impenetrably under-lit during some key scenes, and is sprinkled with moments of spectacle, but is too slow for its flashes of inspiration (the climactic crumbling wall spewing out corpses for example) to raise it from clichéd, horror melodrama. Jarraz’s penchant for doomy atmospherics only occasionally materialises and the resulting whole makes it seem as if the slasher genre – already dying in 1990 – perhaps wasn’t really where his heart lay.

This is a solid horror film directed by Don Sharp, who directed some of Hammer’s less spectacular projects in the mid-sixties. It is probably best known now because of the involvement of top-billed Lon Chaney as the monumental Morgan Whitlock, who delivers a big performance for his big character. Often one-note furious, Chaney casts a large shadow over his more mannered co-stars – it is unusual to see him surrounded by British faces (including ‘Plague of the Zombies’s Diane Clare), in the same way that seeing Boris Karloff onscreen with Christopher Lee in ‘Curse of the Crimson Altar (1968)’ is a slightly surreal experience. Horror stars from different eras meeting has a charm all its own, and Chaney’s presence in picturesque, misty country scenes are pleasingly odd.

At this stage in his career, Chaney had a reputation for causing problems due to his excessive drinking. Apparently Sharp was very sympathetic to this and coaxed the best performance as he could from the veteran actor. Apart from addressing the character of Todd as (his girlfriend) Amy, Chaney is very good in a larger-than-life way.

My other favourite performance would have to be that of Vanessa Whitlock (Yvette Rees), the resurrected witch. She is creepily effective in all her scenes, particularly her first, when her appearance is slowly revealed as she is unearthed. Up until that point, this is quite a straight-laced film (in which Chaney’s performance stands out as being unrestrained) seemingly un-influenced by the blood-spattered horror revolution caused by Hammer in the late 1950’s. As events continue, however, things become progressively more manic folding with a spectacular finale.

Opening with some stunning panoramic shots of New York City, all crisp skylines and looming buildings, this film could have taken place in any era. Although there is no specified time in which these events are set, the style of décor and clothing seems to indicate anything from the 1930s to the 1960s. Filmed in monochrome, this provides a timeless and stylish David Lynch-ian study into madness.

In the middle of all this, little Lauren Ashley Carter as Darling is about to take on a job as Caretaker of a mansion. As soon as Madame says, “I really shouldn’t tell you this, but…” the scene is set: the previous caretaker has met with an untimely demise … but Darling is assured she has nothing to worry about. No matter how artistically shot this is, and how wilfully playful some of it may be, an opening like that never fails to sound clunky.

And so, to the accompaniment of shrieking violins and jumping, jerky camera movements, we are invited to observe Darling very convincingly succumb to madness. And that takes up the bulk of the film – often without dialogue and very ably played by Carter, there is nevertheless a sense of ‘is that it?’ Even as she goes to great lengths to end the life of her new guest (played by Brian Morvant) and then nervously heaves his corpse into an empty bath, it becomes clear Darling’s instability is all we’re going to get in terms of story-telling.

Darling’s alienation and severance from the rest of the bustling society is palpable, and Carter retains great presence as she continually slides further into her isolation (her eyes almost take on a performance of their own), the overall effect is one of intimate turmoil which appears to manifest from building itself.

To further distance itself from the trappings of normal filmed story-telling, this is split into six chapters – Her, Invocation, THRILLS, Demon, Inferno and The Caretaker.

Uptight Marta (Aurora Bautista) is in a dilemma. Fresh faced Laura Barkley (Judy Geeson) has arrived to stay and only minutes earlier, Marta had caused the death of her sister. Marta’s own sister, the much less puritanical Veronica (Esperanza Roy) has been stealing money from the safe and carrying on with young general help Eduardo (Víctor Alcázar).

Despite being fairly central to the plot, Laura doesn’t feature as much as you might expect. Her new friend, obnoxious Helen (Lone Fleming) is the next one to be despatched. With people dropping like flies around her, Laura’s suspicions grow.

