THE TEXAS CHAINSAW MASACRE 2 (1986)

Directed by Tobe Hooper, Starring: Dennis Hopper, Caroline Williams, Jim Siedow. Horror, US, 1986, 101mins, Cert 18.

“The saw is family!”

Belatedly following up his seminal 1974 original, Tobe Hooper completed the third of his three-picture deal with Cannon Films in 1986 by delivering a (very) 80’s sequel. Eschewing the gritty grind house aesthetic of the original, THE TEXAS CHAINSAW MASSACRE 2 (TCM2) is very much a glossier product of it time, with yuppie Reagan-era politics now being satirised, a distinctly generic-sounding electronic horror-film soundtrack replacing the disconcerting farmyard cacophonic soundscape of TCM , and a generous ladleful of 80’s gore effects from Tom Savini. 

After inadvertently recording the buzz saw deaths of 2 affluent rich kids on her live phone in request show, DJ ‘Stretch’ (Caroline Williams) comes to the attention of the Sawyer family, and patriarch Drayton Sawyer (a much welcomed returning Jim Siedow) sends ‘Leatherface’ (Bill Johnson/Bob Elmore ) and brother ‘Chop-Top’ (Bill Moseley) to her radio station to chainsaw her broadcasting forever. Meanwhile, a revenge-hungry Stetson sporting former Texas Ranger, Lieutenant Boude "Lefty" Enright (a deranged Dennis Hopper), the uncle of Sally Hardesty and her invalid brother Franklin from the original TCM, is closing in on the Sawyer family, and he’s packing a veritable arsenal of chainsaws himself...

Understandably, no other director was willing to take on the unenviable task of helming a sequel to Tobe Hooper’s classic, so producer Hooper eventually took up the directorial reins himself. Sagely realising that he couldn’t capture lightning in a bottle twice, Hooper turned up the humour dial to ‘11’, and (miraculously, given the shooting deadline) delivered to Cannon Film’s Menahem Golan and Yoram Globus a film that censors both in the US and the UK collectively failed to appreciate the dark humour amidst the gore. Faced with an ‘X’ rating, Cannon released the film unrated (commendably intact for sure, but thereby hampered with both promotion and theatrical distribution). In the UK, the film never made it to initial release after the BBFC procrastinated over it for so long the distributor gave up the ghost. (It was eventually passed uncut on home video in July 2001!) Therefore, myself and fellow UK gore hounds had to resort to inferior 2^nd generation video versions transposed from NTSC copies whose wobbly tracking and diluted colour palette didn’t help ones appreciation of the film one little bit.

Viewing it again through the rose-tinted luxury of Arrow Films HD transfer (supervised by Director of Photography Richard Kooris), there is much to admire about Hooper’s revised garishly gory cartoonish revision of the Sawyer family’s cannibalistic chain sawing exploits. 

Bill Moseley’s deliciously grotesque Vietnam vet Chop-Top (the brother of the original hitchhiker ‘Nubbins’) constantly ‘hot-wiring’ his skull along a fissure in his metal head plate with the heated end of a coat hanger - whilst spitting out eminently quotable sound bites such as ‘Dog will hunt!” - is so memorable he often threatens to upstage Leatherface himself. Largely essayed by stuntman Bob Elmore after Bill Johnson struggled to convincingly wield the chainsaw, Leatherface is no longer a squealing lipstick/apron adorned maternal distortion, but sporting a newly stitched Tom Savini skin mask, he develops a sickly comical ‘beauty and the beast’ attraction toward plucky DJ ‘Stretch’ (Caroline Williams, so striking in her ultra short denim hot pants). His courting methods however leave a lot to be desired, firstly (in an obviously censor-baiting move) phallically caressing her splayed inner thighs with his chainsaw (impotently, but thankfully unable to start the saw as it approaches her crotch), and later, ‘romantically’ presenting her with the freshly skinned face of her radio station soundman as if it was a corsage for a high school prom date!   

The Sawyer’s vast underground labyrinthine lair, set within the grounds of an abandoned theme park, resplendent with garish fairy lights and nicely poignant touches such as Franklin’s corpse and wheelchair, afford Hooper with the scope to dolly the camera right back during the restaged ‘dinner scene’, and to afford Caroline Williams with plenty of crumbling ghost train-like tunnelling to run from Leatherface.

