Well, then. The 2018 British Horror Film Festival took place at Cineworld Leicester Square on Sat 24th November, and I was lucky enough to see some of its content. I've done a quick roundup of some of the short films on offer here. There were things to watch, there were questions to be asked and I'm delighted to note that most of my pointers from last year seem to have been taken onboard. Nice to know I'm not wasting my time, at least.
Part of all this was Rob Heydon's Isabelle, the story of Larissa (Amanda Crew) and Matt (Adam Brody), a young couple expecting a baby who move into a new house in New York State*2. When Larissa miscarries, the trauma and isolation she feels is heightened by the strange young wheelchair-bound woman in the neighbouring house, Isabelle (Zoë Belkin), who always seems to be watching from the upstairs window. And none of this is helped by the girl's reclusive mother Ann (Sheila McCarthy) and the hushed whispers in the neighbourhood about the house…
First things first, this wasn't a hate-watch. Second things second, I didn't hate it. Third things third, but I have issues. Or rather, the film has…
NEIGHBOUR Oh, mate. When your supernatural neighbour is actually, really, actual cackling, you're probably trying too hard. Yet conversely, not hard enough. It's fine having the creepy villain sitting in the upstairs window next door, but like the Eiffel Tower in a bad euro-thriller, she's apparently visible from every room in Larissa and Matt's house.
The film feels let down by its own jump-scares and desaturated colour-palette. Blumhouse have already flogged that horse to death and I'm certain Isabelle had more to offer at an early stage. Heydon can't quite make up his mind what story he wants to tell, or how it needs to be told. Between the eerie nursery, the near-death experience, the Samara-Lite™ across the way, the third-act exposition coming from a series of old newspaper articles and a possession sub-plot which isn't sure if it's based around fanatical Catholicism or the occult, there's a disappointing lack of anything actually new.
Oh, and the baddie has glowing red eyes. That's how we know she's bad.
SULLIVAN Isabelle is structurally sound but feels like it's bringing nothing to the party. It has the air of a short film which has been expanded out to feature-length*3, but then doesn't have the extra writing to properly explore the psychological roots of it characters. On top of this jumble, we get occasional scenes from inside next door's house which telegraph the backstory before our protagonists find out, so that it's not clear whose perspective this is all coming from.
The film runs on rails like a ghost train made by people who have only ridden on other ghost trains. The story's big reveal takes its sweet time coming, which is ironic since it's been telegraphed since the first appearance of The Ghoul Next Door. Mark Korven's score is intrusive, not bad per se, but just generic fare played too loudly and too often. And Finder Spyder, the in-movie search engine equivalent of the Wilhelm Scream, for when you know in advance that Google will just say no.
Oh, and then there's some tacked-on, batshit-crazy Sliding Doors type ending which can only be because a) writer Donald Martin wanted a happier ending than the one the screenplay was otherwise headed to, or b) writer Donald Martin thinks this might leave it open to… a… a sequel (quiet at the back).
SON AND DAUGHTER I actually felt slightly bad about watching Isabelle in a cinema (although it was thankfully the one of the day where the creators weren't present in the room), because this is otherwise destined straight for the DVD shelf in Sainsbury's. And not the one with the chart releases on it.
The worst thing is that the emotional cornerstone of Isabelle is grief, with Amanda Crew and Adam Brody both turning in really strong performances and moments of genuine upset. To a lesser extent there's a parallel story playing out over at Isabelle's house, although that's really not explored. All of this seems like it's gone to waste as a lot of heavyweight issues and themes are papered over with a cheap horror flick, the very opposite of what the genre is best at.
Fun fact:Isabelle won the award for Best Feature Film at the British Horror Film Festival 2018.
Unrelated fact: Because the screening of The Exorcism Of Karen Walker was cancelled at the 11th hour*4, Isabelle was the only feature film to play at the British Horror Film Festival 2018.
Make of that what you will.
All of the other suburban horror-flicks, let's be fair.
It's not.
Stream it, tops.
Nope.
