THE KILLAGE (2011)

Directed by Joe Bauer, Starring: Rita Artmann, Dryden Bingham, Laura Jane Turner. Comedy Horror, AUS, 2011, 102mins, Cert 15.

A group of eleven young employees and a seemingly ineffectual instructor embark on a weekend-long work retreat at a camping site in the middle of the Australian countryside. Unfortunately one of the group turns out to be a masked killer who proceeds to dispatch them one by one in various ‘creative’ ways.

Director, writer, actor, co-producer, co-cinematographer, editor, co-casting director, ADR mixer, sound editor, sound mixer, visual effects artist and (finally) colourist Joe Bauer’s ultra-low budget slasher film spoof is a low-brow hit and miss (mostly miss) redundant attempt to trash a sub-genre which needed no further trashing or mockery after SCARY MOVIE.

Shot over two long weekends (with a further week of ADR needed to re-record all the dialogue) – I accept that it is a minor miracle that the film ever got completed at all. But, to quote Jeff Goldblum’s character in JURASSIC PARK, perhaps the filmmakers were “... so preoccupied with whether or not they could that they didn't stop to think if they should”.

Here at Fleapits we will always try to champion low-budget efforts, and I approached THE KILLAGE with an open-minded smile on my face. However, my enthusiasm rapidly started to evaporate within minutes as one by one the parade of crudely drawn (with a crayon) stereotypical characters were embarrassingly introduced without the merest hint of a decent gag in sight.

I actually enjoyed the first SCARY MOVIE. Sure a great deal of its laughs came from non-genre related sexual jokes and set-pieces, but in amongst Anna Faris’ bat-infested pubic bush type gags, there was also some perceptively spot on winks to the genre. My favourite sight-gag being when Ghostface appeared by a tree and was then spotted scurrying behind it - referencing Michael Myers’ stalking of Laurie Strode in Carpenter’s HALLOWEEN. Bauer stages a parody of a jump-scare scene from another Carpenter classic, THE THING. Unfortunately Bauer kills the joke by allowing it to repetitiously drag on way past the initial knowing titter. (He’s guilty of gag overkill later on when the ‘final girl’ really, really, makes sure the killer is dead...)  I did however like the “Welcome to Camp Yurulgundie” sign (geddit?).

As the ‘final girl’ (it’s Emily by the way, but that’s hardly a spoiler) Rita Artmann gives the least objectionable performance given the frequently puerile nonsense going on around her. There’s an outdoor exercise scene that makes CARRY ON CAMPING look like it was penned by Noel Coward in comparison.

"Ooh Matron! Take them away!"

Director Bauer’s guitar playing minstrel-like character Gus vies for the most implausibly written character title with the moronic ‘Jock’ who inexplicably spends a large portion of the film stark naked – complete with an unfathomably long penis for good measure (no pun intended).

The actual murders range from decent(ish) - death by bong – to the (why oh why not funny) ill-judged CG decapitated talking head crapiness.

I think the reason THE KILLAGE fails to deliver is largely down to the fact that there just isn’t any real love or appreciation for the genre it’s supposedly referencing. It can still be done, take for example the wonderful TUCKER & DALE VS. EVIL. This combined a clever comedic spin on the backwoods hillbilly horror sub-genre and created two genuinely likeable characters the audience could root for - even as the bodies started piling up. Whilst the largely budget CG body count in THE KILLAGE is also piled high, the comedy is pitched so low, and the characters so unsympathetically loathsome that not only do you rarely laugh, you just don’t care either. 

Paul Worts

*(out of 5*)

YOUR VICE IS A LOCKED ROOM AND ONLY I HAVE THE KEY (1972)

Directed by Sergio Martino, Starring: Luigi Pistilli, Edwige Fenech, Anita Strindberg. Horror, Italy, 1972, 96mins, Cert 18.

Out of the five giallos Sergio Martino directed in the early 1970’s, YOUR VICE... brings to the banquet table a ripe feast of art house sensibility infused with spicy soft-core sex, and topped off with occasional morsels of giallo violence.

