Review Category: DVD/Blu Ray

When siblings accidentally uncover a long-buried demonic alien overlord intent on destroying all life throughout the universe, control of the being falls into the hands of whoever holds a gemstone that was found with him. That’s obnoxious 12-year-old Mimi who now has an evil being from space to do her pre-teen bidding. Which one is the real monster?

There’s a lot of fun to be had in Psycho Goreman, a film that lovingly emulates similar SF for kids from the ’80s. It’s filmed like it was made then, the retro mainly practical effects look like they’re from then, it all could have gone straight to VHS in fact. That nod to ’80s nostalgia runs throughout and is wonderful.

Great too is PG itself, a fantastic character, designed brilliantly and played just right. You can really feel its humiliation having once led galactic revolutions and massacred entire planets, now being forced how to play ball games… Other bizarre creatures are equally fun.

But the best thing about the film is the idea from which it has been created. The notion of a hugely evil, immensely powerful force in the hands of a little girl who isn’t phased by the beast in the slightest is absolutely inspired.

Unfortunately, the script, some of the performances, and the lack of internal logic make the film itself less inspiring than that idea. Simply put, it should have been a lot funnier than it actually is and it certainly needed a script editor to point out some of the problems, like why PG terrifies the crap out of Mimi’s parents but everyone else in the town seems fine when they go shopping or head out for a burger.

Part of the issue is the brave decision to make Mimi thoroughly unlikeable. She’s just about as annoying as any child ever put on screen. Her sweet-natured brother Luke is a counter to this but, even so, she does grate.

The Blu-ray extras consist of some cast interviews, which are sweet, some fun behind-the-scenes videos of the miniatures and the brilliant creature design and make-up effects, fight choreography which is really enjoyable, but what you really want from the extras is the director commentary.

Stephen Kostanski (The Void) doesn’t disappoint, talking with humour and enthusiasm about the making of the film, how it was sometimes cobbled together, where the ideas behind the story came from, and the production process. It’s the best of the extra features and pushes the overall package up from just quite good to worth it.

Hungarian-born actor Bela Lugosi is best remembered for his iconic role as the first proper screen Dracula in Tod Browning’s legendary 1931 Universal horror classic. His subsequent career was fairly undistinguished as he drifted through any number of forgettable horror B-movies, his career progress frustrated by his thick, often impenetrable Hungarian accent which limited his casting potential and the typecasting which inevitably followed in the wake of his career-defining role as Transylvania’s most notorious blood-sucker. His filmography is littered with films where he played second string to the more bankable (and understandable) Boris Karloff and by the mid-thirties he was reduced to appearing in forgettable low budget thrillers. Curiously enough, even though American studios didn’t seem to know what to do with Lugosi, he received better treatment when he came to the UK towards the end of the decade, starring in a couple of ersatz British horror thrillers; 1935’s The Mystery of the Mary Celeste (one of the earliest films from what would become Hammer studios) and 1939’s The Dark Eyes of London, based on the novel by Edgar Wallace, produced by Argyle Films and shot at the now long-gone Welwyn Studios.

The Dark Eyes of London (released in the USA under the more lurid title The Human Monster to capitalise on its horror movie trappings and Lugosi’s lingering appeal in the genre) was the first British film to receive an ‘H’ classification – Horrific for Public Exhibition and, of course, nearly 75 years later it’s very tame and tepid stuff indeed. The film is actually a curious combination of mystery thriller and horror movie. Lugosi plays Dr Orloff, a London life insurance agent who comes under suspicion from Scotland Yard  – particularly the determinedly-RP Detective Inspector Larry Holt (Hugh Williams) – when corpses are found in the river Thames and it transpires that they were all insured by Orloff with the nearby Dearborn Home for the Blind as their sole beneficiary. The home is run by the soft-spoken, blind Dearborn – he seems strangely familiar – and one of the gloomy premises’ residents is the hideously-deformed Jake (Wilfred Walter). It’s only when Diane (Greta Gynt), daughter of one of the deceased men, secures employment at the home that Orloff and Dearborn’s secret becomes apparent but Diane is now herself in deadly danger as the extent of Orloff’s schemes is revealed.

