Over at Shock Til’ You Drop, Ryan Turek has the not-entirely-unexpected news that SyFy are shopping around the third in their series of cheap-as-chips monster mash-ups, “Sharknado”.
At this point viewers will be only too aware of what they’re letting themselves in for and, if nothing else, the franchise keeps Tara Reid in gainful employment and allows a steady stream of cameoing celebs to poke fun at themselves before being chomped on by badly rendered CG fish the best special effects known to film kind.
It’s due out in 2015 – form an orderly queue on your sofa now.
“Piranha 3D” has but one concern – the dismemberment of young, topless girls. To say that this is crass and sickening is almost too obvious, but the sheer, weapons-grade misogyny on display in Aja’s movie beggars belief. I don’t know if I was more surprised by the film’s craven delight in finding ways to kill the female supporting cast or by the presence in it of actors like Elizabeth Shue and Christopher Lloyd. I know times are tough, but you would like to think that Academy Award nominees could find a better use of their time than this rancid horror flick.
The film’s underlying ideas are as ugly as the technical side of it. There’s scarcely a female role in the film which doesn’t call for the actress to go topless or to be bloodily devoured whilst topless – If you’re not a mother or pre-teen girl in the film, then you’re a drunk, bikini-clad spring break slut or potential slut who deserves to be killed because that’s just so edgy. As a recruitment advert for feminist activism, “Piranha 3D” has few equals.
The previously alluded-to technical issues with the movie make it mostly unwatchable – as a 2D presentation, the film looks shoddy and absurdly cheap, with the 3D effects having no impact and the computer generated images looking like late 90s video game cut scenes. The killer fish themselves are dreadful, utterly unconvincing things and the major shoreline massacre sequence only works because the practical make-up work is half-decent.
There’s no point in belabouring the point – this is an appalling, witless, pointless film. Avoid it as you would do with a particularly virulent infection.
There’s nothing like a film studio logo to give any self-respecting nerd an attack of nostalgia. Witness the 1988 monster movie mash-up, “Waxwork”. I had only to see the Vestron Pictures logo at the beginning of the movie to be transported to a more innocent age of plastic clamshell VHS boxes, video recorder tracking wheels and low-budget scare-fests with artwork that promised more epic terror than a poverty row budget could ever deliver. Yes, streaming is convenient, but there’s no sense of occasion in scrolling through fuzzy cover art on your smartphone screen and then watching a film.
It’s not the movies that got small – it’s the screens. But, I digress..
The film sees a gaggle of upscale, freshly scrubbed college kids taking an ill-advised midnight tour of a new waxwork attraction which has just popped up in suburbia, as if by (spooky laugh) evilmagic. Pausing only to be spooked by in-no-way nefarious proprietor David Warner on the way in, the likes of Zach Galligan, Deborah Foreman and Dana Ashbrook find their perfectly maintained 80’s hairdos well and truly messed up when they stray too far into the wax exhibits and zip through a portal into their own, personal horror movies.
If you came of age with the Eli Roth and Alexandre Aja era of horror cinema, there’s a very good chance that “Waxwork” will seem like so much fine fromage: it boasts practical effects and matte paintings, goofy synthesised scoring and many scenes apparently shot in somebody’s very swish mansion, not to mention a climax which sees Steed himself, the glorious Patrick Macnee, having at the bad guys whilst strapped into what can only be described as a battle chariot-come-wheelchair.
Visceral, transgressive, hackles-raising terror this isn’t. Cheery B-movie fun it definitely is.
David Warner is a splendidly hissable bad guy but he’s not really a dominant menace as he only pops up periodically to put his diabolical plan into action – the majority of the scaring and teen menacing is done by a right old cornucopia of thesps including John Rhys Davies, Miles O’ Keefe and J. Kenneth Campbell (essaying well-known fictional horror movie staple, the Marquis De Sade). It’s this film within the film structure which really hit the spot for me – I was particularly taken by the black-and-white segment which pits hero Zach Galligan against a graveyard full of recently arisen zombies as it demonstrates amply that Hickox’s film is a love letter to classic horror. Indeed, the director gives props to the likes of Argento, Romero, Carpenter and Hammer in the closing credits.
