oldsharky

MadS (2024)

Kids! Don’t do drugs!

Unless you want to slowly transform into a cackling, bloodthirsty Deadite.

Writer-director David Moreau and his camera crew of French daredevils have assembled MadS, a micro-zombie tale that maintains a breathless pace, thanks to it being filmed in one exhausting take!

For 89 minutes nonstop minutes, we tag along with Romain (Milton Riche), a swinging teen (?) on his 18th (?) birthday, as he visits his dealer driving a classic Mustang convertible.

After snorting several lines of a dark red powder, Romain scores a few bindles of the stuff and blasts off through the French countryside in his sweet ride, soon to be tripping balls.

At this early stage, we almost envy the lad. It’s his dad’s car but Romain cuts a dashing figure behind the wheel, like Jean-Paul Belmondo or something.

As the powerful drugs take hold of his system his special birthday night rapidly degenerates into hell. He inadvertently gives a ride to a feral madwoman who seems to be on the run from nefarious forces.

Romain, who is expected to be at a blowout rager for his birthday, instead brings the nonverbal, unstable refugee to his father’s fancy house—and loses track of her.

The constant motion of the narrative gives MadS a major advantage in holding our attention. I realized while watching it, that I was standing up for much of the time. That’s called tension and it just keeps coming.

There’s a particular scene with a woman riding a scooter, trying to outrace an infected friend who is madly pursuing on foot and calling out to her that burns like a fuse.

The visual excitement is top drawer throughout. Moreau’s sensibility is slick, sleek, and sleazy, and MadS rates highly as finely-crafted, Old World, Eurotrash with a pedal that’s always on the metal.

The movie dovetailed nicely with my reading a trilogy of post-apocalyptic books by English author Rich Hawkins (The Last Plague, The Last Outpost, and The Last Soldier; recommended!) that are really grim.

And so is this. But it kicks major ass.

There’s Something Wrong with the Children (2023)

Camping and looking after someone else’s kids? There’s a pair of concepts I find extremely disturbing!

Director Roxanne Benjamin and writers T.J. Cimfel and David White definitely know how to create the potential for a scary experience as they put two couples into a paranormal powder keg and hand a book of matches to some thoroughly corrupted moppets .

In There’s Something Wrong with the Children, Ben (Zach Guilford) and Margaret (Alisha Wainwright) are cabin camping with longtime friends Ellie (Amanda Crew) and Thomas (Carlos Santos), and their two kids Lucy (Briella Guiza) and Spencer (David Mattle).

While exploring some industrial ruins nearby, Lucy and Spencer become fascinated with a mysterious well found on the abandoned property. And by fascinated, I mean hypnotized and enslaved by a malevolent entity, who soon has the little rug rats doing the devil’s business, which primarily consists of driving Ben loony.

Not that they had to drive very far.

The most rightfully horrifying element at play here, are the malicious kids. Lucy gads about in a red devil hoody, evil-eyeing everyone in sight, and her younger brother shows genuine promise as a budding psycho killer.

There is much subtext given over to the topic of Breeding versus Not Breeding, and the latter wins by a country mile. As evidenced here by a reasonable body count, expanding your brood beyond the number two is like inviting Evil to share your campfire and sharpening them up a weenie stick.

Margaret becomes the de facto Final Girl and she’s not a very good one. But by the end of the movie it’s apparent that she has finally resolved any conflicts she may have had about family planning.

It’s a middling effort, let’s give it a C (see).

Boys from County Hell (2020)

You can count me among those short-sighted sods who’ve overlooked the obvious connection between Ireland and vampire lore, namely author Bram Stoker. He served as a theater manager and a drama critic for the Dublin Times, before he’d spun Dracula into existence.

Filmmaker Chris Baugh’s extremely entertaining The Boys From County Hell, takes place in a blighted Irish backwater called Six Mile Hill, where legend has it an ancient vampire named Abhartach lays buried beneath a cairn of stones in a nearby field.

At least that’s what bored locals Eugene Moffat (Jack Rowan) and William Hogue (Fra Free) tell the occasional tourist that comes to town looking for historical information about Bram Stoker. The lads insist that Abhartach was the original vampire that inspired Stoker to create his own version.

Coincidentally, Eugene’s no-nonsense father Francie (Nigel O’Neill) gets handed the contract to build a new road that’s going straight through Six Mile Hill and the accursed pile of rocks.

Eugene and his drinking buddies, SP McCauley (Michael Hough) and Claire McCann (Louisa Harland), are recruited by Francie to start breaking local ground. When they reach the rock pile, a bloody accident involving a runaway bull and Eugene’s friend William leads to the resurrection of a very pissed off, ancient vampire.

