2021 film review - cinema & festival watches

So, I did go to the cinema a few times this year.

 

The first one to call me back was the cinematic re-run of Scorsese’s ‘Taxi Driver’ which I hadn’t seen in at least a decade and was just, of course, one of the best. At my friend’s invitation, I thought it a great film to return to the cinema with. Earliest De Niro was so good at portraying people that, should you knock and pry, didn’t have so much indoors. By which I mean a troubling absence of a key piece, and this made them scary.

 

…Of course, this rerun was the apparent design of some cinemas to keep things bubbling over by showing recognised classics again. Which was nice and I wish the big chains would keep it up, but this was dropped as soon as the regular schedule was back in force. For a while, maybe...

 

‘Freaky’ (Michael Landon): undemanding genre-savvy fun where, like the ‘Jumanji’ revival, the “body swap” angle proved acres of comedy potential, and Vince Vaughn throws himself in with often hilarious aplomb. Lightweight but entertaining.

 

Aso musing: the gaming in-jokes gave ‘Free Guy’ (Shawn Levy) a lot of mileage, Ryan Reynolds can do this in his sleep without losing your interest, and it was fun but a little too tied to convention to truly break the mould.

 

James Gunn’s ‘The Suicide Squad’ was a film I felt I would enjoy more the second time. It was bold in that, with The Starfish Conqueror and Polakadot Man and many other choices of b-villains, it fully embraced the goofier side of comics that the usual MCU and Zack Snyder aren’t interested in. But Gunn also cares about this superhero world, giving it proper purpose, not just amusement. And on the first watch I cared less for the Starfish Conqueror stuff, but I find myself siding with its goofy gusto.

 

‘Spider-man: No Way Home’ (Jon Watts) was acres of fun and cheered everyone up. Overstuffed to a pleasant degree. Me, I couldn’t quite get past the fact that it all happened on a whim of Dr Strange to help Peter Parker without discussing what the crucial spell would mean until they were in the middle of casting it, causing all the problems; especially as Strange seemingly knows all about the dangers possible (the irreverence and flippancy of MCU superheroes also makes them careless). Just as ‘Homecoming’ (slacker Spider-man thoroughly got me interested again) took from Miles Morales, ‘No Way Home’ took from ‘Into the Spider-verse’ (the best), but all the multi-verse stuff was well handled, the cameos surprising and pleasing, the fight scenes seemed better than usual and, overall, a whole shebang of entertainment. Tom Holland is my favoured incarnation of the webslinger, but the stuff with the others only retroactively made them better, with lots of neat and loving interaction. All the mushy melodrama doesn’t shake me, but there was a lot for fans to be moved by. Definitely better fan-service.

 

I did not see any other superhero films at the cinema except for ‘Shang-Chi and the Legend of the Ten Rings’, which had superior melee sequences, an enjoyably light touch and a neat dragon. We expect effortlessly dazzling CGI special effects (has it taken away the awe?) so physical and well-edited fight scenes are where it’s at.

 

Nia DaCosta’s revival of ‘Candyman’ was overstuffed too, but perhaps biting off more than it could chew at the expense of a streamlined, fully coherent ending. But the conversations around black culture and the history of ghettoization, art and slavery were vital and engaging, using a horror bogeyman as the unleashed Id. It looked great too, even before the end credits shadow-puppet show chilled deeper with real horror than any genre tropes.

 

Ben Wheatley’s ‘In the Earth’ surprised me in how divisive it was: even friends I thought would like it on principle, being Wheatley fans, did not. Again, overstuffed with allusions and homages to Seventies British genre and topped with psychedelica and Clint Mansell’s buzzy score, I enjoyed how it feinted this way and that and thought it would hit better on a second watch and that it would gain reputation more over time.

 

Scott Cooper’s ‘Antlers’ married monster mayhem with family miserabilism. There was the sense that it didn’t quite gel, despite a beautifully desaturated palette and a considerable monster. It was fun in a downbeat way, but didn’t quite excel.

 

For simple, excellently executed monster fun, you didn’t have to go much further than John Krasinki’s ‘A Quiet Place part II’. The ‘A Quiet Place’ formula was for me all about the thrills and chills of the set-pieces over full explanations, and this sequel didn’t mess with that, and in fact felt even more assured.

