More Jonathan Rhys Meyers Horror

 

More Jonathan Rhys Meyers Horror

by Kristin Battestella

Let's have a birthday supper with two more genre bending pictures featuring Jonathan Rhys Meyers! Unfortunately, the horrors here do a disservice to the stars – to say the least.

A Mixed Bag

6 Souls – This international production originally titled Shelter starring doctor Julianne Moore (The End of the Affair) and patient Jonathan Rhys Meyers (The Tudors) was originally released in 2010 before this 2013 US re-branding, which already doesn't bode well. After a tense hearing explaining multiple personality disorder as a fake fad defense, our psychologist Cara is on a new case at the behest of her colleague father. The wheelchair bound Johnny with a southern accent answers her questions before scratching, growling, color blind changes, and no wheelchair required inexplicable. Tearful recountings, creepy sores, and vomitings increase, but the x-rays look like two different people and the high school history doesn't gel. Occult symbols, ritual murder, Appalachia magic, and religious undercurrents are apparent early, yet Cara continues to pursue the psychological. Spooky flashes and dream scares break her point of view, and backstory of her husband's murder on Christmas feels forced amid the cool babysitter uncle banter. All the family elements seem unnecessary; doctor dad keeps pushing Cara to prove her motivation and it would be better if she was alone. The psychology interrogations are a tense who is who with angry alters and who's going to blink first chilling. Unfortunately, the medical treatment is fast and loose, and local superstitions, iron nails to ward off evil, and who does or doesn't wear a cross don't get enough attention. JRM's personality changes are well done amid gory discoveries and satanic possibilities, and thankfully we mostly hear rather than see the bone cracking transformations. The one on one scenes are best, yet they don't get us any closer to the root source and Doctor Cara actually doesn't seem very good at her job? Her daughter is a plot device to advance the science versus god when our supposedly religious doctor spends too much time on a medical solution when it's clear to the frustrated audience she is totally missing the demonic at work. We wonder why the authorities weren't involved sooner because she continually oversteps her medical bounds and makes the situation worse. Religious mothers and granny witches take too long to get to the backwoods backstory, with intercut rituals and over the phone info dumps making Cara look stupid alongside one step behind detectives and repeated road trips. The freaky is good when it happens, but so much time is wasted on cryptic ominous that it makes viewers question if there is another version of this left on the cutting room floor. Sepia toned back and forth faith versus faithless cures or curses are confusing with technological audio and visual ease advancing revelations when the characters should be experiencing the consequences directly. It's foolish that critical horror action happens while our doctor merely listens on the phone, muddling point of view and familial motivation and doing a disservice to the emotional, chilling leads. Hospital versus witch doctor choices wait while phone contrivances allow for more driving with in-world hop, skip, jump convenience on top of too many characters and plot detours when we should have focused on the psychosis versus religion twofer. The sacrificial action, influenza timeline, and twists upon twists unravel, descending into wooded chases instead of any scientific or spiritual resolution.

It's Bad

Operation Blood Hunt – Louis Mandylor (My Big Fat Greek Wedding) directs and stars in this 2024 action horror lark featuring Jonathan Rhys Meyers amid vampires, werewolves, and World War II South Pacific incomprehensible. The brief 1928 opening has a unique black and white scheme with stylish hints of color and yellow glows, but the subsequent modern de-saturated drone photography does not set the period mood– and it only gets worse from there. The initial werewolf shock is actually well done, however it's premature to reveal the wolf in the first five minutes. Location changes and onscreen notations telling us it's 1945 London jar with hamfisted contemporary dialogue. Fedora wearing, Bogarting it up JRM is hammy yet suave amid wooden deliveries, Kung Fu strobe, and confusing direction that make the cast seem like they are in different scenes. There are pieces of everything here from Dracula to Kong: Skull Island, and with the modern metal music and cool silver crossbows, they could have tossed in time travel and it wouldn't be out of place. Overlong, obnoxious banter introduces try hard people a half hour in with freeze frame titles while they jump out of a plane: casanova, tracker, assassin, spy, sharpshooter, veteran, supernatural specialist, gambler. None of this preposterous can be taken seriously largely thanks to the World War II trappings – visualized only by the period helmets that are too big and fall down over the actors' eyes. The perplexing Wikipedia summary reads like a novel, and JRM's vampire bar with the cool black and white flashbacks look like they're from another movie. Why is all this jammed into one ninety-four minutes when it could have been contemporary set? Werewolf slices and slashes are too few and far between, and it all should have been from the village's perspective where shaman rituals and animal curses give the asshole intruders what they deserve. The bad vampire wants to get to the North Pole, and I can't imagine how anyone in this movie kept a straight face. Attempted dramatic moments, deaths, and dire radio calls are inadvertently bemusing thanks to a contemporary edgy ballad. Ironically, a woman's arms being ripped off by the werewolf is another good effect, but we don't get to the hairy action, silver bullets, and curse mythology explanations until the final twenty minutes. Blaming the native village history feels racist, and intercutting the mercenary island action with London explanations that it's all about hidden gold and not the monsters adds more messy. But hey, maybe every film needs a naked woman who is clearly wearing a flesh tone tank top yet is still treated as if she is naked. JRM is a vampire who's been listening to everything the entire time, and a racist coda inviting them to Egypt to battle mummies leaves it open for a sequel, lololol. I can't believe I watched this whole thing!

Jonathan Rhys Meyers Action & Sci-Fi

 

Jonathan Rhys Meyers Action and Sci-Fi

by Kristin Battestella

Perhaps understandably given his personal ups and downs or just by nest egg necessity, Jonathan Rhys Meyers has recently made numerous action B pictures and low budget science fiction thrillers. Here's a trio of the good, bad, and ugly.

