IMAGES (1972)

Directed by: Robert Altman, Starring: Susannah York, Rene

Auberjonois. Horror. UK 1972, 141mins, Cert 15. 
 

Once thought lost (Columbia Pictures were rumoured to have burned the original negatives) Robert Altman’s early 70’s improvisational foray into psychological horror re-emerges like a phoenix from the (non-incinerated) ashes in an Arrow Films exclusive brand new 4k restoration from the original negative.

Cathryn (Susannah York), a schizophrenic children’s author, persuades her photographer and keen hunter husband Hugh (Rene Auberjonois) to escape for a break to her childhood home in the rural Irish countryside after an anonymous phone caller suggests Hugh is having an affair. Meanwhile, Cathryn’s own former French lover Rene (Marcel Bozzuffi) – who died 3-years previously in a plane crash – is rather disturbingly popping up all over the house, sometimes seamlessly interchanging with her husband in the blink of an eye. And then there’s her husband’s friend Marcel (Hugh Millais), who surreptitiously gropes Cathryn at every (in) opportune moment whilst whispering sexually suggestive invitations only just out of earshot of his 12 year-old daughter Susannah (Cathryn Harrison) – who in turn just might be a younger image of Cathryn herself. No wonder poor Cathryn is having a mental breakdown, or is all of this just imaginary symptoms of her unravelling mind?

Visually there’s much to admire in Altman’s experimental hybrid fusing of art house inspirations such as Ingmar Bergman’s PERSONA, with the tropes of the psychological thriller. Together with his revered cinematographer Vilmos Zsigmond, Altman pulls off some extraordinary cinematic flourishes such as the unsettling in-camera Bavaesque trickery interchanging husband and former (dead) lover. Another hauntingly memorable sequence involves Susannah York’s Cathryn standing on a hill top observing a mirror image of herself arriving at the house down in the valley below. Altman then cuts to this alternative Cathryn looking up to the horizon and making out the silhouetted figure of herself staring back down at her. Altman and Zsigmond make the most of the lush canvas of Irish landscape, including a striking waterfall which proves to be both an ethereally beautiful location whilst instilled with a foreboding foreshadowing à la DON’T LOOK NOW which would follow in 1973. 

Susannah York (deservedly) won the Best Actress award at Cannes for her extraordinary portrayal of the psychologically haunted children’s author. York, pregnant whilst filming, narrated from her own work: ‘In Search of Unicorns’ during the film, lending an autobiographical layer to the proceedings as well as the fantasy symbolism which Altman incorporates into the piece.

My patience was at time stretched by some of the mundane dialogue: “This is the first time I’ve had a tomato sandwich”, “Do you like it?”, “Yeah”. I also laughed out loud when Cathryn runs terrified whilst being pursued by a harmless tail-wagging King Charles spaniel (even if the canine may well be a doggy doppelgänger). When he isn’t photographing decapitated wildlife, Rene Auberjonois (probably best known for ‘Star Trek: Deep Space Nine’), spends most of the film with a cigar in his mouth naively unaware of his wife’s shattering sanity, of being cuckolded (mentally at the very least) by both the living and the dead, and worse of all, telling jokes which wouldn’t pass muster with Christmas cracker manufacturer’s quality control standards.

Cameras, lenses and binoculars are constantly within frame, symbolising Cathryn’s creeping paranoia, as we the watcher also observe her through the film lens, thereby making us complicit voyeurs. The onscreen interchanging of husband Hugh with her deceased lover Rene is playfully mirrored in the names of the casts’ characters: Rene  Auberjonois (‘Hugh’), Hugh Millais (‘Marcel), Marcel Bozzuffi (‘Rene’). Even Susannah York (‘Cathryn’) and Cathryn Harrison (‘Susannah’) are in on the in-joke.

Wind chimes jangle and an abundance of symmetry and double imagery is accompanied by the soundtrack which reflects the mental splitting of York’s character with a melodic Oscar nominated score from John Williams intercut with the contrasting jarring percussive sounds of Stomu Yamashta. 

