Review Category: Movie

Writer and director Matthew Holness first conjured up Possum as a short story to be included in an anthology on Freud’s Uncanny (Das Unheimlich), the phenomenon described as “strangeness in the ordinary”. A slow and steady swirling, creeping dread envelopes the entire film, just like one of its first defining images: that of black smoke, enveloping children’s balloons – the tainting of innocence.

Philip (Sean Harris) returns to his dilapidated childhood home in a bleak area of Norfolk, greeted by his grotesque uncle/stepfather Maurice (Alun Armstrong) armed with a mysterious brown holdall. Inside is a horrifying, almost Dadaist physical embodiment of Philip’s darkness, and the film concerns itself with the mental state of Philip dealing with an unexplained trauma from his past.

Despite presenting one of the most original and inventive depictions of the Uncanny in the form of the actual puppet, “Possum”, the human aspects of the story are the most unbearable. Regardless of the topic of child abuse and what Holness describes as its “crude overfamiliarity”, Possum shows that the real horrors of what humans can do to one another is an almost neverending fountain of morbid fascination. Whilst being a horror movie about a human monster and the damaged mind, Holness deals with the subject sensitively, instead of traversing into the arena of exploitation. We get to explore how, just as Possum dies and continues to come back, the psychological effects of abuse can never fully gain closure.

In this vein, with Philip in a prison of the past, so too is the setting: the house is steeped in 1970s decor, and scenes even involve Philip winding up back at his old school. The sense of abandonment is felt throughout, with Philip completely alone in the horrors of his mind. We are in Philip’s head from the beginning, yet the heavy silence of the film also allows distance, as at the same time we are never fully sure whether Philip is victim or monster.

Possum excels in ways some horror doesn’t. It strikes the nerve between horror and emotion, between wanting to cry and wanting to scream. Sean Harris’ face is like a work of puppetry itself, a frown permanently etched or frozen in place, a constant inability to make eye contact. His trauma lives on his face.

It also invokes the ways in which children use metaphors and symbolism to try to make sense of things happening to them, with an insight into how Philip has comprehended his parents death and his abuse through the mask of the surreal. The sweets that Maurice feed to Philip make you think of the oft-repeated warning given to you as a child to “not take sweets from strangers”. Freudian metaphors work in unexpected ways – spiderlegs standing in for creepy fingers, and how both Maurice and Philip are puppeteers, making you think about the cyclical nature of abuse.

The ending of Possum feels as raw and feral as any first-time viewing of a video nasty without being particularly violent at all, or showing any blood. It’s a work of creeping revulsion that leaves you feeling stunned and traumatised, ultimately confronting you with truths that feel all too real.

POSSUM / DIRECTOR: MATTHEW HOLNESS / SCREENPLAY: MATTHEW HOLNESS / STARRING: SEAN HARRIS, ALUN ARMSTRONG, SIMON BUBB / CERT: TBC / RELEASE DATE: TBC

From the opening scenes there is an intriguing, if at times frustrating, ambiguity to Robert Logevall’s feature The Grand Son. In essence it tells the story of a desperate young man struggling to maintain a faltering lifestyle after a fatal accident, but the film teases its audience with deeper, darker subtext without ever truly following through.

Tod (Wakefield) is a young man whose (mildly) decadent Hollywood lifestyle, and that of his sister Halle (Campbell), exists entirely due to the failing success of his grandmother Judy (Warren). With Judy about to lose her celebrity, and the family forced to relinquish their plush mansion for lesser accommodation, relationships are fraught and fuelled by with suspicion and mistrust. Until, in what appears to be an accident, Tod kills Judy. A slight spoiler this may be, but it occurs in the first act and sets the tone for what remains.

For now, the ambiguity comes to the fore. The relationships between the central three characters are never fully explained, although hints and subtle nudges lead the audience to various accurate or inaccurate conclusions. It is implied Judy is not the maternal grandmother, the connection between Tod and Halle wavers from mistrust and resentment to a strange and mildly incestuous connection. Peripheral characters, from Halle’s friend to a studio executive played by Sarah Clarke, are toyed with like pawns in the siblings lives rather than fleshed out characters. Elsewhere this could nod to a lack of depth but here adds further to that ambiguity. While some characters’ intentions may appear obvious, you find yourself guarded against assumption and constantly on the lookout for true motivation.

The only constant driver appears to be sex, with every character emotionally charged either through lustful action or fantasy. How much this plays into the central plot is open to interpretation, but if nothing else it clouds an already mysterious narrative.

