V/H/S/Beyond (2024) – A Mixed Bag With Some Memorable Standouts

04 Friday Oct 2024

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The V/H/S franchise has always leaned into its unpredictable, chaotic nature, and V/H/S/Beyond continues this tradition, offering a new collection of short horror films that range from inventive and chilling to downright bizarre. This latest installment comes with some solid scares and intriguing ideas, but like most anthologies, it’s a mixed bag. The strongest segments manage to elevate the overall experience, while a few others hold it back. Here’s a breakdown of each story:

“Abduction/Adduction” – Frame Narrative

Directed by Jay Cheel, “Abduction/Adduction” serves as the glue that holds the anthology together. The premise follows a group of people documenting bizarre encounters with alien abductions, which links the other stories in a creative, albeit predictable, manner. The narrative keeps things moving with just enough intrigue, but ultimately it’s more functional than memorable.

Strengths: Strong visuals, cohesive framework.
Weaknesses: Somewhat familiar storyline.

“Stork” – A Chilling, Standout Segment

Directed by Jordan Downey, “Stork” is easily one of the anthology’s highlights. This segment centers around a police unit investigating a string of baby disappearances in a decrepit house. What starts as a procedural investigation quickly devolves into something much more unsettling, with the house itself becoming a labyrinth of horrors. Downey creates a palpable sense of dread throughout, blending supernatural elements with gritty realism. The imagery is nightmarish, and the tension builds to a truly disturbing climax.

Strengths: Atmosphere, direction, disturbing imagery.
Weaknesses: Some predictable elements, but it’s a standout.

“Dream Girl” – Bollywood Horror with a Twist

Virat Pal’s “Dream Girl” takes the found footage genre in an unexpected direction, focusing on two paparazzi who sneak onto the set of a Bollywood film. What starts off as a humorous misadventure quickly turns into a chilling encounter with Tara, a famous actress hiding dark secrets in her trailer. The blending of Bollywood glitz with horror works well here, and the segment’s twist is both shocking and satisfying. Pal’s ability to shift from lighthearted moments to sheer terror makes this one of the more engaging stories.

Strengths: Originality, strong twist.
Weaknesses: Some pacing issues.

“Live and Let Dive” – Fun but Chaotic

Justin Martinez’s “Live and Let Dive” takes the anthology in a more action-packed direction, following a group of skydivers who find themselves in a fight for survival after their plane collides with a UFO. This segment is a wild ride from start to finish, blending sci-fi with horror. While the concept is thrilling, the execution feels rushed, and the story lacks depth. That said, it’s still fun, especially for those who enjoy chaotic, fast-paced horror.

Strengths: Action, unique premise.
Weaknesses: Rushed storytelling, lack of emotional connection.

“Fur Babies” – The Weakest Entry

Directed by Justin Long and Christian Long, “Fur Babies” is easily the weakest link in the anthology. The story follows animal rights activists who break into a taxidermist’s house, only to find a grotesque secret in her basement. Despite an interesting premise, the segment feels disjointed and lacks the sharp edge needed to make it effective. Long seems to be channeling some Tusk-era vibes here, but the result is more off-putting than terrifying. The horror elements feel forced, and the comedic moments don’t land, leaving the segment feeling out of place in the anthology.

Strengths: Potential in the premise.
Weaknesses: Disjointed execution, forced humor.

“Stowaway” – A Strong Directorial Debut

Rounding out the anthology is “Stowaway,” directed by Kate Siegel in her directorial debut and written by horror maestro Mike Flanagan. This segment centers on a woman documenting strange lights over the Mojave Desert, slowly unraveling a terrifying mystery. “Stowaway” shines with its minimalist approach, building suspense through atmosphere and subtle scares rather than relying on gore or jump scares. Siegel proves herself as a promising director, and with Flanagan’s script, this segment serves as a perfect closer, leaving audiences with an unsettling feeling that lingers after the credits roll.

Strengths: Atmosphere, storytelling, direction.
Weaknesses: Some might find the pacing too slow.

