Review Category: DVD/Blu Ray

All four Pokémon movies set during the Diamond and Pearl era of the show are finally collected in one box set. Unusually for a Pokémon movie (at least at the time they were released) the first three movies in this box set form a trilogy of sorts, with the plot of The Rise of Darkrai directly affecting the plots of Giratina and the Sky Warrior, and Arceus and the Jewel of Life.

Having an interconnected plot between the three movies hurts and helps them in equal measure. The second and third movies in the collection use the first in their set up, being able to explain why certain Pokémon act the way they do without much set up because the first movie has already done the legwork in that regard. Unfortunately, it also leaves The Rise of Darkrai feeling a little hollow in that regard. It takes most of its runtime to even get properly going, and it doesn’t offer much that can’t be found in other Pokémon movies. This is a criticism that is also true of, and Zoroark – The Master of Illusions. In both these movies, there is a cute Pokémon and an almost or entirely irredeemable bad guy who wants to exploit said cute Pokémon for their own selfish ends. Neither of these two movies offers anything new to add variety to this formula, and while they aren’t outright bad they don’t stand out among the series.

The exception in terms of quality is Arceus and the Jewel of Life. The plot moves at a good pace, the villain is one of the more sympathetic villains of the series, and the movie even does a couple of interesting things with time travel. There are two scenes set in the same room across different time periods with each time period directly affecting how the occupants interact with that room. It shows actual consideration of the implications of the set up rather than using it to handwave plot holes. Most importantly, Arceus and the Jewels of Life is a prime example of the very real emotional drama that can be present in Pokémon when it isn’t just about people being mean to Pokémon because they are evil.

There are some good elements to Pokémon Movie: Diamond and Pearl Collection and the third movie in the set is even a solid addition to the series. As a whole however this box set represents something of a rut for the franchise. Most of the meat of the movies included are either undeveloped or repeating patterns that were being used as far back as Pokémon 4Ever. Skip this release unless you already know you want to watch it.

POKÉMON MOVIE: DIAMOND AND PEARL COLLECTION / CERT: PG / DIRECTOR: KUNIHIKO YUYAMA / SCREENPLAY: VARIOUS / STARRING: SARAH NATOCHENNY, EMILY BAUER, BILL ROGERS, IKUE OTANI MICHELLE KNOTZ / RELEASE DATE: MAY 21ST

With a reputation in horror circles, it’s taken a while for Baskin to really make itself known on the UK shores. A Turkish production fitting firmly in the European horror genre, Can Evrenol expands his short film of the same name.

Called to an emergency, a police squad head towards a run-down apartment block littered with rumour and hushed stories. Inside they’re pulled in to horror as they become embroiled in a satanic mass with hell waiting for them.

Baskin is a visceral film. It’s got blood under its chipped fingernails and you can almost feel the moist, suffocating heat and the stink of corrupted air that permeates every frame. It often has the distressing feeling of a fevered nightmare, bolstered by the Giallo style neon reds and blues that drench the screen. So it’s telling that it starts with a nightmare, the disturbed recollections of a child remembering a moment that should have been a fond reconciliation, but instead turned out to be a terrifying moment. The film continues this fractured dream state in its form, flipping from tense moments late at night in a roadside restaurant before the team get the emergency call and their descent into the depths of depravity at the apartment block.

Baskin always leaves you a little unsettled, like something is off in this world, from the piles of frogs that start appearing, to the break of hysteria triggered by something seen off-screen by one of the characters. Into this world are our group of lawmen who don’t seem to abide by the law themselves, and though they have strong group interaction you don’t care for any of them enough to be anything more than disgusted by their fate. The film has quite a strong visual style but remains lacking in character and a strong plot.

But when Baskin feels like it’s building toward something – that you’re stuck in its grasp as it pulls you under, towards a place that you dread seeing but know you wouldn’t be able to look away from, a viscous landscape of atrocity in hell – it seems to lose its bottle. The plot and danger wrap itself up with convenience robbing us from the further horror you thought were in store.

