The Grim Cellar

1975, Spain, Directed by Amando de Ossorio

Colour, Running Time: 90 minutes

DVD, Region 1, Blue Underground, Video: Anamorphic 1.82:1, Audio: DD Mono

As part of a marketing strategy for a new boat two helpless young ladies are sent off to float around the middle of the ocean in the hope that they will be ‘accidentally’ found, the resultant publicity doubling for a sneaky advertisement for the boat which helped them through their ordeal by simply staying afloat. Of course the whole plan goes to sh… bits when the two models drift through a dense patch of fog and discover an old abandoned galleon adrift at sea. Despite warnings from base one of them foolishly decides to board the ship to have a look around: she’s never seen again. Deciding they’d better help out, the marketing guys get together with a crazy meteorologist and a couple of the girls’ acquaintances and set off on a voyage to bring back the lost ladies. Passing through the sphere of mist they locate the same medieval galleon, their intention to find out what’s going on. But soon their boat disappears leaving them stranded on the creepy ship and the meteorologist surmises that they’ve actually passed into another dimension, a place where the dead are able to walk again…

The third film in Amando de Ossorio’s infamous Blind Dead series, this has a different feel compared to the preceding entries. All four films utilised different characters and settings (much in an equivalent way to what Romero has done for his Dead films) with the principle threat sourced from the same thing: the rotting, eyeless corpses of the Knights Templar returning to transient life to reap havoc on the living. Most of the action (and I use that term lightly) in The Ghost Galleon (El Buque Maldito) takes place on the eponymous transportation unit and I think it was quite a stroke of imagination to have the Blind Dead discovered floating around on a supernatural vessel in the ocean as opposed to their usual terrestrial circumstances. Little exposition is offered for this and it lends a touch of mystique to the proceedings. As they do in the other three films, the dead awaken periodically to claim anything human that happens to be roaming within the vicinity but where it’s a nocturnal activity in the other parts, here it simply seems governed by some unspoken time lapse because night and day are blurred within the odd Twilight Zone that the ship inhabits. This was a difficult film to obtain for years and I’d always read that it was the most inferior of the series, but being a fan of the first two movies I was anxious to check out the final chapters when Blue Underground released the fanboy’s dream that was the complete DVD set several years ago. Whilst I could understand some of the complaints people levelled at this film I found it to be quite a spooky little chiller once the flaws were acknowledged and pushed aside. The most obvious flaws are some of the special effects: the ship from a distance looks downright awful, almost inexcusably bad. Second to this is the setting up of the story, which is improbable to say the least. But given the central premise I think minor improbabilities can be overlooked (we do after all watch films as a means of escapism do we not?). The characters themselves are bad-movie caricatures in some respects but they bring some amusement to the screen, inadvertently. The meteorologist is perhaps my favourite of these, dropping his office status at the slightest manipulation to head out on a real mission and managing to arrive at scientifically perplexing conclusions concerning their alleged switch between dimensions. Regardless of the incredible delivery, this theory fits in with the director’s ideas about the Blind Dead generally who, he has said, exist in state of spatial/temporal distortion rather than being conventional walking cadavers. Back to the ship itself: whereas the longer distance shots of the vessel are terribly realised, the situation on board is very different; the place is a rotten, dilapidated, creaking entity that’s satisfyingly creepy - very much the ultimate haunted house albeit on a boat. The Blind Dead sleep below deck in boxes that resemble the coffins that would make a more natural home and the homicidal knights appear to be oblivious to their change of locale. Very often stated as the least favourite of fans, The Ghost Galleon does the trick for my idiosyncratic tastes and creates a strange and eerie world that makes for comfortably inebriated viewing on winter nights.

As previously mentioned the film was not easy to come by until around three years ago. Redemption had released the first two in the series on video cassette here in the UK but stopped there so it was quite an anticipated event when BU announced they’d managed to acquire the rights to remaster and release all four of them uncut. The third entry then made it across to the UK on DVD (with the other three) thanks to Anchor Bay, albeit missing the Spanish language soundtrack, which was a real shame. The BU contains Spanish and English audio with optional subtitles. I’ve listened to both tracks in their entirety and they’re both very good, clear representations of how the original might have sounded without any intrusive hiss. The English track in fact is dubbed fairly well and, given the sometimes less than sane nature of the material, it doesn’t suit the film badly at all. Image is presented in a roughly accurate ratio with strong levels of detail and appropriate colours, overall looking better than the final entry in the series (which suffered from grain and extremely soft focus nocturnal shots), although there is a murkiness to the onboard scenes due to the omnipresent fog. This presentation of a fairly obscure but charmingly uncanny film is appreciated and I’ve already had my money’s worth out of the disc along with the rest of the amazing and comprehensive set.

1972, Italy/Thailand, Directed by Umberto Lenzi

Colour, Running Time: 86 minutes

DVD, Region 2, Hardgore, Video: Anamorphic 2.35:1, Audio: Dolby Digital Mono

It seems almost everybody has heard of Cannibal Holocaust, partly thanks to similarities portrayed in the more approachable Blair Witch Project, partly due simply to its brutal notoriety as one of the nastier films of all time. The film was the most prominent component of a wider sequence that flourished to an extent throughout the seventies and before quickly dying a death in the early eighties, probable as a result of lack of diversity - you can only do so much with this sort of material before people go off looking for other things to interest them, such as political dramas and romantic comedies. The cycle often followed a predetermined narrative; ignorant westerners stumbling into jungles inhabited by evolutionary throwbacks in the shape of carnivorous natives with a taste for human limbs and organs. Along the way the westerners (and therefore, we) would witness horrific acts of barbarity that would push the boundaries of cinema to extremes, along with testing the limits of our constitution. Unfortunately these acts often utilised the ‘services’ of real animals and new depths in the search for entertainment and enterprise were reached. This latter point of course illustrates an indefensible staple of cannibal movies, at least from my point of view, but the continuation of productions throughout a decade or so must surely outline questions regarding the public search for entertainment. And indeed this links into the main moral focus that is dubiously raised time and again throughout the sub-genre, that there is at core little difference between us and the so-called savages portrayed as opposition to the westerners - we are endogenously barbaric ourselves. This is the real and oft forgotten reason that Cannibal Holocaust is the best of the bunch: it actually outlines that point better than any of the others and almost seems to have some social relevance amidst its rape and mutilation, though its means is still to some degree unjustifiable.

