A Disappointing Guy Pearce Trio

 

A Disappointing Guy Pearce Trio

by Kristin Battestella

I was saving these ho-hum reviews for other science fiction or action lists – spreading out my Guy Pearce career re-watch as needed. However, it's not really my Mike from Neighbors bias showing if the movies are kind of...not good, right?

Brand New World – I remember seeing this 1998 decidedly British parable also known as Woundings on television a long, long time ago. Though interesting, it seemed edited or that I missed something because nothing made sense. Without subtitles, the thick accents and mumbling dialogue contribute to the confusion despite talent such as Guy Pearce (Lockout), Johnathon Schaech (That Thing You Do!), Charlie Creed-Miles (Essex Boys), and Ray Winstone (Beowulf). At its simplest, this is women entertaining traumatized troops tired of the saucy sheep jokes and on to new fishy mermaid quips. Crappy commercials promise romance and adventure for these “Roses of England” leaving shabby Manchester behind, but the bawdy soldiers get right to the manhandling along the lovely Isle of Man coast. Winking pop music and colorful hooker stylings seem more eighties than the supposed futuristic amid juvenile dances, balloons, and now tame raunchy. Local girls the men supposedly love are beaten and threatened before being replaced by the Englishwomen, for oppressors who apparently saved the day haven't left now that the war is finished. The women observe the soldiers' delicate mine defusing work in tense scenes, but battle action flashbacks are treated as music montage heady brought on by the awkward sex. Of course, the women are blamed for the men's problems and apparently driven to lesbianism thanks to a William-esque regent who greets all newlyweds just to make out with the bride. The extreme training versus returning to society statements are lost in the trying to be edgy, pointless, nonsensical scenes that seem intentionally weird – undercutting the straightforward filming and compromising dramatic momentum. Whether these were already crazy, outlier misfits to start or subsequent shell shock extremes is never answered, and it takes an hour for the heavy to hit home. Fortunately, it is bemusing to see weakling Pearce groveling under Winstone's demented colonel. I love Pearce's dedication to mucking up his teeth for a character, and he takes Sarah-Jane Potts (Kinky Boots) to the cemetery. That's my kind of date! Well lit eeriness accents fine revenge, body bags, and limbs on the battlefield while distorted camera angles mirror the oppressive with large background figures looming over the small people at the forefront. A man holding a toy purple gun at a woman foreshadows the sexual implications as well as the one on one cliff side confrontations – for one way or another, the cowardly soldier will prove his manhood. Despite a great cast, lovely locales, and potential social commentary; the overlong, low budget incomprehensible never puts the pieces all together. I almost wish the same cast would remake this right.

Domino – Nikolaj Coster-Waldau (Jamie Lannister), Carice van Houten (Melisandre), and Guy Pearce (Melisandre's non-Shadow Baby Daddy) star in director Brian De Palma's (Scarface) 2019 international thriller opening with Copenhagen style, buddy cops, and saucy night shifts. Rustic locales, staircases, and classy colors contrast the night time shadows, seedy, and edgy before seemingly simple domestic calls lead to elevators and bloody revelations. Foreground and background splices show both slights of hand, but surprising police mistakes hurt the gory victims, rooftop chases, perilous falls, and shadowy men in suits. Split screens parallel the gentile upstairs of the CIA safe house and its captivity below with intimidating video interrogations and threatening kids, but the overbearing score draws attention to itself. Fade in intercuts on scenes that are so thematically different make the film seem unfinished with hasty, disjointed pacing and tough to follow terrorist attacks that aren't fully explained. Why are we firing on people at a film premiere like a first person shooter video game? Personal violence, bone cracking, inner turmoil, and revenge are better brutal, yet we repeatedly leave potential triangles, quiet moments, mirrors, and unique angles for an attempted mainstream terrorism thriller chopping off people's heads. Between police investigations, belying suspect encounters, unnecessary bad guys, and explosive CIA puzzles, there are just too many stories at once. The primary character relationships should be enough with suspensions, affairs, and conflict at the top; but with international scene changes, fast continental travel, and Copenhagen police so far out of their jurisdiction in Spain, there's little time for dramatic conversations and truth amid the espionage. Critical character moments are stupidly revealed via scrolling through their smartphone photos, and wise audiences can spot the foreshadowing in the first ten minutes. Convenient clues are given to the characters in the last half hour, compromising the intrigue as artistic locations give way to silly drones and cliché bullfights. Binocular views, silent chases, and decoys are nice touches, but the suspense is inexplicably detached rather than Hitchcockian man alone. Are we supposed to care or be afraid and for whom? Spectators don't notice vendors shooting people at an event? Our in over their heads cops never inform authorities and it's a kick in the groin that saves the day? With six minutes of credits, this is a busy eighty-two minutes when we should have simply stayed with our initial police as they unravel the CIA revelations in the finale. Strange music cues more heroic than in danger acerbate the falling apart motivation and confusing messages. It's more important to arrest a man for a stabbing in Denmark than let him do his necessary CIA dirty work? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Seeking Justice – Nicolas Cage (National Treasure) and January Jones (X-Men: First Class) join Guy Pearce in this ham-fisted 2011 revenge thriller that starts with rape and descends into more awkwardness as it strays from the original justice. Nonsensical, overly contrived machinations trap innocent people into doing a secret vigilante group's dirty work when the elusive organization obviously has the means to do everything themselves. Threatening to murder the victimized, chasing people into traffic, framing an investigative reporter – how is this justice? Cops in on the “hungry rabbit jumps” passwords wink at the entire mob-like effort: if they do something for you, you have to do something for them via the right candy bar from the vending machine, buying a pack of gum, or mailing letters to Santa at the zoo. Such convoluted Rube Goldbergs at the hot dog stand aren't amusing for the audience, and any commentary about ineffectual legalese, bad law enforcement, the secret wealthy, or who you know being able to take vengeance into their own hands gets lost in the inexplicable. Phones, disc evidence, convenient car technology, computer ease, and newspaper snooping are very dated on top of obvious storage sheds, copies of copies, and preposterous incriminating footage. Supposedly elaborate Simon Says voiceovers become a chore to watch amid loud Monster Trucks shows, roundabout shootouts, and abandoned malls complete with mannequin decoys. District school teacher Cage is out of breath and not up to the action with Jones' local cellist – a very unrealistic and unbelievable couple living well beyond their means in a swanky New Orleans loft. Flashes of the attack and the injured woman in the hospital are more about his anger than her assault. Rather than her target practice or experiencing her recovery, we follow how his life is turned upside down by saying no to this vigilante organization. If he had been assaulted and couldn't deal with it while this group further terrorizes him with the repercussions, that would have been compelling. Instead, one wonders if the men should have reversed roles, for Cage hamming it up as a maniacal baddie enjoying the pursuit could have been interesting. Pearce is an intriguing, suave, commanding thug, but he'd be much more believable as the caught up every man evenly matched with Jones. By time we're down to the man alone on the run and the sacrificial Black best friend, there's no reason to stick around unless you are fans of the cast. I can't lie though, when Guy Pearce jokes about tax evasion to Nicolas Cage, I guffawed.

