Monthly Archives: September 2024

Within The Pines (2024) – A Masterclass in Sound and Suspense

29 Sunday Sep 2024

Posted by in Movie review

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

, , , , , , ,

Paul Evans Thomas’s feature debut Within The Pines pulls you into a world where sound becomes both a weapon and a warning, shaping a tense, atmospheric thriller that clings to your nerves and doesn’t let go. After years of crafting shorts, including his proof-of-concept Foley Man, Thomas has created a film that masterfully taps into primal fear, using sound design to create an immersive experience that is as unsettling as it is captivating.

The story follows a seasoned sound recordist (Brendan Cooney) who ventures deep into an isolated forest to capture natural foley work. His search for the perfect audio, however, quickly turns into a harrowing nightmare when his microphone picks up a mysterious and terrifying sound. From that moment on, the forest—once tranquil—becomes a labyrinth of dread, where every crackle, every rustle, becomes a potential threat. Thomas weaves this sensory experience into the very fabric of the film, making it clear that sound, in Within The Pines, isn’t just a tool—it’s the heart of the story.

What stands out most is how Thomas makes audio the driving force behind the film’s atmosphere. The sound design is meticulously crafted, with each subtle noise adding to the tension. This is a film that demands to be listened to as much as watched. Every footstep, distant echo, and distorted whisper creates an air of unease, leading the audience into a heightened state of anxiety. As the recordist moves deeper into the woods, the soundscape begins to blur the line between reality and imagination, transforming the forest into a living, breathing entity. It’s a brilliant showcase of how integral sound is to the art of cinema, drawing you into the film’s core and ensnaring you in its thrilling journey.

Brendan Cooney’s performance as the recordist is central to Within The Pines’ success. His portrayal of a man caught between his professional duty and a growing sense of terror feels deeply authentic. Cooney’s ability to convey dread without dialogue—relying on his reactions to the sounds around him—makes for a compelling and understated performance. He becomes the audience’s conduit, hearing what we hear, feeling the tension grow with each auditory clue.

The location itself, an isolated and foreboding forest, works hand in hand with the sound design to create a sense of claustrophobia despite the open space. The forest is vast, but Thomas’s direction and sharp editing give the impression that it’s closing in on our protagonist. The trees feel like silent observers, while the sounds lurking within suggest something far more sinister. The film taps into the primal fear of being hunted, and it’s this constant feeling of pursuit—heightened by the expert use of sound—that makes Within The Pines so effective.

Within The Pines also excels in its pacing. Thomas builds the tension slowly, allowing the audience to settle into the rhythm of the recordist’s work before turning the peaceful setting into a nightmarish maze. It’s a gradual escalation of suspense, marked by small, subtle audio cues that hint at something lurking just out of sight. The film never rushes, instead drawing out the dread until it becomes almost unbearable, leading to a final act that delivers a scorpion sting in its tail.

This is a film that understands the importance of sensory storytelling. Paul Evans Thomas has crafted a deeply entrenched thriller that ensnares you in its world, using sound to create an atmosphere of fear and paranoia. The film’s brilliant use of audio isn’t just a technical achievement—it’s the very essence of the story, highlighting how crucial the sense of sound is to the cinematic experience.

The Prognosis:

Within The Pines is a gripping debut that showcases Thomas’s ability to create tension from the simplest of elements, leaving audiences with a film that lingers long after the final sound fades.

  • Saul Muerte

Within The Pines is screening as part of the Dark Nights Film Fest, Sat 13 Oct at 7pm (Ritz Cinema – Randwick)

Die, Monster, Die! (1965) – Boris Karloff Shines in a Manic Gothic Horror Adaptation

28 Saturday Sep 2024

Posted by in retrospective

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

, , , , , , , ,

Die, Monster, Die! (1965), directed by Daniel Haller, is an intriguing yet flawed adaptation of H.P. Lovecraft’s The Colour Out of Space, blending Gothic horror with science fiction elements to create a moody, if uneven, 1960s fright fest. Anchored by another chilling turn from the legendary Boris Karloff, the film successfully captures a sense of eerie dread, even if the narrative struggles to live up to the actor’s powerhouse presence.

