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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

The Night My Number Came Up (1955)   A blinder of a premonitory suspense yarn from the Ealing stable. Indeed, The Night My Number Came Up was so well received, it garnered a BAFTA nomination for Best British Film (along with fellow airborne contender The Dam Busters; Richard III took the laurels). Michael Hordern’s naval commander recounts an unnerving dream to Michael Redgrave’s air marshal over dinner, only for the chilling realisation to dawn on the latter that it’s coming true exactly as described. Hardie: It’s an interesting question, isn’t it? Perhaps nothing happens in this world unless somebody dreams about it first. In essence, this

Séance on a Wet Afternoon (1964)   Bryan Forbes’ adaptation of Mark McShane’s 1961’s novel has been much acclaimed. It boasts a distinctive storyline and effective performances from its leads, accompanied by effective black-and-white cinematography from Gerry Turpin and a suitably atmospheric score from John Barry. I’m not sure Forbes makes the most of the material, however, as he underlines Séance on a Wet Afternoon’s inherently theatrical qualities at the expense of its filmic potential. Myra: We have borrowed a child, Billy. Borrowed. This means that, for all there are reveals hinging on what the viewer does or doesn’t know, there’s significant

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

Audrey Rose (1977)   Robert Wise was no stranger to high-minded horror fare when he came to Audrey Rose. He was no stranger to adding a distinctly classy flavour to any genre he tackled, in fact, particularly in the tricky terrain of the musical (West Side Story, The Sound of Music) and science fiction (The Day the Earth Stood Still, The Andromeda Strain). He hadn’t had much luck since the latter, however, with neither Two People nor The Hindenburg garnering good notices or box office. In addition to which, Audrey Rose saw him returning to a genre that had been fundamentally impacted by The Exorcist four years before. One might have expected the

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

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

Ghostbusters II (1989)   Columbia doubtless saw a Ghostbusters sequel as a licence to print money. Well, they did after David Puttnam, who disdained the overt commercialism of blockbusters – as you might guess, he didn’t last very long; just over a year – was replaced as chairman by Dawn Steel. Troubled waters were smoothed over – he’d effectively insulted Bill Murray, as well as claiming a sequel was going ahead; Ivan Reitman’s office responded that it was “The first we’ve heard of it” – and development put into high gear. But the studio ended up with a box office also-ran, thoroughly eclipsed by the summer

The Green Mile (1999)   There’s something very satisfying about the unhurried confidence of the storytelling in Frank Darabont’s two prison-set Stephen King adaptations (I’m less beholden to supermarket sweep The Mist). It’s sure, measured and precise, certain the journey you’re being taken on justifies the (indulgent) time spent, without the need for flashy visuals or ornate twists (the twists there are feel entirely germane – with a notable exception – as if they could only be that way). But. The Green Mile has reasonably come under scrutiny for its reliance on – or to be more precise, building its foundation on –

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

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

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

Hold the Dark (2018)   Hold the Dark, an adaptation of William Giraldi’s 2014 novel, is big on atmosphere. You’d expect as much from director Jeremy Saulnier (Blue Ruin, Green Room) and actor-now-director pal Macon Blair (I Don’t Want to Live in This World Anymore) (the latter furnishes the screenplay and appearing in one scene). However, it’s contrastingly low on satisfying resolutions. Being wilfully oblique can be a winner if you’re entirely sure what you’re trying to achieve, but the effect here smacks rather “for the sake of it” than purposeful. Jeffrey Wright’s wolf expert Core is called to the Alaskan

Sorcerer (1977)   By the time it was easily available, I didn’t feel any great urgency to check out Sorcerer. Mostly because I’d already seen Wages of Fear by that point, and really, how could it possibly compete? Which wasn’t wrong. William Friedkin can’t equal Henri-Georges Clouzot’s classic, although in fairness, he does produce a picture that isn’t to be sneezed at, that’s very much of its era, and that has its own undeniable qualities. My first knowledge of Sorcerer came via ads for its soundtrack, I guess back in the early ’80s, amongst promotions for more recent releases; for a movie that resoundingly and starkly flopped

