Frightfest Online 2021: 'The Show' and 'Crabs!'

This odd year, where horror fans were surely more psychologically prepared for a pandemic than most, FrightFest chose to go ahead with the physical event.

However, I opted for the online section of FrightFest taking place this week after the usual weekend event. Work by day: films by night.

The Show

Director - Mitch Jenkins

Writer - Alan Moore

UK  2020

 

‘The Show’ plunges straight into an apparent private detective trying to unravel a mystery of a death, and also in pursuit of a stolen cross; but its true magic-realist nature is revealed when he goes to other detectives that turn out to be kids living a film noir out of their garden playhouse like something from ‘Just Ask for Diamond’. You just know there’s going to be a zany dream with a courtroom trial featuring clowns, as typical of this kind of thing and there is. Full of that achingly self-consciousness English whacky-weirdness where you can feel the dialogue being written even as its said, despite some good lines, so the kaleidoscopic, burlesque nature never quite gels. Although Tom Burke casts a stablising saunter through bizarre characters and mountains of exposition, he is surrounded by variable acting from those that know the notes to hit to those that chew scenery to the bad. And it has moments that arguably flirts with homophobia and tiresome geezer gangster villainy. The carnival nature increasingly mitigates interest and … wait: it’s written by Alan Moore? Well, it runs like the debut of a first-time writer trying way too hard rather than from the pen of a master writer that helped set the context for comics being seen more than a kids’ medium. Who’d have thought?

 

 

Crabs!

Writer & Director - Pierce Berolzheimer

2021, US

 

A creature-feature that more resembles stupid ‘80s teen improbable sci-fi comedies like ‘Weird Science’ rather than fun low-budgeters like ‘Critters’. The main players play it straight whilst the jokey stuff wants to be ‘Gremlins’ (DJing crabs anyone?) whilst heading for Kaiju action. Whether you go with the pointless stupid of course depends upon taste, and whereas a film like 'Dead Sushi' runs out of steam long before the end and a film like 'Cyst' gets it right, 'Crabs!' bid for genuine emotional resonance instead of gags always seems misplaced in such silliness. And there’s no getting around Radu, the single worst and insulting (offensive?) and unfunny character that I have seen in a long time.

 

 

 

BIG MONSTERS IN: 'The Suicide Squad', 'Gamera the Brave' & 'Superman: Man of Tomorrow'

 

BIG MONSTERS!

The Suicide Squad

Writer & Director: James Gunn

2021, USA-Canada-UK

 

Superman: Man of Tomorrow

Chris Palmer, 2020, USA

Writer: Tim Sheridan

 

Gamera the Brave

Chiisaki yûsha-tachi: Gamera

Ryuta Tasaki, 2005, Japan

Writer: Yukari Tatsui

 

Coming out of ‘The Suicide Squad’, my friend wondered if they had just chosen the stupidest monster they could think of. I had to explain that Starro the Conqueror had a long history in the DC Universe (since 1960). In fact, he was the adversary in the first comic I bought myself from a spinner rack during a caravan holiday: he was fighting The Justic League. I was familiar with comics because I had been reading the ‘Star Wars’ weekly comic, and then monthly, since the film came out when I was seven, so I was aware of Star Lord, The Watcher, Micronauts, Deathlok, Adam Warlock, etc. I mean, I knew ‘Whizzer & Chips’ and all that aimed specifically at kids, but it was ‘Star Wars’ and the support stories that burnt into my mind. I even have a soft spot for the alien attack story in ‘V/H/S/2’ because it reminded me of how unsettled I was by the origin of Peter Quill/Star Lord when the aliens blasted away his parents.  But when I just happened to pick up a comic from the spinner rack, which was my first true Superhero comic as a kid, it was a revelation. The apocalyptic nature of that story unsettled and blew my mind and, if I hadn’t been hooked on comics through ‘Star Wars’, I certainly was from then on.

But yeh, I did wonder why Starro for ‘The Suicide Squad’. But then I also read somewhere that James Gunn – charged with making Suicide Squad cool and saleable after the first botched attempt – felt that Polkadot Man was the most ridiculous DC villain, and then it made more sense: he was going for the naff, ridiculous villains too; for laughs, for the ridiculousness, because they were more expendable. The ones that the main franchises wouldn’t touch Not Harley Quinn of course, but…

‘The Suicide Squad’ starts dark and dangerously enough with Michael Rooker as Savant, leading us into a suicide squad of dodgy comic book villains (hey, I recognise Captain Boomerang!) that are going to be infiltrating an enemy island – but the joke is that they are just the distraction while the real squad is landing elsewhere. There’s a decent vein of dark humour from the start – detachable arms is probably the first big laugh – and the promise of something nasty, which the film delivers on a hit-and-miss basis. The initial competitiveness between Bloodsport (Idris Elba giving a textured performance of self-loathing which provides a lot of ballast) and Peacemaker (John Cena finding the conflicted humanity of a delusional scumbag) decimating what they think are the enemy but in fact are rebels is a typical delivery of black humour with a very sour punchline, for example. And then you have King Shark swallowing people whole, which the film doesn’t hold back from: voiced by Sylvester Stallone may make this a gag, but again the film insists on giving even King Shark pathos and a little misunderstood monster dimension. And of course, there’s Margot Robbie as Harley Quinn which, you know: she’s good. I like little highlights like Harley unlocking her shackles with her toes, showing how she’s formidable as she is unpredictable.