Building up a steady and oppressive atmosphere, with grubby and disturbing sights, it does lose its edge towards the end, backing out when it should push itself over the cliff. There’s still much to be interested in but it can’t help but leave a feeling of disappointment.

BASKIN / CERT: 18 / DIRECTOR: CAN EVRENOL / SCREENPLAY: OGULCAN EREN AKAY, CAN EVRENOL, ERCIN SADIKOGLU, CEM ÖZÜDURU / STARRING: MEHMET CERRAHOGLU, GÖRKEM KASAL, ERGUN KUYUCU, MUHARREM BAYRAK / RELEASE DATE: OUT NOW

by Rich Cross

To anyone who was not around at the time, it’s hard to describe just how prominent a cultural and political issue the threat of rabies was in Britain in the 1970s and early 1980s. At ports and airports, garish posters barked warnings about the risks of the illegal importation of pets; while lurid Public Information Films spelt out the fatal consequences of a rabies’ bite. In popular culture, a wave of pulp paperbacks imagined the gruesome consequences of a rabies epidemic engulfing the UK.

Government records released in the last few years reveal that, at the time, the authorities assumed that rabies would indeed soon breach the English Channel. Broadcast in 1983, the three-part BBC Scotland drama The Mad Death picked up on the rabies zeitgeist, dramatizing the arrival of the disease in rural Scotland, after a tourist foolishly sneaks their beloved (and infected) pet through customs, after which it becomes ‘patient zero’ in a localised pandemic that affects domestic, farm and wild animals.

Although Ed Bishop is dependably fantastic in the role of a doomed (and none too bright) American businessman, as is Barbara Kellerman, as a motivated and passionate scientist, it is Richard Heffer who owns the series in the role of Michael Hilliard, an irascible and opinionated senior veterinarian who is given carte-blanche to deal with the crisis.

As it tracks the authorities’ response to the spread of rabies, the series combines well-realized action and adventure set-pieces with a recurring, and classically gothic, interlude set in a suitably spooky old country manor. Amidst the stuffed animals and dust, the lady of the house Miss Stonecroft (a fabulously unhinged turn by Brenda Bruce) looks after countless cats and dogs, is oblivious to rabies’ risk and reluctant to limit her charges’ freedom. It’s a great complement to the main storyline.

Amidst the savage canines and rabid delirium, Sean Hignett’s screen adaptation of Nigel Slater’s novel also makes time to focus on some very human dynamics, including the repercussions of Hilliard’s on-off affair with Kellerman’s Anne Maitland, and his conflicts with almost every other authority figure (and quite a few ordinary folk too). Director Robert Young depicts the infected’s descent into a full-blown rabid state with some impressively deranged visuals. But he is in his element with the meticulously planned action sequences, and marshals an impressive array of resources for a finale that has a genuine sense of on-screen scale.

From the musical soundtrack to the on-screen fashions (Kellerman is given some doozy in-the-field outfits) to the tempo of the editing, The Mad Death screams that it is a mini-series from the eighties. But that reflects not how ‘outdated’ it is, but how well the drama reflected the times in which it was made. This series remains gripping, thought-provoking, unsettling and disturbing; an overdue release from the TV archives from an era when the BBC made more shows that deserved those kinds of adjectives. The Mad Death is drama with real bite.

THE MAD DEATH (1983) / CERTIFICATE: 12 / DIRECTOR: ROBERT YOUNG / SCREENPLAY: SEAN HIGNETT / STARRING: RICHARD HEFFER, BARBARA KELLERMAN, RICHARD MORANT, ED BISHOP, BRENDA BRUCE / RELEASE DATE: MAY 7TH

Arguably one of the best and most controversial films to come out of Australia, The Chant of Jimmie Blacksmith is based on a real-life case that took place in the early part of the twentieth century when things were a little less enlightened than they are now. Although there are still many things that will hit home for people as discrimination and oppression appear to be on the rise once more.