I've you've watched it as well, probably not.
There isn't.
Level 2: Amanda Crew was in that Age Of Adaline with Harrison 'Solo' Ford.
*1 Well, the rating on my ticket and on Cineworld's website says it's an 18, but the film isn't actually listed on the BBFC site yet which means it isn't officially rated. It plays like a 15, anyway. [ BACK ]
*2 Yeah, I don't quite understand how a film from a Canadian director, with a Canadian cast and set in America is being presented at the British Horror Film Festival, either. Although this sort of thing happened last year, too. [ BACK ]
*3 Well, 80 minutes. I mean, 90 is the rock-bottom standard for a feature, but 80 (including the end-credits, remember) just feels like it isn't trying. Yet at the same time, there's a lot of padding which could come out with no adverse affect (probably the opposite, in fact). [ BACK ]
*4 And this is in no way intended to put down the BHFF, but what was last year a multi-day festival with four feature screenings plus shorts on the one I attended, seems to have become a one-day event with twelve shorts and one full-length movie (due to the aforementioned cancellation). Less of a Festival™ and more of a Hiring Out Screen 2 For The Day™ with some trophies in the corner. And while it was moderately busy, the screenings I was at weren't sold out and seemed to be mostly populated by people coming to watch their own movies, although I suspect that's a Film Festival thing in general. I just get the impression that either interest in the BHFF is waning, or it was organised at the last minute. Frightfest doesn't have this problem. There, I said it. [ BACK ]
DISCLAIMERS:
• ^^^ That's dry, British humour, and most likely sarcasm or facetiousness.
• Yen's blog contains harsh language and even harsher notions of propriety. Reader discretion is advised.
• This is a personal blog. The views and opinions expressed here represent my own thoughts (at the time of writing) and not those of the people, institutions or organisations that I may or may not be related with unless stated explicitly.
Not sure why I hadn't noticed before, but Edgar Allen Poe us basically Charles Dickens for goths, isn't he? Excellent stuff. Anyway, last up for the 2017 British Horror Film Festival was Stephen Cookson bringing us Tell Tale Heart, a film adaptation of actor Steven Berkoff's own stage adaptation of the classic Poe short story. This telling takes place in London's Whitechapel district in 1890, as a fastidious and eccentric manservant confides in the viewer how he stalked, tormented, murdered and dismembered his elderly, vulture-eyed master*1.
Although other performers appear (and with substantial roles and dialogue), this is effectively an 80-minute multi-scene monologue from Berkoff, with the unsettling mannerisms of Donald Pleasance and timbre of Anthony Hopkins. Tell Tale Heart is what happens when a theatre heavyweight steps back into film. Self-indulgent beyond belief, but absolutely glorious as a performance-piece, and few others could make it work like Berkoff does. This is, let us be kind, a slightly challenging watch. Rewarding in its own theatrical way, but challenging nonetheless as a diaristic descent into spiralling madness.
Alongside the performances, the lighting*2, music, cinematography, and the meticulous and trepidatious pacing are all note-perfect. Once this piece hits the domestic release market, it will become my Hallow'een-tradition equivalent of watching A Christmas Carol. Magnificently macabre...
This main feature was prefaced by Simon Ross's 19-minute short, Deal Cool, a morbid farce which is genuinely horrifying, touching as it does on delusion, abduction, r*+e, murder and necrophilia in a present-day suburban setting. Not quite as outwardly grotesque as The League of Gentlemen's darker material, but every bit as quietly threatening. It's also got some genuinely funny moments, although they're mainly founded in precisely how funny the situation shouldn't be...
Think, the more period-aspects of Hellraiser, if Vincent Price was telling them on Jackanory....
If you get the chance, yes.
Absolutely .
That's not really for me to say, even though I know this will be a consistent high.
Not one jot.
There is not.
Level 2: Steven Berkoff was in that 44 Inch Chest along with Andy 'General Romodi' de la Tour.