There’s a lot of good stuff here, a few surprises, a considerable cast that sells two-bit, two-dimensional characters, but for some reason there seems to be a magic ingredient missing. It’s too long where it should have benefitted from being snappier, for a start. When we get to Starro, it’s maybe a chapter too long. There just doesn’t quite seem to be the zing of Gunn’s ‘Guardian of the Galaxy’. He ought to be the guy able to elevate the underdog super-characters, but here the moments and incidentals are greater than the whole. But Rob Hunter’s conclusion that “‘The Suicide Squad’ is a Brilliantly Stupid Blast of Big Laughs and Bloody Chaos” also has a lot to it. It’s always diverting and I currently believe that, when expectations won’t interfere with the article at hand, I will certainly enjoy a second watch more, that I am likely to go with Hunter’s conclusion.

Starro has a mistreated monster aspect: he was taken from his normal astral habitat, brought to earth, incarcerated and experimented on. And when he fights back, the American forces accountable decide to bunk from responsibility and leave the natives to their fate. There’s plenty of barbs at the delusion and sheer inhumanity of political plotting here, not least in Peacemaker saying he doesn’t care how many men women and children he has to kill to achieve “peace”. It’s played as a gag, but it points at the wider plotting Amanda Waller leads in the schemes to use and sacrifice The Suicide Squad. It’s the political players that are worse villains than our proletariat villains. This is only reinforced as the film can’t quite avoid the idea that inside every bad guy there’s a good guy just trying to get out. A film of outright villainy will probably be as divisive as ‘I Care a Lot’, so here are a bunch of anti-heroes. Starro’s defeat is agreeably nasty and accents teamwork; and the other memorable moment comes when lots of mini-Starros swarm from the alien’s “armpit”.

But somehow, Starro the CGI creation is less fun than the last act of Kaiku mayhem in the animated ‘Superman: man of tomorrow’. This enlivens a sober if somewhat over-familiar origin story. The parasitic alien comes to Earth via one of crude anarchic bounty-hunter Lobo’s weapons: it possesses an unwitting victim and – with genuine horror edges – feeds on people and grows and grows. It’s big and pink and seems to nod at the Emmerich’s 1998 ‘Godzilla’ design. This is where comics and live-action may conflict: a gargantuan pink Godzilla and alien starfish may work on paper but may be a stretch too far for those not committed gleeful comic book absurdities, colour codes and suspension-of-belief. CGI makes anything and everything possible, but when it runs wild you get vapid ‘Aquaman’; at its overloaded best you get ‘Avengers: Infinity War’; with more focus you get the trippy ‘Dr. Strange’ set pieces that look like Jack Kirby panels come to life. It’s true that, for whatever reason, the animation of ‘Spider-man: Into the Spider-Verse’ will always feel more impressive and convincing than Starro’s rampage, although I have no doubt that it required just as much work and devotion by its architects.  It also helps that animation like ‘Superman: man of tomorrow’ feels decidedly cinematic: the shots of Parasite are designed and framed to accentuate its size and awesomeness. Also, the smartness and seriousness of intent, it’s horror and kaiju edges raised this DC animated feature above the perfunctory.

But, you see, Starro itself wasn’t quite as entertaining as the genuine fun of the kiddie kaiju, ‘Gamera the Brave’ either. So, the heritage of this film is the ‘Son of Godzilla’ lineage, but the “Monsters: Fight!” while stupid humans play geek chorus agenda was pretty much a given with the franchise by that point, far from any Atomic horror messages the seminal original may have had. But as far as A Boy And His Kaiju tales go, this kid is less annoying and cloying than many in this franchise. There’s also a fine eye on display by director Ryuta Tasaki – he monsters on the bridge, for example. But what really pleases, and what really matters, is that there are some considerably enjoyable effects. There’s no hope for Gamera – who is, after all, a flying turtle, although better looking that, say, ‘Gamera vs Viras’ (1968) – but his nemesis Zedus has an excellent monster suit, and watching them go at it and ploughing through miniatures is great fun. It’s augmented with CGI, but this is real monster suit and model work stuff, still rooted in the analogue, and for that it’s endearing. Of course, it is steers full throttle into mawkishness, but it is a decent enough, undemanding kid’s film. But it is probably a bit much when it hinges an emotional moment on a turtle butt sticking out of a skyscraper.