The film is in many ways a jigsaw puzzle like the one Cathryn and Susannah attempt to complete. Its many elements don’t always neatly fit together, but once the puzzle is complete (or as complete as director Altman will allow); its detailed construction reveals itself and rewards patient examination

****(OUT OF 5*)

Paul Worts

This review was first published by FrightFest.website.

THE HOUSEMAID (2016)

Directed by Derek Nguyen, Starring: Kate Nhung, Jean-Michel Richaud, Rosie Fellner. Horror, Vietnam, 2016, 105mins, Cert 15.

Set in Vietnam in 1953, first-time director Derek Nguyen serves up an intriguing gothic horror period drama (with just a few too many jump-scares).

Linh (Kate Nhung), a bedraggled young woman, pitches up out of the rain seeking a housemaid position at the vast French colonial mansion owned by Captain Sebastien Laurent (Jean-Michel Richaud). Competition for the vacancy is non-existent as both the house and surrounding grounds which make up the Sa Cat rubber plantation are rumoured to be haunted by both the Captain’s late wife and the former mistreated plantation workers. Having ingratiated herself into the minimally staffed mansion, it isn’t long before romance blooms between Linh and Captain Laurent, which seemingly proves to be the catalyst for the spirits of the dead to rise seeking revenge...

Shades of REBECCA then with the colonial mansion standing in for Manderley, the usurping of the deceased first lady of the mansion, and a creepy Mrs Danvers-like housekeeper.

The ghostly manifestations are of the customary J-horror variety. (The screeching apparition reminded me at times of the horror parody trailer HANDJOB CABIN!) This is somewhat redeemed however by a late twist to the deadly appearances of the spectral ex-wife seemingly risen from the drowned depths of the estate’s lake.

Sumptuous production design and slick 2.35:1 photography make the most of the atmospheric period setting, whilst the plot utilises the historical/political backdrop to deliver an interesting take on the traditional gothic romance.

Whilst the jump-scares serve to gift the trailer’s editor with material to hard-sell the supernatural elements, they also act as a (partial) red herring when the true picture of revenge is revealed underneath the veil.

 

 ***(out of 5*)

Paul Worts

HOUSE (HAUSU) 1977

Directed by Nobuhiko Obayashi, Starring: Kimiko Ikegami, Miki Jinbo, Kumiko Ohba. Horror, Japan, 1977, 88mins, Cert 15. 

Nobuhiko Obayashi’s HOUSE is a phantasmagorical ghost train ride through a haunted mansion bursting with psychedelic surrealism. 

On paper the wafer-thin plot reads as a standard genre set-up. A group of teenage school girls take a trip into the countryside to spend their summer holiday at an isolated mansion belonging to their friend Angela’s aunt. This grey-haired aunt – who Angela hasn’t seen for some years - is wheel-chair bound and seemingly lives alone in the old cobwebbed house...

This is a film brimming with every conceivable visual technique (or at least every one available to a Japanese filmmaker back in 1977). It’s maddeningly uneven pace reveals the director’s commercial advertising background, but just like a good ghost train ride in the fairground, every corridor you turn down reveals something startlingly inventive.

On the train which conveys the girls out of the city (presumably Tokyo), a fellow passenger is briefly glimpsed reading a copy of Denis Gifford’s ‘A Pictorial History of Horror Movies’, and it’s not much of a leap to conclude that director Obayashi’s agenda for the film is to present a live-action tongue in cheek flip through some of that book’s pages.

The white Persian cat with the flashing eyes appears to be the catalyst for a large portion of the spooky and sometimes gory mayhem on display, and this monstrous moggie would surely have proved to be a more worthy adversary to James Bond than even Blofeld himself!

With its manically animated furniture and erupting geysers of blood, it pre-dates Sam Raimi’s EVIL DEAD 2 by 10 years. Mind you, even Raimi never conceived of transforming a schoolteacher into a bunch of bananas (sadly off-screen).

