Category: Andrew Buckner

“Trouser Snake” – (Short Film Review)

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By Andrew Buckner
****1/2 out of *****.

Trouser Snake (2016), the third short film from director and co-writer Alex DiVincenzo (2014’s “The Horrors of AutoCorrect” and 2016’s “Cybershock 1999”), plays as if the overblown “science” and informatory threats fashioned as lesson learning which made Refer Madness (1936) such a cult gem were repackaged as a deliberately uproarious 1950’s style creature feature. This is with the subject diverting from the purportedly “violent” dangers of marijuana. Such was the case illustrated to great comedic effect in the abovementioned Louis Gasnier directed and Arthur Hoerl penned presentation. DiVincenzo makes literal the idea of the “monster” that rises from the male anatomy. This is when said individual is confronted with an apparently unanticipated hormonal and sexual control. It is one which augments the naïve confusion of the teenage years. Such becomes the plight of our perplexed protagonist, Thomas (in a spot-on portrayal by Alexander Gauthier). All of this surfaces consequently to an extended bout of making out in a car with Thomas’ girlfriend, Lucy (in a phenomenal turn from Jamie Lyn Bagley). Such ensues at that notorious place in celluloid where such events always seem to stem from: Lover’s Lane.

DiVincenzo employs a variety of wildly triumphant jokes that pinpoint the outdated nature of Thomas’ gullibility. Most noteworthy of which is a brilliant sequence at nearly three minutes into DiVincenzo’s four minute and forty-nine second undertaking. This is from what can be perceived as a modern perspective. Such is derived during a family dinner. In this episode, Thomas tries to have an open discussion with his family concerning his current plunge into adulthood. It is at this point his much younger sibling, credited simply as “Sister” (in a terrific depiction by Morgan Walsh), says in a matter of fact manner: “Even I know about the birds and the bees, Thomas.”

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This gag is undoubtedly amusing. Yet, it is a number involving the sudden slanting of a table that comes immediately after Sister’s words that is the centerpiece of the entire segment. Such also endures as one of the most successfully hilarious instances visible throughout the runtime. Another thematically linked highlight arrives both before and prior to a spectacularly issued, black and white post-credits sequence. This latter stated item concludes with the announcement, which I sincerely hope DiVincenzo makes good upon, that the “Trouser Snake will return in ‘Bride of Trouser Snake’ “. These already mentioned guffaws are exceedingly clever. They are also among the best uses of the amorous parallel DiVincenzo utilizes with the presence of the antagonistic fiend of this enterprise spied throughout this Grimbridge Productions release. Such instances are as cringe-worthy as they are, in various usages of the term, climactic.

Made for a mere $100, DiVincenzo’s invention is boosted by another outstanding, gleefully tongue-in-cheek performance. This is from Michael Thurber. He enacts Thomas’ specialist, Dr. Mason. Thurber bends the character in the ways of many associated clinicians from both the decade and genre DiVincenzo models his tour de force after. Such is orchestrated both readily and engagingly. He delivers exposition, most of which the audience is already informed of, with a merry, knowing wink to his unseen spectators all along. Such makes the scenes he is in sing with a heightened layer of underlying wit. This matches the tone of the piece beautifully. William DeCoff as Thomas’ father, Hugo, and Monica Saviolakis as Thomas’ mother, Joy, also offer similarly astounding depictions. The result is a herculean effort that is made incredible by the stalwart essence of those on-screen.

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The brief affair is also graced with an appropriately cheery, splendidly done veneer. The look of the endeavor is like that of a classic, monochrome motion picture. Particularly, one that was colorized before being broadcast on late night cable television. Such cinematography, courtesy of Jill Poisson and DiVincenzo, further enhances the B-movie correspondence DiVincenzo proudly strives for throughout the exertion. DiVincenzo’s editing, script (co-authored by James Cilano) and general guidance of the project is sharp and masterful. The story is conservative, but fulfilling, in its construction. Such transpires as DiVincenzo and Cilano tell the tale through several connected sequences. These are often exited and quickly returned to at seemingly random intervals. Such fleshes out the saga as satisfactorily as any full-length fiction. It also provides a non-linear, artistic streak to the proceedings. Such intensifies the well-rounded sum of the attempt. The same can be spoken of Cilano’s musical influence. Such is an endlessly enjoyable mixture of antiquated terror and melodrama. Furthermore, Adam Parchesky’s sound is tremendous. Jordan Pacheco’s puppeteering of the title entity, and other effects, are skillfully orchestrated. Like all the other technical elements we encounter in DiVincenzo’s latest, with gaffer John Mosetich and his leadership of the proficient camera and electric work chiefly among them, these articles jump out at us and demand our attention.

But, what is most charming of all is how easy it is to see droves of youth lining up to see “Trouser Snake”, and its promised sequel, as part of a weekend double feature at the drive-in. When reflecting upon the epoch the account is set in, the illusion cast by this ardent homage is smirk-inducing and complete. This is nostalgia of the best variety. It stays true to the trappings, the general arc and stereotypes of related outings. Still, it wins us over. This is, primarily, with the obvious affinity for the early Roger Corman/ Ed Wood Jr. brand of cinema DiVincenzo has attached to his narrative. With the support of an intriguingly designed beast, a wonderful and apt cast, a fluent pace and an entertainment level that never wavers: DiVincenzo has crafted a genuine knockout.

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“Araf” – (Short Film Review)

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By Andrew Buckner
Rating: ***** out of *****.

“Araf” (2016), an eight-minute and forty-five second collaborative short from writer-directors Fidan Jafarova and Tofiq Rzayev, is a masterful meditation on pain and suffering. It is also a heart-wrenching example of moving picture art beautifully evaluated through the lens of human tribulation. Such is phenomenally expressed through the underlying theme of the incredible tolls of war on mankind. This is signified by several distinctly woven personalities. The Angry Student Films, Synaps Production and Fidan Jafarova release, made for 1,000 AZM in the Eurasian country of Azerbaijan, also brilliantly elucidates echoes of Swedish cinematic auteur Ingmar Bergman’s tour de force, Cries and Whispers (1972). This is especially evident in its mature, sobering handling of grave subject matter. These are all articulated unflinchingly, yet respectfully. Such transpires with the topics of disease and dying at the forefront. Furthering this correlation, is the concentration in both endeavors on the measures and sentimental outcomes such unavoidable trials brings about on the family members which dominate each singular tale. Given that the term “araf” is often utilized to reference the Muslim borderlands between heaven and hell, instituted for neither the wholly good or wicked, there is also a religious constituent to the proceedings. This connects Bergman’s material with Jafarova and Rzayev’s latest in this respect as well. Likewise, the character-oriented emphasis is credibly etched in these accounts. This technical component is so well formulated that this quality alone carries each corresponding composition to greatness.

Additionally, the performances in each item are exceptional all around. This is with the incorporation of a superb balance between the photographic, the everyday and the theatrical. Also, the cinematography in each respective entity, with that in “Araf” stemming from Rzayev and that from Bergman’s construction from Sven Nykvist (who won an Academy Award for his work on the aforesaid invention), is gorgeously grim and appropriately bleak. There is a brooding, meditative color palette shared between these undertakings. Such is undeniably striking and ambient throughout. Yet, in Jafarova and Rzayev’s brief effort, the general veneer arises as more shadowy, stylish and thriller oriented. The constant rumble of thunder and the highly demonstrative sights of the rain hammering outside, which creates a breathtaking image which opens and closes the piece, spectacularly heightens this attribute. Thus, when the fabrication slides into an unanswered question of actuality, ghosts or delusions, all through the eyes of daughter Feride (in a captivating enactment by Konul Iskender), the progression is simultaneously natural and complimentary. This transpires to alluring consequence in the second half. There is also a countless deal of symbolic imagery laced into practically every frame of these presentations. At the heart of this is a focus on feminine strength, vulnerability and courage amid nearly impossible circumstances. Enduring this representative correlation, there is a concentration on inner-wars. This is noticeable, in one manner or another, through every disposition dominating these already addressed exertions. These are both unspoken or verbalized. In “Araf”, this figure is physically embodied. This is via an unnamed combat with an unspecified menace. It is frequently discussed but never seen. Yet, we ceaselessly impress upon ourselves the unnerving ideology that this brutality is inching ever closer to the treacherous mountains our protagonists call home. In so doing, the incorporation of this abhorrent item akin wonderfully increases the previously mentioned allegory. It also makes it all the easier to delve into the uncertain psyches of those we follow within the chronicle.