Oliviero Rouvigny (Pistilli) resides in a crumbling country villa, spending most of the time hosting decadent parties for the local hippies, whilst publically humiliating his wife Irina (Strindberg) as his once flourishing literary career slips ever further away. After his mistress, a former student, is found brutally slain with a sickle, Oliviero becomes the number one suspect. Things get even worse for Oliviero when his maid is also brutally slain in his mansion. In order to avoid further suspicion he walls the body up in the cellar. The murders don’t stop there however, and Oliviero’s life gets even more complicated with the sudden arrival of his beautiful niece Floriana (Fenech) who wastes no time in bedding not only his wife, but also the local delivery man before turning her irresistible charms on Oliviero himself! Throughout all this, lurking reproachfully in the shadows is his beloved black cat Satan – despised by wife Irina – who seems to be licking its chops at the cage containing Irina’s precious white doves...

Indebted to ‘The Black Cat’ by Edgar Allen Poe, but also influenced by Clouzot’s 1955 psychological thriller LES DAIBOLIQUES, director Martino’s hybrid giallo, perhaps not as well known as TORSO, is nevertheless a fascinating thriller with a host of juicy elements thrown into the pot.

Whilst the murder set-pieces are efficient enough, they almost seem perfunctory to the film. It’s as if Martino is more interested in exposing the psychological underbelly of his characters rather than opening up flesh wounds. Not that isn’t an abundance of (female) flesh on display, most notably that of Anita Strindberg’s Irina and the mesmerizingly beautiful Edwige Fenech as the sexually-liberated Floriana who waltzes into the villa after half an hour and owns the film as she disrobes both physically and psychological, all those around her. Both actresses are given meaty roles beyond the usual giallo victim confines however, and both rise to the occasion with Strindberg’s transformation key to the plot, and Fenech, playing the sexual catalyst rather than the usual innocent prey with a deliciously infectious allure. 

There are some startlingly effective visual flourishes conjured up by Martino and his cinematographer Giancarlo Ferrando, taking full advantage of the lush Italian countryside and crumbling villa to create some visually arresting compositions. Editor Attilio Vincioni seems to be having great fun punctuating the narrative with jump-cut close-ups of black cat Satan’s ever watchful gaze, and there’s a standout sequence involving a motorbike ride feverishly cut with glimpses of a glamorous roadside advertising hoarding. A lushly haunting harpsichord and string score by Bruno Nicolai stirs up proceedings with a melodic spoon without overly ladling the recipe.

The typically twisty narrative is laced with some richly ribald dialogue, for example, when Oliviero tries to break off a date with his gorgeous ex-student mistress Fausta, she reminds him that: “You started working on me over the desks at high school sir, and now you’ll pay the price!” And who can resist a film which serves up (literally): “Satan loves sheep’s eyes”.

Whilst the film’s title, (taken from a note passed to a character in Martino’s earlier giallo THE STRANGE VICE OF MRS. WARDH) makes little sense to me in terms of the story – how about ‘Don’t Torment a Cat’? (ha ha) – it offers up a fascinating slice of early 70’s Italian cinema. YOUR VICE IS A LOCKED ROOM...which deserves to be reopened and re-evaluated, and thanks to Arrow’s splendid HD transfer, now it can be. 

****(out of 5*)

Paul Worts

(Originally published on the FrightFest website)

THE MAN WHO COULD CHEAT DEATH (1959)

Directed by Terence Fisher, Starring: Anton Diffring, Christopher Lee, Hazel Court. Horror. UK, 1959, 83mins, Cert 15.