Rather than push his bloodsucker into the spotlight, Hough opts to keep Abhartach in the shadows; his mere malignant presence causes the townspeople to start bleeding uncontrollably.

Even with a monstrous creature on the loose, we can’t help admiring Francie and Eugene, a devoted father and son who can always find time to bust each other’s chops to welcome comic effect.

We’re also witness to some major mythology retooling, as it turns out you can’t kill a vampire with a wooden stake. Or decapitation. Or sunlight. This leads to an assortment of survival challenges for the principal players—and most of them simply don’t have what it takes.

What we have in Boys From County Hell is a bloody good time with funny, fleshed-out characters matching wits with an inhuman adversary that just won’t stay grounded.

Recommended to anyone in search of something fresh.

Die Alone (2024)

Screen history repeats itself, as Carrie-Anne Moss is once again paired with an amnesia victim (Douglas Smith) searching for answers in Die Alone, a Canadian post-apocalypse drama crawling with a verdant variety of zombies that have gone to seed.

Writer-director Lowell Dean makes sensible use of Saskatchewan’s panoramic grasslands to anchor the action, following a few hardy survivors stumbling through a barren landscape largely stripped of humanity thanks to a plant-based virus that’s amped up the vegetation to lethal levels.

Ethan (Smith) and Emma (Kimberly Sue Miller) are a young couple on the run when the environmental shit hits the fan. Despite making a plan to meetup at a remote cabin in case they get separated, Ethan’s trauma-induced amnesia keeps getting in the way, and the two predictably lose track of each other.

Luckily clueless Ethan gets rescued by rugged survivalist May (Moss), who agrees to help him locate his lost love and provide reasonable room and board in exchange for farm labor.

Instead of gratitude, Ethan steals May’s truck and goes off to search for Emma on his own, but the absent-minded protagonist requires frequent rescuing. That means many scenes begin with Ethan regaining consciousness in different locations, usually covered in blood, sweat, and ears.

The zombie community is represented by hungry humanoids that have been reclaimed by the earth, each with its own distinctive look fusing foliage and fashion. The makeup department deserves the donuts for creating such intriguing new creatures.

Strangely, Dean mostly employs the undead as set dressing, rather than as a serious threat, limiting their fright potential to a precious few moments.

But it’s not a dealbreaker.

That Die Alone succeeds as a movie is largely due to the unbreakable strength of its central relationships and the filmmaker’s fully developed arsenal of appreciation for those that came before him.

Cinema nerds will eagerly recognize shots paying tribute to everyone from John Ford to Terrence Malick to Sam Raimi. Dean’s script, though maddeningly fractured and episodic, leads to a crushing finale that I’m still chewing on like old Milk Duds.

Be like the cows. Keep chewing. It’s making more sense all the time.

Frailty (2001)

The late Bill Paxton (1955–2017) will always be remembered for his distinguished genre credentials. As the not-so-brave Private Hudson in Aliens (1986), he got all the best lines, including “Game over, man!”

A year later he was part of a kick-ass vampire gang in the criminally underrated Near Dark, reunited with his Aliens costars, Lance Henriksen and Jenette Goldstein.

Still not impressed? How about this action? Paxton is the only actor to play a character killed by a Predator (Predator 2, 1990), a Xenomorph (Aliens) and a Terminator (The Terminator, 1984).

Serious respect!

In Frailty, Paxton directs and stars as a mild-mannered mechanic who becomes a divinely inspired killer after a visitation from an angel.

Rather than keep this to himself, he awakens his two young sons Fenton (Matt O’Leary) and Adam (Jeremy Sumpter), informing them that they will be helping Dad destroy demons in human form.

Adam, the younger son, is gung-ho to please his avenging father, while older brother Fenton doesn’t like the idea one bit.

Too bad the Lord’s will must be served.

The brothers’ upbringing is recounted years later by a grown-up Fenton (Matthew McConnaughy) to incredulous FBI agent Wesley Doyle (Powers Boothe), who reluctantly gets reeled into a twisted tale of a family under the dominion of a terribly unbalanced man.

As a director, Paxton imbues Frailty with a naturalistic, small-town feel that makes the episodic violence particularly jarring. As an actor, he delivers a nuanced, but emotionally reserved performance that evokes a little sympathy and a whole lot of terror.

Anyone expecting the unhinged Hudson, or perhaps the belligerent bully Chet from Weird Science will see nothing of the sort here.

By the time he locks Fenton in the basement for a week (no food, one glass of water per day) in an effort to drive out any demonic influences, the horror has gotten uncomfortably real, as Paxton dons the face of unblinking fundamental fanaticism, reminiscent in tone of Kevin Smith’s Red State.

Bill Paxton’s ability to goose the tension as a filmmaker in Frailty, is more than matched by his extraordinary performance as an ordinary man called upon to serve God by fighting evil.