Decent

The Good Neighbor – This 2022 hit and run remake of the German film from the original writer and director Stephan Rick maximizes its Latvian dialogue and Riga locations. American Luke Kleintank (The Man in the High Castle) accepts a new position at an international news agency complete with a house, car, and eponymous neighbor Jonathan Rhys Meyers (The Tudors). Our nurse is so positive compared to bad breakup being left behind, but the neon rave and short trip to hell drinks lead to jealousy and drunken joy rides that kill the girl who's just given them her phone number. The body on the windshield happens fast, they can't undo this murder and should just move on rather than let it ruin “us.” Our reporter struggles at the press conference, throwing up in the bathroom when the sister of the deceased asks questions. It's too late to come clean, and Nurse Johnny is chill with patients and investigators about their alibi. He ditches the car, plans a fishing trip, and the boys almost have a good time thanks to apologies and presents. They must protect each other; they can't rely on anyone else. The obsessive undertones and late deadlines mean bringing dinner to the office like a scorned woman, following the object of affection, spying through the window, and damaging his rental car. They are in this together, and romancing the sister of the woman you killed is dangerous. Johnny invites himself along on their dates – leading to chilling trapped underneath the kayak perils and hesitation in coming to the rescue. Nonchalant violence means some people go away and are never heard from again, but everything he's done has been for them, so how dare he be ungrateful and insist they aren't really friends just neighbors? Although characters ignore or give away information because the plot says so, the twisted slow burn escalates with well paced betrayals, threats, and revelations. We've seen this plot before and there's nothing new, however I miss this kind of simmering mid-tier film and this was better than expected.

Split

Wifelike – Commercials sell the titular high priced robots cooking dinner in lingerie, for widowers never have to be alone again in this muddled 2022 science fiction thriller. Unflinching agent Jonathan Rhys Meyers is trying to catch the ringleader of an AI rights organization protesting their company, and he recovers abducted androids from the so-called terrorists. His payment is a new edition of his late wife Meredith, but her stilted processing and childlike behavior, however, is very weird. She's uncomfortably younger than he is, like a doll, and walks with her butt out like the Rosie maid on The Jetsons. Their relationship is perhaps intentionally unsettling with obvious red flags, and intimacy commands saved for physical and emotional satisfaction are initiated immediately. Though lengthy, the romps are actually well done, but the cop cliché agent scenes are hammy with unnecessary humor when this should be a ninety minute cerebral piece about the companion mystery. The script is a first draft with trite dialogue and redundant wording, sometimes even in the same scene. Pointless self-exploration masturbation mode scenes and repeated moments with laughable techno crescendos heralding quirky characters telling Meredith to remember are superfluous. They inexplicable drop hints to the bigger AI conspiracy when they have a file with the details all along, and we should have seen all the recovery assignments before William received the new Meredith. Otherwise it's frustrating to break the suspicious build and household claustrophobic simmer for outside action. Reprogrammed fears that these controlled women will rise up against their male owners and sentient freedom debates take a backseat to other viewpoints. Overlong deprogramming and file/copy/paste nonsensical leads to a haunted house dream complete with a slutty skeleton costume and spooky mannequins. Silly exposition sort of explains how others can jack into the dangerous dreamscape where you can die for real – or kill someone – but William insists no one will find out how he's going to make everything perfect. A man can rewrite whatever he wants while the robot girls chat on the floor in their robes like its a sleepover. More resets in the final twenty minutes lose steam – confirming the predictable with try hard resistance speeches and twists upon twists thrown at the screen. The uneven focus on too many concepts wastes time with obvious cloak and dagger cryptic when we should have gotten to the warped, abusive love and never letting go SF obsession much sooner.

Skip

The Shadow Effect – Doctor Jonathan Rhys Meyers and Sheriff Michael Biehn (The Magnificent Seven) don't have enough to do in this messy 2017 thriller opening with rooftop stealth drawn out for the panoramic cool. Everything restarts with a rustic cabin, morning routine filler, and headaches. Music triggers and spasms using the kitchen knife begat flashes of the previous attack, but where the music is coming from and how our assassin can travel across the country to kill again all in one night make the audience question if there will be any in world logic. Our doctor provides smooth psychological rhetoric amid fake search engine news headlines, black vans, and subway perils, but the nothing burger action is tedious and small scale. Punching walls and screaming at his wife in bland arguments lead to some obligatory sex, and after four trigger episodes, it take half the movie before we get an inkling of the larger conspiracy. Driving to and fro padding transition scenes only lead to more inexplicable action as conveniences drive the repeat killer scenarios. One on one confrontations with the name stars debating the sciences versus the violence should have come much sooner – the puppeteers behind the Bloodshot resetting are where the actual story lies. Science fiction trite and Sons of Liberty code names are tossed in with twenty minutes left, and the right whither to and why for questions are never asked amid nonsensical shootouts, convoluted double talk, silly cliches, and derivative obvious. This is an overlong waste of the better cast and this type of story has been done better already.

Recent Jonathan Rhys Meyers Horrors

 

Recent Jonathan Rhys Meyers Horrors

by Kristin Battestella

Jonathan Rhys Meyers has been a fine actor with some excellent films and series in his filmography. Although he continues to work consistently, his well documented personal troubles have sent him to making mostly direct to streaming, low budget fare. Some of these are decent, others...not so much. Here is a quartet of recent horror thrillers featuring JRM's élan – if not much else thanks to the usual one and the same writer/director culprits with no second eye to polish these parables.

