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We Infected a Zoo

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Night of the Zoopocalypse

by Rachel Willis

Young wolf Gracie (Gabbi Kosmidis) is put to the test in directors Ricardo Curtis and Rodrigo Perez-Castro’s Night of the Zoopocalypse.

Gracie’s elder pack leader is insistent that something bad is coming, making the pack run drills and practice maneuvers in preparation. But Gracie is skeptical that anything will ever happen at their zoo. Of course, she quickly learns better once an asteroid crashes nearby.

Thrown together with a mountain lion (David Harbour), an ostrich, and a wily lemur with knowledge of late-night horror movie tropes, Gracie must figure out how to defeat the sudden threat.

The animation is not especially creative, but some creepy creatures help liven things up. Some of the monsters may be a bit scary for young viewers, but older kids might be delighted to see fluffy bunnies turn into sharp-toothed, voracious beasts.

The action kicks off quickly, making it tough to catch the names of all the animals who help Gracie, but also helping to move the film forward.

The ancillary characters tend to be the most interesting and the funniest parts of the film. Because the rapport between Gracie and Dan takes a while to manifest, when the focus shifts to them, the film is less fun.

Night of the Zoopocalypse references classic and contemporary horror, from The Thing to Stranger Things, and while kids might not catch every Easter egg, adults enjoy trying to identify the various influences.

But it’s not quite enough to make the film worth the 90 minute investment. With so many excellent animated films these days, Night of the Zoopocalypse is easy to overlook.

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Lock, Stockholm, and Two Empty Barrels

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Stockholm Bloodbath

by Daniel Baldwin

In 1520, Danish King Christian II (aka “Christian the Tyrant”) decided that he just had to have the crown of Sweden and would do anything necessary to snatch it for himself. Up to and including committing a barbaric mass execution that is commonly referred to as the titular “Stockholm Bloodbath”. If that sounds dark, brutal, and deathly serious, it’s because it very much was. Stockholm Bloodbath, however, is anything but serious.

Pitched more in line with bloody historical satires like Quentin Tarantino’s Inglourious Basterds, Jalmari Helander’s Sisu, or even Guy Ritchie’s The Ministry of Ungentlemanly Warfare, Mikael Hafstrom’s Stockholm Bloodbath attempts to take this violent slice of Swedish history and fashion a wild, zany exploitation film around it. Unfortunately, unlike those cinematic gems, Hafstrom’s work here falls short on almost every level. It’s not that Hafstrom lacks the talent to do it. The man has previously given us perfectly entertaining films like 1408 and Escape Plan. But there’s just too much off about these proceedings for that to matter.

To its credit, the film does have a good cast filled with the likes of Sophie Cookson, Claes Bang, Emily Beecham, and Ulrich Thomsen, all of whom do their best with what they are given amidst the cacophony of odd filmmaking decisions. The script is a tonal rollercoaster in the worst of ways, pitching from serious to slap-happy from scene to scene. The pacing of the edit is no better, with some sequences dragging at a snail’s pace and others blazing by faster than needed. Such cinematic hyperactivity can be an asset if you have a pitch-perfect script and a crackerjack edit. The aforementioned Tarantino and Ritchie have fashioned entire careers out of this. This has neither a masterful screenplay nor expert editing and instead feels like The Swedish Chef himself might have been at the helm for some scenes.

One can see the movie that everyone involved wanted to make, but the end result just doesn’t pass muster. Perhaps it might play better in its home country, as despite being an English-language film, it is indeed a Swedish production. For this writer, however, what should be a biting piece of violence-filled historical satire just ends up being a bad history lesson told by a chaotic storyteller who doesn’t quite know who their intended audience is or how they even want to tell their tale.

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If the Van’s a-Rockin’…

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Don’t Turn Out the Lights

by Christie Robb

When childhood friends reunite for a birthday weekend, they didn’t sign up for this RV road trip of a lifetime—that ends up cutting several short.

Writer/director Andy Fickman (Paul Blart: Mall Cop 2) has a few decent jump scares up his directorial sleeve with Don’t Turn Out the Lights, an early spooky season horror flick.

He shows up to the party with a potentially fun cast of characters, cool sound effects, and a well-used fog machine. But…that’s about it.

The characters are thin and underwritten. It’s established that these people are all deeply connected (except for one critically-underused plus one, a roommate of the core group played by John Bucy). I expected secrets and interesting group dynamics to play into the horror movie set-pieces.

Instead, we get stock characters: Instagram Girl, Jock, Stoner, Rich Bitch, Pick Me, Boyfriend, Rapey Racists…

With such thin characters, it’s difficult to muster up the empathy for any one of them to really care much about their fate. Which would have been fine if the Big Bad had been compelling.