But it’s not easy. Just ask Abraham.

Sinners (2025)

Enthusiastically recommended and watch out at awards time!

Sinners is the fifth collaboration between writer-director Ryan Coogler (Creed, Black Panther, Fruitvale Station) and star Michael B. Jordan, and it’s an epic whopper of a movie with a blistering blues soundtrack and a depth of soul not typically found in an era of easily disgested entertainment options.

Twin brothers Smoke and Stack (both played by Jordan) return to Clarksdale, Mississippi—after working for Al Capone’s mob in Chicago for seven years—determined to open a juke joint, a place where hard-working sharecroppers and field hands can be free to eat, drink, and dance the night away.

The brothers have contrasting demeanors, but their ambition, to own something free and clear that’s designed to serve the black community, is helped greatly by the large amounts of cash they’ve brought back from the Windy City.

Smoke recruits his former lover Annie (Wunmi Mosaku), a New Orleans hoodoo practitioner, to cook catfish for the crowd, while Stack hustles hooch and henchmen in an effort to keep the peace in their new joint.

On opening night, the club is jammed with folks stomping away to spirited music provided by guitar prodigy Sammy Moore (Miles Caton) and blues elder statesmen Delta Slim (Delroy Lindo).

Coogler is in absolute artistic control of the frenetic proceedings, and the verve and excitement he is able to capture during the dance sequences is unreal. We’re talking mesmeric scenes flowing so organically they’re worthy of repeated watches on their own.

While patrons shake and shimmy, Coogler enlarges the cultural lens to include a heartfelt vision of artists—past and future—caught in the dervish rhythms of the juke joint, and the effect is breathtaking.

“Blues weren’t forced on us like that religion,” Slim tells Sammy. “We brought this with us from home.”

Just when we’re having a peak cultural moment, a trio of vampires disguised as itinerant Irish folk musicians, crash the party and a bloodbath ensues.

There is no reason to believe, as some grumpy critics have implied, that Sinners unexpectedly goes off the rails at this point. Coogler doesn’t bring in the undead as a deux machina or as a concession to a larger, edgier demographic.

The taking of blood and the quick assimilation (exploitation) of blacks into a “protective” white society is a historical hot-button issue at play in Sinners, but it’s far from the only one.

There’s subtext and pointed references worth investigating everywhere, including a mysterious connection between the Choctaw Tribe and Irish immigrants. It’s all intentional on Coogler’s part, as he dares us to consider alternative histories to the ones we’ve been spoon fed.

Visually, musically, and dramatically, Sinners kicks more ass than a 1000 superhero flicks. Add yours to the queue.

The Gorge (2025)

So many genres, so little time.

When the creative team in charge of a film project gets carried away trying to please each and every imagined audience member, the results are usually a load of crap.

The Gorge, written by Zach Dean and directed by Scott Derrickson, seemingly utilizes this kitchen-sink approach, tossing a zesty, messy melange of romance, action, horror, and conspiracy theory that’s a just a tad over two hours in length.

And somehow it works pretty damn well as a super-engaging popcorn flick!

Levi (Miles Teller) and Drasa (Anya Taylor-Joy) are two highly trained snipers from different countries assigned guard duty at opposite watch towers on either side of the enormous and mysterious titular gorge.

The mercenaries are armed to the hilt and instructed not to contact each other, but the need for company proves too much for Levi and Drasa, and soon they’re flirtatiously firing rounds, demonstrating their skill and accuracy, while a Ramones record plays.

“I guess this qualifies as a Meet Cute,” I whisper to Mrs. Sharky.

Though separated by a chasm that occasionally spits out monstrous hybrid humanoids called Hollow Men, the hired guns overcome logistical challenges and use a zip line to hook up and become not just a couple, but an elite and capable survival team.

This comes in handy when their military handler (Sigourney Weaver) decides they can no longer be trusted.

Once the protagonists figure out that this version of the future has no future, their decision to join forces is logical and inevitable. Besides, they’re a hot couple, and Drasa is clearly the aggressor, eventually rescuing Levi from an unexpected plummet into the abyss.

Through waves of decent monster attacks and fabulous fire fights, we actually grow fairly attached to Levi and especially the badass Drasa, which helps keep the viewer grounded during the mood shifts and infrequent talky interludes.

The Gorge is also a very impressive example of world-building, an important component to any successful popcorn operation. The mise-en scene has been carefully considered providing a foundation of future realism that looks like it was designed by the prison industrial complex.

No wonder no one want to hang around!

Ouija: Origin Of Evil (2016)

Prolific genre dynamo Mike Flanagan (Haunting of Hill House, Oculus, Dr. Sleep) created this prequel to Ouija (2014), and consensus opinion holds that Ouija: Origin of Evil, is far superior to its predecessor, though that may have more to do with the “meh” quality of the original material, rather than an auteur’s magic wand.