Jimmie Blacksmith (Lewis) is mixed-race, intelligent, hardworking and has been brought up by missionaries in the outback. He dreams of a better life, but having a black father has put paid to that. At every turn, he’s cheated out of earnings, humiliated, and generally pushed too far.

When he marries a pregnant maid thinking he’s put her in the club, he thinks things are settling down. His boss even gets the shopping in for the pair. The child turns out to be someone else’s though, and he becomes a laughing stock and the shopping stops when members of his family come to visit. It’s the final straw, and he takes an axe and promises to teach them all a lesson…

The Chant of Jimmie Blacksmith is an incredibly powerful film, and has quite rightly been lauded over the years – except in the UK when at the height of the ‘video nasties’ panic, it was placed on the ‘Section 3 list’, which meant while it wasn’t deemed obscene, it could still be confiscated from shops. It’s probably this notoriety that gave it a bigger reputation as a cause célèbre than it really deserves. It’s actually a worthy and important movie that deserves to be seen properly.

With the Federation of the Australian States brewing in the background of the story (and acting as a parallel to Blacksmith’s rebellion and anger), there’s a real sense of unrest, not just in the Aboriginal community, but among the obnoxious colonial ‘superiors’.

As one would expect, there are a few famous Aussie faces among the cast, including a young Bryan Brown, Paul Meagher (Alf Stewart from err… Home and Away), and even Wolf Creek’s John Jarratt. But Tommy Lewis is the star of the piece, literally. He’s a commanding screen presence who sends us through an emotional wringer. That’s not to say we completely side with his character. He goes too far in his rage and vengeance and clearly loses sight of right and wrong. Even early on, while working for the police, he hides information about the killing of a white man and takes an active part in a horrendous search of his friends and family’s camp.

Hollywood magpie Quentin Tarantino is a well-known fan of Ozploitation (he even appears on the documentary on the subject) and it’s obvious The Chant of Jimmie Blacksmith had some influence on Django Unchained (although it’s worth pointing out that this film has a much lower ‘n-word’ count than any of QT’s films). Director Fred Schepisi has quite rightly gone on to become an award-winner outside of his home country, helming popular films like Roxanne (1987), Plenty (1985), and Six Degrees of Separation (1993).

Not so much a horror film or thriller, the film is a gripping study of the psychological breakdown of a human being struggling just to be accepted.

The Blu-ray release, in Australia only from Umbrella Entertainment, has a healthy chunk of extras that are worth delving into as well. These include conversations with the director, cinematographer Ian Baker (who makes the most of the lush scenery), and start Lewis. There’s well over two hours’ worth to get through, without including the informative director’s commentary.

THE CHANT OF JIMMIE BLACKSMITH (1978) / CERT: TBC / DIRECTOR & SCREENPLAY: FRED SCHEPISI / STARRING: TOMMY LEWIS, FREDDY REYNOLDS, RAY BARRETT, JACK THOMPSON, ANGELA PUNCH MCGREGOR / RELEASE DATE: OUT NOW (AUSTRALIA), TBC (UK)

Space Truckers is the kind of film that’s so oddly judged, it was bound to pick up a cult following – despite the negative reviews and disastrous box office. Hence this extras-packed Blu-ray release, in which all the tasteless production design, cheap special effects and slightly out-of-focus camerawork have nowhere left to hide.

Dennis Hopper, at his least intense, plays John Canyon, an independent space trucker who’s two days late delivering his cargo of square pigs and who gets royally shafted by the company for his trouble. When the local company honcho Keller (George Wendt) gets hoist through his own henchman’s bullet-hole in the space station’s outer shell, Canyon gets fingered for the death and goes on the run with a shipment of what he believes to be sex dolls – but that we know to be an invading force of robots, heading for Earth.

There’s not much of a plot and what there is of it makes little sense; Charles Dance, for instance, plays a scientist who we are supposed to believe managed to squeeze his own brains back into a new plastic skull he built for himself after having had them blown out, with only a single arm and leg with which to perform the operation solo. Meanwhile, when Canyon discovers his payload being stolen from under his very nose, he returns to the bar to continue his proposition to the waitress. It’s that kind of film.