There are times when the director’s subterfuge and determined vagaries become a little trying. The film is often very dark, making some scenes confusing through their lack of real light rather than in a metaphorical sense. The dialogue is occasionally difficult to understand, and while this again may be a tool, it does force you out of the film somewhat. This all adds to that sense of frustration. Entering the final act, you feel you’ve paid your dues and indulged Logevall’s enjoyable toying, and will likely believe you’ve earned a little resolution. Whether you receive this will depend on how involved with the film you are, and how much you’ve invested in the characters.

THE GRAND SON / DIRECTOR: ROBERT LOGEVALL / SCREENPLAY: ABRAM MAKOWKA / STARRING: RHYS WAKEFIELD, LESLEY ANN WARREN, SARAH CLARKE / CERT: TBC / RELEASE DATE: TBC

The best documentaries are not really just about one specific thing: they act as conduits to explore a deeper feeling or theme. Andrè Gower’s documentary on the 1987 failure-turned-cult-classic The Monster Squad is two double bolts of pleasure – a love letter to a film, but also to the biggest nostalgia machine there is: cinema. This is shown from its opening – talking head interviews with the director of The Monster Squad, Fred Dekker, actors, fans, (including Seth Green) about the film that first turned them on to cinema, an experience embedded in all of us.

Despite being made by its central child actor (Gower played Sean, the hero / protagonist of the squad), the documentary doesn’t feel like an indulgent exercise in narcissism, but a labour of love. Gower himself as stated that it isn’t a “behind the scenes” or “where are they now?” feature, but about what it means for a film to find its audience decades later and how cult films inspire a slavish devotion mainstream films just don’t.

Nards shows different viewpoints of the film, not sticking just to diehard fans – one comes from a professor who teaches it in film studies class and criticises the way in which The Monster Squad – like most popular films of the ‘80s – is guilty of certain moments of slut-shaming, fat-shaming and homophobia. This only serves to show that what touches us and what we as an audience fall in love with cannot be explained. We can’t intellectualise the films (and literature and music) that form us.

Some heartwarming moments include Andrè and Ryan Lambert (Bad-Boy Rudy) joining forces during the revival of the film to tour cinemas and finally see the love for the film that was missing when it first came out, hindered by a lack of appropriate marketing and promotion at the time, as well as being beaten to the box office by another teen classic, Joel Schumacher’s The Lost Boys.

Cinema as a powerful sensory tool for memory, and how we are shaped by it, is a strong theme throughout, with Nards serving both as an outlet for nostalgia for its audience who grew up on The Monster Squad, and for the makers of the film themselves. Dekker and the creators of the movie’s monsters wax lyrical about the magic of creating creatures from their own cinema-going memories.

As we grow older and our film-going becomes more sophisticated and distanced, we yearn to return to the obsessive immediacy of our younger selves. Watching these films – and this documentary – generates the type of joy we only felt as kids, as well as evoking the warm fuzzy feeling that nostalgia brings.

WOLFMAN’S GOT NARDS / DIRECTOR: ANDRE GOWER / SCREENPLAY: ANDRE GOWER, HENRY DARROW McCOMAS/ STARRING: SETH GREEN, SHANE BLACK, ADAM F. GOLDBERG / CERT: TBC / RELEASE DATE: TBC

Gustavo Mendoza’s documentary is billed as an examination of the horror festival circuit and the horror fans that flock to such events, year after year, on a pilgrimage for blood and guts. What emerges is a one dimensional look at horror fans – all male, except for one cameo from legendary scream queen Barbara Crampton – and what seems to be a shaky home movie of the harassment of Bruce Campbell at film festivals.

There is no examination of why horror attracts so many of us – men and women – instead, only talking head interviews with punk bands, filmmakers and critics, mainly from Argentina, Italy and Spain, with brief glimpses of Frightfest in London and footage of horror masters such as Argento doing signings or public appearances. Festivals all over the world are shown, mainly focusing on Sitges in Spain and Buenos Aires’ Roja Sangre, with the same aesthetic as filming a Q&A on your phone.

What is most offensive is the exclusion of women. For a genre that so often deals with female stories and protagonists, from the Final Girl to the rape revenge, perpetuating the myth that horror is one big Boy’s Club, films women “look away” from and men relish. Horror examines issues such as gender, sexuality and the “Other” through metaphor and spectacle better than any other genre. Not delving into this or connecting the genre’s themes with any humanity leaves the film feeling more like a surface-level fan video, devoid of any depth. Horror icon Robert Englund and Master of Horror Mick Garris are given adequate screen time, enough to satisfy fans looking for fun cameos instead of any introspection.

What is fascinating is how films outside of America or the UK are explored and how countries such as Argentina have created their own versions of Hammer Horrors or slasher monsters, yet Cult Of Terror is disappointing in that it does not explore further how horror can be different for other cultures yet still remain so universal.

