Tag Archives: Hope Madden

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Mother’s Little Helper

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Bring Her Back

by Hope Madden

Damn, son. The Philippou brothers know how to unsettle you.

Filmmakers Danny and Michael Philippou drew attention in 2022 for their wildly popular feature debut, Talk to Me. Before releasing the sequel, due out this August, the pair changes the game up with a different, but at least equally disturbing, look at grief.

Sora Wong and Billy Barratt are stepsiblings Piper and Andy. Andy, on the cusp of 18, is fiercely protective of his visually impaired little sister. When their dad dies unexpectedly, the pair finds themselves navigating the world of foster parenting until Andy can apply for legal custody and they can get their own place.

In the interim, Laura (the always welcome Sally Hawkins) has agreed to take them in. Well, she agreed to take in Piper, and kind of wound up saddled with Andy. Not to worry! The upbeat former counselor, whose own daughter had been blind, will find the room.

Hawkins is a dream. The film asks a great deal of her character, and she delivers on every request and more. There are countless facets to Laura, so many that a weaker actor would have had trouble delivering the depth necessary to connect them authentically. Hawkins doesn’t just manage the depth; she mines it effortlessly.

She’s surrounded by an extremely natural and charismatic young ensemble. Wong, in her first professional acting role, charms as a kid who never gives her disability a second thought. Barratt delivers heartbreaking tenderness under general adolescent dumbassedness and winds up being the character you root hardest for.

Jonah Wren Phillips haunts the film. Though he is utterly terrifying, there’s also something unmistakably sad in the performance that shakes you.  

Danny Philippou, who again co-writes with Bill Hinzman, grounds the film in character and upends tropes so often that on the rare occasion that Bring Her Back falls to cliché, it’s noticeable.

It’s a slow burn, a movie that communicates dread brilliantly with its cinematography and pacing. But when Bring Her Back hits the gas, dude! Nastiness not for the squeamish! Especially if you have a thing about teeth, be warned. But the body horror always serves the narrative, deepening your sympathies even as it has you hiding your eyes.

Australia has a great habit of sending unsettling horror our way. The latest package from Down Under doesn’t disappoint.

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Black & Blue Hawaii

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Lilo & Stitch

by Hope Madden

As a general rule, I’m no fan of Disney’s live action remakes. Loved Jon Favreau’s 2016 reimagining of The Jungle Book, but not a single reboot since has lived up to the impressive fun of that one, and most just feel like a soulless cash grab.

Can Lilo & Stitch, an update of Dean DeBlois and Chris Sanders surprise 2002 cultural treasure, meet that high bar?

No, but it comes a lot closer than most.

Sanders wrote and directed 2024’s beautiful emotional gut-punch The Wild Robot, and the pair is responsible for 2010’s equally brilliant How to Train Your Dragon. Director Dean Fleischer Camp’s update, based on an adapted screenplay by Chris Kekanoikalani Bright and Mike Van Waes, remains true to the original’s themes of outsiders longing for connection.

Also, the actual Hawaii is one of the few locations as eye-popping as any animated world. The new Lilo & Stitch is also blessed with a lead who surpasses her animated predecessor in wily spunk and pinchable cheeks. Maia Kealoha’s Lilo, never cloying or false, allows the film the sense of childlike chaos that helps it transcend the artificiality of the story.

The tale itself—about a cute, fuzzy, dangerous, alien scientific experiment crash landed in an undeveloped spot of Hawaii, chased by its creator as well as American intelligence, who’s taken in as a rescue dog by a lonely orphan—remains mainly true to the original.

Live action Stitch is at least as much fun as animated Stitch, although the moments of physical connection—hugs, pets, kisses on the nose–look off. But the joy between Lilo and Stitch is as vibrantly real as ever.

The balance of the cast—Sydney Agudong as Lilo’s frazzled older sister Nani, Zach Galifianakis as bumbling evil genius Jumba, Billy Magnussen as Earth fanboy Pleakley, among others—fully commit to the bit. They make the fun spots funnier and the emotional beats heart-tuggier.

The biggest let down is the updated script, which can’t match the original in terms of the delightfully, delicately human writing. But the contrast between the alien and natural world makes this a natural fit for the leap to live action, and the charming lawlessness of the story is as much fun today as it was in 2002.

Outtakes

That’s His Name, Don’t Wear it Out

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Pee-wee as Himself

by Hope Madden

If there’s one thing Matt Wolf’s 2-part documentary Pee-wee as Himself does, it reminds you what a cultural phenomenon Pee-wee Herman was in the 80s. Movies to TV to MTV to toys to talk shows, he was everywhere and he was beloved by children, college kids, and adults alike.