So where does Deep River Savages fit into all of this? Well, this film could be considered the starting point for the whole thing. The tone slightly differs to what would commonly follow but many of the trappings are still present. After being deserted by his girlfriend in Thailand, a London photographer gets into a brawl in a bar that results in a Thai man’s death. Despite a potential argument for self defence he heads off into the night to disappear, not realising that that’s precisely what he will soon be doing… Heading off towards the wilderness until the whole thing has chance to blow over, he arranges a long and quiet guide-driven sail down the river, eventually into uncharted territory. After several uneventful days of photography and sleeping his guide is found murdered by the side of the boat and John is promptly captured by the local natives that killed the man. What follows is several weeks of punishment, humiliation, attempted escapes, and slavery as John becomes gradually accustomed to what appears to be his new life in the tribe’s village. Until Marayå, a woman he has caught the eye of, experiences increasing attraction to the western man culminating in John being accepted as part of the tribe and marrying Marayå. But the imminent danger of neighbouring tribes is never far from reality…

What is essentially the birth of the cannibal movie surprisingly transpires to be a grisly-exploitation-movie-cum-love-story. Much attention is placed on the progressing relationship between John (Ivan Rassimov from many an Italian exploitation flick) and sexy native girl Marayå (actually Me Me Lai attempting to further her career after a stint in Sale of the Century). John’s former girlfriend is mysteriously banished from memory as he embarks upon a mission that will change his perspective on life forever. There are a couple of things to enjoy in Il Paese del Sesso Selvaggio (or Man From Deep River) believe it or not. Firstly the locations are attractive and make for striking travelogue-style imagery. Next is John’s voyage down the river, which actually musters a little bit of tension as the titular savages remain persistently unseen until he’s accosted. Finally there’s the omnipresent but underlying feeling of hopelessness as John’s repeated attempts to emancipate himself are thwarted before he’s dragged back to the village for more problems. This film initiated a trend for animal suffering that was to continue without any real justification, and this is where for once the BBFC’s intervention is merciful - they’ve removed almost all of it from this Hardgore disc. Lenzi was to make a name for himself in the sub-genre and went on to direct Eaten Alive (Mangiati Vivi!), a reasonable concoction of adventure and cannibalistic violence, and Cannibal Ferox, the man’s similarly horrific answer to …Holocaust. He was never going to be an Oscar winner of course but did manage to produce a couple of genuinely entertaining non-cannibal movies along the way, Nightmare City being my personal favourite.

Deep River Savages is almost palatable in its UK-approved censored version, exhibiting little animal violence (though there is one throat cutting of a goat that caught me off guard near the conclusion so beware) and only snippets of fairly heavy gore here and there. It’s nowhere near as nihilistic as what would come later on and its delineation of taboo love adds something of worth to the material. The influence apparently derived from the earlier western A Man Called Horse, to which Lenzi’s film bears more than a passing thematic resemblance, is also of historical interest to buffs. It’s never going to make any top ten lists but neither is it competing for any worst movie prizes either. The Hardgore DVD looks quite appealing in its fully scoped glory but is missing around 4 minutes (perhaps more) of visceral imagery that most people would really rather not see anyway. Back in the seventies this film was rejected outright in Britain by the BBFC, it was then technically banned on video and briefly placed on the DPP list during the eighties, there was then the strange appearance of a reportedly uncut though terribly cropped disc (DVD Classics) several years ago - I could only assume this to be a disc production error because there’s no way the board would allow this through uncut as long as they were awake when viewing. Media Blasters in the US have put out the best disc hitherto, being fully uncut and containing an Italian soundtrack alongside the English with optional subtitles. There’s also a ten minute interview on that disc. Despite that, casual viewers who’d prefer not to see cruelty to innocent creatures could safely get by with the Hardgore DVD reviewed here.

2006, Canada/France, Directed by Christophe Gans

Colour, Running Time: 127 minutes

Channel 4 Broadcast, Image: 2.35:1, Audio: Dolby Surround

Following the successful PlayStation game of the same name (unleashed on gamers in 1999 and superseded by several sequels/spin-offs) this adaptation would appear to continue a trend that has brought in a few shilling for the film industry whilst simultaneously burdening the preciously limited time of viewers with an increasingly large and smelly mound of dung to wade through. Guilty entries include House of the Dead, Alone in the Dark, Postal and, to a lesser extent, Resident Evil; notice a pattern developing? Back in the nineties it was rubbish like Street Fighter, Mortal Kombat (bearable maybe) and Super Mario Bros.; nowadays they’ve clearly got it in for horror movie fans it seems. I wrote off Silent Hill when I caught the theatrical presentation a couple of years ago: too long, not enough story, style over content, Sean Bean, etc. Despite that, however, it’s sometimes worth checking out a movie for a second viewing because it can reveal its underlying charms that way, should there be any present.

Swapping Harry from the game for a woman (in fact that’s the case with many of the characters) called Rose the storyline otherwise remains fairly faithful to the first game: Rose and her husband Christopher have a few problems with daughter Sharon whereby she sleepwalks, draws up nasty little images and mumbles about a place called Silent Hill that they discover is a ghost town with a horrific history. Rose decides the only way to break the cycle (medication hasn’t worked) is to take Sharon off to this place Silent Hill to see why it’s become such an ongoing mental problem with the girl. After coming into unwanted contact with a policewoman along the way, Rose and the cop both crash their car and bike respectively, Rose waking up to find Sharon missing. She goes in search across the town, a place strangely misplaced from reality, and soon realises there’s something truly frightening about the environment. Air-raid sirens periodically sound the arrival of all-encompassing darkness and with it truly monstrous organisms that will slaughter anything vaguely human. Meanwhile Christopher is understandably perturbed by his wife’s rash trip with their daughter and heads off to Silent Hill himself. There he finds a police detective and team overseeing the scene of the former vehicle accident. Both the detective and Christopher head into the town to look for Rose and Sharon, but while they’re all there at the same time they don’t actually see each other - as Chris and the detective are present in everyday reality, Rose and the female cop now seem to exist in some alternate dimension - a limbo world inhabited by hellish creatures and the damned former inhabitants of the town.

Second time around Silent Hill didn’t strike me as nearly as bad. The story is undoubtedly quite limited, with many sequences simply following Rose as she’s exploring the town or being threatened by demonic apparitions from Hell. The problem there inherently lies with the very nature of the production, it being a game-to-film adaptation. A writer is damned if they do or don’t in that respect: add too much story and you’re at risk of disappointing the hardcore fans of the game by not maintaining faithfulness, take the game literally and there’s inevitably barely enough story to stretch the onscreen action to conventional running time. In that respect at least Silent Hill falls into the sincere camp, but it still exceeds two hours (two and a half with advertisements) and that’s way too long in my opinion. The other issue I really have is with Sean Bean. Of course he’s often extremely good at his vocation but he just doesn’t cut playing an American. If I was American I’d think he was taking the piss, it just doesn’t work. I never see much point in hiring an actor for a part that requires an accent so grossly at odds with their own natural tongue but here we have someone heavily northern (from Sheffield specifically), who can pull off a traditional English accent well enough, but when it comes to American he’s an embarrassment to whatever’s left of international peace. On the positive side the film’s visuals are stunning and Gans possesses stellar understanding of powerful composition - many of these frames could be frozen and hung on the wall (depending on the surrounding décor…), and the 2.35:1 proportions (thankfully maintained for C4’s broadcast) are comfortably put to use by the director. Colour choices and contrasts are so acute it’s almost too perfect. Similarly the music (mostly adopted from the game) adds to the tension with originality and impact throughout. Radha Mitchell does well as Rose, and though the Australian is another accent-choice anomaly she’s certainly more successful in this area than Bean. She also looks fantastic. Finally, the point of the film: terror. I realised more so second time around that there are certain scenes here that are utterly nightmarish in tone and effect. There are times when proceedings escalate to such a tremendous height of insanity and absolute ghastliness they not only drag you in but also make up for the movie’s aforementioned shortcomings. It should be pointed out in connection with this that the inhuman creations are highly imaginative and an appreciable cut above usual genre monsters. Whereas I once considered Silent Hill to be an overly stylistic waste of space I think I might have changed my attitude to the film. It might even go on my Christmas Blu-ray list… (Incidentally I believe that for a change the UK has received the best treatment for the BD compared to other parts of the world - nice.)

