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Freaky (2020)   There’s always a danger, with “something-meets-something” movies that all you take away is the high-concept formula, rather than getting lost in the resulting inventiveness (or lack thereof). Christopher Landon’s Happy Death Day – Groundhog Day meets Slasher – was a riot, consistently funny, surprising and well performed. Happy Death Day 2 U offered diminishing returns, but it still had its positives. Freaky, unfortunately, finds Landon rather run aground with an idea Michael Kennedy brought to him – body-swap meets serial killer –because only one half of the pitch has any legs. Which is, obviously, Vince Vaughn running

Stranger Things Season 4: Volume 2   I can’t quite find it within myself to perform the rapturous somersaults that seem to be the prevailing response to this fourth run of the show. I’ve outlined some of my thematic issues in the Volume 1 review, largely borne out here, but the greater concern is one I’ve held since Season 2 began – and this is the best run since Season 1, at least as far my failing memory can account for – and that’s the purpose-built formula dictated by the Duffer Brothers. It’s there in each new Big Bad, obviously, even to

The Exorcist (1973)   Vast swathes have been written on The Exorcist, duly reflective of its cultural impact. In a significant respect, it’s the first blockbuster – forget Jaws – and also the first of a new kind of special-effects movie. It provoked controversy across all levels of the socio-political spectrum, for explicit content and religious content, both hailed and denounced for the same. William Friedkin, director of William Peter Blatty’s screenplay based on Blatty’s 1971 novel, would have us believe The Exorcist is “a film about the mystery of faith”, but it’s evidently much more – and less – than that. There’s

The Blob (1988)   The 1980s effects-laden remake of a ’50s B-movie that couldn’t. That is, couldn’t persuade an audience to see it and couldn’t muster critical acclaim. The Fly was a hit. The Thing wasn’t, but its reputation has since soared. Like Invaders from Mars, no such fate awaited The Blob, despite effects that, in many respects, are comparable in quality to the John Carpenter classic – and are certainly indebted to Rob Bottin for bodily grue – and surehanded direction from Chuck Russell. I suspect the reason is simply this: it lacks that extra layer that would ensure longevity. Kim Newman called the titular

The First Power (1990)   One I had a hankering to see, largely due to the Don LaFontaine-narrated trailer – “Since the beginning of time, Satan has worked to create the perfect killer. One who kills many, without reason. One who cannot be stopped. Today, that man exists. Be warned” – but it somehow passed me by. Perhaps an inner sense told me it was worth skipping, and nothing Don LaFontaine could say would make it otherwise. Robert Renikoff’s supernatural serial killer thriller – see also the same year’s The Exorcist III – owed much to Jack Sholder’s 1987 body-swap SF horror The Hidden,

Archive 81 (2022)   The latest in Hollywood’s apparently unwavering appetite for Lovecraftian horror, Archive 81 is also diligently magpie with regard to scooping up cinematic influences in the same. It’s nearest relative and Netflix stablemate is thus probably Stranger Things, with its parallel realms to our own nursing unspeakable horrors of an anti-life nature (that series’ Rebecca Thomas directed half the episodes here). On top of the HP source, Archive 81 embraces the found-footage conceit, one that has been very variable in value – The Blair Witch Project being the most prolific and most vastly overrated – and is employed here via a set of logistical

Old (2021)   Par for the course from M Night Shyamalan. Old is by turns confidently crafted and ham-fisted, confirmation that, while premise (and twist) is everything to the writer-director (and exasperatingly persistent cameo artiste), it’s very rarely been enough to see him through to journey’s end. In some respects, Shyamalan’s latest twist-horror is a thematic variant on his world-in-a-microcosm The Village, where the nature of reality is concealed from the participants. It foments less opportunity to incur the indignation of its audience when the truth is revealed, however, because there are only so many possible answers, most of which will likely have

A Nightmare on Elm Street (2010)   If nothing else, A Nightmare on Elm Street’s remake serves to yield a degree of respect for Wes Craven’s rickety craft in fashioning the original. I was aware of Platinum Dunes’ churn ’em out approach to remaking horror properties, but I still didn’t expect an Elm Street iteration to be quite so devoid of personality, imagination and ambition. Even the least of the series’ predecessors – and there are a few, let’s be frank – couldn’t be denied sincere intentions on the parts of their makers. There’s no trace of that here. Samuel Bayer’s movie is simply a

Scream (2022)   My initial reaction to the Scream 5 trailer was that the movie was missing the charm – if you can call it that – of earlier instalments and would likely be greeted with indifference. Well clearly, I was erroneous in predicting box office gloom, but my assessment of the picture’s tone was fairly accurate. Scream’s ruthlessly meta- elements are often well orchestrated by writers James Vanderbilt and Gary Busick (and at times emphatically not so), but there’s something ruthlessly impersonal about the exercise – even compared to the cynicism of Scream 4’s failed cash grab. I’m not sure I’ve seen any

28 Weeks Later (2007)   The first five minutes of 28 Weeks Later are far and away the best part of this sequel, offering in quick succession a devastating moral quandary and a waking nightmare, immortalised on the screen. After that, while significantly more polished, Juan Carlos Fresnadillo reveals his concept to be altogether inferior to Danny Boyle and Alex Garland’s, falling back on the crutches of gore, nihilism, and disengaging and limiting shifts of focus between characters in whom one has little investment in the first place. Fresnadillo (Intacto) brought in pals Enrique Lopez-Lavigne and Jesus Olmo to rewrite Rowan Joffe’s

Midnight Mass (2021)   Midnight Mass, Mike Flanagan’s “deeply personal” Netflix horror, at least comes to the party with something to say. The problem is that its discourse is neither terribly original nor insightful, and it proceeds to rehearse it again and again, to diminishing effect, in ever longer monologues throughout its characteristically luxuriant (some might say a little baggy) runtime. It’s probably more interesting, then, as a metaphor, albeit one that wasn’t Flanagan’s express intent. I’m unconvinced by Flanagan’s growing rep as the second coming of the horror auteur. He seems to veer closer to a more proficient Mick

28 Days Later (2002)   Evolution’s a nasty business. If not for its baleful influence, all those genetically similar apes – or bats – would be unable to transmit deadly lab-made viruses to humans and cause a zombie plague. Thank the lord we’ve got science on our side, to save us from such scientifically approved, stamped and certified terrors. Does Danny Boyle believe in the programming he expounds? As in, is he as aware of 28 Days Later’s enforcement of the prescribed paradigm in the same manner as the product placement he oversees in every other frame of the movie (and

After Hours (1985)   Scorsese’s finest? Definitely his most underrated picture, even given it has found its own loyal niche. After Hours is atypical in the sense of embracing a broader comic flair, broader even than the satirical swipe of The Wolf of Wall Street. It also manages to be one of his most human movies, in spite of a technical engagement suggestive of early Coen Brothers or Sam Raimi, where exaggerated camera movement and impactive editing are as – or more – foregrounded as performance. An early entry in the “Yuppie nightmare” subgenre (see also Something Wild), After Hours is also party to urban terrors

The Fly II (1989)   David Cronenberg was not, it seems, a fan of the sequel to his hit 1986 remake, and while it’s quite possible he was just being snobby about a movie that put genre staples above theme or innovation, he wasn’t alone. Fox had realised, post-Aliens, that SF properties were ripe for hasty follow ups. Consequently, they indiscriminately mined a number of popular pictures to immediately diminishing returns during the period (Cocoon, Predator). Neither critics nor audiences were impressed. In the case of The Fly II, though, it would be unfair to label the movie as outright bad. It

Wes Craven’s New Nightmare (1994)   I’m all for the idea of Wes Craven’s New Nightmare. Post-modern, self-reflexive, fourth-wall-breaking movies are catnip to me (why, I even liked The Matrix Resurrections!) It’s just that New Nightmare isn’t a very good one. It’s quite watchable for the first hour, but Craven made a multitude of bad choices here. And it’s telling that, prior to my excursion into all things Elm Street, I’d only seen the first instalment and this; as it turns out New Nightmare’s lore was equally discriminating (okay, I might give you Dream Warriors, but try parsing how it makes any difference). Craven’s like a bear

Last Night in Soho (2021)   Last Night in Soho is a cautionary lesson in one’s reach extending one’s grasp. It isn’t that Edgar Wright shouldn’t attempt to stretch himself, it’s simply that he needs the self-awareness to realise which moves are going to throw his back out and leave him in a floundering and enfeebled heap on the studio floor. Wright’s an uber-geek, one with a very specific comfort zone, and there’s no shame in that. He evidently was shamed, though, hence this response to criticisms of a lack of maturity and – obviously – lack of versatility with female characters. Last Night

A Nightmare on Elm Street 4: The Dream Master (1988)   The most successful entry in the franchise, if you don’t count Freddy vs. Jason. And the point at which Freddy went full-on vaudeville, transformed into adored ringmaster rather than feared boogeyman. Not that he was ever very terrifying in the first place (the common misapprehension is that later instalments spoiled the character, but frankly, allowing Robert Englund to milk the laughs in bad-taste fashion is the saving grace of otherwise forgettably formulaic sequel construction). A Nightmare on Elm Street 4: The Dream Master boasts the most inventive, proficient effects work yet, but it’s also

Demon Seed (1977)   Demon Seed lends itself to a scornful response, mostly because its premise is so outré as to be deemed absurd, risible even. It’s been said Donald Cammell intended to make a comedy, and some critics suggested he’d missed the boat in by failing to deliver a satire. However, it’s difficult to see how hilarious this might have been, based on the premise (machine violation and forced impregnation). And yet, conceptually, the picture is simultaneously silly and sinister. In that sense, Cammell, who rued the studio influence that spoiled his vision, might have been the perfect guy to bring it to the

A Nightmare on Elms Street 3: Dream Warriors (1987)   It’s easy to see why the third movie in this franchise proved such a big hit. It both boosted the inventive dream sequences/kills in a no-brainer way – Freddy’s Revenge is more than a little “Doh!” in that regard – and added to the lore. More astutely still, it made Freddy Kreuger a quip-meister, from whence his reputation was sealed. But what’s most notable, perhaps, is the manner in which, rather than simply piling on the set-piece deaths the way Jason Voorhees was wont, A Nightmare on Elm Street 3: Dream Warriors apes the form of

John Carpenter  Ranked   For anyone’s whose formative film viewing experience took place during the 1980s, certain directors held undeniable, persuasive genre (SF/fantasy/horror genre) cachet. James Cameron. Ridley Scott (when he was tackling genre). Joe Dante. David Cronenberg. John Carpenter. Thanks to Halloween, Carpenter’s name became synonymous with horror, but he made relatively few undiluted movies in that vein (the aforementioned, The Fog, Christine, Prince of Darkness – although, it has an SF/fantasy streak – In the Mouth of Madness, The Ward). Certainly, the pictures that cemented my appreciation for his work – Dark Star, The Thing – had only a foot or not at all in that mode. Carpenter flirted

A Nightmare on Elm Street 2: Freddy’s Revenge (1985)   The homoerotic one. Generally derided on release for its spurning of Freddy lore – his work ethic, even – A Nightmare on Elm Street 2: Freddy’s Revenge has gained cachet over the years for its not-so-much gay subtext as outright text. That doesn’t necessarily make it a particularly good movie, but it means that, in a genre where the thematic content tends to be overfamiliar and not-so rewarding, it actually has a few things going on under the hood and plants a distinctive flag for itself amid the formula of the Elm Street series.