Initially, I sympathised with Marta’s thinking – the character of Helen for example wasn’t so much sexually provocative, but a thoroughly obnoxious character. Whilst her fate was abhorrent, she was advised several times to leave the hotel and was aggressively petulant in her defiance. As time goes on, however, Marta either becomes more twisted, or the depths of her instability becomes more and more pronounced to the viewer. This is demonstrated never more pleasingly when ‘the eye of a young woman’ is found staring out of someone’s hotel dinner. Although, considering the film’s title is ‘Candle for the Devil’, these events are a little small-time; I expected something a little more demonic.

The story ends on an uncertain note. Either the sisters’ deadly exploits are about to be exposed to the mad-eyed authorities, or the whole town is in on it. Revelling in the kind of intrigue that made ‘Psycho (1960)’ such a huge success, ‘A Candle for the Devil’ seems under-developed. It would have been more satisfying had it been made clearer if the entire district condoned, or was involved in the cover-up of, Marta’s blatantly murderous actions.

James Caan plays writer Paul Sheldon. When he crashes his car in a ferocious snow-storm, it proves to be a very bad day for him. For Annie Wilkes, it proves to be an improbably good day, for not only does she find and rescue him from the wreckage, but the situation allows her to look after a hero of hers – she is an his ‘number one fan’ – as he convalesces in her spacious home.

Every actor in this small cast has been blessed with a wonderfully expressive face. Director Rob Reiner seems very happy to film a lot of moments in close-up. This leads us to appreciate every raised eyebrow, every wistful look into space and to determine exactly the kind of mood Annie happens to be in on her latest visit to Sheldon’s sickbed. The camera often almost zooms into her face as she walks into a scene – most effectively following the film’s most harrowing scene which guarantees more than a wince, when she coos ‘God, I love you.’

She has his books set aside as soon as they are released, she has a documented – notorious even – history of violent, murderous behaviour, she walks around town with her pet pig and is clearly a tolerated local eccentric. And yet it takes local Sheriff Buster – yes, that’s right (Richard Farnsworth), forever to conclude she may have something to do with his disappearance. Farnsworth has also been blessed with eloquent features, and we immediately warm to Buster’s kindly ways. Which is just as well, because otherwise our patience would be sapped by his inability to recognise the blatantly obvious.

So while the story takes a lot of investing into – the coincidence of Annie’s hero falling into her proverbial lap, and the Sheriff’s hopelessness – the cast and stark direction gives the production its legendary status.

Filming styles and techniques may have changed in the (as I write this) 75 years since this Victor Fleming directed (very loose) adaption of RL Stevenson’s famous story was released; the soft-focus, dough eyed matinee melodrama with clipped accents and chirpy cockneys may now seem something from a bygone age – but, good grief, what a timeless cast.

Three acting legends head the list. Spencer Tracy uses only a modest amount of make-up to transform him from opinionated but kindly Dr Jekyll into snarling, crouching Mr Hyde. Lana Turner steals every scene she is in as the cheeky but enraptured Beatrix, his fiancé. And Ingrid Bergman (originally cast as Beatrix, but happy to play a role that gave her a break from her ‘goody two shoes’ roles) is a compellingly intense presence as rough Ivy, the passionate but mannered strumpet who appeals to Jekyll’s baser instincts. With such a mighty trio, any other cast members might have been drowned out, but the supporting players are every bit as effective as they can be in MGM’s lavish adaption of a story still in the minds of the audience in the form of 1935’s extravaganza which earned Fredric March an Oscar in the pivotal role.

Hyde’s hold over Ivy happens a little too quickly, her chirpy demeanour replaced by un-questioning compliance occurs almost from one scene to the next. It is also surprising she doesn’t note the similarity between Jekyll and Hyde – so much so that she comes to Jekyll to seek treatment for the wounds inflicted on her by his alter-ego (although her performance allows her a few subtle double-takes which indicate she may suspect a similarity). Rather than casually take his frustrations out on anyone who got in his way, in this version Hyde focusses his loathing mainly on Ivy in a way that reminds me of the 1944’s ‘Gaslight’, also starring Bergman, in which a woman’s spirit is almost completely crushed by a vindictive ‘control freak.’