The entire documentary should have been reduced to its final ten minutes – a montage of various men expounding on why horror fascinates us so, from its powers of immortality (film won’t die, whilst we will, and allows us to explore our own death in a safe setting) to Bogdanovich on how horror is only cathartic if you have never experienced real tragedy. This adds some layer of poignancy, but only a little, to something which is more of an indulgent pet project. Interviews are edited bizarrely, cut in the middle of sentences, which is less DIY-punk rock and more one big jumbled mess.

If you are a horror fan, this is not the documentary for you. An obnoxious two hours paying lip service to horror fans – how they dress up as zombies and freaks, what the inside of a film festival looks like – without making any real point about them or the genre itself.

CULT OF TERROR / DIRECTOR: GUSTAVO MENDOZA / SCREENPLAY: GUSTAVO MENDOZA / STARRING: DARIO ARGENTO, BARBARA CRAMPTON, ROBERT ENGLUND / CERT: TBC / RELEASE DATE: TBC

Edgar Allan Poe said that the death of a beautiful woman is the “most poetical topic in the world”. Here, Beth (wide-eyed Emilia Jones) a young horror writer and disciple of H.P Lovecraft, will learn that, as she becomes trapped in her own horror story – not of her own making, but a home invasion torture-porn that reinvigorates typical horror tropes with a punch to the gut.

Martyrs director Pascal Laugier’s take on the home invasion genre tells the story of Beth, and of her move to her Aunt Clarissa’s eccentric and dilapidated house in the country along with her older sister, Vera, (Taylor Hickson) and her French mother, Pauline (Mylène Farmer). Their real-life horror story is signalled by a candy truck, glaring its lights at them. At a rest stop, Beth sees a newspaper headline about families being murdered nearby, an ominous foreshadowing of what is to come – the domestic becoming the horrific, Texas Chainsaw Massacre in doll land.

The house is a genre trope all in itself, filled to the gills with thousands of dolls and trick mirrors. The horror happens almost immediately, and with no mercy – the “villains” (played by Kevin Power and Rob Archer) are uncomfortable representations of the “Other”, both sadistic monsters, both mute. As the action amps up, the camera is wielded haphazardly, screams left lingering in your ears long after they have ceased.

A cut to the present day shows adult Beth (Crystal Reed) as a successful horror fiction writer, able to convert her teenage trauma into something sellable. Beth’s interest in horror fiction isn’t accidental. It allows the film to project back onto its audience and examine our own psyche in our love of being afraid – as catharsis, as an outlet, and as a way to examine our most morbid fascinations without consequence.

Beth is drawn back to the house where it all happened, and to the sister that she had left behind, now physically older (Anastasia Phillips) but still mentally unable to move on. Both sisters appear to be trapped in a cycle of constantly indulging in the pain of that one night, except one in a seemingly “healthier” way, through writing, and one via self harm. However, the real horror of their situation lands with a thud, reminding us that the horror genre is not just concerned with the physical, but what the mind will do to survive.

Reminiscent of another film from the New French Extremism Canon, Alexandre Aja’s Haute Tension, both featuring ramshackle countryside houses, isolated roads, and the ability to make the sight of a truck make your blood run cold, Ghostland manages to render conventional jump scares and plot twists original and fresh, instead of worn out.

Todd Bryanton’s sound design is a mastery of tension all in itself. Every slap, punch, kick, reverberation felt, amped up to 11, a pure bludgeon of the senses, making Ghostland a heart thumping, haunted house ghost ride that is more viscerally frightening than any imagined horror story Beth could conjure up.

INCIDENT IN A GHOSTLAND / DIRECTOR: PASCAL LAUGIER / SCREENPLAY: PASCAL LAUGIER / STARRING: CRYSTAL REED, ANASTASIA PHILLIPS, EMILIA JONES, MYLENE FARMER / CERT: TBC / RELEASE DATE: TBC

Mitzi Peroine’s Braid is at once a warped candy-coloured nightmare and acid-flavoured Sofia Coppola and Haneke confection, combined with body horror and blood by way of the clinical luxury of Chan-Wook Park’s Stoker and Haneke’s Funny Games.

Friends Petula (Imogen Waterhouse) and Tilda (Sarah Hay) are downtown girls, reaping their rewards from a nefarious drug scheme, looking the picture of sleaze, surrounded by plastic baggies. Suddenly, the cops are at the door. Torpedoed from their Rumble Fish existence – all black and white low-angled camera work, evoking the same dissociative feel – to one of constricted femininity and psychotic roleplay, they are forced to attempt to acquire money from their childhood friend Daphne (an excellently wild-eyed Madeline Brewer).

