Alien vs Predator: Requiem

Suffering from what seem to be the two afflictions of pop-culture – the sequel and the crossover – Aliens vs Predator: Requiem (or AVPR for the initiated) has a lot of baggage. At least three brilliant ancestors and a slew of questionable sequels is enough to make this a study in exploitation. Strangely enough, this is where it finds its strength.

More small-town horror than tundra sci-fi spectacular, it automatically sets itself apart from its surprisingly worthy predecessor. As the cunning predator’s ship falls prey to hordes of facehugging foetuses and crashlands on earth, all the usual stereotypes apply. Stock teenagers, the small-town diner clientele, and a redemptive hero type (who looks disconcertingly like The Hoff) end up in the crossfire of what is, essentially, a slaughterfest between our two extraterrestrial extremists and any faceless individual that wanders into the scene.

The characters aside (which is how you’ll basically feel for the whole film), AVPR’s biggest strength is its old-school commitment to a bloody good show. Dispensing with hideous Golden Compass-style CGI, it’s a rollicking good example of the beauty that a man in a monster suit can bring. Gore runs down the screen, as it should, and there’s no shying away from the real biz of war. Pregnant women, small children, and (gasp!) newborns, all fall prey to the parasitic beasties, and rather than be offensive, it truly highlights the need for more guts (pun unintended) in what is becoming a scarily boring and fake genre.

AVPR is hardly perfect. The dialogue swings between gung-ho and sentimental – almost unredeemable is a particular clunker in the last scene – but it’s got what horror’s been missing. Tits, gore, irony, believable monsters, and some awesome old-school carnage.

See it for a bloody good time. Let’s face it: this Christmas, it’s either that or The Golden Compass.

Rogue

There’s not much to say about this new Aussie horror endeavour except: It lives up to expectations. It’s by the same guy that made Wolf Creek (Greg McLean), and is about a bunch of tourists (including the usual whinging Poms, Yank Wanks, jolly Paddies and lovable Aussies) getting picked off on a Northern Territory river cruise by a big croc.

That’s not to say it’s a bad film. In an industry so mired in pretentiousness (the previously mentioned Wolf Creek a case in point), it’s refreshing to see a film so joyfully steeped in its own cliché. McLean is masterful when it comes to direction, building up a surprisingly subtle sense of dread without very much gore at all, and the croc – a.k.a the world’s ugliest Muppet – is way scarier than any all-CGI creature.

The cast are stock standard, and revel in their nameless caricatures characters. Yes, it is enormously irritating to have the sexy American bloke (Michael Vartan) become the hero of the piece when Stephen Curry, John Jarratt, and Radha Mitchell are all on board and have potentially interesting backstories that don’t seem to go anywhere, but it’s the film’s only real drawback. Well, that and the fact that Vartan’s travel writer seems to like communing with grasshoppers.

There are major plotholes, and the last third is uneven, when half the cast seem to disappear and leave Vartan to fill centre stage, but the croc and the carnage make up for it nicely.

Want brilliant dialogue and intriguing characters? Go see something else. Like seeing a large animal twist, break, and dunk puny humans as if they were Oreos? Rogue is the movie for you.

30 Days Of Night

30 Days Of Night was a story with a lot of potential. Vampires prey on a remote Alaskan town where the sun is down for a month? Why hasn’t anyone thought of it before?

Well, they have. There was a very successful and intelligent graphic novel by Steve Niles based on the concept. It was even called 30 Days Of Night. Unfortunately, except for the name, David Slade’s (Hard Candy) film seems almost unrelated.

It starts off well. There’s a creepy guy in a fluffy jacket, and Josh Hartnett’s sheriff looks like he may be one of those reluctant heroes you can rally behind emotionally. But ten minutes in the fun stops. Permanently.

To summarise, Eben (Hartnett), his estranged wife (Melissa George) and their arctic friends spend two interminable hours running from house to house in a clumsy endeavour to keep the uneven pacing moving. The gang of survivors are stock, uninteresting, and unmemorable. The gore is lacklustre and unaffecting, and the occasionally good scene is mired down by the subtitled, pompous gruntings of the bloodsucking beasties and stupid subplots involving rusty machinery and asthma. I’ve just saved you seeing the film because this is, in fact, the whole film.

It’s not fair really, because it looks damn good. Barrow is a place no-one would want to be at night, even without the vampires. Bathed in icy, foreboding tones, and adorned with dark crawlspaces, the scenery creates a stirring sense of dread. The vampires, likewise, are horrors to look at… at first. Without the pounding bass of Muse over the trailer, the 30 Days Of Night experience is reduced to the bare, hollow bones of a good idea.

Casual viewers may weather the boredom to scrounge a humdrum scare from this mess, but for fans of the book, two hours will feel like thirty days of excruciating outrage.

Saw IV

Here it comes again. For the fourth Halloween running, the Saw franchise is crawling its bloody way out of the horror-swamp.

Remember the original Saw? A smart, intriguing thriller in the vein of Se7en that was less about gore and more about mystery, it was simple, ingenious, and made by a couple of clever Aussies with a real eye for good horror.

But with every Saw, the watchwords seem to be bigger, better, and more. Based more on grotesque traps to stimulate plot than a riveting plot that happens to include one or two neat traps, Saw IV follows on from Saw III’s decline and arrives in a muddled, if adequate mess on our pumpkin-festooned doorsteps.

Wan and Whannell have jumped ship, and it’s obvious. The former gleeful quick-cutting graininess feels stodgy under the direction of Darren Lynn Bousman and the plot has found itself crammed awkwardly together, with a gaping hole for every revelation. It's an imitation of the franchise's former glory, with emphasis on all the wrong elements. Rather than be intriguing, it’s frustrating. Rather than be rewarding, it’s simply sufficient.

The plot is decent enough, though revealing it here would ruin the mystery, which is threadbare and the film’s saving grace. It is interesting to guess what’s going to happen next, and it makes for an average thriller, but it’s impossible to even summon the vague gag-reflex that made the original (and to a certain degree, the first sequel) so rewarding. There is the occasional satisfying comeuppance, but the endless march of gory, momentary set pieces is desensitising at best, and the rabid puppy of sentimentality gnaws its boring way through every non-violent scene.

In short, it’s too much of not enough. Too much plot, too much violence, but ultimately meaningless.

Monkeybone

Remember Brendan Fraser? The wacky guy from George Of The Jungle and The Mummy who proved he could act in Gods & Monsters? Yes?

Remember Monkeybone?

No-one seems to remember this wacky, comic-book inspired, semi-animated flash-in-the-pan. But they really should. Because… well, it’s wacky, comic-book, semi-animated goodness

In short, Monkeybone is about Stu Miley (Fraser), comic-book artist and creator of the titular character: a rascally, vulgar primate who’s about to go to television and make him loads of money. But, after a series of unfortunate events (no, Lemony Snickett, I am not stealing your lines), Stu ends up in a coma and trapped in a purgatory nether-world filled with monsters, freaks and figments of various imaginations…including a certain stop-motion monkey (voiced by John Tuturro).

It’s a delicious freakshow all up – Stu whinging his way around limbo with all his new friends (including Rose McGowan, Thomas Haden Church, and a delightful Whoopi Goldberg as Death), while his sister (Megan Mullally) tries to pull the plug. And of course there’s Monkeybone, who only wants to steal Stu’s body and shag his hot doctor girlfriend (Bridget Fonda).

Got all that? Right.

It’s not perfect. At times it does lag and become mundane, despite all the stop-motion, costumed freaks available for viewing. But the slumps are few, and are bolstered by inspired plot-lines involving an ‘evil’ Stephen King, a possessed corpse (Chris Kattan) chased through town by organ-coveting surgeons, some unsettling nightmare scenes, and a lot of tongue in cheek.

Nothing

Canadian director Vincenzo Natali has a tendency toward a certain kind of film. Wildly original, warped sci-fi that seems comfortable with ambiguity, he’s made such mind-fucks as Cube and Cypher.

He certainly doesn’t disappoint with Nothing. Yes, that’s right. A film called Nothing.

Obvious puns aside, Nothing is intellectual silliness at its most enjoyable. Along with Natali’s best friends and usual stars David Hewlett (Cube, Cypher, Stargate Atlantis) and Andrew Miller (er… the autistic dude from Cube), the three craft a fable so original that its simplicity comes as a surprise.

Best friends David (David Hewlett) and Andrew (Andrew Miller) are a sad pair. Acutely agoraphobic, Andrew spends his days selling holidays to people over the phone, while David is tormented by cruel workmates. The only person they can depend on is each other, and their childhood bond seems limitless and eternal.

Then disaster strikes. David decides to move in with his girlfriend of two weeks, who unbeknownst to him has been embezzling money from his place of work. Meanwhile, Andrew is accused of fiddling up a girlscout. Their house is about to be torn down and them evicted, and the lynch mobs are coming from every direction…

…then suddenly: Nothing.

The film rests heavily on its two leading men. As Andrew and David are cast into their world of nothing, with only the house and their pet turtle still in existence and white space all around, it’s up to them to carry the film, which they do with surprising skill for two unknowns. Though Andrew can be a little whiny and clunky at times, the two are perfectly matched as their friendship turns to irritation and the relationship is tested by paranoia and buried feelings. The dialogue is inspired – at times unpredictably funny, there’s a genuine sense of normalcy about our two losers as they traverse this new world and discuss tofu, cheerfully chase each other with garden tools, and ruminate on whether the afterlife has cable.

It looks fantastic as well. The special effects aren’t perfect – there’s clearly not much of a budget – and of course there’s not much to see in a huge, empty space, but the newspaper-cut-out backstory to open and the overall cartoonishness smack of Roald Dahl and Dr Seuss.