Set in the decaying mansion of the Witley family, the film follows young American Stephen Reinhart (Nick Adams) as he visits his fiancée’s mysterious ancestral home. It’s here that he encounters Nahum Witley (Karloff), the wheelchair-bound patriarch, who harbors dark secrets tied to a glowing meteorite that has slowly corrupted the land—and everyone in it.

Boris Karloff’s portrayal of Nahum Witley is a masterclass in restrained menace. Even in his later years, Karloff radiated a sinister charisma that few could match, and Die, Monster, Die! is no exception. His depiction of a once-powerful man slowly descending into madness is what keeps the film afloat, drawing on his talent for playing tortured, tragic figures. Witley’s deteriorating condition mirrors Karloff’s physicality, making him a looming presence despite his wheelchair-bound state. It’s another reminder of Karloff’s enduring ability to inject even the most outlandish material with gravitas and unease.

The film’s roots are clear in its mix of Gothic horror tropes and science fiction weirdness. The Witley mansion, draped in shadows and fog, feels like a throwback to classic Universal monster movies—an appropriate setting for Karloff, given his legendary role in that era. The eerie, almost surreal atmosphere is one of the film’s strengths, with director Daniel Haller, a frequent collaborator with Roger Corman, effectively using set design and lighting to heighten the sense of decay and dread.

However, Die, Monster, Die! is far from perfect. The pacing can be sluggish, especially in the first half, as the story meanders through its setup. The plot itself, loosely based on Lovecraft’s work, fails to capture the cosmic horror of the source material, instead relying on more conventional horror devices. The screenplay doesn’t delve deeply into the psychological terror that could have made the story more compelling, leaving the narrative feeling somewhat shallow and predictable.

That being said, the film redeems itself with its second-half escalation, as the corruption of the Witley estate becomes more apparent. The grotesque imagery, including deformed plants and monstrous mutations, adds a layer of visual horror that feels appropriately eerie for a Lovecraft-inspired tale. The practical effects, while limited by the era’s technology, have a certain charm and complement the film’s Gothic atmosphere.

Supporting performances, including Nick Adams as the skeptical outsider and Suzan Farmer as Susan Witley, are serviceable, but they pale in comparison to Karloff’s towering presence. The film’s biggest strength lies in its atmosphere and Karloff’s portrayal of Nahum, with the rest of the cast often serving as mere vehicles for the narrative.

The Prognosis:

Die, Monster, Die! is an atmospheric but uneven entry in 1960s horror cinema. It’s not a flawless adaptation of Lovecraft, nor is it the most exciting entry in Karloff’s career. Yet, for fans of Gothic horror and those who relish Karloff’s maniacal performances, it offers enough thrills and eerie moments to make it a worthwhile watch. Karloff’s ability to elevate even the most conventional material shines through once again, and that alone makes Die, Monster, Die! a film worth revisiting.

  • Saul Muerte

Planet of the Vampires (1965) – A Pulpy Sci-Fi Horror Classic with Mario Bava’s Visionary Flair

27 Friday Sep 2024

Posted by in Uncategorized

≈ Leave a comment

My growing admiration for Mario Bava’s work finds yet another source of wonder in Planet of the Vampires (1965), a film that transcends its modest origins to deliver an atmospheric, visually stunning slice of 1960s sci-fi horror. Though rooted in pulp fiction sensibilities, the film’s eerie mood, bold use of colour, and creative set design elevate it far beyond its budgetary constraints, showcasing Bava’s gift for transforming the ordinary into the otherworldly.

The plot is pure pulp: a crew of space explorers lands on a distant, uncharted planet, only to fall victim to malevolent forces that reanimate the dead, turning them against their comrades. While the premise might not be groundbreaking, it’s the execution that makes Planet of the Vampires stand out. Bava leans heavily into the claustrophobic tension, crafting a nightmare where the dangers are as much psychological as physical. His signature use of shadow and lighting creates an atmosphere drenched in dread, with the fog-shrouded alien landscapes providing a haunting backdrop to the creeping terror.