 

But I wanted more out of Ilya Naishuller’s ‘Nobody’ than just the usual action movie kick-ass fantasies. I was excited to see Bob Odenkirk in this scenario, thinking it may have something to say with him at the helm, but Derek Kolstad’s screenplay didn’t really get past his ‘John Wick’ template.  For that, it was shallow fun and had great bus fight, the equal of that in ‘Shang-Chi’.

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So I didn’t see so much in the actual cinema and so caught up with new releases through streaming and, of course FrightFest and Grimmfest festivals.

 

Cody Calahan’s ‘Vicious Fun’ was as the label said and colourful, even if it had a protagonist that ran a commentary about things as they happened. And of course, the satirical recognition of genre serial killer types was post-modern anyway, but it had more plot than its frivolous nature perhaps implied. Conor Boru’s ‘When the Screaming Starts’ trod similar territory, also funnin’ with genre tropes but had a little more to say about the derangement of serial killer super-fans.

 

But seriously:

Marc Fouchard’s ‘Out of the World’ was one of those deathly earnest and grim killer films that want to put you through the crusher someway. It proved an evocative, haunting character study. Keane McCrae’s ‘Shot in the Dark’ had similar near-dreamy/nightmarish aesthetic, often a narrative mosaic to relay the fractured nature of mindsets and memory. James Ashcroft’s ‘Coming Home in the Dark’ was another not for the faint-hearted; another gruelling family-under-siege drama that took the Home Invasion outside as a reminder that there is nowhere to hide from past horrors.

 

For straightforward thriller delights, there was Oh-Seung Kwon’s ‘Midnight’, the kind where some physical difference (hearing-impaired) accentuates women’s vulnerability to a serial killer. It proved hugely popular, and South Korea excels at this kind of thing, but for me it started to drag when the point was well made and yet was more cat-and-mouse games to come. Far more interesting to me was Hong Eui-jeong’s ‘Voice of Silence’, this time with the fantastic Ah-in Yoo as a man who inadvertently kidnaps a young girl with his colleague; this is what happens when you’re a clean-up crew for organised crime. Nothing new, but beautifully shot, a little farcical and pleasingly wry.

 

Kyle Rankin’s ‘Run Hide Fight’ proved a little uncomfortable and misfiring in making its high school massacre just a backdrop for another kick-ass revenge fantasy. Meanwhile, Martin Guigui’s ‘Paradise Cove’ was just too pedestrian to be of interest.

 

A film like the impressive ‘Slapface’ (Jeremiah Kipp) pulled together real and imagined horrors, coming-of-age and supernatural, and hit the marks when exploring the consequences of violence and unleashed Ids. In this, was more successful in this than ‘Antlers’. For bildungsroman, Jane Schoenbrun’s ‘We’re all going to The World’s Fair’ was more an articulate portrayal of how fans are self-aware and utilise the genre. It was more a character drama than horror, with an exceptional young performance from Anna Cobb. Also, the fact that it all took place over the internet coded it as a lockdown film, although surprisingly colourful for that.

 

Jeanette Nordahl’s ‘Wildland’ was a more traditional coming-of-age drama with a young protagonist has to battle with fledgling morality and being plunged into a criminal family. No Id’s unleashed here, just the tension and threat that comes with family relations against a drained background and Sandra Guldberg Kampp’s great performance. Michael Meyer’s fun ‘Happy Times’ also played on the horrors and selfishness of family, this time turning a dinner part with a wealthy family into violent farce: the natural end of privilege is to kill to keep what you have… or just from grievance. Yernar Nurgaliyev’s ‘Sweetie, You Won’t Believe It’ was the more rumbunctious violent farce, more broad in its humour, a little suspicious in its gender politics, but also fun.

 

For visual delights, Alexey Kazakov’s ‘Mara’ presented colourful heightened realities, energetic aesthetics and psychedelic visual play to the witch genre. Jaco Bouwer’s ‘Gaia’ was also quite beautiful with a hint of fairy tale, mixing off-the-grid delusion, eco-horror and body horror is a fascinating mix that felt as if it just fell short of its target, although not denying its fascinating quirks.

