Monthly Archives: September 2024

The Substance (2024) – Coralie Fargeat’s Visceral Exploration of Beauty, Decay, and Rebirth

17 Tuesday Sep 2024

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Coralie Fargeat’s sophomore feature, The Substance, is an audacious, mesmerizing, and deeply disturbing exploration of beauty and societal pressure that amplifies the raw tension seen in her previous work, Revenge. If Revenge was a hyperbolic and frenetic tour de force, then The Substance takes that fanaticism to even greater extremes. Fargeat once again proves she is unafraid to push boundaries, crafting a film that both shocks and seduces in equal measure.

At the heart of the story is fading film star Elisabeth Sparkle (Demi Moore), who embarks on a desperate and grotesque journey to recapture her youth and beauty. It’s a story that channels Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde and The Picture of Dorian Gray, but Fargeat gives it a visceral, modern twist. Sparkle’s desire to regain her status sees her quite literally shedding her skin, only to reveal the youthful, more vibrant Sue (Margaret Qualley) beneath. This metaphor of transformation is one that Fargeat mines deeply, blending psychological horror with body horror to unnerving effect.

The film’s thematic exploration of the pressures placed on women in society is bold and cutting. In a world where perfection is both demanded and worshipped, The Substance critiques the lengths to which women are pushed in order to meet unattainable standards. Elisabeth Sparkle’s journey feels like a distorted mirror to Demi Moore’s own life, a meta-commentary on the demands of Hollywood and media scrutiny on aging actresses. Moore delivers what is arguably her finest performance to date, embracing the vulnerability, desperation, and eventual monstrosity of her character. Her portrayal is one that feels intensely personal, capturing the very real horror of societal rejection and the obsessive pursuit of eternal beauty.

Fargeat establishes clear rules within the twisted reality of The Substance, only to heighten the stakes with each passing scene. The film’s world is meticulously constructed, and as Elisabeth Sparkle begins her physical transformation, the boundaries between her public persona and inner turmoil dissolve. The journey is as much psychological as it is physical, with every transition becoming more grotesque and extreme.

The body horror effects are stunningly grotesque, matching the film’s over-sensualization with moments of visceral revulsion. Fargeat is unflinching in her depiction of bodily transformation, and while this may not appeal to all audiences, it is undeniably impactful. There’s a near-obsessive focus on the body—its beauty, decay, and renewal—that drives the film’s horrific imagery. These moments, combined with the film’s sensual tone, are deeply unsettling and visually striking.

The Substance also stands as a masterclass in atmosphere. Fargeat laces every frame with a sense of heightened tension and seductive horror, much like in Revenge, but here she pushes the boundaries even further. The use of lighting, sound, and color accentuates the hyperreal world in which Elisabeth Sparkle exists, adding to the film’s surreal tone. There’s an elegance to the horror, a controlled chaos that feels intentional and artfully executed.

The Prognosis:

Though The Substance is not for everyone, its bold vision, daring execution, and Demi Moore’s tour-de-force performance make it a near-perfect film for those willing to immerse themselves in Fargeat’s nightmarish world. It’s a film you don’t dare replicate, as it masterfully melds beauty with horror, elegance with grotesquery. Fargeat’s ability to combine all these elements results in a piece of cinema that lingers, challenging its audience with every frame.

  • Saul Muerte

The Substance is screening at cinemas nationwide from Thursday 19th Sept.

A Company of Wolves (1984) – A Gothic Dreamscape of Mysticism and Repressed Desires

15 Sunday Sep 2024

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Neil Jordan’s A Company of Wolves, released in 1984, stands as one of the most hauntingly atmospheric and uniquely crafted films of the 1980s. A dark and layered reimagining of classic fairy tales, the film uses the framework of Little Red Riding Hood as its narrative core, but with a heavy infusion of gothic mysticism, repressed sexuality, and lycanthropy. On its 40th anniversary, the film remains a surreal and potent exploration of the dangers lurking beneath the surface of our childhood fantasies—where innocent fairy tales are transformed into symbols of desire, fear, and transformation.

