Reviews

In director Jon Knautz‘s The Cleaning Lady the lonely Alice (Alexis Kendra) befriends Shelly (Rachel Alig), a woman scarred by burns. The two develop a friendship where they are both equally saving the other from very different types of pain.

At first I was worried that this film’s story would be too predictable; the scarred lady will get too close to the pretty blonde, developing an obsessive relationship that leaves one of them dead. I was only partly correct. Instead of falling down an entirely expected rabbit hole, The Cleaning Lady only toys with the idea. There is a lack of surprise in the story which is a little disappointing, but learning about Shelly’s back-story in neat exposition does offer a few moments of intrigue.

Both the leading ladies are complex and interesting, mainly steering away from cliches associated with female characters. Sure, it’s a little under-whelming to see a woman sick with love and another hindered with supposed imperfections – women do care about more than just their romantic relationships and their beauty, you know? – but perhaps this film’s grounding in horror can be transferred to more than just its jump scares. There is a certain horror in the sadness of these women that perhaps urges us to remember that, as women (and men, of course), we can find happiness outside of these stereotypical preconceptions of joy.

The similarities and differences between Alice and Shelly feel a little cliché – they’re both broken, scarred and tormented – but, Kendra and Alig’s performances feel real. The friendship becomes touching, the conversations between the two feel sweet and credible, which is enough to generate the desired empathy from us, the audience. There are times where it feels shallow, but there is certainly a worthy sentiment below the superficiality.

Of course, these moments of friendship only feel like warning signs, because this is a horror film, so the happiness can only last so long.

The Cleaning Lady has one heck of a nauseating opening scene, so it’s a shame when you realise that nothing in the main body of the film can live up to this immediately icky beginning. Except maybe when you realise where it’s going… OK, I’ve said to much. It does feel like much of the film is spent waiting for something to happen and, even though it’s a meagre 90 minutes long, there are times when it feels a lot longer.

The film feels like a horror fairytale, where a twinkling soundtrack works well against the foreboding visuals to enhance a clash between the dark and the light, good and evil. There are no scenes of real terror – although, Shelly’s childhood is filled with a generous helping of its own, twisted horror – but, The Cleaning Lady‘s own obsession with jealousy, envy, abuse, toxic attachments and the idea of being saved, do offer an element of thematic horror.

The Cleaning Lady is a decent, almost all-women-led semi-slasher – which is quite the mouthful, but you get what I mean. It’s creepy and strange, led by a couple of great actresses, so add it to your never-ending watch lists.

In Wish Upon, Clare (Joey King),a teenager who is struggling during her time at school, discovers a mysterious and magical box that grants her seven wishes, but at a deadly price.

Despite an intriguing premise that reminds us to be careful what we wish for, the only thing you’ll be wishing is for Wish Upon to end. It offers plenty of teen frights and easy jump scares, but the failure to deliver resonating frights makes Wish Upon a mediocre and forgettable experience.

Wish Upon is mostly predictable and cliched. Clare’s wishes refrain from being anything other than selfish desires, painting her as a stereotypical teenager whose only wants are those of love, popularity and revenge. She is characterised in the most basic sense and reduced to an idea, rather than a reflection of teenhood. Surely, fifteen year-olds crave more than the undying love of the hottest boy in school and a quick fix to be rich? Alas, Clare’s wishes are basic and expected, constructed only to allow for her downfall.

Neither the frights or the plot are particularly memorable with the blend of Final Destination‘s dread and a more general sense of supernatural foreboding. The moments of terror are built around the ominous consequences of Clare’s wishes, but are executed with very little creativity. A voyeuristic POV shot will follow the box’s victims during their final moments, before an ominous fate takes control and leads them to their doom. There is a certain amount of tension during these moments – as with Final Destination‘s entertaining take on an unstoppable Death – but, that feeling of familiarity prevents any ground-breaking fear.

Much in the way that John R. Leonetti‘s previous spooky endeavour Annabelle was hindered, there is very little energy behind the film’s events. An injection of vigour is desperately needed, but Wish Upon maintains an unsatisfying level of deflation. There is no urgency felt when Clare realises she has made huge errors with her wishes and that feeling of predictability rears its head when you remember that these mistakes will be impossible to undo.

For all its predictability and overwhelming sense of “been there, done that”, Wish Upon is more than watchable. Sure, it doesn’t offer much that’s new, but Joey King manages to hold the film together with her gutsy and energetic performance – even if the film around her almost falls into a dreary abyss. As a flawed combination of Final Destination, The Butterfly Effect and Drag Me to Hell, Wish Upon is an averagely entertaining teen scream.

Wish Upon is out on 28th July.

In 2002, Evil Dead director Sam Raimi weaved a web of movies for Tobey Maguire’s fresh-faced nerd Peter Parker turned superhero Spider-Man. Spawning one of the best comic book sequels of all time with Spider-Man 2, and a disastrous third outing (with the best crotch based dancing) in Spider-Man 3, we’d all needed a regeneration for the creepy-crawly hero.