Dennis Hopper’s bizarre turn as ‘Lefty’ culminates in a chainsaw duel atop the Sawyer’s dinner table which gives Tom Savini an opportunity to pull off another of his gory magic tricks following on from head-slicing and skinning mayhem. (There was also a sequence in an underground car park, cut by Hooper himself for pacing, which presented further opportunities for Leatherface to connect saw to flesh and bone and to demonstrate Savini’s penchant for inventive slaughter. This outtake is included in the extras, albeit in low-res VHS quality).

Part of the initial resistance to TCM2 was the absence of the original Leatherface (Gunnar Hansen) and the obvious transition to upfront humour and social satire at the expense of the unrelenting visceral terrorisation of its predecessor. But time has been kind to TCM2, and thanks to Arrow’s glorious Blu-ray, it’s a whole lot easier to appreciate Hooper’s vision for his sequel, and to, perhaps belatedly, feel the buzz.  

****(out of 5*)

Paul Worts

 (Originally published by FrightFest) 

A DARK SONG (2016)

Directed by Liam Gavin, Starring: Catherine Walker, Steve Oram. Horror, Ireland, 2016, 100mins, Cert 15.

“...this is real stuff we’re playing with: real angels, real demons”   

 

Three years after the murder of her 7 year old son, Sophia (Catherine Walker) enlists the services of an initially reluctant occultist, Solomon (Steve Oram) to conduct an all-consuming black magic ritual to summon her guardian angel. At first, Sophia makes out her reason is for unreciprocated romantic love, but when Solomon refuses (despite being offered £80K) for what he perceives as such a pitifully unworthy reason: “Abramelin procedure just to force love. It’s like getting Titian to decorate a cake”, Sophia opens up to explain about her son and tells Solomon it’s actually to hear her dead son’s voice again. This changes his mind, but firstly he asks Sophia to reassure him that this now is the truth: “as it’s important” and not being completely honest could have consequences for both of them.

Director/writer Liam Gavin’s debut feature is a powerful assured two-hander set mainly within the echoed corridors and sparsely furnished bare wood floor rooms of an isolated manor house. It chronicles an almost forensically detailed depiction of arcane preparation and practice - far removed from the usual throwaway mainstream montage depictions of Ouija boards or séance clichés - and is all the more compelling as a result. 

To this end, it is immeasurably assisted by the abrasive matter-of-factness of Steve (SIGHTSEERS) Oram’s acerbic occultist Solomon, a character almost lifted straight out of a Mike Leigh kitchen sink drama. Solomon is spiteful, condescending and viscously cruel at times, so you’d therefore imagine intensely dislikeable. However, writer/director Gavin sprinkles occasional hints of kindness and compassion on the character to occasionally dilute his often downright unpleasantness, and Oram brings out the subtleties and seemingly contradictory actions with an unfussy convincing efficiency. 

 

Catherine Walker (Sophia) is superb as the grief and guilt-ridden mother who has had enough of counselling and her younger sister’s unwanted interventions and steels herself for what will prove to be six months of hellish endurance. Sophia’s arc is integral to the film, and Walker provides subtle nuance in essaying a character also seemingly hard to warm to, and her fully committed performance, often enduring arduous tests and physical challenges ultimately rewards. 

   

The supernatural elements of the story are initially introduced with delicate visual touches, and the build-up is assuredly measured (perhaps too measured for some viewers?). As events begin to take on a darker tone in the final third, it is telling that both players and their director have guided you to this point and have earned your investment in their characters, thereby enhancing the impact of their respective fates. 

The conclusion is, I respectfully suggest, bold and audaciously risky on one hand, yet on the other, it also has the potential to induce WTF-like giggles as much as it does genuine wonderment. To me it makes perfect sense, and demonstrates that the director has played it straight right from the off, but against a backdrop of mainstream supernatural horror, an uplifting spiritual dénouement is an acquired taste for audiences used to being fed a diet of final jump scares often heralding the next sequel in a franchise. 

This is a slow burn black candle of a film, but one I’m happy to wax lyrical about.

****(OUT OF 5*)

Paul Worts
First published on the FrightFest website.website.