Have I see each of these movies more than they deserve? Yes. 🤣

Dorothy Mills (2008)

 

Dorothy Mills is an Intriguing Genre Bender

by Kristin Battestella

Continental psychiatrist Jane Morton (Carice van Houten) travels to a tiny Irish island to evaluate Dorothy Mills (Jenn Murray), a young babysitter accused of attacking her infant charge in the 2008 international thriller Dorothy Mills written and directed by Agnes Merlet (Hideaways). Suspicious town history and backward thinking about the supernatural impedes Jane's attempts to unravel Dorothy's psychosis – leading to manifestations, violence, and revenge.

Turbulent coastal waters and foggy Irish cliffs open Dorothy Mills before scripture, crying babies, and creepy kids. The rural community and country church contrast the mainland institutions, psychiatry cases, and scientific evaluations as the old school atmosphere is set without the typical horror in your face prologue. Newspaper clippings of our attempted babysitter killer lead to a stormy ferry, water perils, winding roads, accidents, and all hands rescues. The local townsfolk are kind to the stylish outsider but gawk at her and balk at her mental sciences, distrustful of calling outside authorities to handle their business. Accounts of the night in question move fast with evil voices and hysterics – the parents of the victim fear Dorothy is insane and will abuse again. The minister recommended Dorothy as the sitter, for he's also the one room school teacher and the town doctor with outdated medical equipment and prescriptions for simple healthy living as the cure for everything. Supposedly devout men stare, drink, goad the youths, and object to our doctor's investigative approach. Her house to house interviews, therapy sessions, and tranquilizers jar with their bonfires, masks, slaughtered sheep, and homemade exorcisms. Even the relatively friendly, seemingly progressive sheriff tells Jane to leave before it's too late, but the ferry won't be there for another three days. Nosebleeds, flickering lights, dog perils, and hypnosis mix the supernatural and the psychology without resorting to today's big paranormal to dos. Is this multiple personalities? Ghosts? Possession? When the community blames and shames Dorothy, trying to cure mental illness with religion and backward fears, whom can you trust? Cliffside perils and taunting manifestations escalate to chilling visions of the drowned and deceased. Ghosts and flashbacks merge amid revelations and hypocrisy as the town fears more authorities and journalists coming to ruin their island. Can Jane and Dorothy leave the island for proper treatment? Rather than pulling the rug out from under the audience, this multi layered mystery balances the consequences, evidence, and payback as Dorothy Mills brings the threats home.

Early English roles as brief love interests don't do Carice van Houten (Black Death > Game of Thrones) justice, but Doctor Jane Morton has history. She's continental and suave, low cut compared to the drab, bundled up locals, but hints that Jane isn't so put together come via pictures of her late son and the booties dangling from the rear view mirror. Upon totaling her car fresh off the ferry, Jane sees and hears what others do not, however her grief remains touching rather than unreliable – until visions of her dead toddler mount. Instead of boom shocks and jump crescendos, these creepy, dreamy moments are sad, focusing on the pale distraught and tears. She hates the bland local foods and renting a primitive truck to get around the village, yet Jane continues to investigate while the snickering townsfolk object to her methods. There are a few whispering town asides to fill in the past, but Dorothy Mills is best when it stays in this outsider point of view. Old ladies upstairs and bygone crimes mount, but everyone insists Jane's ominous discoveries can't be, dismissing her as strained and exhausted as her appearance becomes increasingly frazzled. Our doctor is desperate to source Dorothy's psychosis – to Jane, Dorothy is the victim in need of treatment, a girl with Village of the Damned white braids and a room full of drawings, dolls, and toys. In her debut Jenn Murray (Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them) is dowdy as Dorothy, looking younger already before skipping, changing her voice, and claiming to be a three year old named Mimi. No one listens to Dorothy but Jane, who promises to believe her without judgment and assess what's best. Dorothy's father is unknown, and this faith first community has always treated her as “special” instead of considering a true mental illness. Dorothy screams at the other reflections in the mirror before becoming an older, promiscuous teen rebel who tells of more personas that won't let Dorothy out because she tries to harm herself and them. Our unlikely pair must find which identity harmed the baby and why, but a dominant male named Duncan takes charge. Does Dorothy have psychic gifts that are a curse rather than a blessing? Her emotional connections to the deceased don't explain the paranormal phenomenon or the manifesting personalities. Dorothy Mills explores the trauma of the dead and resolves the root cause through our ladies and their relationship.

