Review Category: DVD/Blu Ray

A wartime prisoner film with a distinctive and alarming premise, The Blockhouse is a harsh and claustrophobic study of the existential terror of incarceration in the company of others. On D-Day 1944, allied prisoners forced to build coastline defences for the Nazis come under attack from a bombardment from the sea and air. A small group find sanctuary in a blockhouse. When the survivors descend to the lower levels they become trapped, without prospect of rescue, amidst stockpiles of food and supplies. As the weeks and months pass, the pressure cooker of their predicament begins to distort the sanity of each of the men stuck below ground.

Based on a 1955 novel by Jean-Paul Clébert, and shot entirely on location in the Channel Islands, the film premiered at the 1973 Berlin International Film Festival but went almost unnoticed in the decades that followed. After the opening set-piece, the drama is locked away in the concrete catacombs and takes on more of a theatrical timbre. The intentionally monotonous visuals mean that everything relies on the performances of the small but high-calibre cast. British comedian Peter Sellers (as Rouquet) and French chanteur Charles Aznavour (as Visconti) play against type to impressive effect.

The screenplay by John Gould and Clive Rees is relentlessly bleak, and in the director’s chair Rees makes no compromise to their dark vision – even preferring silence over a musical score. It’s perhaps not surprising that cinema distribution companies of the time were reluctant to champion the film. This new release of The Blockhouse by Powerhouse Films includes a theatrical and a director’s cut, and a generous collection of special features.

The limited-edition Blu-ray release of THE BLOCKHOUSE is out now

Warren Beatty plays an old-school investigative reporter in this conspiracy thriller that is as poignant today as it was in 1974.

Following the assignation of a political candidate, Joe Frady (Beatty) goes undercover to investigate the mysterious Parallax Corporation, which seems to be employing people with psychopathic tendencies.

Based on the novel by Loren Singer and directed by Alan J. Pakula, who would make the real-life conspiracy drama All the Presidents Men (about the Watergate scandal) a year later, The Parallax View is full of tension and reflects the mood of the world at the time. The Kennedy assignation was still fresh in the public’s mind and the Nixon scandal even fresher. The film is bookended with an enquiry statement that wouldn’t be out of place today too.

A major element of the movie stands out above all others: Gordon Willis’ cinematography. Each frame is used fantastically, adding to the anxiety of the situation. Particularly memorable is the scene in which Frady is searching a sheriff’s office on the left of the screen while the deputy enters stage right. It’s the kind of shot Alfred Hitchcock would compose. Geometry is key to the look of the film and it’s often spellbinding.

Imprint’s Blu-ray has the usual array of interesting extras. A pair of commentaries and insight from Kim Newman and Matthew Sweet are worth a watch as their passion for the film and the conspiracy genre is infectious.

No conversation about the fathers of Italian horror can be had without referencing the Maestro of the Macabre himself, Mario Bava. Though he had been working as a special effects artist and sometime cameraman since the late 1930s, it was not until Bava transitioned to the director’s chair in the late 1950s that the journeyman found his niche as one of cinema’s masters of horror. Throughout the 1960s/1970s, Bava directed a selection of groundbreaking horror titles that are regarded today as peak examples of Gothic celluloid. Films such as Black Sunday, Kill, Baby, Kill, Black Sabbath, and Blood and Black Lace remain as delectably grim yet hauntingly beautiful today as they were 50 years ago.

Unfortunately, having found his calling somewhat late in life, Bava would pass away from a heart attack in 1980, leaving behind two decades of fine directorial work and fellow countrymen – such as Dario Argento and Lucio Fulci – to carry the blood-spattered straight razor into the dawning decade. Bava’s final directorial effort, Shock, is a psychological horror drama with perverse, supernatural undertones. The movie, which does not wholly reflect Bava’s typical directorial style, was produced as something of an ‘on-boarding’ process for his son, Lamberto, who himself would go on to helm his own iconic horror pictures throughout the 1980s.