This is a lively, lavish production that doesn’t feel the need to stay too faithful to the original source material which was seemingly overshadowed by the monumental 1935 production. Once out of the shadow, it can be appreciated for merits all its own.

The most horrific aspect of this film – and it is terrifying – is the fact that the main thrust of the storyline is not too far from the truth. The media, its lack of morals and sympathy for victims of crime, is attacked on no uncertain terms through the career trajectory of Louis Bloom, a small time criminal who has aspirations of success. Also included within the story’s framework is how the career options of someone from ‘the wrong side of town’ are only pursued with the aid of superhuman cruelty and lack of regard for others.

Jake Gyllenhaal plays Bloom brilliantly, with piercingly wide-eyed intensity and a staccato delivery of lines of dialogue restricted to only the bare bones of the subject in hand, his intent and the likely outcome of his endeavours. Every conversation is presented as a last-minute business deal, like that of an eternal car salesman unable to switch off, but on a grand scale. Every intricately constructed audacity is accompanied by a wide smile, either of arrogance or warmth – either way, it is hugely disarming. Writer and Director Dan Gilroy has said that Lou exhibits all the traits of a sociopath, and is on the autism and Asperger’s spectrum, although nothing is ever addressed or specified. Instead, it is deliberately left to the audience to work out reasons for his manic social behaviour.

Employing the homeless Rick (Riz Ahmed), he hacks into police radio messages to gain access to crimes the moment they have happened – the bloodier the better – and films the results. Then he presents his footage to hard-nosed mogul, Nina, with whom he very logically points out he would like to have a relationship. She finds Lou’s complete lack of humanity appealing, and the footage he provides ensures they both appear to have a successful partnership, career-wise – but utilising methods so heartless, even seen-it-all-before Detective Frontieri (Michael Hyatt) is appalled. But Lou’s methods are so blatant and meticulous, she cannot do anything about him – he and his activities are, as it were, hiding in plain sight.

When Nina eventually gives into Lou’s ‘charms’, she accepts his employment opportunity and promotion almost as a sexual, spiritual thing, cementing not only his illustrious future, but hers as well, personally and (most importantly) as a business proposition. That the film ends with Lou and Nine thriving in their appalling way of providing news stories at the expense of anything approaching empathy, is telling indeed, and markedly close to the truth of such things.

The Creature from the Black Lagoon is often thought of as the last Universal classic monster. As far as this, the final of three films to star the titular ‘gill man’, the difference from the Lugosi/Karloff/Chaney monster mashes is marked. No familiar orchestral soundtracks cribbed from earlier horrors; a sun-kissed Honolulu main road (which opens this) is a million miles away from the faux ‘European’ locations on Universal’s backlot that provided a staple part of earlier monster movies. Of course, in the late 1950’s, times and styles have changed. Sleek haired, square jawed wholesome heroes are a kind of progression from familiar quick-talking reporters or clipped police officers. And what a dull bunch they initially appear to be. An early conversation where they speculate about man exploring outer space is an ideal time to go and put the kettle on. One cries out for a Lionel Atwill, or even a Skelton Knaggs to breathe some life into the proceedings.

Typical audacity is displayed by the humans, who not only capture the creature from its natural habitat, but then subject it to an operation to give it a more human aspect. Perhaps it could become a jealous neurotic like Jeff Morrow (Dr William Barton), or his wife Leigh Snowden (Marcia Barton) who is trapped in an unhappy marriage? It is an interesting conundrum for the audience. These respectable progressive heroes are noticeably flawed for a change.

The creature is used to excellent effect here. A Frankenstein-like pathos accompanies its attempts to come to terms with its enforced condition. The make-up, by Bud Westmore (who appears to be the only link between this and Universal’s ‘classic monster series), is also very impressive, ridding the creature of the wide-eyed cuteness he previously possessed, instead imbuing him with a naturalism that belies the man-in-costume realisation. It is played by a (bizarrely) uncredited Don Megowan, who – amongst many other things – went on to play Frankenstein’s Monster in an abortive pilot for Hammer’s TV show ‘Tales of Frankenstein’ two years later.