 

‘Hotel Poseidon’ was also compelling in its set design, as a blacky humoured tone poem about surreal decay; like ‘Delicatessen’ on downers, or an aimless Peter Greenaway. It’s the kind of film to make you want t turn the heating up and to have a bath afterwards.

 

Alexis Brushon’s ‘The Woman with Leopard Shoes’ proved a visual delight too, which was surprising as it centred on just one man in a room (and filmed in his parents’ house) – must have been the black-and-white. Mark O'Brien’s ‘The Righteous’ also had gorgeous black-and-white photography, and one of those Arrival Of The Stranger With Secrets scenarios that always allow for a riveting slow burn. A smart, intriguing script that turns apocalyptic made this stand out.

 

Films such as Lluís Danés’ delightfully theatrical ‘The Barcelona Vampire’ and Francesco Erba’s impressive labour of love ‘As in Heaven, So on Earth’ had a formal daring that showed that these tiny films on the edges are happily and thankfully working outside the conventional, or even neo-conventional. ‘Heaven/Earth’ especially was bold in its insistence in telling its tale in large part with animation, offering both gothic and contemporary “found footage” horror. That the time-jumping and shuffling aesthetics held together and provided some decent frights was all the more impressive. The shadow-play of ‘Candyman’ shows that occasionally these formal tricks can stretch to the mainstream, but mostly its in these outskirts that films go where others won’t.

Then there were films gleefully playing with genre. There was ‘Night Drive’ (Brad Baruh and Meghan Leon), that showed its hand late in the game so the film you thought you were watching… wasn’t. And then there were adaptations of graphic novels that allowed surprises galore in narrative and genre play: David Prior’s ‘The Empty Man’ was a tribute and full-hearted ride through many different facets of horror. And I shall never forget having to go to the bathroom during the first act of Rob Schroeder’s ‘Ultrasound’ (unforgivable, I know) and re-joining it to realise I was in a totally different film, and one I couldn’t wait to see a second time now that I knew what it was.

 

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The topical:

 

Emerald Fennell’s ‘Promising Young Woman’ came over as a usual female revenge narrative, but it was far more complex and colourful than that, frequently and upsettingly usurping expectations and convention. There has been a lot of exciting female-centred genre lately, showing that the horror excels in articulating their experience in particular topics, and ‘Promising Young Woman’ came over as a culmination of the discussion.

 

And Natasha Kermani’s ‘Lucky’ pushed the limits of horror as allegory for this discussion. Writer and star Brea Grant’s previous ‘24 Hour Shift’ (which she directed) had a pleasing and naughty unapologetic edge to her female anti-hero, but this was something else entirely, fully immersed in the anxieties of women constantly under threat of male violence. ‘Lucky’ was also surprisingly moving by the end. These films were a welcome, more thoughtful alternative to murder as feminist statement. Speaking of which…

 

‘Last Night in Soho’ looked like it was muscling in on this too, and it looked great with Wright’s reliable razzle-dazzle, but using ‘Puppet on a String’ to signal the exploitation of the girls’ was not at all subtle, and, ultimately, it was asking us for sympathy for a serial killer. It was a film that, despite the agreeable “nostalgia kills” theme and obvious artistry, seemed undercooked upon reflection.

 

Randall Okita’s ‘See for Me’ seemed to misguidedly let its obnoxious privileged lead off the hook for her despicable behaviour because she was upset about being blinded. It was one of those scenarios where she causes the worst of the thriller dilemmas through her selfishness, but we are meant to celebrate her as an anti-hero and her overcoming, despite the deaths. A film like Ryan Gover ‘The Strings’ showed a film can have a detached female protagonist without insisting we relate and assume they are worthy of empathy.

 

To backtrack a little: ‘Lucky’ was also the kind of film happy to end on the abstract and unsolved, and I found my genre taste moving more in that direction. Because irresolution or/and not quite knowing, that’s a horror too. Jim Cumming’s ‘The Beta Test’ did a similar thing, hinged on another brilliant performance by Jim Cummings. After the favourite ‘The Wolf of Snow Hollow’, Cummings is obviously genre-friendly, but his fascination for the lost men he plays, conflicted between wanting to do good and their innate assholeness and latent violence – means that he’s just as interested in character studies, producing quite fresh horrors. ‘The Beta Test’ was also relevant to the #MeToo and post-Weinstein discussion, an essential peer to Kitty Green’s excellent slow-burner ‘The Assistant’.

