Sick and twisted sci-fi thriller, just like Grandma used to make.
Jude Law plays Remy, a Repo Man, employed by The Union to repossess their property. Thing is, the property in question just happens to be human internal organs, the reclamation order submitted due to failure of the owner to keep up their monthly payments.
On a recovery mission, Remy has an accident as a piece of equipment malfunctions and, when he wakes up in hospital, he discovers he has himself been fitted with a Union heart.
He's not amused and, vowing not to pay, waits for The Union to come for their property.
Law is effective enough in the lead role and, whilst Forrest Whittaker is certainly a fine actor and plays the part of Remy's partner perfectly adequately, there's something about him I just don't get along with. I think it has to do with the fact he plays so many worthy roles in worthy movies about worthy subjects.
Makes my fucking skin crawl.
Whilst many of the reviews I've read make a point of stressing the gore levels in the movie, I found myself a little underwhelmed by the splatter factor, expecting it to be much more blood thirsty than it was. True, there are plenty of parabolic blood splash moments with throat slittings, stabbings, eye gouges and, of course, vividly depicted organ removal, but it wasn't the blood-drenched nightmare I was hoping for.
I dunno, maybe my threshold for viscera is higher than most.
Visually this is rather interesting, too. Whilst the city exteriors owe the usual debt to Blade Runner, the interiors are squalid and grimy, not all polished white gleam as we expect from sci-fi, giving the movie quite an organic feel at times.
Only one negative aspect to report, that being the woeful choice of music throughout. Listen up, unless you are Tarantino or Scorcese, in the name of all that is deformed don't try to use REAL songs as incidental music, pay some schlub to write a proper score. Here, the choice of songs is so painful it became off-putting at times, which is a shame as all other elements worked well.
Whilst hardly likely to win movie of the year - or movie of the fortnight, for that matter - this was nevertheless an entertaining way to spend nigh on two hours.
Check it out.
Showing posts with label cult movies. Show all posts
Showing posts with label cult movies. Show all posts
Saturday, 24 July 2010
Interview with the Vampire (1994) Dir: Neil Jordan
You know, I saw this movie at the cinema when it first came out and hated it with a passion. At the time, I was something of a bloodfiend, with only the goriest or most shockingly violent movies even raising a glimmer of interest. As time passes, however, we temper our views and mellow, becoming more moderate in our disposition and more capable of being entertained by such things as atmosphere and script.
So how would I view this movie, some sixteen years later?
Well, you know what, you could blow me down with a blast of thermox, I really bloody enjoyed it.
Whilst the setup itself is somewhat annoying - the whole 'interview thang' with Slistian Chrater and Pad Britt - the movie itself is never less than engaging, with a well polished script and impressive stylings.
Visually, this is sumptuous and warm, drawing you into the on screen interplay between the characters, whilst the plot itself is a broiling fondue of bloodletting and romance, all held together by solid performances from three impressive leading men.
That's what I was thinking.
Then I looked down at myself and realised I had a cock swinging between my legs and spotted an absolute absence of heaving bosom.
Honestly, folks, this is mind-crushing pap aimed squarely at two sections of society: hormonal tweenage girls and hormonal, perhaps menopausal middle aged women who dream of squeezing Pad Britt's fully engorged length into their cock starved pussies.
And there's nothing wrong with that, in all honesty, just don't dress it up as horror.
Don't introduce it as horror on the reruns on ITV4.
Don't even mention the word horror when describing it.
It ain't horror.
It's pretty boys in period costumes and wigs, which is all well and good but, seriously, if you are a horror fan and think that this is even remotely tolerable, you need to get down HMV tomorrow and buy the entire back catalogue of Shirley Bassey post haste.
I have a funny feeling you'd like that as well.....
So how would I view this movie, some sixteen years later?
Well, you know what, you could blow me down with a blast of thermox, I really bloody enjoyed it.
Whilst the setup itself is somewhat annoying - the whole 'interview thang' with Slistian Chrater and Pad Britt - the movie itself is never less than engaging, with a well polished script and impressive stylings.