Based on Angela Carter’s short story collection The Bloody Chamber, A Company of Wolves is much more than a simple retelling of familiar folklore. The film serves as an allegorical dreamscape where the lines between reality and fantasy are constantly blurred. Its story unfolds within the dream of a young girl, Rosaleen (Sarah Patterson), whose journey into womanhood is marked by her encounters with predatory wolves and seductive strangers. The film uses its dream logic to create a fragmented yet intensely symbolic narrative, one that intertwines fairy tale elements with horror, sexuality, and coming-of-age anxieties.

At the heart of A Company of Wolves is its hypnotic and lush mystical imagery. Jordan’s direction, paired with Anton Furst’s stunning production design, creates a world that feels untethered from time and space. The forests are dark and ominous, filled with twisted trees and fog, while the wolves themselves are both terrifying and strangely alluring. The cinematography casts a dreamlike haze over the film, with colors bleeding into one another and light shifting between warm and cold hues, as though the entire world is in flux, teetering between waking and dreaming. Each frame is imbued with a deep sense of mystery and danger, a visual representation of the latent desires and fears that simmer beneath the surface.

One of the film’s most intriguing aspects is its exploration of repressed sexuality. The wolves in the film are not merely monsters but representations of carnal desire and the dangerous allure of the unknown. Throughout the film, Rosaleen’s encounters with these wolves serve as metaphors for her sexual awakening. From the early warning from her grandmother (played by the ever-formidable Angela Lansbury) to “never stray from the path” to her later seduction by a mysterious huntsman, the narrative suggests that the wolves are not to be feared solely for their physical danger but also for the way they symbolize forbidden temptation. The film’s most iconic transformation scenes, where men morph into wolves, often in grotesque and visceral ways, can be seen as representations of the animalistic instincts that lurk beneath the human facade—instincts tied directly to the body and its desires.

The casting of Sarah Patterson as Rosaleen was a masterstroke. Patterson embodies the wide-eyed innocence of a young girl on the cusp of womanhood, but as the film progresses, her performance reveals a deeper understanding of the conflicting emotions Rosaleen experiences. Her transformation from naive child to a woman who willingly faces the wolf, unafraid of the consequences, is subtle but profound. Angela Lansbury, in her role as the grandmother, offers a voice of caution and tradition, representing the old-world view of sexuality as something dangerous and to be avoided. Yet even her warnings carry a sense of intrigue and danger, as though she herself understands the power of what she fears.

The Company of Wolves is also notable for how it subverts the traditional fairy tale. Jordan and Carter’s screenplay takes the familiar story of Little Red Riding Hood and turns it on its head, using it to explore the psychological underpinnings of fear, desire, and power. In this version, the wolf is not merely a symbol of male predation but also of liberation from societal constraints. By the film’s end, Rosaleen no longer fears the wolf but embraces her connection to it, suggesting a merging of the human and animalistic, the conscious and unconscious. This twist transforms the film into something far more complex than a simple tale of good versus evil—it becomes an exploration of the dualities within us all, particularly in the realm of sexuality and identity.

The fusion of lycanthropy with the fairy tale genre is one of the film’s most original and striking features. While werewolves had been a staple of horror cinema for decades by 1984, A Company of Wolves does not treat lycanthropy as merely a monstrous affliction. Instead, it is a deeply symbolic and transformative process, one tied to the anxieties of growing up and the inherent fear of losing control over one’s body and desires. In the film, becoming a wolf is not only a curse but also a means of shedding societal expectations and embracing the primal aspects of one’s nature. This inversion of the traditional werewolf mythos adds to the film’s richness and depth, making it a standout in both the horror and fantasy genres.

Forty years on, A Company of Wolves remains an enchanting, thought-provoking, and visually stunning film that delves deep into the psyche, exploring themes that are as relevant today as they were in 1984. It may not have the universal appeal of mainstream fairy tale adaptations, but its power lies in its ability to challenge and unsettle, asking the audience to confront the darkness within themselves. Its mystical imagery, potent symbolism, and daring take on repressed sexuality make it a film that still resonates, even after all these years.