Videodrome (1983)   I’m one of those who thinks Cronenberg’s version of Total Recall would have been much more satisfying than the one we got (which is pretty good, but flawed; I’m referring to the Arnie movie, of course, not the Farrell one). The counter is that Videodrome makes a Cronenberg Philip K Dick adaptation largely redundant. It makes his later Existenz largely redundant too. Videodrome remains a strikingly potent achievement, taking the directors thematic obsessions to the next level, one as fixated on warping the mind as the body. Like many Cronenbergs, it isn’t quite there, but it exerts a hold on the viewer not dissimilar to

Crimewave (1985)   A movie’s makers’ disowning it doesn’t necessarily mean there’s nothing of worth therein, just that they don’t find anything of merit themselves. Or the whole process of making it too painful to contemplate. Sam Raimi’s had a few of those, experiencing traumas with Darkman a few years after Crimewave. But I, blissfully unaware of such issues, was bowled over by it when I caught it a few years after its release (I’d hazard it was BBC2’s American Wave 2 season in 1988). This was my first Sam Raimi movie, and I was instantly a fan of whoever had managed to translate the energy and

A Nightmare on Elm Street (1984)   I first saw A Nightmare on Elm Street a little under a decade after its release, and I was distinctly underwhelmed after all that hype. Not that it didn’t have its moments, but there was an “It’ll do” quality that reflects most of the Wes Craven movies I’ve seen. Aside from the postmodern tease of A New Nightmare – like Last Action Hero, somewhat maligned/shunned – I’d never bothered with the rest of the series, in part because I’m just not that big a horror buff, but also because the rule that the first is usually the best

Scanners (1981)   David Cronenberg has made a career – albeit, he may have “matured” a little over the past few decades, so it is now somewhat less foregrounded – from sticking up for the less edifying notions of evolution and modern scientific thought. The idea that regress is, in fact, a form of progress, and unpropitious developments are less dead ends than a means to a state or states as yet unappreciated. He began this path with some squeam-worthy body horrors, before genre hopping to more explicit science fiction with Scanners, and with it, greater critical acclaim and a wider

Vampires aka John Carpenter’s Vampires (1998)   John Carpenter limps less-than-boldly onward, his desiccated cadaver no longer attentive to the filmic basics of quality, taste, discernment, rhyme or reason. Apparently, he made his pre-penultimate picture to see if his enthusiasm for the process truly had drained away, and he only went and discovered he really enjoyed himself. It doesn’t show. Vampires is as flat, lifeless, shoddily shot, framed and edited as the majority of his ’90s output, only with a repellent veneer of macho bombast spread on top to boot. Carpenter came to the project, written by Don Jakoby (Tobe Hooper’s Lifeforce and Invaders from Mars) and

Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein (1994)   Or Francis Ford Coppola’s Kenneth Branagh’s Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein, to the plebs. Except that Franny was very quick to disassociate himself from the garbage spewed forth by Ireland’s favourite Englishman. For anyone else, this would deservedly have been a career-ending episode. Just look at what happened to another swirling-camera artisan with another crude goth knock-off; Stephen Sommers struggled to catch a break after Van Helsing preposterously failed to be the next The Mummy. But a trained luvvie with boundless self-regard was bound to bounce back. Sir Ken retreated to Shakespeare for a few years (and an equally overblown “definitive” Hamlet)

Resident Evil: Apocalypse (2004)   Well, that takes some doing. Resident Evil: Apocalypse is discernibly inferior to its less-than-stellar predecessor in almost every respect. Most of all, though, it’s absolutely horridly directed by debut feature helmer Alexander Witt. There’s zero sense of understanding of the frame or how a picture is edited together on display, leading to a disjointed, fractured mess even without the typically disjointed, fractured mess of a Paul WS Anderson screenplay. The strangest thing is that Witt was no ingenue on the directing front; he was an established second-unit director and DP, extending all the way back to Speed. Perhaps everything he shoots

Tremors (1990)   I suspect the reason the horror comedy – or the sci-fi comedy, come to that – doesn’t tend to be the slam-dunk goldmine many assume it must be, is because it takes a certain sensibility to do it right. Everyone isn’t a Joe Dante or Sam Raimi, or a John Landis, John Carpenter, Edgar Wright, Christopher Landon or even a Peter Jackson or Tim Burton, and the genre is littered with financial failures, some of them very good failures (and a good number of them from the names mentioned). Tremors was one, only proving a hit on video (hence

Resident Evil (2002)   I had little intention to revisit this, Paul WS Anderson’s fifth movie. But I figured, if I was going to complete my inspection of the entire sextet, it might be prudent to refresh my memory of those I’d already called upon. Anderson doesn’t generally engender raves. Far from it. The guy is entirely competent technically, but more often than not has produced pictures of incoherent plasticity, lacking memorable characters, content or dramatic heft. And then there are his auteurish inclinations (he gets a screenplay credit on more than half), entirely unjustified. Resident Evil was Anderson’s second go at

The Queen of Spades (1949)   Marty Scorsese’s a big fan (“a masterpiece”), as is John Boorman, but it was Edgar Wright on the Empire podcast with Quentin “One more movie and I’m out, honest” Tarantino who drew my attention to this Thorold Dickinson picture. The Queen of Spades has, however, undergone a renaissance over the last decade or so, hailed as a hitherto unjustly neglected classic of British cinema, one that ploughed a stylistic furrow at odds with the era’s predominant neo-realism. Ian Christie notes its relationship to the ilk of German expressionist work The Cabinet of Dr of Caligari, and it’s very

Body Bags (1993)   I’m not surprised Showtime didn’t pick this up for an anthology series. Perhaps, if John Carpenter had made Coming Home in a Body Bag (the popular Nam movie series referenced in the same year’s True Romance), we’d have something to talk about. Tho’ probably not, if Carpenter had retained his by this point firmly glued to his side DP Gary Kibbe, ensuring the proceedings are as flat, lifeless and unatmospheric as possible. Carpenter directed two of the segments here, Tobe Hooper the other one. It may sound absurd, given the quality of Hooper’s career, but by this point, even he was

Halloween (1978)   John Carpenter’s original slasher. Or at least, the movie that began the seemingly endless cycle. I have to admit, however, that while I recognise Halloween’s stripped-down effectiveness and visual elegance, its persuasively insistent score and the engagingly antic presence of Donald Pleasance’s prophet of doom – representing scientific reason! – I don’t rate it as highly as some of the director’s lesser known or regarded pictures. It’s worth noting some of the different takes on the picture, both in terms of praise and refutation, and how they actually end up saying many of the same things. Carpenter and

The Hunt (2020)   Damon Lindelof’s satire arrived with many presumptions made of its content – some accurate and some way off – and typically inept “sensitivity” to public events (if you aren’t cynical about mass shootings – and Lindelof clearly isn’t – then the picture would surely be upsetting, or alternatively influential, depending upon what the studio thinks it’s responding to, whenever it was released). What The Hunt is, though, is your classic Hollywood reductivism in full effect, redefining the world through the limiting prism of the dominant (liberal) paradigm while virtue-signalling (if you want to call it that) that it’s

The Final Conflict aka Omen III: The Final Conflict (1981)   Twentieth Century Fox remained broadly steadfast in their quality-be-damned approach towards sequels (and remakes) through various changes in management. Occasionally an Aliens would happen, but more common was the template established by Planet of the Apes (chuck out cheap sequels; miraculously, several of these were quite good). So it was most certainly the same studio that gave us The Final Conflict and, much later, A Good Day to Die Hard (from the director of The Omen remake). In many respects, Damien: Omen II appeared to be a functional sequel, dutifully following the inventive kill count of its predecessor, but it’s a

The Blood on Satan’s Claw aka Satan’s Skin (1971)   One of the era’s great lurid horror titles – its unhinged company also includes Blood Beast Terror, Captain Kronos: Vampire Hunter and the astonishing Zoltan, Hound of Dracula – The Blood on Satan’s Claw, perhaps surprisingly, stands the test of time better than many of its stablemates. It relies less on by-then-established Hammer-esque staples than it on an atmospheric exploration of a community disintegrating from within, not a million miles from The Crucible in malignancy. Rather different in approach, however. Here, the surface is ripped away to reveal an unnerving patch of hairy skin beneath. Doctor: Ah, there are

Damien: Omen II (1978)   There’s an undercurrent of unfulfilled potential with the Omen series, an opportunity to explore the machinations of the Antichrist and his minions largely ignored in favour of Final Destination deaths every twenty minutes or so. Of the exploration there is, however, the better part is found in Damien: Omen II, where we’re privy to the parallel efforts of a twelve or thirteen-year-old Damien at military school and those of Thorn Industries. The natural home of the diabolical is, after all, big business. Consequently, while this sequel is much less slick than the original, it is also more engaging dramatically. Kim

