The Greatest Trick

The first thing to note about Let the Right One In is that it is the finest horror film this decade. By horror film, I don’t mean it is akin to mindlessly gruesome, offensive and frankly unscary movies like Saw or Hostel. True horror films are frightening because they create believable and/or likeable characters caught up in terrifying situations that ruthlessly, sadistically and cathartically examine our deepest fears, not because blood and gore is frightening in itself. Let the Right One In doesn’t skimp on gore, but it employs such images sparsely and selectively, complimenting rather than dominating the story.

At its heart, this is really an ultra dark fairy tale about the dangers of isolation and loneliness. Twelve year old Oskar (Kare Hedebrant) is desperate to be loved by his separated parents but neither has the time for him. He spends his time staring out across the snow-covered tenement buildings where he lives indulging in revenge fantasies against school bullies. However, his life changes forever when he meets twelve year old Eli (Lina Leandersson), a girl who moves in next door that turns out to be a vampire. Oskar falls in love with her. In the meantime, the man Eli calls father, Hakan (Per Ragnar), goes out to kill for her, but a combination of exhaustion, ineptitude and bad conscience at years of murder causes him to be end up hospitalised, which forces Eli to fend for herself. At this point, a group of malcontent middle aged people from the tenement buildings are drawn into the plot when one of them, Jocke (Mikhael Rahm), is killed by Eli. Jocke’s best friend Lacke (Ika Nord) then becomes determined to track her down.

Recently, the vampire movie has become moribund, degenerating into mindless action (the Blade films), spoof (Lesbian Vampire Killers), and worst of all, bland teenage romance (Twilight, or as I prefer to call it Twiglet, with its ridiculous “vegetarian” vampires). However, this film injects some much needed fresh blood into the genre in a number of ways.

First, the story takes place in the early 80s amid miserable high-rise tenement buildings that feel like the Swedish equivalent of a Mike Leigh or Ken Loach setting. Mixing mythology with realism proved hugely successful in Pan’s Labyrinth (fairy tale with war) and here the results are similar. The characters in the film, whether vampire or human, go about leading quietly desperate, depressing lives, in fear of Soviet incursions into Swedish waters (as overheard on the television). One is occasionally reminded not only of previous “serious” vampire films like Nosferatu and Martin but also Ingmar Bergman’s work, especially The Silence.

Second, Let the Right One In eschews much of the silliness that has sprung up around vampire mythology. There are no stakes or garlic, nor even a church to hide in, but instead the film is built around the idea not only of what happens when you knowingly invite a vampire into your house, but the consequences of what happens if you don’t and they choose to come in anyway. Yet in spite of this and the immortality issue (which is amusingly alluded to when Eli shows Oskar a priceless Faberge egg), the vampires are stripped of much of their supernatural baggage and instead are presented as amoral creatures. Like any other predator they simply need to feed.

Third, John Ajvide Lindqvist’s screenplay (adapting his own novel), and Tomas Alfredson’s brilliant direction avoids cheap, obvious tricks. There are no jump-out-of- the-skin shocks, no he’s-behind-you moments and no flashy whiplash MTV type editing to try and generate false tension. Instead, the film is a slow burn of escalating dread, with nightmarish menace oozing from every shot, even simple ones like exteriors of buildings in the darkness. Like The Wicker Man, it is also highly disturbing in retrospect. The more one thinks about it afterwards, the more horrifying one realises it is. The ending in particular, which can be read a number of ways, is bleak however it is interpreted for reasons that aren’t initially obvious. In fact, it is probably destined to be the most widely debated ending since Blade Runner. Even Lindqvist and Alfredson differ as to how it should be interpreted (the novel ends more unambiguously, but that ending is still one of the possible readings of the film). On top of this there is an already controversial blink-and-you-miss-it shot akin to the unicorn dream sequence in Blade Runner that casts the character of Eli in a whole new light, and opens up unsettling questions about her past.

Such ambiguity will no doubt be absent from the inevitable, recently announced Hollywood remake for those who can’t be bothered to read subtitles. However, in the meantime, this macabre yet beautiful, slow but gripping instant masterpiece is a must-see for anyone with a serious love of cinema. The brilliant performances, direction and screenplay are complimented by excellence on every technical level; including cinematography, editing, music and sound (always critical in a horror film).