The cast at least – and especially Dance, whose major contribution is a sex scene involving a malfunctioning mechanical member – seem to be having fun, although for long stretches Stuart Gordon’s direction leaves them uncertainly fishing around for motivation; some of the sequences in the rig are so lacking in tension you wonder if the Stuart Gordon who co-wrote the script might have been an entirely different chap who just happened to share the director’s name. Stephen Dorff, in particular, seems especially uncertain about where to pitch his cuckoo in Canyon’s cockpit; Debi Mazar, on the other hand, gives her wavering waitress every ounce of gusto she possesses. Their mutual seduction is so short of sexual tension that when the cuckolded Canyon returns it’s actually a relief they didn’t go through with it.

The whole production looks like nothing so much as a too-hasty 1980s pastiche, albeit the preponderance of yellows, greens and oranges in the colour scheme gives the visuals a lurid garishness that suggests the decade that taste forgot has been vomited half-digested across the screen; a year later Paul Verhoeven would do something similar with Starship Troopers – and this isn’t something that often gets said about the Dutch director – considerably more tastefully.

This is unquestionably terrible. But it’s also rather fun.

Extras: interviews with director Stuart Gordon, composer Colin Towns, and art director Simon Lamony

SPACE TRUCKERS (1996)/ CERT: 15 / DIRECTOR: STUART GORDON / SCREENPLAY: TED MANN, STUART GORDON / STARRING: DENNIS HOPPER, STEPHEN DORFF, DEBI MAZAR, CHARLES DANCE / RELEASE DATE: 14TH MAY

Children of the 1970s in the UK fondly remember a time before multi-channels and satellite choices, when movies were an event on television. Indeed, before the earliest VHS machines, the only way to see genre entertainment would be at your local. This writer’s nostalgic remembrances bring up trailers for double-bills for Carquake (aka Cannonball in the US) and The Giant Spider Invasion, plus ten-second spots for the likes of Zombies: Dawn of the Dead and – if I can remember when local councils overruled censorship in the UK – The Texas Chain Saw Massacre.

Grizzly is a movie that you can sense would have been heavily advertised on UK television ahead of its Sunday debut release, as that was the day films changed in the UK. Now available through 88 Films in a spanking new Blu-ray release, it is very much another of the popular man-versus-nature affairs in the shadow of Jaws. VHS fans will certainly greet this with cheers, not least in the lead casting of the late, great Christopher George, who cemented his place amongst their affections with the likes of Lucio Fulci’s City Of The Living Dead and James Glickenhaus’ The Exterminator (both released in 1980).

Amidst the sleaze and violence of the latter, George is remembered for two scenes unrelated to title character John Eastland’s rampage of revenge – the midnight picnic with the doctor tending to Eastland’s comatose buddy – and his innovative approach to cooking a hot-dog using two forks linked to an electric socket (please don’t try that at home!)

In Grizzly, George plays Chief Park Ranger Michael Kelly, who has to suddenly deal with the very real threat of a large bear who is attacking campers and hikers in the woods of a vast national park. Inevitably, there is a fair amount of stupidity after warnings that a bear is on the rampage in the area, not least from over-eager hunters trying to claim the prize amidst the danger. Before long though, it is becoming a desperate fight for survival and avoidance of the threat, which sees no sign of stopping…

Marked as a rip-off of Spielberg’s classic Jaws, Grizzly certainly and desperately fails in its intent and overall, you can spot the similarities throughout. The opening credit sequence feels at odds with what the film is trying to achieve, reminiscent of the opening of John Guillermin’s The Towering Inferno and the action scenes are very much more like ones in the above and The Poseidon Adventure. As such, this is as cheesy a cult thriller from the era and the reaction remains constant to the critics who gave it such a negative reception.