And I guess that’s the thing that CGI doesn’t possess. It doesn’t possess the call to goodwill where the audience is happy to make allowances for the shortcomings, in a way that is part of the charm. Perhaps that goodwill is sorely tested by, say, something like the giant plant-alien of ‘Dr Who and the Seeds of Doom’, but the sheer foolhardy ambition of Dr Who’s attempt is part of its entertainment. But I have never felt the inclination to give allowances to CGI in the same way I would Godzilla. Indeed, when we progress into the later instalments, I am often left enjoying just how good the suits are.

Now, there is no way ‘Gamera the Brave’ is better than ‘The Suicide Squad’, but just to say that Starro is less compelling that the practical designs of Zedus, and its absurdity less enjoyable than the animated Parasite. Perhaps its that CGI hues even closer to photo-realism and that we tend to reject the uncanny valley more in live-action films. Is Starro a bit too... goofy? But I never thought I would get to see something like a realist Starro on a rampage in a film when I first picked up that ‘Justice League of America #189’ comic off the spinner rack. So, you know: you kids don’t know how spoilt you are.

The Man Who Laughs

 

Paul Leni

1926, US

Writing Credits 

Victor Hugo (novel)

J. Grubb Alexander (adaptation)

Walter Anthony (titles)

May McLean, Marion Ward & Charles E. Whittaker (uncredited)

Paul Leni's film has the appearance of horror but it’s actually melodrama, much like the eponymous Gwynplaine. There’s a classic Gothic set-up: a nobleman is put to death by King James II, but not before the king has sold the condemned man’s son to the Comprachichos, who subject the child to surgery that contorts his mouth into a perpetual rictus grin. And no matter how much melodrama predominates, that visage is a pure horror staple. And yes, it is the inspiration for The Joker and surely ‘Mr Sardonicus’; mouth scarring even features in the 2020 adaption of ‘The Witches’. It’s a variation on Victor Hugo’s ‘The Hunchback of Notre Dame’: a misunderstood social “monster” period piece.

The pathos and sentiment overwhelm the logic: the crowds suddenly claim Gwynplaine as their own when the whole problem and his complex stems from their constant laughing at him? They suddenly saw the error of their mockery? It also muffles Hugo’s critique of privilege somewhat. Here, political edges are mostly subsumed by the Gwynplaine Against The World angle and his tragedy rather than evoking any true engagement with the class issues. Then it launches into swashbuckling to resolve matters.

 And as Robin Bailes says, in Dark Corners’ thoroughly compelling and informative review of the film:

“On Paper, Gwynplaine is unsympathetic, Dea is uninteresting, and the story follows two people who have no obstacles to overcome expect those that they create for themselves.”

Well, that does sound true-to-life, but the point is made: this shouldn’t quite work for a Romantic melodrama of his nature.  But it is Leni’s direction and the visuals that engross, and it’s those that transcend any discrepancies. For example, the intertitles may be coy, but the camera makes it obvious that lust for the wayward Duchess Josiana (Olga Baclanova) is the motivation for Gwynplaine’s lapse in romantic commitment to Dea (Mary Philbin), as Josiana lies on the bed pre-code seductively. The early childhood scenes in a freezing desolate landscape, marked by corpses hanging and frozen to death, are a highlight (and clearly manifesting young Gwynplaine’s predicament). Later, we’ll get an early Ferris Wheel at the fair. The budget certainly looks on screen.

These silent genre milestones are frequently awe-inspiring for their sets and crowd scenes if weak on the story - 'Metropolis' dazzles in its crowd scenes; 'The Cabinet of Dr Caligari' for its impressionism and angles; 'The Golem' for these too - and 'The Man Who Laughs' doesn't lack in these strengths. It’s a delightful curio as much as anything: you’ll come for the smile, stay for the Silent Movie romanticism and awe-inspiring set design, be slightly baffled at the pot pourrie of ingredients that somehow work.  It’s that smile and the visuals that stake its legend as a silent classic.

Fried Barry

Ryan Kruger

2020, South Africa

Story by: Ryan Kruger & James C Williamson

I first saw this at Grimmfest and had no idea what it was going to be. Let's just say I wasn't expecting much and then ... well, I always recommend its scattalogical barminess, but on a second watch I was more taken with how Haezer's score and the editing evokes so much with mood and temporal displacement.

Brash, rude and crude and random, and that’s even before general junkie scumbag Barry is abducted by aliens. From then on, the narrative is based upon, as Barry has now been possessed by an alien passenger, how the more sordid end of Cape Town reacts to his goggle-eyed stare and silence. Along the way, Barry encounters thugs, druggies, prostitutes and sex hungry supermarket staff, serial killers and policemen, etc. Without true narrative dictates, there’s nothing fencing in the WTF possibilities of the story. Barry is mostly passive, the amusement coming from how he just stumbles into and reacts to crazed vignettes, oblivious, occasionally showing signs of extra-terrestrial powers. The whole thing is held together by Gary Green’s consistently oddball performance, jerking and walking like a malfunctioning terminator, innocent, scary, bug-eyed, gurning. It even has time for an intermission when Barry is knocked out.