Centuries old vampires exist in the modern world. And that’s it, that’s the plot. The fascinating Tilda Swinton (Eve) looks exotic in a number of baroque outfits, Tim Hiddleston (Adam) plays a typically soft spoken goth, and John Hurt is the supplier who brings them superior blood – ‘the good stuff’ – for a special treat. The acting is terrific and very natural, convincingly portraying what life would be like if they really did live forever.

The look of the film is rich and lavish. Writer and director Jim Jarmusch is clearly in love with the concept. Very much like the earlier, rather more succint, ‘Kiss of the Damned (2013)’, the sedate pacing and uneventful lifestyle is interrupted by the arrival of the heroine’s unruly and precocious younger sister, Ava (Mia Wasikowska).

After watching Adam and Eve doing things really slowly, it is to be hoped that Ava’s inclusion would be something of a shot in the arm. Not to dispel their night-time sanctuary, but just to provide … something. After all, about the most eventful occurrence up until this point is when the electricity cuts during another airing of their surprisingly non-goth music. For her duration, Ava’s presence does exactly as it should – shakes the two old vampires up and disrupts the complacency that has marred the film up to this point.

My favourite character is probably Ian, the wheeler-dealer type. He’s a shadowy, shady ‘zombie’ (Adam’s contemptuous name for humans) and is enthralled by the rock and roll lifestyle these real ‘life’ goths adhere to. It is his demise at the hands of Ava that propels the couple, first to rid themselves of her (and therefore the interest she brings) and then to travel to Tangiers, where Eve was residing during the film’s opening.

There’s no doubt for me that Ava’s appearance makes things more interesting, but also has the effect of making me appreciate more the earlier, tranquil non-eventfulness of the story, and Adam and Eve’s understandable need for a return to that anonymity. Their story has quietly become compelling.

I rarely quote other reviews, preferring my opinions to emerge uninfluenced, but my favourite critique of ‘Only Lovers Left Alive’ is from Jessica Kiang of ‘IndieWire’, who gave the film a B+ grade, saying, "the real pleasure of the film is in its languid droll cool and its romantic portrayal of the central couple, who are now our number one role models in the inevitable event of us turning vampiric."

Beautifully filmed in some truly stunning rural locations (you can almost hear the dew dripping from autumnal branches), this tepid haunted house mystery features Ben (Ed Stoppard), his wife Rachel (Sophia Myles) and young son Harry (Isaac Andrews) relocating to a huge and remote country house following some difficult personal times.

As the scant ghostly noises in the night threaten to topple Ben into thinking his sanity is crumbling once more, the main thing that strikes me is how unlikable he is. Irritable and unreasonable, he treats his family very offhandedly, and comes across as exactly the kind of shallow, thoughtless bore I would cross the road to avoid.

A terrific supporting cast including Paul Kaye and Russell Tovey turn in very earnest performances, but sadly the script fails to come to life and remains pretty uninvolving. The problem is, these sinister characters are actually more likeable than Ben, as is sleazy Dominic (Greg Wise) who tries to strike up an affair with Rachel. Up until the last reel you almost wish she would go with him.

As a whole, it is the hero who sinks this unfrightening ghost story. Not that Ed Stoppard is a bad actor, but there is not one note of kindness or sympathy about him, and whether his manner is the result of his earlier breakdown, or whether he is actually correct in his intention to ‘protect’ his family, he severely tests our patience long before the end.

In the unnamed rural state in which this film is set, people have been going missing fairly regularly, for 24 years. Such a desperate situation seems to have become accepted, because there seems little effort, or counter-measures, put in place to stop this from continuing. Indeed, toward the end, when a very distressed battered young lady pounds on the door of a remote garage and begs for help, the shop assistant ignores her. So it is safe to say the town does not overly keen on helping itself.

As for the victims, the usual parade of energetically screaming, manicured pretty young folk are chained up in a farm shed, this time by an old man determined to sacrifice his victims to a monster in the cellar.

‘Everything is going to be okay, nothing is going to happen to you,’ the daughter or a millionaire is told, just as she is gagged and left in a ramshackle abandoned building. This is story strand number two. A wronged colleague decides to rob his rich employee, and with a small group, sets about kidnapping his daughter for a ransom.