What better way to round out this month of cinematic terrors than to take in a film which celebrates the genre in such a fun fashion? I can’t imagine anybody but the most woolly of wusses being scared by “Waxwork”, but it’s sheer joy in genre is infectious – it’s the sort of film which makes you want to watch more fright flicks after seeing it. And what better film to watch on the night that the dead walk and spectres…spectate?
Sometimes, watching horror movies, you feel quite at odds with your peers. The UK poster for writer/director Adam Green’s “Hatchet” features rapturous pull quotes which would have you believe that this unashamedly retro slasher flick is quite the big man on campus.
Arriving at a time when Jigsaw ruled supreme and every other fright-flick was feverishly grasping for a slice of the torture and humiliation pie, “Hatchet” must have seemed like a breath of (Gator) fresh air. Full of old-school stalk-and-slash kills, yet boasting a certain genre self-awareness, this grisly tale of Louisiana mutant maniac Victor Crowley was practically made for the horror festival circuit and to inspire enthusiastic debate amongst forum posters. Hell, Kane Hodder’s front and centre as the movie’s anti-heroic slasher – how much more cred with the grue ‘n’ gore crowd do you need?
The film sees a mismatched band of New Orleans tourists heading out to the bayou on a haunted swamp tour boat and expecting to see nothing more than swamp gas, the odd reptilian river dweller and hear a spectral yarn or two from shyster tour guide Shawn (Parry Shen). Chief amongst these tourists are nerdy college kid Ben (Joel David Moore), his utterly sceptical best friend Marcus (Deion Richmond) and mysterious local gal MaryBeth (Tamara Feldman). When their boat breaks down and begins to sink, the tourists soon come under attack from both the swamp’s many-toothed gators and Mr Crowley himself, whose tolerance for visitors is non-existent.
Where this movie succeeds is in building a convincing back story for Crowley and in ensuring that we know just enough about the tourists before Victor’s blade begins to bite. As well as our core trio, the film sees cameos from horror icons like Tony Todd (the charmingly disreputable Reverend Zombie) and Robert Englund (who doesn’t make it past the opening credits) and even finds room for Mercedes McNab, otherwise known as Harmony in “Buffy the Vampire Slayer”, who forms a winning comic partnership with Joleigh Fioravanti. as bickering actress wannabes doffing their tops for a sleazy videographer promising fame in a regionally-themed “Girls Gone Wild” rip-off.
The major issue that I do have with “Hatchet” is that whilst it certainly passes the time quite agreeably and shows a pleasing commitment to delivering old-school horror with delightfully gross practical gore effects, it never exactly lives up to the advance billing of being a game-changing fright fest.
Rather, Adam Green’s film is, at heart, an unapologetic slasher homage and doesn’t seem to be too hung up about providing meta commentary of the “Scream”/”Cabin in the Woods” variety. Judging it on it’s own merits, it’s a slightly rough-around-the-edges, speedy horror movie which delivers on the kill front, has the seemingly prerequisite number of topless young women, has a decent Final Girl in the form of MaryBeth and even delivers my favourite staple of the 70’s/80’s horror film, the cyclical nightmare ending.
That said, it really doesn’t offer anything new and the advance claims of Green doing something different are hard to reconcile with the enjoyable but scarcely revolutionary film he’s directed. In comparison to the torture-driven fare on offer at the time, “Hatchet” is preferable experience in that you don’t want to have your memory scrubbed of what you’ve just watched.
More fun than an axe in the head, but not the best horror movie that I’ve watched this October.
Life has a funny way of messing with your plans, and this weekend was no exception.
My steady progress of watching a horror flick a day during October went awry on Friday when my Mum was taken ill. What with one thing and another, it took me until Monday the 20th to get back on the scary wagon, unless you count watching the “Strictly Come Dancing” results with Mrs Rolling Eyeballs as suitable horror fodder.
