Another new horror flick that does a lot with a little, Goodbye
Honey is off the festival circuit and available in your home.
Director Max Strand’s isolated roadside buddy picture hitches
a ride in the big rig with weary traveler Dawn (Pamela Jayne Morgan). She will
deliver this cargo on time—she will!—but first she needs to pull into this
isolated, wooded spot for a rest.
Morgan’s performance snagged her a number of fest awards,
including Best Actress from Nightmares Film Festival. With so very few other
faces on screen, it’s lucky she can carry so much scenery. She gives the
character layers with a turn sometimes conjuring Melissa Leo or Ann Dowd—a no-nonsense
everygal who is sometimes slow to pick up on things, has a bigger heart than you
may think, and will surprise you with violence as needed.
Her nap is complicated by a plea for help: a young woman (Juliette Alice Gobin) wearing nothing but a tee-shirt, asking for water and a phone to call the police. But Dawn’s defenses are up—a woman alone out here can’t trust just anyone. Still, she wants to do the right thing.
Quickly Strand tweaks tensions as the isolated location brings out others, violent looneys mostly. Dawn will take care of this, all of it. All that matters is that her client is none the wiser and that she makes this delivery on time.
Gobin delivers a strong, wild-eyed but smart performance. Paul
C. Kelly’s small but pivotal role could not be more deftly handled. Among the
three primary performers, there is barely a wasted word or glance.
Strand’s nimble screenplay, co-written with Todd Rawiszer, twists and turns in ways that are both unexpected and fully reasonable.
Though one or two of the predicaments that befall the pair feel contrived simply to lengthen the film to feature-length, on the whole, Goodbye Honey delivers a tight set of smart thrills.
There is something inescapably silly about toy horror.
Whether it’s a marionette or a ventriloquist doll, a china doll (with those
creepy eyelashes) or a friend til the end, the toy itself can only generate so
much authentic terror. After that, it’s just goofiness.
Karl Holt embraces that combination for his vengeful toy
story, Benny Loves You.
We open on a spoiled child, her new Barbie, and the now-discarded
stuffed dog, Todd. But soon we’re entrenched in the subpar life of Jack (Holt,
who also writes and directs). It’s his 35th birthday. He still lives
with his parents, still sleeps in his childhood bedroom that is still decorated
as it was when he was seven.
Jack is a toy designer, but co-worker Richard (a colossal
tit) makes him look like a peon. They’re both up for the same promotion. Things
go from bad to worse, then worse, then worse still. Finally, Jack decides to
grow up and put away all his childish things, including his beloved stuffed
bear (Bear? With those ears?), Benny.
It goes less than well, the unruly toy responding like a bloodthirsty
if very cheery jilted lover.
Holt turns in a solid performance as the stunted man-child living a nightmare of adulthood, and there are times when his writing suggests something deeper. He almost develops themes about arrested development, the entertainment/gaming/toy industry, maybe even masculine entitlement. Almost.
Instead of digging in, he settles for a superficial but
generally charming and very violent comedy. (Dog lovers may want to skip this
one.)
Low-rent FX heighten the film’s silliness and general wrong-headed glee. All the support work is on target, from George Collie as the noxious Richard to the love interest (Claire Cartwright), dog-loving boss (James Parsons), and incompetent cops (Anthony Styles and Darren Benedict). Each understands the tone here and nails it.
It’s just that it doesn’t amount to much. A mean spirit punctuates the romplike atmosphere a couple of times and feels wildly out of step with the balance of the film, but other than that, Benny Loves You offers forgettable, bloody fun.
Imagine going to the hospital for a routine appendectomy and waking up in a hospital that’s a little too Hostel. That’s what happens to Sharyn (Ashlynn Yennie) in director Peter Daskaloff’s film, Antidote.
From the mysterious and gruesome opening, we’re quickly plunged into this warehouse-style hospital where patients are chained to their beds and answers to the question ‘why am I here?’ are in short supply.
We’re not given much information as Sharyn awakens to this nightmarish situation. A mysteriously polite doctor (Louis Mandylor) appears to offer her medicine for her anxiety, leading us down one alley of possible explanations. Glimpses into Sharyn’s past as she struggles to cope with her new world offer another possibility.
However, Daskaloff wants to keep us guessing with each new
bit of information. As Sharyn meets her fellow patients, we learn new facets of
the horrific experimentation that happens at the facility. A mysterious serum
promises healing from every possible injury: amputation, burning, hanging,
tongue removal. The antidote is really quite magnificent stuff.