For those looking for a fairy tale that isn’t afraid to reveal its teeth, A Company of Wolves is an unforgettable cinematic experience—a journey into the dark heart of human desire wrapped in a chilling yet beautiful package.

  • Saul Muerte

Trap (2024) – M. Night Shyamalan’s Latest Caught in Its Own Web of Predictability and Mystery

15 Sunday Sep 2024

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M. Night Shyamalan’s Trap is a film that finds itself, fittingly, ensnared by the very traps the director has become known for over his career. Oscillating between moments of genuine intrigue and stretches of predictable plotting, Trap attempts to weave in suspense and tension, but too often falls victim to Shyamalan’s familiar trappings. While the film offers its share of tension, it struggles to surprise, leaning too heavily on well-worn formulas that dilute its impact.

The film draws noticeable inspiration from Hitchcockian thrillers, particularly Shadow of a Doubt. Shyamalan borrows elements of psychological cat-and-mouse games and suspicion, aiming to inject Trap with a similar slow-burn dread. The Hitchcock influence is unmistakable in the way the story unfolds, with characters hiding dark secrets and a persistent air of unease hovering over the narrative. However, Shyamalan’s execution feels more obligatory than original, making Trap more a homage than a fresh take on the genre.

Josh Hartnett is the film’s clear standout, offering a performance that feels fully in control of the tension at play. As the character trapped in a high-stakes game, Hartnett channels both calm and calculated manipulation alongside a simmering undercurrent of insecurity. His performance brings to mind Hitchcock’s most compelling antiheroes, balancing charm with danger in a way that keeps the audience guessing. Hartnett’s ability to toggle between these emotions gives the film a much-needed anchor, especially as the plot begins to lean too heavily into predictable twists.

Where Trap falters is in its attempt to maintain the fine balance between mystery and Shyamalan’s trademark twist-heavy approach. While the setup is promising and the tension builds nicely, the film quickly falls into a familiar rhythm. The twists that emerge—while necessary for the narrative—don’t quite land with the same impact that one might expect from a Shyamalan film. Rather than feeling shocking or fresh, they seem to borrow from films of the past, leaving Trap feeling a bit too derivative.

Yet despite these shortcomings, Trap remains fun, largely due to Shyamalan’s ability to create mood and atmosphere. The Hitchcockian elements add a layer of tension, even if they lack originality, and the film maintains a steady rhythm that keeps you engaged, if not fully surprised.

The Prognosis:

Trap is entertaining but uneven. Shyamalan’s attempt to balance Hitchcock-inspired suspense with his own familiar twists results in a film that’s enjoyable yet flawed. But with a standout performance from Josh Hartnett and a few tense moments, it’s still a fun ride, even if it feels like you’ve been down this road before.

  • Saul Muerte

The Deliverance (2023) – A Character-Driven Drama That Falls Back on Familiar Formulas

14 Saturday Sep 2024

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The Deliverance, based on a true story, aims to delve deep into the emotional and personal struggles of its characters, particularly those portrayed by Glenn Close and Andra Day. At first glance, it promises a gripping, introspective journey, focusing on the kind of slow-burn, character-driven drama that pulls you in. However, while the film does dedicate ample time to fleshing out its protagonists, it unfortunately stumbles by offering little else to elevate the overall experience.

The film takes its time to build up its central characters, Close and Day in particular, giving the audience a peek into their inner worlds and traumas. Their performances are solid, with Close bringing her seasoned gravitas and Day delivering a commendable portrayal of emotional depth. This focus on character development is understandable, considering it’s a true story, and the filmmakers clearly want us to empathise with their journey. The problem, however, is that the film seems overly invested in this process to the detriment of its narrative pacing and structure.

Once we move past the extensive character-building, what’s left is a plot that feels like it’s on autopilot. Instead of diving into new, thought-provoking territory, The Deliverance resorts to formulaic tropes that have been recycled countless times before. The tension builds, as expected, but there’s an unmistakable feeling that you’ve seen it all before in other dramas of its kind—films from yesteryear that The Deliverance borrows from without adding anything fresh to the mix.

