The Enemy (2011) Dejan Zecevic

A man sits smoking in pitch dark, quiet, but then light breaks in and he is walled up no more... In 1994, the first few days after the end of the conflict in Bosnia a team of soldiers are working to dismantle and remove mines they themselves planted, while staying in an abandoned farmhouse awaiting relief. Should be a time for packing up and going home but they just released someone they possibly shouldn't have. A rum cove at the least... 

The Enemy probably won't be dazzling anyone with its originality or innovation but within confines it gets things pretty right. Wisely it sets out its stall pretty clearly pretty early on, there's some interesting mystery in the finer details but overall the deal isn't complicated or elusive so the audience is well set up to just take it and settle in to get thrilled, the appeal is mostly visceral rather than cerebral which makes a nice change. Curious freed prisoner Daba is a cerebral type though, quiet, polite and wry, authoritative not by force but by wisdom, indeed with neither need nor inclination to really use force. He's the films trump card, such fun to spend time with that most predictability is smoothed over. Mind you, the generally solid performances also work in this way, without too much in the way of exposition or general fat they come across as a tight, coherent unit, not always comfortable but perfectly able to work together. And when it comes to ratcheting up the excitement now and again alongside the growing tension, mines make for a rather fun complement to the expected guns and fisticuffs. 

This is altogether, rather good stuff if military themed psychological horror is your thing. Aside from one expected bit of shallow brutishness that strikes more as lazy than shocking I have no real complaints about the general lie of it, in fact I had a really good time. But it surely could have been more. The mine removal set up could have been a piercing light into the absurd fog of war, a scene of outright offbeat humour shows how inspired, how different this could have been had it really spread its wings. Sure, quality generica is still quality, but I can sense the film shifting and preparing to recede less than a fortnight after viewing. Meh, don't take that as a deterrent though, watch it anyway and you might well think different. Over and out!

The Burrowers (2008) JT Petty

Watching a horror western hybrid like The Burrowers I become acutely aware that I come at it one handed. The number of Westerns I've seen in my life would barely break ten and so there's a wealth of genre context that I just don't have. In this case The Searchers, with which The Burrowers seems to share narrative fundamentals. But I guess it doesn't matter too much because this is a distinctly modern affair, posing as these things do that the West was not a melting pot of derring do and cultural creation myths but ugliness and violence despite blissfully attractive locations (this is shot in lovely New Mexico). It's not a serious study though, more an interesting backdrop. The story is of an Irish labourer about to propose to his beloved but finds her stolen away, possibly by Indians. So he joins a pack of Indian hunters for pursuit, but inevitably things get a bit weirder. The romance alas is contained in a brief opening, staying undeveloped, and while the low status of the Irish at the place and time is mentioned it provides no friction either underlying or ongoing. Likewise a black servant character proceeds with little discomfort although the racial situation of the time is also mentioned. And of course the main human villain is no more than an arrogant sadist. So the film doesn't really work on historical dramatics, but the setting suits the horror well. The titular burrowers are like huge and limbed maggots, crawling through the Earth to create and feast upon decay, and multiple top down shots establish the Earth as living thing, ground a flat, dull expanse of skin dotted by grass and trees as hair, humans with all their discord and violence invaders feeding the rot within. Makes for an interesting universal message that goes quite some way towards excusing other flaws in the conception. 

