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.