The film’s reliance on tried and tested formulas creates a sense of predictability, leaving few surprises for the audience. Even moments that should hit hard emotionally feel muted because the narrative follows such a familiar path. What starts as an intriguing, personal story ultimately loses momentum, weighed down by clichés and conventional plot devices that strip the film of its potential impact.

The Prognosis:

Despite the strong performances and a promising setup, The Deliverance falls short in its attempt to be more than the sum of its parts. Its commitment to character development is admirable but comes at the cost of the film’s overall engagement, leaving the audience with a story that feels hollow beneath the surface.

  • Saul Muerte

A Bloodthirsty Killer (1965) – A Korean Horror Gem that Struggles to Cut Deep

14 Saturday Sep 2024

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Released in 1965, A Bloodthirsty Killer (also known as Salinma) is one of the earlier horror films to emerge from South Korea, giving a chilling glimpse into the cultural and supernatural fears of the time. Directed by Lee Yong-min, the film is often celebrated for blending traditional Korean ghost stories with the aesthetic influence of Western horror cinema. While it does have moments of eerie tension and a narrative steeped in tragic revenge, it doesn’t fully hit the mark, leaving it as a film that’s appreciated for its ambition but limited in its overall execution.

The plot centres around a vengeful spirit that haunts a noble household after a dark secret lead to the unjust death of a woman. This woman’s spirit returns to wreak havoc, targeting her former family with a relentless thirst for revenge. Classic themes of guilt, betrayal, and supernatural retribution dominate the storyline, familiar territory for anyone versed in both Korean and broader Asian ghost tales. Yet the film does manage to inject its own unique flavour into this well-worn trope by grounding the supernatural horror within a distinctly Korean cultural framework.

Where A Bloodthirsty Killer excels is in its eerie atmosphere. Lee Yong-min’s direction makes effective use of shadowy, candle-lit interiors and wide, oppressive landscapes to create a sense of dread. The film’s slower pacing is deliberate, allowing the tension to build gradually as the ghost’s presence becomes more threatening. There’s a sense that the environment itself is as haunted as the characters, which adds to the film’s unsettling quality. The visual style is heavily influenced by Japanese ghost stories (such as Kwaidan from 1964), with ghostly apparitions portrayed in eerie, flowing robes and haunting stares that stick with the viewer.

While the visual style and mood of the film are solid, the story struggles with pacing issues. The film’s methodical approach occasionally veers into sluggish territory, and the middle act can feel repetitive, with scenes of the ghost tormenting her victims offering little variation. As a result, the tension sometimes flattens when it should be escalating. The ghostly set-pieces, while well-executed, never quite reach the chilling heights of its Japanese counterparts or the Western Gothic influences it draws from. The film’s climax, though satisfying in concept, lacks the sharp impact that could have made this a truly unforgettable horror piece.

The performances in A Bloodthirsty Killer are a mixed bag. While the actors manage to convey the familial tension and rising fear, the character development leaves something to be desired. The protagonists’ emotional arcs feel underdeveloped, leaving little room for the audience to fully invest in their fates. The ghost herself, however, is compelling, with her tragic backstory giving her a sense of pathos that makes her more than just a typical vengeful spirit. It’s this emotional complexity that gives the film some depth, even if the execution is uneven.

Another notable aspect is how the film subtly touches on class dynamics and family honor. Much of the horror stems from societal pressures and the consequences of moral failings. The ghost’s return isn’t just about revenge—it’s a manifestation of the guilt and shame the family has buried. This gives the film a deeper thematic layer that resonates beyond its surface-level scares, particularly in the context of mid-century Korea, where traditional values clashed with modernising forces.

However, despite these interesting themes, the film never quite transcends its limitations. The lack of a more dynamic plot or stronger character development keeps A Bloodthirsty Killer from rising to the ranks of classic horror. For a film that runs just under 90 minutes, it can feel much longer, a testament to the fact that it’s more style than substance.

In the context of Korean cinema, A Bloodthirsty Killer holds significance as one of the early pioneers of the horror genre. It paved the way for future South Korean horror films, many of which would draw on similar themes of supernatural revenge and family guilt. While the film may not be a masterpiece, it’s an intriguing piece of horror history, a stepping stone toward the complex and more polished Korean horror cinema that would follow in the decades to come.