It Comes at Night is a work of taut, paranoiac angst, agonizingly tearing open an unsettling fissure at the heart of modern societal fears, as it explores the limits of humanity through the collision of empathy against the darkest survival instincts of the nuclear family.

There are roles that actors inhabit that stay with them for the whole of their career, no matter how far they try to break free. For Daniel Radcliffe, no farting corpse could blow away the spell of Harry Potter and Patrick Stewart will always be Picard. Iconic roles will always be beneficial in some ways and detrimental in others, and many will never see the success of their allusive performance.

I am just going to say it… In the long run it will mean so much to fans of the genre that Mike Mendez is one of the modern day masters of MIDNIGHT CINEMA!

Sequence Break Review – 3.5 stars

Graham Skipper‘s Sequence Break is difficult to describe with its strange, bizarre and complex story that blurs the line between reality and fantasy as a technician named Oz (Chase Williamson) is tormented by indecipherable visions. What is clear is that the oddities are linked to a mysterious arcade game and the arrival of two strangers; one, a beautiful young woman called Tess (Fabianne Therese) and the other, an emotionally unstable person known only as The Man (John Dinan). Both are attracted to the game, but only one understands the true extent of its power. What begins to unfold is a race against time as Oz’s involvement with the game threatens to break down his entire sense of being and the world around him.

Tess’ appearance immediately arouses suspicion and her eventual enticement to the game furthers the ease it is to be wary of her. Sequence Break’s lack of definition helps its ability to remain consistently unpredictable, as the events that occur are nightmarish moments, rather than chronological events to be made sense of. It’s easier to sit back and enjoy the film’s refusal to be understood, immersing yourself in the film’s perfectly retro soundtrack that could have been ripped straight out of an arcade, and colourful visuals that nod back to the striking lighting used in ’80s cinema and, most noticeably, TRON.

To describe Sequence Break as surreal would be an understatement. The film’s combination of sci-fi, horror and romantic elements is just the beginning of its complicated identity that remains impossible to define. With nostalgic leanings to the days where arcade shops were all the rage, it’s impossible to ignore Sequence Break‘s appreciation for the old-school. The story’s focus on a technician who restores abandoned and broken arcade games is appropriate for today’s world where young gamers are obsessed with the latest Call of Duty, but may never have touched a coin-operated arcade machine. As much as it is a journey into the absurd and a showcase of impressively icky special effects, Sequence Break is a love letter to those that reminisce about days spent playing Space Invaders and Pac-Man.

Oz becomes enticed by an ominously painted pitch-black video game that works as a sort of sexual awakening for his character; the game controls literally melts between his fingers, moulding into gooey, sticky openings that allow him to insert himself fully and physically into the cyber-space of the game itself. It is no accident that Oz’s infatuation with the game begins as he starts a relationship with Tess, paving the way for two different, but equally as psychological sexual journeys. He becomes lost in the world of the video game, becoming increasingly eager to discover what it’s all about and, at the same time, is visited by a troubled man who tells Oz he has a specific purpose. The film’s oddly sexual imagery and vague narrative direction crafts a film that is beautifully bizarre on the inside and outside.

The film borrows from David Cronenbergian horror to push the boundaries of the expected, opening the doors to a world that dominated by the indescribable. Skipper’s vision of the game becoming an almost physical entity has been snatched from Videodrome and its innovative vision of the media itself becoming a place to fear. Sequence Break works an impressive and loving respect to an era that is long gone, but inserts its homage with necessary modern twists to prevent it from being just another film that loves the ’80s.

The end becomes a complicated and, admittedly, convoluted and confusing climax, that further bends the film’s nonsensical narrative. It’s difficult to explain and almost impossible to define, but Sequence Break‘s confident foray into a dark video game world is enticing for all its differences, but also for its clear inspirations.

When an isolated corporate building is mysteriously put under lock-down, a sinister voice on the intercom announces that the employees must kill each other or be killed themselves. The Belko Experiment is Battle Royale in an office block and it’s an absolutely and unabashedly brilliant, bloody time.

The concept alone is immediately appealing, especially for those of us that spend our 9-5s in an office, praying for something exciting to happen. Anything. But, what if that something meant killing your co-workers and fighting an impossible fight for survival where there can only be one winner? I’ll pass. After watching The Belko Experiment’s bold and twisted social experiment you may find yourself strangely relieved that your day was a little bit boring.

The Belko Experiment is a riot for genre fans and those like their horror relentlessly violent and gory. Expect creative kills and murder galore as the characters are whittled down from a few hundred to very few during the film’s modest 89 minute run time. The deaths are captured in frequent glorious slow-motion to a soundtrack that escalates the intensity, but injects The Belko Experiment with a generous dose of fun to remind us that this isn’t really to be taken seriously.

