Genre: Thriller

Deepwater Horizon (2016) – Film Review

/ Joe Baker / 1 Comment

“I’d Think You Money-Hungry Sons of Bitches Would at Least Be Good at Math…” – Mike Williams

The Deepwater Horizon Oil Spill, commonly referred to as the BP Oil Spill, is, to this day, regarded as one of the widest-reaching environmental disasters in human history. An industrial catastrophe that began on April 20th, 2010, off the coast of the United States in the Gulf of Mexico, the event caused the deaths of eleven oilfield workers and was estimated to have spilt over two hundred and ten million gallons of oil into the ocean, forcing industry giant BP to pay more than $60 billion in criminal and civil penalties, natural resource damages, economic claims and cleanup costs for their reckless corporate culture of cost-cutting and excessive risk-taking. The 2016 cinematic interpretation of this true-to-life tale; Deepwater Horizon, makes effective use of its titular location and subsequent tragedy to deliver a lamentable yet nevertheless gripping thriller, admiring the bravery of those who escaped with their lives whilst never losing sight of the affliction and distress they endured on that faithful day.

Plot Summary: Manned by one hundred and twenty-six workers, the semi-submersible, offshore oil-drilling rig, Deepwater Horizon, operates as usual over the Gulf of Mexico, forty-one miles southeast of the Louisiana Coast. But, before long, Chief electronics technician, Mike Williams, and seasoned rig supervisor, Jimmy Harrell, discover that the critical examination of Deepwater Horizon’s cement foundation was bypassed by BP’s frugal executives, consequently inducing a devastating explosion that kills several oilfield workers and traps Mike and his remaining colleagues on the cadaverous rig amidst the flames…

Upon its announcement, many oilfield workers from the Gulf of Mexico were against the production of Deepwater Horizon, declaring that they believed the film would dishonour the men who sadly perished during the event. However, Mike Williams (one of the survivors) thoroughly supported the film, assisting the crew throughout production alongside another survivor, as they felt it was a suitable method of depicting the terrifying circumstances they and the other oilfield workers endured, with the leading intent of director Peter Berg (Hancock, Lone Survivor, Patriots Day) being to make the disaster feel as real as possible for the audience, encapsulating the sensation of workers’ shared dread in 2010.

In keeping with this sense of realism, the dialogue throughout Deepwater Horizon remains authentic to the vocabulary of oilfield workers, repeatedly tossing around the shorthand terminology of the position. Similarly, the screenplay is precise in defining the various components of the oil rig without becoming overwhelmed, making the eventual catastrophe that unfolds appear merited and tangible. Regrettably, however, even with most of the central cast, including Mark Wahlberg, Kurt Russell and Gina Rodriguez, being introduced before they set foot on the rig through an assortment of brief, home-set sequences, the majority of these preliminary scenes only provide insight into their industrial roles along with some clumsy exposition concerning the Deepwater Horizon, conveying that each of the oilfield workers has loved ones, but not much else.

For the production of Deepwater Horizon, an extensive oil rig set was constructed in Chalmette, Louisiana (where filming predominantly took place). One of the largest-scale sets ever built at the time, the rig-inspired set was assembled using over three million pounds of steel in a two-million-gallon water tank. And while this commitment to building an expansive set is indeed impressive, appearing immensely accurate to the actual Deepwater Horizon, the set design is partially hindered by the cinematography by Enrique Chediak, which remains relatively uninspired throughout the runtime, primarily consisting of hand-held mid-shots and the occasional sweeping wide shot of the rig and surrounding ocean.

The third instance composer Steve Jablonsky has collaborated with Peter Berg following 2012’s Battleship and 2013’s Lone Survivor. Berg and Jablonsky’s staple as a director-composer duo seems to be taking sampled mechanical sounds and using them as the cornerstones of each original score. On Battleship, this sound was the whining, clanging cacophony of a medical MRI machine whereas, on Deepwater Horizon, it’s the incessant ping of an active SONAR alongside a combination of electronic tones and instruments. As such, the score lacks melody and harmony, yet successfully creates suspense through tracks like The Rig, Negative Pressure Test and Cut the Pipe, up to when the rig explodes.

Once the rig does eventually burst into flames, it’s suitably nightmarish as Peter Berg doesn’t attempt to ‘wow’ the audience with impressive visual effects or exhilarating set pieces, but rather never lets the audience forget that this is a man-made disaster, pointing the finger squarely at BP for their monumental mistake and proving that while there may have been some temptation to provide the story with a glossy finish, Berg found a way to present blockbuster-level effects without sacrificing any of the realism or torment of the actual event.

In summary, whilst most disaster flicks are usually guilt-free confections, given that they often centralise on an act of nature and feature destruction so grandiose in appearance that it lessens the impact of the on-screen devastation to the point that the audience can relish in the utter mayhem. Deepwater Horizon takes a drastically different approach to the disaster genre, with its story being based on true events. By embracing this realism, the cataclysm that occurs within the film becomes more immediate and horrifying. And while there are feats of courage here and there, Deepwater Horizon is predominantly presented as a real-world calamity, not a comforting tale of heroism and optimism. Rating: 7/10.

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The Lighthouse (2019) – Film Review

/ Joe Baker / 1 Comment

“Why’d Ya Spill Yer Beans?” – Thomas Wake

A psychological horror only in the vaguest sense, 2019’s The Lighthouse is a strange yet wondrous cinematic venture, incomparable to many other modern releases due to its distinct visual aesthetic and often genre-defying narrative. Led by an outstanding pair of performances from Robert Pattinson and Willem Dafoe, The Lighthouse is the type of film that relentlessly sears itself into its audience’s memory, employing striking visuals, Lovecraftian influences and ominous, atmospheric sound design to craft an unnerving flick that closely resembles the fever-induced night terrors many actual lighthouse keepers endured during their lonesome, off-shore excursions tending to a beacon.