Spiritually, the nihilistic worldview is obviously something Christians will be at odds with, since God is entirely absent from proceedings. Additionally, it is undeniably disturbing (yet also genius on the part of the filmmakers) the way the audience is manipulated into being sympathetic to Oskar and Eli even when they are involved in murder. Logically, viewer sympathy ought to be with Lacke on account of everything he has suffered, but therein perhaps lies a deeper, albeit not immediately obvious message that can be learnt from the ultimate fates of both Lacke and (if you think about it) Oskar: isolation feeds the desire for revenge, and revenge is a really, really bad idea.

Simon Dillon, April 2009.

Deliverance with chavs instead of rednecks. That just about sums up Eden Lake, a suspenseful and exceptionally disturbing Brit horror flick from My Little Eye director James Watkins. City couple Steve (Michael Fassbender) and Jenny (Kelly Reilly) go on a romantic holiday to a picturesque beauty spot, only to be menaced by a gang of thuggish teenagers. If only they had listened to their GPS system (“At the first opportunity, turn around”).

There is no doubt that Watkins has hit a raw nerve. In places, the film is all too believable, especially given recent headlines. But is this a serious attempt to address a national problem or merely a much better made video nasty? Certainly, in places, Eden Lake recalls the look and feel of video nasties like I Spit on your Grave. Never heard of it? Then don’t ask. No, really. I mean it.

Performances are all good, especially from the young cast playing the teenagers. The screenplay does a good job of gradually cranking up the suspense and creating a genuine feeling of unease. In fact, from a purely aesthetic standpoint, this is a very well crafted piece of horror cinema.

Which also means, obviously, strong 18 certificate stuff, jam packed with gruesome violence, some very, very nasty torture scenes (which in fairness keep much of the worst offscreen), and lots of very strong language. However, from a moral/spiritual perspective, my problem with Eden Lake isn’t so much that it’s a really, really horrid film (which is why they call them horror films, in case you were wondering), but that it’s dangerously close to political propaganda for the hang ‘em and flog ‘em brigade.

Frankly, I am suspicious of any film that attempts to capitalise on a “fear-of-the-underclass”. This crass subtext could have been avoided if the couple being terrorised weren’t yuppie city dwellers. But I’ll get off this point before I feel the need to slip into self-righteous cliché and say I know lots of very nice working class people.

The message – blame the parents – is hammered home with the subtlety of a sledgehammer. As I said earlier, recent news headlines about stabbings, hoodies, and so on make this subject matter hugely inflammatory. Bringing problems like this to people’s attention through shock tactics is sometimes a valid course of action, but I can’t help wondering what the point was in this particular case. There are no solutions offered, so all the film really does is affirm to Daily Mail readers that they are right about chavvy, feral kids, without looking at the spiritual perspectives or offering any kind of redemptive ideas. To be fair, one doesn’t necessarily want happy endings in horror films (and this one ends, appropriately, in about as feel-bad fashion as possible), but along the way, the screenplay could have hinted at reasons for the children’s behaviour beyond the often true but frankly too simplistic “it’s the parents fault” argument.

For instance, to take two tragic real life cases: the death of James Bulger in the UK, and the Columbine massacre in the US, I think the killers were probably demon possessed, as there was evidence of occult involvement. Eden Lake would have been more interesting if these spiritual dimensions weren’t ignored. Instead, it’s just a really unpleasant, if very well made, horror film with pretences at a social conscience.

Simon Dillon, September 2008.

Or, to give use its full title, The X: Files: I want to believe I can get the last two hours of my life back. To be fair, it’s not excruciatingly terrible, but it feels like a very average episode of the eponymous TV series, only drawn out to two hours instead of a tight forty-five minutes. It’s a curiously muted affair; slow, flatly directed and incoherent.