Shock is the story of widowed mother Dora Baldini, (played by genre stalwart Daria Nicolodi, the then-wife of Dario Argento). Some years after having lost her husband, Carlo, and having also undergone intense psychological therapy, Dora and her son Marco (David Colin Jr) plan to relocate to Carlo’s rural Italian home, bringing with them Dora’s new lover, Bruno Baldini (John Steiner). However, it is not long before strange visions of the past begin to plague Dora’s mind, as Marco swiftly descends into dangerous, rebellious behaviour. While Dora believes something sinister and otherworldly is invading her home life, Bruno is convinced that Dora is hallucinating, her delirium driven by the aftermath of her PTSD. From this setup, Shock treads gently through Dora’s days and nights, as she finds herself besieged by both frightening apparitions and worryingly Oedipal ‘games’ played by her own child.

Bava’s typically grand Gothic style is not readily apparent throughout Shock’s entirety – The film is, ironically, more reminiscent of Argento’s work. Not to say that Shock isn’t wont to deliver a stunning visual setup, grisly special effect, or psychedelia-infused nightmare sequence. But, with its very deliberate pace and penchant for extended silence, Shock does not offer audiences extended terror, choosing instead an eerie quiet perforated with occasional stabs of panic. This creates an unnerving atmosphere of doom. We feel confident that the future is bleak for the crumbling Baldinis, we just want to know quite how bleak, simultaneously chasing and dreading the potential answers.

Shock’s ace, most assuredly, lies in its leading lady. For the film’s somewhat meandering pace, Daria Nicolodi gives a powerfully physical – almost violent – performance. As Dora’s mind unravels, Nicoldi’s actions become more and more unhinged. From her early signs of suspicion and paranoia to the lank-haired, wild-eyed wailing of a woman pushed beyond tangible reality, Nicolodi’s Dora is at once to be protected, pitied, and perhaps even feared by the audience. A broken woman, a broken mother, but one resolved to continue pushing for the truth. Any truth. Her truth. While Shock is certainly a flawed picture, Nicolodi’s commitment to the material – at its best and at its worst – cannot be denied.

Shock is a solid, if slow, psychological horror. And while it showcases a celebrated filmmaker’s struggle to transition into a new decade, it remains a fascinating swansong. Despite its simplistic story, there is much to unearth thematically, as Dora wrestles with grief, mental illness, the trials of parenthood, and gaslighting from almost every man in her life. Dora’s plight is the core force of Shock because, ultimately, this is Nicolodi’s show. And though handed a screenplay that might not seem out of place on an episode of Tales of the Unexpected, Daria still throws herself as passionately and as fiercely into the role as if it were Zulawski’s Possession or Polanski’s Repulsion.

Arrow Video Blu-ray furnishes Shock with a crisp, clear print, accompanied by both the original English/Italian audio tracks, (though the English audio is noticeably muddier than its Italian counterpart), as well as optional English/Italian titles. A healthy extras package includes a commentary by Bava historian Tim Lucas, as well as exclusive interviews with author Stephen Thrower, Shock co-writer Dardano Sacchetti, critic Alberto Farina, and Lamberto Bava. An excellent visual essay by Alexandra Heller-Nicholas explores Shock’s obsession with puppet imagery, and the package is rounded out with a selection of trailers and vintage marketing materials – including a Japanese theatre program which, naturally, spoils the ending. Shock has taken many decades to reach these shores in respectable form, but Arrow Video’s typically proud release has made it worth the wait.

Shock is out now on Blu-ray. You can win a copy in our competition here.

Eric Red directs this nineties mash-up of The Hands of Orlac and Frankenstein, which brings some fun gore and an argument about the ethical nature of ‘playing God’.