 

And speaking of work: Noah Hutton’s ‘Lapsis’ used that reliable low-budget location, the woods, to present a science-fiction scenario that satirised and prodded at the abstract nature of modern work life. People are paid to trail cables through woods to plug into giant boxes for something digital, the quantum trading market. And that simple but direct metaphor for man’s technology desecrating the natural world was just one of its thoughtful ideas. Understated, low-key but germane and timely, its quiet veneer hid a critique just as barbed as a Ken Loach drama.

 

And whilst we’re on this subject, just a mention of ‘Black Friday’ which was a B-monster movie (customers are monsters) that was at its best when letting its staff/victims casually discuss work.

And maybe a little on Covid films:

 

Paul Schuyler’s very home-made ‘Red River Road’ seemed to me to catch the feeling of the sense of unmoored reality during lockdown. And I do mean very home-made: starring his family; named after the street they lived on… a very lockdown film that was impressive by using this to imply an increasingly imploding existence with instructions but without clear definition. Stay out or in? People disappear without explanation? What is all this? Another film where the irresolution seemed essential and chilling. Impressively unsettling and capturing that feeling of introspection spiralling into failing reality.

 

Even more claustrophobic was Alexandra Aja’s ‘Oxygene’. Although a film set entirely within a cryogenic chamber may seem like it will be a chore, the chamber is always active, bright and futuristic, and Mélanie Laurent’s performance always compelling. Of course, there are a few flashbacks (which the trailer of course makes good use of) but for the most part we are entombed. And when it does open out, it’s satisfying, if not spectacular, starting with the intimacy of sci-fi ideas and then getting bigger and bigger. Also it’s a broadening for Aja who, with this film, swapped his typical ruthlessness for humanity with this one.

 

DM Cunningham’s ‘The Spore’ came across initially as an art-horror with little dialogue and pretty takes of that favoured low budget location: the woods. Any film like this will of course immediately be seen for its allegorical affinity to the COVID era; but aside from two characters arguing whether to go outside or not, it’s not a film to be made more poignant by the pandemic context. We know this stuff; it’s why there were studies that showed horror fans dealt better with lockdowns. It got better as it went along, turning into a portmanteau of interconnected tales about a virus creating agreeably goofy practical effects monsters. Those goofy monsters and the initial pretty forest segments won me over.

 

And Ben Wheatley’s divisive ‘In the Earth’ was a Covid film in that it was conceived and made and is set in the time of the pandemic (like ‘Oxygen’). Some were disappointed that the pandemic wasn’t a prime antagonist, but acknowledging this period was more Wheatley’s aim. Besides, it also presented a somewhat passive protagonist that wants to know things and falling into an unhinged world torn between faith and science both trying to know an abstract force, which was surely totally of its time.

 

Films like John Valley’s ‘The Pizzagate Massacre’, ‘Lucky’ and ‘The Beta Test’ also felt of the moment, as well as Jacob Gentry’s creepy ‘Broadcast Singal Intrusion’ for its portrayal of a man spiralling downwards and irretrievably into conspiracy theories. And excepting ‘Pizzagate’ and like ‘The Empty Man’, they all ended in the kind of existential terror that really makes a film haunt. Perhaps a slight open-endedness or vagueness of terror and resolution is a product of very unstable times. It’s the kind of ambiguity you can only find in indies, unless you are Paul Thomas Anderson.

 

John Valley’s ‘The Pizzagate Massacre’ was thoroughly of the moment, and certainly the title directly referencing the Trump period (although called ‘Duncan’). A film looking at those caught up in a right-wing conspiracy cult, looking to humanise some and give them complexity. Starting out seemingly a lot broader, Tinus Seaux’s performance of Duncan supplied the complexity the film aimed for, even as it kept it’s broad strokes. It’s no mistake that the most vacuous and ultimately manipulative characters are of the media. It certainly felt heartfelt and authentic in intention.