Quatermass and the Pit aka Five Million Years to Earth (1967)   The last and best of Hammer’s Quatermass adaptations, in no small part due to Andrew Keir taking over lead duties from Brian “bladdered” Donlevy. But mostly because this is by far Nigel Kneale’s best script for his professorial protagonist. Which means that even Roy Ward Baker’s so-so direction cannot prevent Quatermass and the Pit from remaining fresh, vital and thought provoking. Quatermass: “The figure was small, said Mr Parker. Like a sort of hideous dwarf.” The antecedents to and subsequent influence of Kneale’s trilogy capper (he had to go and turn it into a quadrilogy…)

The Omen (1976)   The coming of the Antichrist is an evergreen; his incarnation, or the reveal thereof, is always just round the corner, and he can always be definitively identified in any given age through a spot of judiciously subjective interpretation of The Book of Revelation, or Nostradamus. Probably nothing did more for the subject in the current era, in terms of making it part of popular culture, than The Omen. That’s irrespective of the movie’s quality, of course. Which, it has to be admitted, is not on the same level as earlier demonic forebears Rosemary’s Baby and The Exorcist. In which regard, horror

The Quatermass Xperiment aka The Creeping Unknown (1955)   The movie most responsible for reshaping Hammer’s output, such that, over the span of a few short years, it would become primarily known for horror. A remake of Nigel Kneale’s 1953 BBC serial, The Quatermass Xperiment boasts higher production values (and crucially, two thirds more of it survives), but it also betrays certain significant shortcomings. Which doesn’t mean it isn’t still vastly superior to the live 2005 BBC4 remake. Quatermass: Don’t argue with me, I know what I’m doing. The biggest problem with both this picture and the sequel is that, frankly, Brian Donlevy

The Asphyx aka Spirit of the Dead aka The Horror of Death (1972)   There was such a welter of British horror from the mid-60s to mid-70s, even leaving aside the Hammers and Amicuses, that it’s easy to lose track of them in the shuffle. This one, the sole directorial effort of Peter Newbrook (a cameraman for David Lean, then a cinematographer), has a strong premise and a decent cast, but it stumbles somewhat when it comes to taking that premise any place interesting. On the plus side, it largely eschews the grue. On the minus, directing clearly wasn’t Newbrook’s

The Cabin in the Woods (2011)   Drew Goddard and the recently cancelled Joss Whedon attested that The Cabin in the Woods, bashed out over an intensive weekend, represented a critique of and love letter to the horror movie. Such a mission statement shouldn’t be that much of a surprise from Whedon, the guy who made meta a badge of pride throughout his various pop-culture-littered TV shows and movies. But it’s as a consequence of that very element that The Cabin in the Woods also very easily invites another layer of reading; indeed, not to read it this way invites a response that’s more towards

The Birds (1963)   Perhaps the most impressive thing about The Birds is how palpably it succeeds in spite of itself. Other Hitchcocks have been beleaguered by a lead not quite delivering the goods, such that the overall piece has suffered (for example, Foreign Correspondent). Often with the consequence of drawing attention to supporting characters (the aforementioned, and also Stage Fright). Here, Hitch has two so-so leading players, and yet you could almost believe he was deliberately making that work in the material’s favour. Certainly, the horror movie where the setting and the horror is the star, and the players neither here nor there,

Psycho (1960)   One of cinema’s most feted and most studied texts, and for good reason. Even if the worthier and more literate psycho movie of that year is Michael Powell’s Peeping Tom. One effectively ended a prolific director’s career and the other made its maker more in demand than ever, even if he too would discover he had peaked with his populist fear flick. Pretty much all the criticism and praise of Psycho is entirely valid. It remains a marvellously effective low-budget shocker, one peppered with superb performances and masterful staging. It’s also fairly rudimentary in tone, character and psychology. But those

Color Out of Space (2019)   Richard Stanley returns to features after 27 years (without a finished one) and gives us a Lovecraftian horror, his first of three planned adaptations. Responses have been generous, but I quickly found Color Out of Space teetering on the brink of the tedium that comes with escalating horror chaos devoid of suspense or turns of plot. We know what is happening here – madness unbound, physical, mental, psychic – and we’ve seen Cage’s brand of unbound lunacy more than enough times already. Add to that a picture heavily indebted to John Carpenter’s The Thing by way of gross-out familial descent

The Thing (1982)   The Thing has been thesis fodder for years, as much so as any given pre-1990 Cronenberg movie, and has popularly been seen as a metaphor for AIDS and even climate change. Now, of course, provided we’re still in a world where film is studied in the aftermath and we haven’t ball been assimilated in one form or another, such staples are sure to be scrubbed away by an inundation of bids to apply the Coronavirus to any given text (much in the way Trump has been popularly overwritten onto any particular invidious fictional figure you care to

The Invisible Man (2020)   Incredible how you can see right through him. As a fan of Leigh Whannell’s sophomore film Upgrade, I was willing to give this latest telling of The Invisible Man a chance, even though I was doubtful of its repurposing, seemingly falling prey to the kind of unrefined stalker antics that largely did for Paul Verhoeven’s Hollow Man, the last major studio take on the premise (okay, excepting The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen). And while it’s certainly the case that Whannell does rather limit his canvas in that regard, he has nevertheless made an undeniably effective stalker picture, one that features a number

The Creature from the Black Lagoon (1954)   Jack Arnold’s classic Universal horror isn’t especially impressive in the cold light of day (or absent the thrills, frills and gills of 3D). In terms of characterisation and atmosphere, The Creature from the Black Lagoon is a bit of a cold fish. Indeed, it’s only that cold fish (man) who evokes much of a response at all. Arnold had already established his 3D B-movie credibility with It Came from Outer Space when that movie’s producer William Alland came up with a treatment based on a tale he’d heard a decade before about half-fish, half-human creatures living

Phantom of the Opera (1943)   I can’t say I’ve ever been especially au fait with Phantom of the Opera lore, such that I wasn’t even aware this version (included on the Universal Monsters Box Set) was the remake of the original featuring Lon Chaney’s deliriously unsettling visage. Arthur Lubin’s colour production is an altogether lusher affair, one that backpedals on the horror in favour of melodrama and extended musical – well, operatic – interludes. And, surely rather defeating the point of the exercise, it’s a more engrossing picture before Claude Rains’ Erique Claudin suffers an excruciating facial disfigurement. In part, that’s because the

The Dead Don’t Die (2019)   For the majority of The Dead Don’t Die, you’re not only nursing the feeling that Jim Jarmusch has no interest in making a conventional horror movie, or even a conventional zomcom – it would have been a surprise if he did – but also that he had no interest in making any kind of horror movie, so disengaged is he with such elements as pace, threat, momentum or escalation. As such, when he detonates the proceedings with a megaton meta device, it isn’t so much a smart and witty move as a simple relief, confirmation that, if it

The Wolf Man (1941)   By and large, visiting or in some cases revisiting Universal’s Essential Collection of horror classics has been a rewarding experience. That comes rather unstuck with The Wolf Man, directed with little in the way of style and panache by George Waggner (he ended up in TV) and suffering a personality bypass in the form of leading wolf man Lon Chaney Jr. I’ve mainly been familiar with the film for its legacy in werewolf lore, and it’s definitely one that’s better cited than experienced. The Chaney Jr aspect is perhaps surprising, since anecdotally, he seems to have

Bride of Frankenstein (1935)   It’s quite appropriate that Joe Dante should have introduced the documentary on the disc release of Bride of Frankenstein, since the film represents the original free-for-all sequel, one where the director gets away with perhaps not doing anything he wants, but far more than one would have expected within a studio structure. Dante would later achieve the same thing with Gremlins 2: The New Batch, of course. Bride of Frankenstein is held up as a horror classic, and understandably so; it’s a far superior picture to its predecessor. But it’s also a picture, consequently, that is far more memorable for its

Krampus (2015)   On the evidence of Krampus, you can see why Legendary Pictures might have considered it a bright idea to enlist Michael Dougherty to direct a Godzilla movie. Much less so why they’d also ask him to write one. This horror tale, based on the anti-Saint Nick, posits the title character as the punisher of those who have lost that Christmas feeling (rather than, per se, children who have misbehaved): “It’s not what you do. It’s what you believe”. Dougherty does a solid job with the setup, but unfortunately, he then lets it all go to waste. Max (Emjay Anthony) tears

Misery (1990)   Misery’s the first time in Rob Reiner’s spotless early run where one becomes conscious of his limitations. It’s a thoroughly, commendably decent adaptation, one in which he elicits outstanding performances from his leads and pushes all the necessary shock buttons, but there’s never that crucial sense of an ability to go the extra mile in making it a truly seminal horror movie. Instead, what it has is a truly seminal villain. Otherwise, it has to settle for punching-above-its-weight journeyman status. Kathy Bates won the Best Actress Oscar, of course, for Annie Wilkes, the most unnerving screen villainess

Dreamcatcher (2003)   A puzzler for many. Not so much in terms of how a post-horrific car crash, OxyContin-addicted Stephen King could have written such a rotten story (at one point, before his comedown, he proudly extolled that Dreamcatcher “would do for the toilet what Psycho did for the shower”, which, well…) – I think the circumstances speak for themselves – but how such luminaries as William Goldman and Lawrence Kasdan became involved in the movie adaptation. And how Castle Rock, for the most part a bastion of successful translations of the author’s work, could have tripped up so badly. Because Dreamcatcher is an unmistakably bad film. As

The Haunting of Hill House (2018)   Throughout the early episodes of The Haunting of Hill House, I nursed a creeping suspicion that the horror element was really so much window dressing. Partly because Mike Flanagan’s loosest of adaptations of Jane Shirley Jackson’s 1957 novel seemed far more concerned with Lost-esque personal narrative juggling than scares – which were, let’s face it, inserted on a formula basis to keep the thing ticking over. That suspicion seemed to be confirmed with the centre-piece funeral episodes (Six and Seven). Where, however entwined the familial strife of the Crains was with Hill House, it was

The Haunting (1999)   I somehow expected time wasn’t going to improve The Haunting miraculously, but returning to it rather underlines the idea that Jan De Bont somehow just got lucky with his first foray into directing – and, to an extent, second – while everything subsequently proved him rather tragically incompetent. To such an extent, he effectively retired from the business after his fifth film. The Haunting suggests not only that he didn’t have the faintest clue how to make a scary movie, but that he wasn’t even trying. Or about as much as the makers of Scary Movie. That said, it isn’t just