With a semblance of normality restored, I sat down to watch the sequel to “Cold Prey” – “Cold Prey – Resurrection”.Following a model established by “Halloween 2”, this follow-up to the 2006 fright-fest is set almost entirely in a due-to-close hospital. Jannicke (Ingrid Bolso Berdal) is brought there after being found wandering in the snow, having killed the backwoods mountain man who murdered her friends in the first movie. Traumatised by her experiences, she’s horrified to learn that police have recovered the bodies of her friends and the killer, who awakes in the hospital determined to finish what he started.
“Cold Prey” wasn’t a horror film which reinvented the genre, but it showed a commendable commitment to establishing character and location, a trait which this sequel also displays. It’s at least half-an-hour before the mayhem truly begins, with the stories of the hospital staff, patients and local police force all having moments of character development before the Mountain Man rises from his slumber and stalks the corridors anew.
The second movie in the series – a prequel, “Fritt Vilt 3”, came out in 2010 – builds on the strong points of the first film and concentrates on delivering a series of tense set-pieces. There’s a particularly effective police breach sequence in which the characters actually behave like sensible rational people (before getting diced six ways to Sunday). If you’ve ever shouted at the screen whilst watching a horror flick, wondering why people going into the big scary house don’t wait for back-up, then this film will satisfy your desire for protagonists with two brain cells to rub together.
That said, there are certain inescapable tenets which the slasher sub-genre has to adhere to and the climactic showdown in “Cold Prey 2” is no exception. Having spent the majority of the running time in civilisation, the end of the film sees the villain and our heroines – we get two Final Girls this time, Jannicke and hospital doctor Camilla (Marthe Snorresdottir Rovik) – hopping on a snowmobile and tracking the Mountain Man back to his remote hotel lair to finally vanquish their warmly-clad foe.
As a sequel, “Cold Prey 2” does a decent job of providing a briskly delivered cocktail of scares and thrills, also finding time to pencil in some of the back story hinted at by the first instalment. Fans of Nordic Noir might even enjoy the sequence where the local chief of police pieces together how come so many skiers and snowboarders seem to disappear in the mountains – I thought that I was watching a cop procedural drama for a couple of minutes.
Overall, this is a satisfying horror movie, albeit one which seemed to ramp up the violence and gore in a way that the original movie didn’t seem to feel was necessary. If that’s a turn-off, please feel forewarned, but don’t miss out on a decent example of the modern European horror thriller.
After yesterday’s display of brutalist horror action, today’s pick was a completely different black-gloved, split-screened, bee-stung lipped beast entirely.
2009’s Giallo-homaging head trip, “Amer”, is the first feature film from French film-makers Helene Cattet and Bruno Forzani. It’s an impossibly hip, wonderfully shot tone poem which vividly relates key episodes in the life of Ana, played variously by Cassandra Forêt, Charlotte Eugène Guibeaud and Marie Bos.
Being that this is an achingly stylish, cine-literate and very French film, those key episodes relate almost entirely to sex, death or some commingling of the two.
The first tale sees Ana in early childhood, enduring a distant father, a mother who actively despises her and the proverbial weird grandma in the room next door, whose grabby hands and black lace shroud are not likely to endear her to the young tyke. Into this strange picture we should also consider the slowly decaying grandfather in the basement, some business with an antique pocketwatch, bedroom lighting from the firm of Argento and Fulci and Ana walking in on her parents as they reach sweaty mutual climax.
Part two sees Ana in puberty and having a sensual awakening as her still hostile mother gets her hair done in town. Biker gangs are involved. There’s lots of breathy sound effects, floaty summer dresses, wistful French pop and an air of elegant doom and punishment despite the picture-perfect surroundings.
Our final episode sees Ana in adulthood, back in her childhood home, indulging in more self-pleasure than a 13-year-old boy and now subject to the attentions of an initially unseen stalker with black gloves and a sharp blade. Sex and death, man – it’s the cornerstone of cinema as we know it.
If “Amer” sounds like your particular cup of Javanese espresso, that’s probably as much of a recommendation as you’re going to need. This is cinema as art and I don’t know if we need to judge this film in the same way as we would a prosaic slasher or identikit found-footage thriller. It has exceptionally pretty images, wonderful sound design, skillful use of editing, split-screen, excellent set-design and not a hint of a story beyond what you might be able to project onto it.