However, there is one reason for purchasing this Blu-ray – and that is the excellent 23-minute extra What A Guy!, in which David Del Valle reminisces about George, an actor who was very talented who had worked with John Wayne, but loved life and wanted the top-billing, which he could only find in films like The Exterminator and Grizzly. Some of the publicity within the extras are an eye-opener, even for the fans of these films.

Del Valle also stresses that Grizzly demands to be seen with an audience. We agree. See it with friends.

GRIZZLY (1976) / CERT: 15 / DIRECTOR: WILLIAM GIRDLER / SCREENPLAY: HARVEY FLAXMAN, DAVID SHELDON / STARRING: CHRISTOPHER GEORGE, ANDREW PINE, RICHARD JAECKEL / RELEASE DATE: MAY 14TH

Anyone coming to Neon Bull expecting a narrative will find themselves wilfully short-changed; the closest thing to a story development comes when a horse wrangler gets injured by a distressed mare, and one of the regular characters get swapped out in order to take his place, while himself being replaced by a younger, vainer substitute. Outside of that, Gabriel Mascaro’s film is literally just a collection of short vignettes depicting life on the road at a traditional – for which, read: antiquated – vaquejada, or Brazilian bull rodeo. Rather than following life in the ring among the rodeo riders, however, Mascaro focuses on the back-stage bull wranglers and drivers, the kind of people who spectators must subconsciously realise do exist, and yet expend so little thought upon they might as well not be there.

This is, then, an unmasking of the unseen side of country living, a film that opens up a world we’d never ordinarily think about – and a picture of the people who live, work and breed a million miles away from our Internet browsing, DVD-watching, nine-to-five existences. It’s a thoroughly absorbing, eye-opening work of art, one that doesn’t bear scrutiny under the same criteria we’d apply to 99% of other movies, and one that transcends the medium in a fashion we rarely see.

Fashion is a large part of the film; or rather, an aspiration towards becoming a fashion designer held by Iremar (Cazarré), the character we follow most closely. There’s a short scene in which he visits an urban printing outlet to try and get some labels made up, and it’s here where the differences are most apparent. Iremar, who has no access to any kind of computer nor, we suspect, would be able to use one were he to visit the internet café suggested, simply has no facility for meeting the simplest requirements of modern, technological civilisation. It’s a disappointment that is at the heart of Neon Bull; almost every life we touch is in some way compromised by or subservient to circumstance.

This is a sad movie then – albeit its most touching moment comes in the form of a simple hug between two like souls – but also a very beautiful one. Mascaro has composed it as a series of one-take, no cuts scenes (the climactic one lasting seven unbroken and utterly beguiling minutes), and if it plays out extremely languidly there’s always something to catch the eye or the attention. It’s also rather brutal, never shying away from showing the reality of its subject matters. But if you’re not averse to lingering in front of a film that almost perversely refuses to follow the norms of the medium, then this will almost certainly be worth your while.

Extras: Trailer / Making Of / Interview with Director Gabriel Mascaro

NEON BULL (BOI NEON) / CERT: 18 / DIRECTOR: GABRIEL MASCARO / SCREENPLAY: GABRIEL MASCARO / STARRING: JULIANO CAZARRÉ, VINICIUS DE OLIVEIRA / RELEASE DATE: OUT NOW

Many would cite 1998’s Ringu as patient zero of the boom in Japanese horror films that hit around the turn of the century. Released a year earlier, Cure is undeniably cut from the same J-horror cloth and arguably ushered in an entire sub-genre of lonely and technologically paranoid films that followed.

In fact, Cure’s director, the Palme d’Or-nominated Kiyoshi Kurosawa who, went on to further add to the J-horror canon, himself, with the far more well-known Pulse (sadly, probably only better known as an indirect result of the universally panned American remake).

Cure is a disturbingly deliberate affair in which a police detective, Kenichi Takabe (Kôji Yakusho), encounters a spate of bizarre murders in which various perpetrators kill without any real motive or being able to explain what made them do it. Each person tops things off by carving an ‘X’ into their victim’s neck, only to all be found close to the scene of the crime, having made no attempts to escape and in an almost fugue state.