If anything, the film doesn’t quite live up to its running time. It provides no definitive answers, not that they’re really expected – this is all about the characters, not the science (you’ll want to stay after the credits, by the way). Anyone who’s seen Cube will know about Natali’s frustrating, ambiguous finales. At times it seems as if the director is just trying to fill in space somewhere between the funny bits at the beginning, and the emotional bits at the end. Still, the brief running time means it doesn’t lag long, and for the most part Nothing is a satisfying, genuine, and truly weird experience.

The Condemned

Sadly, I've seen this Battle Royale/Running Man rip-off.

Also sadly enough, I quite enjoyed it.

Basic plot: Wrestler Steve Austin (aka Stone Cold) and a bunch of death-row crims end up on an internet reality TV show and have to pick each other off until there's only one survivor

It's hardly a great film, and is probably most suited for drinking games where we take a shot every time Steve delivers a line more braindead than a retarded gorilla, but it's enjoyable enough. Vinnie Jones is good fun as the bad guy, and there is a fair bit of good violence, even if you've seen it all in much better films. The romantic and political subplots could have been explored a bit more, but they’re not really what you’re there for – I just wanted to see some people get blown up.

The big drawback is the heavy handed and seriously contradictory anti-violence message. Come on, kids. Just because you fake-fight, it doesn't mean the viewers are watching you because they think TV violence is a bad thing. Yes, reality TV shows suck, but if you're going to blow up/stab/rape/torture/shoot nine people, please don't tell me you're doing it to prove how bad violence is. Because you're targeting the wrong audience.

That aside, it's good, clean, violent fun for the same kind of people who though DOA wasn't that bad.

Rush Hour 3

Rush Hour was an original, amusing riff on the conventions of buddy-cop and kung-fu films. Rush Hour 2 was the same, but a bit less fresh and a bit more annoying.

Rush Hour 3 is the same again, except now Chris Tucker spends most of the time begging for a punch in the head.

You already know the story. Someone’s being threatened, and Detectives Lee (Jackie Chan) and Carter (Chris Tucker) go overseas to investigate (Paris this time), end up having slapstick fights, romance, and the occasional shallow emotion, but it all comes right in the end.

Six years since the last instalment, there’s a general feeling of staleness. Where the first and second film could have functioned as one film, this one feels awkwardly tacked on. Yes, Chan and Tucker do their usual shtick, but it’s too predictable to be compelling. The jokes are too loud and obvious, the romance is perfunctory, and the emotional scenes are cliché. And a climactic fight at the Eiffel Tower? Not obvious at all.

It only works when it doesn’t try too hard. Not really one for subtlety is our Brett Ratner (Rush Hour 1 & 2, X-Men 3), but he has at least managed to be occasionally satirical. The buddy cop genre gets a probing whack, with plenty of gay jokes, though even those become a bit jarring. A decent subplot involving a French cab driver makes for intermittent amusement and a deceptively lighthearted critique of American violence. There are some nice references to other films, particularly the scene parodying Bruce Lee’s Game Of Death, but all in all it’s too heavy-handed to really succeed.

Everything else about the film goes without saying. There’s a lot of banter and some quite good action scenes. Jackie Chan, as always, is fun to watch even if his partner is rapidly losing spark. There are some nice special effects, though at times the cracks in the CGI are gratingly visible, and Paris looks too cardboard cutout to be convincing.

It’s a shame, really, that something initially so intelligent should begin to be nibbled around the edges by the same sort of demons that kept the Police Academy series going.

Somebody, please, stop it before it hurts itself.

Hairspray

I’ve got a new favourite movie. Not necessarily the favourite, but one of those films you become instantly obsessed with and intend to see every week until you can pre-order the first release of the DVD from the US. The kind of film you actually buy the soundtrack to, instead of downloading it. Hell, I bought the original film two hours after seeing this spiffy new remake.

The film is Hairspray.

Based on the Broadway musical, which was based on John Waters 1988 non-musical film starring Ricki Lake, Adam Shankman’s re-imagining is becoming most famous for John Travolta’s cross-dressing fatsuit. But while Travolta is surprisingly radiant in the role originally immortalised by transvestite Divine (redeeming him somewhat for the appalling Wild Hogs), the rest of the cast and crew are by no less worthy of praise.

Vibrant, provocative, and occasionally vulgar, Hairspray takes place in 1960s Baltimore, where plump teen Tracy Turnblad (Nikki Blonksy) dreams of stardom on the Bandstand-esque Corny Collins Show, where nice white kids dance and sing every afternoon. Her dreams come true, as is usually the case in this sort of film… but rival Amber von Tussle (Brittany Snow) and her showbiz mother Velma (Michelle Pfeiffer) scheme to remove her and exclude black children from the show permanently.

It all seems strangely topical, even with the bright backdrops, quaint dialogue and, yes, elaborately sprayed hairdos. Negro Day – the day once a month when black children are allowed to perform on the show – would seem ridiculously over-the-top if it didn’t ring so true. But with Shankman’s film there is a lighter spin that the scathing satire of Waters original – particularly confronting scenes are left out, and replaced with more civil and peaceful protestations – it’s almost necessary due to the musical genre. But overwhelmingly it retains the intentions of the original, if a little more upbeat. More emphasis is placed on Tracy’s family and in setting up the story, and the film is of a much better quality, neatening the clumsy script and making the kitsch lovable instead of laughable.

The cast are generally flawless. Highschool Musical’s Zac Efron’s turn as love interest Link Larkin proves that he can be credible instead of a sappy Disney warbler, though he still has a long way to go before meeting the calibre of his co-stars. Newcomer Nikki Blonsky shines as Tracy. Christopher Walken and Travolta as her parents are oddly touching, and pluck real emotion from their somewhat carnivalesque roles. The other kids almost upstage their onscreen parents. Elijah Kelley’s black dancer Seaweed complements activist and Negro Day presenter Queen Latifah perfectly, and Brittany Snow is as interesting as deliciously evil Michelle Pfeiffer. Amanda Bynes is genuinely lovable as pigtailed Penny, managing not to be irritating for once in her life, the perfect opposite to hysterically Christian mother Prudy (Alison Janney). The cast are all so wonderful, in fact, that Corny Collins himself (James Marsden) goes almost unnoticed, though he is a standout when he gets a chance.

The songs are delightful: upbeat and comical at times, emotional at others, and every song deserves its spot (though Pfeiffer’s solo could have been cut). It’s toe-tapping, head-bopping fun that, though a remake, is one of the few heartfelt and worthwhile mainstream films of the year.

Black Sheep

Black Sheep was always going to appeal to a particular kind of people – those wonderfully astute horror fans who remember when gore and comedy went together like blood and guts, who thought Ash was the second coming, and still associate Peter Jackson with vomit-drinking and lawnmowers instead of elves and hobbits. Jonathon King knows this, and as such, Black Sheep is a gleeful, if slightly forgettable, triumph.

It’s from New Zealand, so Jackson references were always going to be applicable, as are the jokes about what the kiwis really do with sheep. But they also turn into the woolly mammals, especially when genetically engineered were-sheep rebel and take over the peaceful, rolling hills of evil wool-magnate Angus’s (Eli Kent) farm.

So it’s up to Angus’s sheep-phobic brother Henry, along with eco-terrorist hippy-chick Experience (Dannielle Mason as the requisite love interest), laidback Maori shepherd Tucker (Tammy Davis) and elderly housekeeper Mrs Mac (Glenis Levestam) to take down the woolly menace.

It’s stupid, it’s gory, it’s violent, and it’s so shamelessly these things that it’s gloriously satisfying. A bit forgettable, it’s hardly up to the standard of the old Jackson films, but it’s silly and knowing, has fantastic supporting performances, some brilliant sight gags, and the best in Weta’s animatronic gore.

Screw the big-budget CGI stuff, I want a were-sheep I can reach out and touch.

The Number 23

Twenty-three is apparently the linchpin of the entire universe, or so Walter Sparrow (Jim Carrey) believes, in this dark thriller from the man who camped up Batman & Robin (oh Joel Schumacher, no-one will ever forget your sin).

Based on the already popular belief that a number is connected to just about everything, The Number 23 concerns Walter and his perusal of a book his wife (Virginia Madsen) buys for him, which just happens to be about a detective (also Jim Carrey) with a lot of similarities to himself, and an obsession with a fatal number.

As Walter becomes more obsessed with the book and the titular number, more truths are revealed about his own past, making him question his sanity and memories, and putting him on course to a series of events that may or may not lead to murder.

It looks great: dark, brooding, full of people writing on walls (does nobody own a notepad?). Walter’s obsession is tangible, and Carrey really is at his best when he’s doing drama. But it’s not quite the brilliant madness of The Truman Show or Eternal Sunshine: he looks like he’s slotted himself into the genre and is reading from the script, rather than immersing himself in the role. He does good, but it’s a bit blank, and his over-the-top detective is uneasily close to his usual rubber-faced caricatures.

The film has a wonderful build-up – the story twists and turns around itself, with great editing to allow the narrative to unfold. But once it gets there it hits a stumbling block. Not a large one, admittedly, but for such an ingenious story (or maybe because of it) it’s unable to come up with a satisfying conclusion, and instead bounces to an uneasy halt.

All in all, it’s quite good. You’ll never guess what’s going to happen next, and that’s what keeps you watching, but the ending is a disappointingly unfortunate conclusion for what could have been such a perfect film

Feed

The DVD-case says this one "comes on like Silence Of The Lambs". Apart from being a very weakly cut-out phrase from what was probably a less-than-glowing review, they did get one thing right. This one is like Silence of the Lambs. Except better.

First of all, I'll admit that I wasn't exactly enthralled by Silence Of The Lambs. It was a half-way decent crime thriller masquerading as some great psychological terror. Feed has that similar sort of storyline: some psychotic freak is doing grotesque things to fat chicks. It's based on real events. Sort of.