THE BIRD WITH THE CRYSTAL PLUMAGE (1970)

Directed by Dario Argento, Starring: Tony Musante, Suzy Kendall, Eva Renzi. Horror, Italy, 1970, 98mins, Cert 15.

“Right, bring in the perverts!”

Dario Argento’s stylishly assured directorial debut was the catalyst for the renaissance of the giallo, and acted as a significant calling card for one of horror cinema’s most celebrated cinematic stylists.

Loosely adapted from Fredric Brown’s pulp 1949 mystery novel ‘The Screaming Mimi’ (previously adapted for the 1958 film  SCREAMING MIMI), Argento take, stalking in the footsteps of Mario Bava’s THE GIRL WHO KNEW TOO MUCH and BLOOD AND BLACK LACE, provided a revised blueprint for dozens of giallos which followed in its wake.

Sam Dalmas (Tony Musante), an American writer on an extended stay in Rome to overcome his writer's’ block, witnesses an assault on a woman in a modern art gallery for which he is powerless to intervene as he gets trapped between the gallery’s sliding glass doors. Haunted by a nagging feeling that there was more to the incident than it appeared, he becomes obsessed with the case and pursues his own investigation in parallel with the police who are desperately trying to identify a serial killer terrorising Rome with a string of brutal murders. In doing so, Sam brings himself to the attention of the killer, and soon it is Sam, and his girlfriend Giulia (Suzy Kendall) who are being stalked.

Argento sets out his intentions right from the off by focusing down on an unseen black leather-gloved killer fetishizing over a selection of polished knives before covertly photographing the next would-be victim. He then proceeds to foreshadow the iconic gallery set-piece by introducing our protagonist Sam by tracking him down a corridor of glass display cases filled with stuffed birds (whilst a predatory cat looks on). 

There’s much joy to be had in spotting the incidental details, visual puns and coded clues in the film. The ironic fact that Sam’s case of writer’s block has resulted in him having to write a ‘manual on the preservation of rare birds’, and the striking prehistoric-like bird claw sculpture in the gallery are all winks and nods to the film’s title and hint at the killer’s denouement. 

Many of Argento’s traits and recurring themes are already present in his debut feature. The theme of voyeurism is to the forefront as Sam is trapped between the glass panes he is forced to spectate on the gallery assault as are we the viewers, all within a glass frame that resembles the ratio of a ‘scope cinema screen. The misperception of what has been seen, and how the eye can be tricked (at least initially) is also a recurrent trope in subsequent works. Despite being an animal lover, cats often don’t fare too well in Argento’s films - here they are captured, caged, fattened and cooked!  And then there’s the influence of art itself, a painting depicting a past trauma acting as a psychological trigger, and the physical threat of sharp pieces of sculpture.

What’s probably not recognised so much is the amount of humour, albeit mostly of the non-politically correct variety, in the film. There’s intentional light relief in the form of endearing Gildo Di Marco’s stuttering pimp “so long” Garullo, the grumpy reclusive cat-hating artist, and the twitchy informer who wouldn’t seem out of place in a Pink Panther film or a ‘Fast Show’ sketch. There are also the more embarrassing character depictions, notably with the gay antique shop owner (whose overtures towards Sam make Lieutenant Gruber's interactions with cafe owner René in BBC comedy ‘ALLO ‘ALLO! positively subtle in comparison.) And then there’s the classic suspect line-up scene, which not only features the headline quote “Right, bring in the perverts!”, but then manages to top that with Inspector Morosini’s exasperated reaction to one of the attendees in the line-up: “How many times do I have to tell you, Ursula Andress belongs with the transvestites, not the perverts!” To be fair to Argento, sexuality and gender are subjects he does not shy away from, and are tackled with greater significance in his later works, so I’m inclined to award him a ‘get out of jail free’ card this time. 

Interestingly, he doesn’t subscribe to the traditional macho male hero image, despite Sam’s outward appearance. He’s rendered impotent to intercede in the gallery assault, his writing has faltered, there’s a hint that he may have had a drink problem, escapes assignation himself by sheer luck on more than one occasion, seems unreasonably blasé about how his meddling might draw the killer’s attentions onto his girlfriend, and is clearly bested by the killer. (And what’s with the ticking metronome behind the bed, is Argento suggesting he is a repetitive and uninventive lover?)