The Dark Eyes of London is a nicely-mounted, well-paced little thriller with some satisfyingly lurid moments of suspense and melodrama. It’s good to see Lugosi being given more to do than usual (we won’t spoil the twist here even if it’s glaringly obvious from the outset) and he is suitably sinister as the plausible, oily Orloff and Greta Glynt glistens as the lively Diane and the scene where she is menaced by the looming Jake is still quite menacing. It’s the themes and plot contrivances that deliver the chills here and probably earned the film its 1939 H rating; it’s a morbid and macabre piece in its own way, a classic ‘penny dreadful’ thriller still capable of entertaining and diverting across its relatively brief running time and if nothing else it’s a reminder that Lugosi, given the right material, could really shine as a cold and calculating screen presence.

This new Network BluRay release finally gives the film the care and attention it deserves. The picture and sound are clean and crisp and the film is supported by a chatty commentary from Kim Newman and Stephen Jones who also deliver a competitive visual feature discussing ‘Lugosi in the UK.’ The package also includes a booklet written by Adrian Smith, poster postcards, trailers, image galleries and all the bells and whistles you could reasonably expect from a relatively-obscured film of this vintage.

If you haven’t seen Duel to the Death, you may find it strangely familiar, as many of its unforgettable scenes were selected for The Best of Martial Arts – a VHS that adorned many enthusiasts’ collections in the ‘90s. Eureka presents this must-see classic on Blu-ray for the first time.

Set in a mystical version of 16th century China, every 10 years a Japanese warrior faces the greatest swordsman in China, all for their respective nation’s honour. The enigmatic and steely Hashimoto (Norman Chiu) is chosen as the Japanese representative, pitted against the more romantic and elegant Ching Wan (Damian Lau). Things are complicated further when head ninja Kanji (Eddy Ko) is entrusted by the Shogun to make sure the Japanese win the duel at all costs.

Despite the acting and dialogue being strong, the action is where the film excels, with such memorable scenes as – a giant ninja who splits into many normal sized ones, ninjas on kites and of course a naked female ninja. Director Ching Siu-tung, who made his debut here in 1983, has seemingly unlimited imagination, something he would cultivate further with the wonderful A Chinese Ghost Story Trilogy. 

The film has been transferred well, which is especially evident in the crisp daytime colours. We get an interview with scriptwriter Manfred Wong, which is unfortunately dubbed, and good interviews with Norman Chiu and Flora Cheong-Leen, the latter offering an interesting insight into the rigours of the film industry (she discloses how she made six films in a year!). The disc is rounded out by production stills and audio commentary by Frank Djeng. If you have even a passing interest in the genre, this package is for you.

Indicator’s Columbia Noir #4 continues the deep dive into Columbia’s vaults to bring us six more exquisitely packaged film noir titles. Actually, with this collection, only two of the films are what could be considered strictly noir. The rest of the tangentially noirish films offered are two espionage pictures, a straight-on gangster flick, and the first colour offering in this series that is a pseudo-psycho melodrama, not noir.

The two espionage ‘noirs’ are Walk a Crooked Mile (1948) and Walk East on Beacon! (1952)
Walk a Crooked Mile, directed by Gordon Douglas, has a semi-documentary feel. It’s an earnest portrayal of FBI agents and a Scotland Yard officer infiltrating a Nazi spy ring whilst also trying to stay one step ahead of Russian assassins.

Walk East on Beacon!, directed by Alfred Werker is another semi-documentary style portrayal of FBI agents out thwarting Soviet spies intent on stealing America’s atomic secrets.

Both films are competently directed and entertaining if not entirely memorable.

Chicago Syndicate (1955) directed by Fred F. Sears is a straight-on gangster flick and treads a similar path as the two espionage films. A mole in a gangster’s inner circle has to get the ‘secret book’ that will allow the FBI to bring down the syndicate. Again this is an enjoyable film with some good all-round performances in what is a tried and tested story.

A Bullet is Waiting (1954) directed by John Farrow and starring Jean Simmons is the odd one out in this collection as it’s about as noir as a summer’s day on the beach. A sheriff and his prisoner survive a plane crash and are taken in by a retired Oxford don and his daughter. Many protracted shootouts ensue. It’s a visually interesting film, but it’s more a western version of Shakespeare’s The Tempest and feels out of place in this collection.