Dangerous Game: The Legacy Murders – Yes, this 2022 title is clearly intended for franchise potential with billionaire mogul Jon Voight (Midnight Cowboy) summoning his estranged family to the luxury manor for what turns into a murder mystery fight to the death. Certainly, the premise is familiar; the prologue and opening credits with fun house horrors and newspaper clippings are cliché. Papa Jon wants to cement his legacy, and the snobbish progeny arrive via helicopters and boats to their private island. Crabby banter and seeding dialogue establish who's money it is, who isn't speaking to their sister, and how Jonathan Rhys Meyers (The Tudors) put dad out of the company to save the big business. New girlfriends are nervous but wives and teen grandkids egg on the arguments. They are, however, all rightfully impressed with the old school gothic house's fine stone, wrought iron, woodwork, and chandeliers. Unfortunately, the drunken bonding is hampered by bad cat omens and the mysterious arrival of our titular gift complete with gory crime scene photos and suspicious case files. A distorted voice over the intercom demands they play the game, but the family points fingers over who's behind this sick joke until alarms, red lighting, automatic shutters, and locked gates further insist they play the laid out and ready co-op board. The house's control room bears a warning sign not to enter, but the explosive consequences didn't need such hokey, modern, bad special effects. The mechanical voice is also hackneyed and unnecessary when there are enough personality and problem solving within the familial confrontations. There's no landline or medical supplies, so they must use the fireplace to cauterize wounds between debating who is at fault. Some attempt to play the game, studying the vintage photos and cryptext puzzles while others explore the house amid crackling electricity, wheelchair perils, and gas chambers. Blueprints, secret passages, and Roman numerals lead to hidden journals, serial killers, booby traps in the floor, a mad scientist laboratory, carved bodies, and threats to be cooked alive. Increasing boiling and vomit at the gory sights subtly anchor the who is in on it or knows what family skeletons debates better than fake fiery effects. Breaking from the house for dog chases, perilous wells, shootouts, and eyeballs loses any taut as the cast somehow plays it seriously despite the increasingly preposterous turns and extremely over the top guts and gore. The canned voice and murder flashbacks are for the audience not the family, but this doesn't seem meant to be taken seriously. Every stupid twist becomes so damn goofy that I can't really hate the ludicrous laugh at the screen results.

Disquiet – Car accidents and narrations about choices give away the metaphors going into this eighty minute 2023 hospital thriller starring Jonathan Rhys Meyers. Rather than some grandiose opening family perfection and wild vehicular stunts, however; we get right to the gurney, hectic doctors, beeping equipment, bandages, and fear. There's little dialogue to start beyond unanswered calls for help as time is taken on the discomfort – pulling out tubes, gagging blood, no phone signals, and once bedridden now suddenly virile patients attacking others. Clattering hospital trays lead to scalpels, scissors, violent stabbings, and missing bodies as our victim asks WTF is happening. Even if the premise is obvious, the man alone paranoia and confined elevator perils invoke that out of our element hospital feeling. Sirens and accident flashes add to the delirium, but it's a mistake to cut away from this taut, isolated start to meet another patient awake during her plastic surgery. Demonic looking babes are holding her down when our Sam enters wielding an IV pole, but it's better when he follows the screams rather than the audience meeting new patients away from his perspective. Those demon babes were also barely needed once and flashing back to them for no reason looks tacky and feels amateur. Sudden staff who give clues or warnings and then turn monstrous are better chills, and memories of Sam's wife parallel the creepy encounters. Gunshots and random hospital noises remain startling while crackling bulbs and ominous purple lighting create immediate darkness and disappearances. Red elevator buttons, white skylights in the stairwell, dark windows, and smokey floors below add atmosphere while the maze-like floors, bricked shut doors, and empty nursery with baby cries acerbate the repeating wounds and dead that won't stay dead. Our trapped wonder if they were drugged, dead, in a shared nightmare, a zombie apocalypse, or figments of their imaginations. Sam is a decent leader diffusing situations and getting everyone to work together, but a doctor in red named Lilith and a man in a wheelchair named Virgil debate the hospital maps, going to the roof for a signal, or going down to the lobby exit. This devil or angel on the shoulder purgatory is apparent – as are revelations about Sam's previous texting and driving, will never happen again fooling around, and selfish state of mind. This is a cerebral characterization not an all out escape the hospital horror, but the preachy, trite allegories get repetitive with montages of what we already knew and previously saw padding to meet the runtime. Instead of staying in Sam's point of view as the in film logic demands, we erroneously break away from the primary motivations and mistakes learned with flashbacks of the other characters. Rather than trust Meyers' capability, the story hits the audience on the head with yet more montages impeding the race to the roof inevitable. Although the ambiguous imperfections are frustrating and run out of steam; the unreliable simplicity, detailed performance, and positive choices made make for an entertaining midnight movie.