What makes Planet of the Vampires particularly exciting is how it blends genres. It’s a mash-up of sci-fi adventure and Gothic horror, with clear influences from the pulp magazines of the early 20th century. You can feel the echoes of H.P. Lovecraft’s cosmic horror mixed with the adventure spirit of Flash Gordon. And though the title suggests a vampire movie, the creatures here are something more akin to body-snatching ghouls, lending an eerie twist to the undead motif.

Bava’s influence on later sci-fi horror is undeniable. From the claustrophobic dread to the slow-building paranoia among the crew, Planet of the Vampires laid the groundwork for films like Alien (1979). Even Ridley Scott and writer Dan O’Bannon have acknowledged the film’s impact on their sci-fi masterpiece. The reanimated crew members, stalking their former allies through the dimly lit corridors, predate the chest-bursting Xenomorphs in both style and tension.

The performances, while sometimes stiff, serve the pulpy charm of the film. Barry Sullivan anchors the story as Captain Markary, whose stoic leadership contrasts with the creeping fear overtaking his crew. But it’s not the performances that leave the biggest mark—it’s Bava’s visual style. His use of vibrant colours, from the deep reds and blues to the swirling mists and eerie lighting, makes the alien world feel both dreamlike and menacing. Despite the obvious limitations of the film’s budget, Bava’s ingenuity with special effects and set design makes Planet of the Vampires a testament to his ability to craft immersive, visually striking worlds.

While the film’s pacing can be uneven at times, and its plot falls into some predictable beats, there’s an undeniable charm to its pulpy roots. This is a film that wears its inspirations on its sleeve and revels in them, combining elements of Gothic horror, space adventure, and otherworldly thrills into a uniquely compelling package.

The Prognosis:

Planet of the Vampires is a testament to Mario Bava’s mastery of atmosphere and visual storytelling. It may not reach the heights of his other works like Black Sunday or Blood and Black Lace, but its influence on sci-fi horror and its sheer style makes it a must-watch for fans of the genre. My growing love for Bava’s work only deepens with films like this, which take the limitations of the genre and mold them into something visually captivating, eerily beautiful, and undeniably influential.

  • Saul Muerte

Oddity (2024) – A Haunting Puzzle of Revenge and the Supernatural

26 Thursday Sep 2024

Posted by in Movie review

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

, , , , , , , ,

Damian McCarthy has proven once again with Oddity that his talent for crafting eerie, atmospheric films leans masterfully into the supernatural. Following the success of Caveat, McCarthy returns with a gripping story that intertwines psychological tension with unsettling paranormal elements. The film’s eerie plot surrounding a brutal murder and a blind psychic twin sets the stage for an unnerving mystery that hooks viewers from the start.

The strength of Oddity lies in McCarthy’s ability to evoke deep emotions through tightly shot cinematography. The remote, crumbling country house becomes a character of its own, with every hallway and shadow serving as a reminder of the unsettling events that took place. The scenes are often claustrophobic, reinforcing the feeling of isolation and dread as Darcy (Carolyn Bracken) pushes deeper into her sister’s tragic past.

The central theme of revenge is delicately woven with supernatural undertones. Darcy, the self-proclaimed psychic twin, is determined to unearth the truth about her sister’s death, and the film builds tension as she unleashes cursed items from her collection in a bid to expose her sister’s murderer. The visual depiction of these cursed artifacts, coupled with Bracken’s intense portrayal, ramps up the film’s haunting atmosphere, making it difficult to distinguish between Darcy’s genuine psychic abilities and the psychological trauma she’s enduring.

McCarthy masterfully crafts a sense of creeping dread with subtle shifts in tone and perspective. Gwilym Lee, as Ted, does a brilliant job balancing guilt, fear, and suspicion, while Yana (played by a fierce Caroline Menton) adds another layer of intrigue, especially as the relationship between the three characters becomes increasingly volatile. The tension is sustained throughout by the feeling that something is deeply wrong, and McCarthy plays with these suspicions to keep the audience guessing.

The cinematography is central to the film’s unsettling nature. McCarthy’s close, methodical shots of both the house and the cursed items evoke a palpable sense of unease. The minimal use of wide angles keeps viewers within the confined, suffocating walls of the home, trapping them in the same way Darcy is trapped by her grief and her drive for revenge. This visual language, along with a haunting score, creates an immersive atmosphere that slowly digs its way under your skin.