HOUSE is a visually stunning, at times beautiful cinematic piece of artifice, gorgeous matte backdrops and an animated train jostle for screen time with the frenetic jagged lunacy of a schoolgirl eating piano, a floating severed head with a taste for posteriors and a dancing skeleton (who went on to sell Scotch video tapes in the 80’s).

Recommended.

**** (out of 5*)

Paul Worts

MOST BEAUTIFUL ISLAND (2017)

Directed by: Ana Asensio, Starring: Ana Asensio, Natasha Romanova. Horror. US 2017, 80mins, Cert 18. 

“Did you come here alone too?” 
“No, with two other models.”
“What happened to them?”
“New York ate them.”

(That’s not a spoiler by the way).

Writer, director and star Ana Asensio’s debut feature is one of those films you can only properly discuss with someone who has watched it. 

We follow a day in the life of Luciana, an unregistered Spanish immigrant trying to make a new life for herself in New York after the death of her daughter. Without a social security number, Luciana scrapes by on cash in hand gigs such as handing out flyers dressed as a clucking chicken and escorting two little brats home from school. Her (unseen) flatmate leaves terse rent demanding post-its on the fridge, and hoards of cockroaches are only a rip in the bathroom wall away. Unsurprisingly therefore, when Luciana is offered $2,000 to attend a party, “...and it’s not what you think” assures her model friend Olga, Luciana takes the bait.

It’s not a very nice party, although it’s almost certainly not what you think it’s going to be. (And even though Luciana has to wear high-heels and a slinky black dress it’s not the Presidents Club annual charity dinner either).

Noah Greenberg’s hand-held Super 16mm camera restlessly shifts from one female New Yorker pedestrian to another before seeming to randomly settle on Ana Asensio’s Luciana as the film opens. The intention is to suggest being that Luciana’s tale is merely one of countless similar experiences that the lens could choose to shed light on.

You have to wait for over two-thirds of the film to get to the actual party sequence, but the interactions and events preceding it gradually build incremental unease and dread whilst in the back of your mind you keep wondering when will that ’18’ certificate be earned? (For the record I think a ‘15’ would have been sufficient, but hey ho). 

Luciana’s muted non-reactive reaction upon finding she is suddenly sharing her bath with cockroaches is the most stark representation of the internal numbness of grief she is harbouring – and it is this deadening of the senses that will come into play much late on.

First-time director Asensio has stated that the film is partially autobiographical (although thankfully this applies more so to the first two-thirds rather than the final sequences). Clearly this project is in part a cathartic exercise for her, and Asensio’s unwaveringly committed performance conveys a simmering intensity born (in part at least) from personal experience.

The ‘pay-off’ scene had me squirming on the sofa, but reactions to it will be dictated by personal phobias and Achilles heels. The open ended conclusion left me a tad nonplussed and unsatisfied, but in many ways it reflects the theme of the piece.

Memorable, if not necessarily that re-watchable. 

Paul Worts

*** (out of 5*)

This review was first published by FrightFest.

THE PRIVATE LIFE OF SHERLOCK HOLMES (1970)

Directed by: Billy Wilder, Starring: Robert Stephens, Colin Blakely, Geneviève Page, Christopher Lee. Comedy/Crime, UK 1970, 125mins, Cert PG.

Queen Victoria: “When can we expect to read Dr Watson's account of the case?”

Holmes: “I hope never, ma'am. It has not been one of my more successful endeavours.”

From Cushing to Cumberbatch, Rathbone to Robert Downey Jnr, Arthur Conan Doyle’s famous literary detective is one, if not the most portrayed fictional character on both the big and small screen. In amongst the seemingly endless list of esteemed actors to take have taken on the mantle, Robert Stephens’ 1970 interpretation is often, like the film it so admirably services, undeservedly overlooked. Co-written and directed by the legendary Billy Wilder, this irreverent yet affectionate film playfully reinterprets long-held canon about the Baker Street detective and his partner in crime-solving, Dr. Watson (Colin Blakely), and grafts a romantic back-story layered with melancholy which lingers like loch fog throughout the film.