I’m not exactly sure why writer/director Chris Carter wanted to resurrect his hit TV series, since that itself went on at least three series too many. By the time it reached its baffling finale, FBI agents Fox Mulder (David Duchovny) and Dana Scully (Gillian Anderson) had got so swamped in UFO’s, aliens, government conspiracies and other things far too bizarre and confusing to detail here, that even its most devoted fans were hard pressed to explain what was actually happening. Of course, this isn’t the first time The X-Files has hit the big screen. A previous movie was released in 1998, and whilst it was only understandable to those steeped in X-Files lore, I actually quite enjoyed it, if only for a very memorable sequence involving bees.

The good news is that I want to believe is a one-off story, designed to hark back to the earlier series where stand-alone plots were the norm. The bad news is that even as a stand-alone, it’s very confusing. As far as I could decipher, Mulder and Scully are asked to come out of retirement to provide their expertise on a confusing FBI serial killer case, where one of their own has been taken captive. The FBI have been relying on psychic former paedophile Catholic priest Father Joseph Crissman (a completely bonkers Billy Connolly) to uncover their clues, but are not sure if he is a fraud. This leads to an increasingly weird, but not nearly as disturbing as it should be horror tale that throws up questions of faith (more of that in a moment) as well as two-headed dogs. Oh, and there’s a subplot involving Scully trying to save a handicapped boy’s life through experimental stem-cell research that has something to do with the main plot. I can’t remember what exactly, and I don’t care. But then I don’t care about Mulder and Scully either, who are now entirely devoid of the sexual tension they had in the earlier TV series (which evaporated the moment they slept with one another). Occasionally, characters from the series reappear pointlessly (such as Mitch Pileggi’s Walter Skinner), whilst new characters such as the ludicrously glamorous FBI agent Dakota Whitney (Amanda Peet), look embarrassingly out of place.

The only thing this film has in its favour is a potentially interesting spiritual undercurrent exploring whether or not God speaks to us, sometimes through the last person we would expect. Typically in the TV series, Mulder was sceptical about God, whereas Scully had at least a modicum of faith as a result of her Catholic background. Here however, the roles seem to be reversed with Mulder wanting to believe Crissman is getting messages, if not necessarily from God, then from some benevolent higher power. Scully on the other hand seems to be having a crisis of faith not dissimilar to Mel Gibson’s character in Signs. The way this crisis resolves itself is also similar to that film, in that she experiences God speaking to her in a way that anyone else could dismiss as co-incidence, but that she knows is not. Of course, many Christians (including myself) have had similar encounters, so will find themselves nodding in agreement. But only if they can sit through many interminably humourless sequences, not to mention violence, gore and – far more offensively – long stretches of sheer boredom. If you really want a thought provoking sci-fi film about the subtle ways God sometimes speaks to us, watch the infinitely superior Signs.

Therefore, in final analysis, despite the presence of a spiritually interesting subtext, there’s not much to write home about here. It’s admittedly gruesome Frankenstein-esque themes fails to generate the necessary sense of moral outrage, and as a thriller it fails to gather pace or excite the way the TV series occasionally could. In short, The X-Files: I want to believe is for completists only, and frankly I suspect that even they will feel short changed. I still want to believe I can get my two hours back.

Simon Dillon, August 2008.

There is an interesting production story behind The Mist’s intensely disturbing finale. Apparently studio bosses told director Frank Darabont that there was no way he would be allowed to film it as such bleakness would affect box office takings. Darabont’s solution was to half the budget by cutting back on effects and using B-list actors, which meant he was allowed to keep the ending he wanted. The result is a much better film than would have resulted from a watered down compromise. The Mist can now join that hallowed pantheon of horror films with really, really upsetting endings, rubbing shoulders with the likes of Don’t Look Now, Seven, Angel Heart, The Vanishing (the original version, not the US remake), and more recently The Descent (the British version – for some insane reason, in the US the ending was cut out).

Darabont’s previous collaboration with Stephen King resulted in The Shawshank Redemption – a film that went from underrated (I was one of the two people who actually saw it in the cinema) to overrated (it’s now frequently cited as the greatest film of the 1990s). In adapting another King novella, Darabont appears at first to have taken a step back, since The Mist initially has the trappings of a sci-fi/horror B-movie, albeit an enjoyable one. But despite initial appearances, The Mist is more – much more – than mere pulp fiction. It is a fascinating political allegory of Bush’s America, 9/11 and the Iraq war, and also a deeply disturbing Lord of the Flies type examination of human nature.