Split Decision

The Survivalist – I could do without a 2021 movie being post-apocalyptic due to COVID, but amateur radio broadcasts set the scenario amid bleak aerial shots, fallen infrastructure, and quarantine chaos as miraculous survivor John Malkovich (Shadow of the Vampire) pursues an immune girl to former FBI agent turned doomsday prepper JRM's isolated ranch. The back and forth start is unnecessary, but flashbacks of our Ben remembering his dad Julian Sands (Tale of the Vampire) ground the solitude. The audience sympathizes with Ben as he takes care of the girl and recalls cleaning up his dad's gambling debts that almost cost them their land. Their arguments about who had to work or who turned his back on the family could have been its own turbulent father/son drama filled with regrets and tough love – complete with fascinating role reversals and relatable performances from the responsible Meyers and late too soon Sands. The drama is better than the apocalypse try hard with weak devotees allegedly cured by the resurrected Aaron desperate to stay in his favor. They threaten Ben's fortifications, but all of their dialogue should have been given to the much more charismatic Malkovich. He won't take no for an answer and does seem to have a mystical obsession with the girl, for he has been ordained to save the world. One on one standoffs let the leads handle the who's outnumbered and bullets are precious tension. Wounds, empty handguns, out of breath runs between buildings – Ben was actually a mere mapmaker agent not some expert hero, and he is fed up with the barn confrontations, battles in his home, and being forced to kill in self-defense. Rather than have Aaron's menacing speeches following Ben at every encounter, Malkovich is erroneously reduced to sitting back while the inferior lackeys do the dirty work. Not a lot happens because of the divided focus between the man alone regrets and the would be raid action, and this picture seems changed from a drama to an action movie with the who's infected or a COVID carrier bookends generally being a non-factor. Instead of this uneven tone, a linear telling would have made more impact: all the tough love family flashbacks with worsening television and radio updates, the isolation preparation, then the girl appearing in the barn, and ultimately deluded messianic Malkovich knocking on the door. Ben gives each fanatical chance after chance – he didn't want to do any of this and finally snaps upon realizing it's all been for someone else's lies and consequences. Though watchable for the cast with interesting dramatic possibilities, the rushed virus connections fall back on generic weaknesses instead of maximizing the ensemble's potential for more.

Skip It

Hide and Seek – Joe Pantoliano (Memento) joins wealthy businessman JRM in this 2021 American remake of an Asian film complete with the obligatory creepy little kid. Our swanky, pretentious family even has matching outfits, but our dad Noah doesn't like the spilled syrup at breakfast and vehemently scrubs a mark on his cuff. Cleaning ladies come to their immaculate penthouse, too, but they have nothing to do. The rich scenes and high rise windows are well lit; however the downtrodden architecture, poor slums, and empty Art Deco pool scheduled for demolition are not. An interview with a crusty reporter shrewdly spills the family dirt about his cast out brother, and Noah looks for him amid the abandoned trash, creepy bums, crazy old ladies, and poor people just trying to survive. He doesn't want to touch anything in his brother's filthy apartment, and the angry neighbors are not forthcoming to the rich white guy asking questions. Decoy open doors force viewers to pay attention to what may be hiding in the dark, and Noah studies the vintage blueprints for secret closets and apartment connections. Bloody bathtubs, suicide notes, similar graffiti, flashlights, dirty waters, and distorted bathroom moments are well edited eerie. Holes in the sheet rock mar their once pristine penthouse; creepy noises in the walls and clanking pipes suggest someone else is at home. A stranger banging to be let in and a hand reaching in the mail slot provide our breach of home fears as the kids hide in the closet and footsteps roam the apartment. Unfortunately, today we would be immediately suspicious of someone who never takes off his motorcycle helmet. Building security saves the day but then there's no explanation how others evade the cameras and evidence that aren't used until convenient. Nightmare flashes of our crazy brother are laughable, and this can't decide if it's a stereotypical horror movie or just a straight thriller. One wonders if the story should have focused on either the upscale family fear or stayed in the dilapidated mystery rather than going back and forth between them. Noah's compulsive cleanliness is also dropped instead of escalating as his unwashed explorations increase. The resolution unravels in the final act with montages, deceased and lookalike confusion, and questions about what anybody really had to do with anything. Though somewhat surprising, the killer reveal feels racist, as if crazy poor minority folk are coming to steal your penthouse – squatting uptown fresh groceries and all. Meyers is believable as the family man under pressure and while decent entertainment up until the end, the contrived finale leaves viewers feeling like our time has been wasted. Pity.

More Writers in Peril!

More Writers in Peril

by Kristin Battestella

Once again it's time to ditch pen and paper as these vintage novelists, retro reporters, and contemporary screenwriters face murder, ghosts, aliens, and writer's block. You know, the usual.

Black Butterfly – This 2017 thriller opens with handcuffed to the chair foreshadowing before vintage typewriters and booze for bearded, graying, and stressed screenwriter Antonio Banderas (The Mask of Zorro). The picnics and missing women are a little piecemeal to start with a driving montage because of course, but the pleasing greenery, misty dew, aerial photography, and log cabin pans build the Denver outskirts, no reception isolation. This for sale but messy bachelor pad is in need of repair, our writer can't pay his tab at the country store, angry phone calls from his agent want him to go along with script changes or else, and Paul spends more time hunting – procrastinating since his wife left him in this secluded writing retreat. The fifteen year age difference between our leading man and lady is cliché, but lunch with realtor Piper Perabo (Coyote Ugly) strikes out before radio reports of murdered women and unexpected road rage. Instead, Paul offers mysterious drifter Jonathan Rhys Meyers (The Tudors) a hot shower for his act of kindness, lulling the viewer into a casual tour of the home amid older jadedness versus young cynicism quiet burn chats. Our guest cooks, cleans, and makes repairs for free, but saws, axes, and guns suggest an ominous – Jack swims in the cold pond, his tattoos are part of the plot, and Meyers is always at his best in such ambiguous, half-crazed roles. The camera moves with the cast rather than creating an unneeded, false hectic, but the outdoors are traded for increasingly congested interiors with filming through railings, windows, and doors questioning who is on which side of the threats, slaps, or paranoia. We're suspicious but this handyman is actually helpful in telling Paul to pour out the bottle and write – a well cast irony with Meyers' past addiction problems adding to the meta instead of trite twenty-somethings battling unrealistic frights. This frank play within a play addresses how dismissed writers often are with only the title kept as their story changes into cinematic veneer, winking but not underestimating the audience as our drifter suggests Paul's write their story with the regrets, embellishments, and surprises needed of course. Was their meeting pre-planned or are these hostage threats merely script fodder? Where does what's suppose to be on the page and the secrets we see diverge? It's just a story and nothing happens unless the writer says so, right? The ending is what you make it, isn't it? Natural sounds, blank laptop screen glows, gunshots, and failed escapes play into the jokes on film fakery – the ease in hot wiring a car, the time people have to plead for their lives, inconvenient deliverymen arrivals, or a girl hurting her ankle on the run. That broken glass to cut those binds is certainly convenient, and the pieces keep us guessing with attacks behind closed doors, screams we thought we heard, and gunshots we thought we saw. The upfront twists don't pull the rug out from under the audience yet we're invested in the game being played. It's sad that this impressive cast and its winking frights need a dozen different film by who, production of, in association with titles at the beginning because such small thrillers are so financially strapped when they are often better than mainstream releases. Some things here may be obvious to shout at the television viewers, but that overkill is part of the dark satire, keeping this an entertaining thriller on the art of deception and that onscreen hiding in plain sight we love so much.