Pushover (1954) is directed by Richard Quine and stars Fred MacMurray with Kim Novak in her first starring role is a solid noir thriller. MacMurray plays detective Paul Sheridan who, as is one of the rules of noir, is seduced by Lona McLane (Kim Novak) into agreeing to murder her lover for a share of a bank heist haul.

The Brothers Rico (1957), directed by Phil Karlson and starring quintessential noir stalwart Richard Conte, is another solid noir offering. It seems just as relevant now as it did sixty-four years ago. Essentially it’s a story of The Mob and how it began adopting an air of faux respectability by operating as a modern corporation. Loyalty is everything and ‘employees’ quit when they have a bullet in the back of their head. Think The Soprano’s but in the 1950s and without the profanity.

As with the previous collections, there are no shortages of extras. Each film includes a Three Stooges short that reflects the theme of the main feature. One of the most interesting features is Routine Job: A Story of Scotland Yard (1946) a short film following the day-to-day work of a Scotland Yard detective.  Then there is a dramatised edition of The March of Time newsreel entitled Policeman’s Holiday(1949) about an American detective who assists Scotland Yard while in the UK. There are two more March of Time newsreels that provide a safe for public consumption view of the FBI thwarting spies. The Brothers Rico is introduced by Martin Scorsese, whose admiration for the film is palpable (unlike his feelings for Marvel), there are several documentaries looking at the careers of Jean Simmons, Kim Novak, as well as directors Phil Karlson and Richard Quine, and audio commentaries with the most notable being Kim Newman for A Bullet is Waiting.

Once again Indicator has produced a lavish box set that any collector’s shelf would welcome. The transfers of all six films are stunning which is something Indicator excel at. Despite the entertainment, each film has to offer it’s a shame that this collection is noir-lite compared to previous editions.

Evil of the Daleks was the first Doctor Who serial to enjoy a repeat screening on UK television. First broadcast in 1967 as the finale to Patrick Troughton’s first season, the episodes were wheeled out again at the end of his second year as the Doctor ‘recreates’ the story for the benefit of his new travelling companion Zoe (Wendy Padbury) to warn her about the perils she is likely to encounter as a passenger aboard the TARDIS. Despite this second screening, though, the episodes still disappeared into the infamous BBC black hole of recommissioned tapes and were  wiped in 1968, with only the second episode (of seven) finding its way back to the BBC Archives (via a car boot sale) in 1987. Fortunately, the story has been recreated again, this time as the latest of the BBC’s ongoing line of animated reconstructions married to existing top quality soundtrack audios, which have, let’s face it, been a little hit and miss and, despite the best intentions of their creators, often haven’t really captured the spirit and imagination of the long-lost live action version. Evil of the Daleks is, however, a little different in that regard…

With Terry Nation requesting that the BBC no longer make use of his metal meanies (he was trying to launch a lavish American series starring the Daleks) and no longer writing their stories himself, it fell to former series story editor  David Whittaker (who had already written for the Daleks in Troughton’s debut) to craft a workable exit strategy for the show’s most famous bad boys. Evil of the Daleks has always been the stuff of legend and this animation finally allows fans who have never seen it before – and perhaps even those with fading memories of its original transmissions – to appreciate exactly why it is held in such high esteem. The story is a  glorious stew of all those things that make Doctor Who special; magnificent aliens, time travel, mystery and intrigue, greed and misplaced ambition, duplicity, action, and spectacle. Evil of the Daleks is sensational and it’s clear that the animators have gone the extra mile with this one because it deserves it.