The skits are predominantly there to amuse, but it’s also a longform riff on feeling disconnected, always feeling the outsider with things just happening to you. An analogy for time-lapses and bafflement of drug addiction, it’s like natural extension of a Barry bender taken to extremes. Unlike ‘Under the Skin’ or ‘The Man Who Fell to Earth’, this alien visitor doesn’t have any apparent motivation other than just to experience; perhaps to gather information; maybe it’s just a hedonistic holiday? What the alien gets is a crash-course in digressive exploitation cult cinema. It’s an offbeat tour of a seedy side of urban humankind, although Barry intuits enough to save someone from a heart attack or to engage with a chainsaw fight with a serial killer to save children. 

“Green has the reckless abandon that makes for unhinged performances, but "Fried Barry" can't decide if he's a joke, or a zonked-out Christ figure.”

So says Nick Allen, who seems to think Kruger is reaching for some kind of commentary rather than just amusement and entertainment. After all, Kruger says this is more of a "thing" than a film, mphasising experiece over narrative. But Barry is a fully zonked-out Christ figure joke – complete with resurrection – not one or the other. The point is that Barry is often just a blank slate to project upon for those he runs into, revealing more about themselves than him; and this is an extra satirical edge if that’s what you want. 

It is fluid with vibrant colours and lighting and Haezer’s excellent electronic score contributes otherworldly or pumping vibes where necessary. 'Fried Barry's superpower, apart from Barry/Green himself, is its consistent, restless search for inventiveness. This picaresque, episodic joyride with full on non sequiturs won’t be for everyone, of course, but it’s triumph of low-budget anarchy over the dictates of story. 

In The Earth

Writer-Director: Ben Wheatley

2021, UK

Gleefully playing with and gliding through subgenres, Wheatley’s film has dashes and hints of body-horror, virus-horror, slasher, wilderness-horror, the supernatural, folk horror and science-fiction. For detractors, this will likely be evidence of an unfocused mess, but otherwise it can be seen as teasingly feinting this way and that, nodding and homaging until revealing its end goal. But indeed, I’ve noted that people are saying both that the mid-section is best and that Movie Waffler berates it for being ultimately a slasher film – but that’s missing out on all the treats. I think I absorbed it more as genre fun than a journey into the heart of darkness: more ‘Sightseers’ and ‘Freefall’ than ‘Kill List’ or ‘A Field in England’. It has that particularly English meeting with chaos and insouciance and politeness, by way of creepy ‘Children of the stone’, heady ‘Penda’s Fen’, ‘The Owl Service’… you get the old school idea (all namechecked by Wheatley).

I have also heard criticisms that ‘In The Earth’ is not a COVID film, but Wheatley has said that he just wanted to make a film that acknowledged the era as the films he was watching seemed to be dated; and besides, it’s set during that time and it’s about a guy coming out from lockdown and finding nature an abstract, malevolent force. And of course, the film’s whole gestation and production was carried out during lockdown England (too quickly and under written, detractors may say.)

There’s a phenomenon in the woods that one side is trying to communicate with folk horror and the other with oversized computers, strobes and blasting Clint’s Mansell’s excellent and searing BBC Radiophonic Workshop tributes into the trees. There’s a lot of genre homages in here, and although the enjoyment is in watching it feint this way and that upon first watch, subsequent watches will surely reveal this as a richer tapestry than first assumed. This playfulness with genre cues may lose some who may wonder why, when it has seemingly settled for forest slasher, it then lunged into Nigel Neale territory. And if it isn’t working for you, then the psychelica of the ending will probably feel like a lot of Sound and Fury to mask over its deficiencies.

It’s anchored in solid performances from the cast. Joel Fry’s Martin Lowerly comes across as perpetually dazed from his lockdown, a little immature and providing the very English insouciance in the face of increasing mayhem and slapstick horror that is a very English type of black humour. There’s lot of that dark amusement in this and Fry isn’t playing any capable heroics here. That’s all left to Elloria Torchia’s Alma, providing a grounding to surrounding more eccentric performances as well as final girl duties without it being too underlined. Reece Sheersmith’s turn as Zach perfects his outraged-and-unhinged delivery and certainly provides a solid anchor. And it’s foot trauma is a triumph of squirm-inducement. 

It’s a little trippy, a little uneven but executed with genre love, and when Wheatley says, “The reality is that the thing in the woods makes its own decision; and it decides on someone who isn’t a narrative maker – someone who is practical and is more likely to understand what it wants.”, there’s a definite ultimate agenda that clarifies the pastiche elements.