The Haunting (1963)   Is it bad that, as far as the haunted-house subgenre goes, I prefer The Legend of Hell House to Robert Wise’s very respectable, mature adaptation of Shirley Jackson’s then-recent novel? Both are based on a team of investigators setting up shop in a famously haunted abode – Nigel Kneale’s The Stone Tape does something similar – but John Hough’s film of Richard Matheson’s novel simply wants to have unapologetic fun with the premise. The Haunting goes for a less tangible vibe – night and day compared to the recent Netflix incarnation – but I’m not sure it quite pulls it off. It

Happy Death Day 2U (2019)   The biggest failing of this sequel to the surprisingly witty 2017 Groundhog Day horror is that it stops short of fully embracing the out-there potential of invoking Back to the Future Part II. Instead, writer-director Christopher Landon opts to coast somewhat on a what-if scenario, in which returning protagonist Tree (Jessica Rothe) gets to experience an alt-reality where her mum never died, and she must decide whether to give that up to get back to her own universe. Which is agreeable enough, but hardly trailblazing in terms of plotting. As before, Happy Death Day 2U is at its best

From Dusk till Dawn (1996)   Tarantino undertook a bout of script doctoring during the mid-90s, but From Dusk till Dawn represents his sole outright gun-for-hire job from inception. And apart from feeling through-and-through like a scrappy Robert Rodriguez production, with “That’ll do” writ large across it (complete with a plum part for mate Quentin), it’s also an unusually scrappy screenplay, lacking his usual inventiveness and memorable dialogue, leaving instead merely a pervading air of unpleasantness. Tarantino claimed “Not really” when asked if he wrote Richie Gecko for himself (“I wasn’t visualising anybody. I wrote an exploitation film. It’s a head-banging horror film

It Chapter Two (2019)   An exercise in stultifying repetitiveness, It Chapter Two does its very best to undo all the goodwill engendered by the previous instalment. It may simply be that adopting a linear approach to the novel’s interweaving timelines has scuppered the sequel’s chances of doing anything the first film hasn’t. Oh, except getting rid of Pennywise for good, which you’d be hard-pressed to discern as substantially different to the CGI-infused confrontation in the first part, Native American ritual aside. So the jokes about Stephen King’s original ending, which include both a Peter Bogdanovich cameo and one by Stephen himself,

The Sixth Sense (1999)   It has usually been a shrewd move for the Academy to ensure there’s at least one big hit among its Best Picture Oscar nominees. At least, until the era of ever-plummeting ratings; not only do the studios get to congratulate themselves for their own profligacy (often, but not always, the big hits are also the costliest productions), but the audience also has something to identify with and possibly root for. Plus, it evidences that the ceremony isn’t just about populism-shunning snobbery. The Sixth Sense provided Oscar’s supernatural bookend to a decade – albeit, The Green Mile also has a

Midsommar (2019)   Ari Aster, by rights, ought already to be buckling under the weight of all those accolades amassing around him, pronouncing him a horror wunderkind a mere two films into his career. But while both Midsommar and Hereditary have both received broadly comparable critical acclaim, his second feature will lag behind the first by some distance in box office. At least, unless something significant happens in a hitherto neglected territory. That isn’t such a surprise on seeing it. While Hereditary keeps its hand firmly on the tiller of shock value and incident, so as to sustain it’s already more than adequate running time, Midsommar runs a

The Exorcist III (1990)   The demand for reshoots on The Exorcist III, as seems to be the case more often than not, failed to bolster its box office. One might argue that alone made tampering with William Peter Blatty’s vision for the picture redundant. Ironically, however, it may have resulted in a superior film; while I haven’t seen the “Director’s Cut” version of the film assembled a few years back (glued together with sticky tape and Blu Tack might be more accurate, given the quality of the materials available), nothing I’ve read about it makes it sound markedly superior to

Suspiria (2018)   Luca Guadagnino’s remake of giallo-meister Dario Argento’s 1977 film is set in the same year as the original, for reasons that ultimately seem rather spurious. Indeed, while Suspiria 2018, also concerning a coven of witches running a dance school – as you do – is meticulously made and frequently (ahem) bewitching in its slow-burn dynamics – at an extremely indulgent two-and-a-half hours, it would have to be – it is transparently victim of the mutton-dressed-as-lamb approach taken by filmmakers tentative about approaching what they see as a lesser genre. As such, this is not just a horror movie. No,

The Mummy (1932)   Even though retellings of Dracula and Frankenstein have been more ubiquitous over the years, it feels as if The Mummy has been granted the most prolific attention of late, probably because the Brendan Fraser Indiana Jones version, while mostly not very good, was very successful. And the recent Tom Cruise edition, while also not very good, wasn’t nearly successful enough, bringing Universal’s “Dark Universe” crashing down around its ears. This original iteration is very modest in both ambition and intent, but boasts craftsmanship in key areas that ensures it stands the test of time rather better than some of its Universal Horror stablemates. Director Karl Freund,

Neither the Sea nor the Sand aka The Exorcism of Hugh (1972)   A Jersey-set (the Channel Island, that is) curio based on actor and news reader Gordon Honeycombe’s first novel, for which he also furnished the screenplay, Neither the Sea nor the Sand makes for an unlikely zombie movie. Not in the ravenous-for-flesh sense, but the more traditional revivified empty shell. Indeed, going in knowing nothing – provided you haven’t been spoiled by the alternative and misleading title The Exorcism of Hugh – you’d have no inkling that anything supernatural’s in store for almost half the running time. While the sudden shift in

Frankenstein (1931)   To what extent do Universal’s horror classics deserved to be labelled classics? They’re from the classical Hollywood period, certainly, but they certainly aren’t unassailable titans that can’t be bettered – well, unless you’re Alex Kurtzman and Chris Morgan trying to fashion a Dark Universe with zero ingenuity. And except, maybe, for the sequel to the second feature in their lexicon. Frankenstein is revered for several classic scenes, boasts two mesmerising performances, and looks terrific thanks to Arthur Edeson’s cinematography, but there’s also sizeable streak of stodginess within its seventy minutes. For a picture in which Edward Van Sloan (Dr Waldman and

Dracula (1931)   The movie that kicked off the Universal horror cycle and thus, pretty much, horror as a (Hollywood) movie genre. Not that you’d know it to look at it now, as the last thing it is is remotely terrifying. Indeed, Garrett Fort’s adaptation – he’d next tackle Frankenstein – of Hamilton Deane’s stage play of Bram Stoker’s novel often plays like unadulterated parody, so ingrained are the tropes and clichés that have accumulated in its wake. Director Tod Browning would make Freaks a year later, a picture that retains the power to disturb, but in the case of Dracula, you’d best not look

Us (2019)   Jordan Peele evidently loves his conspiracy lore, so he’ll probably appreciate inevitable theories that his sophomore movie, even with movie and literature antecedents and influences such as The Skeleton Key, C.H.U.D. and Wells’ Morlocks, is an exposé of celebrity cloning antics in underground bases and/or Vrill body snatching, right through to the facilities being shut down. I mean, he only offers the most ungainly of expository monologues in the latter stages of Us to that essential effect, during which we’re told these subterranean locales have been used in the past for producing soulless clones. It’s very on-the-nose material in that regard;

The Silence of the Lambs (1991)   I was pleased for The Silence of the Lambs’ Oscar glory, a rare genre entry to be bestowed such garlands, even though I didn’t think it was the most deserving of that year’s nominees (that would be JFK, Oliver Stone’s crowning achievement, after which he would never quite be the same again). Indeed, while it’s generally regarded, with hindsight, as one the Academy definitely got right, I don’t think it’s even the best Thomas Harris adaptation. Maybe it’s simply that I read the novel first, and so I was spoiled for its content, but even

Happy Death Day (2017)   A delightfully tongue-in-cheek Groundhog Day horror from Blumhouse, which gave the project the greenlight a decade after its former studio abandoned it. Director Christopher Landon (writer of Disturbia and no less than four Paranormal Activitys) ensures his mysterious masked murderer on campus & repeat is glossy, upbeat, self-aware and full of vim, making it the natural inheritor of Scream’s post-modern mantle, right down to the manufacturer of the murder’s mask. The picture’s greatest asset, though, is Jessica Rothe, whose comic touch is absolute perfection, and who essays Tree Gelbman’s transformation, Bill Murray-like, from superficial bitch to empathetic soul with effortless charm.

The Killing of a Sacred Deer (2017)   I think I knew I wasn’t going to like The Killing of a Sacred Deer in the first five minutes. And that was without the unedifying sight of open-heart surgery that takes up the first four. Yorgos Lanthimos is something of a Marmite director, and my responses to this and his previous The Lobster (which I merely thought was “okay” after exhausting its thin premise) haven’t induced me to check out his earlier work. Of course, he has now come out with a film that, reputedly, even his naysayers will like, awards-darling The Favourite… Lanthimos’ conceit in Sacred

The Dead Zone (1983)   I wouldn’t call myself a Stephen King fan, or particularly a Cronenbuff, although there’s material I rate by both (and in the latter’s case rate very highly). The Dead Zone arrived at the onset of a glut of King adaptations, and as Kim Newman and Alex Jones suggest on the Blu-ray commentary, it was the first adaptation of his work to publicise itself foremost as a King piece (published in 1979, it was his first hardback to hit Number One on the bestseller list, which may partly account for it). Which isn’t to say it doesn’t feel

Mandy (2018)   Sometimes you’re left scratching your head over a movie, wondering what it was about it that had others rapturously raving while you were left shrugging. I at least saw the cult appeal of Panos Cosmatos’ previous picture, Beyond the Black Rainbow, which inexorably drew the viewer in with a clinically psychedelic allure before going unceremoniously off the boil in a botched slasher third act. Mandy, though, has been pronounced one of the best of the year, with a great unhinged Nic Cage performance front and centre – I can half agree with the latter point – but it’s further evidence of

Apostle (2018)   Another week, another undercooked Netflix flick from an undeniably talented director. What’s up with their quality control? Do they have any? Are they so set on attracting an embarrassment of creatives, they give them carte blanche, to hell with whether the results are any good or not?  Apostle’s an ungainly folk-horror mashup of The Wicker Man (most obviously, but without the remotest trace of that screenplay’s finesse) and any cult-centric Brit horror movie you’d care to think of (including Ben Wheatley’s, himself an exponent of similar influences-on-sleeve filmmaking with Kill List). Gareth Evans is taking in tropes from Hammer, torture