After a truly freaky opening scene inspired by real-life German cannibal, Armin Meiwes, the story locks on to an Aussie cop tracking down cyber sex-offenders (Patrick Thompson). He ends up tracing a lead to Toledo, Ohio (which looks awfully like a Sydney suburb) to find freaky 'feeder' Michael (Alex O'Loughlin) and his 'gainer' girlfriend Deidre (Gabby Millgate in a fat suit). Which throws into the mix all sorts of moral questions: is a man feeding a woman to morbid obesity (they hold a party when she hits 600 pounds) justified in doing it if she asks him to?

But maybe Michael's got flat-out murder on his mind.

It's that cat-and-mouse kind of thing. The psycho has a lot of smooth-as-silk psychobabble monologues about morality and the human condition, while the copper doubts his own motives and personal stance on sex, relationships, and privacy. And despite a number of plotholes and inconcistencies (Thompson must be the world's worst suspect-follower), this one manages to be disturbing and compelling enough to keep you watching right up to a commendably unpredictable ending. The production values are great for what is obviously a low-budget film - it looks slick and the script is tighter than Deidre's knickers - and it's helped by the fact that this sort of depravity is untapped territory, lending a particular originality to what is basically an above-par crime thriller.

If you can find it - I had to order it online from JB - it's definitely worth a look, even if you may want a bucket handy for the occasional vomit-inducing moment.

The Simpsons Movie

Everybody loves the Simpsons! Well, they did ten years ago. With episodes getting steadily more slapstick and stupid, the show has been going downhill since about season nine, the adult satire and knowing subtlety drifting away in a tide of obvious sight gags.

Remember when Homer used to say D’oh, and you’d really feel it? Remember when Maggie sucking her dummy didn’t sound like re-used stock footage? Apparently the old writers do, and thank god they’re back on board for the film.

I expected a lot less from the film. It should have been made in the show’s heyday, not in its sad decline, and the fact that it’s passable at all is a relief. But it’s more than that. Apart from a plotline that’s a bit like the time Mr Burns blocked out the sun, The Simpson Movie is a real delight, though it may not deserve all the hype that’s pushed it to the big screen.

Going with the currently-popular global warming debate as its central satire, the Movie is full of all the things that made the Simpsons great. Weird subplots involving a pig, Flanders' parenting, and Alaska all pop into play, without any of the disjointed chaos typical of later episodes. Once again, we care about the family, their neighbours, their friends and enemies. There are laughs to be had, new jokes and situations to explore. Befitting the big screen, the humour is altogether more adult, with gay jokes, nudity, and a truly weird sex scene.

It may not be as funny on DVD, admittedly. The sensation of a packed-out, laughing audience does give the jokes extra gravitas, but to paraphrase Homer, why did you pay to see something you can see for free on TV?

Because it’s damn worth it.

Lucky Miles

Everyone’s been giving it rave reviews. You kind of have to, otherwise you’ll be branded uncool, or too right-wing, or racist.

But Lucky Miles is not that good.

It’s got its moments, and fair play to them because they’re truly memorable and outstanding, but this apparent comedy about boat people pulling together to make a go of it lags from beginning to end.

Made on a nothing budget over seven years by Michael James Rowland and all his ethnically varied friends, it tells the long and drawn-out tale of a bunch of boat people – Iraqis and Cambodians – the fishermen that drive the boat, and the army reservist unit tracking a mismatched group of them across the Western Australian desert.

It’s supposed to be a comedy, but it’s only occasionally funny. The actors are wonderful, wringing every shred of sentiment they can out of what is, essentially, an Aussie buddy movie with blokes that don’t happen to be ocker white boys for a change. Our two refugee blokes, Cambodian Arun (Kenneth Moraleda) and Yousif (Rodney Afif) bring real weight to their roles, and the exploits of reject fisherman Ramelan (Sri Sacdpraseuth) and our gang of Aussie misfits are entertaining while they’re onscreen.

But all the entertainment and emotion is squashed into about ten minutes of the movie. Tops.

The rest is just a bunch of blokes walking across a desert.

Harry Potter And The Order Of The Phoenix

The new Harry Potter movie is good… but not that good.

Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix is the latest merchandising juggernaut from Ms JK Rowling: money-making queen of Britain. Coming a year and a half after what was arguably the best film in the series (Harry Potter and the Goblet Of Fire), it’s got a lot to live up to, and doesn’t quite manage it.

It’s very good, as Potter films go. Certainly David Yates film reaches the usual quota for ‘dark and mature’, which is why the first two films (aka the Christopher Columbus films) never get any fanfare, but it all seems a bit flat and superficial.

Usual story: Voldemort (Ralph Fiennes) bad. Harry (Daniel Radcliffe) good. Conspiracy. Showdown. But the main problem is that some of the charm of the book seems to have gotten lost along the way. There are some great moments. A classroom fireworks display is wonderful, and Imelda Staunton inhabits her role as sugar-coated-evil Professor Umbridge, not to mention the brilliantly creepy Final Showdown. But the CGI is fake-looking, the characters spend far too much time doing not much of anything, the titular 'Order' is hardly ever in it, and they seem to have picked all the wrong parts of the book to highlight.

It will leave Potter fans unsettled over the disservice done to a great book series, and non-fans scratching their heads, wondering where the narrative went.

Sadly enough, this instalment seems to be without magic.

The Fountain

I didn’t review this one when I saw it on its initial release. Why? I simply didn’t know what I thought of it. I knew I liked it, I knew it intrigued me, but I couldn’t quite articulate it into words. All I knew was that I had to buy the DVD.

Darren Aronofsky’s The Fountain is not for those who get frustrated with abstraction and pin their hopes on a linear narrative that lays it all out for you. It’s anything but that, and will probably gain its cult following when people turn to each other and say: “watch this, and explain it to me”.

In essence, it’s three stories linked by Hugh Jackman’s character Tom, taking place in three timelines set over the course of one thousand years. In the past, he’s a conquistador working for the Spanish queen; in the present he’s a surgeon searching for the cure to cancer; in the future he’s a bald new-agey bloke floating up to the stars in a bubble. But all three Toms are searching for the secret of eternal life, to benefit his wife (and occasional queen, cancer patient or ghost) Izzi (Rachel ‘Mrs Aronofsky’ Weisz).

Um. Yeah.

The story twists and turns, doubling back on itself and combining the three vignettes in a way that, while obscure, is also wonderingly beautiful and possesses an innate simplicity. Colour and light combine to give scenes a genuine ambience, and the dialogue and storytelling (especially with present Tom) is emotionally affecting enough to bring a tear to your eye.

At its core it’s about life and death, and the true meaning of eternity. Punctuated with Mexican legends, dying trees, and one very special book, Aronofsky has woven something that seems like a dream. Beautiful, emotional, colourful, yet ultimately bewildering.

Really, it’s no surprise that this tanked at the increasingly dumbed-down, blockbuster-riddled box office, leaving Warner Brothers to give it a pitiful DVD release with no commentary or extras. And while it’s been out for months in the USA, you won’t yet find it in Australian stores, and may not for awhile yet.

But order it. See it. Give it to your friend. Ask them what they think.

And watch your mind explode.

Burke & Wills

My review for Burke and Wills is currently published in FourThousand magazine. Subscribe and check it out!

Transformers

Ladies and gentlemen, I have an impossible, amazing announcement to make. One that will shatter your mind into tiny, disbelieving pieces.

Michael Bay has made a movie that doesn’t suck.

I know, I know. It’s crazy! But after a career replete with MTV-action mediocrity (The Island, Armageddon, Pearl Harbour), Michael Bay has hit on a winner. It’s about robots… robots in disguise.

Based on the successful Hasbro toy franchise, animated series, comic books, animated film… yeah, you get the idea, the Transformers are given a new lease on life in their first big-screen live-action outing.

It’s big dumb fun. That was never in doubt. This is, after all, a Michael Bay film. It’s full of fast-edit fight sequences, syrupy emotional bits, and the usual crap about how ordinary people can find inner strength and save the world blah blah blah

But despite and maybe because of all the chaos and running about, the film triumphs. The machines have been overhauled from their original incarnations, looking bigger, shinier and more streamlined than ever. There’s nothing to fault as far as special effects go: frankly, they’re mindblowing. And the characters they do bother to put emphasis on - Shia LeBeouf’s (Holes, Disturbia) reluctant hero for example - are genuine enough and believably heartfelt, even if minor characters fall by the wayside

The balance is perfect. Michael Bay has managed to imbue real heart into his characters – we do actually care what happens to them, even the robotic ones. There are moments of comedy (wait until you see what the Mountain Dew vending machine does). And the action is spectacular.

But we’re all here to see the machines, aren’t we? There’s a plot, yes. Something about a magic cube and a pair of reading glasses in the Antarctic. But who cares? As the Autobots duke it out with the Decepticons, we’re transported to a world where god is Optimus Prime, the devil is Megatron, and a stereo can be more than meets the eye.

A must-see for all the eighties kids who remember a simpler time, and for a new generation of human children.

Fantastic Four: Rise Of The Silver Surfer (SPOILERS!)

Look, it’s a spoiler, I know, but I feel this should be said as a simple public health warning for all you geeks out there.

DON’T get excited about Galactus.

The film’s definitely a sequel: slightly less funny, slightly less fresh, slightly less clever (Yes, I DID like the original, stone me if you must). But by all accounts, Fantastic Four: Rise of the Silver Surfer is actually pretty good.

Keeping in with the PG-rating, it’s the epitome of inoffensive action fun, with a bit of a Disney morality lesson thrown in. All that stuff about how we choose to do right and wrong, as the titular Surfer (Doug Jones) draws the monster Galactus ever closer to Earth while last year’s villain Victor Von Doom (Julian McMahon) comes back to wreak metallic havoc on our Four.