Paris 1890. Dr. Georges Bonner* has discovered the secret of eternal youth (he’s 104 years old but could pass for 30ish). Unfortunately the price to pay for immortality is to murder a young woman every 10 years, remove her fresh parathyroid glands, and exchange them via surgery with his own worn out ones. (He does however have a temporary ‘get out of jail free card’ whenever the 10 years are nearly up in the shape of a bubbling frothy green potion which sustains him for another 6+ hours at a time). But his usually reliable and now naturally ageing surgeon /co-inventor Professor Weiss has suffered a stroke and his hands can no longer perform the delicate surgery required to keep Dr Bonner youthful. And as if that wasn’t enough, Inspector Legris is on his trail – a trail strewn with dead mistresses who’ve posed for Dr Bonner over the years and whose sculptured busts serve as macabre artistic souvenirs marking the passage of time.

Adapted from the Barré Lyndon play ‘The Man in Half Moon Street’ (and previously filmed in 1945), Jimmy Sangster’s screenplay betrays its original stage origins with an abundance of talky scenes and a scarcity of horrific incident – at least for a Hammer film. It also suffers from the absence of Peter Cushing who turned down the lead role, and perhaps ultimately this is why the film is one of Hammer’s lesser known cinematic offerings.

Instead of Cushing we get melodramatic Anton Diffring, whose over-the-top stagey performance as the increasing maniacal gland snatcher raises titters rather than shivers: “I need a new watch. I need absolute accuracy!” 

There are some interesting philosophical exchanges between the mad doctor and his ageing co-conspirator Professor Weiss (Arnold Marlé) on the acceptance of mortality (or not in the case of our mad doctor), and Christopher Lee provides solid support as Dr. Pierre Gerard – a fellow surgeon reluctant to perform the unethical surgery required to sustain Dr Bonner. Lee’s character holds firm until Dr Bonner threatens the life of his current romantic interest (and former lover of the mad doctor) Janine Dubois, played by the mesmerising Hazel Court.

This is very much Hammer-lite. Neither overtly gruesome (except for the odd nasty burning side-effect), nor overly sexy – Hazel Court’s semi-nude pose is carefully framed to conceal her modesty (there’s supposedly a topless ‘European’ version – but it’s not included here). The story borrows most obviously from ‘The Picture of Dorian Gray’, but there are also elements of HOUSE OF WAX and several fog-bound scenes have a distinct ‘Jack the Ripper’ air about them.

It’s enjoyable tame hokum, albeit with a rushed and incongruous ending (a character presumed dead inexplicably turns up alive; badly scarred and cackling insanely). And whilst it’s never going to be considered a classic as such, it’s an interesting curio in the Hammer catalogue.  

(*Listed as Bonnet’ on IMDb and in seemingly every source – but the name plaque outside the Doctor’s residence at the film’s opening clearly spells it: “Bonner”, so I’m sticking with it!)

***(out of 5*)

Paul Worts

CONTAINMENT (2015)

Directed by Neil Mcenery-West, Starring: Lee Ross, Sheila Reid, Andrew Leung, Louise Brealey. Horror, UK, 2015, 77mins, Cert 15.

“Please remain calm. The situation is under control.”

Recently divorced Mark (Lee Ross) is not having a good start to his day. Awaking to find both the electricity and the water in his tower block have been turned off, he then can’t seem to open the window, the mobile phone signal appears jammed and his front-door has been glued shut. Initial suspicions that this might be some kind of prank are soon dispelled when he glances out across to the adjacent high-rise and spots a fellow resident desperately pounding his fists on his own sealed in double-glazed flat. Then, to top in all, Mark glances downward and sees HazMat (hazardous materials) suited personnel entering the block opposite whilst some kind of field hospital appears to taking shape on the communal lawn below.

First-time director Neil Mcener-West’s low-budget high-rise rift on [REC] mixed with THE CRAZIES type of scenario is proficient and lean and delivers a taunt kitchen-sink nightmare scenario. It’s focus is not so much on the reason for the ‘containment’ (there are a few cursory details offered late on regarding some kind of virus outbreak), but more about how the trapped residents react to the situation, and to each other – and that’s where the real horror is located.