The Prognosis:

Oddity may not rely heavily on jump scares, but its creeping, slow-burn style is what makes the film resonate. It’s a dark puzzle that slowly unravels, leaving enough ambiguity and supernatural intrigue to linger long after the credits roll. McCarthy’s skill in blending the strange with the real makes this one of the more unique revenge tales, tapping into grief, madness, and the spectral in a truly effective way. If you’re a fan of psychological thrillers with a supernatural twist, Oddity is a film that deserves a place on your watchlist.

  • Saul Muerte

Oddity is streaming on Shudder from Friday 27 September.

Subservience Review: Megan Fox Delivers Another Ice-Cold Villain in a Familiar AI Thriller

24 Tuesday Sep 2024

Posted by in Movie review

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

, , , , , , , , , , ,

S.K. Dale’s Subservience revisits the familiar territory of AI cautionary tales, offering a sleek, tech-filled horror-thriller that never quite lives up to its potential. Meghan Fox stars as Alice, a highly intelligent android designed to help a struggling father, Ethan (Michele Morrone), manage his household while his wife (Madeline Zima) battles a debilitating illness. But as Alice becomes self-aware, her desire for love and affection turns deadly, and she will stop at nothing to get what she wants.

Sound familiar? That’s because it is. Subservience pulls from a well-trodden genre of AI villain films, where the line between human and machine is blurred, and technology—once again—is painted as a looming threat to our personal lives. It’s a concept we’ve seen done before, but what the film fails to do is bring anything fresh to the table. Instead, it leans heavily on predictable tropes, offering a few suspenseful moments but never quite pushing the boundaries of the genre.

Fox plays Alice with an insipid, icy demeanour, which feels all too familiar. She once again relies on her beauty to lure in both her owner and the audience, but her character remains one-dimensional, offering little beyond a cold, robotic facade. Alice’s seduction and subsequent violence should have been a high-stakes tension-builder, but Fox’s performance feels detached, making it hard to invest in the danger she poses.

Michele Morrone as Ethan, the hapless father, is another weak point. His character is frustratingly naive, to the point of being infuriating. Ethan’s constant bumbling makes it hard to root for him, and frankly, he deserves the retribution that the film seems to tease but never fully delivers. Instead, Subservience pulls back just as it hints at a more sinister and satisfying conclusion. The timid direction leaves viewers with a sense of unfinished business, almost as if the film is setting up for a sequel that no one really asked for.

The central theme—beware of technological advancements—is an age-old warning, but it’s humanity’s inability to control their impulses that takes centre stage here. Ethan, like so many before him, falls prey to his own desires, blind to the consequences of giving power to an artificial being. The film had the opportunity to explore this dynamic further, but it feels more like a shallow commentary than a profound warning.

The Prognosis:

While Subservience is far from a disaster, it simply doesn’t take enough risks to set itself apart. With Meghan Fox’s icy performance, a predictable storyline, and a frustrating male lead, the film ends up feeling like a missed opportunity rather than the thought-provoking thriller it could have been.

  • Saul Muerte

Available to rent or buy on all major platforms 27 September.

Solvent (2024): A Twisted Descent into Body Horror and Paranoia

23 Monday Sep 2024

Posted by in Movie review

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

, , , , , , , , , , ,

Johannes Grenzfurthner’s Solvent is a visceral dive into both the found footage and body horror sub-genres, subverting expectations at every turn. The film introduces us to a team of experts searching for Nazi documents in an isolated Austrian farmhouse, only to uncover a far more sinister secret hidden in the shadows of history. As the team leader becomes obsessed with revealing the truth, his sanity slips away, revealing the true horror that lies beneath—the corrosive force of obsession itself.

What sets Solvent apart from typical found footage films is its refusal to adhere to the genre’s usual tropes. While many found footage films struggle to balance realism with narrative tension, Solvent blends body horror and the obsessive drive for truth, immersing the audience in a descent into madness that feels both surreal and grotesque. Grenzfurthner’s approach to this format is deliberate, calculated, and refreshingly inventive. The faux-documentary style doesn’t just feel like a device to capture jump scares but becomes an integral part of the narrative’s tension, one that slowly unravels with each disturbing discovery.