Thanks to the aughts production and rural locales, when exactly Dorothy Mills takes place is fittingly unclear. Mainland cell phones and big computers disappear in favor of downed phone lines, tape recorders, and no repairs on Sunday. People have to duck the low ceilings in old fashioned, cramped, and cluttered rooms amid mirrors, family photos, and lacking amenities. Cigarettes accent nerves, eerie distortions, zooms, and warped camera angles reflecting the mix of supernatural and psychosis. Surprising gunshots and splatter build chills rather than awe with gore, yet Dorothy Mills is unfortunately obscure. I still have a Netflix disc queue for such rarities, yes, but the long awaited disc was scratched, jumped, and skipped a few minutes several times. Recently, I've also seen several other early 2000s pictures that have been tough to find due to their fellow shitweinsteinpig labels – unfairly cut, unreleased, or buried. Dorothy Mills is an intriguing story, a well played drama that can't be pigeonholed with typical, erroneous Hollywood horror marketing. While this can play as horror at times, it is not meant to be scary. There are no whoosh across the room hysterics or sexual sensationalism and tawdry visuals drawn out in unnecessary episodes. To wise viewers, the cause is typical, apparent from the very beginning with obvious fatal twists and plenty of foreshadowing and watery metaphors. Fortunately, the personal investigations and tragic performances carry Dorothy Mills' mystery, pulling out a surprise or two thanks to the well done characterizations. Rather than a catch all of excuses throwing every horror trope at the screen to undermine the viewer, this is a fine balance of multiple paranormal ideas and real world trauma.

The "I"s of Horror

 

The “I”s of Horror 👀

by Kristin Battestella

Beware! These intriguing horror stories almost have it all, but some throwback allegory chills are better than the island isolation and exorcism could have beens.

It's Excellent!

In Fabric – Marianne Jean-Baptiste (Without A Trace) leads writer and director Peter Strickland's (Berberian Sound Studio) 2018 British throwback getting right to the edgy score, seventies style, and cursed red dress peppered with red nails, black panties, vintage fashion, and old school unease. Personal ads aren't exactly the truth amid forced smiles at the bank and that hypnotic, sale sale sale advertising allure. Our somewhat frumpy divorcee is jealous of her son's saucy, intrusive, French speaking femme fatale girlfriend, and the creepy sales girl insists a date is purely about the temptation of a sensational, risque garment worn to provoke pleasure. Dumbwaiters and grand old fashioned department store spooky accent the retro technology as cold answering machines relay character information and money tubes or vintage buzzers invoke off kilter startles while time is distorted when browsing the fashion catalogs. The previous model of our dress – colored “artery” – came to tragedy and the tight frock leaves rashes before sending the washer crazy with damage, cuts, and blood. There's an intimacy to doing someone's laundry, and the mannequins are cleaned in a ritual, sexual fashion that's bizarre without actually showing anything nasty thanks to overlay montages and through the lens double vision. Bald heads and pubic hair are both seemingly unattractive and misleading reflections, store windows, and bank partitions create physical barriers, yet our projection of self changes when we know it's for the gaze, voyeurism, and getting off on the standards of beauty. Instead of wowing the audience with special effects, there's a “what we think we see” in the vaginal imagery, red sheets, and cult euphoria of the staff rousing the end of the year holiday crowd waiting to enter the store. They are so bereft when a shopper says she is over the retail ecstasy! Customers ignore the increasing, freak mishaps because we're buying into the couture, but the red dress moves on for stag drag gags complete with pacifiers and peer pressure disguised as good-natured humor. Prior events in the newspaper and the perpetually perfect Size 36 dress fitting every body type are dismissed as are the potential banking and department store connections. Handyman temptations and awkward sex at home lead to winks about how even the nerdy man can be manly because he can fix her washer. This henpecked man named Speaks holds his tongue as his intimidating boss eats Speaks' employee card – adding male subtext and consuming symbolism alongside stockings, penis shaped gourds, and latent bankers offering to role play in Tudor costumes. Nightmare nurses, nasty babies, marred faces, and skeletal thinness are recounted by the dreamer, foreshadowing for themselves rather than a flashy, meaningless visual for the viewer. Supposedly decent ladies spit, loot, and fight at the register before fires, alarms, melting facades, and bleeding mannequins laugh at the all consuming commercial machine we're dying to be a part of before another takes our place. It's pleasing to see a past telling in order rather than intercut flashbacks as if the dress connection was a big secret, but it's not quite fair to call this realistically bitter satire a comedy, for there are many layers and connections worth multiple viewings. Some may be upset at the the lack of explanations, but the social media horror seeping into our blood allegory speaks for itself.

Almost Has It...