As our reluctant hero, frustrated artist Mark (played with measured conviction by Lee Ross) finds himself forced by circumstances into banding together with his neighbours who, except for grouchy OAP Enid (Sheila Reid), he’s never really paid any attention to before. But thanks to the hit first ask questions later approach of bully-boy Sergei smashing through the paper-thin apartment walls in order to gather them together (safety in numbers), Mark is about to find out exactly what his neighbours’ true natures really are. Refreshingly, there aren’t any zombies resulting from this biohazard, here the threat lies within when the claustrophobic pressure of being trapped with a seemingly deadly pandemic in the air begins to take its toll mentally and physically on the remaining tenants.

Sheila Reid lightens the mood on occasions with barbed pronouncements such as: “Trust us to be the last – just like the fucking bins”, and writer David Lemon also provides her with this assessment of the residents’ predicament: “Weren’t like this during the war...At least it were some’ing you could all see...”

With clearly a very modest budget to play with, the sound design is worth its weight in gold for painting in the suggestion of an encroaching military presence of helicopters etc, and the haunting soundscape which accompanies the carefully composed shots of bleak vistas provide an effectively unsettlingly backdrop to the visceral struggles within the tower block.

Whilst the premise itself is hardly original, the film’s overall strength lies in its unsentimental and unflinching examination of quite how fragile the veneer of civilised society really is. Some of the characterisation is thin, and plot holes leave the occasional splinter, but the ruthless thrust of the narrative coupled with a trimmed-to-the-bone running time ensures the cracks don’t weaken the structure fatally. 

***(out of 5*)

      

Paul Worts

THE MESSENGER (2015)

Directed by David Blair, Starring: Robert Sheehan, Lily Cole, Tamzin Merchant, David O’Hara, Joely Richardson. Supernatural Thriller, 2015, 97mins, Cert 15.

Jack (Robert Sheehan) can see - and hear - dead people. In fact you could say they’re the ones haunting him. Despite his concerted efforts to drown them out with alcohol and medication, they hound Jack, begging him to deliver final messages of comfort to their grieving loved ones. Unsurprisingly, Jack’s garbled attempts to convey the dead’s post-mortem words to the living don’t go down too well. Then Jack encounters a murdered journalist whose death hides secrets which force Jack to confront his past and his ‘gift’.

Although in essence the premise sounds like THE SIXTH SENSE, anyone approaching this film hoping for a twisty spinetingler will be disappointed. It’s a sombre, depressing film, reflecting the downward psychological spiral of its reluctant ghost- whispering protagonist. Whilst trying to appease the recently departed’s wishes he seems to just heap more misery on himself. Childhood flashbacks fill in the origins of Jack’s ‘problems’, and give his psychiatrist (Joely Richardson) a hook upon which to hang her psychological explanation for what Jack perceives as his (unwanted) burden. 

Robert Sheehan acquits himself remarkably well as Jack, a character initially hard to relate to. When Jack remarks to his brother-in-law Martin: “You never liked me”, Martin’s immediate comeback is: “What’s there to like?” Actually, I found myself warming to Jack, in part due to the (admittedly manipulative) flashbacks, but also down to the occasional raw glimpses of genuine fragility offered up by Sheehan’s committed performance. The other characters however are written and played with a coldness of touch – Jack’s sister Emma (Lily Cole) for example - and a paucity of detail ensures they largely remain detached both from Jack and the viewer.

The film condenses down into a character study of a young man who either can genuinely talk to corpses or is completely delusional. It does so by discarding several plot threads which, having initially been woven into the film’s fabric, are subsequently left dangling and discarded. The key mystery remains unsolved, and an intriguing sub-plot is introduced before being largely thrown away at the end.

THE MESSENGER is not a scary ghost film; it’s a bleak, downbeat supernatural take on the effects of grief.  Although lensed in widescreen, and despite the occasional bold visual brushstroke of swathes of grassy moorland, or a deserted airfield, the largely muted visual palette often has a TV-production vibe about it. But, despite the fact that the plot vanishes into thin air, the atmosphere conjured lingers in the memory.