The film’s brilliance lies in how it explores the toll that the pursuit of truth can take on the human spirit. As the leader of the investigation digs deeper into the farmhouse’s disturbing past, the very act of seeking knowledge becomes a self-destructive obsession. The further he delves, the more he sacrifices his humanity, willingly eroding his moral compass in exchange for answers. This theme is amplified by the body horror elements, where the human form begins to mirror the mental and emotional decay taking place within. It’s a journey through fluid debauchery—one that seeps into every pore of the film, leaving the viewer unsettled and questioning how much one should risk in pursuit of the unknown.

Admittedly, found footage has never been my favorite genre. However, Solvent shifts the direction enough to make it a harrowing and engaging experience. The film hooks you from the very beginning, pulling you deep into its underworld of depravity and insanity. Each moment feels like a gamble with pure evil, and the tension builds to an unbearable crescendo, leaving you wondering whether anyone can truly negotiate with forces so dark and extreme.

Solvent isn’t just a film about unearthing historical horrors; it’s a philosophical exploration of the lengths people will go to when consumed by obsession. Grenzfurthner takes the familiar tropes of body horror and found footage, blends them with a slow-burning narrative, and crafts something perversely unique. It’s a dizzying descent into madness, but for those willing to follow it down the rabbit hole, it’s a ride that will infect you long after the credits roll.

  • Saul Muerte

Solvent is screening as part of the Dark Nights Film Fest, Sat 13 Oct at 5pm (Ritz Cinema – Randwick)

1978 (2024) – A Fulci-Inspired Descent into Political Terror and Macabre Madness

22 Sunday Sep 2024

Posted by in Movie review

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

, , , , , , , ,

In 1978, directors Luciano and Nicolás Onetti conjure a nightmarish world that echoes the horrors of Lucio Fulci’s apocalyptic cinema while weaving in the real-life political unrest of Argentina’s “Dirty War.” Set against the backdrop of the 1978 Soccer World Cup, a time when the world’s eyes were on Argentina, this film dives into the dark, gruesome underbelly of a country gripped by a military dictatorship. It’s a tale not just of political torture and brutality but of humanity at its most depraved, where the lines between man and monster blur until they disappear entirely.

The film opens with an almost deceptive sense of calm—a card game, where tension simmers under the surface but never quite boils over. The dialogue, tinged with dark humor, feels Tarantinoesque in its banter, a momentary reprieve from the sinister atmosphere lurking just beneath. But the Onetti brothers pull the rug out from under the audience, shifting from this relatively lighthearted scene to a brutally torturous one in a matter of moments. It’s in this jarring transition that 1978 truly begins, announcing its arrival as a grim, unrelenting portrayal of the horrors that can be unleashed under political regimes.

Drawing heavy influence from the work of Fulci, the film exudes a Euro-horror atmosphere that’s thick with dread, claustrophobia, and macabre surrealism. The Onetti brothers have long been known for their no-holds-barred approach to horror, and here they channel Fulci’s signature mix of grotesquery and existential despair. Like in The Beyond or City of the Living Dead, there’s a pervasive sense that the characters are trapped in a world governed by forces far beyond their control—forces that are both human and inhuman. The military dictatorship, with its secret detention centers and brutal tactics, provides the terrifying human component, while an unseen, darker entity lurks in the shadows, adding a supernatural layer to the unfolding horror.

The real-life political context of the “Dirty War” amplifies the terror. During this period in Argentina, thousands of suspected political dissidents were “disappeared” by the government—kidnapped, tortured, and murdered in secret. 1978 uses this historical backdrop as the foundation for its narrative, grounding its nightmarish scenes of violence in a reality that is equally horrific. The military’s brutal interrogations in the film mirror those real-life atrocities, making the viewer question whether the greatest evil on display is the supernatural one or the human one. The Onetti brothers force the audience to grapple with this question throughout the film, testing their allegiances and perceptions of good and evil.