The Isle – Siren warnings, echoing vocals, and watery perils begat three shipwrecked merchant sailors and uncharted edge of the world Scottish isolation in this 2019 parable. Rather than some spectacle disaster, we meet our 1846 survivors lost in a row boat, arguing about the run aground decisions, fog, chaos, and screams. The titular inhabitants are hospitable when the men come ashore, but the women are hushed behind closed doors and information about the dwindling community is not forthcoming. Celtic music cues, windswept scenery, stone fireplaces, wooden wreckage, kettles, and lanterns accent the well done rural as the residents insist our restless sailors shouldn't go exploring. Risking a burial at sea in a small local boat leads to dark waters, ominous mist, ghostly ship bells, and echoes of others caught in this island's lure. The whispering winds, moss covered tombstones, and dangerous cliffs work organically in scene, however there are a bit too many lovely for the arty sake of it scene transitions and splitting up to search will obviously, stereotypically not bode well for our Black sailor. More modern constructs like a bathroom scare via the wash stand mirror, spooky flashbacks of famine and rival affections, and abstract dream snippets intrude on the period atmosphere before a totally tame bedroom montage. The siren enchantment is apparent without the opening poems or Greek references, and bizarre distortions aren't for the sailor experiencing the delirium but a calling attention to itself visual for the audience. The score ramps up the tension before the editing cuts away – feigning the something spooky without any actual action far too many times. While one shouldn't expect outright horror here, the contemporary storytelling cliches and lengthy credits pad what should really be a straightforward ninety-two minutes. The survivors don't unravel the mystery for themselves and viewers already know what's what, so going back to the original curse as if it were a surprise drags the more pressing get out of Dodge goal. Again the faults here stem from a small production with a writer/director husband and a co-writer/star wife who needed a second eye. Although melancholy and atmospheric for a late night watch, this potentially unique story and setting deserved another polish.

An Unfortunate Skip.

Incarnate – Aaron Eckhart (Olympus Has Fallen) and Carice Van Houten (Brimstone) star in this PG-13 Blumhouse Exorcist meets Inception thriller opening with neck snapping growls and youthful possessions. After meeting our divorced mother and son in peril, the story resets with night club strobe and a smooth demon hunter who can enter the mind of the possessed and convince them to resist the evil influence. The red lights and maze like escapes, however, lead to medical hook ups, cameras, and a wheelchair bound warrior not so cool in the real world. Bruises on the inside become real injuries as the fantastic science and high tech supernatural mix with old school paperwork and Vatican officials interested in this rare kind of incarnate exorcism. He doesn't work for the church or believe in any religious aspects for what is just a parasitic entity – Ember is a doctor not a priest. These official exorcisms, church cover ups, mind over evil methods, and demon vendettas might have made a neat show, so it's strange that we open with the family encounter first when the doctor's treating a demon like a disease to be evicted from the inside is the main story. The family details are also repeated in a file report with a complete background check. Traditional, off camera exorcisms have failed, and there's a lot of telling and ham-fisted explaining for the audience when mom gasping at the unseen video is a nicer moment for the character and not a viewer wow. The deep voice and whooshing maneuvers make the boy's possession bemusing, and the subsequent tearful car accident man pain feels laid on thick since the audience has already deduced the past angst. Mom has nothing to do but ask questions about frequencies and auras, and leaving to bring in the abusive, drunk dad to help breaks the exorcism tension. The demon resists with illusions its prey desires, but serious strides resort to laughable on the ceiling action and more recollections of what we already know. Expedited timelines crunch the conflict from years of searching right down to ten seconds left on the EEG, but switch-a-roos and detours don't get us anywhere. Mom is told to be strong when of course she must have been but we don't see her perspective until the brief, required bonding between the grieving adults. Any symbolism between Dr. Ember and the demon's name being Ash is unused, and the finale comes easy with carnivals, crosses, and sudden devotions leading to hospital chases, levitation, and sacrificial contortions. Rather than utilizing the tender performances, this over-relies on predictable scares. Viewers understand why this was filmed in 2013 but not released until 2016. Derivative leaps and miraculous contrivance don't make in world sense or explore the provocative possibilities – leaving what should be a touching and soul searching story downright hollow.

Female, Family, and Youth Horrors

 

Female, Family, and Youth Horrors

by Kristin Battestella

These feminine and international horror pieces offer an intriguing genre look at parental relationships, family breakdowns, and youths in peril amid grief, death, cults, and predators.

Blood Moon – Emma Tammi (The Wind) directs this 2021 Hulu/Blumhouse Into the Dark installment opening with snarling, cages, claw marks, and phases of the moon. Our waitress mother must protect her son Luna via unusual hardware purchases, tranquilizers, and remote real estate with a sturdy basement. She does her own sawing and welding amid home schooling, staying up at night, and avoiding the dogs at the bar. Certainly it's obvious what is what here. However the mountain skylines, desert nights, and dusty pick up trucks add western mood while past flirtations contrast the current on the road and always on edge frazzled routine. Although he's a nice kid with video games and bedtime stories, raw meat in the refrigerator catches his eye and it's essential mom has off during the full moon. Her pregnancy announcement was met with unique hereditary details, and now mom regales Luna with endearing stories about his father before the disturbing pains the child must endure. Our former lawyer loved her husband despite his condition, but we don't see any horrific special effects – just knowing they suffer is upsetting enough. Luna needs a bath the next morning and he's not hungry for breakfast, blending the family bonding, real world efforts, and underlying horror alongside racial profiling, fetishism, and predatory against which a single minority mother must prepare. Does this fearful little family risk putting themselves out there with one of the good guys and friendly convenience store connections? A seemingly innocent tooth infection means ducking out of the hospital once blood work is needed, and procuring fresh beef means there's no time to be pulled over by the nasty sheriff. The kid wants to be a kid but mom has rules for a reason, for work shifts and birthday parties on the night of the full moon cut the horror close. Subtle distortions and echoes add atmosphere as the calendar keeps pace – anchoring but not overtaking the characters struggling with lost in the night unknowns, incriminating smells when the meat's not fresh, well meaning but untimely guests, and interfering authorities. Some may be disappointed there are no awe-inspiring panorama fantastics or outright frights. However the camera remains on a helpless mother crying for her son amid growls and gunshots – keeping the instincts, fears, and relationships real. Mom has been forced to make terrible choices before, but one's true nature is nobody's fault in this well done little parable about what lengths a mother goes through for her son, horror and all.