 ***(out of 5*)

Paul Worts

THE CANAL (2014)

Directed by Ivan Kavanagh, Starring: Rupert Evans, Hannah Hoekstra, Steve Oram, Antonia Campbell-Hughes. Horror, IR, 2014, 93mins, Cert 15.

“Who wants to see some ghosts?”

Five years after moving into a creaky house backing onto a canal, film archivist David (Rupert Evans) is asked to review some old film footage donated from the local police archive. The footage, ‘Crime Scene 1902’, documents the brutal murder of a wife by her jealous husband who found out she was having an affair. The murder took place in the very same house David, his wife, and his 5 year old son now reside. A further film donation leads David to discover that the killer subsequently escaped from custody, murdered the nanny, and then drowned both the children and himself in the canal running behind the house. Back in the present, David suspects his own wife may be cheating on him...Is history about to repeat itself, and is there a ‘presence’ in the house and in the canal fuelling this possibility?

Shown as part of the Discovery strand at FrightFest 2014, writer/director Ivan Kavanagh’s psychological thriller pulls off some genuinely dread-inducing moments which call to mind certain sequences from the BBC’s M.R.James adaptations (albeit with a modern slant). It’s a shame then that the finale unfortunately drops the ball somewhat with a disappointingly mundane dénouement (followed by a nonsensical and seemingly tacked-on final twist). But there’s still much to admire up till this point.

Visually (and aurally) the film successfully evokes a palpable sense of unease, combining a series of effectively kinetic set-pieces whilst (refreshingly) resisting the temptation of the ‘jump scare’ in favour of incremental creepiness. There’s a surprisingly well orchestrated RINGU (1998) inspired sequence, and a truly nasty visceral moment in the canal drain which you wouldn’t normally expect to find in a film essentially grounded in psychological terrors.

There were times during THE CANAL when I was reminded of Steven Volk’s superb supernatural TV drama AFTERLIFE. In fact I half-suspected Lesley Sharp’s psychic ‘Alison Mundy’ and Andrew Lincoln’s sceptical academic ‘Robert Bridge’ would turn up at one point with wide-eyed Alison claiming the spirit of the wife killer was still in the house whilst Robert attempted to rationalise the spooky parallels.

Whilst there’s a spiralling grimness (no bad thing mind you) at the heart of the film, there is brief but memorable light relief in the shape of cynical detective ‘McNamara’ (a martyr to acid reflux) played with suitable drollness by SIGHTSEERS Steve Oram. With David’s wife missing, McNamara sits with him in the car and offers David the following insight: “People always suspect the husband. Do you know why that is? Cos it’s always the husband: every fucking time...”

I did chuckle to myself for questioning why David would choose to throw up in a revolting public toilet – one resembling a distant cousin of the defecate-incrusted Glaswegian bowl Ewan McGregor climbs into in TRAINSPOTTING – rather than outside in the infinitely preferable fresh air by the canal. It surely says something that I can happily swallow all manner of fanciful supernatural leaps in the dark yet somehow question a man’s choice of puke hole...?

THE CANAL churns up some decent chills, it’s smartly paced and doesn’t drag, and even if the end does meander off-stream a bit, it’s still worth a punt on.

***(out of 5*) 

Paul Worts

(First published on the FrightFest website.)

THE HUMAN CENTIPEDE III (FINAL SEQUENCE) (2015)

Directed by Tom Six, Starring: Dieter Laser, Laurence R. Harvey, Bree Olsen, Eric Roberts. Horror, US, 2015, 100mins, Cert 18.

Sadistic prison warden Bill Boss (Dieter Laser) is in danger of being fired by state Governor (Eric Roberts) on account of his prison having the highest personnel turnover; violence rates; and legal and medical costs - of any other institution in the US correctional system. Boss’ long-suffering accountant and right hand man Dwight (Laurence R. Harvey) however has a cunning plan to help cut costs. Inspired by the first two HUMAN CENTIPEDE films, Dwight proposes to create one giant human centipede of the 500 inmates...