The story, credited to Rzayev, concerns a son, Ali (in a phenomenal turn from Adil Damirov), who becomes caught up in the previously addressed violence. Early on, the plot oversees the young man’s Mother (in a gripping, quietly commanding portrayal from Basti Jafarova) tending to her sickly husband. He is credited here simply as Father (an emotionally gripping turn from Sabir Mammadov, which triumphantly communicates his anguish largely through tormented grunts and groans). Enhancing the strain upon Mother and her kin is that her blood relations are all nearing starvation. It is also an ever-present fear for Ali. With this in mind, Mother braves departing her nearby loved ones. This is after defiantly declaring to Feride: “My other child…is out there fighting against the enemy and has nothing to eat. I cannot accept them both suffering hunger. You just don’t be afraid.” Such brings Mother on a quest to uncover a source of nourishment for those she is leaving behind. Feride than takes up Mother’s position. Almost immediately, the anxiety stemming from the unseen confrontations outside is personified in increasingly unique ways. This occurs as the situation around her instantly begins to deteriorate.

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Such is a genuinely intriguing premise. It is one which requires much insight into both the psychology and attitude of those living under the persistent threat of real life terror. This is to be as successful as it obviously strives to be. Jafarova and Rzayev offer exactly that with their intelligent and richly constructed screenplay. They concoct personas, situations and dialogue that are as fully-realized, elegiac and memorable as any Bergman production. Regardless, their use of deceptively straight-forward discourse is meticulously sharp and profound. For instance, the commencing narration pronounces that “In these mountains…it always rains a lot. It’s unfortunate that we cannot hear it anymore”. Such a sweeping declaration draws us in instantly. But, when contemplated in retrospect, this line exemplifies tremendously just how far-reaching the apprehension is that our leads are under. Continually, the arc is largely unpredictable. This is without ever becoming implausible. Jafarova and Rzayev also unveil a perfectly even, cerebral pace for the brief opus. It is one that compliments the atmosphere splendidly. This is without weighing down the overall progression of events. Such is an astonishing feat itself.

All of this is made progressively encapsulating and hypnotic by Gergo Elekes’ remarkably emotive, piano driven score. Simuzar Aliyeva provides fantastic costume design. Shahmal Novruzlu and Kamil Ismaylov evoke a sound department contribution that is illimitably crisp and undoubtedly attention-garnering. The same can be said for the seamless visual effects from David Kislik. Jafarova’s editing is just as stellar. Similarly, Mitch Davies’ use of premiere stock footage is thoughtfully delivered.

At only twenty-two years of age, Rzayev has reflected his big screen heroes Andrei Tarkovsky (1975’s The Mirror, 1986’s Sacrifice) and Stanley Kubrick (1971’s A Clockwork Orange, 1987’s Full Metal Jacket) with deft precision. Such is seen in the plethora of unique camera angles, the experimental nature of his celluloid catalogue and in the sheer prowess in guiding the project at hand. “Araf” is no exception. Prior depictions, such as “In a Time For Sleep” (2016) and “Nihan: The Last Page” (2016), only re-enforce this factor. With sixteen scripting and directorial recognitions already to his name in only a five- year span, he is incessantly re-affirming that he is a talent far beyond his years. The same can be spoken of twenty-one-year old, Jafarova. This is her third such labor. The $500 budgeted documentary “Nagillar Alemine Seyahet” (2016) and the autobiographical “Fidan Jafarova Film Portrait” (2016) arrived previously. Given the evident might between these moviemaking forces, and the all-around excellence of this first alliance, I sincerely hope that the ingenious “Araf” marks the commencement of many future pairings among the duo. What they have created here is enlightening, profound and engaging. It is indisputably one of the best entries in its genre of the year.

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“The Girls Were Doing Nothing” – (Short Film Review)

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By Andrew Buckner
Rating: ***** out of *****

Thirty-something Marta (in a commanding, beautifully formed depiction from Katie Alexander-Thom), the heroine of “The Girls Were Doing Nothing” (2017), has a sharp retort concerning the debut title of writer-director Dekel David Berenson’s short film (the twenty-one minute work in progress “press preview” cut of which I base this review upon). It comes while Marta regales her similarly aged husband, Jake (in a quietly stalwart turn from Malcolm Jeffries), with a yarn from her youth. In this tale, the boys in her school would go out to play football. She goes out of her way to affirm that they would engage in such an activity in even the harshest snows of winter. While watching them busily go about their sports, Marta’s teacher would pose a question to the young ladies of the learning institution. This was why they “weren’t doing nothing.” Here the thesis statement of this slyly enigmatic, deeply meditative and highly symbolic production arrives. This is when Marta, with agitation visibly growing in both her voice and eyes, declares: “We weren’t doing nothing. We were watching”.

Such directly explains the hypnotic, subtle and clandestine tone of this erotically charged tour de force. Previously titled “The Vacation”, this presentation calls to mind Stanley Kubrick’s underrated masterpiece Eyes Wide Shut (1999) and Lars von Trier’s same held Nymphomaniac Vol. 1 and 2 (2013). This parallel is visible in the sheer craftsmanship on display. It can also be spotted in its mature handling of carnal subject matter. In retrospect, Berenson is providing the audience the opportunity to tread in the footsteps personified by the young ladies in Marta’s chronicle. Yet, this accrues in an undoubtedly adult world. We view the measures of Marta’s daily life, whether she is going through photographs or trying to quietly provoke her husband’s sensual passions, without the component of clarifying precisely what is transpiring at every narrative twist. Given that this element is far too prevalent in cinema nowadays, the decision to excise what most would deem pivotal makes the proceedings even more riveting. It also comes across as refreshing and natural. Keeping true to this structure, the credible and gorgeously penned dialogue (which was partially inspired by psychologist Carol Gilligan) is kept to a minimum. Such makes the results increasingly voyeuristic and addictively appealing. The concluding sequence, which wordlessly proposes what is too come, is especially brilliant and captivating.

Despite this brave stylistic approach, another telltale sign of Berenson’s incredible risk-taking capabilities, the engaging plot thread is never lost. Even when we find ourselves unsure of why some sights are unfolding, Berenson forces our imagination to fill in the blanks. Moreover, our interest, our glimpse into Marta’s world of luxurious restaurants, private gyms and high-paying professional positions adds to the fascinating rhythm of the demonstration. All of this is punctuated further by the Marta’s inner-struggles to overcome the commonplace motions of her marriage. It makes the piece as much an exhibition of routine as it is a meditation on how to break out of such a monotonous extension of events. Marta and Jake find it in their charismatic neighbor, Andrea (a well-rounded, extraordinary enactment from Jolie Sanford). This occurs when she asks the couple to do a favor for her while she is on vacation. Such an invite becomes an unexpected chance to add both variety, spontaneity and intimacy to their lives. Yet, they soon learn the paradox of this meticulously paced fiction. This comes in the form of a quote from psychotherapist Esther Perel, which is exposed in the opening moments of the invention. This is that “Love longs for closeness, desire thrives in distance. And therein lies the rub”.