*1 That's not a spoiler, it's literally the basis for the story he tells. [ BACK ]
*2 Genuine question though: As much as I enjoyed submerging myself in Berkoff's introspectively fantastical world, would a lit-lamp cast a solid shadow like that against a wall, especially if that shadow is only being cast by an identical lamp further away? And why does this bother me when the rest of the production is so clearly the point of view of an unreliable narrator?
[ BACK ]
DISCLAIMERS:
• ^^^ That's dry, British humour, and most likely sarcasm or facetiousness.
• Yen's blog contains harsh language and even harsher notions of propriety. Reader discretion is advised.
• This is a personal blog. The views and opinions expressed here represent my own thoughts (at the time of writing) and not those of the people, institutions or organisations that I may or may not be related with unless stated explicitly.
The third feature-length entry for BFFF's Saturday run turned out to be the most polished-looking film of the day so far. And also the one playing to the smallest audience, which felt slightly unjust. It was also the only movie without any kind of Q&A afterward, whilst coincidentally being the one I most wanted to thank the crew for making. Justice? Not in this world, mate.
Writer/director Steve Stone brings us In Extremis, the tale of Alex, a high-powered city businessman struggling to come to terms with the aspects of life he can't control. Leaving work early one day, Alex arrives back at his country mansion to find things at home are worse than he'd feared. What follows is a de-escalating character study, blurring the lines between memory, grief, nightmare, hallucination and breakdown (and unlike the film from earlier, everything pulls in the same direction - albeit downward).
The most genuinely unsettling work of the day, there's no spoon-feeding the audience (either of backstory or associated metaphor), just a relentless foreboding which drives things onward. The sense of dread grows organically, minute-by-minute, as the script respects its audience's patience and tests their trust without going so far as to break it. There's not a single action, prop, line of dialogue or facial twitch that isn't exactly where it's supposed to be.
As the focal character, David O'Hara's gruff Scottish drawl makes this feel like a Guinness advert based on an existential panic-attack, and as the narrative's reasons become clearer, reason itself dissolves; while as our protagonist's sanity entropies, so do his physical surroundings. A lot of close-framing ramps up the sense of claustrophobia, but makes In Extremis feel like a TV production rather than cinema (although still fantastic-looking TV).
But best of all, you know that this has been created for reasons other than just making a film. The finale is satisfying without feeling contrived, giving closure to some of the story's events, but leaving others unexplained*1. It's heartening to think that In Exremis exists at the same time in the horror genre as something as mechanical as the eighth Saw movie.
As it turns out, I missed the awards-show at the end of the festival's Saturday-run, but I'll be disappointed if Steve Stone didn't take home the gong for Best Use Of "that's what she said" In A Screenplay...
This will be a great companion piece to Aronofsky's mother!, although watch this first if you're doing a double-bill.
If you get the opportunity, absolutely.
Almost certainly.
I couldn't really say, although it's certainly a high watermark.
I shouldn't imagine so.
There isn't.
Level 2: Toyah Willcox is in this, and she was in an episode of Kavanagh QC alongside Oliver 'Sio Bibble' Ford Davies.
*1 Most writers would want to explain why the clocks in the house appear to be stuck on 3:05. Steve Stone has just squirrelled that away with about a hundred other reasons to re-watch the film... [ BACK ]
DISCLAIMERS:
• ^^^ That's dry, British humour, and most likely sarcasm or facetiousness.
• Yen's blog contains harsh language and even harsher notions of propriety. Reader discretion is advised.
• This is a personal blog. The views and opinions expressed here represent my own thoughts (at the time of writing) and not those of the people, institutions or organisations that I may or may not be related with unless stated explicitly.
As a film-writer far greater than me often said, "they can't all be winners". The fact that Buzzard Hollow Beef exists in its final form at all is to be commended. Right, I think that's the pleasantries out of the way...