Lifeforce - and my negligible personal experience with it

Tobe Hooper,

1985, UK

Screenplay: Dan O’Bannon and Don Jakoby

+ uncredited: Michael Armstrong and Olaf Pooley

 

-1- “concerning my negligible personal connection to the film”

Throughout my youth, I lived in a maisonette with my room three storeys up overlooking fields. Across the fields, I had a clear view of the peak of the clocktower of what had been a Masonic Boys’ School but was now “The American University”, and that’s how one night I saw a glimpse of the filming of Tobe Hooper’s ‘Lifeforce’. There’s the scene where the characters helicopter in to a sanatorium grounds in pursuit of the killer alien, and that’s what I saw: the helicopter buzzing around the clocktower one night. In the “making of”, there’s the tale that Hooper was instructing the pilot to go nearer to the clocktower, dangerously, and certainly the proximity of the shot in the film does feel a little too close for comfort. And I am sure I saw some of the lightshow at the end being filmed too.

 And over a decade later, I found myself working at that location: it had not been a university for a long time and it was now just a “campus”, hosting summer schools and film crews. Ostensibly I was a general cleaner/custodian (my boss was American) so I was making up rooms for summer schools and picking up after film crews. It wasn’t unusual for me to turn a corner and bump into ‘Eastenders’ (Dot Cotton once joked that I had stolen her make-up), or a kids show being filmed, or to walk out into the quad to see a Bollywood dance routine underway. Before it closed and was turned into luxury apartments, I lived on campus for a few months on the set of ‘Children of Men’, but that’s another story. All to say that the moment in ‘Lifeforce’ where they arrive in the helicopter and you see people wandering along the walkway cloisters in the background, I used to sweep those walkways daily. It was an incredible location and I still have the fondest memories of wandering and working around it.

 When the ‘Lifeforce’ characters go to visit the woman in her apartment, that’s what was called The Headmaster’s House, and a Shiek lived there for a time when I first worked there. I walked up those stairs many times. When the character’s go inside the asylum, that mustard colour on the walls is one I knew so well: this was the colour inside every dormitory tower. There was a time when my boss had the chance to repaint, but he forked out extra money for the very same mustard colour to be specially mixed, which we staff could never understand. Anyway, for this alone, ‘Lifeforce’ will always have a particular place in my affection, for tiggering memories of a building that I loved and spent a decade in.

-2- “concerning the film itself”

 The last time I saw ‘Lifeforce’ was probably in the Eighties on VHS, so when I saw it again, streamed a couple of years ago, my first thought was that it had never looked so good. And it certainly looks great, the opening space sequence with John Dykstra’s effects being both state-of-the-art glorious and just the right side of old-school cumbersome. And that’s true of the whole film. It captures that feel of enjoyably bad-it’s-good 50s b-movies perfectly without ever quite falling over the edge… well, not if you’re a genre fan, surely.

According to the “making of”, the production of ‘Lifeforce’ was quite drug-fuelled and shambolic. An adaptation of Colin Wilson’s book ‘The Space Vampires’ (I mean, with a title like that…) by Dan O’Bannon and Don Jakoby – and with O’Bannon, you know you’re in assured b-movie hands – the plotting is crazed, going from sci-fi to zombie apocalypse and carried along by the threat of a nude woman in the most gleeful pulpy, exploitation manner. It’s a fun merger of sci-fi and gothic tropes. There are several memorable set pieces: the astronaut’s exploration of the spaceship – looking like a birth canal as well as space castle – and the wonderful/hilarious zombie puppets; a zombie dashing itself into dust against the bars of its cell a particular highlight. In this era, this kind of thing rarely got such a big budget. It’s a curio.

It’s a film for the boys. CH Newell says, “At its core, Lifeforce is the dark heart of all humankind’s anxieties about extraterrestrials” and locates the films basis in fears about aliens; but it’s even closer to home, surely, being about man’s fears of womanhood. Women are alien and in control of men’s libido, which men are helpless to, etc. There are a couple of token women at the start, but otherwise it’s mostly Mathilda May with the stunning body walking around in the nude, with other women as mostly interchangeable. There is a moment when a woman needs to be slapped around to reveal her duplicitous nature; and even in a man’s form, she’s treated aggressively into revealing herself. The naked female vampire’s sex drive is linked to death and causes an apocalypse: whole planets can be decimated by her seduction and the giant phallus in orbit. In the end, a bewildered male besotted with her must sacrifice himself heroically to her sexuality. It won’t win anything for any insight or interesting viewpoints on gender.

Henry Mancini’s score is turned right up to bombastic, featuring that militaristic undertow that b-movies of yore often had. The acting is properly earnest /wooden with only Steve Railsback overacting (perhaps appropriately) and Peter Firth enjoying playing it as superciliously as he can (“I’m a natural voyeur.”). And you have Railsback shouting at Patrick Stewart, “Listen to me, you bitch!” There’s camp value too.