2003, US/Japan, Directed by Sofia Coppola

Colour, Running Time: 97 minutes

DVD, Region 2, Momentum, Video: Anamorphic 1.85:1, Audio: DTS

Film is considered by a portion of humanity to be escapism, a means to separate an individual from the apparent reality that surrounds and engulfs them and temporarily immerse them within a universe created by someone else. One of the keys to successfully immersing the viewer within a film-maker’s universe is implanting into it a character that will exhibit characteristics that might remind the audience of themselves in some way - they will often more readily offer themselves as willing participants on the journey, and this is where I think the brilliance of Lost in Translation lies primarily. For those who are unaware, Bob is an admired and financially secure movie star who has become the (well recognised) face of an expensive alcoholic beverage so lending himself to taking an extra couple of million dollars at his agent’s request he’s staying in Japan for a few days to shoot some commercials advertising the drink. He’s quickly revealed to us to be grossly unsettled with his life: a marital state that bores him, children that probably don’t really like him anymore, a career that has diverted along a route that doesn’t particularly interest his classical sensibilities, and amidst all this is an escalating feeling of isolation and misplacement. Simultaneously Charlotte, a young newlywed also from the US, is staying in Tokyo with her husband while he cultivates his photography career. As he spends his days out shooting pictures and wallowing in blissful ignorance she spends her days becoming depressed and losing faith in what she might have thought was good about life. Inevitably Bob and Charlotte’s lives are destined to cross as they’re staying in the same flash hotel, and despite there being a significant age gap between them, somehow they bring to each other what they both need: companionship (albeit transient), silent understanding, entertainment, and a glimmer of light.

It may be appropriate to describe Coppola’s film as a ‘romance’ but that would perhaps be trivialising the achievement whilst also giving the wrong impression considering the movie’s consistent avoidance of cliché. In addition there is somewhat greater depth to the two main characters than might be the case in your average love story, and it should be explained that there is no sex or love-making here - it’s been replaced by existential, or possibly spiritual connection making it altogether more poignant. Placing Bob and Charlotte in the very alien world that is Japan (captured quite nicely by the intricate picture quality of the DVD) instantly emphasises their isolation from humanity (whilst as a side effect highlights the distinct difference between cultures) and serves as a tool to facilitate viewer sympathy. I don’t especially consider myself your average viewer, given the fact that my tastes tend to differ from people who mostly adhere to what’s popular so I can’t say how the average viewer will respond to characters that are essentially ‘lost’, but I think Coppola has tapped into a little investigated human state here and I can identify with the condition even if the people themselves lead somewhat different lives. This is where the film functions at its strongest level and presumably there are others out there who appreciate the same attributes, taking note of the vast number of awards it acquired following its release. This very low budget production also went on to return a nice sum for its backers, which is reassuring. Of course there’s more to this project’s strengths than its insightfully written premise: Bill Murray as Bob yet again proves that he’s got to be one of the best actors living/working today, plus it’s nice to see Scarlett Johansson in a role prior to her ego-feeding, planet-sweeping stardom (that this film probably initiated) - natural beauty combined with talent in roughly equal measure. Looking at her then compared to now indicates that her apparent perfection was only ever going to be eroded by the world’s acknowledgement of such an amazing creature, hence all the more reason to saviour what’s here. The story also features in no small measure a subtle yet effective sense of humour, taking advantage of Murray’s comic abilities as well as lightening the mood throughout. Then there is an appropriate score that contributes towards the induction of the right emotions at the right times.

Lost in Translation is one of those rare movies that makes watching them truly worthwhile - an exquisite piece of intelligent art that’s not merely entertainment; it’s relevant on a metaphysical level, tapping into a human condition and dissecting it to see what’s going on. It gives us something to think about and makes us feel more comfortable because, for those of us who identify, it makes you feel like there’s somebody else out there like you and you’re not necessarily suffering alone. Nice work, Ms. Coppola.

1998, US, Directed by Rob Bowman

Colour, Running Time: 118 minutes

DVD, Region 2, Fox, Video: Anamorphic 2.35:1, Audio: Dolby Digital 5.1

Taking an idea that was most recently mentioned in the finale to season 5, the movie begins with a couple of Neanderthals discovering in a cave what may be an extraterrestrial life form, a malevolent and putrid creature that destroys them. Jump forward several million years to the present day and some Dallas boys stumble across what is probably the same place underground, one of them (the lad who played Caleb so perceptively in American Gothic) becoming trapped with a strange black liquid that infiltrates his skin and takes over his body… Not only do the fire brigade turn up but a horde of militaristic vehicles arrive suggesting that something altogether more profound is going on than a mere threat to a child’s life. Some time later FBI agents Fox Mulder and Dana Scully are involved in a terrorist situation that has them attempting to prevent the explosion of a building and consequential catastrophic loss of life. Thanks to Mulder’s innate ability to turn a seemingly illogical hunch into the catalyst for an unprecedented discovery, the agents end up searching what is initially suspected to be the wrong building. It actually turns out to be the ‘right’ building and they barely escape with their lives before the whole thing blows. It later transpires that what they thought was a cleared area just prior to the blast has actually become the death bed for a couple of firemen and a young boy. Not only that but the FBI are as good as blaming the two agents for the disaster - they really were in the wrong place at the wrong time it seems. After a hearing that places their careers somewhere in mid air Mulder is contacted by a rogue writer of conspiracy theories, a man who is constantly at odds with authorities that are pinning anything on him that might put him out of action (e.g. child pornography claims). The man suggests that the people who ‘died’ in the explosion were actually already dead and this puts Mulder (along with a reluctant Scully) on a trail that leads the agents to the realisation that the whole thing may have been designed to cover up evidence of the possibility that aliens once visited the Earth and now threaten to repopulate it.