You could regard “Amer” as lazy film-making or refreshingly oblique, depending on what you go to the cinema for. If you’ve ever enjoyed a Dario Argento movie from his 1970s period, you’ll probably find something to enjoy in “Amer”, although it lacks the narrative propulsion of one of his lurid, grisly horror masterworks. If your particular scary movie jam is jump scares and inventive murdery set-pieces, you might want to give this a wide berth.
2004 saw two contemporary zombie movies released which owed a great debt to George A. Romero’s pioneering trilogy of undead horrors. This is the other one.
Whilst “Shaun of the Dead” won over audiences across the globe with it’s witty take on a zombie apocalypse in suburban London, Zack Snyder’s directorial debut “Dawn of the Dead” is now more a footnote to his career as an A-list director of “300”, “Watchmen”, “Sucker Punch”, “Man of Steel” and the 19 DC Comics adaptations he’s currently linked to.
Snyder’s movie sets out its stall from the get-go with nurse Ana (Sarah Polley) having a crap day at work before the world as she knows it ends. After surviving an attack by her freshly zombiefied husband, Ana barely escapes an apocalyptic sub-division in her car before being run off the road and careening into a tree. All this mayhem occurs before the titles kick in with a perfectly chosen Johnny Cash song soundtracking the end times.
Finding fellow survivors and temporary respite from the undead in a shopping mall, Ana’s group find themselves imprisoned when the Mall’s rent-a-cops start playing God and enforcing compliance from behind a pistol. The power struggle continues throughout the rest of the movie, with a makeshift society within the mall constantly threatened by infected newcomers and the surging horde outside.
Whereas Romero uses action in his movies, it clearly isn’t his focus. Snyder, by contrast, is all in. This is at least as much an edge-of-the-seat action movie as a horror film, with the scale of the set pieces elevated in accordance with the vastly increased, studio-backed budget of this version.
Snyder’s zombies are not the shuffling, tireless ghouls of Romero’s version but are sprinting, feral, and utterly lethal predators. The tone of the film reminded me back in 2004 of James Cameron’s “Aliens”, and a decade has done little to change that view.
Whilst the film is undoubtedly a thrill ride, I do miss the underpinning sociological concerns of Romero’s film – where his zombies gravitated to the mall as it represented some kind of still extant collective memory from a time before the fall of mankind, Snyder’s zombies seem to treat the place as an all-you-can-kill buffet.
We might reasonably have expected a sequel to have followed by now, as this was quite the global hit, but Snyder’s skyrocketing career killed any chance of him returning to this material. A planned sequel was quietly shelved – perhaps sensibly, as studios wouldn’t touch an R-rated movie on this scale in these times of austere, micro-budgeted possession/paranormal PG-13 horror fare.
Snyder’s cast is more than solid, with the always excellent Sarah Polley, Ving Rhames and Jake Weber registering particularly in the leads – a pre-“Modern Family” Ty Burrell is also good value as an eminently slappable rich guy and Mekhi Phifer is particularly tragic as a petty criminal and expectant father.
A muscular, loud, brash blockbuster with many of Snyder’s stylistic touchstones – slo-mo violence, graphic sex and underpinning nihilism – present and correct, “Dawn of the Dead” isn’t particularly frightening but it is a gripping and expertly staged film.
It’s best described as a cover version of a classic horror movie, content to do it’s own thing. Just be glad that Michael Bay didn’t get his mitts on it.
2011’s “Scream 4” revived everybody’s favourite post-modern slasher, Ghostface, after a decade’s absence, pitting the raspy-voiced, horror movie trivia-obsessed maniac against an entirely new horror – the Twitter generation.
Beginning with a dizzying series of movies-within-movies, as we find out that the faux “Stab” franchise is up to entry number seven, “Scream 4” follows series heroine Sidney Prescott (Neve Campbell) back to Woodsboro on the fifteenth anniversary of the killings to promote her new book.
As inevitably as night following day, Sidney’s appearance encourages a new crazed slasher to take up the cloak and Ghostface mask, putting a younger, wiser and equally doomed generations of teens to the knife. Only Sidney, Sheriff Dewey (David Arquette) and a writers-blocked Gale Weathers (Courtney Cox) can discover the identity of the new killer before he gets his black-clad hands on Sidney’s cousin Jill (Emma Roberts).