While I was initially reminded of films like Hostel and
Saw, Antidote doesn’t relish the gore quite as much. Most of the
brutality happens off-screen, and the film is more interested in the tension
created by the unknown. The suggestion of violence often does more to put the
audience on edge than the ultra-realistic rendition.
But to work, the film must keep the audience hooked. We need to feel Sharyn’s anxiety and desperation, and this is where the film struggles. Watching Sharyn wander around the hospital (why is she allowed to do this?) is repetitive and boring. It’s easy to grow disinterested as we wait for the big reveal.
Yennie does bring an everywoman quality to her character. Sharyn’s dubious past unfolds throughout the film and is the most interesting aspect. It’s a problem when the film’s backstory is more engaging than the present action. Maybe if we’d seen a little more of that suggested violence, I’d have sat up straighter in my seat.
Playing against our everywoman, Mandylor makes Dr. Aaron Hellenbach a cool, sophisticated, sadistic madman – a bit like Hannibal Lecter only not so terrifying. He never feels like a villain, even though he appears to be the main engineer of the ‘experiments’ done on the patients.
Antidote has the elements to be intriguing, but doesn’t effectively deliver them.
In a world where two middle-aged men have access to a room, a series of Apple products, $22,730 from Kickstarter, and five years, expect a variety of action movie tropes to be stitched together with a thread of f-bombs and self-referential humor to create this strange quilt of a feature-length buddy-action-comedy/YouTube video.
In Action follows two former writing partners, Eric and Sean, who reunite at a frenemy’s wedding. Bored with their day-to-day lives, they decide to team up again to bang out an action movie screenplay asynchronously over email. But, unbeknownst to them, their script is intercepted by hackers and the writers get more action than they expected.
Directors/writers/stars Sean Kenealy and Eric Silvera manage to get a fair amount of bang for the low-budget buck. Not strong actors, the rapid banter between the two is engaging. And it has to be, because essentially the entire movie is just those two.
An assortment of minimal props, occasional animation, and (briefly) the use of action figures do serve to interject some variety. With the exception of some camera work and quick cuts that seem inspired by Shaun of the Dead, the camera is static. Other characters are mostly filmed over the shoulder, giving the impression that the only two involved in the film are Sean and Eric (sometimes in wigs or silly hats) until more than two bodies are shown on screen at the same time. Then, it becomes honestly a little confusing as to why these characters aren’t shot more conventionally. But, whatever.
The overall product, though, is fun with sound design and editing that are way more professional than you would expect. For an action movie with essentially no budget, it gets the job done pretty darn well.
This episode is years in the making. We’ve talked about doing this, jotted down ideas and characters, debated — and now it’s finally here. Well, half of it, anyway. There’s just no way to reasonably fit the best side characters—those fully deserving a film of their own—in just one podcast. So here is our list, in alphabetical order (no need to rank them!). This one’s for the ladies.
Smartly dressed, thoughtful, loving, misguided, and as if a creature from an entirely different film. She made a decision and, sure, Angela probably should have been a part of that decision-making process. But it wasn’t Aunt Martha’s fault that Paul was a no-good cheater. Or that Judy was such an asshole. I mean, yes, that surprise at the end was due in large part to Aunt Martha, but as for the campers—they had it coming.
Mademoiselle (Catherine Begin), Martyrs (2008)
What a presence. Commanding, calm, wizened and weary, Catherine Begin’s Madamoiselle has such resigned decisiveness that it’s almost impossible to argue with her. She turns something that could have easily become torture porn into a mesmerizing glimpse at zealotry.
Ruth Gordon earned an Oscar as Rosemary and Guy Woodhouse’s busybody neighbor Minnie Castavet, wife of Roman and nonplussed chief operations officer of the coven. Yes, Roman made a good figurehead, but somebody has to just keep things moving. And as long as she ate the mouse, everything’s fine.
Mother (Fons Rademakers), Daughters of Darkness (1971)
One of the many glorious things about Harry Kumel’s decadent 1971 vampire fable is the way it feels like two or three different films colliding into one elegant bloodletting. Mother casts a looming shadow over one of those storylines, that of a young, beautiful couple recently married, Stefan and Valerie. Even before they’re ensnared in Countess Bathory’s love web, Stefan (an irredeemable asshole if ever there was one) needs to figure out how to break the news of his nuptials to Mother.