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Adding to the sheer excellence at hand is the highly representative imagery. For instance, there is a shot near the commencement which also closes the effort. This is of a sugar cube absorbing. It is ultimately spied as a perfect mark of Marta’s bland, imprisoned outlook on life slowly wilting away. Additionally, it declares her willingness to find the exhilaration in being by seizing new prospects when they arise. There are several sequences involving Marta’s blood which are powerfully indicative of feminism. Aside from this, the undertaking is further graced by sensational editing from both Fabrizio Gammardella and Berenson. Phillip Quinton’s sound issuance is spectacular. The camera crew, consisting of Pete Blakemore, Melanie Jansen and Tom Blount, provides a spellbinding contribution. Elizabeth Hedley’s make-up design is stellar. Lem Lawrence’s visual effects significantly enhance the authenticity radiating from every frame. Kamil Lemie’s scant appearance in a role dubbed “1920’s Guy” and Samantha Whaley’s bit as a retail assistant are both deft and intriguing. The costumes by Britt Seel are superb. Such an ingredient fits the contemporary impression of the sum grandly. Music consultant Heather Hadar Gallar incorporates an operatic soundtrack. This only strengthens the overall imprint. It also impeccably reinforces the attitude of the exertion beautifully. Likewise, Berenson’s screenplay and guidance of the project is proficient and carefully constructed. The cinematography by Ruaraid Achilleos-Sarll is sumptuous and sweeping. These greatly piqued qualities aid mightily in making Berenson’s latest an absolute knockout. This is guaranteed to be a surefire hit with spectators once it begins its run at cinema festivals.

“The Girls Were Doing Nothing” is the first of three similarly brief, unified compositions. All of them deal with intense notions of fondness, lovemaking and personal bonds in one manner or another. These are collectively known as The Eros Trilogy. The next two labors, continuations of the account set forth with this initial undertaking, are “Borderlines” (2017) and “The Surface of All Things.” No due date has been given for the final segment.

This is more than a reason for excitement. The characters in this initiating episode are genuinely etched. Berenson is unafraid to paint real people on his celluloid canvas. Everyone we encounter, Marta and Jake especially, have flaws and likable traits woven in equal ration. Yet, the air of mystery in this 168 Wardour Filmworks, Bekke Films and Radiator IP Sales release is palpable throughout. It suggests many different directions that Berenson can pilot the opus in upcoming episodes. This is so much so that one cannot help but anticipate seeing where he takes the fabrication. What elevates this anticipation is that Berenson’s latest affair is among the most memorable and outstanding concoctions of its type I’ve witnessed all year. Berenson has an undeniable knack for storytelling. Such is boosted by his gifted team and their respective donations. These essentials fill the screen with ongoing resonance and awe. Rich in mentality, emotion and subtext, Berenson has evoked a winner on all fronts.

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“A Midsummer Night’s Dream (2016)” – Movie Review

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By Andrew Buckner

Rating: ***** out of *****.

Writer-director Richard Griffin’s adaptation of William Shakespeare’s circa 1590-1597 penned romantic comedy, A Midsummer Night’s Dream (2016), pulsates with magic, splendor and eloquence. It is a passion project the Providence, Rhode Island born craftsmen has been attempting to bring to fruition since 2000. This is highly visible in the final product, which burns with the ardor of a long spent wish finally realized. The Scorpio Film Releasing distribution is both a beauty of sight and of sound; a searing triumph of frisky, smoothly paced entertainment. This is as much a courtesy of Jill Poisson’s rich, hypnotic cinematography and Griffin’s lively, astonishing handling of the production as it is the unmistakable, Early Modern English language of The Bard himself. Such an element Griffin takes directly from the original work. Even though Griffin has moved the central action from Ancient Greece, in an unspecified year, to Athens, Massachusetts in 1754: the rhythm, and amusing nuance (which is often innuendo based), of Shakespeare’s opus remains intact. All of this combines to create an affectionate, faithful homage to the source material. Yet, it distinctly resonates with the core of a Griffin construction. It is both radiant, sidesplitting, cutting edge, a bit old fashioned and affecting. Regardless, there is an innocence to the labor that showcases the sheer variety Griffin, who has toiled largely in the cinematic horror genre, is more than capable of conducting. Griffin, whose first celluloid tour de force was a modernized version of Shakespeare’s roughly 1588-1593 scribed tragedy Titus Andronicus (2000), is obviously well-versed in the narrative. This knowledge accentuates the sum of the vehicle. It makes its humor even more affective. This evident wisdom makes its message all the clearer. Moreover, its dramatic intervals are increasingly stalwart and wrenching. In turn, we are amended what is a highlight in Griffin’s multi-faceted career. This is undoubtedly one of the best pictures of the year.

Heightened by a few sly modern touches, such as a quick midway gag involving our obviously enthralled characters passing along a bowl of popcorn to one another, the sum of the effort is a wholly fresh and unique experience. It is as much a testament to Shakespeare’s sustained relevance as it is a display of Griffin’s endearing charms. Moreover, the theatrical roots of the exertion are more than perceptible. It is seen in the larger than life, yet still delightfully intimate, representations from everyone involved. This is as notable in Anna Rizzo’s riveting portrayal of the Queen of the Fairies, Titania, as it is with Johnny Sederquist’s punk rock take on the English mythology based elf, Puck (who is also known by the moniker of Robin Goodfellow). The more straight-forward presentations, such as Steven O’ Broin’s terrific and mature depiction of Theseus, balance out pleasantly the plethora of more light-hearted entities which dominate the affair.

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There is a wide range of categorical beats and themes, with the reversal of gender roles, transformation, the supernatural and the pursuit and nature of amour being at the forefront, that must be successfully orchestrated. Yet, the entire cast pulls it all off as if it as natural as breathing. Jamie Dufault as Demetrius, Laura Pepper as Robin Starveling, Aaron Andrade as the comical Snout and Elizabeth Loranth as Helena are especially good. The same can be said for Alexander Platt as Oberon, Josh Fontaine as the man turned donkey, Nick Bottom, Lee Rush as Hippolyta, Lydea Irwin as Mustardseed, Bruce Church as Egeus, Christin Goff as Rita Quince and Ashley Harmon as Hermia. She is the conflicted admirer of both Lysander (in an entrancing turn from Charlie Ferguson) and Demetrius. These stretches mechanize terrifically due, in part, to the fact that the chemistry between Harmon and Ferguson is palpable. This makes the numerous sequences revolving around their relationship even more hypnotic, wrenching and stunning.

What is just as incredible is that the 105-minute feature, despite its $25,000 price tag, remarkably comes off as if its budget is as gargantuan as its upbeat, often seductive, spirit. This manifests immediately in an impressively showcased, 65 second opening credits arrangement. With its cheery palette and blue lettering, it quickly captures the mystical disposition at the center of the narrative. Everything in this section seems bathed in moonlight. This integral ingredient is a mood-setting fixture in the initial literature itself. The plentiful shots of this aforesaid nighttime glimmer hovering above the forest in the presentation are equally intoxicating throughout. This commencing scene also comes across as strikingly retro. Such a visage could easily fit within the confines of a 1980’s style photographic opus. Given Griffin’s penchant for mirroring the look and feel of silver screen marvels from past decades, this similarity could be intentional.

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Advancing the overall appeal is the extraordinary effects from Torey Haas and John Dusek. They backup these prior addressed, bygone qualities spectacularly. Simultaneously, Griffin’s editing is top notch. Chad Kaplan’s Cupid animation is sensational. Margaret Wolf provides stellar, era appropriate costume design. Furthermore, the makeup from Jaquelyn Fabian, Scott C. Miller and Sissy O’ Hara is phenomenal. The Shakespeare writ “Lullaby”, wonderfully composed by Mark Cutler and captivatingly performed by Rizzo, Irwin and Harmon, is elegantly designed and delivered. Likewise, both the gentle and emotive Cutler authored, put together and sung “In My Dreams” as well as Daniel Hildreth’s ambient music augments perpetual lavishness to the project.

Griffin, whose script for this crowd-funded undertaking is both robust and brilliant, handles the various interconnected plotlines of this complex affair splendidly. The first of these are Hermia’s refusal to marry Demetrius. Such transpires due to her strong affinity for Lysander. Additionally, there is the creation of the play Nick Bottom, Snug (in a bravura role from Christian Masters), Tom Snout, Robin Starverling and Francis Flute (in a terrific enactment by Ryan Hanley) plan to act in for the Duke and Queen’s wedding. Many of the early guffaws triumphantly derive from this account. King of the Fairies, Oberon, and his  summoning of Puck to concoct a love potion, which gradually goes out of control, is spectacularly issued. Some of the most visually and sentimentally dazzling bits in the fabrication stem from these segments. Hermia and Lysander’s escape into the same area where Titania resides becomes a focal point. This is for the assembly of all these previously stated anecdotes into one setting. It is all punctuated by a final monologue by Puck that is assuredly smirk-inducing. Such also offers a grand climactic point. This instant reiterates the enchanted atmosphere of the undertaking masterfully.