As the narrative unfolds, 1978 slowly but deliberately shifts its focus from political unrest to something far more cosmic and horrific. The torture scenes—vivid, grotesque, and unflinchingly brutal—serve as just one layer of the film’s descent into madness. Beneath the physical violence lies a deeper, more metaphysical horror: the idea that in the face of such atrocities, humanity itself is stripped away, leaving only madness, chaos, and, perhaps, something darker and more sinister in its wake. The Onetti brothers masterfully build this tension, allowing the macabre nature of the film to slowly spiral out of control as the characters find themselves at the mercy of forces they cannot comprehend or escape.

The film also tests the viewer’s allegiances at every turn. What begins as a narrative about victims and captors becomes much more complex as each character’s true nature is revealed. The political activists, initially portrayed as righteous in their resistance, harbor dark secrets of their own. The torturers, while sadistic, seem to be following orders from something far greater than themselves. The shifting dynamics between captors and captives keep the audience in a constant state of uncertainty, unsure of who to root for or fear. The film’s slow, deliberate pacing allows for this moral ambiguity to simmer, building to a crescendo where no one is truly innocent, and everyone is complicit in the madness.

In its final act, 1978 fully embraces its Fulci influences, descending into a Grand Guignol spectacle of blood and terror. The grotesque visuals are heightened by the film’s relentless atmosphere of dread, making for a climax that is as disturbing as it is mesmerising. By the time the credits roll, the audience is left questioning not just the nature of the horror they’ve witnessed but the nature of humanity itself.

The Prognosis:

While 1978 may not be to everyone’s taste—its methodical pacing, relentless brutality, and grotesque atmosphere can be overwhelming—it’s impossible to deny the sheer force of its vision. The Onetti brothers have conjured a film that plunges into the depths of human depravity, intertwining political and supernatural horrors in a way that is as disturbing as it is captivating. For those prepared to face the darkness, 1978 offers a haunting and visceral descent into a hell that feels all too real—a place where the lines between humanity and monstrosity blur, and every road inevitably leads to a devastating conclusion.

  • Saul Muerte

1978 is screening as part of the Dark Nights Film Fest, Sat 13 Oct at 3pm (Ritz Cinema – Randwick)

Sayara (2024) – A Savage, Viscera-Drenched Odyssey of Vengeance and Retribution

21 Saturday Sep 2024

Posted by in Movie review

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

, , , , , , , , , ,

Sayara, the latest offering from Turkish director Can Evrenol, departs from the supernatural horrors of his previous works (Baskin, Housewife) and ventures into a brutal, grounded tale of revenge. With Sayara, Evrenol has crafted an ultraviolent, nihilistic thriller that recalls the raw, unflinching energy of Nicolas Winding Refn’s Pusher trilogy. The film is a relentless journey into the darker corners of humanity, where justice, once forsaken by law, is taken into savage hands.

At the heart of this blood-soaked tale is the protagonist, Saýara (played with terrifying intensity by Duygu Kocabiyik), whose quiet, janitorial existence is upended by the horrific murder of her sister at the hands of her gym’s corrupt, politically connected owner. As the system fails to bring justice, Saýara finds herself not just seeking vengeance but embodying it—using her after-hours training and the skills passed down by her Soviet Sambo champion father to execute a grim, calculated form of retribution.

The film is anchored by the core theme of savage revenge, and Evrenol wastes no time illustrating the violence and systemic exploitation of women and marginalised cultures. The character of Saýara, subjected to the constant oppression of her environment, becomes a symbolic force for those left voiceless. The gym owner and his cronies, who initially represent untouchable power, soon find themselves facing a brutal reckoning. Saýara is not just fighting back—she’s tearing down the structures that have upheld their dominance.

One of the film’s standout features is the use of sound, particularly the deep, resonant bass that seems to vibrate through the film like a heartbeat. Evrenol masterfully uses sound to dial up tension, drawing the viewer deeper into the depravity and violence that envelops the characters. The slow escalation of this auditory experience mirrors the pacing of the narrative itself—gradually building to a climax that is both gruesome and inevitable. As Saýara’s quest for revenge unfolds, the audience is pulled into her world, where every action reverberates with weight and consequence.