Accusations of misogyny are frequently hurled at Argento, to which it must be said he hasn’t always countered convincingly, but it’s only fair to note that the detectives (all male), for all their fancy (1970’s style) computer equipment and scientific analysis, fall hopelessly short in identifying even the most fundamental fact about the killer.

The murder set-pieces, orchestrated and perpetrated by the hands of Argento himself, are less explicit and more restrained in terms of onscreen depiction than Argento would become renowned for in subsequent outings, yet one sequence involving ‘sexualised violence’ was still sufficiently problematic for the UK censor back in the day and resulted in 18 seconds of cuts (now fully restored of course, and tellingly, the rating has reduced from ‘18’ down to ’15).

The influence of THE BIRD WITH THE CRYSTAL PLUMAGE cannot be underestimated both in Italy with the renewed interest in giallo filmmaking, but also across the pond, where it, and subsequent entries such as Bava’s BAY OF BLOOD paved the way and provided the  blueprints for the next incarnation of murderous mayhem: the US slasher film. With Arrow’s brand new vibrant 4k restoration from the camera negative, it’s quite simply essential viewing.

**** (out of 5*)

Paul Worts

This review was originally published on the FrightFest website.  

NAILS (2017)

Directed by Dennis Bartok, Starring: Shauna Macdonald, Ross Noble, Steve Wall. Horror, Ireland, 2017, 85mins, Cert 15.

Super-fit track coach Dana Milgrom’s early morning jog is rudely interrupted by a near fatal run-in with a car which leaves her almost completely paralysed. Trapped inside her own body, with her speech severely affected, Dana communicates through a voice synthesised computer keyboard. Staring at the prospect of a lengthy recovery process in a (very) rundown rehabilitation hospital, Dana’s physical vulnerabilities are about to be heightened by a supernatural inhabitant of the hospital. A shadowy figure with long, sharp, finger nails...

Despite a strong committed performance by Shauna (THE DESCENT) Macdonald as the recovering patient trapped by her injuries, the initially promising basic premise never develops into anything more resonant than a couple of jump-scares and some truly clunky dialogue and exposition. Ross Noble is largely wasted as the sympathetic and seemingly only full-time employed nurse in the hospital. Not since HALLOWEEN II (1981) has there been such an under-staffed and under-lit hospital setting. (Frankly, given its sparse resources, I was surprised there was even Wi-Fi available for Dana to conduct the obligatory historical-news-clipping-revelation on her MacBook!)   

Narrated by the resident shrink ‘Dr Stengel’ with such a deadened one note delivery you wonder whether he’d previously performed a self-lobotomy, the backstory to ‘Nails’ reads better than it sounds or translates on screen. (It’s creepy, albeit highly implausible – hence why it may work better on the printed page).

‘Nails’ himself appears to have Freddy Krueger-like dream aspirations - albeit preferring to skip manicures instead of threat-enhancing finger knives. Sadly, without recourse to witty pun-laden one-liners, he is somewhat limited to dramatically opening supply cupboard doors, scraping Shauna MacDonald’s paralysed bed sore legs, and scratching out an ominous message on her bare tummy.

The introduction of surveillance cameras half-way through the film seemed at first to suggest a visual detour into PARANORMAL ACTIVITY territory, (the film’s working title was ‘P.O.V’) but it’s not tellingly utilised apart from a clumsy means to emphasise a marital sub-plot which doesn’t need highlighting.

NAILS had potential, but for me it rather disappointingly failed to scratch more than the surface of its terror intentions, and despite a surprisingly bleak finale, remained largely bedbound. 

**(out of 5*)

Paul Worts

This review was originally published on the FrightFest website.

SWISS ARMY MAN (2016)

Directed by Daniel Scheinert and Daniel Kwan, Starring: Paul Dano and Daniel Radcliffe. Arty(Farty) Comedy Drama, US, 2016, 94mins, Cert 15.

Imagine an art-house reworking of WEEKEND AT BERNIE’S and CAST AWAY with Daniel Radcliffe as a perpetually flatulent drowned corpse who washes up ashore a deserted island. Well, almost deserted, apart from a bearded young man, Hank (Paul Dano), a stranded castaway who's just about to hang himself when he spies ‘Manny’ lying on the beach. Hank’s initial hope of living company soon turns to despair when he realises Manny is dead, but Manny is destined to become Hank’s ‘Wilson’ like Tom Hank’s volleyball in CAST AWAY.  And he’s also about to be Hank’s ticket off the island when Hank harnesses Manny’s propellant fart power to ride him like a jet ski back to the mainland.  

