If Shadow Over Innsmouth was adapted as a Grade-Z horror film, it might play out something like Bad Fish, written and directed by West Coast indie filmmaker Brad Douglas.
Filmed for measly money over a two-year period in locations near Brookings, Oregon and Crescent City, California, Bad Fish follows alcoholic marine biologist John Burton (Jonny Lee) on a quest for clues in a remote coastal community where fishermen’s body parts keep washing ashore.
After confabbing with Sheriff Porter (Mark Schneider), Burton examines a mangled torso and concludes that this was no boating accident. But it wasn’t a shark either, he decides.
Giant squid? Not known to inhabit these water. And what’s driving away all the salmon?
Turns out it’s all the work of Abby (Abby Wathen), the beguiling bartender at the local boozer, who comes with a whopper of a backstory. Seems when she isn’t mixing martinis, Abby is the leader of a nasty deep-water cult in search of fresh blood (and other fluids).
Despite a few too many talky scenes enacted by amateur thespians, Bad Fish is an admirable, atmospheric, small-town mystery that concludes with Burton getting left without a leg to stand on in a very bad domestic situation.
Not to worry, Douglas has Bad Fish II in the works, so maybe someone will throw the poor sap a lifeline.
When was the last time a horror movie won a Best Picture Oscar?
How about a horror movie from South Korea?
Wait! Is this even actually horror?
Bong Joon Ho’s Parasite was recently named the best movie of the 21st century by the New York Times, as well as in a poll of more than 500 actors, writers, and assorted Hollywood riff raff.
The accolades were enough to prompt a rewatch, so the wife and I buckled in with a tasty spread from Hawaiian Bros Grill, and let the good times roll.
We open on the Kim clan, a quartet of creative and industrious con artists living in a smelly basement apartment in Seoul. Bong’s set design standards are incredibly detailed, with the Kims’ ridiculous elevated toilet serving as a mocking throne over their scheming degradation.
From the squalid floor of their stinking dungeon, the Kims watch as a parade of drunks pee on their window to the outside world.
Fortunately, son Ki-woo (Lee Sun-kyun) lands a gig as a tutor to a bored rich high school girl (Jo Yeo-jeong) and soon, through Machiavellian machinations and good old teamwork, the enterprising Kims have securely attached themselves to the wealthy, but blandly oblivious Park family, serving comically in a number of unlikely household occupations.
As the title implies, the Kims dig deep into their new situation, even taking on airs of pretension themselves, while pillaging the fancy foods in the bourgeois pantry.
Speaking of pantries, the Parks’ fabulous modern house is itself a metaphor for a society that could do a better job of feeding and housing its less-prosperous citizens.
Consider the plight of Oh Geun-sae, (Park Myung-hoon) the hider in the house with nowhere else to go. The husband of the Parks’ former housekeeper has gone insane living on food scraps in a hidden underground bunker. It’s his terror at the prospect of being homeless that’s responsible for the blood that eventually flows all over a beautifully manicured backyard.
Parasite is a marvelous creature, neither fish nor foul, bursting with darkly comic observations about the pathetic need to feel superior—to anyone. The Kims want that smug insulation of their own, but they don’t pass the smell test.
The American Dream, at least in South Korea, involves fastening yourself to a fat host. While waiting for the trickle down to take effect, you must keep others away from the living meal ticket.
Bong’s masterpiece makes for a wondrously uncomfortable safari through a human ecosystem. Parasite is mind-growing artistry containing an ocean of insights on the class struggle, all awaiting your repeated viewing.
That’s called time well spent. Ask the New York Times.
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.
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.
Nominated for five Oscars including best actress for Demi Moore? As it should be.
French writer-director Coralie Fargeat (Revenge) turns up the rage to Nova, and opens the taps at the blood bank in a body horror spectacle that will likely leave a bruise on your soul. It’s definitely worth the uncomfortable moments.
Fargeat gives us the impression that The Substance is another tale of dashed dreams in the Hollywood meat grinder, and it certainly is. In fact, the meat grinding has never been portrayed in such glaring and grotesque detail.
Elizabeth Sparkle (Demi Moore) is a beloved fitness guru who has gotten too long in the tooth to pump up sponsor sales. She is unceremoniously dumped by the venal head of the network (Dennis Quaid), who announces his plan to find a younger model, while angrily taking a pee.
Fearing for her fading career, Sparkle takes a chance on a miracle rejuvenation drug called The Substance, which promises a “a younger, better version” of yourself.
Her decision to join the program, which includes a grumpy operator, a squalid post office box, hellish injection regimen, and the gradual draining of her own vitality, is the trap springing shut.
It’s only proper that a trouper like Demi Moore has enough presence and pathos to make her vainglorious plight extremely moving, as she’s forced to grapple with her younger, better self (Margaret Qualley) for limited consciousness.