The Nesting – A mystery writer moves into the spooky mansion of her titular novel with cluttered bookcases, a typewriter, and tea on the balcony but this 1981 psychological slow burn lays on the fearful staircases, distorted city streets, paranoia, and agoraphobia. Up close camerawork and out of body overlays reflect tense therapy and warped dreams as relaxation cassettes don't help against visions of glam parties, saucy soldiers, boas, long stem cigarettes, shattering beads, sweet jazz, and gunshots. Are the familiar mirrors, candlesticks, verandas, perfumes, and visions just deja vu or something more? Phantoms bangs, noisy pipes, no phone, and electricity in only one room add to the stunning architecture alongside ominous orange lights, great silhouettes, and maybe maybe not outside looking in windows. There are vintage station wagons and roadside perils, too. You gotta roll up the car window faster, girl! Storms, flashlights, old fashioned lamps, and four poster beds make the patina tangible as objects dreamed of are found thanks to attic footsteps, dangerous spires, superb rooftop suspense, and fatal twists. Morbid birds, quality shocks, and lighthearted jokes alleviate the simmering mood with a cranky handyman and kooky grandpa John Carradine (Bluebeard), and there's nudity of course – a lady has to feel herself up in front of the bureau you know! Unfortunately, Robin Groves' (Silver Bullet) therapist thinks ghosts and any quantum physics versus paranormal debates are a bunch of hooey. Is this hysteria or an interconnected phenomena? Although the phantom whooshing, stereotypical town creeps, and fiery ghost fake outs can be laughable amid evident brothel history and old people who were there scoops; the rough assaults, bloody surprises, and lakeside terrors invoke wicked ghostly responses. This won't be anything new for old school horror viewers, but the now doubled nostalgia accents the eerie mystery atmosphere. The ghostly ladies of ill repute are out for revenge, and all kinds of shady pieces in this sleepy inlet puzzle are brought to light. Lengthy chases lead to creepy farm buildings, pitchforks, sickles, and impressive gore with freaky spectral revelations coming full circle for a violent finish.

Could Be Better

A Kind of Murder – Fedoras, typewriters, newspapers, and record players invoke a seemingly classy mid century time for writer Patrick Wilson (The Conjuring) and his realtor wife Jessica Biel (The Sinner) in this 2016 Patricia Highsmith adaptation further accented with retro skyscrapers, vintage travel, neon lighting, and a sweet mod house. Unfortunately, there's talk of murders on the radio, the bookstore sells nefarious brown bag magazines, and back alley stairs lead to segregated jazz clubs. Cigarettes, swanky melodies, and husky mellow voices fittingly contrast the pearls, white gloves, pillbox hats, and concern about fancy shoes getting wet in the snow for an interesting mix of the changing times. Our would be novelist is feeling the new sixties with his mod turtlenecks and wanting to do it in every room in the house – but his cold, porcelain doll fifties wife won't see a therapist and belittles his stories in favor of his real architect job and Frank Lloyd Wright references. The Mrs. wears pink and white like a little girl, and Biel looks out of place in the fifties dress up, which may be intentional thanks to the character's diva fakery with a giant bun, false eyelashes, and making bitchy jealous accusations out of nothing in a rocky four year marriage. The colorful lighting, bright snow, and interior patinas are well done schemes reflecting each mood, but the choice reds to signify anything saucy or scandalous are a little too obvious. The tale also intercuts between an obsessive, Dragnet dry detective making us too aware we are watching a picture emulating a specific cinematic era and the more interesting writer using the wife killer crime in the news for inspiration. Is he fantasizing about how to kill his wife or just writing a story? Sleeping on the couch, suicide attempts, and divorce threats lead to guilt tripping traps, suspicious deaths, juicy alibis, lying phone calls, and too many did he or didn't he coincidences. Whom do we trust in this murder or suicide shady? Although the audience might enjoy figuring out how these crimes don't add up, the uneven pace plays it's hand by revealing the suspense and drawing out boring casework. The “they know that we know that they know that we know” yadda yadda loses viewer interest as our would be writer cum murder suspect chills with his martinis, lying to cover up his illicit and giving a different story every time he tells it. He'll act weird but won't get a lawyer because that would mean he has something to hide, and the cat and mouse drags on until everyone is chasing their tails. Just because he wanted his wife dead does that mean he killed her? Or if he walked away from helping her is her death his fault? The plodding speculation underestimates the audience, and the who killed their wives and why details, blackmail confrontations, and questions about whether it is proof or doubt that seals the deal build to a showdown that runs out of time. This has a fine noir mood complete with well filmed silhouettes in dark alleys and a Hitchcockian double chase finale raising tension. However, the mystery remains run of the mill despite the period flair, and the ending doesn't quite give viewers the finish needed.