The Witches (1990)   (Nicolas Roeg making a kids’ movie? Why, that would be tantamount to… someone as twisted as Roald Dahl writing children’s stories. What’s strangest is that it should have dropped in Roeg’s lap at this point, after a decade of making wilfully uncommercial movies, even by his idiosyncratic standards. The last time he’d flirted with anything the public might go and see in any numbers was Flash Gordon, before Dino de Laurentis decided not to give him a huge budget for something that would probably go straight over people’s heads (more’s the pity). What with its “metaphysical messiah”,

The Avengers 2.22: Murdersville   Brian Clemens’ witty take on village life gone bad is one of the highlights of the fifth season. Inspired by Bad Day at Black Rock, one wonders how much Murdersville‘s premise of unsettling impulses lurking beneath an idyllic surface were set to influence both Straw Dogs and The Wicker Man a few years later (one could also suggest it premeditates the brand of backwoods horrors soon to be found in American cinema from the likes of Wes Craven and Tobe Hooper). SIGN: Welcome to Little Storping In-the-Swuff. Voted the best kept village in the country. Please help us keep it that

Warlock (1989)   Hero REG? Scottish hero REG? This could only have happened before anyone knew any better. As Richard E Grant himself commented, of a role Sean Connery allegedly turned down (“Can you do a SKUTTISH accent for us?“), “How could they have cast a skinny Englishman to play this macho warlock-hunter?” And yet, that incongruity entirely works in Warlock‘s favour, singling it out from the crowd as the kind of deliciously-offbeat straight-to-video fare (all but) you could only have encountered during that decade. Giles Redferne: Tell me straight. Lest your children be born slugs of cod fish, tell me now. It helps

Hereditary (2018)   Well, the Hereditary trailer’s a very fine trailer, there’s no doubt about that. The movie as a whole? Ari Aster’s debut follows in the line of a number of recent lauded-to-the-heavens (or hells) horror movies that haven’t quite lived up to their hype (The Babadook, for example). In Hereditary‘s case, there’s no doubting Ari Aster’s talent as a director. Instead, I’d question his aptitude for horror. Or rather, his aptitude for horror when it’s overtly identifiable as such. Because, when Hereditary is focussing on a dysfunctional family with unsettling, possibly uncanny or even supernatural elements percolating around the edges of the frame,

The Monster Squad (1987)   My reluctant response to The Monster Squad at the time of its release was that it wasn’t quite as clever or funny as I wanted it to be. The promise of The Goonies meets Ghostbusters with (effectively) the Universal horror monster roster only sporadically delivered on its potential (not that The Goonies and Ghostbusters are as funny as they want to be either, but you get the idea). I still think that’s the case, albeit now recognising the additional pleasures of nascent Shane Black stylings and obsessions, and the dedication of Fred Dekker in creating an aesthetic that sits comfortably with the pictures its riffing

A Quiet Place (2018)   Movies built on a bedrock of rules often come a cropper if they pause long enough to allow examination of how closely they adhere to them. Either they have to come out and say it doesn’t really matter (Gremlins 2: The New Batch) or the assembled elements overcome any logical shortcomings. A Quiet Place, John Krasinski’s third feature as director, rewriting a screenplay by Scott Beck and Bryan Woods, achieves the latter chiefly through devotion to its characters, but also via a confident grasp of cinematic language. Actors tend to make good directors of actors, even

Jaws 3-D (1983)   Well, not 3-D the way I saw it, although you’d have to be deluded, or have fallen asleep (the latter most likely) not to (sporadically) be alarmed at the manner in which Jaws 3 was configured for that format. A belated sequel, five years down the line from Jaws 2, it showed Universal all at sea and floundering, rather than making the most from their unexpected cash cow. Jaws 3-D’s premise (more commonly known as simply Jaws III outside of theatres) was arrived at after Steven Spielberg nixed a much more daring shake up of a franchise that was

Jaws 2 (1978)   Being a luddite in my formative years (doubtless continuing to this day), I didn’t readily discern the qualitative difference between Jaws and Jaws 2 until much later. Indeed, in some respects, I think I found Jaws 2 more impressive. Well, the manner of dispatching the shark, anyway. That was, of course, nonsense (although, the dispatching of the shark is pretty good and is even set up with a Chekov’s Undersea Power Cable in the first act). But Jaws 2 isn’t a bad sequel, certainly in an age before such enterprises were awarded due respect and weren’t just cheap cash-ins. During the ’70s, there were cheap cash-ins,

Jaws (1975)   I decided to revisit Jaws, principally because I was intent on tackling the mostly maligned sequels, and it didn’t seem right to omit the genuine article. And also, because it’s never a chore to watch one of Spielberg’s very best movies, made before he began second-guessing himself and imposing peer-review conditions on form and content. The way I see it, there’s the ’berg before E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial and the ’berg after E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial, and I’d opt for the former over the latter any day. Untold reams have been written about Jaws, and will continue to be, a movie that changed the

The Fog (1980)   The Fog has its fans, but I tend to concur with Carpenter’s acknowledgement of the movie’s issues; it represents his first serious stumble, lacking both the sure, driving pace of his previous horror classic and its sense of humour (despite a surfeit of in-jokes, mostly on the character name front). This is a short movie, but one that never really hits its stride. What The Fog undoubtedly has going for it, though, is superb, highly memorable and evocative photography from Dean Cundey – it’s no coincidence that, when he stopped working with the director, the latter’s days delivering the goods were

Stranger Things 2 (2017)   It would be very easy to adore Stranger Things uncritically. When it first filtered into my awareness it was still called Montauk, and I made a mental note to follow its fortunes due to that connection to the holy grail of unholy conspiratorial government projects (as noted in my Season 1 review, and it’s an aspect that curiously seems to be entirely not discussed by anyone involved for whatever reason, despite Eleven being a pretty clear gender-swapped carry-through). Perhaps because my immediate attention lay there, much of the subsequent negative conversation, relegating the show to no more than an ’80s

mother! aka Mother! (2017)   Darren Aronofsky has a reasonably-sized chin, but on this evidence, he’ll have reduced it to a forlorn stump in no time at all with all that stroking. And then set the remains alight. And then summoned it back into existence for a whole new round of stroking. mother! is a self-indulgent exercise in unabated tedium in the name of a BIG idea, one no amount of assertive psued-ing post-the-fact can turn into a masterpiece. Yes, that much-noted “F” cinemascore was well warranted. Darren bless ’im, who is 48, not 18, responded to the resounding audience response by claiming he “wanted to make a

It aka It Chapter One (2017)   Imagine how pleased I was to learn that an E Nesbitt adaptation had rocketed to the top of the US charts, evidently using a truncated version of its original title, much like John Carter of Mars. Imagine my disappointment on rushing to the cinema and seeing not a Psammead in sight. Can anyone explain why It is doing such phenomenal business? It isn’t the Stephen King brand, which regular does middling-at-best box office. Is it the nostalgia factor (’50s repurposed as the ’80s, so tapping into the Stranger Things thing, complete with purloined cast member)? Or maybe that

Christine (1983)   John Carpenter was quite open about having no particular passion to make Christine. The Thing had gone belly-up at the box office, and adapting a Stephen King seemed like a sure-fire way to make bank. Unfortunately, its reception was tepid. It may have seemed like a no-brainer – Duel’s demonic truck had put Spielberg on the map a decade earlier – but Carpenter discovered “It was difficult to make it frightening”. More like Herbie, then. Indeed, the director is at his best in the build-up to unleashing the titular automobile, making the fudging of the third act all the more disappointing. Christine was the

In the Mouth of Madness (1994)   The concluding chapter of John Carpenter’s unofficial Apocalypse Trilogy (preceded by The Thing and Prince of Darkness) is also, sadly, his last great movie. Indeed, it stands apart in the qualitative wilderness that beset him during the ’90s (not for want of output). Michael De Luca’s screenplay had been doing the rounds since the ’80s, even turned down by Carpenter at one point, and it proves ideal fodder for the director, bringing out the best in him. Even cinematographer Gary K Kibbe seems inspired enough to rise to the occasion. It could do without the chugging rawk soundtrack,

Don’t Breathe (2016)   I passed on Fede Álvarez’ The Evil Dead remake; it seemed a tad too close to torture porn for my tastes, and besides, why redo Evil Dead if you’re eschewing a sense of humour? It’s what made it what it is. Consequently, this home-invasion thriller in reverse is my first exposure to his work (he also has a new Lisbeth Salander movie, baffling rebooting the series with the fourth instalment, and a remake of Labyrinth on his to-do list). Don’t Breathe is okay, effective within its highly exploitative bracket, rarely doing anything but serviceably pushing obvious shock buttons. I’ve seen reviews complain about

Fright Night Part 2 (1988)   So ingrained on my memory is the trailer for Fright Night Part 2 – I can only assume it was a regular on rental releases at the time – that I’d half recollected it being for the original, rather than a flick I’d never seen. Until now. I probably shouldn’t have bothered, for while Fright Night has modest charms, its sequel is all but bereft of them, and so – getting back to the point of my first sentence – entirely at odds with its trailer, which makes it seem even broader, wackier and funnier than the first.