The main character is artist David Drayton (Thomas Jane), whom movie buffs will immediately sympathise with because he paints film posters for a living and moans about how it is a lost art with studios these days turning to Photoshop to do quick, cheap posters. After a fierce storm which leaves his small town without power, David and his young son go to the supermarket to stock up on food, only to find a mysterious mist suddenly descend on the town, enveloping the supermarket and everyone in it. Very soon it becomes apparent there is something deadly in the mist killing people off, so the scene is set for a tense, claustrophobic siege drama as the people inside the shop try to defend themselves from these mysterious deadly creatures.

But although the monsters in the mist are truly horrible – especially in one monumentally gruesome sequence that will give arachnophobics nightmares for the rest of their lives – the real danger comes from inside the shop. It is here that The Mist is at its most interesting, as fanatically religious Mrs Camody (Marcia Gay Harden) tries to convince others trapped in the shop that this is God’s judgement. When she begins to convert people to her cause, it becomes clear that she intends to use non-believers as human sacrifices to appease the monsters. It is then hinted that military scientists may in some way have been responsible for the mist by experimenting with parallel realities, thus bringing these creatures into our universe.

The allegories are there for whoever wants to see them. The mist is international terrorism and specifically 9/11, brought about by interfering in something we had no business interfering in (parallel universe equals the Middle East). It is no mistake that the first “sacrifice” made by Mrs Camody is a US soldier. Such symbolism is clearly intentional, and though it might be tempting to view the film as anti-military, I think that is too simplistic. The soldiers trapped in the shop are honourable men who are simply following the instructions of their political overlords. There are many soldiers in Iraq who don’t agree with what is happening, but have no choice but to go because they are stationed (and often “sacrificed”) there.

The B-list cast – including such stalwarts as William Sadler, Brent Norton and the excellent Toby Jones – do a terrific job and really get their teeth into some very memorable characters. The visual effects are limited but well done (hiding CG in mist always helps), and the music (Mark Isham) and sound effects are employed to brilliant effect. It’s not always perfect. Occasionally the film slips into B-movie clichés including a couple of cheap, jump-out-of-your-skin-at-something-perfectly-harmless moments. It also feels a little overlong and rough around the edges, but overall this doesn’t harm the film particularly.

One area that must be addressed is the portrayal of Christians/Christianity and this presents some difficultly. Firstly and most obviously, Mrs Camody is not a genuine Christian but a fanatic who uses the Bible and the Book of Revelation in particular out of context to manipulate people into frenzied lunacy. She is clearly meant to be a Bush type figure, and as a result the viewer’s political beliefs will largely affect how offensive they find the film. But politics aside, I find it impossible to divorce the Mrs Camody character from the anti-Christian trend in Stephen King’s writing. King clearly sees American Christians as insane fanatics and even a cursory knowledge of his work reveals this (Carrie for instance and even The Shawshank Redemption). Quite possibly King has something to criticise, in that America does have more than its fair share of loony cultists, but it is his refusal to ever counter balance this with good portrayals of Christians that leads me to conclude he has something of an axe to grind. So with that baggage, I am forced to conclude that there is something here to offend Christians. But as I often say, I’d rather be offended than bored.

Which brings me to the stunningly cruel ending – one of the most disturbing, bleak, feel-bad, punch-in-the-guts horror finales I have seen for some time. If, like me, you want your pseudo-intellectual horror movies at full strength with no compromises then this couldn’t come more highly recommended. Others had best steer clear not just for the scares but for graphic bloody violence and strong swearing.

Simon Dillon, July 2008.

If your idea of a good scary movie is something along the lines of Saw or Hostel, don’t bother seeing El Orfanato (The Orphanage). It’s an all too rare intelligent horror film that eschews copious bloodletting and relies on imagination and suspense, not violence and gore, for its many scares. True, it’s not in the same league as the classics from which it draws obvious inspiration (including Don’t Look Now, The Innocents, Ringu, The Changeling, The Sixth Sense and, bizarrely, Peter Pan), but its still a stylish and chilling tale that provides a handful of genuine jump-out-of-your-skin moments and manages to be something unique in its own right.