The first theatrical outing (sometimes dubbed Fight The Future) for The X Files effectively bridges the gap between seasons 5 and 6: for the cracking final episode of the former the X Files department (read: basement) was not only shut down but burned down with Mulder and Scully being reassigned to more mundane cases (such as terrorist bomb threats and the like…). The irony is that the case they’re working on turns out to be inextricably linked to the very conspiracies that they’ve been ushered away from. The opening bomb scenario reminds me a little of that in Speed, but with a touch more realism (apart from Mulder’s discovery of the bomb’s location, one of those coincidences that underpins much of the series) - a pretty exciting and highly functional grip on the viewer for what’s to come. Woven into the dialogue are keenly inserted snippets of historical passages no doubt designed to familiarise viewers who may not be up to date with the show itself, but their incorporation manages to avoid contrivance just about. Familiar characters from the show are also peppered throughout - the smoking man, the lone gunmen, and Skinner of course - and these characters become mechanically relevant elements of the fairly intricate plot. In fact some viewers unaware of the show’s staples may find some of the dialogue heavy sections hard work, being articulate, complicated, and undeniably paranoid as they are. Hence all of the elements are there that made the show work in the first place and this would be amongst the best episodes if it were such. Surprisingly the movie doesn’t simply take on the appearance of just another episode - it looks and feels much bigger in scope from the outset; the famous 20th Century Fox ident at the beginning, an apparently much more generous budget, the 2.39:1 aspect ratio (up from the 1.78:1 of the preceding season and the 1.33:1 of earlier seasons), and the absence of the show’s opening sequence, which it has to be said just wouldn’t have worked for a convincing theatrical presentation. Some of Mark Snow’s distinctive theme has been implemented into the score generally, however, so it’s not entirely missed. Gillian Anderson and Dave Duchovny both translate their characters to the big screen well and are by this point very comfortable with the two people who simply couldn’t have been portrayed by anybody else. Their near onscreen kiss is a cool highlight too. It was really nice to see Lucas Black show up (Caleb from American Gothic) though the fact that they used Christopher Fennell too (one of Caleb’s friends in AG) makes me wonder whether this was an in-joke. The story itself, penned by the show’s creator Chris Carter along with regular collaborator Frank Spotnitz, reaches a huge and rousing climax that really tingles the flesh and proves that there was still life in the dog at that point.

The video transfer is by now dated but just manages to serve its purpose in an age that is gradually becoming hi-def. It’s soft and features a slightly artificial colour scheme that I suspect could be substantially improved nowadays. The 5.1 track is aggressive, loud, and enveloping; this suits the TV-cinema upgrade perfectly. A second disc of extras combines with an audio commentary to round out a pretty good package, however, a Blu-ray version is on its way and will make this set redundant almost certainly. Having not seen this film for ten years (which was at the cinema in fact) I thought it was a thoroughly good expansion to the show’s concepts and a carrot to entice people to continue watching into season 6.

1990, US, Directed by William Friedkin

Colour, Running Time: 92 minutes

Satellite Broadcast, Image: 1.33:1, Audio: Stereo

There are a huge number of movies out there that almost get completely forgotten about as time progresses (many justifiably so it has to be said) even in this DVD age where just about everything seems to appear somewhere in the world. The Guardian was released briefly on disc in the US by Anchor Bay a few years ago but remains generally low-key; is it an obscure classic or something that was deliberately trodden into the ground never intended for exhumation? Probably neither… being one of the very few movies I’m aware of that takes elements of druid legend as inspiration it certainly has some claim to individuality. The story is based on a Dan Greenburg novel called The Nanny and outlines a scenario early on where we know that a woman is masquerading as a nanny to gain access to people’s infants with the intention of abducting them for sacrifice to her tree-like gods. In the prologue she is successful so we then skip forward to meet the main characters (Phil and Kate) who have just moved away from town and have become pregnant. Of course once their offspring has arrived they interview for a nanny and have several terrible options to choose from, but a couple of feasibly capable women too. Their first choice dies in a freak accident so they’re forced to resort to second choice Camilla (Jenny Seagrove). She’s perfect in every respect it seems: physically alluring, intelligent, highly functional in child rearing, etc. Aside from the fact, that is, that she’s intent on sacrificing the child as soon as its blood cells have changed just as she has done many times before.

Not exactly carving a good reputation for the mysterious druid ‘faith’ of centuries gone by, it’s certainly a slightly different angle for a tale of terror. Add to the mix the threat of death to miniature human offspring and you’re certain to engage audience emotion to some extent. Friedkin’s film is gorier than one might expect though plays with less punch than The Exorcist, the film he’s undoubtedly most renowned for. Seagrove performs her Camilla role with a calm and collected nature that could almost be quite chilling, if it wasn’t for the fact that she’s so darned nice. Having said that her later scenes where she returns in her half-natural state and levitates through the forest are adeptly executed and send a noticeable shiver along the spinal column, and therein are a couple of other things that are worth mentioning: the forest itself comprises one of the more effective elements of the film, being an inhospitable swirling mass of engulfing trees and hostile winds. However, on the downside, and something that’s related to Camilla’s ability to float, is a wayward attitude towards establishing ‘rules’. Now of course this is fantasy so generally it could be said anything goes, but I find it’s often in a film’s favour to construct a universe where its laws of physics at least make some sense to itself, and where The Guardian goes overboard, for example, is when Camilla erases the evidence of a murder by magically waving her hand over patches of blood to make them vanish. Even considering the concept that trees may be conscious entities of some kind (and who’s to say they’re not?) this sort of thing is a touch on the silly side. The bad guys who attempt to attack Camilla at one point are also hopelessly stereotyped. Back to more positive aspects, the relationship that almost ensues (it’s only really hinted at here) between Camilla and Phil is something that adds some dimensionality and complicates the scenario, though this isn’t as fleshed out as it could have been. A feeling of terror is conveyed by Brad Hall - after an ethereal sequence where he discovers there’s something inhuman about Camillia, his prolonged final minutes are suspenseful and tense, but this is not a factor that’s maintained throughout the movie. To summarise, the story itself is likely to keep you watching for its one point five hours and that’s good enough.

As was the tendency back in the early nineties when I taped this from satellite, the image is heavily cropped to a 4:3 ratio - there were no widescreen TVs in 1992 (I don’t think?) and the general public were blissfully ignorant when it came to correct aspect ratios. Fans of the film would do well to track down the Anchor Bay disc but be warned as this OOP DVD is rather difficult to obtain nowadays, at least for a reasonable price.

2005, US, Directed by Rob Zombie

Colour, Running Time: 106 minutes

DVD, Region 2, Momentum, Video: Anamorphic 1.78:1, Audio: DTS

The second feature length outing for the multi-talented metal-star-cum-movie-director follows House of 1000 Corpses almost as a sequel: it doesn’t specifically take up the same story but rather focuses on some of the principal antagonists, nasty murderous backwoods dwellers that creator Rob has clearly taken a liking to. Revealing the date to be around the end of the seventies (two years after House…) a group of cops lay siege to a house where a small posse of killers dubbed after the film’s title are hiding. A mass shootout ensues resulting in the loss of several lives, but the surviving Rejects, Baby Firefly and Otis, escape and hijack some old woman’s car to head out on their own strange little road trip. Warning their father (?) Captain Spaulding (the clown from House…) by telephone that the police may be heading his way he dumps his beached-whale missus and dilapidated home to meet them at a mutually convenient motel. When Spaulding arrives he finds they’ve wasted almost no time in capturing a couple of unnecessary hostages to torment, the sort of treatment he’s only too willing to participate in. The sheriff meanwhile has his own personal reasons for tracking down and destroying the Rejects - they were responsible for his brother’s death in the previous instalment. Soon his obsessive desire for vengeance brings him to a full-blooded showdown with the group as they’re hiding out with a friend who’s forced to betray their security.