Fright Night (1985)   Horror laced with comedy, or comedy laced with horror, has now been so defined by Buffy the Vampire Slayer that precursors tend to look like they’re setting the stage rather than acting as an influence. It’s difficult to believe Joss Whedon didn’t at least have the tone of Fright Night in his head when he wrote the 1992 movie (and it’s notable that the serviceable but personality-free Fright Night remake was penned by Marti Noxon, ex of Whedon’s writing team). How does the picture stand up? It’s pretty much the same; scrappy, goofy, over-indulgent to its (endearing) special effects and anchored by

“Predalien” The Alien-Predator-verse ranked   Fox got in there with the shared-universe thing long before the current trend. Fortunately for us, once they had their taste of it, they concluded it wasn’t for them. But still, the Predator and Alien franchises are now forever interconnected, and it better justifies a ranking if you have more than six entries on it. So please, enjoy this rundown of the “Predalien”-verse.  Alien vs. Predator: Requiem (2007) An almost wilfully wrongheaded desecration of both series’ legacies that attempts to make up for AVP’s relative prurience by being as transgressive as possible. Chestbursters explode from small children! Predaliens impregnate pregnant

Alien: Covenant (2017)   In tandem with the release of increasingly generic-looking promotional material for Alien: Covenant, a curious, almost-rehabilitation of its predecessor’s rocky legacy seemed to occur, as some of its many naysayers were given to observe, “Well, at least Prometheus was trying something different”. It seems Sir Ridders can’t win: damned if he breaks new ground, damned if he charts a familiar course. The result is a compromise, and boy, does Covenant feel burdened by that at times. Still, those worried it would renege on Prometheus can relax in at least one important regard: Covenant is easily as stupid in terms of character motivation. And, for this

Get Out (2017)   Movies, let alone horror movies, with a satirical edge are few and far between, so when one comes along and delivers on the thrills and scares, it’s nigh on a minor miracle. I purposefully stayed as spoiler-free as I could for Get Out, which is undoubtedly a key to its effectiveness – the trailer is shockingly remiss in that regard, and I’m glad I didn’t watch it first – but even more so is how deftly observed and layered debut director Jordan Peele’s screenplay is (as a director, meanwhile, he has the confidence of one who’s been doing this

Split (2016)   M Night Shyamalan went from the toast of twist-based filmmaking to a one-trick pony to the object of abject ridicule in the space of only a couple of pictures: quite a feat. Along the way, I’ve managed to miss several of his pictures, including his last, The Visit, regarded as something of a re-locating of his footing in the low-budget horror arena. Split continues that genre readjustment, another Blumhouse production, one that also manages to bridge the gap with the fare that made him famous. But it’s a thematically uneasy film, marrying shlock and serious subject matter in ways that

The Witch aka The VVitch aka The Witch: A New-England Folktale (2015)   I’m not the biggest of horror buffs, so Stephen King commenting that The Witch “scared the hell out of me” might have given me pause for what was in store. Fortunately, he’s the same author extraordinaire who referred to Crimson Peak as “just fucking terrifying” (it isn’t). That, and that general reactions to Robert Eggers’ film have fluctuated across the scale, from the King-type response on one end of the spectrum to accounts of unrelieved boredom on the other. The latter take may also contextualise the former, depending on just what

The Neon Demon (2016)   I found the first hour of The Neon Demon mesmerising, an elliptical, synth-driven fever dream and tonal cousin to Beyond the Black Rainbow, ostensibly charting the seductive and destructive path to success in the superficial world of modelling but possibly being about something very much more than that. By the end, however, it had diminished somewhat in my estimation, its cool, retro poise reframed by the most OTT, Grand Guignol, head-on charge. I was left with a shrug, rather than the rapt sense of having been fed through a wringer of revelation. And that’s even with Nicolas Winding

The Invitation (2015)   Discussion of Karyn Kusama’s movie has been roundly prefaced by admonishments not to spoil its plot. But really, if you’re more than fractionally familiar with genre trappings and tropes, you’d be hard pressed not to figure how this is all going to turn out within about five minutes. Indeed, as seductive as Kusama’s direction is, aided by a fine ensemble cast led by Tom Hardy, the only way The Invitation could have marked itself out as something truly other would have been to subvert expectations. Perhaps the point was not to do so, what with all the heavy pre-empting and foreboding, such

Green Room (2015)   Jeremy Saulnier’s follow-up to the keenly studied Blue Ruin (what next, Red Rum?) lacks that picture’s depth of character and thematic epistle on the pitfalls of revenge, instead positioning itself as a very straightforward siege movie. Assault on Precinct 13, but with an Oregon bar as the police station, a punk band as the besieged, and a posse of rabid neo-Nazis as the remorseless menace. Saulnier imbues the proceedings with the tension-ratchetting precision of a master of the genre. Although, some have speculated over just what genre that is. Horror or thriller? It’s a bit semantic, really. Substitute zombies or

The Conjuring 2 (2016)   There’s a view that James Wan’s horror movies fall into the category of intelligent genre fare. And, I guess, they do, to the extent that they eschew gore and put the emphasis on character and atmosphere. But that doesn’t mean they’re any less beholden to standard shock tactics than their less esteemed brethren, or that the quality of the scripting is especially remarkable. The original The Conjuring was a decent-enough picture, making the most of its period setting and reputable lead thespians while flourishing its “based on a true story” badge with a pride that masked what

Pride and Prejudice and Zombies (2016)   Aside from providing Seth Grahame-Smith with a career (and thus rather underlining the crux of the complaint) there seems to have been very little point to his genre mash-ups. While I wouldn’t enthusiastically support magpie running towards creatively barren terrain the way he (or Max Landis) tends to, there is potential for having good fun with the clash of elements, particularly in this case. And, with Burr “Igby Goes Down” Steers adapting and calling the shots, Pride and Prejudice and Zombies ought to have been a given. So it’s a shame that, by and large, it’s a

Event Horizon (1997)   It seems to be a commonly held view, retrospectively, that Event Horizon is one of Paul W S Anderson’s better movies, which tells you a lot about the kind of standards he’s been upholding throughout his career. Its fans wax lyrical about the holy grail of a 130-minute director’s cut, as if that would somehow be the saving grace of picture that isn’t only dramatically inert once its entirely derivative premise is revealed and it has nowhere to go with it, but which is also bludgeoned into insensibility by its director’s graceless, one-note barrage of stylistic (I use

The Girl with All the Gifts (2016)   Colm McCarthy directed the less-than-estimable Doctor Who story The Bells of Saint John, which memorably, in an entirely negative way, featured Matt Smith riding up a skyscraper on a motorbike. While this was in no way McCarthy’s fault, it was suggestive that he had, in some past life, horribly affronted the Fates and would be paying penance via untold degradations for many future incarnations to come. He also performed a stint on Steven Moffat’s increasingly risible Sherlock, before making an appreciable mark on the second series of Peaky Blinders. The Girl with All the Gifts is his first since

The Hidden (1987)   A good number of ’80s movies haven’t aged at all well, or have to be taken with a hefty side order of cheese to be appreciated, but The Hidden is not one of them. Perhaps because its feet are firmly rooted in the exploitation arena, it opts not to get side-tracked into attempting to compete with its considerably higher-budgeted peers. On that level, it’s much closer in tone to James Cameron’s game-changing The Terminator, in attitude, pace and no-nonsense thrills. This is a science fiction movie shot like a cop movie, rather than a cop movie shot like a

Bone Tomahawk (2015)   S Craig Zahler’s movie debut, coming in the wake of numerous sold but unmade screenplays, is a highly accomplished horror western, exhibiting the kind of slow, steady unfolding, in full knowledge of a worth-the-wait climax, also exhibited by the likes of Kevin Costner’s Open Range. The major difference being, Open Range doesn’t explode into a crimson fountain of limbs and entrails, while Bone Tomahawk wades in knee deep. Not being a gore hound, I take no great glee in the sight of an unfortunate deputy’s scalping, having a block hammered into his mouth and then suffering the final indignity of being

Goosebumps (2015)   I’m much, much too old to have encountered the works of RL Stine as an impressionable nipper, so I couldn’t say how faithful this take is to the spirit of his work. I’d hazard, though, that it has veers to just about the right sense of humour but lacks the personality. Probably unsurprisingly, since it’s helmed by Rob Letterman, responsible for such DreamWorks Animation trifles (even by their standards) as Shark Tale and Monsters vs. Aliens. He made his live action debut with the execrable Gulliver’s Travels, so when I say Goosebumps is his best movie to date, it’s very much a relative

Stranger Things Season One   Would you let junior watch Stranger Things? The Duffer brothers are clearly in favour, although they presumably don’t have any nippers (“I love the idea that we’re going to scare the shit out of some kids. It’s fun”). I only ask as I was frequently given to ponder during its eight-episode run (unlike a lot of series, just about a perfect length) that anyone of a similar age to its young protagonists (twelve years old) would likely be excluded from viewing on account of it being too intense. On the other hand, I was an easily

Crimson Peak (2015)   Oh, Guillermo, Guillermo, whate’er has become of you? Perhaps Pan’s Labyrinth, with its resounding critical acclaim, was del Toro’s creative (rather than crimson) peak, and he decided he didn’t need to strive so manfully any more. Or perhaps the debacle of bumping himself off The Hobbit knocked the wind out of his sails, so struggling to regain his previous form after all that lost time. Whatever the root of his malaise, del Toro’s most recent two pictures have been disappointments, ones unfortunately redolent of his early Hollywood ordeal Mimic. They’re examples of well-made emptiness rather than rich with texture and

Piranha II: The Spawning aka Piranha II: Flying Killers (1981)   James Cameron’s first movie, except he protests he was replaced after two-and-a-half weeks (or was it eight days?), shut out of the editing room, and generally disabused of any notion he had a say in the finished picture. And yet, he can’t escape this sequel to Joe Dante’s cheap and cheerful original as his generally cited debut, however divested of it he may be. Jimbo also cared enough (apparently) to produce his own edit for a little-seen laserdisc version. I had next to no desire to revisit this particular

The Wicker Man (1973)   (Final Cut) There’s a strange kind of alchemy taking place in The Wicker Man, perhaps appropriate to a picture exploring the systems and structures of belief that inform our reality. Somehow it is transmuted into much more than its constituent parts. That may merely be a function of the era in which it was made, influences in the prevailing air coalescing, fusing, and forming something unique, but such an event could hardly be seen as commonplace even then. Whenever a picture is described as bearing a similarity to The Wicker Man, it’s usually nothing of the sort

The Wicker Man (2006)   There’s been a seemingly endless supply of remakes of ’70s movies since the turn of the millennium, most of which I’ve managed to avoid. I’ve yet to experience the dubious pleasures of Stallone’s Get Carter, Branagh’s Sleuth, or Rod Lurie’s Straw Dogs, for example. I did have a vague interest in Neil La Bute’s take on The Wicker Man, however, given it has developed its very own cult reputation, of a “so bad it’s good” variety. Most of which rests on a typically eccentric Nicolas Cage performance, which I tend to be all for. But still, I was resistant, out of