Who would have guessed that this goofy, bow-tied man-child could steal so many hearts? Or how decidedly and abruptly it could all have ended?

The filmmaker walks an interesting line. The Pee-wee story seems custom-made for a rags-to-riches-to-rags doc, but that’s clearly not what either Wolf or Paul Reubens—the man behind the bowtie—wants.

Unbeknownst to Wolf, during the filming of the documentary, Reubens was in the midst of the 6-year battle with cancer he would lose on July 30, 2023. Knowing now what he did not know then, Wolf lingers over weighty turns of phrase.

Charmingly acerbic but often candid, Reubens is openly reluctant to hand over control of his image after so many years of calculating every detail of his public life. Part of what makes the film so electric is how early and often the two butt heads over which of them ought to be in control of the documentary. This conflict itself paints a portrait of the artist more authentic than any amount of historical data ever could.

Wolf pulls from 40 hours’ worth of interviews with Reubens, who is playful, funny, and occasionally confrontational and annoyed—mainly with Wolf. The filmmaker flanks those conversation snippets with family photos and video from the actor’s massive collection.

The utterly delightful Episode 1 introduces a Paul Reubens unknown even to his most ardent fans (of which I am most certainly one). We’re privy to the foundational yearnings and explorations, choices and happenstances that led the eccentric and creatively gifted young Reubens toward abandoning himself entirely to his adorably oddball alter ego.

These clues to the early budding of the genius are as fascinating as clips from his work on The Gong Show and with The Groundlings are joyous. And for those who’ve loved Pee-wee since childhood, footage from his HBO special, early Letterman appearances, and of course, Pee-wee’s Big Adventure thrill to the point of tears.

Episode 2 could be called Post Adventure. P.W.  Herman was at the top of the world and still climbing. One blockbuster film under his white belt, Pee-wee was about to conquer, of all things, children’s television. Wolf reminds his audience—those who may not know and those who may have forgotten—of the show’s subversive genius.

The inevitable tragic downfall haunts the second film from its opening shot, but neither the filmmaker nor Reubens play the victim card. Whether recounting the collateral damage of his fame (partnerships fractured and friends lost), his career missteps (Big Top Pee-wee), or the immediate and deafening public reaction to his 1991 arrest, both Wolf and Reubens are clear eyed.

You may not be as the second film comes to its close. Wolf lets Reubens have the last word, maybe because he had no choice at all, but again, it’s that conflict itself that best defines the consummate performance artist. Paul Reubens decided who got to know what.

Pee-wee as Himself is revelatory, nostalgic, glorious viewing for Pee-wee fans. That’s me. Maybe that’s not you. Maybe you think I’m a big dummy for loving Pee-wee like I do.

I know you are, but what am I?

Shudder Premiere

Daddy’s Little Girl

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The Surrender

by Hope Madden

At one point in writer/director Julia Max’s feature debut The Surrender, Barbara (the always reliable Kate Burton) tells her daughter, Megan (Colby Minifie), that their grief over the death of the family patriarch is not the same. After 40 years together, Barbara says, “I don’t know who I am without him.”

That’s really the heart of the horror film that sees a bereaved mother and daughter transgress the laws of nature to bring their beloved husband/father back from the dead.

Max uses horror tropes to play nimbly with the dishonesty of memory and the ugliness of reality. What The Surrender unveils is that mother and daughter do not know who they are as a family without Robert (Vaughn Armstrong); they don’t recognize the other without the third wheel for balance.

As a character study and a glimpse into family politics, particularly during the tailspin of grief, The Surrender is beautifully, authentically written. Every inexplicable grace Barbara has granted Stephen during their decades is somehow unavailable to her daughter, who, in turn, forgives and forgets conveniently when it comes to her father. But Megan’s less forgiving of her mom.

And so, the two grasp desperately to regain balance and relieve their panic and grief, which is where the horror comes in. Max returns to the exquisitely horrific image that opens the film once Megan and Barbara, aided by “the man” (Neil Sandilands, compellingly understated), go in search of Stephen.

Max’s image of the other realm is as imaginative as it is stark. There’s a bleak beauty to it all that recalls Liam Gavin’s genre masterpiece, A Dark Song. The Surrender never reaches those heights, but Max knows how to ground the supernatural in relatable reality and wonders which is worse.

Fright Club

Fright Club: Punk Rock Horror

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There is a chaotic energy, a violence to punk rock that makes it a perfect score to horror. Like horror, punk frightens. It upsets the status quo, that’s its whole purpose. It’s inspired a lot of filmmakers and a lot of movies: Uncle Peckerhead, Class of 1984, Driller Killer and more. But here are our own personal favorite punk rock horror movies.