Picking up from the end of The Faceless Ones, the Doctor (Troughton) and Jamie (Frazer Hines) are in hot pursuit of the TARDIS. which has been driven away from Gatwick Airport on a lorry.  Their trail leads them to antique shop run by Edward Waterfield (John Bailey), whose Victorian-era antiques look suspiciously new. In a secret room in his shop lurks a time machine and eventually the Doctor and Jamie find themselves in a country house in 1866. The house belongs to eccentric scientist Theodore Maxtible (Marius Goring) who, along with Waterfield, created a time machine using mirrors and static electricity. Unfortunately, it has attracted the attention of the Daleks, who kidnap Waterfield’s daughter Victoria (Deborah Watling) and force the pair to trap the Doctor and his TARDIS. The Daleks require the Doctor’s help in their audacious scheme to isolate the elusive ‘human factor’ which has continually thwarted their attempts to conquer Earth. But the Doctor has his own plans for the future of the Daleks…

Evil of the Daleks is genuinely one of the great Doctor Who masterpieces. Whittaker’s script is intelligent and lyrical, characters are well-rounded and believable (thanks especially to superb performances by the supporting cast) and the Daleks are at their best, devious and manipulative and wisely kept in the background for the first few episodes before the story shifts to Skaro where the final battle takes place. There are some superb moments of tension between the Doctor and the reliable Jamie where the Doctor behaves in what appears to be an entirely uncharacteristic fashion, hiding his true motives from his companion who finds his loyalty tested. The two have a couple of blazing arguments, their relationship tested in ways the 21st century series itself would surely approve of. The animation is superb too, more subtle and nuanced and directed than previous slightly clunky efforts. There are some lovely atmospheric flourishes, scenes where motes of dust in the air are animated (one scene of a Dalek prowling the Victorian corridors of Maxtible’s mansion is incredibly sinister and evocative, dust swirling round the machine as it glides around) and tiny character movements and reactions add to the sense of proper drama and high stakes. It’s genuinely possible this time to forget that this is animation at all, so engrossing and immersive is the story and subtly accomplished is the animation process.  Some action scenes do expose the limitations of the animation, though; characters running or fighting still look a bit awkward but the famous Dalek Civil War between ‘humanised’ and ‘pure’ Daleks in the throne room of the imposing Emperor looks absolutely terrific.

Evil of the Daleks is available as a three-disc release. The episodes are presented in black-and-white and colour (which really brings the story to vivid life) along with a nicely-restored print of the remaining second episode. The Dalek Factor is a fairly routine thirty-one minute ‘making of’ feature, designer Chris Thompson is interviewed in  An Assignment with Grim Evil and completists will enjoy the audiobook of Tom Baker narrating the story. Photo galleries, reconstructions, commentaries and assorted archive bits and pieces round out a thorough and satisfying package of supporting material. But you’ll be here for the story itself and fears that rudimentary animation might undermine the reputation of one of the classics are thankfully unfounded. Evil of the Daleks finally sees the Doctor Who animation range come of age. It’s a real triumph.

Ana (Siboney Lo) and her sister Anny (Carolina Escobar) haven’t had the best life. Their mother has been killed by their father Felipe (Daniel Antivilo), who uses their remote home to store drugs for crime lord Costello (Serge François). If that’s not bad enough, Felipe has raped Ana, who later gave birth to Manuel (José Hernandez), who is kept in a barn and treated like an animal. As time goes on, the authorities get wind that some domestic abuse might be happening, and a pair of police officers arrive to question Felipe. Fearing for the drugs, he carves up the officers with a chainsaw before being apprehended. The girls and their brother, however, head for a safe house further into the woods unaware that Costello’s men are keen to get his gear back.

Hidden in the Woods isn’t a pleasant film. The atrocious acts depicted are incredibly disturbing and unflinchingly realistic. Even the gore is impressively done considering the film’s low budget. There’s a grindhouse aesthetic that isn’t contrived as many of the throwback films we’ve seen over the past decade. There’s no scratches or ‘lost reels’. Hell, there’s not even any attempt to make the shot-on-digital visuals look like celluloid. This is raw, visceral, and unrelentingly brutal.

The film is co-written and directed by Patricio Valladares and came to the attention of actor Michael Biehn, who wanted to remake the movie in English, but brought back Valladares back to direct once more. This original version is rough n’ ready, and is all the more effective for it. The film certainly isn’t for the faint of heart, but is well made and unpredictable.

This uncut Blu-ray from Warped Releasing contains enough bonus features to keep fans of the film satisfied. The ‘making of’ documentary is essentially behind the scenes raw footage with no attempt to contextualise or give insight – the interview with the director sorts that side of things out – but gives the viewer a glimpse into the production so we know it wasn’t as grim as it appears on the screen.