For those who were interested in such things around the time, House of 1000 Corpses had extreme difficulty finding a distributor due to its tendency toward excess violence. I believe it was Lions Gate Films who eventually gathered together enough bottle to put it on public display (though shorn prior to that of some of its more visceral moments, footage that may now be lost forever), before others followed in picking it up for a more global distribution. Ironic then that after the film makes a few million dollars the sequel should have no trouble at all being produced, despite some of the most extreme violence and torment seen this side of the Video Recordings Act. The opening shot makes it clear to the audience that they’re not in for an easy journey - Tiny (played by supremely tall Matthew McGrory, who unfortunately died just days after the UK opening of …Devil’s) is seen dragging the naked corpse of a girl through the woods by her hair. The shootout after this fails to elicit any sympathy from the audience due to us not particularly caring about any of the characters at that point (in fact, by the film’s end you may even despise them), however, as the story progresses and we’re dragged along the same expedition as the titular characters it’s possible to find ourselves strangely fixated with their horrific antics. You may wince as a head is beaten, innocent victims are psychologically tortured, a girl is splattered across the highway, but you may also find yourself strangely compelled to continue viewing (unless you’re really squeamish of course). Of the number of directors in recent years who’ve laid claim at attempting to recreate the seventies gritty horror atmosphere of flicks like Texas Chainsaw Massacre, Hills Have Eyes, Death Trap, et al., Rob Z is the one who really seems to understand the era. Whether it’s art of any value or not is really down to viewer opinion but he seems to unpretentiously pay homage to a period of film-making clearly admired by him, and he successfully recreates his own scenarios as if they could slot nicely between the aforementioned semi-classics, despite the frequent injection of a more modern approach to editing and style. His astute choice of music reflects his talents for writing it (though I’m not the greatest fan of his music, he’s often displayed flair and creativity with White Zombie and his solo output), from Midnight Rider (Allman Bros.) to Free Bird by Lynyrd Skynyrd, in the latter’s case a significant portion is implemented too believe it or not. I was surprised to find the soundtrack containing none of his own tracks - perhaps he wanted to keep the story’s mood firmly rooted in its reflected era. The film reaches a logical conclusion that almost makes you’ve feel like you’ve satisfyingly accompanied a team of anti-heroes on their final road trip rather than tagged along to involuntarily witness the brutal exploits of despicable serial murderers - Rob Z effectively turns our disgust right on its head with his potent, skilfully constructed, and oddly likeable concoction of seventies grindhouse cinema, spaghetti westerns, and contemporary technique. I should point out also that it’s a movie that works better second time around so repeat viewings may be favourable.

Despite having a lower budget than House… the movie looks and feels bigger than its predecessor thanks to smart decision-making and necessarily creative thinking, something that’s reflected by this stupendous transfer - colourful, bold, heavily detailed and with a rocking DTS track to boot. You wouldn’t be short-changed by picking up the two discer either, with a monolithic 2 hour 20 minute documentary overseeing every practical aspect of pre-production onwards (Rob Z looks intense without his sunglasses but comes across as articulate and very logical in his approach to movie making). The shooting and ultimate omission of a Doctor Satan sequence (one of the characters from the first film) is also discussed, and the fact that it was left out seems like a wise choice despite the deformed man-thing being a fan favourite. For those prepared to take a mental beating Devil’s Rejects should offer a hypnotic ride through Hell. That’s a good thing by the way.

1943, US, Directed by Mark Robson

Black & White, Running Time: 71 minutes

DVD, Region 1, Warner, Video: 1.33:1, Audio: Dolby Digital Mono

Val Lewton’s 40s genre productions have become much more renowned thanks to Warner putting together their fabulous DVD collection of his work about three years ago. But long before that his pictures for RKO studios were considered quite special, formulating as they did quite chilling little tales of the morbid without resorting to overt manifestations of the supernatural. This was always a pleasing contrast to the output of Universal and helped to push forward the idea that the genre didn’t really need inhuman monsters to succeed critically and commercially. In fact their conception was partly the result of the failure of the mighty Orson Welles productions so we could say we have Citizen Kane to thank, as if its legacy hasn’t snowballed enough. The Seventh Victim begins with young college student Mary being called up to be informed that her Manhattan-based sister is no longer paying her tuition fees. In fact nobody can seem to get in touch with Jacqueline so Mary packs up and heads off to the great city of NY to find out what’s happened to her older sibling. First stopping off at the restaurant once owned by Jacqueline Mary finds out she was seen at a local boarding house and goes off to enquire. There it seems the missing woman has hired a room - seemingly not to stay in, rather it’s there as some sort of haven for a potential suicide that forces Mary to realise her sister‘s situation is much more sinister than the innocent youngster‘s mind would like to have contemplated. She comes into contact with the man who loves Jacqueline and with the help of a private investigator (who is soon murdered for his curiosity) they delve deeper into a plot that leads to a satanic cult that has drawn Jacqueline into their macabre world.

A very noir-esque atmosphere is established once Mary arrives at the city: shadowy streets, darkly lit corridors, harsh contrasts (cinematographer Nicholas Musuraca was clearly an expert technician and artist) - it’s an ideal world to conceal the goings-on of a group of devil-worshipping people. In fact the cult reminds me of the sinister neighbours that later turned up in Polanski’s Rosemary’s Baby, and are quite a creepy bunch considering this was the forties. Mary (Kim Hunter’s feature debut, amazingly the same woman who went on to play Zira in the first three Ape movies) is lovely and innocent, making her treacherous journey a tad more engaging as she stumbles into a threatening city that could almost consume her, though it seems as though something is watching over her shoulder as more harm comes to those around her than Mary herself. An interesting moral seems to have been wound into the narrative that makes itself apparent by the end, and one which possibly reflected the way Val Lewton pondered upon his own existence (a cardiac illness was making itself known at the time, this eventually leading to a premature demise): humans may at some point, or with eventual inevitability, come to question whether they wish to continue living and both angles are represented by two characters. Jacqueline herself (resembling Uma Thurman in Pulp Fiction) evidently possesses a fixation with her own death, perhaps fantasizing about suicide itself until it becomes an ongoing obsession, whilst crossing her path is a woman who is terminally ill but would prefer to avoid death - one person is living but wants to die, the other is dying but wants to live. Indeed the opening statement of the film (about running to death but death meeting one just as fast) suggests to me that the story is ultimately an exploration of man’s relationship with death, something which underpins all of horror in some ways. This gives what once began as B movie material (in fact, just a title really) a certain degree of greater depth than what might have been anticipated by the funding studio (the last thing they wanted was conceptual depth after Orson Welles had drained them of cash). Along the way we come across a number of smartly thought-out sequences; Mary and the PI standing at the end of a dark corridor, both afraid to advance before she persuades him to effectively walk to his doom, Mary’s subway ride where three ‘drunks’ stumble on to the train only for the hat to fall from the one being carried revealing him to be the very PI that was murdered earlier - his body obviously in the process of being disposed of, and not least the shower scene that surely must have influenced Hitchcock years later, such is its similarity to Psycho’s most famous murder sequence. The Seventh Victim is a movie than can be appreciated by both fans of the macabre and noir alike.