Whenever a new character makes you simply need to hear an entirely other story, one focused on whatever they’re not telling you about that character, you know you have a winner. The way Fons Rademakers pets his butler’s head, holds court in the greenhouse, and wields unspecified but somehow sinister power over Stefan begs for its own movie.
Mrs. Baylock (Billie Whitelaw), The Omen (1976)
From the moment she takes the screen, Mrs. Baylock is the new sheriff in town. She quietly yet immediately takes control of the Thorn household. If you didn’t know who was alpha, you only need to see who the dog listens to. Yep, Richard Thorn is in trouble. To say nothing of his poor, useless wife Catherine.
Tangina (Zelda Rubenstein), Poltergeist (1982)
Walks in the house, owns the place. Tangina is a force of nature with a soft little lilt and a no-nonsense approach to cleaning the Freeling house. Her confidence gives the character more than a huckster vibe, although there is a sense of showmanship to everything she does. But when she is addressing the living, it’s best not to give trick answers.
Zelda (Andrew Hubatsek), Pet Sematary (1989)
Scary as hell. Sure, the cat, little Gage, that guy with the brain on the outside of his skull—all of it has its horror charm. But the real nightmare in Mary Lamber’s adaptation of the Stephen King tale is Rachel Creed’s guilty memory of the sister who terrified and horrified her, the sister she believes died—at least in part—due to her own negligence and hatred. Thanks to the angular, monstrous vision of Andrew Hubastek in a nightdress, all contorting ribcage and spine, Zelda became easily the scariest thing in the film.
15 Things You Didn’t Know About Bigfoot (#1 Will Blow Your Mind)
by George Wolf
You’ve seen the t-shirts and memes, right? “Bigfoot: Undefeated Hide and Seek Champion”
It may be elusive in the wild, but Bigfoot is not at all hard to find on your movie screen of choice. 15 Things…was originally known as The VICE Guide to Bigfoot, and the new title gives you a big clue as to what this mockumentary is really searching for.
Brian (co-writer Brian Emond) is a reporter for an online news outlet (like VICE) who is longing to cover some actual news. Even when he and producer Zach (director and co-writer Zach Lamplugh) are sent to some hot war zone, it’s only so he can uncover the happening craft beer scene. So Brian’s paid his dues, which, as it turns out, doesn’t mean squat when there’s an opening on the network news side.
That slot goes to “Dirty Dolla$ign$” (Tevin Williams, hilarious) who advises Brian to “get in the shit, baby!” if he wants to move up.
The shit Brian and Zach get into starts at the Georgia Bigfoot Convention, and leads into the North Georgia foothills with YouTube Bigfoot hunter “The Cryptid Commander” (Jeffrey Stephenson). As he investigates a possible sighting, Brian tries to get the Commander to admit his Bigfoot obsession cost him the love of Jenny, and that he’s utterly full of crap.
Keeping a mockumentary tone that’s both consistent and consistently funny is not easy, and 15 Things…does stumble a bit on both counts, especially when the Blair Witch-iness of the woods takes a sudden hard left into a heroine smuggling operation.
But from clickbait to fake news to false flags, Lamplugh and Edmond do get their shots in, and some of them land with a solid LOL. Do they find the Bigfoot…or the “Bigfoot in themselves?”
If that’s the type of mocking tone that makes you giggle, there’s at least 7.5 things about this film that will have you laughing in appreciation.
I’m not saying Jason Statham is unconvincing with a gun. Nor am I saying that Guy Ritchie is ill-suited to direct a humorless vengeance drama.
I’m just saying that these are not their strong suits.
Wrath of Man shadows a very dour Statham—just call
him H, like the bomb—as he begins training for his new gig with a cash truck crew.
Something’s up, obviously, and the only fun to be had in the
film is trying to figure out what it is, so do not watch the trailer.
At The Depot, where all the trucks come and go and all the
crew mock and belittle one another, we meet the assortment of characters you
will not come to know or care about: Boy Sweat Dave (Josh Hartnett – where have
you been?), Dana (Niamh Algar), Bullet (Holt McCallany). All of them choking on
ludicrously overwritten banter, none of them drawing even a single compelling
character.
Which is fine because there are at least 16 more people you
won’t get to know, won’t care if they’re killed, won’t be invested in their
conflicts.