In a filmography that ranges from fun, 1950’s modeled alien invasion illustrations (2010’s nostalgia fueled Atomic Brain Invasion), John Waters Reminiscent comedies (2014’s ingenious Accidental Incest) and 1970’s grindhouse brand B-movies (2011’s The Disco Exorcist), Griffin’s vision of A Midsummer Night’s Dream fits comfortably in the inarguably varied body of his career. His stamp is on every achingly alluring frame of his latest endeavor. There is also a delicate gentleness to the proceedings, an attention to detail and an admiration and pride for the centuries old text which pulsates proudly through the duration. Such helps bring the composition to life in a way unseen in preceding interpretations of the fiction. This is as much a thanks to his cast of frequent collaborators, all of whom continue to prove their flexibility and variability with the diversity of roles Griffin has handed them throughout the years, as it is solid proof of Griffin’s own multi-faceted talents. With his latest contribution, Griffin soars and astounds. All the while, he also makes us laugh, contemplate and reflect. Though the words and events may be that of Shakespeare, the voice we hear radiating through the entirety is distinctly that of Griffin. What Griffin provides here, besides another example of his absolute command of form, is a masterclass in how to take an oft told tale and make it solely your own.

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“Queen’s Mile” – (Short Film Review)

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By Andrew Buckner
Rating: ****1/2 out of *****.

“Queen’s Mile” (2016), the debut short from actor turned writer-director Martin Delaney, is as much a testament to the abounding beauty of simplicity within a film narrative as it is a meditation on love and loss. The work is also a stunning showcase of the countless layers of depth that can be attached to an otherwise straightforward story. This is when both dialogue and exposition, all of which are credibly designed and delivered in Delaney’s labor, are kept to a minimum. In the place of such faux ‘necessities’ of cinema as those stated above, we learn as we witness. Such occurs as viewers silently follow our visibly depressed protagonist, known here as The Girl (in an incredibly wrought depiction by Emerald O’ Hanrahan that is simultaneously passionate and mournful). This is as she retreads the once joyous and now bittersweet steps, both literally and symbolically, of a relationship abruptly brought to a fatal halt. This transpires in a tourist destination along London, England’s Southbank. It is an area regarded as The Queen’s Walk. Delaney takes full advantage of the organic splendor of the various locations found within this promenade. This action only amplifies the breathtaking essence of The Girl’s surroundings immeasurably.

The nine minute and twenty-seven second construction, released through Mini Productions and budgeted at approximately 5,000 pounds, instantaneously sweeps spectators up into a varying sea of emotion. These are the sentiments brimming within our wounded heroine. Such comes to fruition through Delaney’s uncluttered, classically striking behind the lens style. This is also true of his smartly honed, focused and naturally gifted scripting sense. Cinematographer Tom Cullingham, who arrives later on in a terrifically rendered secondary role as one of several shutterbugs The Girl comes across, compliments the many triumphant and brave risks Delaney conjures. This is by injecting a veneer into the project. It is one which is as consistently gorgeous and effortlessly involving as Delaney’s aesthetic approach. Yet, Delaney lets the poignant, ambient soundtrack articulate much of what The Girl is enduring internally. It is a certified risk which pays off handsomely. “Forest Fires”, written by Lauren Aqulina, and “The World At Large”, penned and composed by Dann Gallucci, Eric Judy and Isaac Brock, instill continued intimacy into the presentation. Their sonic contributions greatly enhance the affectionate pulse. Such elevates all we encounter. Consequentially, the overall results are all the more urgent, relatable and immersive.

Delaney’s endeavor opens with quiet intrigue. In a brilliantly done bit, which immediately establishes the achingly wistful tone of the exertion, The Girl wanders to a pier. It is one overlooking the nearby Thames River. Gradually, she looks over the edge. A grimace of obvious regret and pain strikes her face. Finding a man (in a skillful enactment by Rez Kempton that assists mightily in projecting the sheer realism at hand) close to her, she has the individual take her picture. In the next sequence, we see her applying the recently recorded image to a worn scrapbook. The bulk of the affair moves in this captivatingly cryptic manner. This is as The Girl encounters crowds of people. There is even a merry group of musicians and dancers early on. Such gives way to restaurants and cafes. All of which are, at least as spied through the unique knack for both character and perspective Delaney elucidates throughout, teaming with apparently upbeat souls. Yet, our lead always seems distant and lonely. She remains vulnerable. This is despite the livelihood of those around her. We can’t help but wonder why. Such an inquiry increases our fascination. This is as the well-paced runtime guides us to the heart-wrenching answer.

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Such begins to unveil around the five minute mark. It is in another of the many telltale signs of happiness The Girl sees as an agonizing symbol of bygone days. This is in a bouquet of flowers. It is an elegiac sight which propels the viewers to an extended flashback arrangement. Such awards an appropriately ardent climax. It is one which is as haunting as it is hopelessly romantic. Moreover, this segment, like the entirety of the presentation, is technically spectacular.

This previously mentioned quality arrives via a brief, but integral, demonstration from Amrita Acharia. She alluringly portrays the object of The Girl’s affections, Ania. Watchers are also offered a display of smooth, seamless and proficient editing from co-producer Simon Pearce. Nicholas Collins issues an exceptional involvement in the sound department. Veemsen Lama and Cullingham heighten the immaculate nature of these proceedings. This is with their spellbinding camera operation.

Such creates a resonant masterpiece. This is most readily perceptible when pondering all of the varied levels of the account. Delaney has attempted to reflect on often confusing impressions. These are the imprints which emerge long after bidding farewell to someone you adore. It is an impetus, a connection to onlookers that Delaney utilizes to make us care for The Girl and her grief-stricken quest all the more. This he victoriously administers throughout the undertaking. Such ensues without a mere instance of the heavy-handed melodrama such a plot could’ve easily descended into. What is even more worthy of acclaim is that Delaney doesn’t rely solely on this aforesaid extension to the events on-screen for sheer impact. The gentle reserve within this photoplay succeeds immensely on its own fundamental merits. The composition also appears wonderfully old-fashioned. Such is especially accurate when pondering its general structure and evident lack of contemporary cynicism. The latter is all the more of a feat when considering its somber subject matter. In turn, Delaney has provided a searing exhibition of sincerity and aptitude. “Queen’s Mile” is a guaranteed weeper.

*The images included herein are the copyright of Protean Pictures.

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“Numb” – (Short Film Review)

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By Andrew Buckner
****1/2 out of *****.

“Numb” (2016), the third short film from writer-director Penelope Lawson, is an intriguing study in temperament. It is one which is much in line with Steve McQueen’s controversial, NC-17 rated tour de force, Shame (2011). The ten minute production, budgeted at $10,000, follows Astrid (in a harrowing portrayal by co-producer Rebecca Martos). She is an emotionally distant, yet unusually relatable, protagonist. Throughout the course of Lawson’s engaging assembly, this factor is backed up by the several sexual relationships she engages in. These are all with the random men she encounters. Yet, a genuine connection between any of them is obviously lacking. As a matter of fact, much of the piece seems to be a reflection on the individuals she meets. There seems to be a new entity arriving with each scene. Often these people reach out to her anyways. Yet, the title adjective of the narrative remains true for our heroine. Their calls for assistance slips away silent, unnoticed. This might even be a deliberate ignorance on Astrid’s behalf.

Such heightens the shroud of mystery hovering over her personality. We find ourselves caught up in the proceedings of Lawson’s well-paced, intelligently penned affair. Such transpires to the point that we always ponder the incredible insights Astrid might unveil. This is if she were to actually confront her feelings instead of purposefully avoiding them. This is to both her spectators and about herself. Lawson’s exercise meditates on this fine line. It is one most folks find themselves forced to walk. Such accrues to spectacular effect. It is this impetus, along with the catastrophic episode which made Astrid so hollow within (which is wisely kept a mystery until the seven and a half minute mark), that helps make Lawson’s work so fascinating.