Alien (1979)   Alien is a masterpiece. You could end the conversation right there. Even the plague of sequels, and versuses, and prequels, have failed to diminish its essential magnificence. It’s still the film that (with one other) maintains (Sir) Ridley Scott’s legacy as a great director, whatever else he does (and he does a lot) to malign it. I should probably leave it at that, but then this piece would be a touch on the brief side. Most student theses on Alien (and there must be tens of thousands out there, with numbers rising by the minute) will witter on earnestly about the picture’s

Horror Express (1972)   This berserk Spanish/British horror boasts Hammer titans Christopher Lee and Peter Cushing (both as good guys!) to its name, and cloaked in period trappings (it’s set in 1906), suggests a fairly standard supernatural horror, one with crazy priests and satanic beasts. But, with an alien life form aboard the Trans-Siberian Express bound for Moscow, Horror Express finishes up more akin to The Cassandra Crossing meets The Thing. Countess Petrovski: The czar will hear of this. I’ll have you sent to Siberia. Captain Kazan: I am in Siberia! Christopher Lee’s Alexander Saxton, anthropologist and professor of the Royal Geological Society, has retrieved a frozen

Poltergeist (2015)   MGM’s ransacking of their archives for properties to remake to negligible response, other than sullying their reputation through wanton disrespect, might not seem that heinous in respect of Poltergeist. It was, after all, the spooky equivalent of Jaws. A Spielberg concept “directed by Tobe Hooper”, run into the ground through neglect and the desire for artistically bankrupt sequels. But Gil Kenan’s update is so wilfully redundant, particularly when the original had something special going for it, it might be worth keeping the 2015 take in mind as a harbinger of what will become of many an ’80s classic (well,

The Hole (2009)   There was a six-year gap Joe Dante’s previous feature and The Hole (it was also six years between Matinee and Small Soldiers, five between that and Looney Tunes: Back in Action), although the intervening period had seen one of his most acclaimed efforts landing on the small screen, the Masters of Horror episode Homecoming. While both ostensibly saw the director return to the horror genre where he made his name, they would also tread lightly on a feature that had been his stock in-trade: comedy. That isn’t to say The Hole doesn’t have laughs, but it’s much straighter than anything the Dante had assembled for the big

Piranha (1978)   Joe Dante’s first movie-proper, complete with a singularly solo directorial credit, in which he’s armed with John Sayles first screenplay (rewriting Richard Robinson’s effort), Piranha has considerable fun riffing on Jaws (from the very start; a character plays a delightfully basic Jaws arcade game over the opening credits). It was a little late to the party, admittedly, surfacing a very un-cash-in-like three years down the line (so much so that Universal’s own cash-in Jaws 2, from which Spielberg demurred involvement, was released two months earlier). You can see a huge step up aesthetically between this and Dante’s next film, The Howling, but Piranha’s tongue-in-cheek scares effectively establish

Exorcist II: The Heretic (1977)   While I’ve seen instalments the original and III a number of times, I hadn’t got round to checking out the near-universally reviled first Exorcist sequel until now. Going in, I had lofty notions Exorcist II: The Heretic would reveal itself as not nearly the travesty everyone said it was. Rather, that it would be deserving of some degree of praise, if only it was approached in the right manner. Well, there is something to that; as a sequel to The Exorcist, it sneers at preconceptions right off the bat by wholly failing to terrify, so its determined existence within the fabric of that film

Insidious: Chapter 3 (2015)   James Wan had no yen to go further into the Further with the Insidious franchise, departing for Furious 7, so co-writer and supporting actor Leigh Whannell takes the helm for this prequel, focussing on Lin Shaye’s (deceased in Chapter 1) psychic investigator Elise Rainier. On paper this sounds great, as Shaye’s distinctive performance was easily the best thing about the first two chapters, but unfortunately Whannell has assembled a distinctly underwhelming tale around her, one that offers little of interest other than joining the dots with the first film. If we really cared how Tucker (Angus Sampson) and Specs

It Follows (2015)   David Robert Mitchell’s unstoppable horror has received rounded acclaim, even embedding itself in Sight and Sound’s hallowed Top Twenty of 2015 list. It’s certainly an effective, confidently-directed latest incarnation of the relentless boogeyman, heavily indebted to John Carpenter (complete with retro-synth score from Disasterpeace) but also bringing its own psychosexual component (a bit like Cronenberg but shorn of the grue). In other words, it’s no wonder Kim Newman loved It Follows. To the extent that there’s nothing new under the sun, I’m not entirely sure the kudos heaped on the picture in terms of its exploration of

Army of Darkness (1992)   Or, Bruce Campbell vs Army of Darkness, as the opening title suggests. In some respects, Army of Darkness follows the Mad Max trilogy comparison; it’s bigger, more sprawling, and much less concerned with the engine that should be driving these films (it’s pretty much suspense-free). Fortunately, unlike Beyond Thunderdome, it’s still a lot of fun, prone to going off at comic tangents the way Joe Dante (much more successfully) did in Gremlins 2 a couple of years earlier. If Evil Dead II mixes comedy with horror tropes, Army of Darkness does the same with the fantasy genre, most notably Ray Harryhausen. Much of it is irresistibly goofy;

Evil Dead II aka Evil Dead 2: Dead by Dawn (1987)   Evil Dead II (also known with the subtitle Dead by Dawn) is one of the funniest films ever made, as a result of which it remains a high-water mark Sam Raimi and Bruce Campbell have yet to surpass. Understandably so, it will be no blemish against them if they are unable to again equal the sheer energy, inventiveness, exuberance, glee and craziness very throw into its every frame. It’s the movie that made both their careers, and the very definition of cult fare; one that was an extremely modest success on

The Evil Dead (1981)   There are fairly few sequels I’ve seen before catching the originals. Aliens is one and, for a while at least (being an action orientated teenager), I preferred it to Ridley Scott’s clearly superior singular first outing. Evil Dead II: Dead by Dawn is another. It was a picture I didn’t catch until about five years after its release, never having been much of a horror buff, and being unconvinced by attestations to its comedy value. When I did get round to it, I was bowled over, and promptly had to investigate Sam Raimi’s shoestring predecessor. And I was desperately disappointed. So

The Voices (2014)   Persepolis director Marjane Satrapi’s first US film is a horror comedy just distinct enough to overcome the familiarity of its serial killing subject matter.  Much of this is down to Satrapi’s playful, vibrant style, but credit is also due to never-a-box-office-star-no matter-how-hard-he-tries Ryan Reynolds. His placid schizophrenic Jerry isn’t a showstopper in and off himself but, in combination with his handful of supporting vocal performances, most notably those of Jerry’s pets, dog Bosco and cat Mr Whiskers, Reynolds infuses The Voices with an offbeat energy that perfectly complements his director’s offbeat tone and visuals. Screenwriter Michael R Perry’s form is

Twin Peaks: Fire Walk with Me (1992)   Is Twin Peaks: Fire Walk with Me an unjustly maligned masterpiece? I well recall Kim Newman’s rave review in Sight and Sound at the time, and Mark Kermode has venerated it as “one of the greatest horror movies of modern times”. Both those guys love their horror, so they aren’t to be dismissed out of hand. I felt somewhere in between on first viewing; there were undoubted moments of brilliance in there – how could there not be, with David Lynch’s fingerprints on all over it – but it was telling a story that didn’t need telling and

Burying the Ex (2014)   We shouldn’t have to wait five years between Joe Dante movies, even when the results are as close to middling as he’s ever got. Burying the Ex follows the example of The Hole in sticking to the received script and reining in the director’s more eccentric, cartoonish touches. But where The Hole had a good creepy story to tell, here Dante’s stuck with something decidedly more pedestrian and familiar; the possessive partner who won’t let a little thing like death end the relationship. Dante has compared it to EC Comics fare, and the macabre twist has something of that. It also

The Babadook (2014)   Jennifer Kent’s feature debut received a plethora of admiring notices on its release, acclaimed as a genuinely scary and seriously subtextual horror movie. The Babadook is certainly a well-made picture, and features a stunning performance from Essie Davis as a fractured parent stricken with grief and plagued by demons. But is it really all that special or different? It is virtually incumbent on horror to promise critical readings, deserved or otherwise, and this one is actually more effective before it reduces to overtly Repulsion-esque fare. Kent’s screenplay offers little in the way of narrative twists and turns so,

Twin Peaks 2.10: Dispute Between Brothers   A crock of a title for a crock of an episode. Maybe that’s going a bit far (the episode bit; the title stinks). There are several good scenes here, and Kyle MacLachlan’s sterling work very nearly saves the day, but Dispute Between Brothers is a spectacularly misjudged epilogue to the Laura Palmer murder plotline, and makes matters worse by picking up a selection of rum and disconsolate new ones to run with. Agent Cooper: Mrs Palmer, there are things dark and heinous in this world. Things too horrible to tell our children. Your husband fell victim

Dead of Night (1945)   The classic British horror film, made before there really were British horror films, Dead of Night is something of an anomaly. It has been hugely influential, both in the legacy of portmanteau horror that came after and in terms of specific sequences (most notably The Ventriloquist’s Dummy) but it has few obvious predecessors. It arrived fully formed from a studio that hadn’t before, and wouldn’t again, make a picture that could be classified as horror (not that it was at the time). Also curiously, Dead of Night was released two days after the end of World War II, yet makes no

Haunter (2013)   Haunter is nothing if not derivative, but frequently not of other horror movies. Which means it isn’t a hugely scary movie, so it’s unlikely to be clutched to the bosoms of aficionados of the genre. It’s also unlikely to be sought out by those who aren’t that partial to horror movies, as it sells itself as another teen horror flick. A medley of Groundhog Day, The Sixth Sense, A Nightmare on Elm Street and Ghost, Vincenzo Natali’s picture has enough inventiveness to escape becoming just another formulaic frightener. The most refreshing part of Haunter is that it doesn’t make a meal of its twist premise.