Originally running in at some 200 minutes in its first cut, the eventually released version was by all accounts butchered by studio insistence resulting in the culling of roughly a third of Wilder’s intended material. Two of the four cases scripte
d were axed, along with some additional flashback material. As a result, the surviving 125 minutes inevitably feel off-kilter and uneven, although there’s still heaps of enjoyment to be had. For starters there’s the pleasingly amusing diversion whereby Holmes is invited to impregnate a famous Russian ballerina in exchange for a priceless Stradivarius violin, before the suitably convoluted and frankly barmy main case involving (but by no means limited to) the Loch Ness Monster, midgets, Trappist monks, canary smuggling and Queen Victoria!

Wilder, together with his long-time collaborating co-writer A. L. Diamond gift Robert Stephen’s Holmes with pithy witticisms, for example, upon being requested to help recover six missing midgets, he pronounces thusly: “The circus owner offers me five pounds for my services. That's not even a pound a midget!” Alongside Holmes, the excellent Colin Blakely more than holds his own as the long-suffering Dr. Watson, whether it’s excitedly spotting the supposed Loch Ness Monster, or single-handedly (and somewhat over ambitiously) trying to get off with an entire company of Russian ballerinas. To be fair he appears to be making reasonable progress - that is until Holmes impishly suggests he and Watson are lovers!

Geneviève Page’ delivers a mesmerising performance as the multi-layered Victorian femme-fatale ‘Gabrielle’ who manages to best even the great Holmes, and ‘Mycroft’ - who is also always several steps ahead of his sleuthing brother - is memorably portrayed by the ever-reliable Christopher Lee (the only actor to have played the roles of both Mycroft and Holmes in his career).

Rich period production detail and some lovely location work in Scotland provide plenty of diverting pleasures, all whisked along to the accompaniment of Miklós Rózsa’s memorable score.

**** (out of 5*)

Paul Worts

STRAIGHT ON TILL MORNING (1972)

Directed by: Peter Collinson, Starring: Rita Tushingham, Shane Briant, Katya Wyeth. Horror, UK 1972, 96mins, Cert 18.

Originally released by Hammer as a ‘Women in terror!’ double-bill with FEAR IN THE NIGHT, Peter (THE ITALIAN JOB) Collinson followed up his 1971 babysitter stalker FRIGHT with this decidedly unpleasant little thriller set in groovy early 1970’s London.

Instantly dispensing with any hint of Hammer gothic, Collinson opens with a gloomy pan across a vista of kitchen-sink Liverpool where innocent (naive) young Brenda (Tushingham) is leaving home in order to travel to London to seek a man who will give her a baby. Unfortunately, the man she first bumps into in a newsagents in Earls Court Road, and with whom she will unwisely move in with is Clive (Shane Briant). Clive will turn out to be rather less of a fairy-tale knight in shining armour and rather more of a psychopathic cherub blonde Lost(toy)Boy who fancies himself as Peter Pan, and has a very nasty tendency involving a Stanley knife triggered by the concept of beauty. But our Brenda isn’t considered beautiful to Clive, nor is Clive’s shaggy doggy Tinkers (ring any bells- geddit?), so they’ll both be alright won’t they...?

A disconcerting barrage of quick edits fill in Shane Briant’s lethal toy boy past right from the off so there’s no doubt he’s a wolf in 1970’s sheep clothing. The only questions Peter Collinson’s disturbingly queasy kitchen-sink PEEPING TOM poses are therefore ones of plausibility. Surely Brenda, an ex-librarian and amateur wannabe children’s author, should pick up on the Peter Pan references, not least of which being Clive-call-me-‘Peter’ insisting on calling her ‘Wendy’ (alarm bells!). But it seems we’re actually in a 70’s London version of never-never land where even a decidedly underwhelming work colleague (James Bolan) seems to fit Brenda’s criteria for potential father material – that is until he ends up sleeping with her sexy landlady!