When we first meet Astrid, she is sitting in an exotically designed, presumably high-end, restaurant. This sequence is duplicated in part later on to great magnitude. This is a striking way to immediately draw the audience into Astrid’s world. It is also instrumental in conveying the repetition of similar events that is her days. This is a recurrence that is not only powerful, especially when it is recalled, but also suggests that Astrid’s existence is in a stationary state. Such is another way of relating to viewers her expressive roadblocks. Continuing this example is another early segment. It finds Astrid passively attending an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting. The bit features one of the attendees mentioning how he admired how the intoxicants which brought him to the gathering made him “numb”. It is this word, and the manner it is presented, which seem to be speaking as much for the young man as it is for Astrid.

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Lawson’s brilliant screenplay wisely leaves out the specifics of how Astrid came to be at such a place. Yet, the dialogue, which is as authentic in this instance as it is throughout, certainly allows the mind to put the enigmatic pieces together themselves. It is this inscrutable nature, which also holds a mirror to the personality of Astrid, which forces the watcher to interact. In turn, we become all the more involved in this stirring drama. Punctuating this actuality is an indeterminate finale. What it suggests is haunting. The manner in which it is projected, with the results presumable prefaced through a single line of speech, makes it all the more so.

All of this is further complimented by the subtle, realistic atmosphere Lawson evokes. This comes from both her natural, accomplished behind the lens style. The same can be said for her storytelling capacity. There is never a moment, a situation or action that seems artificial. The existence of these items is never simply, as it would be in lesser hands, to move the plot forward. Such is indefinitely worthy of attention and respect. These are just a few of the many signposts of Lawson’s gargantuan talent planted along the way.

There is tangible beauty, amid the emphasis on the secrets many keep, here. Such is made all the more visible by Matthew Mendelson’s dark, moody, somber and illustrious cinematography. His sharp editing fares just as well. Jamie Sonfroniou’s art direction and wardrobe are exceptional. Darlene Spennato’s make-up is gorgeous. Silvio Canihuante Fernandez provides crisp, proficient sound. The camera department, composed of a personnel of eight, is masterful. “I Can Change” by LCD Soundsystem, “Five Seconds” by Twin Shadow and “Lamb’s Canyon” by Evan Louison and Mendelson provide a riveting sonic ambiance. But, the heart of the success of the labor, aside from Lawson’s contributions, are the stellar performances. Jason De Beer as Matt, Daniel Deutsch as Mark and Nicolas DiPierro as Mike are terrific. They reflect the commonplace mechanisms of the tone exceptionally. Melissa Johnson as Ellen, Travis Mitchell as James and Olivia Sharpe as Maddie grandly enhance the overall quality of the depictions.

Such creates a well-rounded, technically solid slice of life. Lawson avoids the theatrical techniques that could’ve easily been applied to a chronicle such as this at every turn to falsely increase resonance. The result is a fabrication that is all the more rich, varied and bold because of such a decision. A meticulous eye for forthright characterization, all cleverly introduced with nary a wit of exposition, makes Lawson’s abundant aptitude all the more visible. This is a peerless representation of art imitating our existence. With “Numb”, Lawson has crafted a cerebral visual tome; a surefire winner.

The official Facebook page for the project can be found here.

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“31” – (Movie Review)

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By Andrew Buckner
Rating: *** out of *****.

The tenth full-length feature from heavy metal rocker turned writer-director Rob Zombie, 31 (2016), plays it too safely to be anywhere near as effective as the 102 minute undertaking clearly desires to be. Coming recently off of the subtle, restrained and daring The Lords of Salem (2012), Zombie’s latest seems like a jumbled montage; a collection of greatest cinematic hits. Regardless, the grainy, brazen approach of uncountable films from the 70’s is utilized beautifully throughout the presentation. Such is present in nearly all of Zombie’s big screen thrillers. Even though this particular focus has become a familiar staple of his photographic vision, it is a consistently strong point of the production. The gorgeously gritty cinematography from David Daniel makes this aforementioned attribute all the clearer. With some classic tunes fueling the soundtrack, courtesy of Chris Harris, John 5, Bob Marlette and Zombie himself, the illusion of stepping backwards four decades becomes all the more immersive. But, there is a reinstatement of such Zombie tropes as maniacal clowns, road trips, a simple set-up and a Halloween setting. Such restrains the imagination, and overall enjoyment, greatly. We are even awarded the obligatory first act gas station stop, another Zombie and general fear narrative practice, before the terror commences.

What also hurts the labor, and endures as another Zombie custom, is the frequently trite dialogue. The speech hits all the expected expository topics. But, it does it without a shred of thoughtfulness or insight. Such is especially suspect given that the endeavor opens with an appropriate, haunting quote from the German-language auteur, Franz Kafka. Such gives way to what is undoubtedly the highlight of the movie. This is a disarmingly twisted, attention-grabbing address to the audience. Such is via the most fascinating antagonist we uncover, Doom-Head (in an arrestingly berserk portrayal by Richard Brake which gives us one of many glimpses into what this endeavor could’ve been). The sequence is also artistically gripping. Shot in stark black and white, it promises much more than what Zombie ultimately delivers. Though the guttural energy evident herein is fairly unwavering throughout, we can’t help but feel disappointed. This is as the rest of the affair gives us nothing else that garners our interest so ruthlessly.

Yet, the biggest obstacle here is not so much these elements. It is Zombie’s refusal to give his protagonists any dimension. Such is all the more perplexing when he goes out of his way to infuse an extraordinary amount of invention into every one of the myriad villains which dominate his latest project. Moreover, the central characters are treated, in another manner frequently found in the grindhouse fashion Zombie is going for, as no more than possible victims. Though such completes his B-grade, antiquated prospect, it makes it impossible to become fully engaged in what is occurring. Adding to this distraction is Zombie’s difficulty in building and sustaining a continual wall of suspense. The most we get is an incredible idea, image or quick, sadistically gratifying moment of slaughter before the story goes back on itself. From this point it plods along. This is until Zombie’s next stab at trepidation fills the screen.

Zombie chronicles Charly (in a depiction by Sheri Moon Zombie that is watchable but, never harrowing or unique). Alongside four other carnival folk, she is, in an arrangement so quick and vague that it successfully captures the confusion the team five entities must be feeling, kidnapped during the early hours of October 31st, 1976. True to the custom of photoplays like James Wan’s brilliant Saw (2004) and Paul Michael Glaser’s adaptation of Stephen King’s The Running Man (1987), those who have been abducted are made to take part in a wicked game. The name of such, which we learn little more about than the fact that it signifies “war”, grips the title. What else we unveil about 31 is that the five unwilling players must survive twelve hours. This is in a desolate building, the ins and outs of which they know nothing about, against an endless landscape of fiends with masks and painted faces. All of which are out to kill them.

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The story is routine. Yet, it has a likelihood to be worthwhile. Zombie’s fairly resourceful, yet never bold enough, screenplay has its impressive morsels. But, the arc holds to the basic structure of so many horror exertions beforehand. This can be seen as another of the genre customs Zombie appears so intent on respecting. But, such creates an equally standard pace. This is evident as much of the first half hour rolls by with our leads driving along in a white van. During this era, we cover the essential informal bits, and playful subject matter, noteworthy in far too many slasher efforts of the past. The esteem Zombie parades in such an arena is appreciated at times. Yet, there is too much of an over-reliance on it here. Such is unsatisfactory given the sheer creativity we know Zombie is capable of evoking. His striking, frequently lavish, direction only proves the flare he contains in this area. To its credit, the ending is solid. This is as much in what it tells us as what it leaves unsaid.