Warner’s transfer is exemplary given the movie’s period of creation, and it comes accompanied with a highly informative 53 minute documentary on producer Val Lewton. Perhaps some of the interviewees (the likes of William Friedkin, Joe Dante, etc.) go a little overboard in their praise, as is often the case with back-slapping Americans, but appreciation for Lewton will certainly flourish as a result of viewing this comprehensive piece. There’s also a feature commentary from historian Steve Haberman that is sometimes a little quickly spoken though this also means that there’s a large amount of information and considered opinions divulged. He discusses an omitted subplot concerning Tom Conway’s character as well as the critical and commercial response to the film following initial release, among many other things. One thing Haberman drew my eye to during listening was the point when Mary is offered the bad news by the school’s headmistress - watch her silent assistant who is staring at Mary throughout the dialogue, it’s a pretty creepy image as she continuously looks Mary up and down in far too suggestive a manner. The disc can be picked up as part of the superb boxed set that comes with Lewton’s other RKO genre productions - note, a later release of this also includes a Martin Scorsese documentary as an additional bonus.

1962, UK, Directed by Sidney Hayers

Black & White, Running Time: 84 minutes

DVD, Region 2, Optimum, Video: Anamorphic 1.78:1, Audio: Dolby Digital Mono

A couple of years after returning from an academic expedition to Jamaica Norman and Tansy Taylor seem to be doing fairly well in life, with a nice village home and a well regarded teaching position at the school for Norman with promises of promotion. He’s a little surprised when, after an evening playing cards with a posse of local (pseudo-)friends, he finds that his wife has kept back a memento from their trip - a large spider in some sort of containing device. She brushes the discovery off but with his curiosity piqued he goes searching around the house the following day and uncovers all manner of strange paraphernalia, from skulls to small charms. Upon confronting Tansy when she returns home she admits to him that she’s been practising witchcraft, something which he initially finds difficult to digest, firstly because Tansy has always seemed too rational and ‘intelligent’ from his point of view to become involved in anything remotely superstitious, and secondly because he himself cannot accept that there’s anything truthful or worthwhile in pursuing the so-called black arts. He consequently burns everything in her presence to put an end to her obsession and move on, but from the minute he does things begin going wrong in his life - a female student at school accuses him of sexual interference, he’s nearly knocked down by a truck, another student threatens him with a gun, he’s involved in a car crash, etc. The contrast between what life was like during his wife’s illicit practice of black magic and how things turn out after the burning of her tools is perhaps too staggering to be coincidental, but Norman will take some convincing such is his narrow-minded attitude and limited understanding of unconventional possibilities.

Night of the Eagle (or Burn, Witch, Burn to quote its US title, actually a line from the film) makes the most of apparently limited resources, being a primarily dialogue driven assessment of one couple’s deteriorating social and mental status after they have become almost irreversibly embroiled in witchcraft. In fact Tansy seems at first to have established a comfortable control over their lives until Norman becomes aware of her tampering with what he considers to be meaningless spells, and it’s only after he has interfered with her activities by burning whatever she’s been using that control is lost. Of course she never had a long-term grasp over the supernatural anyway as there are other people in the plot who have less savoury intentions that involve similar means. What unfolds is a story coherently believable due to consistently well written and executed dialogue, unveiling situations of mounting drama between the marital couple or between Norman and the other characters that mill around the school. Supernatural manifestations are kept to a relative minimum and when they do occur it’s suggested that the mind has played a part in most of the incidences, i.e. affirming to Norman in particular that what’s happening is not the result of witchcraft but rather the superficially convenient interpretation of naturally occurring events as something under the control of humans. Of course it’s the perfect plot device to turn around the comfortably formulated scientific comprehensions of a non-believer and the film wouldn’t have worked so well had it been any other way, and lead man Peter Wyngarde does a fine job of portraying the stubborn professor. Whilst much of the film is firmly rooted in the social situations brought about by the mystical premise it still finds room for a touch of the gothic too with a pretty nifty graveyard sequence, plus there are a couple of genuinely chilling moments along the story’s route, for example when Norman realises that his wife may be possessed and the clue that brings about this realisation. On a technical level Night of the Eagle is close to remarkable in a number of ways, not least as far as the beautiful black and white photography is concerned. The ‘eagle’ effect that gives the title its justification is also competently achieved for the period, and edited acutely too (shots are limited to brief glimpses, perhaps a tool to limit the possibility of spotting flaws with the special effect or possibly to enhance its nervous impact on the audience). A sombre, well regarded, and professionally constructed entry in 60s British horror.

Optimum’s disc is worth picking up for the movie and transfer only, considering there’s nothing else in way of bonus material to recommend it, perhaps aside from the possibility that it‘s not at the time of writing available anywhere else on DVD I believe. Aspect ratio is marginally off at 1.78:1 but what’s inside the frame is extremely attractive; well balanced contrast, high level of detail, pretty solid blacks, etc. If you’re not concerned about extras though (and the absence is a shame) the disc is well priced and still worthy of a position on your shelf right in between Night of the Demon and Night of the Living Dead.

1932, Germany/France, Directed by Carl Dreyer

Black & White, Running Time: 73 minutes

DVD, Region 1, Criterion, Video: Pillarboxed 1.19:1, Audio: Dolby Digital Mono

For a few years my acknowledgement of Vampyr as a possible classic grew through reading various articles, though the film itself evaded me until a trip to Holland where I stumbled across an art house cinema projecting the movie for a late’ish showing. The dialogue, or what little of it there is, was in German (it was also shot in French and English in 1931 as alternate takes) and it was subtitled for the screening in Dutch (obviously) but it was just a blessing to finally see something I’d only previously read about, perusing the strange stills that accompanied such texts and formulating an idea in my mind regarding what the film might be like. You can’t imagine what Vampyr is like until you actually see it, and I’ve since found my lack of comprehension over the actual plot was only marginally due to my limited understanding of German - the narrative structure is surreal and deliberately disjointed to say the least and even viewing it with English subtitles keeps you guessing about what’s really going on in the film. The story introduces Allan Gray, a man who’s become obsessed with his studies in and fears of the occult as he wanders across the country. Coming across an isolated inn he takes a room for the night but is immediately struck by the uncanny nature of the location, something which unnerves him to the point of disturbed slumber. Around this point onwards we’re not quite sure what is real and what’s not as Gray receives a visitation in the night by a man who predicts doom for himself and an unnamed woman, probably his daughter given the events later on. Gray follows disembodied shadows to a house where lives the physical manifestation of the man who gave him the prophetic message and Gray learns of cursed creatures that rise from graves to take blood from living bodies: vampyres (to quote the book from which he reads). After the prophesised death of the old man one of his daughters is found in the woodland with holes in her neck, though still living but now damned and fully aware of it - Gray is being sucked into the very nightmarish world of his ongoing obsession with the supernatural.