An Unfortunate Skip

The Dark – Reporter Cathy Lee Crosby (Wonder Woman before Lynda Carter was even Wonder Woman) kind of sort of teams up with a psychic and a detective to solve some serial killer mutilations in this 1979 alien mishmash with a hokey opening scroll warning of animal defense mechanisms and extraterrestrial chameleons. Passe music, laser eye beams, and poor voice effects add a slow to get going old TV movie feeling while that titular near black screen makes it often impossible to see the back alley attacks. The gay jokes are lame, the case exposition's wooden, and a white bearded old boss jumps out shouting “Boo!” just to get his kicks by scaring our lady reporter. Old lights, green hues, and colorful skylines going dark build better ominous as a young girl is said to be beheaded in the creepy morgue as family gags over the unseen victim. Retro video designs, projectors, and forensic evidence accent elevator scares, flashlights, and zombie or vampire conjecture – but wow, fifteen cents for the newspaper and needing to put another quarter in the payphone before the operator interrupts! The streets and pool halls look even seedier because of the low budget Los Angeles realism, but white cops less interested in black crime with the jive and epitaphs to match their “38 caliber justice” is unfortunately not dated. One obnoxious ass asks if color can be told by the alien blood samples, and cranky cops disbelieve the medium even when they have nothing else. Today audiences are so accustomed to investigative dramas that this law enforcement seems particularly stupid – although a captain more worried about family pressure, public panic, and avoiding media scandal remains all too common. Wise people counter that obscuring such freedom of the press is wasting time while the killer strikes again, but the tacked on alien connection ruins any would be statements. Everyone is so dry and too much time is spent away from Cathy Lee when she should be our viewpoint anchor. Choppy editing doesn't know where it is going between attacks, culminating in a logistically nonsensical shootout. The fantastic clues and psychic visions are underutilized, and the drama is better when the spooky, journalism, and law come to a head. This had potential – I kept waiting for this ninety minutes to get going – but there's not enough science fiction, horror, or procedural actually happening.

Top Ten: Dracula!

 

Welcome to our new Top Tens series in celebration of I Think, Therefore I Review's Tenth Anniversary! These monthly lists will highlight special themes and topics from our extensive archive of reviews.

This time I Think, Therefore I Review presents in chronological order...

Our Top Ten Dracula Appearances!

Nosferatu

Dracula (1931)

Dracula (1931 Spanish Version)

Horror of Dracula

Dan Curtis' Dracula

Count Dracula (1977)

Dracula (1979)

Bram Stoker's Dracula

Dracula 2000

Dracula (2013 series)

 

Enjoy our vampire label or Horror page for even more!

 

I Think, Therefore I Review began as the blog home for previously published reviews and reprinted critiques by horror author Kristin Battestella. Naturally older articles linked here may be out of date and codes or formatting may be broken. Please excuse any errors and remember our Top Tens will generally only include films, shows, books, or music previously reviewed at I Think, Therefore I Review. 

 

Dames and Doppelgangers!

Dames and Doppelgangers

by Kristin Battestella

Well I think these monster fighting, dual role playing, and spooky butt kicking ladies from across the decades deserve a second look!

Another Me – Sophie Turner (Game of Thrones), Jonathan Rhys Meyers (The Tudors), Rhys Ifans (Anonymous), and Claire Fiorlani (Meet Joe Black) anchor this 2013 British/Spanish doppelganger teen thriller which is admittedly poorly structured and padded to start with violent dreams, a trying to be ominous narration, and critical family moments shown in flashback rather than real time. More Macbeth and high school play jealously cliches, emo photography, and music moments litter the first ten minutes, but Meyers makes for a dreamy drama teacher alongside lingering shadows, assorted reflections, filming through windows, and double camera trickery. Coming and going gaslighting a neighbor, quick passing glances, double takes, and ignored graffiti warnings add simmer while single white female same haircuts and frienemy understudies shape a waiting in the aside, play within a play dual layer. Stairs to and tunnels fro delay the foreboding but the claustrophobic, up close elevator panic is well done amid fine illness, adulterous stupidity, and marital breakdowns. We don't see many scary encounters – just an overreacting teenager jumping to conclusions when she could have, you know, asked her parents if there was an in utero twin problem. The pace is slow and unsure in giving the character drama room or allowing for the supposed to be spooky. A tale can be both but the round and round builds up to a bigger scare that doesn't happen, the physicality of it all is never really explained, and the outcome is fairly obvious. It might have been interesting to have seen the villain, experienced her double interactions, and witness some opposite acting chops from Turner. Fine twists do happen, but with seven minutes of credits eating into the 85 minute runtime, writer and director Isabel Coixet (My Life without Me) needed both more development time for the deserving cast and a tighter focus on the phenomena. This is nothing new to longtime scary viewers – similar plots have been done better in The Twilight Zone's “Mirror Image” and Poe's “William Wilson” – but the PG-13 spooky will be entertaining for younger audiences.

The Dark – The viewer can't see much to start this 1994 nighttime eerie thanks to the titular low budget coverage, and the first fifteen minutes of ho hum Van Damme diner action trite is unnecessary alongside poor editing and badly placed ominous crescendos interfering with the real under the cemetery monster plot convergence and ex FBI agent Brion James' (Blade Runner) conflict. Our main golly gee groundsman is also weak, but there is room for grave digging humor, daylight cemetery research, and you know, headstones being sucked into the ground. Toxic contamination and mutant animal possibilities are interesting, and having a pre-Scream Neve Campbell as an investigating Mountie isn't as bad as it sounds. Although cops tying themselves together with ropes and going down into the tunnel under the cemetery at night with only a glock and a lighter is totally a no brainer! The lack of subtitles helps in overlooking some bad dialogue, however captions would have clarified the healing DNA properties and technical science talk. It's better that we don't really see the whole pseudo prehistoric beastie, just a largely undefined head, shadowed teeth, slimy drool, and grabby reptile hands. Though laughable at times, the dangerous sinkholes and falling through the graveyard ground remain scary, monster or not. And say hey, a waitress and a lady cop talking about monsters passes the Bechdel test! A lot of the 90 minutes here is B picture run of the mill, but there are enough creepy possibilities and inadvertent humor for a late night Halloween marathon.