All of the actors and actresses we encounter are obviously enjoying their turns. Malcolm McDowell as the eccentric Father Murder, who acts like one of the privileged and powerful French aristocrats in a novel by the Marquis de Sade, is the most proficient and intriguing in this category. Jane Carr as Sister Serpent and Judy Geeson as Sister Dragon follow suit in somewhat similar roles. The more blatantly unhinged representations, such as Pancho Moler as Sick-Head and David Ury as Schizo-Head, fare nearly as well. The victimized Jeff Daniel Phillips as Roscoe Pepper, Lawrence-Hilton Jacobs as Panda Thomas, Meg Foster as Venus Virgo and Kevin Jackson as Levon Wally bring remarkable life to their one-note classifications.

Likewise, the editing by Glenn Garland is spectacular. The art contribution from Kevin Houlihan is certainly eye-catching. Siobhan O’ Brien’s set decoration and Carrie Grace’s costume design are equally stunning. The make-up department, composed of a dozen individuals, is undoubtedly a highpoint. Zombie leans on them throughout, expressly with his antiheros, and they deliver delightfully well. Zak Knight’s special effects are seamless and credible. The optical component of this group, the collective contribution from eleven people, is just as authentic. In terms of sound, stunts and camera usage: the piece is just as operative.

Though this is a mid-level opus, I enjoyed it as a whole. This is despite the fact that it is oddly timid. Such is in the liberal use of gore one would expect from Zombie. Much of this, I presume, would have to do with the several cuts made to the flick. This was done to avoid the NC-17 rating. Maybe if a version with everything intact was offered it would make the endeavor feel more singular, comprehensive and courageous. But, I don’t know if it could completely take away from the commonplace sense which hangs over the proceedings. Being among those who can say they helped crowdfund some of the $1.5 million dollar budgeted epic, I am still full of pride for my involvement in this construction. But, there is also a part of me that cannot deny that this is a stylistic regression for Zombie. He stays unwaveringly in the comfort zone. This is where he provides solely what he believes fans want from his moving tales. It may be pleasing, but it feels like compromise. It is this silent pandering which keeps this merely good exercise from living up to its potential as a great one.

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“Shadows Fall” – (Movie Review)

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By Andrew Buckner
Rating: ****1/2 out of *****.

Director Aditya Vishwanath has crafted an unusually successful blend of love spectacle and haunted house narrative with his ingenious feature-length debut, Shadows Fall (2016). Co-written by Raj Jawa and Kuber Kaushik, the ninety minute production takes inspiration from Bram Stoker’s Dracula (1897). It also aligns itself to the works of David Lynch. Vishwanath makes these encouragements continuously apparent. This is with a focus on the themes of marriage, life after death and good in the sway of evil. These were among the focal points of Stoker’s classic text. Vishwanath’s bold, immersive and stylish approach, along with the Jawa and Kaushik’s manner of storytelling, erect an always striking Lynchian parallel. It is one which makes the material jump off the screen. These constituents demand our attention through the duration. What is most stunning is that, while the respect and knowledge of Stoker and Lynch is perceptible, the outcome never comes off as pure imitation. Vishwanath gives us a truly haunting, memorable saga. The Garaj Pictures production can be seen as a far more mature version of what Hollywood often tries to recreate from young adult novels. This is on vastly expanded budgets. The results have only accrued increasing failure and box-office fatigue. But, Vishwanath excels where these exertions fail. This is because the essence of his yarn never feels artificial or pre-calculated. It also genuinely cares for the plight and circumstances of its protagonist.

Likewise, Vishwanath grips his addressees straightaway. This is via his daring, incredibly bravura direction. Such occurs with a brilliant opening five and a half minutes sequence. This segment fuses a sophisticated commencing credit bit with the voices of the two leads, Senka (Dylan Quigg) and Jonas (Jener Dasilva). They offer engaging exposition into their private lives. We ultimately learn of how the two met and the various stages of their relationship. Yet, the truly extraordinary item is that the bit is cut as if the duo are having a nostalgia permeated conversation with one another. This is as images of Senka and Amis in their younger days resonate before our eyes. Such transpires to remarkable significance. It also immediately sets an inventive, ardent air. This is one that showcases a deft balance between the heart-stirring and the heart rendering. Such endures as stalwart once the supernatural terror sections are put into place. This ensues promptly.

Vishwanath tale is led by Senka. She makes a deal with the demon, Amis (in a depiction by Christian Wennberg that efficiently drips with wicked charisma). This is to have some more time with her deceased husband. True to the tradition of similar tales, there is unforeseen consequences. Such finds Senka imprisoned in her home. What is all the more terrifying is that she seems to be caught in a torturous state. This is a purgatory where her most treasured instances with Jonas are measured with the sheer wickedness that Senka willingly welcomed into her life. Worst of all: Jonas appears to be someone completely different from the attentive individual Senka once knew him to be. Ultimately, Senka realizes that the only manner to find out what is going on with Jonas is to further communicate with the fiendish Amis.

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It is a gripping, if at its core occasionally familiar, account. The dialogue is a mixture of the mundane and the poetic. To its fault, it is occasionally melodramatic. Regardless, it commonly flourishes as a modernized extension of its motivations. Vishwanath keeps the pace quick. The mood remains intense and captivating. This is without feeling rushed. Moreover, it is never as if the auteurs are ignoring character development to do so. As a matter of fact, such progress is satisfactorily, credibly mixed into the proceedings. The atmosphere is unwavering. This is even in the more theatrical stretches of the chronicle. Such creates a visually and audibly pleasing script. It is one that is made all the more  impressive with its incorporation of several unexpected and enthralling twists. This is despite the fact that it is plagued by a generally routine arc.

The affair is heightened by commanding, alternately vulnerable and fear-inducing performances from Quigg and Dasilva. Additionally, Kinsey Diment as the upbeat, yet intrusive neighbor, Rain, and Talmage Tidwell as her spouse, Wilhelm, offer likable presentations. Marc Carlis as Samuel Collins, Jawa as Doctor and Christopher Gay as Preacher all fare just as wonderfully. Elliott Goldkind provides impassioned, pulse-pounding music. It fits the ambiance well. Vishwanath’s editing is superb. The black and white and color cinematography from Artiom Maskimov is dazzling and gorgeous. Leon Klima’s make-up and Clara Soler’s art category contribution are just as fantastic. Yet, the special effects from Neha Kandpal and the optical component of this arena from Sujeen Nepali and Saurabh Tripathi are infrequently cartoonish. But, they still do little to take spectators out of the immersive experience Vishwanath instills in each frame. Much of this aspect is saved by the pure creation in many of its jolts. A happenstance at sixteen minutes in, involving a single knife in a butcher block spontaneously shifting places, is especially smirk-inducing. An earlier engrossment showcases the coffee in a bulky cup slowly moving by itself. It rises up and crashes onto the table it is sitting upon. From herein, mysterious shapes seem drawn by invisible hands in the fallen liquid. Such flashes, prevalent in the first forty minutes, make the aforementioned detraction petty and easily forgivable in comparison.

“Life can go in many directions. You just have to be sure of the path.” Rain declares this at about the midway point of Vishwanath’s cinematic undertaking. This becomes a thesis proclamation, the cornerstone of the movie articulated. The solid, if a shade predictable, climax re-iterates this spectacularly. We unveil it through the smartly realized and penned classifications pulsating throughout the body of the opus. It adds fresh layers of depth. This is to a fiction that, aside from its previously identified muses, also seems to be also akin to Jerry Zuker’s comically overblown Ghost (1990) as told by Clive Barker. Such assists in the fashioning of a beautifully honed, multi-dimensional marvel. Vishwanath has given his audience a chronicle that mechanizes equally as both drama and an unnerving display of trepidation. Filmed in a mere fifteen days in Los Angeles, California, the exhibition is consistently meditative and alluring. Such is in the manner of the greatest independent photoplays. Vishwanath has provided a grand display of talent. It is one that is both an artistic tour de force and an all- around fascinating endeavor. Various photographic exertions claim to “have a bit of something for everyone”. Shadows Fall is one of the rare entities that lives up to this all inclusive promise. It also executes it with professionalism, skill, and grace. Such marks a mandatory, must-see masterpiece that both high-brow cinephiles and general observers can looking for escapist entertainment can correspondingly delight in.

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“Blair Witch” – (Movie Review)

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By Andrew Buckner
Rating: ***1/2 out of *****.