Where Four finds its strength is through the characters. It’s not the dark introspect of recent Batman or Spiderman flicks, but our heroes are drawn as more than pencil sketches, as people with personalities, wants, and conflicts, even if they do have rubber limbs, stone flesh, or Jessica Alba’s arse, and as a family unit they provide a different slant on the genre from the tortured solitary villain (Batman) or feuding team (X-Men).

Then, as I mentioned, there’s Galactus.

The Silver Surfer’s great. Hell, you’ve seen the trailers. And the special effects are bloody fantastic (especially a set piece involving the London Eye). But do they give the Devourer of Worlds (TM) the slightest bit of love?

Do they buggery.

A spoiler again. Don’t read if you like being disappointed:

Gone is the helmet, gone is the awesome looming body.

Galactus is a giant cloud.

The End.

Pirates Of The Caribbean: At World's End

Bringing the end (hopefully) to the trilogy, Pirates Of The Caribbean: At World's End doesn’t do too bad a job, even if it does lack the flair of the original.

Gore Verbinski brings a darker tone than the first two films, as well as redeeming himself slightly for the woefully average Dead Man’s Chest. The laughs come faster, the action is more riveting and succinct, and the emotions are more genuine.

Rejoining the story after Jack Sparrow’s (Johnny Depp) death in the mouth of a huge, tentacled, toothy vagina (otherwise known as the Kraken), its up to our pirates to rescue him from Davy Jones’ Locker, while also coming to blows with the good old Brits, various international pirates (Chow Yun Fat and Keith Richards among them), and Davy Jones himself (Bill Nighy).

It's a bit of a shambles. The first hour drags on, even if it does have twenty times the Jack Sparrow (literally) and Keira Knightly’s bare legs, but once it hits its stride there are one too many characters and storylines. Davy Jones (aka, the best thing about Pirates 2) is still fun, as are the ragtag gang of minor players, but we’ve really seen it all before.

As with the first film the best part about At Worlds' End are the two captains: Barbossa (Geoffrey Rush) and Sparrow. They bounce off each other like old hands, their overacting perfect rather than jarring, and account for most of the laugh-out-loud moments. Orlando Bloom, as well, finally gets to do something that doesn’t require him to look earnestly pretty, and proves that he does have acting chops beyond holding a sword.

In the end it’s not a bad film, keeping more to the upbeat frivolity of Black Pearl than the drudgery of Dead Man’s Chest, and providing some blackly emotional scenes into the bargain. Though it does have some slow points, the exciting ones more than make up for it. It’s just not enough to convince of the fact that they shouldn't have stopped with one film.

28 Weeks Later...

Following on from Danny Boyle’s ingenious dystopian horror 28 Days Later, we pick up the story – you guessed it – 28 weeks after the rage virus has devastated Britain, in Juan Carlos Fresnadillo’s confronting sequel.

The first thing about the film is that it’s got more of everything. More characters, more chaos, more violence, more terror. Not that that’s a bad thing. Set against the American military’s efforts to re-populate Britain after the apparent eradication of the virus, we could have expected something overdone and stupidly violent, but the film is more nuanced and clever than the half-baked sequels that seem to be squirming their way out of Hollywood lately.

It starts with Donald Harris (Robert Carlyle) escaping a house and leaving his wife (Catherine McCormack) behind, then races through the repopulation of London in a small army facility. Harris is reunited with his children (the improbably named Imogen Poots and Mackintosh Muggleton), everything seems dandy despite his guilt over the loss of his wife… and then the virus works its way back into the fledgling civilisation.

The film is instantly brutal, with dizzying camerawork and disorienting editing, creating a genuine sense of panic and pandemonium. No person is safe from the virus or the chase of the infected – despite how high his or her name may appear on the poster. It’s like Saving Private Ryan for the noughties, the audience not spared a single moment of the violence due to necessity, rather than gratuity, and never allowed to become desensitised.

It’s a study in everything good about horror, and about the original: questions of authority, the family, technology, group paranoia, sacrifice and violence arise and refuse to be ignored. It’s difficult to watch at times, frantically emotional at others, and is the way real horror should be – memorable and truly frightening.

Zodiac

David Fincher’s Zodiac should be much more than it is. Based on a bestselling book about the unsolved San Francisco murders of the sixties, it has a great premise. It stars Jake Gyllenhall, Mark Ruffalo, and the always-brilliant Robert Downey Jr. It has the director of Se7en and Panic Room on its side.

Yet, somehow, it falls short.

It’s a worthy story – Jake Gyllenhaal’s political cartoonist manages to become involved – and eventually obsessed - with the case of apparently uncatchable murderer Zodiac, who sends codes and threats to newspapers in a deadly mockery. It is Robert Graysmith's (Gyllenhaal) story, and his uneasy alliance with Inspector David Toschi (Ruffalo) and drunkard writer Paul Avery (Downey Jr), which drives the film, as he peers under every stone and pores through every file.

At its heart it’s a meticulous crime mystery, but it spends too much time being redundant and going over all the facts instead of providing some actual interest. There are a few thrilling scenes at the start but it’s as though we’re watching the rest of the film under a microscope, too distracted with the details to really connect with our characters or see the big picture.

In the end (which fizzles forgettably), it’s its own worthiness that causes the downfall. Fincher knows the story is great, but makes it far too cool for its own good, and the constant updates on the timeline are annoying rather than helpful – especially as Avery seems to be the only one aging over the long years of the investigation.

It simply thinks too highly of itself, when the only thing especially extraordinary is the interminable three hour running time.

Spiderman 3

With all those sequels looming on the horizon (Fantastic Four, Shrek, Pirates etc), it’s hardly a surprise that one of the biggest films so far this year is a franchise films. Statistically, it was inevitable.

Emotionally, Spiderman 3 was quite the surprise.

That shouldn’t be, with Sam Raimi at the helm again, guiding Spiderman through the inevitable gauntlet of villains, heroes, romantic entanglements, and souring friendships. And with all the whiz-bangery and gaudy set-pieces it might be easier to look at the flashy merchandising and forget the heart that it delivers in spades.

Pulling together story-threads from both Spiderman 2 and 3, the film is the conclusion to an already triumphant trilogy.

The usual cast of players return. Tobey Maguire is at his usual exceptional standard, his sweetly awkward Peter Parker and agile hero juxtaposed perfectly without losing their innate humanity. Kirsten Dunst has improved impressively, and it’s nice to see that she’s finally learned to emote without looking half-asleep. James Franco returns as Spidey’s best-friend-cum-bitter-enemy Harry Osborne, and the rest of the supporting cast, notably Aunt May (Rosemary Harris) and J Jonah Jameson (J K Simmons), make inevitable impacts, despite the briefness of their appearances.

But it’s the new characters that make the story. The teaming of two villains – Flint Marko/Sandman (Thomas Haden Church, Sideways) and Eddie Brock/Venom (Topher Grace, That 70's Show) – makes things more than a little sticky for Spidey this time around, and adds to the already full story. At a little under two-and-a-half hours, it must have been a tricky task to keep in all the important conflicts – friendship, love, villainy, celebrity, personal darkness – and a few components do fall by the wayside (Bryce Dallas Howard’s Gwen Stacy is more an occasionally swattable fly than a truly threatening love-interest) – but for the most part Raimi keeps everything on-track and accounted for, weaving the story as tight as one of Spidey’s webs.

The new characters are given believable back-stories and the old are kept emotionally consistent. The action is fast-paced, without detracting from the narrative. The comedy is quick, witty, and self-referential. The special effects are seamless. Oh, and Bruce Campbell gets a show-stopping cameo.

Raimi may drop the thread occasionally, but for the most part his Spiderman is less a tacked on money-maker, and more the third act of one truly great piece of art.

La science des rêves (The Science Of Sleep)

The Science Of Sleep is another one hot off the surrealist grill from director Michel Gondry except, unlike his former Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, he’s holding the Kaufman.

But while Eternal Sunshine had Charlie Kaufman’s writing to hold it down, Gondry’s writing is vaguer, unpinned by those pesky things called ‘narrative’.

It has a sort-of-a-story. Artist Stéphane (Gael García Bernal, Bad Education) moves back to France to be with his mother following the death of his father in Mexico, and ends up across the hall from Stéphanie (Charlotte Gainsbourg). Unfortunately, neither of them have a particularly stable grip on real-life, and reality and fantasy begin to overlap as he attempts to woo her.

The direction is signature Gondry. Hand-held camera, forced perspective, and all sorts of giant-hand, stop-motion, bath-desk weirdness combine to make something that is certainly not without visual splendour. His characters, too, are instantly likeable. His couple's nervous interactions are an utter delight, and our hero's co-workers at the dead-end job his mother squeezes him into are brilliantly funny. Dialogue-wise, it never fails, drawing every laugh and tear effortlessly and creating real emotional connection.

Every scene, likewise, is a joy to watch, and undoubtedly will reveal something new in every viewing. It’s the way they’re pieced together, though, that seem to create the feel that there is, actually, no story to speak of.

It’s really a film that depends on taste. Fans of linear narrative should steer clear. But for those with a taste for the surreal, for extremely likeable characters, and with no compunctions about a film with no ending - and no beginning or middle either - there’s a lot to be found in what basically amounts to a ten minute story mixed with a very good extended music video.

300

Based on the graphic novel by Frank Miller, this latest comic-book venture by director Zack Snyder works best when it doesn’t deviate from the source material.

Chronicling the last weeks of King Leonidas (Gerard Butler) at the Battle Of Thermopylae in 480BC, it has hardly any basis in fact except for the names. Rather it’s a bloody procession of visually stunning skirmishes with a variety of weird and wonderful opponents.