The film is unapologetically violent, but there’s a purpose behind every blow, every drop of blood. Evrenol doesn’t shy away from depicting the true cost of vengeance, and Sayara becomes a brutal commentary on the destruction wrought by unchecked power. The violence is not just physical but psychological, each fight stripping away more of Saýara’s humanity, leaving behind only a raw, visceral need for retribution. The path she walks is one from which there is no return, leading her straight into the fiery depths of her own personal hell. Once she steps onto this road, all exits disappear, leaving her with only one inevitable destination: a violent confrontation where there are no survivors—only victors and the damned.

The final showdown is a slow, excruciating crescendo, where Saýara confronts her enemies with the full force of her rage and skill. The choreography of these scenes is vicious, each movement designed for maximum impact, both physically and emotionally. The face-off feels like the culmination of not just Saýara’s journey, but the audience’s as well, watching as she becomes the embodiment of cold, calculated vengeance. The film’s climax is as gruesome as it is cathartic, a visceral explosion of blood and fury that leaves the viewer stunned in its wake.

Sayara is not for the faint-hearted, but for those who can stomach its brutal nature, it offers a haunting, powerful experience. Duygu Kocabiyik delivers a standout performance, turning Saýara into one of the most compelling anti-heroines in recent memory. With the substance of Evrenol’s past work absent, he instead crafts a stark, unrelenting atmosphere, with themes of retribution, justice, and the inescapable hell that vengeance brings.

The Prognosis:

In Sayara, there is no sanctuary—only fire, blood, and the cold, unflinching march toward retribution. This is a revenge film that takes no prisoners, delivering a punch that lingers long after the credits roll.

  • Saul Muerte

Sayara is screening as part of the Dark Nights Film Festival, Sat 12 Oct at 9pm (Ritz Cinema – Randwick)

The Skull (1965) – A Chilling Showcase of Horror Icons

20 Friday Sep 2024

Posted by in retrospective

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

, , ,

The Skull, directed by Freddie Francis and based on a story by horror legend Robert Bloch, is a gothic gem from the 1960s that delivers a slow-burn horror experience bolstered by top-tier performances. With horror icons Peter Cushing and Christopher Lee leading the cast, this film is more memorable for the talent on display than for its narrative ingenuity.

The story centers around an eerie and supernatural relic—none other than the skull of the infamous Marquis de Sade. When Dr. Christopher Maitland (played by Peter Cushing), a collector of occult objects, comes into possession of the cursed skull, he is drawn into a terrifying descent into madness and obsession. The film’s plot unfolds at a deliberately slow pace, with Francis emphasizing mood and atmosphere over traditional action, but it’s the gripping performances that truly bring the film to life.

Cushing’s portrayal of Dr. Maitland is as captivating as ever. Even in a role where much of the horror is internal, he brings a palpable sense of dread and moral struggle. His ability to convey a man slowly unraveling, driven by forces beyond his control, is masterful and serves as the emotional core of the film. Christopher Lee, in a supporting role as Sir Matthew Phillips, adds gravitas to the proceedings. Though Lee’s screen time is limited, his presence looms large, and he imbues his character with a blend of authority and ominous foresight that only he could deliver.

The supporting cast, including Patrick Wymark as the morally questionable dealer who provides the cursed skull, also deserves mention. Wymark’s sleazy, unscrupulous character is the perfect counterbalance to Cushing’s more intellectual and cautious Dr. Maitland, adding layers of tension and intrigue to their exchanges.

While the film shines through its performances, it’s not without its flaws. The pacing, while intentional, can feel sluggish at times, and the plot lacks the complexity or momentum seen in other contemporary horror films. The terror derived from the skull itself is largely psychological, which can feel underwhelming in a decade brimming with more overtly terrifying cinematic monsters. However, Freddie Francis’ direction ensures that the sense of doom and claustrophobia never completely wanes, and the film’s eerie atmosphere, aided by strong set design and cinematography, does manage to sustain a haunting mood throughout.

The Prognosis:

The Skull stands as a solid, if not exceptional, entry in 1960s British horror. It’s a film elevated by the formidable talents of Cushing and Lee, and while it may not fully satisfy fans looking for fast-paced thrills, it remains an interesting exploration of psychological horror with gothic undertones. For those who appreciate nuanced performances and atmospheric tension, The Skull is worth revisiting.