But, it’s not really clear what’s causing all the carnage. Is it an external force or something driving the friends into crazed-self harm/psychopathy? It seems to be made up of a mish-mash of horror tropes that have absolutely nothing to do with each other all kind of deployed on random timers.

The friends theorize about what’s going on in between convenient “waves” of paranormal attack.  

In the end, there’s just…no payoff.  It’s giving early draft of Cabin in the Woods energy, but on a much lower budget, and with the ending still largely undetermined.

Set up was kinda promising though.

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Grief’s Familiar Burden

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Cottontail

by Christie Robb

A spare, competent take on the isolating toll of caregiving and grief from first-time feature writer/director Patrick Dickinson, Cottontail explores the beauty in human connection and the ability to find that connection though emotional vulnerability and honesty.

When Japanese widower Kenzaburo (Lily Franky, Shoplifters) receives a last request from his late wife, he embarks on a journey to Lake Windemere in England’s Lake District. He’s been drained by trying to care for Akiko (Tae Kimura, House of Ninjas) alone as she struggled with dementia, attempting to shield his adult son, Toshi, from the more unpleasant (and literally shitty) parts of this work. This only drove the two men apart.

But it’s clear that their estrangement started  years earlier. Akiko was the glue that held the family together. Kenzaburo was too focused on his own work to let Toshi into his life. And now, he wants to take this last journey alone, as if he is the only one who lost someone.

Weaving together the main narrative with key flashbacks, Kenzaburo wanders lost—metaphorically, in his own grief and shame, and literally, as he attempts to find Lake Windemere on foot, having gotten on the wrong train.

There’s a brief interlude where Kenzabro asks for help at an English cottage door and finds fellowship with another widower (an underutilized Ciarán Hinds), but otherwise the film keeps its focus on the main family and the drama that pulls them together even as they drift apart.

Simple and straightforward, like the beautifully prepared plate of sushi that appears in the first act of the film, Cottontail lets Franky carry the movie with the strength and confidence of an emotionally nuanced performer.

Is the film predictable? Yes. But so, sadly, is loss and grief and the struggle to stay emotionally available when adulthood means growing old and falling apart.

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A Modern Lifestyle Brand

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Club Zero

by Hope Madden

Cynical, satirical, uncomfortable and likely to bristle viewers no matter where they fall on the political spectrum, Jessica Hausner’s latest, Club Zero, takes aim at, well, a lot of things.

A wickedly brilliant Mia Wasikowska is Ms. Novak, an expensive boarding school’s newest faculty member. Chosen by the parents’ board, Ms. Novak has been brought on to teach conscious eating. Being single and childless, she’s also available for those hard-to-fill weekend duties.

The film’s aesthetic—essentially, every color of vomit—draws attention immediately while Markus Binder’s audacious score delivers echoes of commodified Eastern music. The main target of Hausner’s film, co-written with longtime collaborator Géraldine Bajard, is the privileged, goopy wellness culture. It’s an easy target, but it’s not the only one the filmmaker hits.

Faith in anything other than science—cliquish privilege, capitalism, consumerism and nearly every manner of parenting—is sent up with sometimes unpleasant but never dull cynicism.

Hausner’s framing is gorgeous, and it keeps views at arm’s length from the action. Students are convinced, coddled, and cajoled by Ms. Novak into eating less and less, and into distancing themselves from anyone who wouldn’t understand the righteousness of their calling. In Club Zero, luxury and loneliness meet a culture of competition to create an environment ripe for radicalization.  

The absurdity of the tone keeps this story‑— vulnerable young people succumbing to the attention of a personality that makes them feel special—from feeling tragic. It should, really. But Hausner doesn’t pity the children of privilege much more than their parents.

And while wellness culture is an easy mark, the final image—a clear callback to Da Vinci’s The Last Supper—reinforces the idea that blind, scienceless faith causes more harm than good.

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Stranger Than

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American Fiction

by Hope Madden

Boyz in the Hood is a great movie. In 1991, the same year 23-year-old John Singleton’s feature debut made box office and Oscar history, Julie Dash released the beautiful, generational drama, Daughters of the Dust. No guns, no cops, no real violence to speak of, Dash’s film nabbed a Sundance grand jury prize nomination and cinematography award.

Daughters of the Dust was essentially forgotten upon its release. (It has, thank God, in recent years been rediscovered, restored, and added to the National Film Preservation Registry.) But Boyz in the Hood immediately reshaped movies.

Writer/director Cord Jefferson’s American Fiction takes aim at fiction – print or cinematic – and its problematic relationship with Black trauma. But to say that Cord’s film would like to see movies move beyond Boyz in the Hood and other films that revel in suffering would be to simplify, even miss its point. The filmmaker complicates the discussion with debate over a Black creator’s right to simply pursue success, as any other creator might. Even if that means catering to a white audience’s thirst for Black trauma.