The Prognosis:

A Bloodthirsty Killer deserves recognition for its ambition and its eerie, atmospheric visuals, but its slow pacing, thin character development, and somewhat repetitive storytelling hold it back from being a true standout. For fans of early Asian horror or those interested in the evolution of Korean cinema, it’s worth a watch, but don’t expect it to sink its teeth in too deeply.

  • Saul Muerte

The Face of Fu Manchu (1965) – A Controversial Beginning to a Problematic Franchise

13 Friday Sep 2024

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As we look back on The Face of Fu Manchu nearly six decades later, it’s clear that this 1965 film is as notorious for its casting choices as it is for launching a series of five films. Directed by Don Sharp, the movie aimed to revive Sax Rohmer’s infamous villain for a new generation of audiences, but in doing so, it sparked controversy that continues to overshadow its legacy. While the film found enough appeal to spawn sequels, it’s difficult to ignore the problematic aspects that mar what could have been an otherwise entertaining piece of 1960s pulp cinema.

The most glaring issue with The Face of Fu Manchu is the casting of Christopher Lee in the titular role. A towering figure in horror cinema, Lee was no stranger to playing villains, but his portrayal of the Chinese supervillain Fu Manchu, complete with heavy makeup to alter his appearance, is uncomfortable to watch through a modern lens. This casting choice, emblematic of the era’s widespread use of white actors in Asian roles, reflects the deep-seated racial insensitivity of the time. While Lee brings his usual gravitas to the role, the character is a caricature, reinforcing harmful stereotypes that were already outdated even in the 1960s.

Despite the controversy, The Face of Fu Manchu had a certain appeal that resonated with audiences, enough to justify the production of four sequels. The film taps into the exoticism and adventure that characterized many of the pulp stories of the early 20th century. Fu Manchu, with his elaborate schemes for world domination, is a villain in the classic sense—ruthless, cunning, and larger-than-life. The film’s blend of espionage, action, and a dash of horror provided a formula that, for all its flaws, had a certain charm for audiences craving escapism during the Cold War era.

Don Sharp’s direction brings a sense of urgency to the proceedings, with some well-executed action sequences and a brisk pace that keeps the plot moving. The film’s production values are also solid, with atmospheric settings and competent cinematography that help create a mood of suspense and intrigue. There’s an undeniable style to the film that, while dated, still holds a certain appeal for fans of mid-century genre cinema.

The supporting cast, featuring Nigel Green as Fu Manchu’s nemesis, Nayland Smith, and Joachim Fuchsberger as the intrepid Carl Jansen, provides capable performances, though they are often overshadowed by Lee’s towering presence. Green, in particular, delivers a stiff but serviceable portrayal of the stalwart British hero, embodying the colonial attitudes that are as much a part of the film’s DNA as its controversial casting.

However, the film’s flaws extend beyond its casting choices. The plot, while serviceable, is fairly formulaic, relying on familiar tropes and set pieces that become repetitive over the course of the series. The character of Fu Manchu himself, while menacing, lacks the depth or complexity to make him a truly compelling villain, reducing him to a stock figure of evil rather than a character with genuine motivations.

The Prognosis:

The Face of Fu Manchu is a film that’s difficult to recommend without reservations. Its appeal lies in its adventure and escapism, but this is undercut by the uncomfortable racial stereotypes that it perpetuates. The film’s legacy is further complicated by the fact that it served as the foundation for a series that, while commercially successful, did little to address or rectify the problematic elements introduced in this first installment.

As we reflect on The Face of Fu Manchu today, it serves as a reminder of how far cinema has come in terms of representation and how much further it still has to go. While the film may have found an audience in its time, its outdated attitudes and controversial casting leave it as a relic of an era best remembered as a lesson rather than a triumph of the genre.