Plot Summary: Off the coast of late 19th-century New England, two lighthouse keepers, the taciturn former lumberjack, Ephraim Winslow, and the elderly lighthouse caretaker, Thomas Wake, set foot on a remote island to begin their monthly duties. But, as the tight-lipped men spend more and more time in each other’s company, a mutual resentment begins to arise as their collective sanity unravels…

Co-written and directed by Robert Eggers (The Witch, The Northman), the story of The Lighthouse is loosely based on a real-life affair that occurred in 1801 known as the Smalls Lighthouse Tragedy, during which two Welsh lighthouse keepers, sharing the name Thomas, became trapped at their station during a storm. When one of the men died, it is said to have driven the other insane. The story also takes some influence from the seafaring literature of renowned authors, including Herman Melville, Robert Louis Stevenson and H.P. Lovecraft, all of which lends the film a sense of historical accuracy and unseen oceanic horror. According to Eggers, earlier versions of the screenplay were more coherent, however, this was later changed as Eggers’ felt the best way to approach the film was to make the audience feel like they were losing their minds alongside the characters. As a result, The Lighthouse can occasionally be quite difficult to follow, yet this ultimately works in the narrative’s favour as the audience, much like the characters, struggle to tell reality from delusion. Even the very concept of time gets thrown out the window by the end of the second act, as it becomes almost impossible to tell how much time has passed between certain scenes, forcing the characters (and the audience) to question exactly how long they have been on the secluded island.

As the only two cast members, Robert Pattinson and Willem Dafoe are superb throughout the runtime as fellow lighthouse keepers, Ephraim Winslow and Thomas Wake. Simultaneously appearing layered and accurate to the time period, both characters flourish on-screen thanks to Pattinson and Dafoe’s electric performances, which are only enhanced when combined with the continuously compelling dialogue. This period-accurate dialogue bleeds through every scene, with the screenplay’s emphasis on 19th-century terminology and expressions instantly transporting the audience to the time and setting of the story, enriching Ephraim and Thomas’ persistent back-and-forths as they become increasingly infuriated at their situation. What makes the characters even more interesting is that neither one can be sighted as a reliable point-of-view, no matter how much they claim the other to be untrustworthy or deranged under their boozy breath.

Shot on Double-X stock, which requires much more light to get exposure. So much so, that the crew had to use about fifteen to twenty times more lights on set when filming at night or indoors to successfully capture footage. The cinematography by Jarin Blaschke is imposing and hypnotic, exhaustively utilising the isolated location of the treeless, storm-susceptible island along with its adjoining greyscale colour palette to create an array of hauntingly beautiful shots. Many of the visuals almost seem like depictions of a sailor’s nightmare, with the dense black-and-white grain of 35mm capturing every shadow and contour, lending the visuals a sensation of 19th-century expressionist horror, where even the tight aspect ratio proves to be claustrophobic. Furthermore, The Lighthouse employs several exceptional practical effects to depict the story’s more fantastical elements, such as its visual references to Greek mythology and seafarer folklore, like mermaids, sirens and the mighty Kraken.

Moving onto the original score, composer Mark Korven adds to the film’s foreboding atmosphere through doomy tracks like Arrival, Curse Your Name and Stranded. However, much of the unsettling atmosphere could also be attributed to the immersive sound design, central to which is a bellowing foghorn, which sound designer, Damian Volpe, turned to J.J. Jamieson to create; a craftsman in Shetland, Scotland, who makes YouTube tutorials on operating and maintaining foghorns. Using Jamieson’s samples, Volpe manipulated the sound to create a period-accurate foghorn that was suitably startling and memorable.

Another favourable aspect of The Lighthouse is its authenticity, not merely in relation to its time period, but in regard to its restraint to filming on-location, which allows the film to retain a consistent level of practicality throughout, similar to its sense of dread, both of which are only broken up by the handful of well-timed, darkly comedic moments.

In summary, disorientation is clearly the primary intent of The Lighthouse as Eggers offers hints towards a grander narrative, but never fully commits to a sweeping, readable story, even avoiding an easily discernible conclusion. As such, instead of serving as a straightforward psychological horror or a disturbing historic folk tale, The Lighthouse is more of a surreal exploration of masculinity, guilt and seclusion, in addition to standing as another impressive showcase of Robert Eggers’ screenwriting/filmmaking abilities. Rating: 9/10.

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Thirteen Lives (2022) – Film Review

/ Joe Baker / Leave a comment

“We Do Nothing, We’ll Be Bringing Them Out Dead for Sure. But, if They Die While We’re Bringing Them Out, at Least We Will Have Tried.” – Rick Stanton

Suspenseful, meticulous and gripping, Thirteen Lives is a diverting, claustrophobic drama/thriller and a hidden gem of the straight-to-streaming releases of 2022. Offering an incomplete yet engrossing dramatisation of an incredible true-to-life tale, Thirteen Lives succeeds in recounting the real story of a global effort to rescue a Thai soccer team who became entrapped in a flooding cave system in 2018. And while some aspects of the film appear rather drab, thanks to director Ron Howard (Apollo 13, A Beautiful Mind, Solo: A Star Wars Story) and his somewhat vanilla style of filmmaking, it’s an immersive and engaging recount, nonetheless.

Plot Summary: Faced with insurmountable odds, a team of the world’s most proficient divers navigate a treacherous maze of flooded, narrow cave tunnels in an attempt to rescue a Thai soccer team of twelve children and their coach after they become trapped in the Tham Luang cave in Thailand following an unexpected rainstorm…

Even though the real story behind Thirteen Lives has been recounted before, most notably in the National Geographic documentary, The Rescue, released in 2021. Thirteen Lives is a similarly fact-based account that holds true to what really occurred, rarely playing with the details to manipulate the audience’s emotions or adhere to a more conventional story structure. The film even retains the involvement of numerous countries in the almost three-week-long rescue as, in reality, multiple nations took part alongside Thailand, such as Australia, Denmark, Japan, China, Laos, Myanmar (Burma), Great Britain and the United States. In fact, around ten thousand people contributed to the rescue effort, including more than one hundred divers, nine hundred police officers, two thousand soldiers and numerous volunteers.

Viggo Mortensen, Colin Farrell, Joel Edgerton, Tom Bateman and Paul Gleeson portray written interpretations of the actual heroes who ventured into Tham Luang cave, portraying them as modest and down-to-Earth and never representing them as hero-like archetypes, despite their unquestionably brave actions. Unfortunately, however, the screenplay doesn’t do so well at detailing who the individuals are outside of their adept diving skills, which is inexcusable given the film’s rather excessive runtime. The only specific trait any of the divers exhibit is their distinctly British obsession with Custard Creams, which I’m assuming was written into the screenplay to make the divers seem more relatable.