It’s tempting to systematically go though a scene-by-scene description of Vampyr, such is the visually poetic and alluringly indistinct nature of the images that flash before our eyes. Things occur in an apparently logical order that refuses to make 100% sense, thus it reminds me of David Lynch’s work in some respects - if he’d been making films in the thirties they might have looked and felt like this. We’re drawn into the same nightmare, or one similar, to Gray’s and it’s precisely whether it’s a nightmare or not that keeps us in a land of uncertainty. Perhaps what we witness is only in the mind of Gray, or at least the personal responses to the surroundings produced by it, or maybe we’re even in the mind of the daughter who seems to be needing someone to rescue her from a family that’s crumbling at the feet of the devilish curse, or it could be a glimpse into some ethereal dimension that prevents conventional rationalisation. That’s the beauty of Vampyr: ambiguity, mystique, otherworldliness, an uncomfortable sense of foreboding dread. The compositions are quite unusual, not just for this era but for any: often characters are captured merely in the corner of the frame, the rest being used by background information that wouldn’t normally be deemed relevant enough to offer so much space to. The wallpapers attract much more camera attention than we might expect and you can’t help but think there’s something there we should be noticing. Maybe these compositional techniques are there to throw the viewer off guard, maybe they’re there to redirect the eye to other things, or perhaps Dreyer simply had a distinctive eye for visuals. Another aspect that sincerely contributes to this film’s creeping effect is the sound design, comprising of music which sounds like it was played in some dark, damp underground chamber, constructing a perturbing environment which is simultaneously alien to the viewer and familiar in the sense that we’ve probably experienced something similar to the sinister progression of nearly incoherent occurrences in our own nightmares on occasions. There are quite a few reviews of this movie online now but I’ve tried not to read too much of them (aside from responses to the new transfers prior to buying) because it’s too easy to either unconsciously or otherwise adopt the opinions of others, particularly if they’re well founded and perceptive, and once of the primary attractions with Vampyr - as well as other films of this kind - is the food provided for subjective response and interpretation. The film functions supremely as both an unusual cinematic technical achievement that begs to be deconstructed shot by shot for analysis, and as the mysterious world of shadows that sucks you into its ethereal fog to be succumbed by terror and disorientation. In comparison to what studios like Universal, Paramount and RKO were doing with the genre at the time Vampyr is completely unique, inspired and creatively astute, therefore it must be considered simply the best horror movie to crawl out of the first couple of decades following cinema’s transition to talkies.

Image put the film out on DVD in the US after a restoration took place in the late nineties - the picture was blurred and indistinct but it was the best way to see it in the home for a few years. After a long wait Criterion and Eureka (US and UK respectively) have both put supremely commendable efforts into unleashing a new definitive version of Vampyr upon us lucky movie collectors, but there are differences between them. On the plus side for Criterion there is a marginally sharper image (and I do mean marginally - I was looking hard for differences between screen captures and they’re barely noticeable), they’ve produced optional new intertitles in English matching the font and style of the original German cards, though the latter is still present with English subtitles if one so wishes. There’s also a 35 minute spoken essay that’s well put together with contextually relevant stills and clips making it more of a documentary and certainly more interesting that what we’d get elsewhere, i.e. pages of text as one extra and a stills section as another. Finally the packaging simply kicks Eureka’s butt it has to be said, with a fold-out digipack containing the discs and a booklet of essays as well as a 220 page book featuring the printed screenplay alongside the Carmilla story that partly influenced Dreyer in writing the film (it was actually based on different elements of a book featuring several short stories). The Eureka, however, has an additional commentary featuring director Guillermo del Toro, a second audio track containing unrestored sound (e.g. hiss, crackles, everything that signifies an old film - something for purists and not entirely unwelcome) though the ‘clean’ soundtrack is still present. Common to both sets is a superb commentary by film historian Tony Rayns, something which I really enjoyed listening to and again I did so after I’d written most of this review so that I wasn’t too influenced by his opinions. His perspective is informed, articulately expressed, and an indispensable companion despite moments of unavoidable speculation. On both sets too is a half hour documentary rescued from the sixties where Dreyer discusses all of his films (his last movie was Gertrud in 1964 - he wasn’t a prolific man following Vampyr); Dreyer is revealed to be a man very intense about his art. People used to modern DVD featurettes may find this surprisingly academic in tone. Neither set has a consistently stellar image on the main feature it must be noted, this being due to original negatives no longer existing and elements that have worn badly over the years, however, efforts to present the movie as well as possible have clearly been made - just be aware the picture quality is rough, though this doesn‘t necessarily detract from uncanny material such as this. To summarise, both companies have put a great deal of work into these sets and while Criterion has a slight edge on the picture, Eureka wins out with bonus audio options, whereas extras have some variations where the superior is difficult to choose. Criterion easily wins out on packaging so the choice is ours, either way this could well be the most important release of a vintage horror film for home viewing we’ve ever seen.

2004, US, Directed by Frank Oz

Colour, Running Time: 89 minutes

DVD, Region 2 (Sweden), Dreamworks, Video: Anamorphic 1.85:1, Audio: Dolby Digital 5.1

There was a time when I believed certain actors could be relied upon to bring their prestigious names to projects that were worth devoting a couple of hours of hard-earned attention to, the association being that such a talented thespian might also be able to distinguish between the great and the shite. For example, Nicole Kidman’s résumé included the gripping Dead Calm, the masterpiece that is Eyes Wide Shut, the pretty chilling The Others, as well as offering a brilliant performance in Birthday Girl - she’s a naturally good looking woman with a solid grasp on what constitutes becoming a character. So why then choose toss like Bewitched and The Stepford Wives to devote several months of her life to? Similarly Christopher Walken has given us Sleepy Hollow, The Dead Zone, True Romance and Batman Returns, amongst smelly brown stuff that gets irritatingly stuck to the bottom of your shoe like Click, America’s Sweethearts, Country Bears and, well, The Stepford Wives. Actually I may be generalising and perhaps the good outweighs the bad (I haven’t seen every film ever made) but I get kind of frustrated watching smart, able people waste their time looking stupid to create something that wastes my time (I can look stupid by myself, thanks). Then again maybe Kidman’s not so smart: apparently she took this role on account of Oz’s history bringing Miss Piggy to life, and Kidman’s a big fan of Miss Piggy. Stellar script? Social value? Philosophical message? Forget it - Miss Piggy kicked ass so I’m in!