To say too much about the plot would spoil it, suffice to say it involves an orphan called Laura (Belen Rueda) who brings her family back to the orphanage she grew up in which has since closed. She and her husband Carlos (Fernando Cayo) have bought the orphanage and want to reopen it to house handicapped children. Unfortunately, her adopted seven year old son Simon (Roger Princep) starts speaking to a new invisible friend, and as anyone who has seen The Exorcist will know, invisible friends always mean trouble in a horror film.

Performances are all very good, not just from the leads but also the bit parts, including Montserrat Carulla’s creepy social worker Benigna and Geraldine Chaplin’s frankly terrifying medium Aurora. Incidentally, Chaplin provides the film with one of its most unsettling sequences: the obligatory séance which rises above the level of cliché because it’s viewed through spooky green night vision cam, (all the better for spotting menacing spooks apparently).

Of course its director Juan Antonia Bayona who should get the credit for such innovation, as should producer Guillermo Del Toro (director of Pan’s Labyrinth) who apparently had a great deal of creative input. Oscar Faura’s cinematography is also first rate, really capturing the darkness and shadow of both night and daytime scenes. Rarely have doorknobs and dolls looked so menacing, not to mention freaky sack masks. Elena Ruiz’s editing is spot on, as is the use of sound (Jordi Bosch) and music (Fernando Velasquez), two of the most vital weapons in a horror filmmaker’s arsenal.

But this isn’t just a scary story. Sergio G Sanchez’s screenplay also finds time to meditate on grief, loss, obsession and parental guilt. The nail-biting finale, which I won’t spoil, is simultaneously moving and pleasingly bleak, but to my mind not altogether unexpected, which is why I don’t think it will ever be regarded quite as highly as its contemporaries.

On a more serious note, from a Christian perspective the usual concerns apply, since the ghostly worldview presented by this film is obviously unscriptural. In case any readers are unaware of the Christian position on contacting the dead, the Bible is quite clear that we can’t because people either go to heaven or hell depending on whether they’ve accepted Jesus as saviour or not. Despite the charlatans, there are genuine mediums who are contacted by demons posing as dead relatives of those desperate for a message from the other side. What people who consult mediums fail to realise is that these demons go around collecting all kinds of information, then using that piece of truth, mix it with lies and deception. Therefore a belief in ghosts haunting the abode of the living is completely at odds with the Christian message.

In fairness, The Orphanage is doesn’t come off quite so badly in this respect since it doesn’t discuss Christianity, unlike some other films in the genre which actively set out to disprove it – The Others for instance. I’m not saying it’s wrong to enjoy a good ghost story, I’m simply pointing out that there is still potential for deception in presenting such a false worldview. With that note of caution, this is a must-see for those who love to be scared silly.

Simon Dillon, March 2008.

Before I get to Cloverfield, here’s a brief overview of what I experienced in the cinema prior to the film. After onscreen warnings about motion sickness and strobe effects in the main feature, I was then treated to additional warnings not to call someone on their mobile phone when driving, not to drink too much alcohol (that laughable Home Office one with the man in a Batman suit trying to help a hen party by climbing scaffolding to retrieve a balloon), and three times I was urged to wear a condom. By the time the film began I was feeling thoroughly patronised and wondered exactly why I was being treated like a brainless and irritating teenager/early twentysomething (with apologies to the very intelligent teenagers/early twentysomethings who read these reviews).

Then Cloverfield began with ten minutes of plot about a group of extremely irritating New York yuppie teenagers/early twentysomethings and their silly relationships, akin to a cinema-verite episode of Friends (a series I passionately detest). By the time the rampaging monster struck, I couldn’t wait for this ghastly group of individuals to be sliced and diced. The film’s introduction (and the commercials preceding it) had done their job well. I was howling for blood and well and truly on the side of the monster.