Midsommar – Solemn forests, haunting vocals, no response messages, and disturbing goodbye emails open director Ari Aster's (Hereditary) 2019 US/Swedish co-production starring Florence Pugh (Black Widow). Sobbing and wailing blend with the distorted scoring as smartphones and technology are shrewdly used for negative communication – delivering the worst news and technically leaving our fragile Dani alone amid distant boyfriends, red emergency lights, and body bags. A friend invites everyone back to his isolated Swedish commune for the summer solstice pageant, and she latches on to the trip despite her boyfriend's scholastic goals and PhD research. In camera visuals reflect the couple's dissonance with talking to reflections and who's looming in the foreground or insignificant in the background. Arguments, weak apologies, and semantics on who said what or when acerbate the awkwardness over forgotten birthdays and culture shocks. Unique transitions, doors closing to change scenes, airplane to car window views, and upside down highways create an unnerving topsy turvy. Whispering trees and rippling visuals invoke unease while untranslated Swedish accents the peer pressure, disorienting mushroom tea, and midnight daylight off kilter. Despite rustic trails, quaint buildings, sunburst motifs, and festive music, there's an underlying weirdness to the skin the fool games, bear in a cage, love spells, foretelling tapestries, and white robes. Every shape, number, season, and position has meaning – yellow triangles, table arrangements, funeral pyres, and walking backwards are carefully coordinated. Chanting, processions, lookalikes, and slow motion ceremonies escalate with blood on the rune stones, suicide parallels, and ritual deaths. Violent blows and squishy gore mar the pretty as sacrificial red on white is said to be a joyful custom in the circle of life. Warped sounds and heavy silence set off temple break-ins and mutilation consequences as our appropriately named boyfriend Christian stands out among the dancing contests and flower crowns. Feasts and leafy visions contrast the sex rites and flesh in the garden as seeds are planted with drug trips and paralysis. Spirals, May pole montages, overlays, Dutch angles, and dizzying spins reflect the heady whirlwind, however the erroneous acceptance, disturbing made special, and bad boyfriend analogy could have been done in one hundred minutes or less. With repeated introductions, redundant dream sequences, too many characters, and local lore throwaways here already, I can't imagine what else is left to be said in the even longer director's cut. Although there's not a lot of repeat value in this overlong two and a half hours, perhaps it's worth two watches for the deft foreshadowing, unique touches, ironic exit music, and all consuming, broken cult mentality.

It Splits Itself

Intruders – Stormy Madrid nights and scary bedtime stories start this 2012 Spanish/UK production starring Clive Owen (Children of Men) and Carice van Houten (Black Death) off well before youthful witnessing and frightful figures on the balcony. The shadows are chilling, but the CGI monster is immediately silly, and the terror is erroneously dismissed as a dream fake out before London resets and grandma's countryside quaint. Bright, redundant UK establishing views jar with dark, dated quarters in Spain, and the dual storytelling isn't as meta voyeur as it thinks it is. Fine feline harbingers, gnarly tree hiding places, and ominous notes about Hollowface being woken lead to another storytelling switch as our too old for birthday parties and teddy bears twelve year old recounts the hooded peeping tom creeping at the window. Dad leaves his naked wife to comfort their daughter when she still runs to him over her nightmares, but any Electra opportunities or salacious subtext when she interrupts them is never explored because we're cutting away to placating church rituals and priests suggesting a psychiatrist instead. Devoid faces, creaking, light bulb pops, flashlights under the covers, and messy lipstick add tension, however visuals linking bleak London streets and dangerous Madrid concrete fail because of the disjointed narrative. Scarecrow effigies set on fire in the middle of the suburban night are silly – acerbating the fears our parents are trying to prevent amid useless police and underutilized security cameras. Repeat encounters and lame constructs stall any momentum as the back and forth undercuts the family drama. Our tween fears what she imagines will happen, yet she stops speaking and keeps writing about Hollowface's lair in her room. Doctors suspect this is a shared hallucination but nobody reads what the children have written and the adults are unable or unwilling to piece everything together. While dolly zooms shrewdly reflect the distance and separation from delusion, mirrors and notions on children being the division between parents fall prey to convenient clues. Telling the tale straight from the beginning would have been much better than delaying, teasing, and duping the audience with what we've already deduced. The youthful storytelling and rated R adult themes are unsure who the audience is as unnecessarily hidden information and faulty framework hamper the performances and any potentially provocative implications. Besides, his name is John and our daughter is Mia Farrow? Lolz.