Of course, things get worse, and by the time the finale rolls around, with a mutated star trying to host a live New Year’s Eve special, it’s a straight-up Frankenstein heartbreaker, with an angry mob in pursuit.
Each time Coralie Fargeat reaches a narrative turning point in The Substance, she amps up the gore to the point of anguish, and I admire that audaciousness in the telling of this particular story.
Fargeat never delivers half measures or wimps out in any way, and in Demi Moore she has the perfect vehicle to bring home a brutal point.
“Women are bloody,” my wife reminds me. “Birth, menstruation, it’s gross.”
If you have a craving for rugged terrain, Out Of Darkness is your oyster.
Otherwise, patience is required for this impressive-looking hero’s journey into the unknown against an unseen enemy.
About 45,000 years ago, a small tribe of prehistoric explorers wash up on a distant inhospitable shore, determined to carve out a future for themselves.
Fortunately they speak in subtitles or we’d be as lost as they are!
The group is led by alpha male Adem (Chuku Modu), an arrogant hothead long on bravery and short on common sense. When they determine that something is stalking them, their search for food and shelter takes on a sense of urgency, especially after Adem’s son Heron (Luna Mwezi) gets snatched away from the campfire.
As the not very tightly-knit unit comes unraveled, it’s up to Beyah (Safia Oakley-Green), a relative stranger among them, to figure out what nature of beast is decimating the tribe.
Shot in Scotland, the location scenery is the best thing about Out Of Darkness. The landscape is pure primeval desolation, and proves to be a mightier foe than the “demon” that’s assailing the company.
The atmosphere of hiding and hunting is fairly absorbing, but the pace is painfully slow and the ending is a tepid letdown that should rightfully inspire shouts of “What? That’s it?” from the home audience.
Out Of Darkness fails to live up to the potential of its savage setting—instead we get a fossilized lesson about living and dying by the sword. Or in this case, the spear.
Ask anyone. The dating scene can be murder, especially if the relationship consumes you.
In director Mimi Cave’s black-comic thriller Fresh, Noa (Daisy Edgar-Jones) is a smart, witty, modern girl just looking for a meaningful nibble in her stagnant dating pool when she meets Steve (Sebastian Stan), a super-attractive doctor at her local produce market.
After a quick roll in the sack, Noa is whisked off for a magical weekend trip with the too-good-to-be-true Steve, despite warnings from her lesbian BFF Mollie (Jonica T. Gibbs) that there are some definite red flags in this picture.
Next thing Noa knows is waking up chained to a floor. This is never a good sign.
Turns out Steve has a thriving black market business that needs new blood occasionally.
“What the fuck is happening?” Noa screams at Steve.
“I’ll tell you, but you’re going to freak out,” Steve replies.
Noa is in a very bad place, but she shows grit and determination by convincing her captor that she shares his unusual tastes for the very finest cuts of meat.
Yes, it’s every bit as gruesome as you think, and then some, but Cave also sneaks in stress-relieving laughs when we need them most, particularly after one of the director’s many rapid-fire meat-cutting-and-eating montages designed to make the viewer queasy with self-loathing.
“I don’t eat animals,” Steve tells Daisy in the early days of their courtship. Not ones with four legs, anyway.
Fresh doesn’t pull any punches in its portrayal of toxic masculinity, embodied by the charmingly evil Steve, a respectable man with a home and family who just can’t resist a tempting morsel.
Unfortunately, as any upset stomach commercial ably demonstrates, sometimes your food will fight back.
Real estate is always a solid investment—unless you’re in a state where realtors needn’t disclose past tragic events, such as occupation by a sinister cult and lots of subsequent disappearances.
Like I said, a crap shoot.
Such is the case with Marcus (Antoine Harris) and Grace (Shannon Foster), who think they’ve found a perfect parcel of land near Ojai, California to set up a commercial cannabis operation.
To celebrate their new future as ganja growers, the couple invite friends Phillip (Peter Sabri), Dominic (Weston Meredith), and Patricia (Erlinda Navarro), down for a weekend of drinking games and exploring the property.
At first, guest and host alike have trouble sleeping. Patricia in particular is gripped by nightmares of bloodletting and dismemberment.
Meanwhile Phil and Dominic get into a lover’s quarrel, and Dominic storms off to find a signal for his phone. Never to be seen again.
Thanks to a gabby security officer, the group finds out that at least one ex-cult member (with cannibal tendencies) is still running around terrorizing the community.
Unfortunately, this is the kind of red flag that will cause most investors to bail out.
The maniac is a brawny dude, marginally scary, but nothing really paranormal happens until his victims rise from the grave seeking revenge.
Filmed on a micro budget by director Demetrius Navarro, Warnings isn’t a good movie, but it’s good enough if gruesome events taking place in a scenic location float your boat.