I will throw ‘Lifeforce’ in with films such as ‘Killer Klowns from Outer Space’ or ‘Shrunken Heads’ or ‘The Monster Club’, or even things like ‘The Man from Planet X’: thoroughly enjoyable cheesy fun that I find myself repeatedly coming back to, although they’re no one’s idea of prime cinema.

Logan's Run

Logan’s Run 

Michael Anderson

1977, USA

Screenlay: David Zelag Goodman based on the novel by William F Nolan & George Clayton Johnson

 

One of those future utopias/dystopias that I grew up with, in the same pack as ‘Westworld’, ‘Silent Running’, ‘Planet of the Apes’. Those films that are sci-fi smart pulp, but ‘Logan’s Run’ is inferior to those.

The dialogue strikes as the kind of future-speak that adults write for kids. Only Jenny Agutter has an innate naturalness that cuts through: Michael York as Logan 5 (yes: numbers as surnames) is probably apt in his certain sincere blandness actually: people’s banality would be intentional in this society. It’s the 23^rd century where civilisation survives in a dome and live for leisure and pleasure; they wear colour-coded clothing according to age and enjoy “the carousel”, where people who reach thirty are “renewed”; a super-computer seems to be in charge. An A.I. is using a Big Lie to maintain population control. It’s that well-known receipt for the undoing of humanity: technology and hedonism. The more sordid side of this life of indulgence was mostly cut to reduce the film’s rating and the most we are left with is a sex club where nudes move in slow motion and try to grope you.

Logan is a Sandman, who hunts and kills those running from “carousel”: seems like not everyone believes in renewal. Logan is introduced to discontent when he meets Jessica (Agutter), and then when he retrieves an Ankh from a runner’s corpse, the computer instructs him to “run”, to find “Sanctuary” – the place runners are trying to escape to – and destroy it.  (The poster seems to imply that Logan goes a-running with Farah Fawcett-Majors, who graces proceeding with feather hear and come-ons.)

After an encounter with a psychotic robot that makes it clear that previous runners probably never got out – which is grim – Logan and Jessica get outside and meet an old man. It is when they meet Peter Ustinov that the stiffness of their dialogue makes more sense as the product of their limited culture. Ustinov’s mumbling spontaneous charm contrasts and adds texture and context: the banality of the characters makes sense when juxtaposed with warmth and improvisation.

But this texture is squandered when Logan and Jessica go back to the dome to share the truth with others, but they don’t actually have any plan for this apart from shouting it to an amused, uninterested mob and being caught by Sandmen. Luckily, the truth overloads the computer, it does a “Does Not Compute!” and a simple gunfight brings the whole city to exploding. If it wasn’t so hard to thwart this civilisation after all, you might think the insurgents might have accomplished something by now as complacency isn’t absolute. Surely the computer would have encountered an Ankh before (runners have them and certainly would have been found earlier when the corpses are frisked)? This would then make more sense as another attempt by it to destroy “Sanctuary”. And why does the Doc risk everything clumsily when trying to kill Logan; can’t rig an “accident”? etc.

So perhaps internal logic isn’t ‘Logan's Run’s’ strong suit and plot holes are everywhere, but there’s lots to enjoy in the future city model-work and sets, as well the overall camp of the costumes and flashing lights and mad robots, etc. You can just feel the intelligence of a novel's ideas being siphoned off for movie platitudes (it would be 'Logan's Run's peer 'Star Wars' to show film makers that you needn't hint at smart, just Faith and spectacle to make it work). Michael Anderson’s direction is a little stiff, but it’s episodic enough that it’s never boring. There’s enough that audience imagination can paper over the cracks and there is always the hint of a better film that keeps the interest. Not so smart, but entertaining.

Nobody

Ilya Naishuller

2021, USA-Japan

Writer: Derek Kolstad

The draw is Bob Odenkirk, because he’s proven himself so great and textured as Saul Goodman in ‘Breaking Bad’ and ‘Better call Saul’. Here, he’s Hutch, a humbled and inured family man when we meet him. You know: emasculated. And then there’s a break-in at his house and, although everyone responds as if he has been cowardly when he doesn’t fight back, we can tell there’s more brimming below. And this leads to a chain events that sees him go on to take down an entire Russian underworld gang. So perhaps I thought it might be more ‘A History of Violence’ than ‘John Wick’, but it’s the latter. Well, ‘Nobody’ is written by ‘Wick’ writer Derek Kolstad, so that makes sense.