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 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

The Ward (2010)   I’d felt no particular compunction to rush out and see The Ward (or rent it), partly down to the underwhelming reviews, but mostly because John Carpenter’s last few films had been so disappointing; I doubted a decade away from the big screen would rejuvenate someone who’d rather play computer games than call the shots. Perhaps inevitably then, now I have finally given it a look, it’s a case of low expectations being at least surpassed. The Ward isn’t very good, but it isn’t outright bad either. While it seems obvious in retrospect, I failed to guess the twist before it

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

King Arthur: Legend of the Sword (2017)   I can certainly see why Guy Ritchie’s latest has flopped. Audiences weren’t interested in what he was selling, and what he was selling was very clear from the trailers. It’s the same with Ghost in the Shell: all these post-mortems offering a list of reasons why really boil down to whether those two-and-a-half minutes are appealing, not whether Charlie Hunnam’s a star or Scarlett Johannsson can open a movie. Much weaker movies become hits every year, so it was his take on King Arthur – which, like everything Ritchie gets his paws on,

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

Ghostbusters (1984)   I was never an uber-Ghostbusters fan. I liked it alright, Bill Murray was really funny in it, but Bill Murray was really funny in everything at that point (well, except The Razor’s Edge), so that didn’t explain its enormous success. I think part of it is that, even now, that theme, and the images of those guys, used to maximum montage effect in the movie itself, suggest a popular classic of folk memory even to me, knowing otherwise. Much as Harold Faltermeyer’s Axel F, and the presence of Eddie Murphy, mask how thin Beverly Hills Cop essentially is. Although, Beverly Hills Cop is at least well directed, and

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 Avengers 2.16: Warlock   A genuinely supernatural episode, one of the series’ big no-nos, for some fans. Accordingly, your appreciation for Warlock will likely rest entirely on whether you accept its premise. I regard it as one of the highlights of the second season, although the common verdict appears to be that it’s something of a disappointment. Peter Hammond was one of the series’ best directors, and he pulls out the stylistic stops to make the most of Doreen Montgomery’s teleplay. Montgomery had a long career as writer for the big screen from the late ’30s to the late ’50s; this

The Leftovers Season Two: Episodes 7-10   Damon Lindelof may not be about to tell us (or work out for himself) what the Sudden Departure means, but that’s in no way going to prevent him from lobbing non-stop surprises and curveballs around its periphery. I couldn’t have conceived the manner in which the later stages of Season Two veer completely off (Kevin’s in particular) reservation, and, indeed, I was looking in completely the wrong direction regarding much that transpired. All the better to immerse oneself in the best TV show of 2015 (or, to be more specific, the best show

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

The Leftovers Season Two: Episodes 1-6   You don’t hear many people talking about The Leftovers, less still raving about it. It would be nigh on a miracle that it was commissioned for a second run, if not for the fact that HBO generally look kindlier on the prospects for fledging fare than the networks (but not John from Cincinnati, alas). The Season Two partial reboot’s change of setting has enabled the continuation of the show’s most vital elements and characters, and indeed introduced new ones just as arresting. If it’s disappointing that some of the first season’s better characters have fallen by

Twin Peaks 2.12: The Black Widow   This one, directed by Caleb Deschanel and written by Harley Peyton and Robert Engels, continue the largely antiseptic trend of the last couple. It will remain that way until Jean Renault (well played by Michael Parks, but not used well beyond his first couple of appearances) is despatched and Windom Earle takes centre stage. Dick Tremayne: Andy, I believe that little Nicky, incredible as it may seem, may in fact be the devil. The Black Widow is more of the less engaging/haven’t a clue what to do filler plotlines, basically. Even in these, there’s the