The technical and visual flair of The Belko Experiment is a welcome surprise, with brightly coloured lighting dousing the film in a hyper-real glaze to emphasise the film’s concern with the excessive and the extreme. As with a desire to show as many office-related kills as possible, The Belko Experiment wants its audience to have a good time more than anything. Much like director Greg McLean‘s darkly comic killer Mick Taylor (John Jarratt) from Wolf Creek  who walks the thin line between the horrific and the hilarious, there is a playfulness and a clear intention to be both funny and frightening at The Belko Experiment’s core. This ensures that film’s social commentary shines consistently bright, but never outweighs Belko’s drive to have a good time.

Stripping away the film’s superficial outer layer that sees it painted as an exploitative bombardment of death and dismay, and there is fairly obvious but necessary exploration of moral issues and the difficulty of being faced with this office Battle Royale. The Belko Experiment can be read as an anti-corporation tale where the top dogs at the peak of the office food chain easily take charge, attempt to make the rules and demand everyone follows suit. Aside from the obvious villains on the other side of the intercom, it is the corporation’s most powerful that are painted most negatively. However, their representation is far from simple and I challenge anyone who doesn’t almost side with their attempt to “fairly” decide who should be killed first.

The Belko Experiments proves that an all-star cast doesn’t have to be saved for a cheesy rom-com or an A-lister action flick, with the recognisable faces of John Gallagher Jr, Michael Rooker, Melonie Diaz, Tony Goldwyn, John C. McGinley and co., making the film all the more unpredictable and shamelessly exciting. It’s easy fun watching the cast wreak havoc, desperately trying to stay alive, but all-the-while battling their own inner moral issues. Sure, some of them find the killing easier than the rest, but no one’s hands are free from blood in Belko.

Managing to balance humour, horror and necessary moral concerns, The Belko Experiment is smart, slick and furiously entertaining, benefiting from the strong cast that make it effortlessly enjoyable.

When a movie professes to “make people faint,” you have to take it with a pinch of salt. After all, PR and marketing leap on these words like a feverish young woman leaps on a succulent young man. They are buzzwords. “SHOCKING” it’ll read on the poster. “INFAMOUSLY DISGUSTING. YOU WON’T BELIEVE IT.” All the while, knowing that horror fans will line up in their hundreds to get a taste.

From its synopsis, ‘A small town strip club owner must defend her bar, her strippers and her life when violent infected patrons show up on the final closing night and all hell breaks loose’, Peelers can only go one of two ways. It’s either the enjoyable exploitative horror flick with enough comedy and knowingness to subvert, entertain and delight horror fans; or, it will conform to all the pitfalls, tropes and tribulations that are inadvertently offensive, lame and what tear down the genre, creating wastes of time. This is, sadly, the latter.

Blue Jean (Wren Walker) is running the club for one last time. The lowbrow patrons are typically sleazy, but so are some of the staff, as illustrated by the barman. With Blue Jean’s son in trouble with the police, a looming levelling of the club, a new girl’s first night with a jealous ex and, of course, the violent virus that turns people into zombies from the 28 Days Later universe. With all of that, you can see it being completely typical with no fresh beats and stagnant, overdone tropes. To make the same things engaging again, you need good dialogue delivered by better actors. Neither of these are on display in Peelers.

What is the biggest disappointment of this entire 95-minute ordeal is that its writing is so trite, grotesque and insulting is that it makes you hate all the characters. Although, there is an argument to be made that the film is simulating real people in that off-putting way, but the goal of a film is empathy at any level. If the audience can’t empathise with them then they can’t connect, spectating instead of engaging. It creates resentment in Peelers. None of the characters are interesting nor are ones you support. People are painted with a cynical brush, perhaps for comedy, but if it is then it cannot be found outside of the creators.

Then again, perhaps they don’t care about the characters either. People are killed off and the body count for a small club ‘going out of business’ is ridiculously high. Rural rent in a small town cannot be too hard to recover from when you have a club packed with patrons, described as regulars. Perhaps it’s the excessive number of staff. Maybe, if cynicism is what’s welcomed to this world, then they are all there as fodder for the virus to try to excite an unexciting story. Again, sadly, it feels like the latter.

The amateur filmmaking in every production sense, on-screen and off, dampens already sodden material. Cinematography reeks of first time users with a Canon DSLR, made worse by full-on lighting and overexposed scenes that point out all budgetary restrictions. Worse than that is the acting, unfortunately. One-tone is an understatement. It points even further to an amateur at filmmaking rather than a professional production. Characters are indistinguishable, pointed out further by performances that have been mocked for years to come. Peelers is a missed opportunity for fun. What it maybe attempts is fun, but with unengaging, unmotivating characters and low-level production, all you have is violence masquerading as excitement. You won’t remember any scenes from Peelers, but you will remember the feeling of nothingness you had when watching it.

A lonely girl, isolated and driven by a desire to connect, goes on a spree of intimidation and criminality that she broadcasts online to an ever maligned and vicious audience. However, as her actions intensify, her grip on reality begins to slip and the nightmare of the self leads her to the darkest of paths.

The best kind of horror has always been the films where real life expectations and experiences are subverted. They play on our day to day lives, twisting our reality into something perverse that cuts into the depths of our nightmares and embellishes it on the big screen.