It could all have worked out splendidly but unfortunately isn't all there. The quest isn't as pronounced as it should be, nor the villain as vicious or the creatures deeds as grotesquely gruesome in presentation. The villain is nasty and the creatures, announced by a sinister creaking sound, are scary, but only towards the end does the film lock down in the way that it should and even then the close is a bit too open ended to fully satisfy. But it's still a generally effective ride. Karl Geary, earlier seen in 90's art vamp gem Nadja makes for an engaging, sympathetically driven hero, Clancy Brown is a good old school tough but decent guy, William Mapother is a similarly effective goodie, Doug Hutchison plays loathsome like its second nature (not quite as repellent as in The Green Mile but he still works well) and Sean Patrick Thomas rounds out the mains nicely as a quietly smart, stoic servant who sure isn't a sap. I was disappointed that Jocelin Donahue only appeared for about a minute at the beginning though, when you have an actress so goddamned cute you could happily watch her watching paint dry you really ought to show her a bit more. There's some reasonably exciting Western style action and bloodshed and what creature nastiness there is neat indeed though there isn't enough of it. And the generally bleak, serious tone is well judged, atmospheric and compelling rather than cloying. So in the altogether this is worthwhile stuff. For all its imperfections it still offers a good bit to chew on and does fair justice to both its horror and western sides. Many may happily skip but for fans of the slightly off the beaten track this gets a good recommendation.

Seconds Apart (2011) Antonio Negret

Freaky people, twins. In a trick of a haircut my ma and her sis can look uncannily similar, and lets not even get into the infamous round of Pictionary some decades back when one correctly guessed the other's elephant from the briefest momentary formless scrawl. Freaky people indeed. Seconds Apart comes from the freaky school of twin movies, though quality wise is more Blood Link than Dead Ringers. Counter-intuitively, though perhaps audaciously it doesn't bother with much in the way of human duality or shifting of personalities, mostly sticking with telepathy. Seth and Jonah (or is it Jonah and Seth?) get off on fear, creating, manipulating and recording fear in a deadly narcotic exchange, doggedly pursuing that first perfect high that slinks away unceasingly into the past. A nice idea executed with a pleasing cruelty and flair for the twisted, but the film isn't really that special. 

The main trouble is that Jonah and Seth just aren't really interesting at all. They look creepy enough but never come across across as more than dicks, just utterly average *beep* kids who fail to communicate anything through their average ass-holeness. A film like this really needs the fuel of torment or sadism, some real disturbance behind things, but it isn't here. There's not much here in general in fact. The victims of the film receive only the most cursory of character sketches and so depart with little power, the embittered detective on the case has only a little further shading and likewise only a little more impact. A romantic interest that pops up to rack up some tension is underwritten and unconvincing, though not really the actresses fault, who looks nice and gives it the old college try. And while there are a few scenes of bloodshed there's almost none of the sort of nasty gore that could have made several of them pretty great. Still Orlando Jones impresses as tough, determined Detective Lampkin, showing none of his better seen roots in lighter fare. And between the effortless experience of watching this and its scattered glimmering of legit inspiration it sits just on the right side of average, making it one of the better releases in the After Dark Original line and a reasonably cromulent slow evening watch in general. Not one to strain to watch of course, but not one to flee from either, minor thumbs up all in all. Elephant.

Al-ta'weeza (1987) Mohamed Shebl

Well, this was my first experience of Egyptian horror and I do hope it won’t be my last. But this hope does come with the significant caveat that I also hope Al-ta'weeza is not too representative of its fellows. The basic plot is quite reasonable, a villain wishes to acquire a flat for reasons that are not entirely clear, but the father of the family cramped within isn't interested in selling or moving so the villain sics a bit of the old supernatural menace on them. And the supernatural visitations are amusing enough, with objects moving of their own accord, room shaking, pyrokinesis and the like. We also get some nice moments as the camera takes the eye of the demonic, prowling through the flat low and sinister. A little disappointingly there's little in the way of local colour to the terror but much as they may be the most basic of Western generica the tropes are solid enough, I mean no one wants mystery tremors or unexplained fire, that shit is dangerous. And I guess maybe in a culture removed from the secular mythology japing of horror in the West to explicitly tackle local custom may have been less palatable. Could have worked OK, but the pace, oh dear oh dear the pace. I’m not fundamentally opposed to big clunking chunks of soap operatic filler but they have to be done right, either building and maintaining tensely churning and hence hilarious melodrama or at least poised at enough of a skew from reality and relatable human behaviour to be perplexingly compelling. Al-ta'weeza opts simply for a banal facsimile of real living, there’s some potential in the characters and basic conflicts established (between young and old, change and tradition, global and local perspectives, etc.) but nothing is developed and most of the time just feels like dead fat, with corresponding just about workable but basically flat performances. And it bulks up the film to nearly 100 minutes!  I'm sure it's more relatable to Egyptian audiences and perhaps more interesting too but the fact remains that you just can't really get away with a horror film in which at least half the run time isn't the least germane to the actual horror. Much the more frustrating because this actually ends on a memorable high note, a bit of bloody lunacy that isn't often seen anywhere that shows that the film-makers weren't too afraid to shock and spread their wings but just didn't. All in all this isn't something I'd recommend even to the most dedicated of obscurity searchers, it's just too long and not very good. Didn't make me want to poke my own eyes out or anything but at times I did wonder why I never seriously pursued learning French or other languages and whatnot. Take of that what you will...