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

Twin Peaks 1.3: Zen, or the Skill to Catch a Killer   Lynch is back in the director’s chair, in what will be his last megaphone lifting for the first season, and his last script credit on the show period. Of course, he will soon enough show up on the other side of the camera. This first smattering of episodes are pretty much note-perfect, although the “cliffhanger” for this one is as much of an enormous dangling cheat as those old Republic serials showing the hero escaping certain death in a hitherto impossible manner during the reprise. The Man from

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

A New York Winter’s Tale (2014)   I was intrigued to see Winter’s Tale, as it was titled in the US (probably in Britain we’d have thought it was the Sir Ken’s next Shakespeare adaptation), despite the lack of esteem in which I hold screenwriter (and here debut director) Akiva Goldsman. Magical realism is a deceptively difficult fish to fry, even though it’s an increasingly popular dish; perhaps one for whom Mark Helprin’s novel had become a passion project could muster the goods to pull off it off. Goldsman couldn’t, as it turns out, but, despite its myriad flaws, and at

It’s a Wonderful Life (1946)   It’s a Wonderful Life is an unassailable classic, held up as an embodiment of true spirit of Christmas and a testament to all that is good and decent and indomitable in humanity. It deserves its status, even awash with unabashed sentimentality that, for once, actually seems fitting. But, with the reams of plaudits aimed at Frank Capra’s most enduring film, it is also worth playing devil’s advocate for a moment or two. One can construe a number of not nearly so life-affirming undercurrents lurking within it, both intentional and unintentional on the part of its

The Leftovers Season One: Part 2   The second half of Season One of The Leftovers evidences a series that has found its feet, and then some. Each episode is a standout in its own way, from Nora’s strange encounters at a departure conference, to Kevin’s mad dad running loose, and his National Geographic fixation (very Lindelof, that), to the stunning encounter with Patti in a cabin in the woods, to the inevitable flashback episode that explains everything and nothing, and on to the finale with its tenuous optimistic note. Doubtless that still point is set to be shattered in 2015; HBO has confirmed

Odd Thomas (2013)   Writer-director and all-round auteur Stephen Sommers’ latest movie wasn’t greeted with the box office reception that he’s used to. It wasn’t greeted with critical acclaim either, although he ought to be familiar with that by now. Sommers is one of Hollywood’s most unbridled “talents”, unleashing attention deficit disorder puke of unmartialled images and edits onto cinema screens and then having the cheek to advertise the results as coherent movies. Odd Thomas is visually of a piece with this typical lack of restraint but, in contrast to the resto of his post-Mummy output, the big thing it has going for

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

Ace of Wands Season 3 (1972)   If Ace of Wands were half as good as its theme song it would be an enduring classic whose legend was alive and well today, rather than a half-forgotten ember in the annals of children’s television history. Only the final season of the series exists (transmitted the year I was born), so perhaps I’m doing it an injustice and the previous two were dynamite. After all, loveable cockney rogue Tony Selby appeared in those as a regular. Trevor Preston’s idea was to make a kids’ show that wasn’t obviously playing to kids (hence the leads

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

Children of the Stones 2. Circle of Fear   Episode Two focuses in on father-son theorising. The recovering Adam, who requires a large glass of Scotch to soothe his nerves, remains dismissive of supernatural forces. He sees the energy as electromagnetic, a “perfectly natural phenomenon”. So Margaret has to go to work on him as “a man of sensitivity”. It’s a curious conceit to fashion the scientist as a closet receptive, but it isn’t that uncommon; the hero has to be able to rise to the challenge of any forces that come his way. The magpie pseudo-science, pseudo-folklore reminds me

The Lone Ranger (2013)   Johnny Depp was somewhat disingenuous to suggest that the critics were responsible for The Lone Ranger going belly-up. Anyone who has seen a Transformers movie knows they rarely prevent the viewing public from seeing just what they/we want to see, regardless of presumed quality. But it raises the question; in a summer wall-to-wall with disappointments (in that, in almost every case, there was real potential on display that was ultimately squandered) why did this one get singled out for such venom? It would be overly dismissive to suggest The Lone Ranger’s status as a disaster simply became a unfairly repeated