Bodily functions play a crucial role in directors’ Scheinert and Kwan’s (the ‘Daniels’) surreal and charmingly quirky meditation on the human condition. Audaciously skipping across a tight rope of puerile crudity and gross-out outrageousness, it also finds time to juggle in affecting moments of pathos and regret, and a re-evaluation of the restorative power of Cheesy Puffs.

Radcliffe undertakes as much of the physical dead corpse work as he can, including selling practical effects such as spewing geysers of digestive seawater, whilst inevitably having to concede certain tasks to stunt dummies, stunt bottoms (and animatronic penis).

Paul Dano carries the film (and often Radcliffe’s corpse) as the desperate and disillusioned Hank, who finds himself increasingly confiding in his deceased confidant. The two characters ‘exchanges’ on the intricacies of the body’s biological functions induce full-on guffaws, whilst scattering wry observations on modern life and unrequited love in equal measure.

The sound department excel themselves in providing an impressive arsenal of variant fart effects which renders the camp fire sequence in BLAZING SADDLES positively constipated in comparison. The uplifting vocal scoring elevates and soars to accompany Hank’s trials and tribulations. The detailed intricacies of the set designs (such as the simulated ‘bus ride’ sequence) consistently provide intriguing possibilities for the players to work with. And there’s also a refreshing commitment to practical effects over CG work, wherever possible, so whilst you won’t quite believe a man can fly by intestinal gastric expulsion, you have to at least admire the audacity of the gag.  

I know this is a film which divides. I’ll wager you’ll know by the time the title credits flash up to accompany Hank’s butt-ski dash across the waves whether this is a film you’ll happily let float your boat, or one which you’ll happily tell the filmmakers exactly where they can shove it. I for one loved its unabashed unapologetic lack of self-restraint coupled with its joyously tainted sentimental optimism about acceptance. And it had the best use of the theme from ‘Jurassic Park’ ever.

****(out of 5*)

Paul Worts

This review was originally published on the FrightFest website.

THE GREASY STRANGLER (2016)

Directed by Jim Hosking, Starring: Michael St. Michaels, Sky Elobar, Elizabeth De Razzo. Comedy, Horror US, 2016, 93mins, Cert 18.

Grease is the word...

Jim Hosking’s directorial feature debut comes across like a congealed platter of early John Waters and Troma films, and is disgustingly enjoyable in its (albeit) calculated bizarre grossness.

‘Big Brayden’ (Sky Elobar), a taller version of Matt Lucas’ character ‘Andy’ from LITTLE BRITAIN, resides uneasily with his grease obsessed father ‘Big Ronnie’ (Michael St. Michael), a cross between Klaus Kinski and the titular creature from Stan Winston’s PUMPKINHEAD. Big Ronnie - apt considering his humongously grotesque (prosthetic) penis - runs tours of L.A’.s disco scene with his son by day, and just maybe the greasy strangler by night (hint: this isn’t really a mystery). Their dysfunctional grease encrusted existence is shaken to its core by the arrival of “Hootie tootie disco cutie” Janet (Elizabeth de Razzo) who overlooks Brayden’s remarkably small penis and lack of stomach definition “Not all girls like ripped up abs”, and begins to fall in love with Brayden. That is until dad works his disco moves and greasy globules of lubricant on Janet.

This intentionally bad taste mix of copious full-on genitalia, cartoon-like splatter gags, and repetitive expletive infected dialogue doesn’t register anywhere near the shock value it once might’ve had in these desensitised times. I actually found myself chuckling more at the drawn out patience-testing scenes of banality such as the verbal sparring between Big Ronnie and his tour party insisting on free drinks, the latter’s discussion as to the contents of a packet of crisps, and a hot dog vendors’ insistence on not being able to sell his dogs covered in grease.  

Of course the repetitive singularity nature of these character lives are what director Hosking is conveying here, even the supposedly illicit serial killing thrills of the greasy strangler are reduced to a replicated pattern whereby he ends up each night in the local car wash purging off the grease before exchanging inane pleasantries (whilst still nude) with the blind gas station owner.