Visually, this is sumptuous and warm, drawing you into the on screen interplay between the characters, whilst the plot itself is a broiling fondue of bloodletting and romance, all held together by solid performances from three impressive leading men.
That's what I was thinking.
Then I looked down at myself and realised I had a cock swinging between my legs and spotted an absolute absence of heaving bosom.
Honestly, folks, this is mind-crushing pap aimed squarely at two sections of society: hormonal tweenage girls and hormonal, perhaps menopausal middle aged women who dream of squeezing Pad Britt's fully engorged length into their cock starved pussies.
And there's nothing wrong with that, in all honesty, just don't dress it up as horror.
Don't introduce it as horror on the reruns on ITV4.
Don't even mention the word horror when describing it.
It ain't horror.
It's pretty boys in period costumes and wigs, which is all well and good but, seriously, if you are a horror fan and think that this is even remotely tolerable, you need to get down HMV tomorrow and buy the entire back catalogue of Shirley Bassey post haste.
I have a funny feeling you'd like that as well.....
The Wicker Man (2006) Dir. Neil LaBute
Jesus suffering buggery, this is so mind-crushingly appalling I very nearly hurt myself.
I was watching this travesty whilst eating a plate of pasta, and had to fight the almost overpowering urge to jab the fork I was using into the delicate tissues of my eyeballs, to spare me the trauma of the movie.
Well, against the odds I managed to resist, if only to allow me to write this review as a warning to others.
Under no circumstances watch this movie. Ever.
No matter the temptation, no matter the curiosity aroused by the majesty of the source material, no matter that cynic in your head assuring you that, despite what everyone else says, it can't be that bad.
It is that bad, and so much more besides.
The most incredible part is that the bare bones of the story remain in tact, as Nicholas Cage (I'll get on to him shortly) goes to a remote island known as Summerslsle (sic) to investigate the apparent disappearance of one of the island's children, Rowan. What he discovers upon arrival is an isolated community practising Pagan rituals, and locals who are none too cooperative with his investigation.
Some scenes even survive all but intact: the arrival by water plane, the announcement in the pub, the unusual teachings in class, but there any similarities cease.
Nicholas Cage is reputed to have recommended this remake, so affected was he by the original, so it is astounding that he and the director should choose to strip all of the things that made the original such a masterpiece.
The most glaring and shameful omission is the soundtrack, with LaBute alleged to have stated that he would not want anyone who likes the original soundtrack to watch his movie, anyway.
What an insufferable arsehole.
Gone too is the British location, as well as the concept of temptation, as Cage's Edward Malus has no Christian values to defend. The whole point of the original is that Woodward's character is a devout man and, by resisting the pleasures of the flesh presented in the form of Britt Ekland, he proves himself to be truly righteous.
Such subtleties are dispensed with here.
And as for Nic Cage, this is a performance so lacklustre you genuinely question whether this could truly be a professional actor. For a man who gets paid rather handsomely for his services, his abilities seem to be draining away with every passing year.
It's been a while since a movie angered me so - you have to go back to Transformers for that - so do yourself a favour:
Avoid this like the fucking plague.
I was watching this travesty whilst eating a plate of pasta, and had to fight the almost overpowering urge to jab the fork I was using into the delicate tissues of my eyeballs, to spare me the trauma of the movie.
Well, against the odds I managed to resist, if only to allow me to write this review as a warning to others.
Under no circumstances watch this movie. Ever.
No matter the temptation, no matter the curiosity aroused by the majesty of the source material, no matter that cynic in your head assuring you that, despite what everyone else says, it can't be that bad.
It is that bad, and so much more besides.
The most incredible part is that the bare bones of the story remain in tact, as Nicholas Cage (I'll get on to him shortly) goes to a remote island known as Summerslsle (sic) to investigate the apparent disappearance of one of the island's children, Rowan. What he discovers upon arrival is an isolated community practising Pagan rituals, and locals who are none too cooperative with his investigation.