Similar to the rest of Ron Howard’s filmography, the cinematography throughout the film is rather bland, as cinematographer Sayombhu Mukdeeprom largely falls back on hand-held close-ups and mid-shots. Yet, in spite of that, the film usually thrives visually due to its enveloping set design and dim lighting, which make the submerged cave tunnels appear tight, precarious and dingy. For many of these scenes, Mukdeeprom actually used the actors themselves as a lighting source, requesting them to lift their heads and look around after delivering a line to throw some light into the cave. This technique (and others) helped with lighting the sets, which were built in an enormous hangar-sized studio using double Olympic-size water tanks. The film also employs an array of on-screen schematics to visually inform the audience of what segment of the cave the children/divers are currently in, as well as text to notify the audience of how much time has passed between certain scenes on account of the film covering most of the three-week-long rescue.

Through tracks like Tham Luang, Rain, Dive and Oxygen, the original score by Benjamin Wallfisch predominantly defies musical norms as the filmmakers sought to avoid overly sentimental or manipulative pieces when it came to the soundtrack, concentrating instead on using the score as a tool of abstraction and disorientation. Interestingly, Ron Howard initially sought to work with his collaborator of many years, Hans Zimmer, who subsequently recommended Wallfisch for the project as he was preoccupied. Together Howard and Wallfisch hashed through strategic approaches to the score over several months, seeking ways to incorporate Thai influences and experimental electronic suspense techniques. All to the score’s benefit, I might add. With that said, a few scenes do suffer due to the original score’s presence, where I feel atmospheric sound design would’ve been far more effective.

In regard to realism, professional diver, Rick Stanton, praised the film’s accuracy, stating that one of the only cinematic changes was that the cave water was muddy. In reality, the divers had zero visibility, but “That Would Be Impossible to Demonstrate Because Then the Viewers Would Not See Anything.” Furthermore, the young actors portraying the trapped Thai soccer team were all cast from Northern Thailand, so if they wound up improvising any dialogue the unique dialect and accent would be authentic. This emphasis on accuracy is always something I admire when it comes to adapting true stories, and Thirteen Lives is no exception.

In summary, Thirteen Lives is a predominantly compelling drama/thriller with its own unique selection of minor flaws. While the first half of the film feels like it’s simply treading water, waiting for its tense final act. The second half is a riveting depiction of a daring, foolhardy rescue, capturing much of the same fear, confusion and determination the actual divers must have felt during those fateful few weeks in 2018. As such, even if you already know how the story ends, Thirteen Lives largely prevails in plunging its audience into a submerged rescue scenario. Rating: 7/10.

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Westworld (1973) – Film Review

/ Joe Baker / Leave a comment

“There’s No Way to Get Hurt in Here, Just Enjoy Yourself.” – John Blane

Before the emergence of the hit sci-fi-drama series of the same name, 1973’s Westworld was a pillar of the science fiction genre. With an engaging story, imaginative concepts and a terrific performance from Yul Brynner as a lethal, automated gunslinger, the original Westworld is a delightful sci-fi-western hybrid that puts its clever gimmicks to creative use, rarely getting bogged down by pretentious statements regarding the creation of artificial life (unlike its contemporary television counterpart), to instead concentrate on its visceral style of storytelling and filmmaking.

Plot Summary: In the near future, the Delos Corporation offers the perfect getaway with the entertainment destinations; Medievalworld, Romanworld and Westernworld, where guests can experience life in the time period of their choosing, indulging in their wildest fantasies while interacting with the attendant androids that populate them. But, when Westworld undergoes a system-wide malfunction, causing the androids’ built-in safety features to fail, the safety of the guests is put into question…

Written and directed by Michael Crichton (Coma, Looker, Physical Evidence), author of many celebrated novels, including Jurassic Park. Crichton became inspired to write Westworld following his trip to Disneyland, where he rode the water-based attraction, Pirates of the Caribbean, and was impressed by the animatronic pirates. This is also why the iconic attraction is mentioned in the 1993 adaptation of Jurassic Park when Malcolm states: “When the Pirates of the Caribbean Breaks Down, the Pirates Don’t Eat the Tourists.” Crichton effectively utilises this inspiration by playing upon humanity’s fears of artificial intelligence one day overthrowing us. Furthermore, through the characters, Crichton’s screenplay retains a solid amount of satire, with the guests hungry for danger and adventure quickly turning spineless once Westworld becomes truly dangerous, much like the real Wild West that inspired it.

Regarding the characters, the screenplay largely depicts them as if they are the audience themselves, with the protagonist, Peter Martin, portrayed by Richard Benjamin, being a recently-divorced Westworld newcomer, whilst his friend, John Blane, portrayed by James Brolin, is a returning guest eager to jump back into the ways of the Old West. As a result, we get to see how Westworld functions from a guest and staff perspective before the chaos begins. And while neither of the central duo is given a lot of development, both characters serve an important purpose within the narrative as wealthy guests who are visiting Westworld to indulge their desires for pampering and daring escapades, whether that a bank robbery, a bar-room brawl or merely taking sexual advantage of a coy-serving wench. Then, on the android side of things, there’s the Gunslinger, portrayed by Yul Brynner, who truly steals the show, becoming fixated on the pair following their confrontation in the first act. The Gunslinger acts as a forbidding embodiment of the widespread malfunction, relentlessly hunting his target(s) with a cold, calculating demeanour and a continually menacing presence.

From the vast desert-set Westworld to Medievalworld, a mead and chicken-leg heaven, to the flowery gardens and toga parties that is Romanworld, the set design throughout Westworld is excellent, excluding a few barren hallways, here and there. The cinematography by Gene Polito isn’t as remarkable, however, overly depending on close-ups and mid-shots, which becomes rather repetitive, despite appearing reminiscent of the camerawork in classic westerns. In addition to the three entertainment destinations, all of the period-set areas are connected by a web of subterranean passageways and an eerily prescient CCTV system, both of which help provide enticing snippets into the unfolding horror once Westworld collapses, furnishing the film with a healthy amount of edge instead of relying on unwarranted bloody violence for its final act.