The second film of the day about an awkward family gathering, this time a Thanksgiving weekend, BHB is a borderline-psychadelic tale of insular, small-town paranoia. With the setup of single-parent Jordan visiting her parents accompanied by her young son and best friend Paige, the trio arrive in Buzzard Hollow, an ostensibly normal town which screams of oddness - not least with the locals' enthusiasm for the local beef. As the weekend wears on, Jordan's family's behaviour becomes increasingly erratic, and things reach crisis point when the redneck sons of the local butcher come go hunting in the nearby woods. And like a school-party of drunk toddlers let loose in an abbatoir, the film is a wince-inducing mess.
Whereas The Unwilling's first scene is an unnecessarily premature plot-reveal, BHB's is not only a borderline red herring but is never referred to again, like it's from another version of the screenplay.
One minute the film is a hillbilly cannibalism-conspiracy, then it goes through Poltergeist, into Nightbreed, then dials back down to The Guest (all within one five-minute stretch). There's a certain amount of misdirection in the plot which never really works as a reveal, since everything around it is in stylistic chaos. The acting proficiency is as wildly variable as the camerawork, trying new approaches well into the runtime, and apparently for no real reason. There are very funny lines in the script and they're performed well in isolation, but aren't framed as comedic content by the larger (or even smaller) surrounding context. Tonally, BHB is all over the place, and the pacing suggests an eleventh-hour panic in the editing room*1.
A script which feels it would look naturalistic on paper is undercut by the cast delivering it with no convincing emotion, the result of which feels like a room full of actors waiting to recite their lines. Some backstory is delivered conversationally with not-quite-enough clarity for the audience, while other characters (the butcher character, the doctor character) are a case of someone walking on-set to give an unnaturally lengthy and detailed monologue. Meanwhile, the sheriff character is referred to early in the script but not seen until fifteen minutes from the end where walks in and starts talking, essentially un-introduced (he's wearing a badge: that's it). Then two members of the main family just wander out of the film in an unresolved exit. By the time Jordan arrives at the film's crescendo yelling "What have you done? What have you done?", I have to admit that I was largely on the same page.
The worst part, for me, is that there are some solid ideas in here, lost in a web of compromise, interference and creative indecision. Buzzard Hollow Beef reminds me of the under-budgeted, over-directed filler content I used to rent from Ritz Video in the early 90s, suckered in by cool box-art. The film looks like it was a lot of fun to make, but when has that ever been an indicator of quality*2. This is a reasonable second draft of a practice-run film, it'll be alright when it's finished.
This main feature was prefaced by two shorts; Mark Kuczewski's 6-minute film Happy Anniversary, a mix of zombies and (nicely restrained) 1980s nostalgia. Great fun and reminiscent of Shaun of the Dead for all the right reasons. This was followed by Jonathan Brooks' 3-minute Glasshole, a pub-set comedy about fear of technology and consumer conformity. Far smarter and more incisive than a film this short has any right to be.
House Of 1000 Corpses without the gore; The Guest without the uneasy charm.
I shouldn't imagine you'll get the chance outside of festivals and genre all-nighters, but even so: only if you're sure you're going to enjoy it.
I hope not.
I hope not.
Probably not, but that will depend on how vociferously you defend the film.
Nope.
Level 2: Nadia Kamil's in this, and she was in a 2011 episode of Holby City which starred Guy 'Tarkin' Henry.
*1 In what turns out to be a major plot-point, Jordan's dad says Paige brought a variety of craft beers that they're trying out, but a) we only ever see the same bottle/label design, placed artlessly toward the camera in every other shot, and b) Paige and Jordan have driven in from out of town, yet the beer is very clearly from the town they're visiting. On a related note, Paige says she's still tired from that drive down, yet she's been there for two days by that point in the film. How many drafts of the script were shot? [ BACK ]
*2 The writer said in the post-film Q&A*3 that the cast drank their way through much of the film-shoot. Which explains some of the haphazard nature of the final product, at least. Although as many auteurs have noted, the process of filmmaking is constant compromise; with BHB, one can only imagine... [ BACK ]
*3 Oh yeah, the Q&A. The 49-seat auditorium was around half-full, which is awkward enough at a festival screening with the film's writer present. Although worse still was the post-film question-and-answer session in which I sat tight-lipped, lest I be tempted to dryly ask "...did that really feel like the film you remember writing, though?". Hey, these guys made a film and I didn't. They're already better than I am, I know this. I'm not slamming BHB because it's an indie or it gives me any pleasure - I'm slamming it because it should be better. [ BACK ]
DISCLAIMERS:
• ^^^ That's dry, British humour, and most likely sarcasm or facetiousness.