The Prognosis:

V/H/S/Beyond continues the franchise’s tradition of showcasing diverse horror styles within the found footage format. While some segments, like “Stork” and “Stowaway,” rise above the rest, others, like “Fur Babies,” drag the overall experience down. Still, it offers enough creativity and scares to make it a worthy entry in the series. Fans of the franchise will appreciate the variety, even if the anthology doesn’t always hit the mark.

  • Saul Muerte

V/H/S/Beyond will stream on Shudder from 4th October.

Audition (1999): A Harrowing Balance of Feminism, Misogyny, and J-Horror Mastery

01 Tuesday Oct 2024

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Takashi Miike’s Audition is a film that blurs the line between genres, perceptions, and expectations. Initially masquerading as a melancholic romance, it stealthily devolves into a nerve-shattering nightmare that helped cement the late 1990s surge of the J-horror movement. But more than just a horror film, Audition is a visceral exploration of feminism, misogyny, and the grotesque power dynamics between men and women.

At its core, Audition presents itself as a critique of patriarchal entitlement. The premise, in which a middle-aged widower, Aoyama, uses a fake casting call to audition women for a potential new wife, unfolds like a manifestation of male objectification. His desire to “choose” the perfect partner through deception echoes centuries of male-dominated narratives. This setup is a classic male fantasy—until it unravels into a female nightmare, and Miike deftly shifts the audience’s sympathies.

Enter Asami Yamazaki, played by Eihi Shiina, one of the most compelling antagonists in modern cinema. Asami initially appears soft-spoken, delicate, and vulnerable, but she quickly becomes the embodiment of pent-up rage against male oppression. Her transformation is as much a shock to the audience as it is to Aoyama, turning from passive prey into the embodiment of vengeance. Asami’s cruelty is chilling not because it’s unexplained, but because it feels so justifiable within the framework of the film. She avenges not only her own pain but the collective trauma of silenced women, using sadistic torture as her means of expression. Asami’s soft “Kiri, kiri, kiri” during the film’s climax is one of the most terrifying and iconic moments in cinema—a sweet whisper of brutality that echoes long after the film ends.

Audition also stands as a pivotal film in the torture-horror subgenre, long before “torture porn” was coined to describe Western films like Saw and Hostel. What separates Miike’s film is the emotional and psychological depth behind the violence. The infamous torture scene—where Aoyama is rendered immobile and subjected to unspeakable pain—is not just there for shock value. It reflects deeper themes of control, vengeance, and the fragility of human bodies and relationships. It’s a slow, methodical build-up to terror, with Miike ensuring that every second of pain is felt by both the characters and the audience.

Released at the height of the J-horror wave alongside films like Ringu and Ju-on, Audition managed to stand apart due to its hybrid nature. While Ringu and its peers focused on supernatural dread, Audition delves into the psychological horror of human relationships. The supernatural in Miike’s world is implied rather than overt—it’s in the dreamlike sequences, the uncanny disconnect between Asami’s sweet demeanor and her sadism, and the eerie stillness that pervades every frame. Miike’s use of restrained cinematography, especially in the film’s first half, lulls the viewer into a false sense of security before pulling the rug out in the third act, transforming romantic subtleties into abject terror.

The film’s feminism and misogyny walk hand in hand, both reflecting and critiquing societal norms. Asami’s vengeance, in a sense, can be seen as a rebuke to the ingrained misogyny Aoyama represents, but Miike also uses Asami’s character to question the extremities of feminist retaliation. Her actions are simultaneously righteous and monstrous, blurring the lines between victim and villain. This duality forces the viewer to grapple with their own moral compass, never offering a clean resolution or simple interpretation.

Audition is a film that lingers. Its depiction of torture, emotional manipulation, and gender politics still resonates in modern horror. Asami Yamazaki remains an unforgettable figure, not just in J-horror but in global cinema—a character as terrifying as she is tragic. Audition is a masterpiece that’s not just about horror but about the human capacity for cruelty, control, and vengeance.

Takashi Miike’s work here is a testament to the power of cinema to provoke, unsettle, and challenge. With Audition, he delivered a film that stands tall in the pantheon of horror, one that haunts the mind long after the final frame.

  • Saul Muerte

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

29 Sunday Sep 2024

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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)