An efficacious blend of sci-fi and western, Westworld‘s original score frequently alleviates the atmosphere of scenes that could otherwise appear quite sinister, as the score varies from lively, Wild West-era tracks like The Western Warble and Stagecoach Arrival to scratchy, ominous tones and percussions with tracks like Robot Repair. This switch from passé to futuristic pieces never feels out of place, though, as the distinctive tracks lean into the idea of merging multiple time periods via the entertainment destinations.

Intriguingly, Westworld actually marked the first-ever use of computer-digitised images in a feature film (not merely monitor graphics) with the shots from the Gunslinger’s point-of-view. After the technical process was sufficiently developed to produce satisfactory results, it only took around eight hours to produce every ten seconds of footage for the Gunslinger’s pixelated P.O.V., which is monumental for 1970s filmmaking. However, this praise could be applied to almost all of the film’s effects, which have held up well since the ’70s. That is, aside from the fake blood, which looks closer to bright red paint whenever a guest or android is shot dead.

In summary, in an era of pessimism, it’s refreshing to see a sci-fi flick like Westworld that depicts the future as not dystopian, but an affluent and joyous time with merely detrimental forms of recreation, adding a level of appeal to the world-building that many science fiction releases seem to miss out. As such, Westworld comes across as an innovative sci-fi-western, harbouring an appropriate amount of satire along with an abundance of apprehension regarding the evolution of artificial intelligence, keeping the audience captivated throughout its moderate runtime, even in spite of its occasional time-worn aspects. Rating: high 7/10.

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Mad God (2021) – Film Review

/ Joe Baker / Leave a comment

“If You Disobey Me and Remain Hostile to Me, I Will Act Against You in Wrathful Hostility. I, for My Part, Will Discipline You Sevenfold for Your Sins…” – Opening Quotation

Written, directed and produced (among many other credits) by Phil Tippett, the founder and namesake of Tippett Studio, whose varied career in visual effects has spanned more than thirty years and includes two Academy Award wins and six nominations. Mad God, released in 2021, is a rich visual treat for enthusiasts of horror and stop-motion animation alike, serving as a harrowing delve into a post-apocalyptic hellscape that is both unique and disturbing. Harbouring a cinematic allure that is equal parts unsettling and mesmerising, Mad God proves that even in the age of CGI, the art form of stop-motion remains strong, even if the story and characters it’s bringing to life are far from well-developed.

Plot Summary: Equipped with a gas mask and an ageing map, the Assassin, a lone iron-clad humanoid, descends into an underworld of tortured souls, ruined cities and wretched monstrosities on a covert mission to reach the heart of this nightmarish realm of suffering…

First starting work on the project in the late 1980s, shortly after creating effects for RoboCop 2, released in 1990. Mad God has been Tippett’s pet project for over thirty years, despite the filmmaker almost considering abandoning the project when Jurassic Park was released in 1993, as CG effects appeared to make stop-motion a thing of the past. After some urging from those around him, however, Tippett decided to create a Kickstarter campaign that allowed him to complete the project. In the following years, three parts of Mad God were released online, which made up around half of the full eighty-two-minute version that was eventually screened at various film festivals. And whilst this story behind the film’s creation is certainly intriguing, Mad God‘s biggest shortcoming is that it lacks a narrative itself, or at least a coherent one. Instead, the film relies on visual storytelling and world-building as the audience follows the Assassin on his lengthy journey, encountering many distinct creatures, locations and civilisations on a mission that is never disclosed. As such, watching Mad God requires a lot of concentration to get the most out of it, much like how the project was crafted, I suppose.

With no dialogue or characterisation to speak of, Mad God‘s characters hinge entirely on their design. Thankfully, every character/creature that appears throughout the runtime is visibly repulsive, unnerving and eccentric. At the core of Mad God‘s story is a character only known as the Assassin, a silent, gas mask-wearing humanoid who also receives no characterisation, instead functioning as an audience surrogate through Tippett’s fever dream of a post-apocalyptic world. As the film features no dialogue, the central cast, including Alex Cox, Niketa Roman and Satish Ratakonda, only appear in a handful of live-action sequences, which similar to the scenes of stop-motion, are grimy and discomforting whilst relying on visuals over direct storytelling. While these sequences are interesting and count towards what little plot there is, many of these moments also pull you out of the experience and are often plagued by the film’s need to implement oral sounds to ensure the human characters don’t appear mute, meaning noises like “Eh?” and “Hmmm” become rather repetitious.

The cinematography by Chris Morley and Phil Tippett allows for spectacular framing within every scene, lending to the atmosphere and intrigue of each setting, whether its an oxidised factory of greasy machinery or a society of helpless slaves ruled over by an electronic screen that speaks in child-like gibberish. Furthermore, each of the surroundings the Assassin treks across is distinguished by the film’s colour palette, which seamlessly jumps from cold blues to vile greens and blood reds, making the stop-motion appear incredibly cinematic. Interestingly, one scene, which features a mountain of dead soldiers, was actually accomplished by melting thousands of plastic army men together on a wire. This scene took six animators around three years to complete, demonstrating the substantial amount of dedication required to animate even a single scene of Mad God.

Through prolonged tracks like Long Way Down and Conveyance, Mad God‘s original score by Dan Wool enhances many of the surreal visuals in a relatively nuanced fashion, making for a soundtrack that isn’t all that memorable, but avoids becoming overbearing as to let the visuals speak for themselves. However, the sound design is where the film’s audio truly shines as the countless animalistic growls of the mutated creatures that roam Mad God‘s mystifying world are ghastly and add audible depth to whichever location the Assassin finds himself.

As most would expect from Tippett Studio, the animation itself is smooth yet appropriately unearthly, providing every creature with its own jittery method of walking/crawling that feels remarkably natural. What’s even more impressive is that, according to Tippett, a considerable amount of the animation on Mad God was actually conducted by novice students who wanted to gain some filmmaking experience.