Dead of Winter – Stairs, wheelchairs, a photographer in a cast, and a suspicious glass of milk – director Arthur Penn (Bonnie and Clyde) accents this 1987 doppelganger thriller with Hitchcock references, blustery snowscapes, isolated mansions, and down phone lines. Red nails, long cigarettes, fedoras, holiday music, antiques, dark roads, and retro cars evoke an eighties meets forties noir mood while struggling actress Mary Steenburgen (Melvin and Howard) leaves her crowded apartment for a seemingly lucrative acting job. The audience expects some deception thanks to a psychiatrist turned producer Jan Rubes (Witness), mirrors, creepy photos, cameras, and television playbacks toying with a film within a film duality. However, the basic reveals happen early, and the unseen faces, violent car attacks, and suspect make overs build pace and twists for the identity games afoot. Television static, distorted cinematography, attic passages, mice, and hidden bodies add to the crazy switcharoos, and Roddy McDowell (Planet of the Apes) is a delightfully passive aggressive pressure cooker to match Steenburgen's superb triple duty performance. Sure, some of the Mary on Mary fight scenes may be amusing because we know the cinema tricks involved, but the twofold filming is also well done considering such difficulty. Despite some unclear blackmail and money MacGuffin schemes, wild screams, finger cuttings, and increasing peril top this one off nicely. 

 

But a Skipper

Breeders – This 1997 remake of alien monsters and mating coeds is also called Deadly Instincts and is an Isle of Man production. Who knew? Unfortunately, rather than monsters at university run amok, this is set on an American campus with Boston logos galore and embarrassing basketball scenes. Could you have chosen a tougher accent to destroy? Not to mention this is an all girl school but the throwback male hero is named Ashley just to keep the shouts and screams confusing. The opening interstellar graphics look like bad porn designs, as does the duct tape and tinfoil our alien lady is wearing, and the meh monster design is nonsensical with crystals, slime, and some kind of glow necklaces impregnating chicks. Was there no budget left for gore after buying all the Boston stickers for the police cars? The cops seem more like unnecessarily antagonistic mobsters, and the barely there plot somehow devolves into snipers in the sewers shooting themselves instead of the mini wannabe Godzilla. The only redeemable thing here would be a healthy dose of expected horror exploitations, but the catfights, lingering thigh zooms, cheap makeouts, ass shots, naked locker room jiggle, and shower conversations are so gosh darn tame it takes the fun out of everything. This is an hour too long – even at 1.5 speed nothing happens – and schlock like this is for a drinking game only.

Modern Period Pieces

Modern Period Pieces Go Forth!

By Kristin Battestella

Let’s look back to the previous centuries with these period films and old fashioned serials from the turn of this technological century. Shall we?

 

Albert Nobbs – Glenn Close (Fatal Attraction), Janet McTeer (Tumbleweeds), Mia Wasikowska (Jane Eyre), Brendan Gleeson (Braveheart), Aaron Taylor-Johnson (Kick-Ass), Maria Doyle Kennedy and Jonathan Rhys Meyers (The Tudors) tackle social and gender taboos in this 2011 Irish drama. Oil lamps, pocket watches, and lacy frocks set the 19^th century mood alongside hotel maids and formal dinner settings, and we recognize Close despite the nom de plume, gruff voice, and masculine wrappings. Why has this woman assumed such a humble ruse? Nobbs has been counting her meager tuppence tips for decades, however, this is not a con but rather a tender, relatable situation – especially compared to arrogant, wealthy patrons. Mr. Nobbs is clearly capable on the job, so what does it matter if he is a she? Although costume parties, other disguised roles, and hidden subtext add to the discussion, the line between serious or funny and personal or social commentary is uneven. It's played too comical that one would find kindred souls conveniently underfoot, yet fearing discovery, one can't to thine own self be true. Back story exposition implying man hate, sexual trauma, and “turning” women toward this masculine switch also feels mishandled. While this tone may be intentionally hypocritical – same sex relationships are frowned upon unless you can pay to keep it quiet but older men having affairs with younger women or heterosexual but abusive, pimp circumstances are okay – these side plots loose steam for the finale. Work equality, cross dressing, lesbianism or asexuality, marital deception, and reversed gender roles add heaps onto a conversation that works better with just the intimacy and self realizations from Close and McTeer. This was a passion project for Close and there should be more strong lead roles for women, masculine or not, and I applaud the effort in bringing not so new issues to light. Prudish, traditional period piece fans may not like the unique dialogue, but social historians and audiences seeking gender topics will enjoy the whimsy and performances here.

The Buccaneers – Mira Sorvino (Mighty Aphrodite), Carla Gugino (Spy Kids), Cherie Lunghi (Casualty 1900s), Jenny Agutter (Logan’s Run), and more mix the New American money with the Old English nobility for this four hour 1995 adaptation of the incomplete Edith Wharton novel. Divine costumes match the romantic notions, cross continental décor, fine locales, hefty manors, and pretty countrysides, and we at the 21^st century bottom love such visual splendor. With these past social pressures and up turned, judgmental noses, however, being at the heights isn’t enough – it’s the right society trends and getting invited to the best parties in complete Dickensian who you know wrapped in for love or money sponsorship. This ‘keeping up with the Joneses’ excess, training, planning, and trapping is obviously an unsustainable pretense. Wharton herself came from the very estate that inspired the Joneses phrase, which is now a ruinous reflection of this gilded but embarrassing and bitter era, and it’s interesting now to think we are so different with our seemingly glamorous but gold digging, money for nothing celebrity indulgences. Some of the titular ladies’ plots and storylines do interweave unevenly while the frumpy ladies decide their fates over tea, and most of the men are written as limp, pedestrian louses. Despite being potentially dry and melodramatic, time here moves quickly with blink and you miss it traveling or pregnancies, and seriously, new fans of Downton Abbey haven’t been paying attention to all the previous British period dramas! In addition to literary scholars or historians having a comparative study and viewing analysis, there are enough pleasing characters, scandals, and twists to keep this quartet entertaining.