The 300 of the title are the three hundred Spartan warriors that fought under King Leonidas against their much higher numbered opponents. They fight with spear and shield, displaying exceptional strategy. While the fight scenes should become boring and predictable, the visual beauty helps them through.

Instead, it’s the scenes with all the talking and substance that let the film down. With no basis in the book, obviously tacked-on scenes about politics and whatnot – hell, even the sex isn’t that interesting, as pretty as the queen (Lena Headey) is – drag along. Especially when compared with the cartoonishly realistic sprays of blood, the stampede of elephants and rhinos, and the roar of the Spartan guard.

Whilst the story might lag, visually it has everything to offer. It stays firmly a representation of the book (except the Spartans have a bit more clothing on). Some shots are directly taken from Miller’s inspired drawings, and even the shadow of a spear has stunning purpose. From the lowliest hunchback to the androgynous god-king, the film is a sight to behold.

If you can stay awake through all the talking, that is.

TMNT

Cowabunga, dudes!

The Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (or TMNT, as they’re calling themselves these days) are back on the big screen for the first time since 1993.

And they haven’t lost a bit of their spark.

Loosely following the events of the other films, but with a style all its own, the turtles – Raph, Leo, Mikey, and Don – are back to their 80s glory, this time in total CG form.

Whilst the CGI is briefly distracting at the beginning, it quickly becomes its own reality, lending the characters the heartfelt unrealism they already oozed from every reptilian pore.

The film itself can only be described as fun – it’s big, it’s dumb, it’s full of the usual one-liners, and yes, it’s funny as hell. The plot doesn’t really matter – it’s riddled with holes anyway and is more predictable than the fate of a turtle’s pizza – but suffice to say it’s populated with enough stone warriors, monsters, immortal beings, helmeted vigilantes and ninja skills to while away 2 hours in blissful nostalgic bedlam.

And then there are the heavenly mentions of a sequel…

Hors de Prix (Priceless)

It’s the usual story: hooker meets valet, hooker thinks valet’s a millionaire, hooker and valet screw each other over, valet becomes gigolo to impress hooker… sparks fly.

Okay, so maybe it’s not quite that simple, but giving everything away would diminish the fun of what is, essentially, a wonderfully put-together French farce.

Directed by Pierre Salvatori, the film is one extravagant location, one dazzling outfit after another. It’s eye-candy at its best, beautiful, yet fun and flirty at the same time.

Audrey Tautou (Amélie) plays the girl – Iréne – a money-grubbing babe who picks up rich men and sticks around long enough to get a marriage out of them. Comedy is clearly Tautou’s forte, and though she is a little shrill at times, her flirtations and temper tantrums are a delight to watch.

Gad Elmaleh is a perfect sounding board to her scheming ways. His valet-turned-toyboy Jean is wonderfully expressive, not to mention brilliant at slapstick and physical comedy.

But if anyone steals the show, it’s Jean’s sugar-mummy Madeleine (Marie-Christine Adam), who is an utter delight as she manipulates her young lover, her facial expressions alone carrying the movie from amusing rom-com into delightful farce.

Priceless is a sumptuous, guilty pleasure, required viewing for those of us who have become disillusioned with the state of Hollywood romance and seeking a much better way to fill a couple of hours. It’s forgettable, but is a joy while it lasts and a stunning piece of eye-candy.

(Released 5th April, 2007 - some theatres)

Hot Fuzz

It’s hard to follow up Shaun Of The Dead. One of the most innovative black-parodies ever created, not to mention one of the funniest comedies in a very long time.

Writing duo Simon Pegg and Edgar Wright return again for their special brand of fun-poking genre-comedy, this time focused on buddy cop films and again directed by Wright. With firepower instead of pool-cues this time, it manages to chase hot-on-the-heels of Shaun’s laugh-counter, and makes a brilliant return to comedy for stars Pegg and Nick Frost.

It all takes place in small-town Sandford, Gloucestor. A rural town where not much happens (except that it seems to be populated by a who’s-who of British comedy), Constable Nicholas Angel (Pegg) is sent to be the new Seargent when his London superiors realise that his excellent abilities as a police officer are making the rest of the service look bad by comparison.

But all is not as it seems in idyllic Sandford…

Taking all the best parts of action cinema and turning it on its head, the film swerves between clever nods and out-and-out plagiarism, but always with a genial respect melded with the piss-taking. Frost’s PC Butterman, Angel’s small-town partner, is a delightfully stupid foil to Pegg’s straight-laced, straight-faced Seargeant, providing most of the laughs. The supporting cast are also brilliant – Timothy Dalton’s oily supermarket magnate is a standout, as is the motley crew of coppers (headed by Jim Broadbent), and Bill Nighy’s blink-and-you’ll-miss-it cameo as London’s Chief Inspector.

Wright has turned the hallmarks of Shaun into his own personal trademarks. Apart from being filled with in-jokes (Cornetto, anyone?), the director is developing a recognisable style, populated by graphic matches, whooshing scene-changes, and frenetic cutting.

It’s politically incorrect, offensive, and fantastically violent (it’s an action movie by the zombie guys! What did you expect?), but apart from a slight lag in the middle, it’s a laugh-a-minute extravaganza of some of the best comedy ever to be committed to film.

Perfume: The Story Of A Murderer

(First posted March 14th, 2007)

Of all the senses, it is the sense of smell that has least been explored in the realm of the silver screen. And with good reason. How do you possibly translate a sense so limitlessly varying and so personal an experience into one that can be encapsulated with sound and images?

Director Tom Twyker (Run, Lola, Run) takes on the onerous task of translate the olfactory to the audiovisual, in his film Perfume: The Story Of A Murderer. Adapted from German author Patrick Süskind’s ‘Das Parfum’, it tells the story of Jean-Baptiste Grenouille (Ben Whishaw), born in the stench of eighteenth century Paris, who possesses a unique and powerful sense of smell.

Whishaw’s Grenouille is a striking character, though whether he can be considered a character is debatable. He is rather a state of mind, an anthropomorphic quest to find the world’s greatest aroma through any means necessary, his permanently mystified gaze a testament to the skill of the actor at manipulating his character’s emotion with subtle strength.

Through the brilliant uses of colour, sound, and cinematography, it becomes astoundingly easy to follow Grenouille’s olfactory expedition. Every scent is laid bare in a way that is astonishing in its ingenuity, and even for those not blessed with a sympathetic sense of smell, the film is a visual masterpiece.

However in the story it falls short. The narrative is excellent, an intriguing tale of murder and desire, yet the characters struggle to elect a protagonist. At times it is the tormented Grenouille we align with, yet just as quickly we can become immersed in hatred for him, and sympathy for his victims. While this could have been used to great effect, the transition is not as seamless as it needs to be, lending a feeling of unwelcome disconcertion.

Still, with flawless acting (Alan Rickman and Rachel Evan-Wood are outstanding, though it is Dustin Hoffman who runs off with his portion of the show), and with a delicate use of his audiovisual facilities, Twyker’s film is a superb example of the power cinema can wield in the right hands. A definite must-see, if only for the rare chance to see something truly different and breathtaking.

Tenacious D: The Pick Of Destiny

(First posted February 9, 2007)


Tenacious D: The Pick Of Destiny is pretty much what you’d expect. A singularly rocksome affair, filled with laughs, silliness, Jack Black’s usual face-pulling, and rocking tunes. Oh, and Satan.

Teaming the writing talents of ‘The D’ (Jack Black and Kyle Gass) with Liam Lynch (the United States Of Whatever guy), this was always going to be a fun ride, hellbent on being as ridiculous and puerile as possible (listen to D classic Fuck Her Gently and you’ll get the idea). And in that it delivers, creating something so unashamedly juvenile it’s more than a guilty pleasure.

The story: two overweight, face-pulling wannabe rock stars go on the road to find the ‘pick of destiny’, a legendary guitar pick made from Satan’s tooth, so they can win an open-mic contest and pay the rent, is nothing short of genius, and just what we’d come to expect. It’s full of sight-gags, general slapstick, and cocksucking jokes, but they’re given such a vibrantly fresh feel it’s impossible to compare this with other crass comedies (Epic Movie, anyone?).

Not only is it a fun dig at just about everyone crossing the D’s path to glory, it’s also a great game of ‘spot the celeb’, with hilariously memorable cameos from Meatloaf, Dave Grohl, John C Reilly and Ben Stiller. But it’s Tim Robbin’s momentary role that steals the whole show.

Not for everyone, of course. The uninitiated will be left scratching their heads and wondering why Shallow Hal is swearing so much. But for the Tenacious D fans out there, it’s a must-see.

Stranger Than Fiction

(First posted January 31st, 2007)

If movies were soft drink, Stranger Than Fiction would be Diet Kaufman.

It has the imaginative plot, the touches of the surreal, the wry comedy of the Charlie Kaufman school of film-making, yet Marc Forster’s dramatically black comedy is missing that extra bit of punch.

The concept is genius – writer Karen Eiffel (Emma Thompson, wearing no make-up) is suffering from a severe case of writer’s block in the matter of killing off her main character, not realising that said character is a real person – Harold Crick (Will Ferrell). And here’s the kicker – he can hear her narration in his head.

Yet the film is riddled with too many plot holes. How do we account for the events that Eiffel is not narrating? Why on earth would Maggie Gyllenhaal’s socially defiant baker fall for an IRS auditor that looks like Will Ferrell?

These, and other questions, are not answered in the quest for finding some sort of human truth that tugs at the heartstrings and makes us laugh. Yet neither of these are done in adequate measure.

That’s not to say it’s a bad film – it’s entertaining and has quite a number of brilliant moments; the acting is outstanding (Dustin Hoffman’s literary professor, especially, is wonderful) – but there’s just something missing. Something that could have moved this experience from the cautiously engaging into the truly rousing.