In summary, Mad God will likely be a very divisive film on account of its largely interpretive narrative and absence of well-defined characters. But, these annoyances ultimately don’t matter that much in the grand scheme, as Mad God thrives in what it’s trying to do. Presenting itself as a love letter to stop-motion that could only be realised by a legendary visual effects artist like Phil Tippett. And with stop-motion animation in such short supply nowadays, an outstanding piece of artsy like Mad God will always be a joy to behold, faults or not. Rating: 7/10.

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Overlord (2018) – Film Review

/ Joe Baker / Leave a comment

“Three Months Ago, I Was Cutting Grass On My Front Yard. The Mailman Shows up With a Letter From the Army. Now, I’m Here, and I Have No Idea Where I’m Going to End Up.” – Private. Edward Boyce

Initially thought to be the fourth instalment in the Cloverfield franchise, an anthology-like series featuring the projects of Cloverfield, 10 Cloverfield Lane and The Cloverfield Paradox. Producer J.J Abrams later confirmed at New York City CinemaCon in 2018 that the war-horror hybrid flick, Overlord, would not be part of the series, despite being produced under the same production company, Bad Robot Productions. In a similar vein to the Cloverfield franchise, however, Overlord frequently appears disjointed and underwhelming in its effort to combine many diverse genres and ideas in a World War II gore-fest.

Plot Summary: On the eve of D-Day, a squad of American paratroopers is dropped behind enemy lines with the mission of penetrating the walls of a fortified local church and destroying the radio-jamming tower inside. But, as the soldiers approach their target, they soon discover that the Nazis are conducting a series of ungodly experiments in a hidden laboratory beneath the church. Experiments that could change the tide of the Second World War…

Evidently inspired by the renowned video game multiplayer mode, Call of Duty: Zombies. Overlord, directed by Julius Avery (Son of a Gun, Samaritan), grounds its absurdist story around a real military operation; “Operation: Overlord,” a code name for the Allied mission for the Battle of Normandy, which launched the successful invasion of Nazi-occupied Europe. This procedure, alongside “Operation: Neptune,” would become known as D-Day. This connection to the factual history of World War II does add some depth to the narrative, in addition to playing into a number of conspiracy theories regarding Nazi experimentation and the classified missions many American soldiers embarked upon during the Second World War. However, a downside to this sort of approach is that Overlord is repeatedly in a tonal conflict with itself, as the first hour of the runtime is a largely straightforward war epic, whilst the final half-hour is a plethora of blood, bullets and superhuman, zombie-like creatures. As such, the film feels as if it’s split into two halves, both at odds with each other. Still, at least Overlord ditches the irritating use of storytelling mystery boxes, a J.J. Abrams staple.

While the performances of Jovan Adepo, Wyatt Russell, Mathilde Ollivier, John Magaro and Pilou Asbæk continually range from serviceable to immensely hammy. The dialogue and characterisation throughout Overlord are somehow much worse, often coming across as cheesy, and in the case of the characterisation, wildly inconsistent. For example, Private. Edward Boyce is initially portrayed as quiet, nervous and hesitant to kill. But, as the runtime continues, Boyce soon changes his disposition almost entirely to become confident and adept on the battlefield, having no issue killing others, all without any semblance of a character arc. Corporal. Lewis Ford suffers from a different issue as the squad’s ruthless leader, wanting to ensure that his unit completes its mission at any cost. Yet, his no-nonsense attitude and bleak outlook are never explained beyond the reasoning of ‘war changes people.’

Primarily relying on hand-held mid-shots and close-ups, many of Overlord‘s finest shots can be seen whenever the squad are outdoors amongst the burning fields and aircraft-filled skies of the small French village where their target resides. Outside of these outdoor shots, the cinematography by Laurie Rose isn’t all that impressive. However, the various sets and locations chosen for the film are rather impressive, appearing period-accurate and extremely unsanitary in regard to the undisclosed Nazi laboratory and connecting subterranean access tunnels.

When it comes to the original score by Jed Kurzel, tracks like Mist Patrol, Devil Dogs, Approaching the Church and Re-Animation, do a respectable job of adding to the tension and brutality of many scenes, yet rarely feel distinguishable or noteworthy by themselves. The film’s end credits song; Bridging the Gap by Naz, is also a peculiar choice given that the well-known jazz-rap song doesn’t fit the time period, tone or even location of Overlord on account of its lyrical references to Mississippi and New York City.

On a more positive note, unlike many modern horror releases, Overlord actually features a reasonable amount of practical effects. One scene in which practical effects were utilised is the opening sequence, which sees soldiers leaping from a burning aircraft as it plummets to the ground. This thrilling moment was accomplished by rigging an aircraft-themed set on a tilting gimbal and then having stuntmen tumble through real flames via its back portion. Sadly, however, many of these effect-filled sequences are somewhat tainted by the film’s need to place CG enchantments on top of its practical effects. Most of which make many of the effects (including a gruesome scene in which a soldier’s neck snaps back so quickly bones pierce out of his chest) appear as if they were achieved purely through CGI.

In summary, when it was first announced many years ago, Overlord seemed practically destined for cult status, appealing to fanatics of war epics, zombie thrillers and gory, low-budget horror flicks alike. But, looking at it now, it’s clear that Overlord doesn’t fully dedicate itself to its bonkers premise, preferring to be a predominately solemn war piece instead of the outrageous, violent homage to the niche horror subgenre of Nazi zombies. As a result, whether it’s your first viewing or your fifth, it’s hard not to wonder how much stronger Overlord would’ve been should it have stuck the landing. Rating: low 4/10.

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Cooties (2014) – Film Review

/ Joe Baker / Leave a comment

“I Learned All About the Brain When I Had a Six-Inch Spike Lodged in My Skull as a Child. Which Is the Reason Why You May Have Noticed That Sometimes When I’m Talking I Use the Wrong Rowboat.” – Doug

For many, children can seem like loud, disease-infested monsters, and it’s not difficult to see why. There’s usually something leaking out their noses, their meals are often encrusted around their mouths, and they care little for social decorum or personal space. As such, it’s not too surprising that a horror-comedy like Cooties would come along in 2014 to take this waggish status to a more terrifying level, altering children into nimble monstrosities hungry for human flesh. Unfortunately, however, in spite of how much potential a concept like this holds, Cooties ultimately squanders many of its favourable qualities, never fully committing to its absurd premise and the horror/humour it holds.