The imagination is the most terrifying place of all. It generates maniacal boogeymen out of distant sounds; unfathomable nightmares out of obscurity. This is why horror, especially in an optical medium, is most effectually drawn from what is left in the darkness. Daniel Myrick and Eduardo Sanchez provided brilliant proof of this with their ground-breaking, $60,000 budgeted psychological terror fabrication, The Blair Witch Project (1999). It was a marvel in this artistic department. Such a sensation was propelled by its insistence on letting the slowly unraveling minds of its three central figures, Heather (Heather Donahue), Josh (Joshua Leonard) and Michael (Michael C. Williams), augment this already hypnotic susceptibility. This aspect only accrued as they all found themselves lost in the indistinguishable surroundings of The Black Hills near Burkittsville, Maryland in 1994. To its continued credit, Myrick and Sanchez’s debut presentation was a stroke of genius in its marketing. The same could be said for the rarely used, at least at the time, found footage motif. A web site for the big screen arrangement (http://www.blairwitchproject.com/), which now advertises the new movie, aided in swaying audiences to believe what they were viewing was real. This was with announcements of the leads of the endeavor being declared missing. The sheer authenticity visible in every frame of the 81 minute, Haxan Films construction did little to dissuade this belief.

After uncountable imitators’ dabbled in this sub-genre, fellow cinephiles have been showing fatigue for the gimmick Myrick and Sanchez made so instrumental in contemporary attempts at trepidation. The hurried sequel, Book of Shadows: Blair Witch II (2000), didn’t even try to duplicate Myrick and Sanchez’s triumph. This was most accurate in these previously stated arenas. So after a sixteen year absence, director Adam Wingard and scripter Simon Barett, who have teamed up previously on You’re Next (2011) and The Guest (2014), have successfully given the once dormant series the addition it needed. This is with the third installment in the franchise, Blair Witch (2016).

Wingard and Barett return to the roots of the commencing undertaking. This is by bestowing its evidence with conviction. Such is also unveiled in the gradually unnerving manner we have come to expect. This is in a modus which, parallel to the initial opus, forces patrons’ minds to fill in the blanks. It demands that the viewers become one with what is on-screen. Yet, there is a downfall to the 89 minute picture. This is that the piece isn’t as confident in itself and its spectators. There is significant emphasis on sudden, head-splitting crashing noises. These mechanize better than expected in execution. Regardless, they retrospectively come off as a cheap stab at suspense building. The episode is also watered down by an onslaught of garden variety jump scares. This is especially perceptible in the first half. Such is a sad replacement for the subtle, proficient, psyche-bending shock of The Blair Witch Project. The Lionsgate, Room 101, Snoot and Vertigo Entertainment release, on this occasion financed at $5,000,000, is weighed down by the overwhelming impression projected onto uncountable developments. This is that a lingering feeling of déjà vu hangs over much of what we encounter.

Such is noteworthy in its insistence on reconstructing many of the iconic events from The Blair Witch Project. This transpires repeatedly in its inaugural thirty-five minutes. Likewise, the final twenty-five minutes, though tense and intriguing, showcases the identical destination as Myrick and Sanchez’s tour de force. Such deflates much of the nail-biting and unexpected elements that made the end of the aforesaid effort so genuinely chilling and memorable. In comparison to the sparse several minutes that posed the finale of Myrick and Sanchez’s creation, Wingard’s climax is overblown. But, it never feels that way. It gives us an extended chance to explore this ethereal, haunting, yet simple, setting The Blair Witch Project introduced late in its last act. Though the ultimate fate of our chief players foreseeable from a title card early on, we are constantly permitted to be one with, and undergo, what the protagonists are enduring. Most enthrallingly, it gives us an opportunity to explore these familiar surroundings deeper. This certainly is in its favor. It also benefits Wingard’s affair. This is in becoming simply a pale imitation of a vastly superior model.

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These moments are certainly deftly crafted. Such is the case with the notion of time manipulation and disorientation. It allows us to analyze certain sequences in The Blair Witch Project in a different light. Such also brings forth a whole array of fresh inquiries into what exactly is going on. This makes the primarily overwhelming belief that this is as much a carefully packaged remake as it is a supplement easily fade. Such occurs when we see what Wingard and Barett are doing with the material. The several fascinating twists, and the induction of different notions which occur largely in the second act, assist in making for a follow-up that is stronger and bolder than anticipated.

The narrative is admittedly thin. The flick opens with the ill-fated heroine of the foremost venture, Heather, being spied in an online video by her brother, James (James Allen McCune). This exhibits that which closed Myrick and Sanchez’s exercise. Trusting this is a sign that she may still be alive, James rounds up a crew of individuals. They want to document his trip to find his sister. These are Lisa Arlington (Callie Hernandez), Ashley (Corbin Reid) and Peter (Brandon Scott). Those responsible for putting the recorded material which heralded this journey on YouTube, Lane (Wes Robinson) and Talia (Valorie Curry), eventually meet the group. Soon the presence of the title character is noticeably felt. Our amateur documentarians discover themselves running into the problems which gripped those in Myrick and Sanchez’s outing. This quickly spirals out of control. They frantically utilize the HD cameras, iPads, GoPros and even the drone they brought along (which is pivotal in an unusually frightening instance at about the 2/3 mark involving the climbing of a tree), to capture and understand the increasingly bizarre measures as they unfold. But, it isn’t long before they uncover that their technical prowess is no match for the wickedness they disclose.

All of the enactments are fair and watchable. But, the human entities that populate what we see in Blair Witch are all one-note stereotypes. In modern fashion, they are merely potential victims. They are treated like pawns. All of whom we hardly get to know before The Blair Witch begins her systematic slaughter. None of the everyday realism engraved into the charismatic personalities in Myrick and Sanchez’s classic are evident in any shape or form in Wingard’s undertaking. Their motives are equally rote. Because of this, they are largely predictable. This also hurts the composition. Such is distinguished when the dreadful circumstances begin to unfurl. This is because we don’t care for them above the garden variety genre personality. The dialogue, and the story arc itself, courtesy of Barett trails suit with the average, commonplace excursion into fear. Still, Barett’s screenplay takes chances, issues sufficient innovative thoughts (particularly in the second act), and offers some genuinely surprising twists. In turn, Barett moves the narrative onto its own path respectably.

Wingard’s claustrophobic, immersive behind the camera flare is undoubtedly the impetus of the photoplay. He knows how to erect a startle. Even the most tired ones appear vigorous and novel. There is a wall of intensity he victoriously instructs. It is one which is largely unwavering throughout most of the production. But, unlike Myrick and Sanchez’s contribution in The Blair Witch Project, Wingard makes the proceedings seem a bit too comparatively artificial, false and photographic.

The positive nature of these qualities are all greatly heightened by Robby Baumgartner’s sharp, lush cinematography. Louis Cioffi’s editing is stalwart. That is if you can accept the obvious faults inherent in this section from its primary conceit. Wingard’s music is appropriate and evocative. Kate Marshall’s set decoration, Sheila Hailey’s art direction, Hayley Miller’s make-up and Katia Stano’s costume design all fare as well. The special and visual effects, a combined involvement from a half a dozen personages, are vastly plausible and impressive.

Blair Witch, formerly called The Woods, can be straightforwardly coined: “a true extension of its source material.” It re-introduces much of what we learned prior interestingly enough via casual conversation. This never feels forced. Yet, it expands this data, and the general mythology itself, with further details about the protagonist of the tale. Such will guide those who have not yet experienced Myrick and Sanchez’s masterpiece. This is while operating as a pleasant reminder to those who have seen the arrangement. Those who expect to be as thrilled, and view something as inventive as The Blair Witch Project, may be disappointed. Wingard and company spend too much of the bulk tracing the footsteps of Myrick and Sanchez’s introductory chapter for such an accomplishment to take flight. Moreover, the novelty of the concept has run its course. Yet, those of us who are willing to accept this and overlook these shortcomings should be satisfied. This is in favor of a few beautifully honed jolts and a correspondingly alluring aura of ever-mounting dread. Others may want to simply re-watch the original with the lights off and the volume turned up. In so doing, they can fully recall the full degree of fright they once felt.