Part of this scheme involves adhering to three rules, which are blasted at you in neon font, Gaspar Noé style, and marked in embroidery on the wall with a nodding wink: “Everyone must play. No outsiders allowed. Nobody leaves”.

The mystery of this game is just as alluring as the secrets that all three girls seem to be hiding – how they know one another, and why Daphne is willing to exchange her safe full of cash for a twisted make-believe that involves smashing in one’s kneecaps with a hammer. Flashbacks provide a sense of foreshadowing, showing the trio as young girls playing a game that, in typical fashion, goes wrong.

Their pasts seem to catch up with them, with Detective Siegel on the trail of Petula and Tilda for their drug possession – the same detective that met the girls when they were young, becoming instantly suspicious when he hears screams coming from Daphne’s mansion.

Braid excels in its visuals with pops of colour assaulting your eyeballs, and seduces the viewer with a deceptively feminine type of glamour, but it also works as a satire of the constrictions of familial roles: the father figure / “Doctor”, who feels smothered and wants to escape the “family”; the housebound mother, and the bratty daughter. One arresting scene shows the Doctor shaving his face along to opera music, something that would not look out of place in a Yorgos Lanthimos film.

The drug-induced visuals leave you feeling as disorientated as Tilda and Petula, with jump scares jolting you out of a hallucinogenic haze and leaving you constantly wondering who the victim or villain really is in this cat and mouse game. The film gleefully relishes in having nothing appear as it seems, and each twist feeling like a different film. To some, this narrative may seem messy, but it only emphasises the sensory overload and confusion the characters experience as twists galore occur.

A nightmare in magenta and lavender, as the three girls sit draped in lace, eating gummy worms like the three Heathers from Heathers in the afterlife, what is left is a gorgeously vibrant and yet shockingly violent bourgeois horror-comedy that relishes in its three female leads, proving that femininity can be deadly.

BRAID / DIRECTOR: MITZI PEIRONE / SCREENPLAY: MITZI PEIRONE / STARRING: MADELINE BREWER, SCOTT COHEN, SARAH HEY / CERT: TBC / RELEASE DATE: TBC

Giuseppe Di Matteo may not ring many bells in the UK, but he does in Italy. Giuseppe was the boy imprisoned for 779 days by the Sicilian mafia so they could blackmail his father. It is this story that Fabio Grassadonia and Antonio Piazza tell, but not in a traditional manner.

The film focuses on teenager Luna (Julia Jedlikowska) who realises that she is head over heels in love with Giuseppe (Gaetano Fernandez) before he is taken away. Luna cannot cope with her anger and heartbreak. It sounds like a stroppy young love flick, and there are a couple of moments where it feels like that, but it is much more.

This is not a supernatural or fantasy film outright. It is a drama about kidnap, secrecy and growing up, with fantastical elements thrown in. A hypnotic score and some surreal sequences maintain a sense of magic about Sicilian Ghost Story without ever superimposing themselves on the matter at hand. It’s an array of surprises and character introspections that take their time to manifest completely, but prove an inspired way for the directors to go about their business.

It takes around an hour for the fantasy to reveal itself, the first half of the film being more focused on establishing relationships and the kidnap itself. This could easily be dull as dishwater, but Grassadonia and Piazza’s script finds plenty to get its teeth into before the pair’s imagination rears its head completely. As such, it doesn’t feel like a film of two halves. Instead it progresses naturally. Not easy with a drama doing things as differently as this one does.

Luna is prisoner to images of Giuseppe’s spirit and her own deteriorating emotional state. As it reaches breaking point, both Luna and Giuseppe’s torment are presented in increasingly abstract ways. It is often unclear if this is actually happening or if it’s all in Luna’s head. It may even be a mix of the two. This means that what is already an interesting story becomes ever more watchable, unfurling as Sicilian Ghost Story progresses and going increasingly beyond what you would expect.

All the cast give incredibly committed performances. Jedlikowska cuts a sincere but fragile figure who must grieve while dealing with a stern mother and increasing alienation from her friends. It’s a very impressive and believable performance from the young actress, and the chemistry between her and Fernandez feels tragically real.

Sicilian Ghost Story is entrancing. It tells a story that should never be forgotten in a way nobody watching will forget. While it sags slightly under its two-hour running time, it merits repeat viewing and leaves a lasting impact on your idea of how people deal with their darkest hours.

SICILIAN GHOST STORY / DIRECTORS: FABIO GRASSADONIA, ANTONIO PIAZZA / SCREENPLAY: FABIO GRASSADONIA, ANTONIO PIAZZA / STARRING: JULIA JEDLIKOWSKA, GAETANO FERNANDEZ, CORINNE MUSALLARI, ANDREA FALZONE, FREDERICO FINOCCHIARO / CERT: 15 / RELEASE DATE: OUT NOW