Tag Archives: Hope Madden

Shudder Premiere

Feeling Peckish?

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Little Bites

by Hope Madden

Set in the “every fabric is patterned” Seventies, Little Bites drops us into one really horrifying relationship.

Widowed mom Mindy (Krsy Fox) has sent her 10-year-old, Alice (Elizabeth Phoenix Caro), to stay with Grandma (Bonnie Aarons, The Nun franchise)—an overbearing, hypercritical shrew. That’s not the problematic relationship, though. Mindy sent Alice away because of the demon living in her basement, the one who rings a dinner bell a few times a day, then takes a couple of bites out of Mindy.

The mythology is interesting if undeveloped, but whatever the reason Agyar (Jon Sklaroff, excellent) came to live off of Mindy’s flesh, it’s a solid and troubling concept. Sklaroff’s weary superiority and dark wit create a fascinatingly nightmarish villain.

 It’s a metaphor concerning the life draining sacrifice motherhood can be—something Babadook explored so beautifully and startlingly. It’s a provocative idea executed poorly.

Writer/director Spider One (Rob Zombie’s youngest brother) strings together some memorably disturbing ideas made weirder and better with some (not all) of his dialog. And a slew of veteran actors (Aarons, Barbara Crampton, Heather Langenkamp) strengthens the effort. Chaz Bono (who Executive Produces with his mother) delivers a sweetly bruised performance.

Fox is the weak link. She lacks chemistry with the rest of the cast and struggles mightily with the filmmaker’s more overwrought sections of dialog (any conversation between Mindy and her mother, for example).  

At least as problematic is the stiff direction. There’s precious little variety in shot selection, at an hour and 45 minutes, the film is in desperate need of a good trim. Every scene goes on for an awkward length, far longer than the actors are able to maintain any sense of naturalism. Tightening scenes would certainly have made carrying the film an easier task for Fox.

There’s something here, something unseemly and a little tragic. If the filmmaker could have trimmed the fat, Little Bites might have been a pretty tasty horror.

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That’s a Bingo

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Old Guy

by Hope Madden

There were three reasons to be optimistic about Old Guy, the latest from director Simon West. West used to make big budget, memorably bad actioners (Con Air), then middle budget middling actioners (The Mechanic, The Expendables 2), and now low budget actioners that have to find a way to capture attention. Hence, the three reasons for optimism.

Number one, two-time Oscar winner and all around magnetic onscreen mischief maker Christoph Waltz plays the lead. He’s Danny Dolinski, an aging hitman with a penchant for drink, drugs and threesomes (and hideously patterned short sleeve button downs).

Dolinski’s recovering from hand surgery—his trigger hand—which is slowing him down. Thus, he’s been tasked with training a new man, Wihlborg (Cooper Hoffman). Reason number 2. The actor’s handful of onscreen performances—particularly, his remarkable lead turn in Paul Thomas Anderson’s 2021 Licorice Pizza—mark him as an actor I’m anxious to see in anything.

And reason 3, Lucy Liu, whose recent work finds edges and scars that give characters intriguing dimension. She’s particularly wonderful onscreen right now in Steven Soderbergh’s inverted ghost story Presence.

What’s most fun about the casting is that all three talents are playing entirely against type. And though not one of them is entirely convincing as their own particular fringe-of-society misfit, each is deeply charming.

West’s direction is frantic enough to do service to both the action and comedy Old Guy is trying to convey. Greg Johnson’s script is not helping. The dialog is not especially funny and worse still, the plot itself falls entirely apart under the lest scrutiny. But the veteran popcorn-and-car-chase director injects a bit of tension and giddy humor with image juxtaposition and punchy editing.

And there’s just a silliness in the cast that’s engaging. Liu’s character is an absolute afterthought, but the performance compels interest nonetheless. Hoffman’s been handed less a character than a handful of tics in dark nail polish, but he gives the guy a heartbeat and you find yourself rooting for him.

And Waltz, so charmingly miscast, characteristically finds insignificant moments to turn into cinematic highlights. You’ll forget Old Guy the minute those catchy looking credits stop rolling, but sometimes a brain needs to turn off and wallow in three solid performers having fun and making the most of a bad situation.

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Red Menace

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Captain America: Brave New World

by Hope Madden and George Wolf

Look out! There’s a bloated menace wreaking havoc at the White House, throwing temper tantrums, creating enemies of allies, and ruining everything he touches.

But wait, could there be some nefarious, nerdy, unelected mastermind behind the villainy destroying the United States of America?

Art imitates life in Marvel’s latest big screen attempt, Captain America: Brave New World. Anthony Mackie picks up the shield as Cap. We’ve known Mackie could act since his 2009 breakout, The Hurt Locker, but can he carry a franchise film?

As a rule, franchise films are helped by the addition of Harrison Ford. He loses the mustache and picks up the mantle carried by Sam Elliott and William Hurt, playing Thaddeus Ross, newly elected President of the USA.

The President has done some pretty horrible things, though, and should really be in prison. Instead, he’s in the White House. Pair that with a mysterious villain trying to orchestrate a war, and the end of the world could be in sight.