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“The Neon Dead”- (Movie Review)

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By Andrew Buckner
Rating: ****1/2 out of *****.

Writer-director Torey Haas vividly captures the campy, often excessive, spirit of playful exuberance that fueled the 1980’s with his full-length feature debut, The Neon Dead (2015). Distributed through Wild Eye Releasing and produced through MonsterBuster Entertainment, Haas has crafted a briskly paced, 80 minute delight. This is an unassuming and consistently engaging gem. It is one which incorporates many of the most memorable cinematic attributes of the previously stated bygone decade. The most notable of this is the often impressive, frequently cartoonish, but always enjoyable effects. They run the gambit of different brands of graphic illusions. This is with a range echoing from more practical designs to computer generated imagery. This comes courtesy of Tricia Gaulesky, Lane Force, Fred Grant and the long proven maestro of such visual components himself, Haas.

What is just as triumphant: there is a wonderful balance continuously drawn throughout the exertion. It alternates between deliberately tongue in cheek, and mostly inoffensive, humor and largely same said horror. Such an ambiance impeccably parallels VHS classics like Sam Raimi’s masterpiece, The Evil Dead 2 (1987). John Carpenter’s alien invasion opus, They Live (1988), Dan O’ Bannon’s schlock tour de force, Return of the Living Dead (1985), Stephen Chiodo’s laughter fueled cult model, Killer Klowns From Outer Space (1988), and Stuart Gordon’s magnificent H.P. Lovecraft adaptation, The Re-Animator (1985), also come to mind. There are also touches heavily reminiscent of bigger budgeted pictures. For instance, mirrors to Ivan Reitman’s ground-breaking Ghostbusters (1984) and Tobe Hooper’s Poltergeist (1982) are reflected throughout the fiction. Nick Lauinger emphasizes Haas’ obvious inspiration. This is with cinematography that is every bit as flashy, colorful and bright as the popular accessories, clothing, music videos and cinema that were so prevalent in the last five years of the 80’s. Similarly, Hsiang-Mieng Wen utilizes heavily rock influenced music. These arrangements fit each segment fabulously. Eric Davis, Katelyn Brammer, Nick Amideo and Haas provide editing that is proficient. Much in the manner of most of the aforementioned accomplishments, these elements are all a brilliant match for the mood of the piece.

The charming characterizations, though intentional stereotypes, can also be taken from various genre appropriate entries from thirty years ago. They are just as suitably cut for any number of John Hughes’ teen angst comedies. Adding to this antiquated appeal is that there is even an amusing battle at about an hour in. It plays like a pleasantly constructed, micro-budget rendition of the light saber battle between Luke Skywalker (Mark Hamill) and Darth Vader (David Prowse). This transpired near the iconic finale of The Empire Strikes Back (1980). If you are like me, and have a soft spot in your heart for any or all of these endearing gems, you will absolutely adore The Neon Dead.

Haas tells the tale of a Fairview State University graduate by the name of Allison Hillstead (in an ever-likable performance by Marie Barker). She is searching for a job. After being invited to an interview at noon that day for an assistant manager position at Saucy Jack’s, for which she boldly promises to be there a half hour prior, her immediate future seems certainly promising. That is until an undead woman is spied brushing her blood red hair, much of which comes off with her scalp, in the bathroom of Allison’s household. Fear soon gets the best of her. Trepidation turns to impatience. Such occurs as this otherwise horrifying moment is interrupted by a young Wilderness Scout of America, Ashley Amberson (in a wonderful turn from Josie Levy). Insisting on staying until she can receive a donation from Allison, Ashley unveils Allison’s worried plight. This is when she is informed of, and eventually contacts, a pair of paranormal investigators. These are Desmond (in a winning portrayal by Greg Garrison), a slacker/boy next door type, and the bookish Jake (in a depiction by Dylan Schettina that matches Garrison’s representation in quality and amiability). They are employed at a video rental department inside a local Save More grocery store. After this, Allison and Ashley head back upstairs to see what the so called “zombie” is up to. That is when Desmond and Jake, who quickly abandon their behind the register positions, arrive at Allison’s residence. From herein, the situation turns to an otherworldly battle. This is among the leader of the takeover, Guysmiley, the demonic “sons of Z’athax” and our iodized salt armed band of intrepid human heroes.

The result is an absolute joy for B-movie fans. This is an endlessly, uproariously fun, and never overly graphic (though you may think you have seen more gore than you actually have), experience. Though it is structured conventionally, the economically priced epic can easily be dubbed: “a non-stop the rollercoaster ride”. This certainly mechanizes spectacularly to the favor of the film. This is also thanks to ardent, commanding direction from Haas. The screenplay he erected for this $17,000 budgeted affair avoids the pretention, self-awareness, tired gimmicks and dead seriousness common in modern fare. In turn, we are awarded a plethora of successfully clever jokes. There is also plenty of equally victorious flashes of spirited dread. A concluding scene, which revolves around the “life goes on” ideology, is especially humorous. The dialogue, though familiar, is smartly written and delivered. There is also just enough exposition to be satisfactory. This is without weighing down the general story arc and movement of events. Likewise, such an aspect keeps our leads relatable to a large net of onlookers. Though the undertaking never aims to be outright terrifying, many of the early shots of the creatures veiled in the shadows, their eyes glowing voraciously in the background, are genuinely effective.

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But, what is best of all is that Haas doesn’t rely solely on the herculean sense of past longings ever-present within the framework of his narrative. He has a wild array of ideas in store. This he executes with feverish gusto and glee. Furthermore, Haas bucks the long-exhausted traditions and standard expectations of the returning corpse genus at every turn. A running gag concerning who the unholy entities really are can be seen as another sly wink at Haas’ audience in that respect. Comparatively, there is also an extended incidence involving a talking, decapitated head. This portion further proves the fusion of smiles and inventiveness at hand. It all enhances the nostalgia. This is as it evokes fond recollections of a similar manifestation unveiled in the final half of Ridley Scott’s Alien (1979).

Though Haas keeps his antagonists limited in number, there are a multitude of smaller roles which make a comparably abundant impression. John Reed as Big Z, Andrew Puckett as Drake Hillstead and Candace Mabry as Belle are all terrific. The other technical angles are just as accomplished. Breanna Thompson’s set decoration and Sean Michael Patton’s costume design beautifully retain the everyday details and cheery aesthetic of the piece. The make-up department, composed of Gaulesky, Jeremy Ledbetter, Christine Nguyen and Kate Northcutt, is both natural and radiant. Haas’ animation and Quyen Tran’s sound are just as awe-inspiring. Brian Hardison and John Holbrook issue masterful art division work. Hardison completes the illusion of stepping into the 80’s with a poster that is as ingenious, fluorescent and eye-catching as the fiendish specters who inhabit the movie itself.

This is pure escapist entertainment. It endures as one of the best “throwback” love letters in recent recollection. Haas showcases a wide knowledge of the era he is sending up. This is from the deceptively low-key opening. Such a sensation endures throughout the presentation. Moreover, the climax is solid. It is also, refreshingly, anything but overblown. Haas even gives us a pleasant bit of information in a post-credits scene that is sure to make your expectations for what is on the horizon blossom. It is also guaranteed to make your overall admiration for the endeavor all the grander.

The brief duration also helps. We leave the photoplay wanting more. This is while admiring the noticeable lack of fat on the celluloid bones of the flick. These are all wise decisions. They all come together to celebrate Haas’ talent, the great new feature he has woven and a period often described as “the neon decade” with precision and heart. Haas has also unquestionably proven that there is still plenty of life left in the often autonomous subject of the recently resurrected. This is the type of offering those of us who often haunted local video stores as often as possible and spent untold hours studying scarce titles often dream about making a comeback. The Neon Dead is reminiscence inducing, independent art. It is the type of moving fabrication you will gladly feel compelled to return to again and again. This is as the years move on and a longing for old-fashioned comforts begins to settle once more into your bones.  Such is the definition of an instant classic!

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