A lot of people really hated the third movie – I wasn’t amongst them at the time (Jay and Silent Bob FTW), but it has been a hell of a long time since I’ve seen it. The reviews of this film put me off seeing it back in 2011, and only the prospect of taking on this Halloween movie challenge made me take a chance on it. And, you know, I’m mostly glad that I did.
The sense of fun and arcane nerdery employed by Craven and Williamson in the original trilogy is still evident here,despite the dread hands of “Transformers” scribe Ehren Kruger being on the shooting script. The kaleidoscopic opening sequence pulls the proverbial rug from under the audience’s feet multiple times, showing confidence in said crowd’s ability to determine flashbacks-within-flashbacks (we even find out that the fifth(?) movie featured time travel!).
It’s intriguing that the movie doesn’t comment too much on recent genre tropes beyond an aside about Asian ghost girls and torture porn – in an age of found-footage, possession and zombie flicks, we get precious little acknowledgement of how the horror movie has altered since the last movie opened. Okay, the main plot features a character who streams every moment of his daily life via a head-mounted camera and mic, but that’s about the extent of things (well, until the ending, but I won’t spoil that).
The non-supernatural slasher does seem rather quaint in an era where Blumhouse flicks are tearing up the box office and you’re more likely to see 19,000 identikit demonic possession potboilers in Netflix’s horror section than an axe-wielding maniac chasing plastic teens around the woods. But, to his credit, Craven is a master of staging and elegantly crafts several set-pieces which are the equal of the party scene from the first movie or the cinema opening of the first sequel.
Campbell, Arquette and Cox are as good as you would hope them to be, and new cast members like Hayden Panettiere, Emma Roberts and – sigh – Alison Brie do good work in supporting roles. If I have a problem with the film, the ultimate motivation of the new Ghostface killer seemed a little opaque, as for it to work, it indicates a rather epic level of cynicism about modern society and the blurring line between news coverage and scripted entertainment. Cynicism which may be well-earned in this era of indistinguishable reality tv shows and the popularity of people who seem to do nothing more complicated than breathe oxygen on a regular basis.
I suppose that it’s quite plausible in the meta-hothouse reality of these movies, but the planning and – no pun intended – execution required to carry out the murders in the film suggests that the killers would be better remunerated writing these kinds of movies rather than taking out half of the graduating class of 2011. Indeed, the staging of a climactic crime scene and actions carried out by the murderer stretch plausibility beyond credulity somewhat – it’s like some awesome hybrid of Sam Raimi violence, Looney Tunes and performance art. Points for style, but the level of diabolical genius at play suggests a mind so twisted and brilliant that it makes Hannibal Lecter look like a Kardishian in comparison.
One last thing, if I may? How come people don’t seem to have guns in Woodsboro? Of all the places that one might expect to find surburban families packing heat, this blighted community would be it. Oh, the possibilities of Ghostface bringing a knife to a shotgun fight…
Certainly worth a look if you like the previous films – if they left you cold and you found their layered pop cultural snark aesthetic utterly wearing, then avoid this movie as the clever-cleverness within might cause your head to explode, Tom Savini in “Maniac”-style.
The marriage of horror and comedy is fraught with danger. Get it right and you get “Evil Dead 2”, “Shaun of the Dead” or “An American Werewolf in London”. Get it wrong and you have a “Scary Movie”, “Lesbian Vampire Killers” or “An American Werewolf in Paris” on your hands.
Set in the Appalachian hills of West Virginia, the film pits hard-working, blue-collar Tucker (Alan Tudyk) and Dale (Tyler Labine) against an increasingly paranoid band of holidaying college kids who’ve gotten the idea that the two local boys are actually creepy psychos with designs on snuffing them out.