Much has been said about the supposed originality of Cloverfield. It has been described as a monster movie for the Youtube generation or Godzilla meets The Blair Witch Project. An ominous note at the beginning of the film says what we are about to see is classified material on a videotape found at what used to be Central Park. Yet, this concept is not particularly original at all. In the past few years, films like Spielberg’s War of the Worlds have already capitalised on the hand-held “run-away-from-the-monster” approach to superb effect. The Blair Witch Project itself wasn’t even particularly original (a similar film called The Last Broadcast was out earlier but largely overlooked). And the “fake documentary” concept has been done before (and better) in things like the BBC’s 1992 Ghostwatch programme, and most memorably by Orson Welles in his 1938 radio broadcast of War of the Worlds, which convinced several Americans that an actual alien invasion was taking place. Cloverfield is also highly derivative of many other films in the genre, most obviously Alien and Aliens.

That said this is a surprisingly relentless, frightening and ultimately merciless experience. In its relatively short running time it packs in several intensely exciting sequences, and is extremely effective as a horror film. Even though it could be argued the obvious 9/11-type imagery is crass, it does add believable realism. The apparently random plot disguises a very well written three act screenplay by Drew Goddard and director Matt Reeves does well with the hand-held, shaky-cam look. Producer JJ Abrams (best known for TV series Lost) is to be commended for creating a big monster movie with excellent special effects for comparative peanuts. Many factors will have kept the budget down, such as the cast of unknowns, all of whom do reasonably well (especially TJ Miller as Hud the cameraman who has a somewhat thankless role since his face hardly ever appears).

In short, this comes with my recommendation, though if like me you prefer to sit closer to the screen I suggest suspending that habit on this particular occasion on account of the shaky-cam.

Simon Dillon, February 2008.

Maverick director Tim Burton’s gothic sensibilities are unleashed in their purest form to date in his latest film, Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street. An adaptation of the groundbreaking and notorious Stephen Sondheim stage show, it’s an unlikely yet effective mixture of musical and horror film, replete with terrific numbers and gallons of blood.

For a while, Burton seemed to have lightened up his act with films like Big Fish and Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. However, Sweeney Todd is a return to the darkness of Sleepy Hollow, and from a purely artistic standpoint, a thunderously good one.

For those unfamiliar with the plot, barber Benjamin Barker (Johnny Depp) returns to Britain after being falsely imprisoned and deported, courtesy of corrupt judge Turpin (Alan Rickman), who stole his wife and daughter. Under the pseudonym Sweeney Todd, he opens a barber shop above a café run by Mrs Lovett (Helena Bonham Carter) and finds a unique and bizarre way to exact bloody revenge not just on Turpin but many others.

Some have criticised Depp in the lead role, saying a trained singer ought to have taken the part, but I disagree. Even though he sounds suspiciously like David Bowie and occasionally gets the wrong note, his performance is so passionately theatrical it simply doesn’t matter. It works in the same way Woody Allen’s Everyone says I love you musical did, because as in that film, its about the passion of the singing, rather than hitting every note perfectly. Elsewhere, Helena Bonham Carter, Alan Rickman, Timothy Spall, and even Sacha Baron Cohen provide good support.

John Logan’s screenplay radically alters and/or cuts much of the stage version, but to good effect. The art direction and cinematography give new meaning to the term “gothic”, the musical orchestration is magnificent, and the whole twisted, utterly demented package is held together by Burton at the peak of his powers.

Alas, it is only from an artistic standpoint that I can commend Sweeney Todd. To complain about violence in such a stylised production seems churlish, yet for all its intended satirical black comedy (the wealthy metaphorically devour the poor, so why not literally devour them?) and pseudo-Shakespearean tragedy, Sweeney Todd still invites its audience to revel in buckets of blood and gore in a way that can hardly be defended as noble, lovely or true. In spite of its message on the futility of vengeance, the sight of Todd exacting his revenge is undeniably emotionally thrilling, and it is these feelings one is left with afterwards.

Therefore, in spite of its undoubted cinematic merits, I cannot in good conscience recommend Sweeney Todd.

Simon Dillon, January 2008.