• Yen's blog contains harsh language and even harsher notions of propriety. Reader discretion is advised.
• This is a personal blog. The views and opinions expressed here represent my own thoughts (at the time of writing) and not those of the people, institutions or organisations that I may or may not be related with unless stated explicitly.
And so the final day of the British Horror Film Festival 2017*1 began with writer/director Jonathan Heap's The Unwilling, the story of a dysfunctional family reunited at the will-reading of their estranged, abusive father. But as the opening moments of the film intimate, he may not be entirely gone*2...
By far the most traditional Horror™ movie of the day, Heap plays with memory, mania, nested-reality, OCD, addiction, the occult and metempsychosis. It's not unfair to say that there's a bit too much going on in the film's 76 minute runtime, and the result is interesting if uneven. To paraphrase a certain princess, it has "too much personality for one screenplay, but not quite enough for two".
With a definite indie-feel, the cinematography is efficient if a little televisual in places (by which I mean like a good episode of The Twilight Zone, which is by far preferable to a bad Blumhouse movie). The scripted humour feels out of place in the final product, as does That Shower Scene, hinting at earlier drafts which perhaps aimed in different directions. Pretty much every plot-progression is firmly telegraphed (although the few jump-scares aren't), but it's all nicely executed.
The film is only really let down by, if anything, the autopilot, borderline-cameo performance of its poster-name, Lance Henriksen (who would, to be fair, go to the opening of a fridge if he thought the light was going to shine on him), and what can only be described as ill-advised CGI which looks like it was rendered after the budget had ran out. But the film has some interesting ideas. Just slightly too many.
Overall I'd recommend The Unwilling for fans of the genre, but I doubt it's going to draw any new converts across the line.
This main feature was prefaced by two shorts; Emma Dark's Salient Minus Ten, a 13-minute foray into paranoid expressionism. A valiant effort but clunky, horrendously overacted and feeling far too much like A Student Film™ for its own good. This was followed by James Mansell's 3-minute NightmARes, archly dipping a toe into notions of reality in a digital-age.
Think August: Osage County, by way of Hellraiser....
Other than the festival circuit, I'm afraid this one will slink directly to DVD, if only by virtue of its run-time.
Not completely, but that's not for the lack of trying.
The only name I'm familiar with here is that of Big Lance. And in that regard: no.
Nope.
Nope.
Level 2: Right, Lance Henriksen was in Scream 3, as was Carrie 'Leia' Fisher.
*1 I'm aware that I say this as if I attended the other days of the festival. I didn't, this was a very last-minute thing. Although judging from the programme, by going to Saturday alone, I saw more full-length features than the previous days' screenings combined anyway. Despite almost having my own parking space at my local cinema, my experience of actual film festivals is limited, and although the couple I've been at were only really a series of curated performances scheduled in a regular cinema, I feel slightly out of my depth at them. But hey, there'll be more on festival etiquette in a later post. Oh, yes. Scenes. [ BACK ]
*2 An opening which feels like it's from another edit of the film, entirely. Much like the spacecraft-landing at the beginning of Predator, the sequence at the start of The Unwilling basically robs the film of its structured reveal. Well done, guys? [ BACK ]
DISCLAIMERS:
• ^^^ That's dry, British humour, and most likely sarcasm or facetiousness.
• Yen's blog contains harsh language and even harsher notions of propriety. Reader discretion is advised.
• This is a personal blog. The views and opinions expressed here represent my own thoughts (at the time of writing) and not those of the people, institutions or organisations that I may or may not be related with unless stated explicitly.
