DEATH RANCH
- Director
and screenwriter - Charlie Steeds
·
2020, USA
A blaxploitation homage where the homaging
provides a pass for some retrograde exploitation as well as some modern
ultraviolence. In passing, there are so many homages now that I wonder where
nostalgic cinema will be given twenty years time? Homages to homages?
On the run and holed up in a disused barn,
three black characters find themselves under siege by a small army of KKK
animals. Charlie Steeds’ film is a crude, righteous and ultraviolent
unapologetic revenge fantasy, with funky music and a subtext about bettering
yourself. Of course, it’s all informed by a very contemporary anger and
awareness: in the Q&A Black Lives Matter came up in the first question, and
Grimmfest’s Miriam Draeger brought up the word “integrity” in regards to ‘Death
Ranch’: that wouldn’t be the first
word I’d associate with it (it’s an unapologetic revenge fantasy, after all)
but it’s sure nice to have worthy zombies at the end of the retribution.
Although the film makes them cannibals
too, there isn’t really any need for elaboration – i.e. a prolonged
prerequisite torture scene as justification – because the redeemability is
inbuilt to the KKK. When director-writer Charlie Steed chose the defining line
calling the KKK “dumb cunts” as justification for all the silliness, etc, it’s
obvious that he knew exactly what he was doing. When Steed spoke of how hard
this was to get greenlit, and how the Q&A panel discussed how rare it is, comparatively,
to have the KKK as an obvious villain, it’s obvious we shouldn’t take this for
granted.
There are other pluses too, such as the
vulnerability in Dieandre Teagle’s performance (he takes punishment that no one
could get up and kick ass from, but he doesn’t forget to wince, limp and look
tired from his injuries) and Faith Monique written as more than just as sexy
love interest (she’s a caring sister).
Urubú
- Director
- Alejandro Ibáñez
- Screenwriters
- Carlos Bianchi, Alejandra Heredia, Alejandro Ibáñez
- 2019,
Spain
So I went into this completely blind,
thinking it might be a creature-feature in an exotic location. The set-up is
long, with a photographer going into the Amazon to hunt a picture of a rarely
seen, mysterious bird. The music swells with majesty over the aerial shot of
the river and forest: Arturo Díez Boscovich’s score is deliberately old-school to
create a ‘70s feel. And then, of course, things get odd and dangerous. As we
got deeper in, I was thinking of ‘Vinyan’. And then, of course, it
became obvious what this was. And if I didn’t recognise it, a character says
the name outright, which was a moment of unintentional humour.
Of course, had I read Grimmfest’s blurb, I
would have been forewarned: “Writer-Director Alejandro Ibáñez Nauta, is the son
of Narciso Ibáñez Serrador, and describes this as a “tribute” to his
father's work. A ferocious, visceral reimagining of Serrador's most famous –
and notorious – film, WHO COULD KILL A CHILD?” So if anyone can get away with having
that line spoken out loud, it is surely him.
The central pull is going to be the
exceptional location work, out in the jungle under undeniably taxing
conditions. Ibáñez spoke of how they had to improvise according the weather and
conditions. The central agenda of ‘Who Can Kill a Child?’ is that
children are so abominably treated historically that the whole adult world is
guilty by association, and that’s why the youngsters turn vengeful. ‘Urubú’
follows that line of thinking, and nothing has truly changed: there are still
plenty of appalling and heart-breaking statistics to be had.
It’s beautifully constructed and
intriguing enough, although one could argue that the jungle setting mitigates
some of the sinister familiarity of the children. But this is posed as just the
start of a larger picture and the jungle provides a different kind of mystery and
panic, as well as alluding to those Italian Seventies exploitation pictures, etc.
(And it is notably better than Makinov’s ‘Come Out and Play’ (2012).)
And I’m going for the piranha death, even
if it is offscreen.
FRIED BARRY
·
Director
& Screenwriter - Ryan Kruger
·
2020,
South Africa
Scumbag Barry is abducted and replaced by
what seems to be an exploratory alien who is dropped into a multitude of crazy
and/or sleazy South African scenarios. Or maybe it’s the alien’s holiday? We
never know.
Filmed without a script, ‘Fried Barry’
has elements of ‘Under the Skin’, ‘E.T.’, ‘Starman’, and ‘Being
There’. I say ‘Being There’ because Barry is a blank slate that
people and the scenarios impose their expectations upon. It’s crazed, kinetic,
unpredictable, darkly funny and just skating around on the possibilities with
no agenda other than to be thoroughly entertaining. Which it is. The abduction
and experimentation/cloning sequence is trippy and a highlight. Gary Green – who
has experience as an extra – has such a distinctive face and his expressions
are treats in themselves: he won Best Actor at Fantaspoa International Fantastic Film
Festival. It’s beautifully filmed: Gareth Place won Best Cinematography at
RapidLion Film Festival. It’s crazed, impressive, unpredictable and dynamic
right the way through. And an obvious instantaneous cult hit.
10 MINUTES TO MIDNIGHT
- Director
– Erik
Bloomquist
- Screenwriters
– Erik
Bloomquist, Carson Bloomquist
Another character study using genre to address
the personal. ’10 Minutes to Midnight’ uses vampirism to interrogate one
woman’s confrontation with aging and potential obsolescence. Genre staunch
Caroline Williams is Amy, a veteran rock DJ facing her last night on the job,
being replaced with someone younger and turning up already with puncture wounds
on her neck. The film relies on symbolism, surrealism, 80s veneer and folding
in on itself to convey Amy’s difficulty with dealing with this phase of her
life, as played out as a transformation into a vampire. Williams is great and
the genre-bending and mind-games wavering in effectiveness.
REVENGE RIDE
- Director
- Melanie
Aitkenhead
- Screenwriter
- Timothy
Durham
An old school biker girl revenge flick
with fine performances and capturing of a sub-culture. The girl bikers are all
survivors of abuse and are triggered when another girl is the victim of being
drugged and gang-raped by frat boys. The school covers up and the women feel
betrayed: it feels relevant, post-#MeToo. It’s one of those revenge flicks that
wants to dwell equally on the consequences: Trigga (the marvellous Pollyanna
McIntosh) can’t let go of her trauma, has never been properly treated for it,
giving further layers of tragedy. The film makes sure it is evident that in all
of this, it’s always the innocents that ultimately pay the cost. There are no real
winners.
It hits all the obvious beats, but it’s
well played and looks good.