Some scenes even survive all but intact: the arrival by water plane, the announcement in the pub, the unusual teachings in class, but there any similarities cease.
Nicholas Cage is reputed to have recommended this remake, so affected was he by the original, so it is astounding that he and the director should choose to strip all of the things that made the original such a masterpiece.
The most glaring and shameful omission is the soundtrack, with LaBute alleged to have stated that he would not want anyone who likes the original soundtrack to watch his movie, anyway.
What an insufferable arsehole.
Gone too is the British location, as well as the concept of temptation, as Cage's Edward Malus has no Christian values to defend. The whole point of the original is that Woodward's character is a devout man and, by resisting the pleasures of the flesh presented in the form of Britt Ekland, he proves himself to be truly righteous.
Such subtleties are dispensed with here.
And as for Nic Cage, this is a performance so lacklustre you genuinely question whether this could truly be a professional actor. For a man who gets paid rather handsomely for his services, his abilities seem to be draining away with every passing year.
It's been a while since a movie angered me so - you have to go back to Transformers for that - so do yourself a favour:
Avoid this like the fucking plague.
The Abyss (1989) Dir. James Cameron
You know how it is:
You're a successful movie director and have recently completed one of the most accomplished sequels in movie history (Aliens) and, in the back of your mind, an idea is forming about another sequel, one with Arnhult, Asta La Vista and GnR warbling over motorcycle sequences. Trouble is, Linda Hamilton isn't available for a few years and Arnhult has prior commitments up to his nutsac.
What to do?
Well, why not direct an underwater sci-fi spectacular, making use of one of the most expensive and elaborate sets ever designed to whet your appetite for future projects?
Eh?
Eh?
Why not just go and direct The Abyss?
Well?
Beautifully shot, much admiration must be expelled in the general direction of Cinematographer Mikael Salomon for the visuals which truly captivate, right from the off.
The plot: An American nuclear sub' has been lost and it is up to an expedition led by a young looking Ed Harris and the weirdly sexy Mary Elizabeth Mastrantonio to seek, locate and extract anything useful, be that people or equipment. A bunch of Navy SEALS are sent along to assist, though they seem to have an agenda all their own whilst, most worryingly, it seems they may not be alone in the depths as something altogether alien stirs.
Whilst this is essentially a monster movie, it is a monster movie with a difference. Here, the gribbly-ibblies aren't befanged and hungry for human flesh, instead they are more cerebral, content simply to float around and look beautiful in a vague attempt to make contact, seeming more curious than threatening.
At times heart-stoppingly evocative, the film does occasionally delve into mawkish territory, particularly the soap opera-light relationship shared by Harris and Mastrantonio, which is the single reason this did not gain top marks.
An excellent, ideas driven sci-fi movie that will, if you have any semblance of humanity in your cold, empty heart leave you simply breathless.
You're a successful movie director and have recently completed one of the most accomplished sequels in movie history (Aliens) and, in the back of your mind, an idea is forming about another sequel, one with Arnhult, Asta La Vista and GnR warbling over motorcycle sequences. Trouble is, Linda Hamilton isn't available for a few years and Arnhult has prior commitments up to his nutsac.
What to do?
Well, why not direct an underwater sci-fi spectacular, making use of one of the most expensive and elaborate sets ever designed to whet your appetite for future projects?
Eh?
Eh?
Why not just go and direct The Abyss?
Well?
Beautifully shot, much admiration must be expelled in the general direction of Cinematographer Mikael Salomon for the visuals which truly captivate, right from the off.
The plot: An American nuclear sub' has been lost and it is up to an expedition led by a young looking Ed Harris and the weirdly sexy Mary Elizabeth Mastrantonio to seek, locate and extract anything useful, be that people or equipment. A bunch of Navy SEALS are sent along to assist, though they seem to have an agenda all their own whilst, most worryingly, it seems they may not be alone in the depths as something altogether alien stirs.
Whilst this is essentially a monster movie, it is a monster movie with a difference. Here, the gribbly-ibblies aren't befanged and hungry for human flesh, instead they are more cerebral, content simply to float around and look beautiful in a vague attempt to make contact, seeming more curious than threatening.