Richard Matheson’s seminal science fiction horror novel I am Legend has previously been filmed twice, most notably with Charlton Heston in 1971’s The Omega Man. It isn’t the most obviously commercial source material, and yet this latest incarnation has been a surprise smash hit on both sides of the pond. There are three main reasons for this; superb marketing, Will Smith, and a third reason I will go into later in this review.

Smith plays scientist Robert Neville, apparently the only survivor of a lethal, man-made virus originally designed to cure cancer that killed most people and turned the survivors into vampire/zombie creatures. He has immunity to the virus, but spends his time in a deserted, overgrown New York City desperately trying to find a cure that will return the vampire/zombie creatures to their original human form, because he believes he is the last man on Earth. It is immediately apparent that Neville is starting to lose his mind when he tries to feed his dog vegetables as well as meat, talks to mannequins he has placed at key points around the city and watches television news and weather from years previously.

Will Smith does very well with a kind of performance that is not easy to pull off – better, I would argue, than Tom Hanks who tried to a similar trick in Castaway. Director Francis Lawrence helms with a modicum of style, and the screenplay maintains audience interest for the most part.

Where the film comes apart somewhat is in the sequences involving the vampire/zombies. Anyone who has seen 28 Days Later (or indeed any of the George A Romero zombie movies) knows people in make-up is the best way to go when creating such creatures. However, the filmmakers inexplicably decided to go for all CGI, and frankly the resultant monsters are completely unconvincing. This very poor artistic decision greatly hurts the film, especially as Francis Lawrence is otherwise adept and building shocks and suspense. In stark contrast to this, the best special effects are the ones the audience doesn’t notice, particularly the superb deserted overgrown New York cityscapes.

The third reason for I am Legend’s success is that from a Christian perspective, it is spiritually significant parable, possibly even a prophetic allegory. A global, book of Revelations type plague is not entirely outside the realms of possibility (many experts still believe a bird flu pandemic is an inevitability). Viewers are perhaps more inclined to suspend disbelief than they would have been thirty years ago, even though it is still obviously a Hollywood production.

SPOILER WARNING AHEAD: In spite of bleak subject matter, this film is ultimately optimistic about both the existence of God and his ability to ensure mankind is not destroyed. Effectively used flashbacks to the panic as the virus took hold show how Neville was once a man of Christian faith. But his faith was destroyed after the disaster. In the course of the film, he finds his views on the non-existence of God challenged, and his character has a similar arc to that of Mel Gibson’s former priest in Signs, with a similarly enigmatic twist that hints at a divine plan amid the despair. Furthermore, Neville’s ultimate sacrifice has Christ-like overtones.

As such, I am Legend, for all its flaws, is a cut-above average sci-fi flick with very positive, redemptive themes, although it will probably prove scary to those not accustomed to horror movies.

Simon Dillon, January 2008.

Its interesting how Christians with a calling to the media react to movies like Quentin Tarantino’s latest offering, Death Proof. Generally, we tend to comment on the excellence of the direction, performances, and so forth before saying the film is bad news. Obviously, God has made us this way for a reason and therefore we do appreciate the aesthetics of filmmaking first and foremost, even though most other Christians would instantly dismiss a film like Death Proof as a godless, profane and violent abhorrence.

Death Proof has had a curious cinematic history so far. A shorter version was originally released in the US as part of a double bill with Roberto Rodriguez’s Planet Terror. Both films were released under the title Grindhouse, intended as homage to the “Grindhouse” tradition of the 1970s (basically cheap, sleazy, horror exploitation films shown in fairly run-down venues). However, Grindhouse bombed at the box office, so it was decided to release the films separately internationally, and in longer versions.

The full version of Death Proof retains much of the Grindhouse feel. There are deliberate scratches, frame jumps, faded colours, black and white reels, missing scenes, and even an old school “Our feature presentation” ident at the start. Its only when a character answers a mobile phone that the audience suddenly realises it isn’t set in the 1970s.