5 Repo Man (1984)

Is it horror? Maybe, maybe not. Is it punk?

You’re goddamn right!

Here’s who you’ll hear in Repo Man: Iggy Pop, Suicidal Tendencies, Flack Flag, Fear, The Plugz, Circle Jerks – probably more that I’ve forgotten. Three punks wander the streets doing crimes. And the whole movie is basically a love letter to people who repossess cars. It’s anarchy!

Writer/director Alex Cox brought a decidedly anarchic vibe to the project, which served him well in later films Sid & Nancy (masterpiece!) and Straight to HellI. The guy’s got his bona fides.

Plus Harry Dean Stanton. And a lot of people explode, leaving behind only their bloody shoes, so that’s horror, right?

4 Freaky Tales (2024)

Eric “Sleepy” Floyd played thirteen years in the NBA, making the All Star team in 1987 as a member of the Golden State Warriors. Freaky Tales makes him the heroic centerpiece of a wild anthology that loves the late 80s, Oakland, and Nazis dying some horrible deaths.

Let’s party!

Ryan Fleck may be an Oakland native, but his films with partner Anna Boden haven’t primed us for this campy, Grindhouse detour. Freaky Tales feels like a return to a low budget indie mindset, where ambitious and energetic newcomers want to showcase their favorite movies, music, and neighborhoods while they splatter blood and blow shit up.

3 Return of the Living Dead

Do you want to party? Because guess what time it is!

Dan O’Bannon, writer behind Alien and Total Recall, co-wrote and directed the film that introduced into the genre the abiding zombie trait of brain eating, and is the first film in which zombies groan “braaaaiiiinnnnssss.”

Plus, the great Linnea Quigley Leg Warmer Dance Scene, a fun 80s punk rock soundtrack, Clu Gulagar and a lot of campy fun – all of this combined to create one of the more memorable and weirdly important zombie comedies.

2 The Ranger (2018)

The ordered, quiet, vintage world of Smokey the Bear meets the chaos and volume of punk rock in Jenn Wexler’s feature debut, The Ranger.

Chloë Levine and her buddies/band are hiding out from the law. She takes them to the wooded cabin where she spent her childhood, which may not have been as idyllic as she’s letting on.

Jeremy Holm is a stitch as the zealous park ranger here to ensure rules are followed and punks clean up their act. The culture clash is a ton of fun, as is the 80s slasher vibe. This movie’s a blast.

1 Green Room (2015)

Young punk band the Ain’t Rights is in desperate need of a paying gig, even if it is at a rough private club for the “boots and braces” crowd (i.e. white power skinheads). Bass guitarist Pat (Anton Yelchin) eschews social media promotion for the “time and aggression” of live shows, and when he accidentally witnesses a murder in the club’s makeshift green room, Pat and his band find plenty of both.

As he did with Blue Ruin, Saulnier plunges unprepared characters into a world of casual savagery, finding out just what they have to offer in a nasty backwoods standoff.  It’s a path worn by Straw Dogs, Deliverance, and plenty more, but Saulnier again shows a knack for establishing his own thoughtful thumbprint. 

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This Is the End

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Final Destination: Bloodlines

by Hope Madden

I’ll give you three reasons Final Destination: Bloodlines is the best since James Wong’s clever 2000 original, if not the best in the whole franchise.

Number one, gone is the nihilistic tone that had us all hating characters and waiting glibly for them to die. Instead, directors Zach Lipovsky and Adam B. Stein invest in character development. So, when Stefani (Kaitlyn Santa Juana) realizes her whole family is doomed, you find yourself emotionally attached to each of the damned.

The directors owe a debt to Santa Juana and the whole ensemble—little brother Charlie (Teo Briones), cousin Bobby (Owen Patrick Joyner), dear Uncle Howard (Alex Zahara) and especially, against all odds, cousin Erik (cast stand out Richard Harmon). The actors share a relatable familial bond that helps the film draw you in. And the presence of genre beloved Tony Todd in his final role seals the emotional deal.

An even larger debt is owed to an impressive writing team: Guy Busick (Ready or Not, Scream), Lori Evans Taylor, and Jon Watts (Spider-Man: Homecoming, Clown). We’ll give them Reason Number 2: a great script, full of pathos, tension, and the darkest humor. I laughed out loud often. Was it inappropriate? Probably, but it was no less enjoyable.