Tom Six’s ‘FINAL SEQUENCE’ in his CENTIPEDE trilogy is a tamer effort in comparison to its slaughterhouse aesthetic monochrome predecessor, but there’s still plenty to offend the average ‘Daily Mail’ reader in this cartoonish satire on US politics. For starters Six loads Bill Boss’ dialogue with a non-stop spewing barrage of sexist, racist, homophobic diatribes. Played with artery bulging ferocity by Dieter Laser (returning from the FIRST SEQUENCE where he played the mad scientist and original creator of the centipede ‘Dr Heiter’), Boss’ rants aren’t mere idle threats either. Amongst his methods of attempting to instil discipline he employs water-boarding - with boiling hot water - on one prisoner whilst castrating another before having his testicles cooked for dinner. (And don’t ask what those African imported ‘sweets’ in that jar on his desk really are either...) 

Then, when he’s not abusing and maiming his inmates, Boss is abusing his secretary ‘Daisy’ (Bree Olsen) for his sexual gratification – in full-view of ineffectual ‘Dwight’ (Lawrence R Harvey - also returning after his brilliant portrayal of obsessive monster ‘Martin’ in FULL SEQUENCE). Dwight is in love with Daisy but he (like the rest of the prison staff) just can’t muster the courage to stand up to his evil tyrant of an employer – even when Daisy’s lying in a coma from being assaulted by an inmate.

Given the steady catalogue of atrocities served up throughout the film, the actual centipede of prisoners is almost an afterthought (it doesn’t actually begin to take shape until two-thirds of the films’ running time has lapsed). In some ways perhaps this reflects the (cult)ural phenomena of the ‘Human Centipede’ itself. The concept has seeped over into the mainstream (e.g. South Park parody) to the point where it’s become a viable Halloween cosplay option (for three close friends or more). This unlikely crossover has inevitably ‘watered down’ the centipede’s impact to shock. Originally conceived by Tom Six as an imaginary punishment for convicted paedophiles – it has, to a lesser extent, mirrored the way in which the original darker origins of ‘Fred Krueger’ were conveniently pushed to one side once wise-cracking punmiester ‘Freddy’ became a merchandising cash-cow for New Line Cinema. Tom Six is, I suspect, smart enough to have seen this coming all along, hence the structure of his FINAL SEQUENCE.

As puerile and ridiculously implausible as the material may be, there’s clearly method in Tom Six’s madness (something which is either consciously overlooked or genuinely missed altogether in amongst the copious amounts of onscreen filth and degradation). To say the trilogy displays self-awareness is an understatement – it’s a positive meta-construct. From the inverse scenario of Lawrence R Harvey’s loner ‘Martin’ being inspired by THE HUMAN CENTIPEDE (FIRST SEQUENCE) in the startlingly bleak brilliance of the sequel, right through to his character in FINAL SEQUENCE making his boss watch both the previous films before inviting the actual director into the prison as a technical adviser on achieving their 500-strong prisoner centipede. (The alternate ending – an extra on the disc – goes even further in completing the self-sustaining regurgitative narrative).

Maybe I should be worried, but despite all I’ve described above, I found THE HUMAN CENTIPEDE III (FINAL SEQUENCE) riotously amusing – albeit in a sick kind of way. Dieter Laser, resembling a 70’s exploitation version of ‘Lord Voldemort’ from HARRY POTTER AND THE PHILOSOPHER’S STONE, is mesmerisingly over-the-top; whilst Lawrence R. Harvey’s meekly mild moustachioed accountant is a perfect comedic foil for mad bastard Boss (even with Harvey’s hilariously unconvincing American accent).

Tom Six’s CENTIPEDE trilogy is, I very much suspect, a lot like ‘Marmite’: you either love it or you hate it. I HATE ‘Marmite’, but I seem to love the CENTIPEDE trilogy.

**** (out of 5*)                

         

Paul Worts