Tucker and Dale’s best efforts to make peace with the group are undone when Dale accidentally causes Alison (Katrina Bowden) to bang her head whilst skinny dipping. Dale’s rescue is misinterpreted by the kids as a kidnap and things get progressively bloodier, blackly comedic and deliriously absurd from then on with the guys’ simple desire to fix up Tucker’s dilapidated vacation home being thwarted by disposable teens flinging themselves at the putative backwoods murderers before they meet bloody ends courtesy of the axe-handed hillbillies.
If you think of this movie as a slasher movie for people who can’t stand the sub-genre, you wouldn’t be far wrong. The film’s primary conceit is that the characters who would normally be depicted as the antagonists in a “Friday the 13th” sequel – the conspirational, untrustworthy rednecks – are the heroes whose naivety and unwordly nature contrive to give them the appearance of grisly serial killers.
It’s hard not to think that Jason Voorhees and Victor Crowley (of the “Hatchet” series) would have done better to adopt a similar approach and allow the drunk, dope-smoking, pre-marital sex-having teens of their respective series to behave with such forehead-slapping stupidity and hasten their own demises. Crystal Lake’s favourite son could put his mask up, chill out in a lounger and never have to unsheath his machete again.
Performances are universally wonderful, with Tudyk and Labine endearingly hilarious as guys utterly bewildered by what fate is flinging at them – it’s a treat to see these perenial supporting players given the chance to lead a film and the college kids are equally fun. “30 Rock” siren Katrina Bowden gets to do more than totter around in tiny outfits for a change and Jesse Moss makes for a splendidly hateful antagonist in Chad, the frat bro with a dark family secret he’s not aware of.
My horror-averse wife enjoyed this film tremendously, despite the free-flowing gore and dismemberment on display, which may give those of you with scare-phobic spouses another film to add to your Halloween movie countdown. It’s certainly worth your time.
Following in the proud tradition of New Zealand’s patron saint of DIY splatter, Peter Jackson, Australia’s Spierig brothers made their feature debut in 2003 with the demented zombie comedy, “Undead”.
Whereas Peter Jackson started in the low-budget trenches with horror comedies like “Bad Taste” and “Brain Dead”, before helming a few films you might have heard of, the Spierig brothers have remained in their native land, developing their own projects like 2009’s vampire sci-fi “Daybreakers” and the forthcoming “Predestination”.
“Undead” is every inch the debut feature. It’s a little baggy around the mid-section, it has way more ambition than budget and goes for broke from the get-go, lest the makers never have the chance to make another feature. Focusing on the inhabitants of small Aussie fishing town Berkeley, “Undead” shows us how a very typical community rapidly goes to literal pieces when mysterious asteroids bombard the town and turn the townsfolk in blank-eyed, intestine-hungry, shambling zomboids.
A handful of people escape the carnage – chief amongst them is disgruntled beauty queen Rene (Felicity Mason) who is all for getting the hell out of her small town after the bank forclose on the farm her grandparents bequeathed her. She finds refuge with mysterious hick Marion (Mungo McKay), who previously had an unwanted close encounter with visitors not of this earth and has been outfitting his farm with enough firepower to blow a whole in the ozone layer.
It’s fair to say that this doesn’t represent the more thoughtful end of the zombie sub-genre. This is very much a calling-card feature, showing prospective studios and producers what this pair of self-starting hypethenates could achieve with modest means – which is a nice way of saying that the plot and characters play distinctly second fiddle to gory kills, creative camera work and quick-fire editing.
The gun fights, seemingly, go on for at least five minutes each and at least one or two of them could have been trimmed to move the story along. The reason for the zombie infection and the eventual resolution of the A-plot are so quickly romped through that you might have to head to IMDB to check and see if what you think happened actually occurred.
A quick and bloody caper through the greatest hits of Peter Jackson, Sam Raimi and John Woo, “Undead” is probably only for fans of the Spierig’s later films who want a look at where they started. It doesn’t add anything of substance to the zombie sub-genre, isn’t quite memorable enough to rank as a cult movie and is notable solely for the underused setting and some inventive staging when our heroes escape from the farmhouse.
Any comparisons made by critics to “Shaun of the Dead” are very much flattering this film, which doesn’t have the wit or poignancy to justify the correlation. It’s a fun diversion if you absolutely can’t get enough zombie action, but not a film which will live long in your memory.