Brimstone

Brimstone a Disturbing yet Must See Parable

by Kristin Battestella

I want to write a entire opus on the 2017 European co-production Brimstone, starring Guy Pearce as a hellbent minister and Dakota Fanning as Liz, the mute midwife afraid of him. The layered statements from writer and director Martin Koolhoven (Schnitzel Paradise) are heavy handed and uncomfortable – many may find Brimstone at best over long at two and a half hours plus and at worst, the picture will be trigger inducing to sensitive audiences. However, with those caveats said, I don't really want to summarize much else nor especially spoil this western thriller, as it is best to go into this must see genre bending parable cold.

The bleak narration and biblically steeped onscreen chapter titles hit home the seasoned frontier, rough childbirth, and rustic farms. The white church and cross atop the steeple stand out as a sense of order amid the natural wilds, and sermons warn of false prophets, wolves among the sheep, and hellish retributions worse than one can imagine for those who stray into lawlessness. Breach births mean choosing between the mother or the child, creating an ostracizing, easy to manipulate divide. Is such a delivery up to God or the midwife's fault? Whispers of evil doing can quickly sway a community to fear and violence. Fiery calls for retribution and paying for one's sins add to the fear and grief of an unbaptized stillborn not finding salvation. Reverse persecution is disguised as divine, and the wolf in sheep's clothing is almost the devil himself indeed. Why be afraid of a reverend and not welcome him into your home? The foul afoot need not be said, and Brimstone doesn't underestimate the audience, letting the drama play out with gruesome animal paybacks, abductions, and torturous injuries. The simmering suspiciousness allows the audience a sense of stillness, time to focus on the characters while the iconography builds suspense. The man in black before the burning building or dragging a girl in white through the mud and calling her unclean are allowed to speak for themselves. Brimstone uses a western setting of creepy brothels, servitude, and no justice for working women to tell a medieval morality play – an already damned purgatory epic a la Justine's virtues made vice with shootouts, dead horses, and all the abuses we can infer. Brimstone's pursuits may be taking place in an abstract limbo, beyond time and space with different girls who are one and the same, perpetually chased by the same terror with precious few other devil or angel on the shoulder characters. The out of order segments change the settings as they advance the tale, behaving more like acts themselves where the audience is at first unsure if this is what happened before or what comes next. Brimstone keeps viewers interested enough to see how the vignettes tie together; we trust the unique constructs are part of the juxtaposition highlighting how the code of the brothel and the rules of the fanatical minister aren't very different and both inescapables can even be one and the same. Obey the nastiness of the patriarchal for body and soul or you are guilty and will be punished. Whatever the origin of her sinful behavior, a girl should be ashamed – it's her fault that menstruation makes her Little Red Riding Hood fair game. Once there is blood there is no innocence, and the vicious cycle continues with twisted irony, fateful orchestrations, and sins that cannot be out run. We'd like to think this was just how it was ye olde back then, but not much has changed has it?

Many actors today simply would not take such a role, but Guy Pearce puts on an incredible presentation in Brimstone as this extremely unlikable manipulator. Our foreboding minister justifies his grooming righteousness with warped scripture, remaining nameless beyond his title or fatherly names – respected monikers advantageously misused along with creepy chapter and verse and touchy feely, uncomfortable familiarity. He knows when Liz is hiding near him and taunts her on how she as such a terrible murderess can sleep at night. This minister has come to punish her and will use her husband and daughter to do it. He immediately expresses a shuddering attachment to her little girl, and after initially claiming his actions are of God, this minister festers into an unstoppable, almost immortal embodiment of the sins made flesh carrying him. Hellbent and beyond salvation, this Big Bad Wolf howls and embraces his brutal scourge. I'm not often disappointed in Pearce's work despite learning early on thanks to superior quality like The Adventures of Priscilla Queen of the Desert, L.A. Confidential, and Memento (For shame on those who discovered Memento and Christopher Nolan so late, and why is Snowy River: The McGregor Saga still not properly available in the U.S.?) However, this may be his darkest, finest performance, and it's surprising no awards followed. Likewise, Dakota Fanning (The Secret Life of Bees) looks the pioneer part. She's kind in an unforgiving landscape, mute and disliking guns, but strong and we immediately root for her survival at every struggle, be it a neighbor's cold shoulder or a freezing last stand. There's never a doubt that she's in the right, doing what she has to do – her lack of a heard voice lets her actions speak louder than words. Emilia Jones (Utopia) as the younger Joanna is also a spirited girl who learns of her own strengths the hard way. Despite all the abuse and persecution in Brimstone, these ladies are not victims. The Minister believes a woman can't out run what a man has in mind for her and she will pay the price for her resistance, but Joanna flees to the frontier for her freedom. She continues to out run evil in all its disguises whether it is a losing battle or not, and Liz repeatedly take matters into her own hands, refusing to surrender regardless of all that's taken from her.

The ensemble behind the leads in Brimstone really are a supporting cast helping or hindering, well-intentioned or misused, stepping stones and catalysts. Carice van Houten's sorrowful mother and helpless wife Anna is completely relatable. The audience wants to protect her from her husband or see her stand up and do something for Joanna, but her weakling mother who can't do anything contrasts the strong woman alone daughter we see later. This minister's wife won't do her wifely duty, thus she needs to be gagged in an iron mask for not holding her tongue and whipped until she can gain the Lord's favor. Hers is a pathetic existence, and this bittersweet role is the complete opposite of van Houten's Game of Thrones ruthless. Fellow Thrones star Kit Harrington is also featured in Brimstone for Chapter Three – perhaps mostly for the financing incentives and audience appeal after several casting changes – for his accent is terrible and he looks a little too pretty boy modern rather than gritty cowboy. Although we don't doubt his anti-hero outlaw's earnest or sincerity toward Joanna, his masculine intrusion is the first of many would be hopeful sparks used against her. Fortunately, Carla Juri (Wetlands, but more importantly, the gal plays ice hockey!) is a fun and feisty prostitute when it comes to the disagreeable male clientele. She's tender with Joanna, and they plan to leave together as mail order brides after one too many pimp abuses. Viewers hope for their escape from the cathouse – even if we know better. The leaning toward lez be friends because of male hatred innuendo and sacrificial BFF turns may be slightly cliché, but the ladies are likable and charming with turnabout twists right up to the end.