Deliver Us from Evil (2014)   Inspired by actual accounts, except having nothing to do with any of the actual accounts, Deliver Us from Evil is the tale of a New York cop kicking ass for the lord in tandem with an ex-drug addict priest. It really should have been a whole lot more fun and provocative than it is. Scott Derrickson, a rare Hollywood Christian, and co-screenwriter, could at least have injected some searching philosophical ruminations about the nature of good and evil into his picture, rather than the vapid guff discussed by Eric Bana’s Ralph Sarchie (the cop) and Edgar

Twin Peaks 1.1: Northwest Passage (Pilot)   It’s unlikely that the first thing one thinks of, when one thinks of Twin Peaks, is intricate plotting. This, despite the “Who killed Laura Palmer?” hook that heralded its first (truncated) season and just short of the first half of the second. No, it’s a safe bet that the David Lynch trademarks of mood, atmosphere, surrealism and eccentricity will be front and centre of one’s thoughts. And what the hell befell Agent Cooper after his encounter in the Black Lodge, of course. Those aspects have not diminished in the 25 years since, despite the

The Ballad of Tam Lin (1970)   Also known as Tam Lin, The Devil’s Widow and Games and Toys, Roddy McDowall’s, the great Roddy McDowall’s, sole outing as a director has a bumpy history, Its rocky road reaching cinema screens (as the various titles suggest) saw Roger Corman’s AIP cut it in the US against the director’s wishes, and it was consigned to an indifferent-at-best reception everywhere. It’s undoubtedly true that this is not an urgent affair, and those seeking to divine specific connections between the dregs-of-counterculture plot and the Scottish folktale that inspired it may find themselves wanting. And yet it’s a richly textured affair,

Insidious: Chapter 2 (2013)   James Wan was quite busy last year, what with having two fright flicks released and crossing over to the action genre to begin shooting Fast & Furious 7 (only recently completed due to Paul Walker’s untimely demise). That he made two horror pictures in a fairly short space of time (this and The Conjuring) speaks volumes about his precise, methodical approach. Insidious: Chapter 2 is a well-made but cookie-cutter affair, so formulaic and calculated it’s difficult to get remotely worked up by its made-to-order shock tactics. Everyone’s back, pretty much, including at least one dead person (Lin Shaye as paranormal

The Dunwich Horror (1970)   HP Lovecraft purists might understandably object to the liberties taken by this cheapie Roger Corman adaptation, and no one is going to reach the end credits utterly unnerved, but it isn’t a complete wash-out. As clumsy as the direction and storytelling often are, The Dunwich Horror is anchored by a smoothly creepy performance from one Dean Stockwell. Appropriately, he sports a diabolical perm to match his dark dealings. Stockwell is Wilbur Whateley, a “student of the occult” who wishes to “borrow” a rare copy of the Necronomicon belonging to Dr Armitage (Ed Begley, in his last film

The Conjuring (2013)   I was left disappointed by James Wan’s (nearly – he fast and furiously got Insidious 2 out there a couple of months later) latest scare-fest. While I admire the director’s choice to tread a path of good old-fashioned frights rather than wallowing in grizzly dismemberments and arterial spray, one can still only go so far when distinctive content is beholden to formulaic scripting. Wan and writers Chad and Carey Hayes have in their possession ideal horror fodder in the shape of a tale ripped from the annals of real-life paranormal investigators Ed and Lorraine Warren, but they do

John Dies at the End (2012)   One might cynically see John Dies at the End as in instant cult movie, tailor-made as a stoner favourite. It’s sure to be exactly that. I’m quite certain it is already, since I’ve come a bit late to the game in seeing it. It’s the kind of story thought up after one too many bong hits, and the result is a picture that instantly invites X-meets-Z movie comparisons, or reminds the viewer of the giddiness of discovering a weird spectacle with a truly off-the-wall sensibility. If John Dies at the End can’t quite pay off the promise

Insidious (2010)   Right from the off, Saw duo James Wan (director) and Leigh Whannell (writer) clearly intend to embody the most recognisable conventions of the classic frightener. Fraught strings accompany a roving camera around a darkened house, up until the point where the viewer is granted the briefest glimpse of … a disturbing face illuminated by a candle. For the first 40 minutes or so Insidious continues in this vein, laden with atmosphere, lurking menace, and sudden shocks. But then it unravels, falling back on sub-Poltergeist investigations, botch-job explanations, and an uninspired exploration of an underdeveloped alternate realm. There’s an awful lot that seems

Gremlins (1984)   I didn’t get to see Gremlins at the cinema. I wanted to, as I had worked myself into a state of great anticipation. There was a six-month gap between its (unseasonal) US release and arrival in the UK, so I had plenty of time to devour clips of cute Gizmo on Film ’84 (the only reason ever to catch Barry Norman was a tantalising glimpse of a much-awaited movie, rather than his drab, colourless, reviews) and Gremlins trading cards that came with bubble gum attached (or was it the other way round?). But Gremlins’ immediate fate for many an eager youngster in Britain was

The Howling (1981)   Much as I like The Howling, I can’t quite love The Howling. Strangely for a Joe Dante film, a director who usually really knows his intended tone, at times there is a mismatch between the stream of gags, asides and movie references and the earnest manner in with which the central character is portrayed. The Howling also suffers by inevitable comparison with the same year’s American Werewolf in London. Generally, it is John Landis whose cinematic mood lurches wildly about with gleeful disregard, but Werewolf is his most wholly conceived movie. The key to this might be the self-awareness of his central characters; it never

Byzantium (2012)   This is the first new Neil Jordan movie I’ve caught in quite a while. (Oh wait, I saw The Brave One…) He readily admits that Byzantium distils a number of ideas and themes familiar to his work. That it does so without feeling like a backwards glancing, late career retread suggests there’s a lot of life in the old dog yet. It might be Jordan’s best film since his ’80s heyday. There’s the storyteller architecture that is underpins The Company of Wolves. The ranging back and forth through personal history comes from his other bloodsucking tale, Interview with a Vampire. And then

Twilight Zone: The Movie (1983)   With the odd exception (Band of Brothers), Spielberg and TV don’t mix. Ironically, as that’s where he started out, and given one of his best pictures is a TV movie (Duel). The collection of half-arsed small-screen fare trumpeting (or should that be trumping) his name is extensive, and there’s a raft of beleaguered series that struggled to a couple of seasons based on his name alone. It’s still going on (Falling Skies). His big-screen version of The Twilight Zone happened several years before he had a good scratch at his anthology itch (Amazing Stories), and given

Stoker (2013)   I didn’t much care for Oldboy. I should qualify that. I thought it had an arresting premise, and Park Chan-wook worked wonders during the early stages. But, once his protagonist had escaped his prison (and that incredible fight scene), the structure gradually fell apart for me. It careened into a hysterical (not as in funny) and overwrought conclusion, both in terms of story and the director’s OTT staging. I’m sure many would argue for its brilliance for that very reason, but I felt that I’d been promised something intricate and was then served a rather daft and cod-operatic denouement. I

World War Z (2013)   Summer 2013 has proved unfortunately consistent in one key respect so far; movies have engrossed and enthralled for the first half-to-two-thirds of their running time, only to fizzle into narrative incoherence or disappointment during the final act; Oblivion, Star Trek, Man of Steel, now World War Z. Only Iron Man Three is left standing proud. It is never less than apparent that WWZ is no more than a string of well-executed set pieces; an increasingly familiar rendition of the apocalypse on an enormous scale, but with absolutely nothing new to say about it. But it’s still something of a miracle World War Z is as

The Legend of Hell House (1973)   In retrospect, 1973 looks like a banner year for the changing face of the horror movie. The writing was on the wall for Hammer, which had ruled the roost in Britain for so long, and in the US the release of The Exorcist completed a transformation of the genre that had begun with Polanski’s Rosemary’s Baby; the realistic horror film, where the terror was to be found in the everyday (the home, the family). Then there was Don’t Look Now, which refracted horror tropes through a typically Nic Roeg eye, fracturing time and vision in a meditative

In Dreams (1999)   Interviewed for the book Smoking in Bed – Conversations with Bruce Robinson, the director/writer/actor observes that the first thing Neil Jordan did in the film of In Dreams was to have a child killed. Robinson’s original script had studiously avoided showing kids in peril, and he understandably felt that Jordan had completely missed the point. I’m not all together sure the film would have worked if it had followed Robinson’s vision, but it surely couldn’t have been any worse than beautifully shot mess that ends up on screen. Robinson the writer had answered the call of none of other than Steven

The Omen (2006)   One can’t necessarily blame Fox for remaking The Omen. It represents a name brand, and every studio in town had been going through any horror franchise with even vague clout. Most of these have met with middling-at-best critical reaction. Meanwhile the box office has just about justified the expense but the telltale drop off following the first weekend that indicated none of them were successfully reinvented for a new generation. The Omen isn’t just a horror franchise, however. For Fox it represents a horror blockbuster, perhaps not in comparison to the likes of Spielberg and Lucas, but nevertheless one of their

Kill List (2011)   Ben Wheatley appears to have swiftly become the new poster boy for British horror, thus supplanting the undeservedly crowned regent Neil Marshall. Obviously, Wheatley has a far more suitable name so that’s something. And, at first glance, he appears to have artistic aspirations higher than the swathe of gore Marshall is content to cut a path through. But for every area where I admired Wheatley’s inventiveness and craft in Kill List, ultimately, he left me feeling dissatisfied with the result. It’s possible that I’m just not sufficiently on board with horror movie tropes. It’s never been my

Gremlins 2: The New Batch (1990)   Joe Dante’s solitary sequel is a fine example of why Hollywood studios don’t generally give filmmakers the keys to the kingdom. Warner Bros had been unsuccessfully attempting to come up with a second installment ever since Gremlins proved a break-out hit in the summer of 1984. One that was surprising even by “Steven Spielberg presents” standards. It was as doubtful a sure thing as the following year’s Back to the Future would be for Universal. Gremlins’ sensibility mined a pitch black humour that the mainstream generally baulked at. Spielberg had misgivings about some of these elements (but

The Shining (1980)   It has been suggested that Kubrick’s adaption of The Shining was in part a reaction to the mediocre box office takings of Barry Lyndon; the director needed to prove he was commercially viable, so he set out with the star of his aborted Napoleon film down an overtly populist road. At the same time, there’s a view that it was borne out of need to be deemed relevant, much as A Clockwork Orange fired him up almost a decade before. The ‘70s was a decade where big commercial horrors had broken out (for which Rosemary’s Baby paved the way), although I suspect Kubrick