To be fair, Rita Tushingham does a splendid job in keeping the viewer on her side; despite the cringe worthy awkwardness and innocence she wears on her sleeve – not to mention her decidedly questionable choices such as kidnapping Clive’s dog and bathing poor old Tinker in fairy liquid! (Hang on, is that a visual pun?) And then there’s a scene where, in a moment of supreme ill-judgement, she goes for a beauty make-over and comes home bedecked in a preposterous wig resulting in her resembling a cross between Marie Antoinette and a French poodle.

Shane Briant’s floppy blonde hair is much nicer, even if he is decidedly not. Although the narrative lays his disturbed cards out on the table face-up, his playing proves grimly fascinating and he conjures up a portrayal of conflicting torment - murderous and lethal - and yet contrastingly, child-like and whimsical. In those moments of pure exposed vulnerable innocence, he is like a mirror image of Tushingham’s character – both of them trapped in their own fairy-tale existences and daydreams – albeit one far more dangerous than the other.  

Director Collinson left us with a literal cliff-hanger of an ending in THE ITALIAN JOB. Here he doesn’t present a definitive resolution either, but as Shane Briant reclines on his bed, the state of disrepair of his sock gives enough of a pointer as the camera then proceeds to pull back and almost apologetically tip-toe away from the bleakness of that little mews flat.

Bonus points are awarded for the cameo from legendary actress/singer Annie Ross (Granny Ruth from BASKET 2/3!) who also weighs in with the hauntingly melodic title song.

*** (out of 5*)

Paul Worts

This review was first published by FrightFest.

A GHOST STORY (2017)

Directed by: David Lowery, Starring: Casey Affleck, Rooney Mara. Supernatural, Drama, US 2017, 89mins, Cert 12.

Writer/director David Lowery’s art house take on BEETLEJUICE is a haunting (in every sense) meditation on the nature of existence, the way we deal with the passing of time, and features Oscar winning Best Actor Casey Affleck spending most of the film under a white sheet.

Musician ‘C’ (Affleck) reluctantly acquiesces to his partner ‘M’ (Rooney Mara) who wishes to move out of their suburban Texan house. Immediately upon reaching this decision there’s an unsettling ‘bump in the night’ which appears to have emanated from the piano in the living room. Morning brings tragedy resulting in ‘M’ having to visit the morgue to lift up the sheet and indentify ‘C’ beneath. We’ll be seeing a LOT of that sheet from here on in...

The white sheeted ghost is one of the oldest visual clichés, and, with the exception of Michael Myers’ spectacled variation in Carpenter’s HALLOWEEN, is usually utilised for comedic effect. Not so here. Lowery frames the white shrouded figure with cut out eye sockets in such a way as to totally bypass the giggles and instead evokes the mournful and solitary experience of a soul out of time. This is achieved by meticulous framing and judiciously sparing camera movement within the boxed 1.33.1 aspect ratio, and the carefully choreographed gestures of Affleck beneath the shroud.

Dialogue is mostly kept to minimal interactions, with the sole exception being a party guest pontificating on the nature of the cosmos and thereby acting as the director’s mouthpiece for his own existential fears. (Was it absolutely necessary to literally spell it out in this way – it’s arguable – but it is visually counterbalanced by the intently listening unseen unspoken observer in the room). 

Rooney Mara brings a delicate nuance to her portrayal of ‘M’ in the film’s first act, conveying grief without words, and provides an emotionally raw and honest depiction of comfort eating in an extraordinary extended sequence where she gradually progresses from tentative jabs to whole scale devouring of a sizeable homemade pie!

Long, measured (often) wordless scenes leave a broad soundstage for composer Daniel Hart to convey the ethereal atmospherics and narrative time-shifting progression of the film which he does so beautifully.

This is a film about time that takes its time to convey the natural rhythm of day-to-day life, but equally, fast-forwards through its time travelling passages with a visual ebb and flow that suggests the passive nature of its white sheeted protagonist as he ‘ghosts’ through time. 
   

It’s a beautifully simple concept executed with a delicate and poetic hand, and I found the film both uplifting and yet at the same time profoundly sad. Not bad for a bloke under a sheet.  

***** (out of 5*)

Paul Worts

This review was originally published by FrightFest.