Feminine Carnivores (1970) Zybnek Brynych

Treasure hunting among cinema's lonelier ruins can be some of the most fun in the world, but sometimes alas there's little there but hallucinatory light from the crypt, the bones are all dust and the relics just second rate craft cheaply daubed. So it is with Feminine Carnivores, which looks like it should be great but really isn't. The set up is inviting, a lady named Eve travels to an exclusive women's resort to resolve nebulous psychosexual disorders, but finds that things there are somewhat stranger than expected. And for a while its a pleasing watch, plenty of attractive women, chic location, stylish interiors with modernist paintings and objets d'art (I especially liked the mantis doorknob) yet realistically comfortable, plenty of camera whirls and zooms and a bit of surreal choppy editing, loose plotting that yet steadily advances the atmosphere and idea. But around halfway in things pall as it becomes clear that the film actually doesn't have anything smart to offer and is really just coasting. It seems like a feminist picture celebrating women in control, but by the by turns out to be no more than an idiots take on radical feminism. The men are variously arrogant, crude, shallow or just cracked pawns like a retarded gardener or a policeman who just wants to build card castles. But the women are really no better, just vicious, crooked and deadly. And while said gardener is called Adam, the film goes nowhere with the expected symbolism. No real suspense because things are obvious from the title on and both the characters and their interactions are all more or less one dimensional, but worse the film lacks either genuine radical feminist ire or (for the most part) the comically hypocritical sleaze and violence to be an entertaining conservative denouncement. 

On the plus side a group bra burning is somewhat amusing, of course only attractive young ladies bare their breasts, and the camera smartly conveys from very early on the cyclical nature of both the narrative and the characters. It also works as a kind of time capsule, amber freeze of the angst, pretension and style of certain kinds of European artiste of its unfortunately not entirely lost era. An unintentionally positive thing, its dated nature showing up how ludicrous is the persistence of some of its attitude into the modern age. 

Others are more generous to this than I, but after mulling it over I'm sticking with really not being a fan. For those that have to see it (you know who you are) it's still better than a poke in the eye with a wet stick, but otherwise avoid.

Nigel the Psychopath (1994) Jim Larsen

I don't know anyone called Nigel in my real life so before last night my concept of "Nigel" was a blank canvas, rude clay hungry for a sculptors tender caress. But no more, now I have a Nigel forever! 

Nigel wears jeans, white trainers, camouflage jacket, gas mask and cap, except for when his jacket is blue and he has a hat. He carries a rake, except for when he carries a stick, then he carries a rake again except for when he carries guns or other things. He kills everyone he meets but they don't seem to be too concerned. Probably not paid enough. Actually I don't suppose anyone was paid at all. The cast doesn't seem to reach beyond teens and some not even that. 

There doesn't seem to be an iota of rational thought here, just a few afternoons of fun between friends recorded. So the interest is mostly incidental. Nigel has a brother who set off his spree when their mother died, by telling him that she went to Heaven and is happier there. His brother is called Chubby and wears a T shirt with a picture of Leatherface on it. There are bits of hilariously lackadaisical fighting, as if everyone involved was either incredibly stoned or just didn't give too much of a sh!t and wasn't into it. I hope for the former myself because youth delinquency is fresh and progressive and awesome since at least the late 50's. 