The Duchess – Georgiana Cavendish, Duchess of Devonshire, is the star of this 2008 18^th century tale featuring the eponymous Keira Knightly (Atonement), her duke Ralph Fiennes (The English Patient), the always classy Charlotte Rampling (Swimming Pool), and friendly rival Hayley Atwell (Agent Carter). Paired down historical liberties are certainly taken alongside the too young arranged marriage, but all seems happy to start – until an awkward wedding night, producing an heir pressures, and marital expectations aren't as Her Grace had hoped. Knightly, however, is well poised, and gasp, the popular, outspoken duchess expresses herself and gets involved with Whig politics! Tumultuous affairs and love triangles add twists and turns, but this doesn't go for saucy sex and cheap skin despite its scandalous source. Sons are more important than daughters, women are blackmailed with their rightly or wrongly begotten children, and men are allowed to get away with anything while women have to take their abuses. The progressive talk might be lost on today's audience thanks to big, old speaketh words, but modern viewers can hate past ways and still understand the things that haven't changed. The likeable cast doesn't hit us over the head, either – which isn't an easy task when Fiennes is playing a stunted, tough talking, of his time aristocrat more interested in his dogs. Beautiful pets though they are, matching the glorious estates, candles, delightful frocks, harpsichords, and divine interiors. The big hair and absurdly tall feathers, however, do look heavy and take getting used to – and one has to chuckle when one of those giant things catches fire! The recognizable Spencer connections and mismarketing may have hurt the film's reception, but comparing the history onscreen and off is quite interesting. This is a subdued, pretty well put together and surprising modern costume drama. But really, no wonder the tawdry always got out, they just talk about their juiciest scandals right in front of all the staff, maids, and footmen! Tsk tsk.

Great Expectations – Magwitch Ralph Fiennes (Voldemort), Miss Havisham Helena Bonham Carter (Bellatrix), and Mr. Jaggers Robbie Coltrane (Hagrid) go Dickens 2012 with Jeremy Irvine (War Horse), Holliday Grainger (The Borgias), Sally Hawkins (Happy-Go-Lucky), and Jason Flemyng (X-Men: First Class). The old time fog, bleak, and cold are felt here with threatening, dirty, up-close convict dangers and poor cruelty at home, creating a jarring juxtaposition against the potential for Christmas kindness and holding fast to doing what is right despite difficult times. Will we be rewarded at some time unknown or is there always one ready to deceive and take advantage of the goodhearted? People treat one differently when society raises him and we pretend to be something we are not. Would be lovely greenery and estates marred with decrepit cobwebs and decay accent the harsh nature and bitter nurture at play – although the chemistry between the young leads falls flat with repetitive dialogue and a Dickens-lite, Young Adult tone. Perhaps Bonham Carter seems too quirky as Miss Havisham thanks to her Burton associations, but her madcap, warped pain would be fitting if it wasn't presented as unevenly gothic and comical – the fire scene, I hate to say it, is laughable. Big, junky jewelry and ugly hairstyles are iffy, too. Brief CGI cityscapes and modern digital saturation are unnecessary compared to appropriately crowded London streets and cramped period interiors, the score is too generic, and flashbacks on Miss Havisham's marital cause and the Magwich back-story feel too...music video. The pace drags in time away from the elder cast, but these 2 hours move fast over the well known plot. There are better, fully envisioned adaptations – perhaps this release was simply too blink and you miss it soon after the 2011 television version – but the paired down style, elder ensemble performances, and the tough to beat story lend their appeal to contemporary eyes and a classroom discussion.

North and South – Not to be confused with the John Jakes Civil War epic, this four hour 2004 British adaptation of Elizabeth Gaskell’s novel stars Richard Armitage (The Hobbit), Brendan Coyle (Downton Abbey), and Daniela Denby-Ashe (EastEnders) as the headstrong Margaret Hall. She certainly puts her foot in her mouth a time or two, bangs up all the social protocols, and cluelessly meddles in strike business! It helps to know a bit about the titular backgrounds to understand this mix of snotty upscale and misplaced airs, but lovely mid nineteenth century costumes, candlelight, and green country balance the crowded bleak, gray, and shabby industrialism. The scale and ensemble may be small compared to more recent period spectacles, but the Dickensian highs, lows, and social divides are mirrored in the harsh wonder of machinery and unforgiving factory potential – there is no in between or reward for principles here. Armitage and his husky voice do well in toeing that line between tender business sense and hardworking experience, and his dilemmas over cotton fortunes won or lost, striking workers, and starving families feel more interesting than the sometimes melodramatic, dry, and superficial etiquette or proposal troubles for Margaret. I’m not an Austen lover nor an Armitage drooler and sometimes I wanted to slap Margaret when things here got too sappy! The will they or won’t they love hate romance feels somewhat misplaced against the soft Dickens labor plotlines – deaths, crime, and twists seem broad or not as deep and heavy as they should be. However, the pace moves quickly and there is plenty here for fans of the novel or cast to enjoy in social study or literary rediscovery.