  • Saul Muerte

We Are Zombies (2024) – A Nostalgic Nod to 90s Horror-Comedy

12 Thursday Sep 2024

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We Are Zombies, the latest offering from RKSS (the team behind Turbo Kid and Summer of 84), attempts to inject a new burst of energy into the well-worn zombie genre. Set in a world where the undead, or “living-impaired,” coexist with humans, the film follows three slackers—Karl, Maggie, and Freddy—as they cook up a scheme to profit from selling off zombies to a shady corporation. However, their plan takes a turn for the worse when their grandmother is kidnapped, launching them into a frantic rescue mission.

Blending irreverent humour with over-the-top gore, We Are Zombies harkens back to the quirky horror-comedies of the 90s. Its tone, humour, and overall vibe recall classics like Army of Darkness and Dead Alive, where the absurdity of the premise is embraced with gleeful abandon. Karl, Maggie, and Freddy are likeable slackers, reminiscent of the kind of lovable goofs you’d expect to find in a Kevin Smith or early Robert Rodriguez film. This throwback appeal is one of the film’s strongest elements, and RKSS clearly revels in balancing old-school horror tropes with a playful, modern twist.

However, despite its charm and humour, the film doesn’t fully break new ground. While the dynamic trio makes for fun protagonists, the story occasionally feels thin, relying heavily on gore and slapstick rather than delivering more depth or innovation to the zombie genre. The plot’s predictable turns and the comedy’s reliance on familiar beats may make We Are Zombies feel more like an homage than a truly fresh entry.

That being said, it’s clear that RKSS had a blast creating this gory, comedic world, and for fans of horror-comedy, it’s an entertaining ride. The practical effects are top-notch, and the splattery, often grotesque visuals add a layer of fun for those who enjoy a more old-school, hands-on approach to horror makeup.

The Prognosis:

We Are Zombies may not reinvent the wheel, but it’s a solid, fun throwback to the 90s horror-comedy era with a modern edge. If you’re a fan of quirky, likeable characters getting in over their heads amid a blood-soaked zombie outbreak, this film is worth a watch—even if it doesn’t completely shamble into classic territory.

  • Saul Muerte

Catch the screening of We Are Zombies at the Sydney Underground Film Festival at Dendy, Newtown.

Screening times and tickets available below:

FRIDAY 13TH SEPTEMBER – 9:45 PM

House of Terrors (1965) – A Unique, Atmospheric Spin on The Haunting

12 Thursday Sep 2024

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Hajime Satô’s House of Terrors (Kaibyô Noroi no Yakata) is an intriguing entry into the haunted house genre, offering a distinctive Japanese take on the themes explored in Robert Wise’s The Haunting (1963). While it doesn’t quite reach the heights of its inspiration, House of Terrors manages to deliver an eerie, atmospheric experience that will appeal to fans of slow-burn horror.

The film follows a grieving widow who inherits a secluded mansion after her husband’s mysterious death. Accompanied by her maid, she soon discovers that the mansion harbours vengeful spirits, including that of her late husband. This setup, while familiar, is given a fresh twist through the lens of Japanese folklore and cultural nuances, which add layers of intrigue to the unfolding mystery.

One of the film’s strongest aspects is its use of atmosphere. Satô skillfully crafts a sense of dread, utilising the mansion’s shadowy corridors and haunting silence to build tension. The cinematography, with its unsettling angles and effective use of light and shadow, is clearly influenced by The Haunting. However, House of Terrors injects its own flavor, with a more surreal and dreamlike quality that distinguishes it from its Western counterparts.

The pacing, while deliberately slow, serves to heighten the sense of unease. House of Terrors takes its time to unravel its story, allowing the viewer to sink into the eerie world it creates. While this approach might test the patience of some viewers, it also rewards those who appreciate a more measured build-up. The climax, though not as explosive as one might hope, is still satisfying in its own way, offering a resolution that is both haunting and thought-provoking.

The performances are solid, if not particularly memorable. The cast does a commendable job with the material, especially given the film’s focus on atmosphere over character development. The widow’s descent into fear and paranoia is portrayed with subtlety, and while the characters might not be as fully fleshed out as one would like, they serve their purpose within the narrative.