Plot Summary: When a mysterious virus originating from contaminated chicken nuggets hits an isolated elementary school, transforming the children within into a feral swarm of flesh-eating monsters. A group of misfit teachers are forced to band together as they attempt to flee the bloody, juvenile carnage…

Directed by Jonathan Milott and Cary Murnion (Bushwick, Becky), Cooties undoubtedly harbours a remarkable premise, and the screenplay effectively sets itself up as a hybrid of both comedy and horror in its first act, balancing conversational witticisms and light moments of characterisation, with violent sequences of teachers and parents being torn apart by the infected children. However, the screenplay quickly turns sour once the second act arrives, as a number of plot conveniences/inconsistencies arise to make the perilous situation of the central group of characters survivable. Moreover, as the virus spreads and the teachers become trapped inside the school, the story begins to feel rather generic as the screenplay moves between uninteresting plot points from the chintzy jokes that preceded them.

While the characters featured throughout Cooties aren’t what I’d describe as particularly memorable or unique, they are, at least, well-defined and have their respective witty moments. A fair portion of this character appeal could also be attributed to the cast, however, as Elijah Wood, Alison Pill, Rainn Wilson, Leigh Whannel, Jack McBrayer and Jorge Garcia all deliver excellent performances as self-centred educators who are evidently displeased with how their lives have turned out. For example, Clint (the protagonist), who formerly moved to New York City in an attempt to become a novelist, reluctantly finds himself back in his hometown of Fort Chicken, Illinois, as a substitute teacher. The only positive outcome of his return home is his reconciliation with his childhood crush, Lucy, who now works at the same school. But, any chance of sparking a connection with her is swiftly stomped out by P.E. teacher, Wade, her loathsome boyfriend. Presumably, leaving many audience members grateful they don’t lead a life as a downtrodden, small-town elementary school teacher.

Aside from the truly nauseating opening title sequence at a chicken farm, which is sure to turn many audience members into vegetarians. Thanks in part to its use of vile close-ups, sludgy green colour palette and singular chicken nugget stuffed with an ominous black gloop. The rest of Lyle Vincent’s cinematography is relativity drab, relying on monotonous mid-shots to depict the puerile chaos. Outside of a handful of moments where close-ups are effectively employed to display the fantastic practical effects, that is, including a darkly comedic sequence in which the infected children pull the hapless school principal apart, using his intestines as a skipping rope, soon after.

Cooties‘ original score, composed by Kreng (a.k.a. Pepijn Caudron), is an interesting musical composition, a quirky mix of electronic horror and childlike innocence, much like the film itself. And whilst the score is occasionally too synth-heavy, which can seem a little odd given the film’s lack of 1980s influences. Cooties‘ soundtrack does make space for haunting vocals and violins where it can, blending comforting and madcap cues to create splendid tracks like Opening Titles and Rick’s Tape.

As previously mentioned, Cooties does appear fairly derivative following its first act, relying on no end of familiar tropes for the zombie subgenre. In addition to caving into an array of plot convinces, such as the sex-ed teacher, Doug, possessing a significant amount of knowledge on viruses and the human brain alike, so he can explain to the others that adults cannot be infected. Still, that isn’t where the writing-related issues cease, as towards the end of the third act (spoilers ahead in this section for those who wish to go in blind), the story becomes virtually aimless, providing no resolution as the characters scurry through the barren, nearby town of Danville until the credits roll. Of course, there is always the possibility that this sudden discontinuation was a result of the film’s limited budget, but it’s a less-than-satisfying way of concluding the narrative, nonetheless.

In summary, Cooties‘ screenplay is largely what drags the rest of the project down, appearing almost confined in its storytelling as if the screenwriters couldn’t reach beyond the typical traits of a zombie flick. Once the teachers hunker down inside a classroom, the story grinds to a tedious halt, merely observing the characters as they crawl through air ducts and suit up with school equipment to escape, scenes you’ve seen a thousand times before in other zombie-centric stories. Yet, what’s most disappointing, is that Cooties wastes such an inspired idea, as teachers surviving against a horde of infected children is an imaginative and amusing concept that could’ve easily made for an enjoyable, low-budget horror-comedy if it was executed skillfully. Rating: 4/10.

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RED (2010) – Film Review

/ Joe Baker / Leave a comment

“You Just Had Your Ass Handed to You by a Goddamned Retiree.” – Cynthia Wilkes

Loosely based on the comic book mini-series of the same name by Warren Ellis, RED, released in 2010, is a fast-paced and humourous action-comedy with an all-star cast of ageing actors and actresses. Yet, despite everything the film has going for it, RED never quite reaches the soaring heights of exhilaration most would expect to see from an action flick with a cast of this calibre. Still, at the very least, RED doesn’t just rely on its renowned performers to impress, as director Robert Schwentke (The Family Jewels, R.I.P.D., The Captain) integrates a sufficient amount of both style and wit into the adaptation.

Plot Summary: When his peaceful life becomes threatened by persistent attacks from squads of heavily armed, masked assailants. Former black-ops agent, Frank Moses, reassembles his old team of highly-trained assassins in a last-ditch effort to uncover who his assailants work for and why they are hunting him…

One of the few DC Comics properties not based around superheroes and/or supervillains. RED was surprisingly the first widely-released adaptation of a DC Comics series not produced by Warner Bros. Pictures, as Batman, released in 1966 by Twentieth Century Fox, was a spin-off from the television series. Whereas Superman, released in 1948 by Columbia Pictures, was technically a serial. These comic book roots factor into the film in a number of ways, some visual, some not. For instance, when it comes to the narrative, the pacing often seems unnecessarily quick, making the constant location-jumping of the characters feel overwhelming at points. On top of this, there is an abundance of scenes throughout RED that seem to serve little-to-no purpose, such as a moment in the opening montage of Frank’s day-to-day life where he positions Christmas decorations, implying the festive season will somehow play a part in the story. Yet, from that scene on Christmas isn’t even mentioned, so why is it there?