Horror Romance. Seems simple enough, but there are thousands of things that can go wrong, and usually do.
Absence of chemistry between the leads; indulgent editing, inane dialogue, and indifferent art direction, to name a few usual suspects.
Director Luca Guadagnino—along with screenwriter David Kajganich, and cinematographer Arseni Khachaturan—makes magic happen on all fronts in Bones and All, an absorbing and tragic love story, based on a YA novel by Camille DeAngelis.
The moods here shift like unstable weather. We’re following a narrative that’s by turns gruesome, seductive, and visually intoxicating, even when the protagonists are merely rambling down the road, which happens a fair amount during the slow-burning, 2-hour running time.
Or when they’re eating people.
Yes, we are talking about young cannibals in love, but don’t have a cow, man. Weathering the outré scenes is a small price to pay for a unique experience.
As for the subject matter, cannibalism fits snugly into the metaphor drawer under Dark Afflictions.
To say that Maren Yearly (Taylor Russell) is a little different than the other girls at her high school, would be a vicious understatement.
While playing slap and tickle with friends at a slumber party, Maren, the new girl, mistakenly bites down on some finger food, forcing she and her nervous daddy (Andre Holland) to quickly relocate—again.
Soon after, Maren awakens to find Pops has abandoned her, leaving behind a cassette tape he made to help her understand her “condition.”
With little cash and no other options, Maren heads to Minnesota in search of her mother’s relatives and hopefully a sense of her own identity.
During her journey she meets Sully (Mark Rylance), a seemingly benign drifter who identifies her as a fellow “eater,” a small cabal of carnivores that strongly prefer human hocks to anything raised on the farm.
Sully, a smiling and helpful ghoul who feeds opportunistically, is a recurring nightmare for Maren, made flesh and bloody by Rylance’s riveting portrayal.
The next “eater” she encounters is Lee (Timothee Chalamet), a wiry skate dude with a lousy dye job driving a stolen blue pickup. This one sticks, and they drive off together like Thelma and Louise on a second date.
Luca Guadagnino makes bold style and story choices throughout Bones and All, and his judgment is razor-sharp. He grants the camera enough room to shape heartbreaking tableaux of faded beauty amidst a backdrop of rural American poverty.
Like Steinbeck characters, somehow retaining their humanity in the face of crushing circumstances, Maren and Lee are devoted and determined to carve out a bloody little life for themselves, no matter the price.
While they bear some resemblance to other fugitive movie couples (Sailor and Lula in Wild At Heart, Caleb and Mae in Near Dark, Kit and Holly in Badlands), these kids are a different breed.
Hunger is present in every word and action. It’s a black current that soaks into the fabric of a strikingly gorgeous film, and the actors, especially Taylor Russell, handle that internal struggle with amazing grace.
My wife (former Theater major, I’ll have you know!) remarked that Russell is flawless, and gives one of the most naturalistic performances she’s seen in recent years.
All that’s based on a single viewing. There will be more to follow.
Bones and All is an unexpected trunk of perilous wonders, with loneliness and loss lurking among shiner coins such as love and freedom.
It’s an emotional risk to sort it all out, but worth taking if we want to get better.
I hate waking up in a cornfield with no memory of getting there. So, right away, I was a little reluctant to proceed with Escape the Field, a succinctly titled puzzler from English filmmaker Emerson Moore.
Six people regain consciousness amongst an endless jungle of corn. They’re each equipped with a single item (lantern, matches, water, knife, etc), and together must reason their way out of ear shot.
The field is loaded with booby traps, and there is a killer shrewdly disguised as corn, lurking about and making life miserable for everyone.
Sam (Jordan Clare Robbins), who is clearly the brains of this bunch, quickly devours clues and discovers an evolving map that presumably leads to a less starchy environment.
Joining Sam on her doomed patrol, is Ryan (Shane West, in the Adam Baldwin role), a seething, guilt-ridded soldier; Tyler (Theo Rossi, in the Robert Beltran role), a smiling divorced father who develops a crush on Sam, and Cameron (Tahirah Sharif), an emotionally unstable British intelligence agent.
There are two other people in their little posse, but they don’t do anything except die.
After dodging Corn Man and and assorted deadly pitfalls, Sam begins to see a pattern. Someone is obviously watching their progress through the deadly gauntlet.
But who? And what do they want?
Don’t hold your breath waiting for answers. As more than one person remarks during Escape the Field, “there’s no way out.”
This becomes apparent at around the 30-minute mark, leaving another 58 minutes of futile floundering in the field.
Writer-director Emerson Moore surely should have known that we’d get fed up with all this friggin’ corn.
In the case of Escape the Field, I would stick with the old horror movie adage, “Steer clear of the Moore.”
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