“White people think that they want the truth, but they don’t. They just want to feel absolved.”

You might not expect a film that floats this truth so effortlessly to be a laugh riot, but American Fiction delivers an awful lot of laugh-out-loud moments.

Jeffrey Wright plays cantankerous college professor and literary writer Thelonious “Monk” Ellison. His latest manuscript is not being picked up for publication, his students hate him, and suddenly he needs to look after his mother, who will need round-the-clock care. Which costs money. The kind of money you can make if you pander to exactly the readership he loathes.

Monk does, incognito, and soon he’s pretending to be something he’s not at work and pretending not to be something he is at home. Buried within this are a couple of really lovely, sweetly complex middle-aged romances. Those are rare in films, so they deserve a mention here.

Issa Rae and Sterling K. Brown offer remarkable supporting turns as characters you want to dislike but simply cannot – part and parcel of a film that forever asks you to rethink what you believe you know. And maybe laugh bitterly as you do.

Adam Brody is also a hoot as that same smarmy douche he always plays, but he does it so very well. Jon Ortiz and Erika Alexander both bring warmth and humanity to a story essentially about a man who is not quite sure how to be warm and human.

Wright – an underappreciated genius of an actor if ever there was one – does what he always does. He conjures a fully formed human being, flawed but forgivable and endlessly earnest. Buoyed by a delightful ensemble and cuttingly hilarious script, he delivers one of the finest performances of his career.

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The Horror of Microagressions

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Raging Grace

by Christie Robb

When Filipina illegal immigrant Joy (Max Eigenmann) has to come up with an extra five thousand pounds to fund her quest to obtain a work visa, she’s thrilled to get a job offer that pays one thousand a week under the table. It’s a live-in housekeeping gig at a swanky British estate that hasn’t been given a once-over in quite a long time.

There are few downsides. First, she’ll have to hide her young daughter Grace (Jaeden Paige Boadilla) from her employers. Second, she’ll have to look after the dying old white guy upstairs. And that involves following orders barked at her by the dying guy’s total Karen of a niece. Only, maybe the niece’s intentions aren’t entirely well-meaning. And then there’s the racism…and the classism…and the sexism. But, while Joy may be stressed, she’s also stoic and resilient.

This updated Gothic thriller helmed by debut director Paris Zarcilla and co-written with Pancake Zarcilla effectively suspends the viewer in a state of wary suspicion. Dim lighting, spooky old sheet-draped antiques, a discordant musical score, and a kid with a penchant for pranks and squeezing into tight spaces provides ample opportunity for jump scares.

But it’s not the long shadowy corridors, or the judgmental eyes of the family portraits on the walls, or the suspicious locked doors that spook Joy. It’s the worry that her kid is going to get her in trouble with the boss and she’ll end up getting deported.

Toward the end, the social-critique/Gothic horror gets a little bit too complicated and hard to follow for a few minutes with character choices that seem alternatively forced or not dialed up enough, but ultimately it was an effective take on the traditional atmospheric horror.

Could have used more rage, though.

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Electric Ladyland

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Love Virtually

by Rachel Willis

With Love Virtually, director L. E. Staiman explores what it means to be in a relationship in a virtual world.

Staiman co-stars as Kalvin. Spurned in love at a young age, Kalvin turned himself into a VR sensation as a form of revenge.

Sharing the screen with Kalvin are down-and-outs Roddy (Peter Gilroy), Barry (Ryan O’Flanagan), and La Monte (Vince Washington). Barry’s wife is in love with a chat bot; La Monte is responsible for spreading a virus around the world; and Roddy has lost his one true love to his video game obsession.

The women in their lives are equally pitiful, but each has been affected in real life by their online personas (or the personas of their partners).

A significant portion of the film is set in the virtual world, which is populated by avatars with a distinctly 90s feel. Characters dress up to slip into their VR headsets to hit the hottest clubs. It’s not clear why the characters need to dress their physical bodies for VR clubs since the beauty of an avatar is that it can be whoever you’re not. It’s simply one of many aspects that don’t quite make sense.

There are several side plots that fit the film in a strange yet satisfying way. What you think is a rom com turns into an action espionage video game movie (of sorts). It takes the film in an unexpected direction that makes it different from what you’ve seen before. And while most of the humor feels forced, there are a few scenes that elicit genuine laughs.

Unfortunately, the overall affect is that, aside from Roddy, none of the characters come to life (as real people or as avatars). Their wants and needs are shallow, which isn’t entirely out of place in a film where people spend more time with each other online than they do in real life.

For a film that relies heavily on its animated scenes, the animation is outdated – both as a style and as a representation of what virtual reality is. Avatars look not too far removed from Lara Croft in the original Tomb Raider video game. We’ve come a long way from 1996.

If you’re in the mood for something different, Love Virtually might satisfy that craving, but not for very long.