Ritchie is usually much better than this at scattershot
introductions of oddball lowlife clusters, each pod with its own story, each
story intersection every other story at one turn or another. Maybe he’s just
too out of his element setting the action in LA rather than his beloved London,
but the lived-in feel of a reprobate world that’s usually a high point to a Ritchie
flick is sorely missing here.
And what is the deal with these accents? By now, we know better than to expect Statham to attempt a yank accent, but what exactly is Eddie Marsan’s nationality supposed to be? Or Andy Garcia’s, for that matter?
Hell if I know. I do know that casting Statham generally
guarantees some nifty fisticuffs.
Not today!
He shoots a bunch of people, sure, but there’s no panache to
anything. It’s a heist movie without the meticulous execution, a vengeance
thriller with no emotional connection to the villain, a Statham movie with no
ass kicking, and a Ritchie movie with no humor, no flash, no style.
There’s nothing as immediately cool and comforting as a
boozy hillbilly noir. The haunting soundtrack choices, shadowy basement
barrooms, isolating cushion of all those trees—it’s a tall tale of blood, beer
and backstabbing just waiting to happen.
That’s just what director Cody Calahan serves up from the
opening strains of The Oak Room, a stylish little thriller. It may be a
bit too wordy, but it repays you for your patience.
There’s a story within a story within a story on this
blustery night in smalltown Canada as ne’er do well Steve (RJ Mitte, Breaking
Bad) dares to show his face at closing time. He’s been gone a long time and
bartender Paul (Peter Outerbridge) is none too happy to see him. There’s a
score to settle here, a debt owed, and Steve has until midnight to take care of
it.
First, though, Steve wants to tell Paul a story.
Over the next 90 minutes, Calahan weaves from near-midnight at Paul’s bar to Steve’s story and back, giving a lovely cinematic quality to the power of storytelling inherent in Peter Genoway’s script. There is something hypnotic in the way the night progresses, and in the way phrases and ideas repeat across different decades and different tales.
Outerbridge is particularly effective, but every actor
remains true to the style the filmmaker develops. Genoway’s script gets away from
him at times, especially in the first half of the film, giving certain scenes
the feel of filler. A leaner script would have benefitted the overall project.
As it is, there are conversations in the first half of the film that come close
to breaking the spell Calahan casts.
The filmmaker deploys other tactics to keep you engaged,
though. The Oak Room glories in its sound design, whether the creak of
mop bucket wheels across a wooden bar floor, the swing of a metal trashcan lid,
or the hush of the wind outside the window where snow deepens. Steph Copeland’s
score—a mixture of Kabuki-style drums and Appalachian strings—foretells of
violence and misery.
Calahan also develops a fun dose of dread as midnight nears and tales—both present and past—take sinister turns. It’s all good fun, though, right? Just a couple of guys passing the time until debts are to be paid.
Billy Crystal is a likable guy, and frequently funny. Tiffany Haddish is a likable gal, and often funny.
So there are possibilities for some odd couple fun in Crystal’s Here Today, but almost all of them are wasted in an overlong, self-indulgent, misguided and unfunny misfire.
Crystal, in his first big screen directing effort since 95’s Forget Paris, also co-writes and stars as Charlie, a legendary comedy writer currently working on a TV sketch show. Haddish is Emma, a singer whose boyfriend wins lunch with Charlie in a charity auction. But when the boyfriend becomes an ex, Emma shows up at the restaurant instead, and an unlikely friendship is born.
Charlie’s memory problems are quickly becoming an issue, as are the flashbacks to a vaguely traumatic event involving his ex-wife (Louisa Krause). Frequent visits to the doctor (Anna Deavere Smith) help Charlie hide his condition from his grown children (Penn Badgley, Laura Benanti), so the speed with which Emma sniffs it out is just one example of the falseness that plagues the entire film.
From phone conversations to reaction shots to skits on Charlie’s TV show, there’s hardly an ounce of authenticity to Crystal’s direction. And because none of these characters feel real, Charlie’s dismissive attitude toward the younger writers’ brands of comedy – complete with an embarrassing riff on Network‘s “mad as hell” speech – comes off as sour grapes from Crystal himself.
The script, based on co-writer Alan Zweibel’s short story “The Prize,” has only enough humor to elicit some scattered smiles. The bigger goal quickly becomes telling us how Charlie comes to grips with his condition and his past, and more disappointingly, showing us how Emma puts her own dreams on hold to pursue her magically healing effect on this white family.
Crystal has enjoyed many high points in a long and legendary career. He may very well have more, which would help everyone forget the lowlight that is Here Today.