El Laberinto del fauno (Pan's Labyrinth)

(First posted January 13th, 2007)

1944, rural Spain. Such is the backdrop for Guillermo del Toro’s Labyrinthian effort, a dark and twisted fantasy set beside a dark and twisted reality.

Both fantasy and reality tell the story of Ofelia (Ivana Baquero), a pre-teen sent to live on an army base with her pregnant mother (Ariadna Gil) and new stepfather (Sergo López), the latter a brutal and unhinged army captain with a penchant for torture and impulsive murder.

Obsessed with fairytales, Ofelia creates fantasy in her own mind until she comes across a faun, Pan, (Doug Jones) in a dilapidated stone maze on the base grounds.

Though it may sound like earlier fantasy incarnations such as Wizard of Oz or the similarly titled Labyrinth, this is not a movie for children. The majority of the film focuses on conflict: between the army and the rebels, between the main characters (including Maribel Verdú’s stunning performance as sympathetic servant Mercedes), between fantasy and reality. The violence is unflinching, visceral to the point of disturbing, and the dark, overcast tones are almost as unsettling.

Then there’s the fantasy. The creatures are fantastical, certainly, but carry with them the sort of darkness one should always associate with the grimmest of fairytales. Disney this ain’t, more a reflection of a mind so consumed and surrounded by atrocity.

But even though the frames are painted with the darkest brush, it’s not all doom and gloom. In Ofelia, a sense of innocence is found. Reality is not black and white, rather a state of mind consumed by adulthood.

There are very few drawbacks. Some of the symbolism is inspired, the costume and set design are artistic masterpieces, yet retain their staunch realism. But though the reality aspect of the film is explored to the fullest and most effective, some of the fantasy sequences feel short and lack sufficient build-up (especially a scene involving a giant toad). This is a minor drawback, however, and cannot diminish the impact of what is a brilliantly visual, emotional, and psychological journey.

And if you don’t like the symbolic stuff, there’s some pretty cool monsters.

Marie Antoinette

(first posted December 27, 2006)


Director/writer/famous relative Sofia Coppola’s watchword seems to be ‘slow’. Previous films The Virgin Suicides and Lost In Translation have been slowburn dramas with strangely flat story arcs and no particular climax.

But while these two films have found their strengths in strong character development and emphasis on detail, Marie Antoinette is less successful.

And there’s not even a beheading.

Kirsten Dunst’s French Queen spends her time gambling, eating cake, and having indiscriminate sex with attractive Swedes. Which is all well and good – her husband (Jason Schwartzmann) isn’t particularly interested in doing the nasty with her, and she doesn’t have the first clue about ruling a country.

Then some stuff happens. She wears towering wigs, goes through the entire French supply of shoes, eats more cake, dances to The Cure, faces the requisite angry-mob-with-flaming-pitchforks. Oh yeah, and pops out a couple of kids along the way.

There are some highlights. Rose Byrne’s party-girl is a delight, as is Rip Torn as the lecherous king. And every now and then Kirsten Dunst shows some real insight into her character’s emotions... and her backside and nipples. Plus there’s some funny stuff about sex. Which is good. If only the contemporary winks and nudges hadn’t worked so much better in A Knight’s Tale.

You can’t help feeling that Coppola has missed the point… and along with her, so have we.

The Queen

(First posted December 27th, 2006)

Her Majesty, Queen Elizabeth II, seems to be as far elevated above our consciousnesses as her position is elevated above our own. An aging woman commanding a decomposing system of rule, she is the mother of a cowardly weasel of a prince and the wife of an adulterous geriatric.

Yet director Stephen Frear and writer Peter Morgan’s version of The Queen is imbued with such heart, depth and – dare I say it – wit, that it is impossible not to find virtue in her.

Primarily chronicling the week following the death of Princess Diana, the film presents a side of the titular Queen (Helen Mirren) previously unseen by such lowly commoners as ourselves.

Through her strained dealings with new Prime Minister Tony Blair and her interactions with family (Sylvia Syms is both charming and affecting as the Queen Mother) and the press, we are able to see the trials involved in maintaining such stoic dignity. Mirren’s performance is subdued and nuanced, creating ranges of heartfelt emotion with the simple twitch of an eyebrow or the fall of a foot.

The performance of Michael Sheen as Tony Blair is equally commendable, his uncanny resemblance to the Prime Minister only the starting point of a triumphant and sensitive performance.

While there is no way to verify the accuracy of the events, the film stands on its own as an affecting story of dignity and restraint in the face of accusation, propaganda, and the potential wickedness of politics, not to mention the feeling of helplessness when one realises one may not be as understanding of her world as one once thought.

Another strength of the film is its refusal to take sides. Every character has his or her own reasons for acting, and their own benefits to gain and advantages to lose. Tony Blair is no less a person than Her Majesty, simply the flipside of a spinning coin, and those caught in the wake of the events are drawn with sensitivity, regardless of which way they would like the coin to fall.

Its power draws from its unrelenting intent to present the story of a lady in crisis, her world thrown into sudden turmoil, and is, overwhelmingly, a success.

Little Miss Sunshine

(First Posted November 24th, 2006)


To some, beauty pagaents are the bane and embarrassment of Western society, especially when they focus on children. A breeding ground for paedophiles, a proliferation of the value of looks over substance in little girls, and a massive investment of time, emotion and money for the families involved.

Little Miss Sunshine sticks two fingers up in the face of organised catwalking for minors, taking the family of seven-year-old pagaent contestant Olive Hoover (Abigail Breslin, Signs) on a journey that is by all accounts revelatory, emotional, and hilariously funny.

Michael Arndt's blacker than black script is handled with surprising flair by directors Jonathan Dayton and Valerie Faris (better known for music videos than films) as Olive, her self-obsessed self-help author father (Greg Kinnear), unsatisfied but supportive mother (Toni Collette), Nietzsche-wannabe silent brother (Paul Dano), sex-obsessed druggie grandfather (Alan Arkin), and suicidal gay professor uncle (Steve Carrell, in a surprisingly brilliant dramatic turn) drive from Albuquerque to California for the Little Miss Sunshine pagaent.

Each character is a finely crafted and non-stereotypical persona, each with their own goals and fears. Rather than develop as a triumph of one character over the oppression of their family situation, it is the rare moments of collective understanding and support that provide the most victory, and the wry sense of hope you leave the theatre with is testament to the understated and realistic filmmaking.

That is not to say that the film is without comedy - it is both pitch black and uproarious, infused with a realism that avoids the outrageous for the most part. Even the parts of the movie that push the boundaries of believability are carried through on the strength of the characters and the actors. The relationship between Dwayne (Dano) and Frank (Carrell) is especially poignant and hilarious, and one of the many high points of the film. And without giving too much away, the finale is of such brilliant satirical worth it should be shown to every mother thinking of entering her daughter in a pagaent.

One of the best films of the year.

Saw 3

(First posted November 26th, 2006)


The grotesquery has broken out of its face-cage for the third instalment of the Saw franchise, and it’s a beautiful bloodbath.

Loosely picking up where Saw 2 left off, Aussie boys James Wan and Leigh Whannell return to spin a new yarn about the sadistic – but revoltingly fair – Jigsaw (Tobin Bell) and his partner-in-gore Amanda (Shawnee Smith, Becker).

But all is not peachy in Jigsaw's twisted lair. On his death bed, he is training Amanda to take over, and looking for one last hurrah before he succumbs. And that means one last victim...

It carries on the franchise admirably, continuing the tradition of stomach-churning, unflinching torture, mixed with a tight, compelling plot. Even though the violence is hardcore, it doesn’t fall into the trap of being superfluous – every movement made by every character seeks to further the already intricate plot, and for the most part, this is a success.

The characters, however, fail to entirely convince on a personal level. While the plights of Jigsaw’s latest victims are horrible situations, there seem to be far too many characters to gain a real empathy with any of them, and once the spillover characters from Saw 1 and 2 are dealt with, there’s too much going on.

Which would be okay, except for the fact that it's overcompensated for by the end when the patented 'twist' is revealed. It's as though someone is poking you repeatedly while chanting 'do you get it now? Let me show you that again, just in case you don't get it. Are you sure you got it? We could show you one more time.'

Likewise, the extra plot runs hand-in-hand with extra gore, and some of the traps seem unrealistically detailed and technological for two people to construct, despite how magnificent they may be.

Still, the Saw franchise has always based its appeal on spectacle, and there it certainly delivers.It may not quite live up to the standards of its predecessors, but as a standalone film it is certainly a must-see for the more intelligent legions of horror fans.

Suspiria

(First posted October 26th, 2006)

When listing off the greatest 70s horror films, you get the old faithfuls: The Exorcist, Dawn Of The Dead, The Amityville Horror, Jaws.

What you don’t hear about is a film called Suspiria.

Made in 1977 by bonkers Italian director Dario Argento, it’s a twisted little story about an American dancer (Jessica Harper, Shock Treatment) who transplants herself into a German dance academy, where the teachers may or may not be involved in something a lot darker than ballet.

Though it may not be the most famous of 70s horror, it is certainly the scariest. Argento’s tense plot is enhanced by a vivid and inspired use of colour, stunningly arranged shots, and a few of the best and most inventive deaths in screen history. It’s so nail-biting, in fact, that it’s almost hard to watch, the tension strung taut as a wire.

The dubbing is slightly disastrous however, yet it’s not impossible to ignore and is complemented by a childlike, memorable score that sets the teeth on edge. The performances are as good as your usual 70s horror. Harper gets along fine, but her supporting cast are shaky at best.

But it’s the direction, cinematography and editing that drive this along, and if that’s what you like, you’ll be jumping at the tiniest noises for the next week.

An Inconvenient Truth

(First posted September 29, 2006)

Give us a little while longer, and the Earth's population will either be dead or refugees of our own making.