Brimstone is visually aware of its bleak tale, contrasting the gunfire, outhouses, hangings, and blood on snow with birds chirping, hymns, and sunshine. Fine cinematography accents the international locations with overhead angles and camerawork that knows when to move but also how to be still and let the action happen. The sign language, costuming, horses, and wagons add authenticity, and the color schemes don't feel digital or over saturated. The natural outdoor palette and interior patinas reflect the chapters being told – a rustic harvest autumn, the hot summer and barren saloons, the budding fertile spring of a New World congregation, and a frigid, snowy twilight with cleansing water bookends. Ironically, Brimstone was shot in relative chronological order with Three first, then Two, and later chapters One and Four, and the impressive looking blu-ray release includes lengthy behind the scenes interviews and detailed sit downs with numerous cast and crew members. Brimstone is recognizable as a western yet when and where it takes place isn't definitive. There's no cowboys in white hats or other familiar archetypes, only a desolate mood and lawless atmosphere that don't shy away from the period brutality. While not horror per se, Brimstone has many horrific scenes to match its warped attitudes, telling its difficult to watch tale in its own time with no genre limit to stop it from going too far – a refreshing lack of cinema restraint which again, for many audiences, will cross the line. Brimstone is difficult to watch, yet there's little vulgarity, no unnecessary visuals, and no major nudity. Corsets and pantaloons invoke enough saucy, leaving the story and characters to tell the numbing brutality instead of today's desensitizing flash in the pan in your face style. However, I must say I don't think I've ever seen that kind of... um... creative... use of intestines in a movie, ever.

So many Hollywood movies go through the motions, and Brimstone's negative stateside reviews may be because American audiences aren't accustomed to this kind of hardcore storytelling. Period piece horror dramas transcending genre like Brimstone such as Bone Tomahawk and The Witch are being made, however their statement making frights inexplicably remain elusive festival finds outside mainstream release. Spoilers aside, I didn't cover all the details here simply because I didn't take many review notes. I was too busy paying attention to the not for the faint of heart as Brimstone strips the viewer mentally and emotionally with its offensive no holds barred. Maybe rather than shying away from the viewing conversation, we should be embracing a quality motion picture that wouldn't be any good if it didn't push us to our limits as Brimstone does.

Black Death

Black Death Catchy and Good

By Kristin Battestella

It took me awhile to watch the 2010 historical horror thriller Black Death after it finally arrived from Netflix.  Well, golly gee, I shouldn’t have waited!

English monk Osmond (Eddie Redmayne) watches the Plague come to his monastery’s doorstep and wonders if he can serve God just as well on the outside with his ladylove Averill (Kimberley Nixon).  When zealous knight Ulric (Sean Bean) comes to the monastery on a quest from the Bishop, Osmond takes the opportunity as a sign from God and leaves the Abbott (David Warner). Osmond volunteers to lead Ulric and his men on their mission to a village beyond the marsh.  The village, lead by Langiva (Carice van Houten) and Hob (Tim McInnerny) is strangely untouched by the Black Death.  Though Ulric insists something foul or unnatural must be at work, young Osmond is not so sure and comes to question his faith, life, death, and God.

Party like its 1348! Director Christopher Smith (Creep, Severance, Triangle) and writer Dario Poloni (Wilderness) get right to it with a non-intrusive opening narration, fear of the plague, and bodies lining the street.  The audience remains knee deep in the Dark Ages via emotional characters, lofty concepts, and deadly circumstances.  Devout and superstitious ideologies of the time regarding if plaques and pestilences are punishment from God or demonic doings are firmly and intelligently established in what we too simply label as just a little horror film.  Although Black Death is indeed styled like a scary quest film; a road trip movie with a rag tag group of warriors traveling far, duking it out, and dying in creative ways just to destroy the bad guys.  There’s a bit of humor, too- blaming the plague on the French or going out with some anachronistic defiance and curses.  Actually, the camaraderie among our not so merry band reminds me of Neil Marshall’s Centurion. And of course, some of Black Death’s themes can seem like a repeat now thanks to the similar but much maligned Season of the Witch (It’s 6% Rotten, that’s all I’m saying about that Nicholas Cage drivel!) Yes, Ulric and his boys run around and swordfight a lot. However, there’s a dang good story with spiritual depth, fine action and cinematography, and a stylishly spooky setting. What’s not to like? Black Death has some sweet battle fare and some nice shocks and scares. The intriguing spin here is more than the usual burn at the stake fair, which we don’t see all that much anymore anyway. The dialogue is delivered rhythmically and seriously despite talk of demons and necromancers being responsible for the plague.  Performance and plot are not at the mercy of the gore, which is the easy norm and quick routine horror trend today. 