Accompanying the intentional one-note performances which nail the films sensibility with toe-curling precision is Andrew Hung’s plink-plonk electronic soundtrack, a hybrid of 80’s video gaming bleeps and what sounds like Alvin and the Chipmunks underwater.

Overall less eye-popping then it perhaps aimed to be, this is still a noteworthy calling-card for Brit Jim Hosking, and it will be interesting to see what he serves up next as to whether he is a “Bullshit artist!” or one to watch. Judging by THE GREASY STRANGLER, I’d say (for now at least) the latter.  

**** (out of 5*)

Paul Worts

OUIJA: ORIGIN OF EVIL (2016)

Directed by Mike Flanagan, Starring: Elizabeth Reaser, Annalise Basso, Lulu Wilson. Horror, US, 2016, 95mins, Cert 15.

(Alice) “The basement...Lina: wait outside.”

(Lina) “No. No way, no, that’s my sister. This is my house, and I’m going with you...Besides, splitting up sounds like the stupidest idea in the world.”   

Taking over the reins from Stiles White, director/co-writer Mike Flanagan delivers a retro-tinted character-driven prequel to the 2014 box-office hit OUIJA. We rewind back to a 1967 suburban neighbourhood in Los Angeles. Widowed mother Alice Zander (Elizabeth Reaser), together with teen daughter Lina (Annalise Basso) and younger daughter Doris (Lulu Wilson), run a home based séance scam business. The act is getting stale until Alice purchases a Ouija board as a prop to enhance their deception. The board game comes with three rules:

1. Never play alone.

2. Never play in a graveyard.

3. Always say goodbye.

Unfortunately, Alice’s blasé attitude as a spiritual charlatan leads to fatal complacency and she promptly breaks rule 1 and 3 (and unknowingly, rule 2 in the bargain). You see the Zander’s seemingly quiet suburban house harbours a dark gruesome secret buried behind its walls, and an evil entity which doesn’t need a second invitation once the Ouija board is opened to find a human host to give it a voice.

The problem with prequels is no matter how radical a tangent you set out your stall, you’re duty bound to eventually converge plot points in order to join up with the original narrative. No more so is this evident than in ORIGIN OF EVIL. That’s not to say director Flanagan doesn’t lead us on a merrily entertaining and determinedly nostalgic visual dance beforehand - at least until the final reel that is. 

Although shot digitally, Flanagan works hard to achieve (with some degree of success) a 70’s/early 80’s vibe. Utilising the classic Universal Studios logo and a retro-styled title card for starters, we are also treated to reel change cigarette burns, and DP Michael Fimognari’s camera zestily zooming in and out with an antique set of lenses which infuse candle light and sunset with a warm hazy palette mostly absent from current genre offerings.

There is also further warmth generated by a trio of fine performances from the three female leads. Lulu Wilson in particular is a revelation as little Doris, who undergoes a startling character transformation courtesy of Doug Jones’ demonic ghoul with chilling effect. 

Director Flanagan admirably holds out for close on 40 minutes before unleashing his first big sting jump scare sound effect – a notable achievement given today’s multiplex template - instead wisely opting for ambient sound design and judicious scoring to achieve sustainable unease. Of course given the PG-13 brief of the franchise, he is somewhat hampered as to how far to push the scares and physical threat when necessity dictates in the final reel. And it’s here where the film stumbles when the inevitable haunted house/possession clichés are rolled out stage left, right, along the walls and up on the ceiling. Think a mishmash of elements from POLTERGEIST and THE EXORCIST filtered through a PG-13 gauze, with ET’s Henry Thomas wearing the white collar of the heroic priest. (And yes that is an intentional nod to THE EXORCIST’s iconic poster image when he pauses outside the Zander house).

If you’ve seen OUIJA (2014) you’ll already know the respective fates of the three Zander women. (I watched the original on Netflix by way of prior homework the night before). There are still some loose ends which don’t quite tie-up when you review the events of the first film, and the final jump scare before the credit roll rings hollow (even if it just might be a homage to THE EXORCIST III). Oh yes, and if you reading the end-credits and begin wondering where was Lin Shaye, she turns up in a very brief post-credit coda which does link up nicely with the first instalment and proves just what a good sport she is.

***(out of 5*)

Paul Worts