 

And that’s what I got to see at the cinema and the bulk of festival watched.

Oh, I left Denis Villeneuve's 'Dune' feeling quite wowed.

District 9

District 9

Director - Neill Blomkamp

Writers - Neill Blomkamp & Terri Tatchell

Stars - Sharlto Copley, David James, Jason Cope

 

One of those films that I enjoyed much more the second time around. When I first saw it upon release, I was eager for its potential: its premise being aliens coming to earth and receiving the treatment and response that typically greets refugees. There’s no subtlety in this text and I usually take such obvious thematic presentation as I would punk polemics and rap rants. What I remember upon seeing it for the first time at the cinema was disappointment that it just descended into a shoot ‘em up fisticuffs, and some credibility doubts with them just breaking in and finding the lab they wanted within about five minutes. The sharpness of its premise stunted by traditional genre pleasures.

 

But this time around, with expectations aligned with what I knew was going to happen, I enjoyed those genre pleasures, was less inclined to dwell on doubts and criticism because I tuned in more to the b-movie action tropes. More of a ‘Robocop’ or even ‘Westworld’ frequency. The satire is still there, but a little lost to firefights. What there is is plenty of sympathy for the aliens and criticism for institutional and general racism.

 

Presented with the awesome reality of aliens, the human race just reverts to xenophobia. But also, the presentation of aliens as refugees with all the social and political complexities involved is not how movie aliens are usually presented: this is a far cry from the awe-inspiring contemplation of, say, ‘Arrival’. It’s not a deep discussion of the subject, because this has the pell-mell motion of action b-movie, so you won’t get the narrative of what the black and indigenous communities think and feel, or how their social status has been affected by the aliens’ arrival. But there is an overall condemnation of the marginalisation, exploitation and the bigoty visited on the aliens which keeps a live current throughout. It certainly portrays a far too plausible and recognisable reaction (‘Close Encounters of the Third Kind’ is a pipedream, its positivity childish in comparison). However, the resolution that it’s a good thing that the aliens go back to where they came from is unhelpful. It’s the context that resonates rather than any questions or answers.

Once it’s clear ‘District 9’ won’t be a deep discourse on the subject of the disenfranchised, what we are left with is the tribulations of Wikus Van De Merwe (Sharlto Copley), rise and downfall. Like the first infamous segment in ‘The Twilight Zone Movie’, it’s a tale where the guy facilitating violent discrimination with a clipboard and prejudicial legalise finds roles reversed. In this case, he inhales something extraterrestrial and transforms, via a body-horror interlude, into an alien. He’s a scumbag happy to exploit and wallow is his role in the Hostile Environment and evicting the aliens who meets his comeuppance. He takes a long time to redeem himself and even then, it’s more a case of just desserts, although the film does give some sympathy.

It’s conveyed at first through documentary and found-footage style, building up pictures from news reports, etc, as Wikus is happy to front fly-on-the-wall propaganda. But the film is happy to dump that pretence as action demands, although it never relinquishes hand-held. And it’s the image of the spaceship hanging over Johannesburg is likely to be the chief lingering image.

 

The aliens are great: some smart, some stupid, some lumbering, some insect-elegant, gullible, forlorn, aggressive, etc. This could be seen as inconsistency, but the positive interpretation is that they are recognisably as myriad as any other species. After all, we don’t know any tier system or hierarchy they may have (the intellects and the workers, for example). Both cookie and intimidating, persecuted and troublesome. They are a convincing early-ish display of dominant digital effects by Weta Workshop – it’s a Peter Jackson production – that still hold up. It’s not above going for the cute kid alien angle either.

 

It suffers from some of the weaknesses of b-movie action – why speechify when and not shoot? Let’s take it on trust that he’ll just remember the way to that lab – and perhaps it doesn’t quite jump from its distinctive, potent premise as highly as it could, but it’s fun, quick, and pertinent enough. Blomkamp and Coley arguably have never quite met the early promise of this debut, but it still maintains its position as a genre favourite.