 

Well, Sean Bean looks a little Boromir here thanks to our imprinted image of him from Lord of the Rings, sure, and his new stateside success with Game of Thrones certainly contributes. But he’s so dang good at riding in to save the day!  Ulric has a job to do and believes God is on his side, and he will do anything to get it done.  He tells someone to move out of his way, he moves.  Ulric is a great, godly menace, righteous yet unflinching in his gruesome ways.  He doesn’t think twice about a mercy killing or ordering the deaths of the ill that jeopardize his mission. Ulric also doesn’t reveal the details of the task at hand until absolutely necessary.  Why does he automatically think everything is evil or at the very least, the worst, first? On Ulric’s suspicion alone we think foul things are afoot at the Circle K- and it effing works.  But then… well, I can’t give it all away.  Suffice to say, I was gasping at the television and covering my mouth, shocked, I tell you, shocked!

Despite Bean’s top billing and prominence on the artwork, Eddie Redmayne’s (The Pillars of the Earth, The Other Boleyn Girl) monk Osmond is the character with which the audience identifies most. His relationship with Kimberley Nixon (Cherrybomb) is believable, yet Osmond also wants to faithfully serve God in any way possible. Redmayne is a pleasant antithesis to Bean- in both stature and philosophy.  However, how different are Osmond and Ulric really? Can each be both warrior and priest?  Can Ulric be an action man of God laying down his sword for his beliefs? Can Osmond take up violence to save what he believes in?  After all, isn’t killing in the name of the Lord still just killing? Is Ulric- believing himself to be sent by God- more religious than Osmond- who started the journey for his own desires? Is it better to hide away in a church and pray or be in the cruel world slaying evil?  This is not a religious movie per se, but the questions raised by both men’s ways add an emotional and intelligent dimension to Black Death.  

It may take half the movie to meet the supposed necromancer Langiva, but the budding build and fine mystery set off Carice van Houten’s (Valkyrie, Repo Men) eerie performance.  Why yes, what is so wrong with a monk loving a woman?  Maybe God’s divine love isn’t enough for a man after all.  Maybe the plague is punishment from God, not an evil curse like the ruling Christians say. But that is just like the trickery of a witchy woman, isn’t it? Are not these temptations exactly what the too good to be true promises of the devil offer? Do we really merely need miracles or someone in which to believe? Who is on the right side in Black Death?  Houten encapsulates all this juiciness perfectly.  Likewise, Tim McInnerny (Blackadder) is creepy as Langriva’s would be partner in crime, Hob. John Lynch (In the Name of the Father) also stands out as Wolfstan, the voice of reason among Ulric’s troupe. However, Andy Nyman (Death at a Funeral) as Dalywag, Dutch thespian Tygo Gernandt as Ivo, and Johnny Harris (Whitechapel) as Mold are not only stuck with some really weird names; but they are cut from a little too much of the same cloth. It’s the polite way of saying they are all the same and serve the usual purposes of good swordplay or dramatic death.  Does it hamper the film? Not at all- although I would have liked more from David Warner (Doctor Who, Hornblower) as the cranky Abbott instead.

 

Fortunately, Black Death’s design is almost a player unto itself.  The scoring is on form- properly action, but also old school with Latin chants. The music and sound effects know when to be silent just as much as they put the exclamation on the big moments. Though the photography is a little dark in some spots, the video style works as if we the viewers are reporters riding along with the recording equipment.  Black Death has a dirty realism- this is not the good old Knights of the Round Table shiny and spectacle fifties flair.  The robes, chain mail, cool medieval kirtles and gowns, sweet churches and monastery design go a long way in creating both the lovely medieval we expect and the poor desperation of the time.  Langiva is also wonderfully styled in rich red in a picture with an otherwise natural and devoid palette. The German locations- from mountains and forestry to snowscapes- look stunning. Despite its deadly subject matter, Black Death is a beautiful film. It’s both aesthetically pleasing to modern audiences who expect stylized visuals and realistically accurate enough for historical fans. 

Of course, there are the obligatory and ridiculous previews on the blu-ray rental copy; but due to some of the darker photography and stunning locations, I can’t imagine seeing this on DVD.   Naturally, subtitles are needed for all the wacky names and soft religious debates, too.  There are also plenty of features on the blu-ray set, including deleted scenes, cast interviews, making of shorts, and behind the scenes treats. The cut scenes aren’t even the kind that are bad and deleted for a reason.  They lengthen the journey and provide more detail about the beliefs and actions of our crack medieval team. At less than 5 minutes, I don’t know why they were excised from the film.  It’s also nice to hear the film was shot chronologically to up the tension as they went along.  You would think more films would do this and not go out of order- folks acting on meeting each other after they’ve already died and all that- but I digress.

Naturally, this is not a film for kids thanks to the violence, torture, blood, and subject matter.  Actually, big surprise, Black Death is kind of a morbid movie, even a little depressing. Slice and dice heavy horror fans might not like the seriousness and debates here.  However, old school audiences longing for more truth, realism, and intelligence in their scares can find what they are looking for with Black Death.  In some ways, I don’t even want to call this a horror film.  This is a thrilling drama with horrific events, yes, but it has equal amounts of both- enough to appease even none horror or historical and mildly gothic fans.  Please please please do not let any bitter tastes left from Season of the Witch put you off here.  Once again, American theatrical audiences were instead given that p.o.s. when we could have gotten a little Black Death instead.  Catch it ASAP.

(On a side note, I wonder what would happen if one watched Black Death and Centurion together with picture in picture? It would almost be like having Sean Bean and Michael Fassbender in one movie!  Good God.)