Such is the message of Al Gore's 'An Inconvenient Truth'.

Yes, the 'little while longer' is more in the vein of fifty years, but to summarise Gore, a lot of things can happen very suddenly, and if we don't do something now, there'll be no way to stop these sudden events further into the future.

Following former presidential candidate Al Gore's compaign to inform the world of the damage that's being done to the earth through global warming, the film presents Gore's message as one of optimism rather than despair. The graphs and images he uses to set up the problem are frightening rather than lecture-hall tedium, and as he deconstructs the myths about our effect on the environment, a true story begins to emerge. Yes, we can make a difference - and the revelation is somewhere between frightening and uplifting.

The personal anecdotes are symbolic rather than soppy, and rather than get overly angry and irritating (a la Michael Moore), Gore's commentary is heartfelt, bold, and consistent.

Bugger The Omen - THIS is the most frightening film you'll see all year.

Lady In The Water

(First posted 28th September, 2006)

True fairytales don't seem to be particularly high demand recently. It's either woefully shallow Disney-Pixar CGI, or some crap about a guy shooting a bunch of other guys over... I dunno... terrorism or something.

So when a truly magical film like this comes along, it's no wonder its box-office representation is not the best. And that's a shame, because when a truly magical film comes along, it should be mandatory viewing.

M Night Shyamalan's 'Lady In The Water' is a magical little story, the embodiment of the word 'fairytale' yet somehow pure Shyamalan. While there is no twist, there is an understanding that somehow everything is connected, that the story of the manager of a small apartment complex (Paul Giamatti) finding a water nymph in the complex swimming pool can somehow reflect the shortcomings of man, and the way a simple event can ripple outward to affect the world.

The film rests heavily on the shoulders of its cast, and the players provide the simple tale with deep affection and resonance. There are twists and turns - we'd expect nothing less from our director - but it's more about actions and their effects than any cheap reveals. Paul Giamatti is heartbreakingly believable as the manager-with-a-secret Cleveland Heep, and Bryce Dallas Howard (The Village) as the aptly-named Story could be a nymph herself, her features are so beautifully expressive and ethereal. The supporting cast, as well, are stunning, and the dog-like 'scrunt' creatures are frighteningly realistic.

It's everything that should be expected of a fairytale. A few scares, an occasional laugh, a compelling mystery, and the feeling that you'e witnessed a transformation.


And as with all fairytales, the ending doesn't matter, just that the ride has been amazing.

Stormbreaker

(first posted September 25th, 2006)

As a long-time fan of Anthony Horowitz's Alex Rider series, I was always going to approach this with mixed feelings. Excitement, certainly, but also trepidation. Because if anybody destroys my Alex, I swear to god I'll...

Ahem.

It comes as a relief that director Geoffrey Sax (the interminable 'White Noise') manages his material quite well. He lays the necessary groundwork (and there is a LOT of it, being the first book) in a way that is exciting instead of tedious and perfunctory, and he sticks enough quality action sequences in to drive the plot along, even though there is the occasional sense that we're stuck in a gyroscope after eating four hotdogs and milkshake, the camera moves are so erratic and vertiginous.

The script is reasonable enough, though Anthony Horowitz is a better author than he is a screenwriter. On the upside, it adds a bit of a personal touch, and calms down the rabidity that could result when fans realise just how much the story has been butchered. Whole scenes have been taken out or transformed, and even some of the character names are different (villian Herod Sayle becomes Darrius Sayle, and is American instead of Lebanese). Still, Alex's (Alex Pettyfer) adolescent spy stuff is believable and heartfelt, just what we'd expect from a boy who discovers his uncle is a spy and has been killed (a brilliant opening sequence starring Ewan McGregor), not to mention that he himself has been secretly trained all his life to take over the job.

The film falls flat, though, when it tries to be a little too cool for its own good. It comes off as a little too contemprary and disposable - hardly a work that will endure for years to come - rather something that'll keep fourteen year old boys entertained for a few hours. The use of music by the Gorillaz and Kaiser Chiefs may make the audience exclaim 'hey! I know that song!' but it feels too commercial and brings down the quite serious and dark tone of the story. The cast of Britain's finest (Bill Nighy, Robbie Coltrane, Andy Serkis, et al) lift it up where it falters and their delivery of the snappy, clever lines is a delight.

A good film, but not quite satisfying, though it'll keep its target audience captivated for a little while. And it's a shame because while what's there is a great night out at the movies, it could have been so much more.

Clerks 2: Passion Of The Clerks

(First posted September 1st, 2006)

It was always going to a tough act to follow. A cult hit and a mandatory inclusion on most 'best of' lists, it was impossible not to be nervous coming up to the release of the follow-up to Kevin Smith's master work.

So breathe a sigh of relief, people, because Clerks 2 is beyond worthy.

Picking up ten years on from the original, Clerks 2 finds Dante (Brian O'Halloran) and Randall (Jeff Anderson) still stuck in their dead-end jobs, still having woman trouble, still abusing customers, and still finding time to debate Star Wars. After the unfortunate demise of the QuickStop (in a brilliantly self-referential opening scene), the site of mischief is now the Mooby's fast food chain. Dante is engaged to Emma (Jennifer Schwalbach) and is moving to Florida with her the next day, hoping to escape his loserhood. Of course things don't go smoothly.

Jay & Silent Bob are back, as hilariously funny and puerile as ever, but it's the new characters that really earn their salt. Jesus-freak virgin Elias (Trevor Fehrman) and Dante's other romantic interest Becky (Rosario Dawson) (And as Randall points out, how the hell does Dante manage to always have so many chicks willing to jump him?!) both play their roles with the glee required to lift this from basely immature into comedy gold. Sure, the occasional debate isn't so original (like, we know Frodo and Sam were hot for each other - it's not cutting edge to say so), but it's done with such obvious joy and spirit it still seems like the most clever, original thing ever to be said.

With all the shit that's churned out of Hollywood at the moment, it's nice to see a film that's still prepared to include human/donkey unholiness, but is chock-full of heart.

Snakes On A Plane

(First posted September 1st, 2006)

At its core, Snakes On A Plane is the usual, run-of-the-mill, clichéd airplane thriller. You’ve got your bad-ass cop, your plucky air-hostess. The passengers consist of a disgruntled Englishman, a slutty socialite, a woman with a baby, children travelling alone, and every other airplane stereotype you can think of. They’re all there, ready-made for screaming and jumping.

But did I mention the snakes?

You’ve really gotta hand it to this film. It doesn’t take itself remotely seriously, yet it manages to be one of the most thrilling, engaging and fun films in recent history. It swings between laughs and shocks so quickly you barely notice the shift. And if that’s not enough... it’s got SNAKES on a (motherfucking) PLANE!

I could wax lyrical about special effects and character development and all that other crap, but it’d detract from the pure awesomeness that are the snakes. So I won’t.

It’s got Snakes on a Plane, people! That should be enough for anyone.

Kenny

(first posted August 25, 2006)

Kenny Smyth (Shane Jacobson) spends his time buried up to the elbows in human excrement.

But don’t let that dictate your opinion of him. Kenny is one of the most genuine, kind, believable people in existence, on-screen or off. He endures his irritating codger of a father (Ronald Jacobson), adores his son, helps out complete strangers, and smiles, laughs, and jokes his way through a job that is - quite literally - full of shit.

Written by brothers Jacob and Derek Jacobson, Kenny is an extraordinarily engrossing mockumentary following the journey of it’s titular character (a 40-something Aussie bloke that just happens to work for portaloo company Splashdown) and his attempts to hold his life together and make something of himself. Where this film finds its strength is in its refusal to be calculatedly clever, simply allowing its wonderful characters to allow us into their lives, however simple they may be. Kenny is dignified and sweet, the kind of bloke you’d chat to for hours at the pub, and it’s impossible not to cheer him on as he navigates through his life; experiencing love, air-travel, hoon-attacks, mistreatment, and a hell of a lot of shit.

Christopher Guest, eat your heart out.

MirrorMask

(First posted August 21, 2006)

MirrorMask is a sepia nightmare-scape of fantastical beauty, Dave McKean’s stunningly realised world coming to life in a cartoonish dream of Jim Henson creatures and masked demons.

Circus child Helena (Stephanie Leonidas) finds herself dropped into the magical world in this coming-of-age fable, reminiscent of Labyrinth and Return to Oz, after her mother is hospitalised after a collapse. Now, trapped in a land with only her own drawings and a hodgepodge of giants, sphinxes, mysterious books, and masked strangers to guide her, she must find the charm that awakens the queen of the light and holds back the encroaching dark.

While the symbolism is thicker than the stylised shadows, the morals never feel heavy-handed or blatant, and Helena’s quest to apologise to her ill mother is heartfelt and genuine without resorting to sugary sweetness. It’s a fairytale of the nastiest kind, and a complete travesty that this low-budget gem didn’t find a broader cinema release. Even though the puppets are traded for CGI, the creatures and landscape are no less vivid and palpable, the claustrophobia and tension handled so skilfully it’s impossible not to be swept along by the rush, led into a world where everything is extraordinary and nothing is to be taken for granted.

The Sentinel

(first posted August 4th, 2006)

If you've seen the trailer, you'll have most of the movie planned out for you. Michael Douglas (The In-Laws) plays a secret service agent on the run after being accused of plotting against the president. Keifer Sutherland (TV's 24, and The Lost Boys, if you're a purist) is trying to bring him down. There's some bad blood between them, for reasons that are fairly unimportant. Eva Longoria (Desperate Housewives) has nice breasts and looks good in a pants-suit.