We travel back to the year 1967, where widowed mother Alice (Elizabeth Reaser) makes a modest living as a phony fortune teller, aided in her deceptive practices by daughters Lina (Annalise Basso) and Doris (Lulu Wilson).

Alice and eldest daughter Lina consider adding a Ouija board to their seance shtick, but all too quickly this occult stepping stone gets a grip on Doris, the youngest, resulting in a once-innocent child playing host to a number of spiritual entities, good and bad, including her late father (good) and a fiendish Nazi doctor (bad).

Flanagan and cowriter Jeff Howard weave together enough plot points for seven sweaters, but don’t sweat the details. Ouija: Origin of Evil is trademark Flanagan territory, as a fractured family faces a perilous paranormal presence coming from inside the house.

The technicians Flanagan puts to work on his projects are first-rate, intuitively establishing the tone, time, and terroir in which his particular domestic terror can take hold of hearts and spines.

Here, art director Alberto Gonzalez-Reyna and cinematographer Michael Fimognari mute the sunny ’60s California scenery in dark shades of green and gold, so wardrobe colors appear especially vivid and blooming—a keen counterpoint to the carnage being carried on behind closed doors at the local fortune teller’s house!

Despite being a minor entry in Mike Flanagan’s filmography, Ouija: Origin of Evil is a compelling and highly watchable film in its own right, and needn’t be seen in the company of any other Ouija entries in the hopes of additional illumination.

Abandoned (2022)

I’ve spent enough hours surfing for movie options that I can read a plot summary in about three seconds flat.

Thanks to several years of immersive research, I can now safely testify that approximately 70 percent of ALL horror entertainment must include a struggling couple with kids (living or recently deceased) relocating to a house of questionable repute in search of a fresh start.

Usually for such an egregious error in judgment, the hopefully healing family gets placed in a potentially paranormal hot seat, somehow stemming from one of the parent’s festering trauma.

Abandoned, which benefits from a thoroughly committed Emma Roberts as a new mom with a vicious case of postpartum depression, is another such film. Director Spencer Squire digs deep into the tortured psyche of Sara (Roberts), but doesn’t find anything new or interesting to report.

Sara and husband Alex (John Gallagher Jr) get a sweet deal on some rural acreage that comes with a bonus room that the previous owner only used for murder and suicide.

Their infant son Liam spends most of his screen (scream?) time lustily crying his lungs out, so we definitely sympathize with the rapidly disintegrating Sara.

The fragile lass gets saddled with a wailing infant all damn day, and has nothing better to do than figure out the dark history of the house while suffering a nervous breakdown.

Meanwhile, her veterinarian hubby is facing his own challenges putting down a pen of infected pigs, necessitating many hours spent out of the house, leaving Sara and little Liam to deal with a creepy neighbor (Michael Shannon), voices in the walls, and a bunch of missing toys (resulting in even more loud lamentations).

Alex euthanizing sickly swine is supposed to provide some kind of narrative parallel to Sara’s mentally unstable parenting style, but in the end, she accepts her crybaby and bravely snatches the little nipper back from a pair of feral kids.

Or maybe they’re ghosts, I dunno.

Even with Roberts giving it her deranged best, Abandoned never rises above the level of reheated leftovers, sadly lacking in flavor and originality. But if you’re not in a hurry it might inspire memories of better meals. I mean, movies.

Preferably ones not ruined by the presence of shrieking children.

The Tunnel (2011)

An investigative reporter and a film crew descend into the darkness looking for a story—and find a doozy.

The Tunnel is a supremely creepy Australian found footage/creature feature that takes place in a vast network of subway tunnels beneath the streets of Sydney. Natasha Wagner (Bel Delía) is an ambitious journalist with water on the brain.

Specifically, Natasha wants to know why the city government abandoned a plan to recycle millions of gallons of water located in an old underground reservoir, so she picks up a map and convinces her trusty team of techs to have a look around down there and roll cameras.

Instead of civic corruption, Natasha, cameraman Steve Miller (Steve Davis), sound guy Jim “Tangles” Williams (Luke Arnold), and unit producer Pete Ferguson (Andy Rodoreda) uncover evidence of homeless folks living in the tunnels, as well as a fearsome predator that’s decimating their numbers.

Director Carlo Ledesma keeps the pace breathless and chaotic, dumping the cast in a very dark place. Fading sources of illumination prove particularly vexing to the trapped investigators, who have deduced that whatever manner of beast is stalking them, it’s frightened of light.

As is the case with media outlets these days, the whole case gets shut down at the behest of powerful interests, despite a few pesky survivors with some questionable footage.

And they never did find poor Tangles!