The plot concerns Stuntman Mike (Kurt Russell), a psychopathic stunt driver who lures nubile young girls to their doom into his “death proof” car, which his been built to withstand all manner of crashes. If that sounds distasteful, it is. But the girls aren’t merely window dressing. Unlike their counterparts in the 70s exploitation flicks, most of the film is spent getting to know these victims-to-be, and it is here the familiar Tarantino snappy dialogue and characterisation makes a welcome return following its virtual absence from the Kill Bill films. The girls in Death Proof are funny, sassy, foul-mouthed, and although some of them are ultimately every bit as vicious as Mike, curiously likeable too.

Those steeped in film lore will enjoy spotting the endless references – everything from Two Lane Blacktop, Vanishing Point, White Line Fever and Dirty Mary Crazy Larry, to more mainstream cult fare such as Mad Max and Spielberg’s pre-Jaws classic Duel. Structurally, the film even feels a bit like Psycho, since the female protagonists are switched mid-way.

As an artist, Tarantino is pretty much on autopilot. Reservoir Dogs and Pulp Fiction were both massively influential back in the 90s, but Death Proof ultimately suffers from the same shortcomings of the films that inspired it, namely that its threadbare plot is slight and inconsequential. Strong performances and a hugely tense, high-speed finish ensure boredom is never a problem, but one still gets the sense that Tarantino is wasting his considerable talents.

Needless to say, Death Proof contains a barrage of f-words and graphically bloody violence. To his credit, Tarantino deliberately avoids overt sex scenes and nudity, but there is a plethora of what the BBFC calls “strong sexual references” in the girls’ smutty conversations. As I said earlier, although the stylish, exciting presentation is likely to appeal to those who appreciate the cinematic medium, I nevertheless cannot recommend it as it is morally and spiritually bankrupt.

Simon Dillon, September 2007.

High School Musical - (3 stars) this is an absolute phenomenon with the kids, and I was desperate to find out why I was teaching teenagers who knew all the lyrics and dances inside and out. The answer is - Disney knows its market! A light tale about two misfits (pretty ones, of course) coming together through singing and dancing, and bringing everyone along with them through, you know, “being themselves” (what else in a Disney movie?). It’s fun enough, with some very good musical set-pieces (’Get your head in the game’ being my favourite), and if you’re below the age of 15 (and probably more for the girls), perfect, harmless entertainment.

Enron - The Smartest Guys in the Room - (3 stars) Greed, greed, greed. That’s what brought Enron down, and it’s so clear from this film. This documentary goes back over some of the key players in the Enron scandal, what they got up to and why, and is pretty interesting. There are parts that engage a lot more than others, such as listening to the recordings of Enron employees laughing at the misfortunes of the inhabitants of the West Coast of the US - absolutely repulsive, and a very effective piece of documentary film-making. Less manipulative than Michael Moore, and possibly for that reason less consistently engaging.

An Inconvenient Truth - (4 stars) Al Gore shows you his power-point presentation on the environment and climate change and forces you to think and act. As a family we are already quite enthusiastic about living ethically, doing our bit to look after the world that God made and so on, and this film just confirms that everyone needs to be doing this! The bit that kids at school apparently responded to was polar bears drowning in their own local environment due to melting ice caps; there are so many shocking facts, stats and images here that it seems unlikely that one could watch this movie and not try to do more for the environment. It’s not a perfect film - some of the inserts about Gore himself add very little - but it’s the most accessible education on global warming that you could get in under 2 hours. Oh, and the major worry about Gore creating a massive carbon footprint by going round the world showing his presentation is answered in the trivia section here.

The Wolf Man - (3 stars) Universal horror, detailing the werewolf myth, linking it to gypsy curses and including all the well-known moon-related tales. Lon Chaney plays the man under the make-up, which is brilliant, and the lighting and mood of the piece is suitably dark, but the film-making style always detracts from actual scariness in these films.

Right At Your Door - (3 stars) A dirty bomb is released in LA. Man gets home just in time, wife arrives back some time later to find herself locked out by him as the radio has advised everybody to keep doors and windows shut and not let anyone in or out. A tense period follows as both parties try to work out what to do and how they might get help in a terror situation. A good premise for a movie, with a nice thorny moral question at the centre, but the movie slows considerably in the middle and doesn’t quite have the courage of its convictions. A fair amount of swearing.