The Stepford Wives was of course originally made in 1974-5, based on a book by Ira Levin. If I remember correctly it was a fairly decent and straight adaptation of the story that focuses on a town where all of the female dwellers act with strangely perfect behavioural patterns, going out of their way to please husbands in a manner that was at odds with the feminist revolution that was ruining marriages and hierarchical stability everywhere at the time. It turns out that the men in the town had been replacing their wives with incredibly sophisticated robots who didn’t complain, didn’t nag, did the housework religiously, and made love like Greek goddesses. The plot had some resonance at the time because it sort of tapped into all the women’s rights malarkey that was being pushed by angry females across the western world. Nowadays it’s not so relevant because women have great jobs, they drive 4×4 vehicles and, given scientific advances, sometimes don’t even need a man around to produce offspring - amazing, really. A remake therefore is quite pointless standing on the merit of its own premise, so the producers here have opted to take a comedic approach to the material, the only real problem with this being that virtually nothing here will elicit a smile, least of all ‘laughter’, something which a viewer might expect with anything that presents itself as comedy. Matthew Broderick is Kidman’s completely inadequate male companion, someone who can’t earn as much as she, or can’t do anything as well as she so he gradually gets sucked into the town’s ploy to use robotically modified women as a means of re-establishing the masculinity that was only ever demonstrated by other men anyway. He’s such a wet rag that he’s quite believable in this respect, but he and Kidman (who clearly scrubs up pretty well) fail to produce any electricity whatsoever between themselves and therefore one stares at the screen blankly whenever they’re having one of their domestic disputes or ascertaining that they really do love each other. Attempts to bring forward a potential moral to the story at the beginning (Kidman’s character is introduced ruining the life of a decent man in her efforts to liberate women) are lost or forgotten about as the story progresses, and the denouement confuses the message if there even ever was one. Bette Midler and Glenn Close also appear in major roles making this what could be defined as an ‘all-star cast’ - why does Hollywood bother? Frank Oz himself may have been the defining voice behind the omnipotent Yoda, as well as Fozzie flipping Bear but when it comes to live-action directing there are probably other better options out there, however he can’t be fully blamed for a screenplay and overall production intentions as lame as what’s on display here.

Dreamworks and Paramount reportedly contributed a total of 90 million dollars to this - 90 million dollars?? This at least results in a glossy movie from a technical standpoint, though I‘m guessing most of that went on the main cast‘s wages and catering bill. Review was conducted following the viewing of the Swedish DVD, featuring an expectedly clean and sharp image with high quality sound (in English - Swedish subtitles were removable), but there are better ways you can spend your time, hence I consider the period I’ve spent writing about this turd to be an act of altruism in my attempts to divert people’s attention to more pleasurable pastimes, like wiping one’s bum.

1987, Italy, Directed by Michele Soavi

Colour, Running Time: 90 minutes

DVD, Region 1, Blue Underground, Video: Anamorphic 1.85:1, Audio: Dolby Digital EX

Originating from a background where he was surrounded by creativity it’s perhaps no accident that Soavi wound up in constructing images himself of some kind - early on as a painter but after developing an interest in cinema he moved on to acting and, later still, assistant directing. It was for many of cinema’s veterans that he learnt most of his behind-the-camera skills, people like Dario Argento, Aristide Massaccesi, Lamberto Bava, and even Terry Gilliam. His own directorial debut came together, therefore, quite late in his career. Owning it on Avatar’s video cassette for a few years I once thought Stagefright (sometimes known as Aquarius or Deliria) was a fairly average slasher, but at the time I was a lot less informed and less educated in the darker genres than I am nowadays. Viewing it now is a different matter. It outlines a simple scenario but one that’s nonetheless powerful in many respects: a theatre director who’s obsessed with extracting the best performances from his actors is selfish in the extreme, displaying little or no concern for the welfare of the people if the production is suffering. Alicia, one of his leading ladies, damages her leg in rehearsal and she heads out the back door to seek some medical advice at the first place she and her friend come across - a psychiatric hospital. While obtaining a personal touch from one of the doctors there the two girls don’t realise that one of the inmates has overcome a guard in his escape, only to hitch an unexpected lift back to the theatre with them. Going back to the car in the storm Alicia’s friend is butchered by the lunatic before he apparently disappears. The body is found (pickaxe nicely implanted through her gaping mouth) and the police show up to investigate and subsequently keep watch. Spotting an opportunity for some media attention the director decides to rename the killer in his play after the lunatic who’s responsible for the real-life murder, and persuading his actors that it will be beneficial to their career he gets one of the girls to lock the door and hide the key. Of course the killer hasn’t disappeared but rather hidden himself inside the place and the only person who knows where the key is quickly becomes the second victim: now they’re all trapped in there and the killer has free pickings of the bunch while a rain storm rages on outside.

The premise itself is exciting - a group of people locked in an inescapable building with a stealthy and insane murderer, and it’s largely on that that the success of the film rests. The opening of the film made up my main memory from the video days and it’s surely one of the corniest openings in cinema history and not a good advertisement for what’s to come or what Soavi is really capable of. Having been cut in the UK (by the original distributor I believe) the film in its uncensored form is also much more violent than I was previously aware of, some of the attacks almost inducing a wince in more mature viewers. The movie doesn’t follow all of the conventions of giallo but there’s enough there to consider classifying the film as such, although we don’t delve too much into the history of the killer or why his mind is so irreversibly twisted, the explanation of which usually comprises a giallo’s final act. It might be more accurate to describe the result as a slasher movie, though the two sub-genres have always been close cousins in reality anyway - one a more psychodynamic, stylistic precursor to the other. Soavi does go unnecessarily overboard during the film’s final ten minutes or so, including a pretty silly final shot, otherwise aside from that and the embarrassing opening there’s a lot of material here that would highlight Soavi as the new talent to watch in Italian splatter at the time. He later compounded this auspicious promise with The Church, The Sect, and Dellamorte Dellamore, but would subsequently all but recede from the eyes of the fans. Utilising his acting abilities briefly, he also makes an appearance as one of the police officers in Stagefright; Soavi was a recognisable face in Italian genre movies. The score itself really picks up the pace of some of the chase sequences, however Demons fans might notice a remarkable similarity to the second instalment of Lamberto’s franchise - that’s because composer Simon Boswell was the primary driving force behind both soundtracks. The Stagefright score is not a direct rip-off from Demons 2 but the style is unmistakably the work of the same man. Boswell has since proved himself to be a highly prolific and talented artist, later enhancing many films through his music compositions, for example Shallow Grave and Dust Devil. John Morghen fans will be pleased to know he appears in Stagefright as an amusing stereotype gay - plus he’s brutally murdered yet again, as in just about any of his genre appearances - City of the Living Dead’s drill through the brain anyone? For a thrill trip through homicidal violence and cat/mouse chase sequences this film should provide a good evening’s worth of mayhem.

In the UK the first home video release came from Avatar and was superseded ten years or so afterwards by an uncut tape from Redemption. I believe Vipco may have got their dirty hands on distribution rights some time later too. Released on DVD by Anchor Bay in the US several years ago this Blue Underground is basically a direct port of the disc, offering a very average picture that lacks real depth and detail. Colours are a little wayward and overall the presentation could and should have been improved for this (admittedly cheap) re-release, so I’m a little disappointed by BU’s laziness. The Dolby EX track has some bite but keeps most of the activity down the front - there’s less to complain about here than with the image although I‘d really like to hear an Italian language track at some point, if possible. There was an EC disc (presented open-matte with a theatrical matte viewing option available) released just prior to the first AB outing - it’s probably very difficult to get a hold of nowadays anyway so the BU is currently the easiest disc to get hold of.