At times heart-stoppingly evocative, the film does occasionally delve into mawkish territory, particularly the soap opera-light relationship shared by Harris and Mastrantonio, which is the single reason this did not gain top marks.
An excellent, ideas driven sci-fi movie that will, if you have any semblance of humanity in your cold, empty heart leave you simply breathless.
Transformers (2007) Dir. Michael Bay
Seriously folks, if I could give a movie a zero rating, I would.
This is dire from beginning to end.
Michael Bay, a man seemingly hellbent on forging a directorial career that consists of nothing but smearing excrement across a cinema screen brings to life the nostalgic mecha-dudes of yore, The Transformers.
If you are of an age, the very mention of the word Transformers brings a teary glisten to the eye, and you hurtle mentally back to days playing in a friends bedroom with the robot warriors, trying to decide if Jazz was cooler than Bumble Bee.
If you were hoping to recapture those carefree days with this, forget it.
In an incredible accomplishment, Bay manages to spunk forth some five hundred gazillion dollars on this feature, rendering unto the screen a lifeless, soulless, uninspiring mess of a movie.
CGI overload is a frequent hazard, but it is the woeful script that really shines through, in all the wrong ways.
Alleged 'comedy' moments leave you squirming in embarrassment, unsure whether to laugh at the ineptitude of the lines on offer or piss blood from your own eyeballs and, worse still, we have the cardinal sin of weak script writing whereby every single black character is 'wacky', 'loud' and 'zany', as well as being overweight, outdated representations of the Whassup brothers from the Budweiser adverts.
Come on guys, you can do better than that.
Outrageously awful in every respect, I genuinely hope, and I don't say this lightly, that Bay is struck down with some form of visual impairment, to prevent him despoiling future projects so capably. Nothing life threatening, just enough to prevent him directing. Ever. Again.
Terrifyingly, the sequel is even worse and, more frightening still, Bay is down as producer on the Nightmare on Elm Street remake. Holy shit.
A truly dreadful movie.
This is dire from beginning to end.
Michael Bay, a man seemingly hellbent on forging a directorial career that consists of nothing but smearing excrement across a cinema screen brings to life the nostalgic mecha-dudes of yore, The Transformers.
If you are of an age, the very mention of the word Transformers brings a teary glisten to the eye, and you hurtle mentally back to days playing in a friends bedroom with the robot warriors, trying to decide if Jazz was cooler than Bumble Bee.
If you were hoping to recapture those carefree days with this, forget it.
In an incredible accomplishment, Bay manages to spunk forth some five hundred gazillion dollars on this feature, rendering unto the screen a lifeless, soulless, uninspiring mess of a movie.
CGI overload is a frequent hazard, but it is the woeful script that really shines through, in all the wrong ways.
Alleged 'comedy' moments leave you squirming in embarrassment, unsure whether to laugh at the ineptitude of the lines on offer or piss blood from your own eyeballs and, worse still, we have the cardinal sin of weak script writing whereby every single black character is 'wacky', 'loud' and 'zany', as well as being overweight, outdated representations of the Whassup brothers from the Budweiser adverts.
Come on guys, you can do better than that.
Outrageously awful in every respect, I genuinely hope, and I don't say this lightly, that Bay is struck down with some form of visual impairment, to prevent him despoiling future projects so capably. Nothing life threatening, just enough to prevent him directing. Ever. Again.
Terrifyingly, the sequel is even worse and, more frightening still, Bay is down as producer on the Nightmare on Elm Street remake. Holy shit.
A truly dreadful movie.
The Mist (2007) Dir. Frank Darabont
Based on a novella by Stephen King first published in the anthology Dark Forces this is, quite simply, an astonishing movie. Directed by Frank Darabont, a man with a clear love of King's output (The Shawshank Redemption and The Green Mile were also adaptations of King's work), this is bleak, thought provoking and challenging movie making.