It’s another action thriller that plays to the fantasies of potency and kick-ass powers for men that seem to think family life is a prison for their killer skills as Alpha Male. It doesn’t help that Hutch’s family soon become just tokens, their opinions of all this and of their father subsequently barely addressed. His wife is a kind of vapour that hangs around. Odenkirk brings gravitas and amusement, but this isn’t a tale of how an aging complex man with an appallingly violent and psychopathic past is forced to face it as well as bring out latent skills. It’s the tale of how he’s let off the hook - finally! – once he feels underappreciated by normal life. It’s about how decent guys are just pretendin’ and they’ll scorch your earth if you mess with them. Any action wannabe could do this, but the casting of Keanu Reeves and Odenkirk for Olstad’s scripts are agreeably offbeat choices, at least ostensibly. For Alistair Harkness, ‘Nobody’ “gives Odenkirk enough room to slyly acknowledge the regressive nature of this film’s plot while simultaneously embracing the opportunity to have fun going kill-crazy on a bunch of Russian mobsters.”

We know how this works: the audience I was with was laughing as soon as it was known the kitty bracelet was missing and he was out the door like a shot to retrieve it. Laughing at how he just watches from the end of the bus, knowing he’s going to teach the gang a lesson and they just don't know it yet. We know he’s going to kick ass and that’s what we came for. There’s no risk because we know he’s indestructible.  

There’s real hurt in the initial fight on the bus, and this is the set-piece that stays in the memory. It takes its time to play out and even has Hutch injured, although that doesn’t linger. Ilya Naishuller directs to emphasis brute force rather than the dance of fighting – but don’t worry: there’s none of the dizzying camerawork of his ‘Hardcore Henry’. It’s always enjoyable and entertaining, even if by the time you get a Russian mobster (Aleksey Serebryakov) crossing the road to his nightclub and not caring about traffic because the world bends to his whim, it’s fully clear the tropes and cliché are going to be the agenda here. There’s also crowd-pleasing cameos from Christopher Lloyd and Michael Ironside, and one of those redundant mid-credit scenes that is all the trend but which I am adverse to in any context other than Marvel films. Mark Kermode says ‘Nobody’ is well-made exploitation trash, and that’s so, and for me it’s the bus fight that stuck in my memory.

A Quiet Place part 2

 

John Krasinksi

2021, USA

Writers: John Krasinski, Scott Beck & Bryan Woods

Which picks up, after an action-packed flashback to the days the aliens landed, directly where 'A Quiet Place' ended. If anything, right from that flashback, it’s evident that Krasinski is even more assured this time. The formula for ‘A Quiet Place’ reaps great monster movie rewards: instead of lots of build-up and explanation, there’s a solid family basis with a little conflict and emotion that never lets mushiness delay the action, a general survival plot, and once these are established, the films just get on with a series of thrilling action set-pieces. And, again, there is surely even more confidence in the way Krasinski cuts between multiple set-pieces and maintaining the suspense for each one.

There’s even more emphasis on the theme of heroism (which I consider one of the fundamentals of the horror genre) with the story of dad’s mantle being passed to his daughter – an excellent Millicent Williams. She even makes the rebellious daughter trope palatable. Both Marcus (Noah Jupe) and new addition Cillian “I’m not your dad” Murphy get their own arcs of heroism. Kick-ass mom (Emily Blunt) is a given, already having had her turn in the first instalment. The fact that the Abbot family have the advantage of their experience with sign language is one of those pleasing details that open the story to inclusivity. It’s a neat conceit that, in the flashback, is shown clearly as just another facet of family communication. One pleasing aspect is how many details aren’t spelt out in exposition but just there for the audience to learn. But none of this gets in the way of the monster fun or set-pieces.*

The aliens themselves seem there just to run amok and kill – it isn’t even clear that it’s for feeding? – and probably don’t stand up to rigorous logic (she’s the only one to work out that a certain frequency can be weaponised against the monsters?), but at this stage, it barely matters. They are simply avatars for a constant threat to a civilisation beaten out of its loud-hailing ways. Over-stimulated Western lives reduced to a needs-must basis, to an oppressive quietude. Another benefit of this is that we are spared Bad Guy speechifying: it doesn’t stop them being horrid and crude, but at least we don’t have to hear them leer and swagger this time. And given its agenda, it’s perhaps surprising how little it plays the “quiet-quiet-BANG!” card. And I did jump three whole times. Malte  Bieler’s sound design is, of course, notable, doing a sizeable chunk of the storytelling.

And of course, this has been a film held back from audiences due to lockdowns, and there’s certain pointedness to the fact that its premise is about how life-threatening going outside is. And as before, it’s certainly a brave choice to distinguish a mainstream film with a conceit that makes every overheard crunch of popcorn an affront to its enjoyment.

*    I have a friend that finds the Abbots hollow, not really likeable, but I like the lack of mushiness and the pace stopping dead for more family emoting. There’s enough to know who they are and to propel the set-pieces along.

The 'Pusher' trilogy

Nicolas Winding Refn

Writers: Nicolas Wining Refn & Jens Dahl

1996, Denmark

In the tradition of notable debuts, Nicolas Winding Refn’s first film is a gritty, guerrilla- style crime drama about a loathsome, selfish small-time crook getting himself into deeper and deeper trouble, alienating himself from everyone in a spiral of self-destruction.