Bill (Jeff Fahey) is a criminal psychologist who loses his arm in a freak car accident (incredibly well-staged, we must add). His wife (Kim Delaney) is asked by the brilliant surgeon (Lindsay Duncan) to give consent for Bill to receive a transplant appendage from a donor that has just arrived. Seeing it as a chance for her husband to remain somewhat ‘complete’, she agrees. Unfortunately, Bill’s new arm seems to have a life of its own, and when he discovers where it came from (a death-row killer, of course) and that other recipients from the same body have been found dead, he finds that sinister things are afoot.

Although the story leans more to the Mary Shelley classic than the Maurice Renard story, there’s plenty to enjoy in Body Parts. Not least an elaborate car chase that takes place with the main character handcuffed to the person who is trying to retrieve the arm he was gifted during his operation. It’s a scene that’s as exciting as anything in the Fast and the Furious films and is certainly the highlight of Body Parts. The whole thing screams nineties trash cinema and it’s all the more glorious for it. The ever-dependable Brad Dourif gives another idiosyncratic performance as an artist who was the recipient of the killer’s other arm and has since been able to paint the most vivid, macabre masterpieces that turn out to be murder scenes.

Imprint’s Blu-ray release boasts some great interviews including a lengthy chat with the director, who is refreshingly honest about the movie and details some sequences that were removed from his original cut and explains why they were. We get to see the gruesome scenes in question, albeit in lesser quality from the original workprint. If you’re a fan of schlocky nineties movies, this one should be on your list. Hopefully it won’t cost you an arm or a leg.

Reeltime Pictures continue the DVD presentation of their massive archive of interviews with Doctor Who alumni (many of them now sadly passed away) with this two-disc set that sets its sights on possibly the most popular and resonant era of the classic series. Tom Baker, the man himself, is sadly absent but this is another eclectic and interesting collection of interviews that covers all the bases – a former producer, writers, character actors and minor supporting actors. As ever with these releases, we’re reminded of a very different time in British TV production, the Golden Age of BBC Television Centre when the Corporation’s output was all in-house and the entire industry had a cosy, inclusive, family atmosphere.

Disc One of this set presents a rare Convention interview with 1970s producer Graham Williams, tasked with taking the ‘adult’ sting out of the series in the wake of repeated criticism by the notorious Mary Whitehouse and her self-appointed coterie of TV watchdogs who felt that the series, in the early Baker years, was becoming far too scary for children. The interview footage is poor quality but Williams, who tragically passed away in 1990 in a shooting accident, presents as a wiry, rather laconic, strong-minded chain-smoker, miles away from the popular fan perception of him as a doormat who allowed  Tom Baker’s larger-than-life comedic tendencies to undermine the show’s more serious dramatic potential. A frail but fascinating David Fisher discusses his life as a TV writer and, most interestingly, Andrew Smith, an eighteen-year-old whose first script, ‘Full Circle’ made its way into the 1980 series of Doctor Who,  talks about how his script was accepted and the process that led to it reaching the screen. On disc two indestructible classic series costume designer June Hudson (she also contributes regularly to the BBC BluRay season boxsets) talks passionately about her work in convention footage (where she is addressed with due deference by the interviewer as “Miss Hudon”) and an off-stage one-on-one interview. More vintage convention footage sees ‘Genesis of the Daleks’ stars Peter Miles, Michael Wisher and Roy Skelton out-shouting each other in Dalek voices and a final segment of recurring feature ‘Flight Through Eternity’ gathers up brief interviews with series guest stars Arthur Cox (who appeared in the 1968 Patrick Troughton serial ‘The Dominators’ and would later go on to appear again in Matt Smith’s debut ‘The Eleventh Hour’), Terence Denville, David Garfield, and David Weston.

It’s another eclectic selection, curated as ever by the affable Nicholas Briggs, and whilst these sets are probably the very dictionary definition of ‘niche content’ they remain an invaluable archive resource chronicling the work of creatives and performers who are no longer with us and are pretty much essential purchases for those with a deeper interest in how a programme like Doctor Who reaches our screens. Long may they continue.

The Doctors: The Tom Baker Years – Behind the Scenes Vol 1 is out now on DVD and available here.