Review Category: Movie

Exploring the complicated dynamics of modern dating and incorporating a Gothic horror twist, Neil LaBute’s new movie House of Darkness is a pleasantly disconcerting reimagining of the traditional vampire hunter-prey format.

And the result, while predictable, is a largely effective and entertaining fable about truth and lies, right up until the point where the story begins to run out of momentum. At its core, this is a simple tale: Hap (Justin Long) is brought home by the beautiful and ethereal Mina (Kate Bosworth) for a nightcap. ‘Home’ happens to be a sprawling, unavoidably sinister Stoker-esque mansion with alarm bells ringing from every shadowy corner, but the intentionally unlikeable Hap thinks he’s onto a winner and so ignores the warning signs. As the viewer, you know exactly where things are going but it is the uncomfortable interaction between the two leads that keeps you watching. Long plays the fumbling self-confident Hap with smarmy ease while Bosworth is wickedly provocative, Mina analysing and questioning every word her son-to-be victim utters. Their chemistry may be natural due to their off-screen relationship, but it is essential in adding credence to a slight plot that is stretched almost to breaking point over the 88-minute runtime.

Framed over a two-act structure House of Darkness has all the attributes of a play; character driven and with a minimal number of simple locations. The dialogue is constructed with precision and the varying tone ensures you remain as unsettled as the hapless Hap. But LeBute’s film struggles to maintain its early promise and despite the welcome goriness of the finale, the story plays out with very few surprises.

House of Darkness is released in US cinemas on September 9th and US digital on September 13th.

Cinema tells us that the way to get over a traumatic event – for example, a break-up just prior to wedding nuptials – is to go on a luxury holiday to a far-flung beach paradise. And so, we have newly single Jessie (Nicky Whelan) who heads off on what is presumably a pre-paid honeymoon with a non-descript group of friends rather than her husband. And if cinema tells us anything, it is that such a scenario is going to end badly. Especially if there’s a homicidal shark patrolling the waters. Or at least a big fish that looks a bit like a shark from certain angles.

There is nothing wrong with ticking off a few Hollywood tropes, of following a tried and tested formula as long as you fully embrace doing so. But director Justin Lin and his team ignore the basics, struggling to add any sense of danger or fun that is inherent in similar films such as 47 Metres Down or The Reef. The characters are so flimsy you instantly forget their names and who they are, while the shark attacks – brutal as they are at times – are a confusing blend of bad CGI and stock footage, so you can never really tell what’s going on. The kills are just too messy and numerous, the rising body count removing any remaining scraps of tension or drama.

In the crowded waters of the shark subgenre there is little room for entries lacking genuine thrills, or at the very least, a half-decent fishy antagonist. Maneater contains neither and as such is barely worthy of note. One for the shark completists only.

A teenage coming-of-age story takes a darker turn when a young girl (Laura Galán) befriends a local serial killer. Horribly bullied by the local clique of mean girls, Sara experiences the worst day of her teenage life (thus far) when she is ambushed at the local pool. As she struggles to recover from this distressing experience, Sara makes a sinister new friend. Drawn into his horrifying world, the pair are inextricably bound together as the killer (Richard Holmes) develops a fascination with the teen.

Like Carrie before it, scenes of bullying and humiliation are almost as horrifying as those of torture and violent murder. Writer and director Carlota Pereda captures teenage anxiety and awkwardness in young Sara, from her crush on the local badboy (no, not the serial killer, classmate Pedro) to frequent clashes with her domineering mother. As Sara, Galán does much between the monosyllables, speaking volumes with her eyes, tears, and anxious hair-chewing.

Indeed, Sara’s plight is so compellingly depicted that it’s almost disappointing when the film makes its late about-face to French extremist style violence and aesthetics straight out of a Texas Chainsaw Massacre prequel. Piggy’s horror trappings are undeniably well done, but sit ill at ease with the otherwise tender, sympathetic character study (it doesn’t really go here).

A deeply affecting work of teenage pain and trauma, horrifying and upsetting, even before the bloodletting starts.

As incontrovertible proof of life after death is revealed, a world struggles to reckon with its forever altered state of being. While some go about their business as usual, others jump in front of cars and commit suicide in the streets. Rose (Katie Parker) and Teddy (Rahul Kohli) opt for something a little more regulated. Conducting an official investigation into the afterlife, Doctor Stevensen (Karen Gillan) will end their lives for science. All they have to do is make it across the county in time for their appointments.

‘Suicide road trip comedy’ surely wouldn’t be on anyone’s bingo card for the most feelgood film of 2022, but here we are. Mali Elfman’s Next Exit follows two lost and deeply sad souls as they bicker their way across rural America – Planes Trains and Automobiles, but with euthanasia instead of Thanksgiving.

Parker and Kohli give two of the year’s best performances as Rose and Teddy, their odd-couple interplay consistently bringing big laughs to a serious, existentially challenged landscape. And what would our world look like, should we suddenly learn that ghosts are real? The world building of Next Exit is subtle but effective, told through the stories of surprisingly cheery priests, hippy hitch-hikers and traumatised, uh, border agents. For a film about ghosts, the ghosts of it all are sparingly glimpsed. The real spectres are in the people’s eyes, and their stories. These people aren’t haunted by the dead, but by their own actions and trauma.

The laughs eventually subside, giving way to something sadder and more bittersweet – a tonal shift which Parker and Kohli are more than up to, switching from snippy micro-aggressions to heartbreak and scenes of aggression-aggression.

While this world may not stand up to too much scrutiny, its people largely feel real (but not you, Karen Gillan, nor that accent), and so do the emotions. Funnier than a suicide road trip movie has any right to be, but as affecting and heart-wrenching as it should be.

When a gravely injured young woman (Mya Hudson’s Kiera) stumbles across his secluded desert home, a reclusive hermit (London May, the titular bastard) finds himself playing reluctant host. With a malicious Satanic cult in hot pursuit, Reed must defend himself, his homestead (including turtle) and his uninvited guest from wave after wave of violent attacks. Or he could just give Kiera up for sacrifice. What’s a bastard to do?

Erik Boccio’s gritty grindhouse delivers visceral action of the distinctly low-budget variety, recalling Craven’s The Hills Have Eyes and Carpenter’s Assault on Precinct 13. Which is to say that Night of the Bastard makes up for its technical shortcomings – the result of budgetary constraints – with crudely done gore, gonzo action and sick plot twists.

While the performances are understandably Indie-level, May nails the gruff bastardry required for the lead role. Night of the Bastard wouldn’t be much good without its bastard, and London May’s Reed is an enjoyably grumpy action antihero. Hudson, too, handles herself well against this barrage of violence and abuse. As the film’s villain, Hannah Pierce is enjoyably nutty, especially as the film enters its demented final phase and big revelations are made.

Night of the Bastard is a grimy, brutal take on the ‘70s action thriller. It wears its grindhouse influences on its sleeve, but delivers enough unique touches of its own to stand out from the crowd.