In an overabundance of streetwise gritty and downbeat crime thrillers, Refn's debut distinguishes itself with a compelling central performance from Kim Bodnia, a pumping soundtrack, and a hand-held camera that doesn't stray from the shoulder of a scumbag drug pusher on a self-destructive week.  And this marks out the whole ‘Pusher’ series: enthralling central performances, a guerrilla-style hand-held camera that is always pushing the incident and narrative, and a pulsating score by underground artists and Peter Peter. It makes for a riveting and kinetic aesthetic, transcending the familiarities of the story. Apparently made by Refn without any experience and a lot of moxie, certainly there’s a raw and visceral feel.

Of course, the central feature of this underworld genre is the conflict of gangster posturing with morality. But Frank (Bodnia) is wanting from the outset, and there’s a big clue in that he retreats to the immature crudity of his friend Tonny (Mads Mikkelsen). Frank’s credentials as a scumbag only become more apparent as he reacts with bad management to his ever-worsening situation, mostly by mistreating the woman he is using to hide out with. Actually, it’s the women that are key to the moral dilemmas throughout the series. But it’s not a representation of a criminal world that grants any style or psychopathic charm or flair that are so often used by the genre to mitigate the scumbags. Milo (Zlatko Buric) the drug-lord is the only one offering that “gangster flash”, but he’s decidedly bargain rate, just as shabby as he is as dangerous. This is not a community that even entertains ethics or loyalty, just the fleeting highs and business of drug pushing.

The natural lighting, the grittiness and no-budget core only serve to enhance the charmlessness of this milieu. It’s certainly a world away from the arty compositions and neons of Refn’s later work. Frank’s tale is a worn one, and maybe that itself has a point, but the bravado of the telling makes for a punch of a debut.

 

PUSHER II: With Blood on My Hands

 Writer & director: Nicolas Winding Refn

2004, Denmark-UK

A sequel with a more questioning stance of its criminal underworld: This time we concentrate on Tonny, a fearless Mads Mikkelsen, who certainly is a surprise against his more austere later roles. Here he is crude, not so smart, immature. Tonny is a scumbag but we understand why when he's immersed in such a scumbag social circle. The reappearance of drug lord Milo hints at the smallness of this world, but this sequel spreads wider.

The underworld here is synonymous with broken families, propagating more brokenness down the generations (a wedding becomes just an excuse for a strip show). Tonny, despite his head tattoo, doesn't get any respect. Everyone insults him, and he’s suppressing a lot. He's clueless but, just out of jail, also curiously willing to please, which makes him easy to sway either way and therefore more sympathetic. But why do good when good isn't rewarded? Whereas his pal Frank found there was nothing inside himself but more selfishness and trouble, Tonny’s tale is a portrait of a man with limited resources finding something deeper within himself certainly strikes a surprising chord.

Highlights include an early extended scene with Tonny with two prostitutes and clueless men changing a nappy.

PUSHER III: I Am the Angel Death

Writer & director: Nicolas Winding Refn

2005, Denmark

In which we now follow Milo, the crime lord that has played a key part in the previous films. The ‘Pusher’ trilogy ends on a kind of farce for crime lords: all Milo wants is to throw a successful 25^th party for his spoiled, bratty daughter – but he gives his crew food poisoning! a drug deal goes wrong! he has to go to the local takeaway for party food! he has to get to AA meetings! There’s nothing quite so questioning here, and the dissonance between Milo underworld status and his intention to be a generous and gregarious patriarch barely seems to cause him reflection. But the  precariousness of his status is naked here, always under threat from others as well his own cooking abilities. It all takes place over a day so there is no fallout from what we see, although by the end of it the family and the business come together seamlessly and the whole sordid mess carries on.

Again, a hypnotic central performance (from Zlatco Buric), but more vulnerable and less flamboyant than his previous appearances and a kinetic handheld camera, boosted by great music, makes this always compelling, even if treading well-worn territory. And the series ends on its most gruesome set piece that comes across as just another pratfall Milo has to deal with.

 

*

As a trilogy, ‘Pusher’ soon overcomes the familiarities of its genre – and that’s part of what we came for, anyhow – to become dynamic character studies, each film bringing a different shade. There’s not even so much of the macho posturing that streaks the gangster genre – we won’t count Tonny’s immature boasting of sexual prowess – but rather people just going about their sordid lives, posturing and making stupid pronouncements, filling the roles they think they’re playing. Sometimes, they just fall for their own repeated failures of character, sometimes they manage to break away from themselves to something new without really knowing what that means, and sometimes they just grow old into it, with no real desire to transcend. Together, the ‘Pusher’ films creates a credible and raw microcosm of a degenerate corner of Copenhagen, solid character studies of unlikable protagonists that are seemingly doomed from the outset.