Curse of the Crimson Altar

 

Curse of the Crimson Alter

Aka: The Crimson Cult

Director – Vernon Sewell

Screenplay – Mervyn Haisman & Henry Lincoln from a story by Jerry Sohl

Stars – Boris Karloff, Christopher Lee, Mark Eden

 

Starts in rip-roaring fashion with a buxom blonde being whipped on a sacrificial alter by a near-naked amazon whilst a dirty old priest looks on. Having been introduced to our typically staid hero, the Swinging Sixties vibe continues (as much as it censorship allows) with a big house party of wild abandon (e.g. painting breasts, pouring booze on breasts, etc). Much of the debauchery and witchy rituals look like they are auditioning for a salacious slot in such Mondo efforts as ‘Primitive London’. 

 

Manning hangs around and discovers that the atmosphere is sinister with the legend of Lavinia Morley, Black Witch of Greymarsh. Witch burning town festivals, psychedelic nightmares, blood oaths, threatening masked juries, sleepwalking, secret passages relatively easily found all follow. When stabbed in a dream, Manning wakes to find he has been stabbed in real life, but this barely seems a conundrum to him and certainly no inconvenience to shagging his host’s daughter. In fact, the film’s sexual politics are decidedly dated, what with Manning’s somewhat presumptive and aggressive come-ons. And it all ends up underwhelming and a little perfunctory – don’t these things end on the rooftop? Yes, let’s do the rooftop!

 

Based on HP Lovecraft’s ‘A Dream in the Witch House’ (uncredited), antique enthusiast Robert Manning (Mark Eden) goes in pursuit of his missing brother and gate-crashes a party at a stately home, finding himself taken as a welcome guest. “It’s as if Boris Karloff is going to pop up at any moment,” Manning deadpans – and lo! Boris does turn up, in a wheelchair, condescending and full of potent and invitations to see his collection of torture instruments. Of course, it’s Karloff and Christopher Lee that give it class (Lee’s no-nonsense sincerity and Karloff’s uncampy ham), but it’s Michael Gough that steals the show as a batty short-lived servant. Eden is uninteresting and quite bullish, like Connery’s Bond without the charm.  Virginia Wetherall’s natural no-nonsense appeal is squandered and all Barbara Steele has to do is to is look imperiously green.

 

Enjoy by simply stuffing the plot holes and cliches with the lashings of unintentional camp.

The Kitchen

 

The Kitchen

 

Director – Andrea Berloff

Writers – Andrea Berloff - based on the comic book series created for DC Vertigo by Ollie Masters & Ming Doyle

Stars – Melissa McCarthy, Tiffany Haddish, Elisabeth Moss 

 

Andrea Barloff’s directorial debut is an adaption of a DC Vertigo comic set in the ‘70s telling how three abused and/or neglected mobsters wives take over the business in Hell’s Kitchen when their husbands are put away. So, the grounds are there for a look at misogyny, violence, gender relations, etc., and if there are any doubts about its feminist intent, there are endless shots of the ladies striding together to a groovy soundtrack. But there is something that doesn’t quite gel, doesn’t quite convince in motivation: with comics, there is plenty of room for the reader to fill in the lacunas, but Berloff doesn’t quite cohere across the time-jumps. There’s the sense of posturing rather than solidity, that it lacks in fully making sense.

 

Which leaves its three esteemed leads a little hit-or-miss, although Elizabeth Moss comes out least unscathed. Tiffany Haddish becomes increasingly one-note and Melissa McCarthy is left floundering. Of the men, Domhall Gleeson is the most intriguing (though his touted psychopathy is ultimately no more than anyone else). And we don’t quite get a montage of them sexying-up, but they definitely get less home wifey and dolled up the more criminal they become. There’s a fleeting gag about what they should wear to meet an opposing mob boss, but it’s another potential insight barely given air.

 

And there’s not a lot of consequence for all the killing that goes on: for all it spanning of years, it’s not so interested in long-term effects. The problem is we are meant to hold up these ladies as fighting against and besting the masculine world of gangsterdom, but there is little besting or bettering when, for all their womanly smarts and pouts of determination, they are just as ruthless and brutal as the men. Exploitation may get away with self-made Angel of Vengeance assassins, but this isn’t that.  They are not icons, even if the film posits that they are right down to the ham-fisted “outta my way” final moment.