The resurrection of the creature ‘Wormface’ raises the game considerably, breathing life into what is a fairly routine, if earnest, thriller. The placing of this unspecific creature into the unfolding events adds a new urgency and makes the betrayals and counter betrayals between the characters more entertaining. Also, Wormface does the things that ‘creatures’ do – walks in front of the camera, appears where none of the characters can see him, and always happens to be there and only too pleased to open up a few veins. There’s an element of ‘Jeepers Creepers’ about the scenario, but this tells its own story. As a whole, ‘Rites of Spring’ features a number of elements we’ve all seen before (including the occasional lapse of logic by the characters), but is a satisfying meeting of crime thriller and monster-on-the-loose mayhem.

The late David Bowie (I still can’t get used to using his name in a past tense) lends his voice to Giorgio Moroder’s heavily synthesised soundtrack to this remake of Val Newton’s 1942 original. Sadly, the music dates the production more than anything else.

At nearly two hours long, ‘Cat People’ takes a while to get going, and even when it does, it comes in fits and starts. Nastassia Kinski and Malcolm McDowell are superbly cast as a somewhat creepy brother and sister – Kinski managing to exude both a virginal and sultry air that attracts John Heard as hunky-but-bland zoologist Oliver Yates. More than once, the film threatens to become too brooding for its own good and stumbles into dullness. But as things roll on, as Kinski’s splendid Irena embraces her blooming sexuality, her brother Paul experiences a disappointing turn in his sex-life, indicating their sibling relationship polarizes aspects of each other’s lives – and things become infinitely more interesting (and graphic). The incestuous relationship between them was echoed by their parents, suggesting in-breeding as one reason for their heightened personalities.

The film comes full circle, with Paul and Aretha making their way across the surreal dusty, orange landscape that opened ‘Cat People’, towards a magnificent tree with its branches occupying resting black leopards. This scene brings with it a sense of surreality which acts as a welcome break from the comparatively unexceptional normalcy up until this point.

Unlike the original film, Director Paul Schrader is unable to resist actually showing the transformation between human and feline. It comes far too late in the story to carry any real frights, rather it emerges as a tragic inevitability, sowing the seeds of Aretha’s eventual, haunting fate. I think this is too slow moving to be truly great, but ‘Cat People’ remains an intelligent and enjoyable, sensuous fantasy.

Blacula.

In the opening to this film, William Marshall as Prince Mamuwalde visits Charles Macaulay’s impressive Count Dracula about suppressing the slave trade. Dracula is more interested in Mamuwalde’s wife Luva (Vonetta McGee), and when his advances are spurned, sentences Mamuwalde to vampirism and death to Luva. With a film entitled ‘Blacula’, and the mantle of ‘blaxploitation’ regularly directed at it, this kind of serious and violent opening was not what I expected. Only after the credits, and when things move from 1780 to the (then) present day, do we enter more familiar, somewhat expected territory.

William Marshall is EXCELLENT as the noble vampire. Literally towering above everyone else, he exudes charm, melancholy and – despite some over-the-top vampire make-up – rage and terror. Yet he resists the temptation overplay anything, something other Draculas could not manage. His attraction to the character Tina Williams is played absolutely for real and the audience is completely on their side, despite the growing number of vampiric ‘deaths’.

As with Blacula himself, the make-up on the vampires is (probably deliberately) heavy-handed, making them appear as green-tinged zombie-types when they could have been terrifying. But is that the aim of the film? Probably not – this prefers to settle for being a compelling supernatural comedy/thriller (although very much ‘of its time, the humour is held pretty firmly in check throughout) that aims to entertain, which it does.

Having said that, a few deaths stray happily into ‘shock’ territory, not least Blacula’s climactic demise. We aren’t glad to see the back of the reign of a tyrant, or even the killer he is, but rather sad, admiring of his nobility. One of my favourite Dracula actors. This is a fine film lifted by Marshall’s consistently brilliant performance. Luckily ‘Scream Blacula Scream’ was released a year later, presumably resurrecting Marshall’s character.