The leading component to the enjoyability of RED is undoubtedly its formerly mentioned cast and their respective characters. From Bruce Willis as the hard-boiled protagonist, Frank Moses, to Morgan Freeman as the capable yet cancer-ridden; Joe Matheson, along with John Malkovich and Helen Mirren as Marvin Boggs and Victoria, a paranoid nut-job and sophisticated assassin, respectfully. All of the characters that are part of the central team known as R.E.D. (an acronym for; “Retired and Extremely Dangerous”), are well-defined and sufficiently likeable. Outside of this primary team, however, some of the characters suffer from a lack of development. Most notably, William Cooper, portrayed by Karl Urban, a misguided CIA agent assigned the task of capturing Frank and his team. Frank’s love interest, Sarah Ross, portrayed by Mary-Louise Parker, is unfortunately just as bland, with her character arc of maturing from a fearful, reluctant companion to an adrenaline junkie relishing in her time beside Frank, being both corny and unbelievable.

Evidently inspired by the comic book mini-series it’s based upon, RED is generally rather creative with its visuals, implementing a considerable number of innovative shots that rotate around the characters as they perform various tasks. Nevertheless, the cinematography by Florian Ballhaus isn’t impeccable, as the film is frequently impaired by the jerky, hand-held style of camerawork that plagued many action sequences in the early 2010s. Furthermore, while I appreciate the attempt to add some flair to the visuals by integrating a string of imaginative location transitions, a few of these transitions come across as somewhat cheesy, particularly whenever they revolve around a screen-overspreading postcard.

In a quirky little detail, all of the tracks throughout RED‘s original score are titled to fit the acronym of R.E.D. Some of these titles include; Rotating Enforcement Device, Regular Easygoing Dudes and Rehash Every Detail. However, even when ignoring this minor detail, the original score by Christophe Beck is rather impressive, adding to the film’s appeal as a lively and stimulating guitar-led soundtrack that more than fits the quick-pacing and sharp wit seen throughout the rest of the runtime.

When it comes to the action sequences, it may surprise many to learn that RED largely spreads out its rousing set pieces. If truth be told, the film’s most interesting narrative decision is that every act feels different in its approach. The first act, for example, predominantly focuses on humour, whilst the second act takes on a more serious tone, and the third act bursts into an exhilarating display of discharged firearms and downed adversaries. That’s not to say that the first two acts don’t retain any of their own exciting moments, however, as they certainly do. Interestingly, actress Helen Mirren had to learn how to fire a gun without blinking to appear more like an experienced assassin in her action sequences. This is actually an issue that has troubled cast members of the action genre for years. In fact, blinking was one of the main reasons why the cast of The Matrix trilogy wore sunglasses, concealing their involuntary reactions.

In summary, whilst RED is an action-comedy endowed with prominent names, most will come away imbued with the reassuring thought that all of the cast left their egos at home to assemble something amusing and easily digestible. Although the film isn’t anything extraordinary and definitely has its fair share of flaws, RED does have some of the makings of an entertaining action-comedy, pleasing fanatics of the veteran actors/actresses whose names litter the film’s promotional material, especially. Rating: high 5/10.

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Room (2015) – Film Review

/ Joe Baker / Leave a comment

“There Are So Many Things Out Here. And Sometimes It’s Scary. But, That’s Ok. Because It’s Still Just You and Me…” – Jack

Based on the best-selling novel of the same name by Emma Donoghue, 2015’s Room is a captivating and immensely well-crafted drama, guided by a pair of astonishing performances from Brie Larson and the young Jacob Tremblay. Simultaneously showcasing the best and worst of humanity, Room undoubtedly begins in a very dark place narrative-wise, but that doesn’t necessarily make it a bleak film, as Room is filled with just as many uplifting moments as it has sombre ones. Ultimately making for a harrowing yet equally rewarding piece of both filmmaking and storytelling.

Plot Summary: Held captive for seven years by a rapist, eventually giving birth to a baby boy. Joy Newsome, and her now five-year-old son, Jack, spend their days trapped inside a small room, this enclosed space being the only world Jack has ever known. Knowing that Jack’s growth has made their situation precarious, however, Joy, with the help of her son, orchestrates an escape plan in the hope that they can finally gain their freedom…

Maintaining the same narrative stance as the novel the film is based upon, much of Room‘s story is told from the perspective of Jack, with many of the plot points being childishly interpreted as the sheltered youngster can barely comprehend much of what he sees. By telling its story from the point of view of a child, the film is able to easily differentiate Jack’s distorted understanding of the world from the real world that lies just outside his view, all the while leaving the more unsettling aspects of the story, such as Joy’s abduction and subsequent sexual abuse, to be tastefully implied as opposed to occurring on-screen, as those events transpire out of Jack’s presence/eyesight.

Predominantly shot in chronological order to make it easier for the then-eight-year-old Jacob Tremblay to perform as his character matures. The pairing of Brie Larson and Tremblay as mother and son is no doubt one of the best elements of Room, as the pairs’ performances are astoundingly believable, with the development of their characters only furthering this sense of realism. To Jack, the ten-foot square room he and his mum live within is the entire world, where objects such as a table, a rug and a wardrobe are the only ones of their kind. Whereas for Joy (repeatedly referred to as “Ma” by her son), this room is her prison. A cell in which she has been kept for over seven years since she was kidnapped at seventeen by a man who has raped her countless times, ultimately fathering Jack. Yet, through sheer willpower and the love she harbours for her son, Joy keeps all these harsh truths to herself. And throughout the runtime, Larson turns in a tragically punishing performance to match this broken yet incredibly resilient character, finding courage from the need to protect her child from the enormity of their tormentor, only ever referred to as “Old Nick.” With that in mind, it’s not too much of a surprise that Larson later went on to win an Oscar for her performance in 2016.

Shot over a period of ten weeks, the first month of Room‘s production primarily took place inside a tiny set with immovable walls. As such, director Lenny Abrahamson (Adam & Paul, Frank, The Little Stranger) and his crew had to work entirely within the confines of the limited space. Nevertheless, the cinematography by Danny Cohen still manages to remarkably capture the innocent outlook of childhood, employing a number of low-angled close-ups in just the right shaft of light to illustrate how Jack finds enjoyment in his everyday life. Many of these shots also display the grubby surfaces and worn objects in the claustrophobic space Jack and his mother reside, reminding the audience that this sealed room is closer to a dungeon than an inviting family quarter.