While it is nice to see a film that's not a sequel or remake, this one does lack a certain originality regardless. It's a mishmash of The Fugitive, In The Line Of Fire, and every other 'aging-American-bloke-does-a-lot-of-running' film you've ever seen. Though it doesn't bring the film down in this respect, it does jar slightly, leaving you thinking 'now where have I seen that before...?' rather than allowing you to sit back and unravel the quite deftly handled mystery.

The characters are woefully underdeveloped, especially the requisite bad-guys, and all characters are prone to massive switches in attitude for no apparent reason. Kim Basinger's first lady is not much more than wallpaper, and Michael Douglas' face-lift is often more interesting than he is.

The film's shooting is cliche - sweeping helicopter shots, ragged flashes of corpses... director Clark Johnson (S.W.A.T) has been here before. But his work is more suited to Law And Order or NYPD Blue than a film that requires a 108-minute runtime.

But the film does save itself in the fact that it knows what it is, and which audience to target. In that respect, it's a solid political thriller for a Friday night, and is subtle in that it spares us copious shots of things blowing up, and doesn't rely on swearing or graphic sex to create interest (and really, who needs to see Michael Douglas on the job, anyway?).

It's fun, it keeps you guessing, and though you may not remember a thing about it the next day, it's a nice respite from real-life.

Jindabyne

(First posted July 21st, 2006)

Australian film has experienced an uprising recently. It seems that, finally, the cheap ocker comedy has fallen by the wayside, making room for genuine, introspective drama that resonates with critics and the select few that shell out their hard earned money to see something that doesn't involve someone with the surname Wayans or Sandler.

Jindabyne is one such film.Adapting from Raymond Carver's short story, director Ray Lawrence (Lantana) constructs a delicately introspective, brooding tale of ethnic and moral ambiguity that subverts the standard thriller structure. The basic plot of the story (men find dead aboriginal girl in lake, but keep fishing for two days before telling anyone) suggests elements of thriller, but it is mostly a dramatic piece, with beautifully constructed and believable characters (Laura Linney's dissatisfied wife is superb) coping with the situations presented to them and trying to regain a semblance of normalcy.

While it answers few questions, and contains no finite ending, the film is ultimately satisfying and provides the basis for further thought and speculation about the actions of people and their responsibilities to each other.

Some Scary Shit (Here Be SPOILERS!)

(First posted July 7th, 2006)

Today, I saw Friday the 13th for the first time ever.

Yes, I did. I’d never seen it before, as my local video shop doesn’t stock it. This week, my family decided to be adventurous and go to a different video shop. And… there it was. Needless to say, I grabbed it and clutched it to my chest like a good little movie geek. I ran straight home, and watched it.

I was disappointed.

It was okay, it had some really good kills, and I could understand why it was so huge ‘back in the day’, but really, there was nothing particularly special about it. “Your jaded noughties brain can’t understand the classics”, you may say. Not true. Bride Of Frankenstein is on my high rotation list, and I would never turn down a screening of The Omen (the original, of course). But when it came to Friday the 13th… I was indifferent to its charms. It didn’t keep me interested and, most importantly, it didn’t scare me.

Until the last five minutes.

There’s something about little Jason Vorhees leaping out of a lake, and dragging a girl out of her canoe in his wet, rotting arms. It wasn’t exactly a new concept (they used the same ‘JUMP! Oh, it was all a dream’ method in Carrie, four years previous), but bloody hell, it scared the shit out of me.

So it got me thinking, what movies have scared me the most? And, more specifically, what moments made me jump out of my skin? What haunted me for weeks? What made me sleep with the lights on?

So here they are… my top ten movie moments that scared the living shit out of me.*

(*I understand that these may not be the same as yours, oh reader. So don’t come to me and say ‘oh, but where’s that bit from Halloween?’, because I don’t care about the public’s favourite scary moments. I care about mine. (And I thought Halloween was a bit boring, to be honest. Shoot me if you must)

And, again, a warning. SPOILERS! SPOILERS EVERYWHERE!

10. Giggling Zombies
Film: The Evil Dead
Lowdown: Ash goes into the woods with his mates, reads from the book of the dead, and suddenly everyone starts going zombie.
Moment: Being raped by a tree should get some kind of award for being disturbing, but in fact it’s crazy girl zombie Linda sitting cross-legged on the floor with her head lolling about that gave me the nightmares. It’s the giggle that does it, that haunting, crazy laughter that sounds like a cross between little-girl-lost and psychotic flesh-eater while she crawls after him along the floor.

9. Stabby Stab Stab!
Film: Don’t Look Now
Lowdown: After his daughter dies, John buggers off to Venice with his wife, where he starts to see his dead daughter everywhere…
Moment: …or so he thinks. It’s the moment that little red raincoat turns around to reveal a psychotic dwarf with a knife that makes me think ‘fuck, this shit is fucked!’ and then STAB STAB! And, before you say anything, I’m not discriminating against dwarves. I’m discriminating against crazy dwarves in red raincoats that stab Donald Sutherland. Honourable mention to the extended sex scene – that was pretty traumatising too. I never want to see Donald Sutherland naked again.

8. Screaming Heads
Film: Return To Oz
Lowdown: After some electroshock therapy goes wrong, Dorothy returns to Oz (go figure) which has become a wasteland ruled by the evil Nome King and headless Princess Mombi.
Moment: While trying to escape from Mombi’s palace, Dorothy wakes Mombi’s replacement heads, which reside in the glass cases lining the castle halls. The heads immediately begin to wail in a fashion that is so haunting it puts teeth on edge. The headless Mombi then chases Dorothy through the castle, egged on by the screeching heads.

7. Where’s The Gun?
Film: The Sixth Sense
Lowdown: A little kid can see dead people. All the time. They’re everywhere.
Moment: While hiding from the ghosts in his tent, little Haley Joel Osment sees a teenage boy wandering his halls. This guy doesn’t look too bad, we think. At least not until the boy asks if little Haley Joel wants to know where his dad keeps the guns, then turns around to reveal a bloody cavity that takes up half his head. Well, at least we know where the bullets went.

6. Camera Goes Dead.
Film: The Blair Witch Project
Lowdown: In October of 1994, three student film makers disappeared in the woods near Burkittesville, Maryland. One year later, their footage was found.
Moment: This film got a lot of stick, mostly because people felt a bit ripped off by the ‘this is legitimate footage’ lie. And fair enough. But it doesn’t prevent the fact that the film’s premise is innovative (if you forget Cannibal Holocaust), and that it has some shit scary moments, mostly involving teeth. And then there’s the final moment. There’s some screaming, some forced re-enactment of the myth of the witch… and then the camera dies. And that’s it. It gave me nightmares for a week.

5. Playtime Turns Nasty
Film: Frankenstein (1931)
Lowdown: A scientist creates a man out of the remains of corpses and animates it with lightning and a murderer’s brain. The monster escapes.
Moment: Stumbling upon a little girl playing near a lake, the confused monster joins her in the delightful 30s German game of tossing flowers into the water and pretending they are boats (hey, they didn’t have television!). Having a grand old time, the monster doesn’t let the game stop when he runs out of flowers. Oh no. He picks up the little girl instead, tosses her in, and drowns her, a stupidly gleeful grin on his face.

4. A Very Dynamic Manuscript
Film: The Shining (1980)
Lowdown: An author and his family become the caretakers of an isolated hotel for the winter… but it seems they are not alone.
Moment: The wife, her curiosity getting the better of her, takes a peek at her husband’s work, the great novel he claims he has been writing for months. But instead of grand literature, all that greets her eyes is pages and pages of the same words over and over again. Say it with me now: “All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.”

3. Is He, Or Isn’t He?
Film: Invasion Of The Body Snatchers (1978)
Lowdown: The earth is slowly being repopulated by alien clones, which replace humans while they sleep.
Moment: Donald Sutherland (he’s doing well in this list) wanders around, after managing to evade the aliens for the whole movie. His face is blank, his eyes dull, and he walks like a zombie. But is he pretending, or is he really one of them? His fellow escapee, Nancy, doesn’t know, so she takes the chance and runs up to him, babbling about escaping. Finger pointing, he turns, his voice an undeniably alien screech.

2. Some Scary Sheet!
Film: It.Lowdown: An evil clown murders the children of a small town by taking the form of their worst nightmares.
Moment: Okay, everybody knows that clowns are pretty fucking scary anyway. There’s no denying that. But when an unseen clown is stalking a little kid through that kid’s own backyard, and then appears suddenly between the sheets of the clothesline, sharp teeth dripping with drool and eyes burning with evil, it’s something that’s bound to give any kid nightmares. Or any adult.

1. Better Than 3D
Film: The Ring
Lowdown: You watch an unmarked tape. Afterwards, the phone rings, and a voice tells you you’re going to die in seven days. It’s not joking.
Moment: After being seriously unsettling for the first nine tenths of the film, Samara finally makes her appearance on the television screen, crawling out of the well in the background, staggering, dripping wet and rotting, toward the foreground (I’m pretty much inconsolable by this point), and then… crawls out of the television! I didn’t sleep for a week, I jumped every time the phone rang, and I refused to turn out the lights. I will never ever see this film again. Ever.

But finally, I must provide a dishonourable mention. This award goes to the film with a disturbing scene that doesn’t inspire terror or trauma. This award is for a horror film that goes so far into the realm of stupidity that it’s utterly disturbing, if only that they could get it made. The award, especially, goes to one certain scene.

And so, the award goes to the ghastly Troll 2. While watching television in his caravan, a teenage boy spots a show with a girl in lacy black underwear walking through the woods to 80s techno music. Suddenly, the techno seems a lot closer than he first thought, and he steps outside, coming face-to-face with black lingerie woman. She chats him up, takes an ear of corn out of her garter belt, shares it with him while they shag, and the sex is so hot the corn pops. The popcorn fills up the caravan, and he drowns in it.

And that, ladies and gents, is the scariest film moment of all time.