You can purchase Hidden in the Woods here.

Somewhere in Bible belt Nebraska sits the town of Gatlin. Most days the townsfolk work the fields which grow tall with corn. On Sundays, they go to church, then to the local diner for coffee and cake. It’s outwardly idyllic. Real America. Honest America. But one Sunday the town’s children, inspired by the creepy, sinisterly eyebrowed Isaac murder all the adults and a new religion is born, one that worships and fears ‘He who walks behind the rows.’ Enter urbanites Burt and Vicky (Peter Horton and Linda Hamilton) and folk horror ensues.

For the most part Children of the Corn is a functional, effective Stephen King adaptation. The kids are scary if a little awkward in places, and the film awakes a fear many of us suppress of quiet, rural towns that always contain malevolent secrets and shadows…don’t they? John Franklin stands out as the psychotic Isaac, and director Fritz Kiersch maintains an unsettling atmosphere throughout. The film does labour in the middle act as, being adapted from a short story, there isn’t enough substance to keep the plot moving and we’re left with what becomes an elongated chase scene.

Where this new 4K UHD set does impress is in the content. Including the two direct sequels (only on Blu-ray, however) Children of the Corn II: The Final Sacrifice (essentially a poorer version of the first film but set a few years later) and Children of the Corn III: Urban Harvest (Cult in the City) there are more than enough commentaries, featurettes, interviews, and extras to keep any fan occupied for hours.

One for the completists.

Reeltime’s latest 2-disc DVD release culled from their extensive classic Doctor Who interview archive takes us right back to the early days of the sci-fi sensation. This essential collection devotes its first disc to prime movers from the show’s formative years and, fittingly for a show with time travel at its core, the interviews leap across the decades as they bring us the thoughts and fascinating recollections of a string of creatives mostly no longer with us. Disc One presents an extensive 1996 interview conducted by an attentive Nicholas Briggs with the legendary Verity Lambert, the show’s dynamic first producer who recalls her early years in the TV industry and her various struggles in getting Doctor Who onto the screens. Lambert sadly passed away in November 2007 and this interview allows us to watch this calm, steely TV legend in her mellower later years reflecting on a long and hugely influential career. Next up is award-winning director Waris Hussein who helmed the very first Doctor Who serial and the later frustratingly-missing Marco Polo seven-parter. Interviewed in 2005, Hussein’s career accolades are numerous – at one point, he proudly displays his BAFTA and Emmy awards – but he speaks fondly of his time on Doctor Who, trying to make an intelligible drama from the show’s first prehistoric adventure and rightly bemoaning the loss of the opulent Marco Polo. It’s another engaging interview, the only distraction being interjections from Briggs who isn’t present but awkwardly phrases questions from a computer keyboard and a monitor replaying the footage. Disc One is rounded off by a lengthy 1999 chat with Donald Tosh who briefly – and, it appears, frustratingly – story edited the series alongside Lambert and latterly, John Wiles, who was entirely unsuited and largely disinterested in working on the show.

Disc Two opens with convention footage from September 1986 which reunites Wiles, legendary scriptwriter Dennis Spooner and one-off writer Paul Erickson who contributed just one serial, The Ark, to the series in 1966, co-written by his then-wife Lesley Scott. This is a lively and chatty panel, especially poignant when the contributors are asked what they feel proudest of in their careers. Spooner, who carved out his name in the 1960s with Gerry Anderson and the classic ITC adventure series alongside Doctor Who, replies that he doesn’t think he’s yet written the thing he’s most proud of. He died from a heart attack about a fortnight later, aged just 53. Music composer Tristram Carey is interviewed at his home in Australia and the set is rounded off by chats with a handful of character actors who appears in the Hartnell era such as Edward De Souza, John Cater, and Fiona Walker.

Fans of the early years of Doctor Who will be enthralled by this release featuring, yet again, familiar anecdotes and behind-the-scenes banter – with a smattering of stuff we might not have heard before – from the mouths of the people who were there at the time and who now aren’t around to remind us of the ground-breaking work they did, on a shoestring and often regarding it as “just another job”, on a series that eventually outlived them and will most likely outlive us all.