Eventually, a man by the name of Mamiya (Masato Hagiwara) is identified as a common link between the murderers, but attempts to find information from him raise more questions than answers after he’s found to be suffering from apparent amnesia, with no ability to lay down new memories or give details of the past.

Cure weaves terror with crime procedural drama and mystery in a way that should be familiar to fans of East Asian horror cinema. Although it’s never particularly gratuitous, there’s a definite bluntness to the killings which Kurosawa directs using ominously long takes, asking the viewer to watch, voyeuristically, from afar. This is all underlined by a notable lack of musical score that makes the film feel all the more matter-of-fact. If there’s one thing that Cure particularly excels at, it’s inexpertly creating a legitimate sense of dread at the drop of a hat.

The trade-off of the film’s tonal mastery is a slow pace that won’t be to everyone’s taste and after a while, the proceedings begin to veer into the realms of the metaphysical, which is where things will fall apart for many viewers. That said, provided that you’re open to a more philosophical attitude introducing itself partway through the film, Cure is an effective gem of Japanese cinema and a must-see for fans of the country’s horror output.

Until now, Cure has been unavailable on home media in the UK and given the film’s obscurity, you could do a lot worse than this release which presents the film beautifully and features both a classic and a newly filmed interview with Kurosawa as well as a retrospective interview in which critic Kim Newman explores its origins and legacy within cinema as a whole.

CURE (1997) / CERT: 15 / DIRECTOR & SCREENPLAY: KIYOSHI KUROSAWA / STARRING: MASATO HAGIWARA, KÔJI YAKUSHO, TSUYOSHI UJIKI / RELEASE DATE: OUT NOW

Ealing Studios are best known for their post-war comedies, which gently satirised British society. But one earlier Ealing production had a much more direct political edge and a sci-fi element to boot – their adaptation of the J. B. Priestley play They Came to a City.

The city in question lies in a mysterious dream-like realm, which nine disparate Britons are suddenly transported to. The first half of the film sees them exploring the strange architecture of the city’s gatehouse, waiting for the door into the city below to open. The second half sees a conflict between these characters spark as they return from the city, having found it to be a socialist civilisation quite distinct from the class-stratified Britain they’ve come from.

So we never actually get to see this city, just hear about it through dialogue, with the entirety of the story (excluding an odd and unnecessary framing device starring Priestley as himself) taking place in this strange futurist gatehouse. While this is an impressively striking set, the static nature of the drama does rely heavily – perhaps too heavily – on the script’s theatrical origins.

Which means that the success of the film relies on its characters and dialogue. Thankfully, from a skilled playwright like Priestley, many thought-provoking themes are brought to the forefront of these interactions. It’s a story highly concerned with class; the City banker and fusty knight of the realm see the city as an uncivilised dystopia, while the working class mechanic and cleaner see it as quite the opposite, a utopia. The story also touches on issues of misogyny, with Googie Withers’ waitress Alice fed up with the way men treat her in the world she comes from.

While these issues are powerful and indeed still relevant, however, the lack of subtlety with which they come to a head in the final minutes may grate on some viewers; John Clements certainly pulls no punches with his rousing speech calling for us to make our own world a better place, but in moments like these, the film gets so preachy about its politics that it almost forgets it has a story to tell.

This new dual Blu-ray and DVD release from the BFI looks great in high definition and comes with an impressive bunch of extras. Highlights include a lecture from producer Michael Balcon about his career; a short GPO documentary about communications technology, narrated by Priestley; a 20-minute propaganda film written by Dylan Thomas; and an animated short on the new National Health Service – all clearly of their time but nonetheless fascinating to those interested in British history.

THEY CAME TO A CITY (1944) / CERT: U / DIRECTOR: BASIL DEARDEN / SCREENPLAY: J. B. PRIESTLEY, BASIL DEARDEN, SIDNEY COLE / STARRING: JOHN CLEMENTS, GOOGIE WITHERS, RAYMOND HUNTLEY / RELEASE DATE: APRIL 23RD