What sets House of Terrors apart is its unique blend of Western and Eastern horror elements. The film’s ghostly apparitions and cursed mansion are classic horror tropes, but the way Satô infuses them with Japanese cultural motifs and folklore gives the film a distinct identity. This cross-cultural approach adds an extra layer of interest, particularly for viewers familiar with the genre.

However, House of Terrors is not without its flaws. The slow pacing, while effective in building atmosphere, can also feel a bit meandering at times. Some scenes stretch on longer than necessary, which can dilute the tension rather than amplify it. Additionally, the film’s reliance on atmosphere means that it occasionally sacrifices narrative coherence, leaving certain plot points underdeveloped.

Despite these shortcomings, House of Terrors is an engaging watch, particularly for those who enjoy classic haunted house stories with a twist. It may not achieve the same level of psychological horror as The Haunting, but its atmospheric visuals and unique cultural perspective make it a noteworthy addition to the genre. For fans of Japanese horror and Gothic cinema alike, this film offers a moody, unsettling journey into the supernatural.

  • Saul Muerte

Saint Clare (2024) – Promising Cast, Unbalanced Execution

09 Monday Sep 2024

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Saint Clare, directed by Mitzi Peirone, comes with a premise that immediately piqued my interest—blending psychological tension with the religious undertones of its titular character, Clare Beeker. While the film boasts a notable cast, including Bella Thorne in the lead role, along with the familiar faces of Ryan Phillippe and Rebecca De Mornay, it ultimately struggles to find its footing, leaving much of its potential untapped.

Let’s start with Bella Thorne. I’ll admit, she’s not an actor I typically connect with on screen, as her performances often come across as lacking emotional depth. However, in Saint Clare, she does a decent job portraying the enigmatic and haunted Clare Beeker. There’s a fragility to her portrayal that occasionally breaks through, and I found myself more engaged with her performance than I expected to be. That said, there are still moments where her character feels distant and underdeveloped, which keeps the audience from fully investing in Clare’s internal turmoil. It’s as though she’s on the cusp of something more profound but never quite reaches it.

The film also brings back Ryan Phillippe and Rebecca De Mornay, which is a pleasant surprise for anyone who’s missed seeing these two on screen. Phillippe plays his role competently, though there’s not much for him to work with. De Mornay, meanwhile, brings her usual grace and presence, but like Phillippe, her character is underutilized, leaving me wanting more from both actors. Their presence feels more like a nostalgic nod than an essential component of the story.

The true standout, however, is Frank Whaley. Despite being criminally underused, Whaley steals every scene he’s in, offering a refreshing balance between reality and fantasy. His performance adds a much-needed layer of complexity to a film that often teeters on the edge of surrealism but never fully commits. Whaley’s ability to walk the fine line between grounded reality and unsettling fantasy suggests that Saint Clare could have leaned further into its psychological aspects, using his character as a bridge between the two worlds.

Unfortunately, the film’s execution is where things start to falter. While there are moments that hint at something deeper—particularly with its exploration of Clare’s fractured psyche and the eerie atmosphere surrounding her—the pacing is uneven, and the script lacks focus. What could have been an intense exploration of faith, guilt, and redemption gets bogged down by disjointed storytelling and underwhelming tension. The film never fully grips you in the way it intends to, leaving key plot points feeling unresolved or poorly developed.

Visually, Saint Clare has its moments. There are a few arresting images that play with the boundaries between reality and Clare’s inner world, but the cinematography often feels at odds with the tone. Rather than fully embracing the psychological horror or surrealism that the narrative teases, it settles into a more straightforward drama, which doesn’t quite mesh with the potential lurking beneath the surface.

The Prognosis:

Saint Clare feels like a missed opportunity. It boasts a capable cast and an interesting premise, but the uneven execution keeps it from being more than a brief curiosity. While Bella Thorne delivers a better performance than usual, and Frank Whaley shines in his limited screen time, the film fails to maintain momentum or dive deep into its more intriguing themes. It’s worth a watch for the cast alone, but Saint Clare ultimately struggles to rise above mediocrity, leaving me wanting more from what could have been a much darker, more compelling tale.