At one point a couple of characters are driving and there are red fuzzy dice hanging from the rearview mirror. Mmmm, fuzzy. Some quality dialogue, like "you be illin' when you should be chillin'". Sage advice that, I was once ill when I should have been chill and I wound up in the hospital. And the odd fun image like Nigel's maniacally rake hacking shadow on a brick wall, or a severed leg going down a playground slide. How do you sever a limb with a rake? He found a way! There's a guy in drag trying to pull a Friday the 13th Part 2 ending. And a drunk singing "Time of my Life". 

Also the soundtrack is often perfectly serviceable 80's style girl rock except for when it's something else like just a harmonica. All in all this isn't in any way, shape or form a "good" film but I wasn't bored. Except for when I was bored. The end credits roll around 55 minutes but the film would definitely have benefited from being like, 10 minutes shorter. A final thought, 1994 saw tremendous works like Dellamorte Dellamore, In The Nightside Eclipse and Transilvanian Hunger, but it also saw Nigel the Psychopath. Really makes you think, except for when it doesn't. Watch it!!!

Diary of a Serial Killer (1995) Otto Chan

It'd been a few years since last I watched any Category III pictures, though amongst my first loves in extreme cinema it isn't often nowadays that I get a fire in my belly for them. But watching Diary of a Serial Killer made me much want to return, an experience like slipping on your favourite dressing gown and slippers, sinking back in an armchair with a nice cuppa and some choccy biccies for dunking, smiling in a shifting shaft of warmth and light and dreaming of home. A second tier affair pulling the same tricks as several before it, it moves with nary a hiccup and plenty of fun, well anchored by its fine central performance. Kwok Pong Chan does fine work as crazy Lau Shau Biu, the serial killer of the title who brutally slays hookers in the belief that the more horrific their death the more thoroughly cleansed they will be of the karmic stain of selling themselves. I'm not sure that this is entirely how reincarnation works, but then I'm not a serial killer. Anyhow he does very well, beginning intense as he recounts his story in a cell, he proceeds to cover assorted psychopathic bases, from coolly hateful and vicious, to merrily sadistic to depravedly clownish and shades between. But he also convinces in his sense of righteousness and compulsive self rationalising, as well as actually harrowed by his urges and the constant threat of events to slide from control, and even keeps a handle on tonal shifts that require actual tenderness and human warmth. He may not have the presence of a Ben Ng or a Simon Yam, but is I think worthy here I think of the genre's greats. Of course a fine central performance would count for little without content to back it up, and Diary of a Serial Killer does pretty well on this front too. While actual gore is fairly limited the violence is mostly nastily sexual in nature with scenes that don't skimp much on nudity, and are agreeably twisted to boot (with one particular mean spirited mutilation standout in the final block). Happily these scenes are quite creepy also (as well as grim), taking place in an attic whose veils, bed and chair and plastic sheeting and mood lighting (permanent dusk or twilight with deep blues and reds) afford a curious ambience that has something of boudoir, dungeon and even shrine mingled. Killer's headspace given deft form, so killer, kills and killing floor align, retreat within that becomes progressively incongruous with the world without. Smart, provoking stuff, but not taken far enough, part of two twined tensions of the film that don't quite come off. Lau Shau Biu pulls against his outside world, and in so doing pulls against our outside world, the sheer fantasy that he could do what he does in the way that he does it without being caught earlier spiting those who would complain of unreality or plot holes. And his religious motives pull against his character, his real motives he prefers to avoid. So why not add more narrative meat, more psychology, have a film not just of yucks but fears of psyche and the world pulling apart in the denial of reality, barbed wire around the brute punch of straighter exploitation? The seeds are there in the structure, all the little things that aren't quite right but satisfy the audience, but the seeds don't grow. Still, this is pretty well paced and never dull, may not satisfy the more ravenous of filth hounds but most should have a pretty good time. So even if greatness is just peering in from the peripheries, this is still well worth a watch for genre fans. Go see...!