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

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

The Golden Child (1986)   Post-Beverly Hills Cop, Eddie Murphy could have filmed himself washing the dishes and it would have been a huge hit. Which might not have been a bad idea, since he chose to make this misconceived stinker. The 1980s may have been the actor’s peak period as a star, but it also yielded many of his weakest movies. Only Coming to America holds up out of his pictures in the last half of the decade, and that’s no classic.  The first question that comes to mind with The Golden Child is why on earth Murphy went near it. The chance

The Mummy (1999)   If The Matrix was the zeitgeist-defining event of the summer of 1999, having a surplus of vitality and resonance that left The Phantom Menace looking bloated and stranded, there was another pretender to the blockbuster crown that no one expected to be a sizable hit. One might argue that The Matrix captured something of the “never seen before” quality of the first Star Wars film. If it did, The Mummy was merely content to fill the gap in the audience’s desire for an Indiana Jones knock-off. Any knock-off would do, which goes some way to explaining how such an average film became the third biggest genre movie that wasn’t The

Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom (1984)   The second Indiana Jones is a disappointment. Not a crashing disappointment in the way that the fourth instalment is; by most standards this is an entertaining blockbuster, well-performed and frequently exquisite to look at. The problems with Temple of Doom are fundamental ones to do with narrative and structure. Raiders of the Lost Ark was essentially one long chase; Temple gets the chasing out of the way in the first fifteen minutes, after which it confines itself to one big soundstage until the climax. It’s difficult to define it in terms of acts, in fact, as the temple

Raiders of the Lost Ark (1981)   Indiana Jones: I don’t know. I’m making this up as I go along. When did Steven Spielberg stop being a great director? I don’t mean, “When did Spielberg stop being a technically superior director?” And I certainly don’t mean, “When did Spielberg stop being a prestigious director?” I suspect it was somewhere around the time he started looking to his legacy rather than to what really enthused him. One might suggest the rot set in as early as 1941, but perhaps he needed to learn through failure that he didn’t possess the innate anarchy of John Landis.

Blithe Spirit (1945)   David Lean’s adaptation of Noel Coward’s 1941 play is a world away from the prestigious epics that would become synonymous with the director. Nevertheless, there is an elegance to this supernatural comedy, sometimes, it seems, at the expense of a lightness of touch that would wring the most from Coward’s wit and playful dialogue. Charles Condomine, researching his new novel, invites medium Madame Arcati to perform a séance at his house. The result is the appearance of his deceased wife of seven years, much to the chagrin of this current betrothed. On learning of the true

Ghost (1990)   As is often the case with the romance genre, no one was predicting Ghost to be the box office sensation it became. Much the same was true of Pretty Woman earlier in that year. There was no hype behind either of them, and the leads didn’t exactly sell tickets. With Woman it was (relatively) unknown Julia Roberts and past-it Richard Gere. Ghost had Patrick Swizzle (okay, I’ll give you Dirty Dancing) and ex brat packer Demi Moore. And then there was the director. One of the guys who made Airplane!? None of the omens were good, but somehow alchemy occurred. Even the Academy wanted in; Ghost was nominated for

Picnic at Hanging Rock (1975/1998)   (Director’s Cut) My sympathies lie squarely with those who feel Peter Weir shouldn’t have gone and meddled with his film (removing eight minutes). Some of these individuals are actors and production crew interviewed on the feature-length making of documentary included on the Blu ray/DVD. Michael Mann is the biggest culprit in this inability to leave well alone (and then there’s George Lucas…) Weir at least claims he’d wanted to edit out sequences that didn’t work so well since its original release outside of Australia. I can understand his reasoning, in particular with the excised

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