  • Saul Muerte

Catch the screening of Saint Clare at the Sydney Underground Film Festival at Dendy, Newtown.

Screening times and tickets available below:

FRIDAY 13TH SEPTEMBER – 7PM

SATURDAY 14TH SEPTEMBER – 8PM

All You Need is Death (2024) – A Sinister Tune that Loses Its Power

07 Saturday Sep 2024

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Paul Duane’s All You Need is Death begins with an enticing premise, steeped in the rich folklore and haunting traditions of Ireland, but as the narrative unfolds, it struggles to maintain the initial tension and promise it sets up. The film, which revolves around a young couple’s discovery of an ancient, taboo folk ballad, dives into themes of love, death, and the dark power of music. While there are moments of disturbing brilliance and an intriguing exploration of Irish mythology, the film ultimately falters in delivering a cohesive or captivating story.

At its core, All You Need is Death is a meditation on the power of music to carry both history and curses through time. The young couple, played with solid commitment by Simone Collins and her co-star Charlie Maher, are collectors of rare folk ballads, drawn into a sinister mystery when they record and translate a forbidden song from the distant past. The weight of the song—carried through generations of women who were forced to bear its cursed legacy—is a compelling idea, and Duane’s vision of an ancient, almost primal force embedded in the music has genuine potential.

The film’s opening scenes are some of its strongest, immersing the audience in the deep, folkloric atmosphere of rural Ireland. There’s a palpable sense of dread and mystery as the couple’s curiosity leads them into darker, more dangerous territory. The exploration of cult-like figures, secret histories, and the uncanny resonance of the song is effective in building tension, and Duane crafts these scenes with an unsettling edge, suggesting that the past is never truly gone—it lingers in the present, carried through cultural artifacts like music.

However, once the initial mystery is established, the film struggles to keep up the momentum. What starts as a fascinating delve into the supernatural and the occult loses its sharpness as the plot meanders, repeating certain ideas without developing them further. While the cursed ballad is an effective metaphor for the way history and trauma are passed down through time, the execution feels drawn out, and the film becomes bogged down in its own mythology. Instead of deepening the intrigue, All You Need is Death falls into a series of repetitive sequences that dampen the initial sense of dread.

Simone Collins is a clear standout in the film, delivering a nuanced performance that captures the slow unraveling of her character’s sanity as the curse takes hold. Her portrayal of a woman caught between the ancient and the modern, the living and the dead, is powerful, and she brings emotional depth to the film even when the script falters. Collins’ ability to convey the psychological toll of the song’s curse elevates the otherwise flat narrative, and her performance alone is worth watching.

The film’s themes of repressed history, particularly in its treatment of women’s voices being both vessels and victims of the curse, resonate on a symbolic level. The idea that the song has been carried through time, forced upon generations of women who had no choice but to bear its weight, is a strong thematic thread, but it’s one that is never fully explored. The horror of being a conduit for something destructive is hinted at but never given the depth it deserves. As the film progresses, these ideas are overshadowed by less compelling plot developments, and the emotional weight of the story is lost in the shuffle.

Duane’s direction is strongest when he leans into the more abstract, mystical aspects of the story. There are visually arresting moments—such as scenes that depict the landscape of Ireland as both beautiful and foreboding, echoing the duality of the song itself—but these moments are too few and far between. The film could have benefitted from a more focused exploration of the ancient, pagan themes it toys with rather than falling into a conventional horror rhythm that feels tired by the time the climax arrives.

The Prognosis:

All You Need is Death suffers from a lack of narrative drive. While it touches on fascinating ideas—such as the inescapability of history, the power of songlines to carry curses, and the dark side of love—the film doesn’t sustain these themes in a way that keeps the audience engaged. What begins as a chilling and thought-provoking journey into the past becomes a meandering tale that loses its bite.

For a film that promises a lot with its eerie concept, it ultimately leaves much to be desired. All You Need is Death is worth a watch for its themes and some strong performances, particularly from Simone Collins, but it never quite reaches its potential, losing steam before the credits roll.

  • Saul Muerte

All You Need Is Death is currently streaming on Shudder.