Similar to the narrative itself, the original score by Stephen Rennicks is the perfect combination of beauty and trepidation, with some tracks, most notably; Opening, Mouse, In the World and New End, standing as beautiful piano-led pieces that bring a level of warm comfort. Whilst other tracks, like I’m Scared and Roll Up, are much more atmospheric and even somewhat unnerving. In many ways, these two types of tracks could be seen as representations of Jack and Joy, respectively, as the piano melodies are direct and naïve with very little room for movement, a.k.a. Jack. While the violin arrangements could be personified as Joy, being mature, tense and somewhat damaged.

In terms of its structure, Room is a film that is largely divided into two halves. And whilst I don’t want to reveal too much regarding how the plot develops, I will note that the film does lose some of the dramatic steam it builds up in the first half of its story due to a substantial change in the direction and tone of its latter half.

In summary, Room is undeniably a depressing and challenging viewing at points, but it’s also more sanguine in its storytelling than many may expect from a film with such a horrific setup. Through its tremendous performances, thoughtful use of visuals and detailed sets, Room is a terrific drama (and an effective thriller) that explores the uncomfortable topic of abduction from a unique perspective. Formulating a tear-jerking adaptation that occasionally makes too much room for melodrama, but is an expertly told tale, nonetheless. Rating: high 8/10.

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Villains (2019) – Film Review

/ Joe Baker / Leave a comment

“Son, I’d Blow Your Brains Out if I Thought You Had Any.” – George

Engrossing, suspenseful and darkly humorous, Villains, released in 2019, is a fast-paced crime-thriller with a sharp comedic edge. Led by a quartet of strong performances, including the likes of Bill Skarsgård and Maika Monroe as the leading pair of romantically-entangled criminals, Villains has more than a few noteworthy elements. Alongside its many qualities, however, Villains also suffers from several shortcomings, mainly in regard to the lack of style in its visuals, despite what the film’s flamboyant promotional posters would lead you to believe.

Plot Summary: On the run after robbing a local gas station, amateur lovebird criminals, Mickey and Jules, find themselves breaking into a secluded house in search of a new set of wheels. But, upon entering the quaint abode, the pair discover that the home they have stumbled into is actually the residency of a sadistic couple with more than a few dark secrets…

While never outright frightening, Villains does have a surplus of tense sequences and bloody violence to quench one’s thirst for excitement. However, these stirring moments don’t persist into the third act, as Villains‘ story actually reaches its peak absurdity during the second act, and then opts for a quieter, more emotionally resonant third act to conclude its narrative. Admittedly, this is a rather jarring decision, and the film’s pacing does suffer as a result, but it undeniably works in the characters’ favour. Furthermore, whilst not filled to the brim with plot twists and narrative subversions, the first act of Villains features enough twists and turns that I would advise those going in to go in blind as possible to get the full impact of the reveals.

Headed southbound for a fresh start in the sunshine state of Florida, the central couple of Mickey and Jules, portrayed by Bill Skarsgård and Maika Monroe, are surprisingly likeable characters in spite of being wanted criminals. Monroe is the most charismatic she’s ever been in her role as Jules, whilst Skarsgård portrays Mickey as a goofy yet considerate partner, delivering some of the film’s most amusing lines of dialogue. The pair could have easily been depicted as despicable, but Monroe and Skarsgård imbue them with such warmth and earnestness that you can’t help but root for them. As for the demented homeowners, George and Gloria, portrayed by Jeffrey Donovan and Kyra Minturn, are charismatic yet equally intimidating, portraying their characters with a subdued sense of lunacy as opposed to being overly insane to an almost comical degree. On top of the terrific performances, all of the characters receive an adequate amount of development. I’d even go so far as to say it’s unfortunate that the runtime isn’t a little longer to further flesh out the characters, as the hints of backstory we receive for some of them (particularly Gloria) are both tragic and fascinating.

Visually, Villains is somewhat flat, as the cinematography by Matt Mitchell largely relies on unremarkable close-up and mid-shots without much innovation or implementation of style. Excluding the end credits, that is, which are vibrant and chaotic, emulating a skater-like art style through its animation and font choices. Luckily, the production design fairs better than the camerawork as George and Gloria’s house is uniquely coated in 1960s decor, complete with radiant colours and a vintage television. All of the outfits that the psychotic couple sport also play into this ’60s aesthetic. Moreover, writers-directors Dan Berk and Robert Olsen (Body, The Stakelander) effectively utilise the setting of George and Gloria’s home, establishing the geography of their house scene by scene so the audience has a clear understanding of where each character is in relation to one another during the many cat-and-mouse chase sequences.

The original score by Andrew Hewitt is regrettably rather generic, boasting several tracks that sound as if they were lifted from various scores from a selection of genres, from mysteries to horrors. But, on a more positive note, Villains does make sufficient use of a number of soothing instrumental pieces, such as The Free Life, Time for Romance and Looking Back on Love, which all serve as excellent contrasts to the on-screen violence and grim setup of the narrative.

Upon first viewing, it quickly becomes apparent that Villains takes a lot of influence from other crime flicks. Most notably for its protagonists, Mickey and Jules, as the pair share many similarities to the couple; Pumpkin and Honey Bunny from the opening and closing scenes of the quintessential crime flick; Pulp Fiction, released in 1994. The film even pays tribute to this specific influence through a small Easter egg, as if you look closely, you can see that Mickey has a tattoo on his wrist of Stuntman Mike’s car from 2007’s Death Proof, another flick directed by Quentin Tarantino.

In summary, Villains is an entertaining crime-thriller, but it’s also a film that continuously feels as if it’s on the cusp of something extraordinary, yet it never quite reaches whatever that may be. While the performances are solid and the plot is engaging, the almost total absence of style and flair is exceedingly difficult to ignore. Still, Villains has enough of its own offbeat energy to avoid merely coming across as an assemblage of two young filmmakers’ cinematic influences, which is more than can be said for many modern releases. Rating: 6/10.

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