Reason Number Three, for this series, is the big one.  The Rube Goldberg of Death franchise boasts many clever, nasty kills and the sixth episode does not let us down. Smart, nutty and goretastic with some of the most impressive comic-beat editing of the year, the bloody mayhem in this film is giddy with its power.

The film offers affectionate nods to some of the franchise’s most memorable moments, but fans of the series would be pleased even without them. Rather than a photocopy of previous installments—one premonition saving a gaggle of good looking youngsters, only for Death to stalk them one by one in the order that they would have died without intervention—Bloodlines delivers as fresh an idea within the bounds of the mythology as you could ask for.

Plus we all get to spend a few more minutes with Tony Todd.

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Send In the Clowns

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Clown in a Cornfield

by Hope Madden

Adam Cesare’s novel Clown in a Cornfield won the Bram Stoker Award for Best Young Adult Horror Novel. So, there had to be something there, right?

Eli Craig (of the utterly fantastic 2010 genre upending Tucker and Dale vs. Evil) handles directing duties. That seems like a good pairing. Cesare’s novel took a fresh look at slasher material. Craig has shown sharp instincts for deconstructing a horror subgenre with loads of blood and fun.

So why doesn’t Clown in a Cornfield work? Like, at all?

The problem’s not the cast. Katie Douglas charms as Quinn, the Philly transplant making possibly the wrong friends in her new hometown of Kettle Springs, Missouri. The last town doctor took off sometime after the Baypen Corn Syrup factory burned down, and Quinn’s dad (Aaron Abrams) jumped at the opening.

The town seems stuck in time, except for those hooligans making YouTube videos pretending Baypen’s beloved clown mascot Frendo is a bloodthirsty killer.

Thus, we establish the necessary slasher gang: final girl, her crush (Carson MacCormac), bitchy nemesis (Cassandra Potenza), and other nubile teens making bad decisions (Verity Marke, Ayo Solanke, Alexandre Martin Deakin).

Plus, townies, of course, the rube sheriff (Will Sasso) and the rich guy (Kevin Durand) among them.

With an unabashedly Jaws opening, Craig announced his film (like T&DvE) as a loving sendup of horror tropes. Unfortunately, the following 85 minutes feel more like a mirthless retread of better films than an inspired reimagining of cliches.

Craig never lands on a tone. Tongue-in-cheek dialog creeps into the most unsuitable scenes, teens suddenly slowing down an escape to wax comedic. Were the film an outright comedy, maybe that would slide. But Clown in a Cornfield isn’t played for laughs.

The scares are too telegraphed and borrowed to amount to much. Worse still are plot holes so deep and wide you could lose a combine. The second most interesting thing about the film is how little effort is devoted to a backstory that makes sense. The most interesting thing is the wild disregard for the “what happened to that guy?” instinct in the film’s finale.

I had high hopes for Craig’s return to genre filmmaking. Clown in a Cornfield disappoints.

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Rock in the Ruins

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Pink Floyd at Pompeii

by Hope Madden and George Wolf

The gorgeous new restoration of 1972’s Pink Floyd at Pompeii delivers a beautifully discordant glimpse of a transitional period for one of music’s most important rock bands. Gorgeously restored image and sound immerse you in Floyd’s music. 

Adrian Maben’s doc focuses primarily on Floyd’s 1971 trip to Italy, with performances recorded live in the ruins of the Pompeii Amphitheatre to an audience of only crew . The setlist (including selections recorded later in Paris) consists of some of Floyd’s more loosely constructed symphonic jams—Careful with that Axe Eugene, Echoes, Set the Controls for the Heart of the Sun, One of These Days—which frees Maben visually from the need to capture a singer. Rather, he lets Floyd’s trippier melodic concoctions provide a soundscape for various images. Sometimes eerily beautiful landscapes and vistas populate the screen, while elsewhere the filmmaker turns the camera to period artwork.

Maben punctuates the live cuts with bits of interviews and fly-on-the-wall footage as the band shares a meal. David Gilmour seems forever in need of a glass of milk, while drummer Nick Mason’s request for apple pie goes unanswered. These brief snippets, though borderline Spinal Tap, balance the live performance’s grandiosity with a sweet bit of banality.

Yes, both Gilmour and Roger Waters get their screen time, but late keyboardist Richard Wright also finds his time in the spotlight while Mason often draws most of Maben’s interest. His manic drumming and respectful requests for “no crust” are a delight, and the interplay between all the band members is a bittersweet counter to the rancor that erupted in years to come.

Wisely, the restoration includes material that had made its way into an earlier director’s cut. We spend time in Abby Road studios with the band as they work through tracks for their as-yet-unreleased masterwork Dark Side of the Moon album.

