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)

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

20 Friday Sep 2024

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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

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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

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