The plot: A small town in Maine (where else?) suffers a severe thunderstorm, with trees blown down and general chaos wrought. The following day, the locals are packing the supermarket, picking up supplies to clear up the weather borne detritus when a mist rolls into town from the nearby hills, with one man racing into the supermarket, blood dripping from his face, claiming that there is 'something' in the mist. The natives are skeptical, right up to the point when tentacles emerge and snatch one of their own from under their noses. The place is locked down, with stocks piled up against the glass front of the building but, within, a new threat emerges: a vehemently religious woman who claims it is God's vengeance for our impure ways.
Tense, with an atmosphere so sharp you could shave a fourteen year olds scrotum with it, this is less a monster movie and more a focus on the extremes we will go to when pushed.
Several things about this movie stand out and elevate it above standard 'creature feature' status, not least of which are the performances. A cast of relative unknowns deliver excellent, believable portrayals of normal folk in peril, and the heart strings are plucked throughout, though in an intelligent, logical way, not in a 'make's you want to puke out your own kidneys' sense.
Darabont makes fine use of lighting and, crucially, the score is an accompaniment, not the dominant feature, adding substance to scenes rather than overwhelming them, something that the Michael Bay's and Zack Snyder's of this world would do well to note.
It's impossible to talk about this movie without mentioning the ending (I won't ruin it, but skip the next sentence if you'd rather know nothing) which is nothing short of astonishing. Poignant, heart wrenching and with such humanity it brings a tear to the eye, something few, if any, horror movies achieve.
Whilst delivering the goods in terms of gore and violence, this movie is so much more than that and one I would recommend to all, not just the usual sick in the head blood fiends.
You know who you are.
The plot: A small town in Maine (where else?) suffers a severe thunderstorm, with trees blown down and general chaos wrought. The following day, the locals are packing the supermarket, picking up supplies to clear up the weather borne detritus when a mist rolls into town from the nearby hills, with one man racing into the supermarket, blood dripping from his face, claiming that there is 'something' in the mist. The natives are skeptical, right up to the point when tentacles emerge and snatch one of their own from under their noses. The place is locked down, with stocks piled up against the glass front of the building but, within, a new threat emerges: a vehemently religious woman who claims it is God's vengeance for our impure ways.
Tense, with an atmosphere so sharp you could shave a fourteen year olds scrotum with it, this is less a monster movie and more a focus on the extremes we will go to when pushed.
Several things about this movie stand out and elevate it above standard 'creature feature' status, not least of which are the performances. A cast of relative unknowns deliver excellent, believable portrayals of normal folk in peril, and the heart strings are plucked throughout, though in an intelligent, logical way, not in a 'make's you want to puke out your own kidneys' sense.
Darabont makes fine use of lighting and, crucially, the score is an accompaniment, not the dominant feature, adding substance to scenes rather than overwhelming them, something that the Michael Bay's and Zack Snyder's of this world would do well to note.
It's impossible to talk about this movie without mentioning the ending (I won't ruin it, but skip the next sentence if you'd rather know nothing) which is nothing short of astonishing. Poignant, heart wrenching and with such humanity it brings a tear to the eye, something few, if any, horror movies achieve.
Whilst delivering the goods in terms of gore and violence, this movie is so much more than that and one I would recommend to all, not just the usual sick in the head blood fiends.
You know who you are.
Wednesday, 21 July 2010
Awaken, a new world.
Sick and tired of those insipid Guardianistas telling you which movies you should and should not watch?
Me too.
Self styled social malcontent and utter hater of his fellow man Mosefus will guide you in all things cinematic, just so long as there's no period drama or 'worthiness' involved.
Let the blood splatter and the violence be palpable.
Welcome to the new world.
Andrew Collins is Dead.
Long live Andrew Collins Is Dead.
Me too.
Self styled social malcontent and utter hater of his fellow man Mosefus will guide you in all things cinematic, just so long as there's no period drama or 'worthiness' involved.
Let the blood splatter and the violence be palpable.
Welcome to the new world.
Andrew Collins is Dead.
Long live Andrew Collins Is Dead.
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