It’s the perfect balance. The live, undiluted imagination and experimentation that marked Pink Floyd’s early career gives way to the masterful, controlled artistry of the album that would redefine the band (and music history).  

Even for Floyd fans who have seen much of this before, the new restoration – especially the IMAX version hitting select theaters – is a must. It not only gives some classic early jams due respect, it provides a fascinating glimpse at the days just before a legendary rock band stepped into its future.

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The Old Familiar Sting

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Until Dawn

by Hope Madden

Watching the 2011 genre classic Cabin in the Woods when it came out, you couldn’t help but think it would make a great video game. Each new level could bring on a different one of those beasties from the elevator, and you’d have to try to survive them all to win. Fun!

Until Dawn, the new horror flick from David F. Sandberg (Lights Out, Annabelle: Creation), follows exactly this logic. It’s as if someone did make that video game, then turned that game into a movie. Which is kind of what happened.

Sandberg and writers Blair Butler (The Invitation, Hell Fest) and Gary Dauberman (the Annabelle, Nun, and It franchises, among others) retool the popular Until Dawn survival game to give it more of a cinematic structure. Five friends, out on a road trip to remember a pal who’s been missing for a year, stumble upon a long-abandoned welcome center.

They spy their missing friend’s name in the register. It’s in there 13 times.

Next thing you know, time loop horror overtakes the friends as one malevolent force after another descends upon the welcome center. As soon as all five friends are dead, an hourglass resets, they revive, and the next wave of horror hits.

Peter Stormare lends his effortless creepiness to the proceedings, which benefit from his performance as well as work from an ensemble that’s better than the script demands. Belmont Cameli and Hellraiser’s Odessa A’zion are particularly effective, but all five friends break free of the tropiness of their roles to find familiar, human centers.

It had to have been hard, as their characters continually make the dumbest decisions possible.

The film feels terribly confined by its premise. Rather than the gleeful celebration of all things monstrous that made Cabin in the Woods such a joy, Until Dawn lacks inspiration. The set design never rises above a seasonal haunt aesthetic, the creature design lacks imagination, and the repetitive nature of the time loop grows tedious.

It shouldn’t come as a great surprise, given the filmmakers. Dauberman’s hit big a couple of times, but his fare is mainly middling. Sandberg’s genre films are exclusively mediocre, and Butler’s work rarely reaches that height.

But Until Dawnis not a complete waste of time. Sandberg doesn’t skimp on bloodshed, and the cast really elevates the material. It’s no classic, but it offers a bit of bloody fun.

Outtakes

Please Won’t You Be?

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Neighborhood Watch

by Hope Madden

Director Duncan Skiles’s latest, Neighborhood Watch, delivers a tense and unpretentious thriller about a young man debilitated by childhood trauma who witnesses a kidnapping. When the police don’t believe him, he teams up with a disgraced campus security guard to find the victim.

Jack Quaid (Novocaine, Companion) is Simon, so crippled by his childhood that he hallucinates, his every thought accompanied by a running commentary in the voice of his abusive father. He can’t convince the police of what he’s seen, and in his desperation, drags his unpleasant and reluctant neighbor Ed (Jeffrey Dean Morgan) into the mystery.

Neighborhood Watch is a buddy comedy without the comedy, and it is funny how stripping away the humor allows the relationship between these two lonely men to breathe in very human ways.   

Morgan’s a spitfire, but one you recognize—your dad, your uncle, your neighbor, somebody who’s fighting the feeling of uselessness with condescension and inappropriate action. It would have been very easy to overplay Ed. Instead, Morgan nails a good-humored bitterness that gives way, little by little, to compassion and genuine usefulness.

Quaid works fiercely against easy, tropey characterization. There’s nothing cloying or patronizing in the performance. Rather, Simon is a frustrated, intelligent, decent person trying to do what’s right. The unselfconscious humility in both performances allows even the most overwritten moments of bonding to feel earned.

Sean Farley’s script includes a few too many plot conveniences, to the point that sometimes Neighborhood Watch feels like a network drama. Except that our focal points are not the police investigators, but two damaged nobodies with nothing better to do. Something about that helps the film transcend cliché.

Neighborhood Watch is an example of direction and performance elevating a script. The plot itself is far from unique. Indeed, its central mystery has become Hollywood shorthand for feel good heroism.

But Skiles looks past knee jerk, self-congratulatory action in favor of context, his camera lingering on the blight of old suburbia. In this unglamorous world of perms and coupons, polyester and bus passes, two losers that life passed by just try to do one good thing. The humble simplicity is surprisingly moving.