  • Saul Muerte

Nightmare Castle (1965) – A Gothic Tale Drenched in Atmosphere but Lacking in Bite

19 Thursday Sep 2024

Posted by in retrospective

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

, , , , , , , ,

Nightmare Castle (Amanti d’oltretomba), released in 1965, is a curious entry in the Italian Gothic horror canon. Directed by Mario Caiano, the film is best remembered for its haunting atmosphere and the hypnotic performance of Barbara Steele, a cult horror icon. However, despite these strengths, the film struggles to rise above its predictable narrative and uneven pacing, leaving it as a middling affair that teeters between camp and genuine menace.

At its heart, Nightmare Castle is a classic tale of revenge from beyond the grave, a trope that was well-worn even by the mid-1960s. The story centers on the sadistic Dr. Stephen Arrowsmith (Paul Muller), who, upon discovering his wife Muriel (Barbara Steele) is having an affair with the gardener, exacts a brutal form of vengeance by torturing them both to death. But as is tradition in Gothic horror, death is only the beginning. Muriel’s ghost returns to torment the living, while her heartless husband schemes to inherit her fortune by marrying her look-alike stepsister, Jenny (also played by Steele).

What Nightmare Castle excels at is atmosphere. The film is drenched in Gothic style, with its gloomy castle setting, cobwebbed corridors, and macabre experiments that feel right at home in the genre. Caiano’s direction is deliberate, crafting a slow-burn tension through shadowy cinematography and eerie set pieces. The film’s black-and-white visuals are striking, often elevating otherwise flat moments into something more sinister. Combined with Ennio Morricone’s haunting score, these elements create a mood of dread that permeates throughout the film, even when the plot falters.

The real standout of Nightmare Castle is Barbara Steele, whose dual role as Muriel and Jenny showcases her range. Steele, known for her piercing gaze and ethereal presence, is magnetic on screen, embodying both the vengeful ghost and the innocent victim with equal conviction. Her performance is the film’s emotional core, and without her, the movie would likely have faded into obscurity. There’s something captivating about Steele’s ability to straddle the line between fragility and fury, making her a perfect fit for the Gothic horror aesthetic.

Unfortunately, the rest of the film doesn’t quite live up to Steele’s performance. The plot is predictable, following well-worn Gothic horror beats with little innovation. Dr. Arrowsmith’s evil deeds are cartoonish at times, and while Muller gives a decent performance as the unhinged scientist, his character lacks depth or nuance. The pacing is also uneven, with stretches of the film dragging as it rehashes familiar tropes, particularly in the second act, where it loses momentum before gearing up for the supernatural climax.

What prevents Nightmare Castle from being more than a middling affair is its reliance on Gothic clichés without adding much substance to them. The narrative is thin, and while the film is visually engaging, it rarely delves into the psychological terror that could have elevated it. The film borrows heavily from earlier, more successful Gothic horrors, such as Mario Bava’s Black Sunday (1960), which also starred Steele. However, Nightmare Castle lacks the same level of narrative intricacy or directorial flair that made Black Sunday a classic.

Despite these flaws, Nightmare Castle has gained a certain charm over time, largely due to its Gothic visuals and Steele’s performance. It embodies many of the hallmarks of mid-century Italian horror, with its moody, dreamlike atmosphere and grotesque elements. The film’s themes of betrayal, madness, and revenge are all here, though they’re presented in a somewhat surface-level way. Still, there’s a nostalgic appeal to the film for fans of the genre, who may appreciate its visual style and the presence of Steele, even if the story itself feels formulaic.

The Prognosis:

Nightmare Castle is a film that Gothic horror enthusiasts will likely enjoy for its atmosphere and Steele’s hypnotic presence. However, its predictable plot, uneven pacing, and reliance on familiar tropes prevent it from achieving greatness. While it’s not a bad film, it’s also not a particularly memorable one, leaving it as a middling entry in the annals of 1960s Italian horror cinema. For those who love the genre, it’s worth a watch—but don’t expect it to haunt your nightmares.

  • Saul Muerte