But the movie has bigger problems, starting with its script. Writers Rob Edwards, Malcolm Spellman and Dalan Musson stuff the film with repetitive dialog and endless exposition. Not sure what just happened or what’s about to happen? No need to fret, somebody’s about to explain it again.

Director Julius Onah (Luce, The Cloverfield Paradox) strings together a few impressive action sequences, but the momentum always gets derailed by needless explanation and – especially in the third act – some bland CGI visuals. Even the cameos and end credits scene are less than inspiring.

From the beginning, the Captain America character felt like the moral compass of the MCU. The best films in the franchise have found ways to balance the super-heroics with timely questions about power and responsibility. Brave New World creates the opportunity but never allows Cap to follow through. Instead, complexities are neutered in favor of easily digestible answers and the next weakly earned plot point.

That’s what makes the film so disappointing. A deserving new hero and a solid cast are given a narrative treatment usually suited to streaming audiences who are looking at their phones or getting up to feed the dog.

Above all, this new world seems satisfied with playing it safe. And that’s not brave at all.

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Hookers and Blow

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Paddington in Peru

by Hope Madden and George Wolf

So what has Paddington bear been up to in the eight years since the classic Paddington 2?

Well, he’s got a new director (Dougal Wilson in his feature debut), a new Mrs. Brown (Emily Mortimer steps in for Sally Hawkins), and a brand new British passport (with an unusual photo)! And that legal ID comes in mighty handy when Paddington (perfectly voiced again by Ben Whishaw) gets a mysterious letter from Peru.

Aunt Lucy is missing!

So what’s there to do except pack up the Browns, Paddington, and Paddington’s brand new deluxe umbrella and head out to solve the mystery. After meeting with the Reverend Mother (Olivia Colman, always a plus) and collecting clues at the Home for Retired Bears, the gang hires dashing Captain Hunter Cabot (Antonio Banderas) and his daughter Gina (Carla Tous) to take them up river and straight into a jungle adventure.

Because while Paddington and family may be searching for Aunt Lucy, certain other parties are searching for El Dorado, the mythical lost city of gold!

The bar set by Paddington 2, an honest to God masterpiece, is very high. Dougal and team had their work cut out for them, and the Browns’ Peru visit is never quite as intricate, clever or transcendent as the last installment. But Colman’s comedic genius, lushly crafted scenery, meticulous CGI, and the cast and filmmakers’ commitment to the earnest charm characteristic of the franchise guarantee a delightful cinematic experience for every member of the family.

Dougal keeps the pace and perils lively, while the new screenwriting team (Mark Burton, Jon Foster and James Lamont) delivers sweet family fun that weaves in some warm furry feelies before the credits roll and a surprise guest appears.

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Somewhere in Time

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Timestalker

by Hope Madden

Back in 2016, Alice Lowe wrote, directed and starred in the charmingly dark horror comedy, Prevenge. It’s been a long wait, but her absurd wit, impeccable timing and delightful attention to sight gag detail return with the dark reincarnation rom-com, Timestalker.

Lowe is Agnes. No matter when you catch her—mid-1600s, Napoleonic era, 1980s New York—Agnes is feeling lost. Unmoored. As if something in her very soul is lacking. And then suddenly, over and over and over again throughout the ages, Agnes realizes what she’s missing is Alex (Aneurin Barnard).

Alex never seems to agree.

A handful of souls orbit the star crossed never actually lovers (Nick Frost, Tanya Reynolds, Kate Dickie, Jacob Anderson), but that never really registers with Agnes. She’s too attuned to her longing, and then eventually, her need to change her fate because, in each life, Agnes dies (pretty horribly) so that Alex can live.

What Lowe has penned is a clever subversion of romance tropes—“I have crossed oceans of time to find you”—without entirely mocking that aching sense of longing that fuels an obsession. Lowe’s most clever device is positioning a man as the object of infatuation. Playing that idea off a later introduction of Agnes’s own stalker further pokes holes in a century’s worth of romance cliche.

Timestalker is funny, sometimes brutally so. Anderson shines as a mischief-maker and instigator popping in from age to age with very dark suggestions, and an underused Dickie’s priceless deadpan delivery adds value to each of her scenes.

The look of the film offers endless enjoyment, and Lowe is a hoot in every situation.

Don’t look for much in the way of a plot, though. Where Prevenge unveiled a bit more of its backstory and detail with each new scene, Timestalker feels like a really fun Groundhog Day with no underpinning story. The film is disappointingly slight given the clever points it makes.

Shudder Premiere

Rizz Up

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The Dead Thing

by Hope Madden

The clever, underlying theme in Shaun of the Dead is that every Londoner was already basically a zombie.

Elric Kane, co-writer and director of The Dead Thing, looks at a culture of app hook ups and sterile, fluorescent work spaces and sees something similar. A whole generation of people seems to already be dead.

They’re not exactly alive, anyway.

Beautiful Alex (Blu Hunt) fits that bill. Her job is mindless, she keeps her headphones in and avoids eye contact with her one co-worker, Mark (Joey Millin). After work and another swipe right hookup she sneaks into her apartment to avoid conversation with her longtime best friend (Katherine Hughes). Sleep. Wake up. Repeat.

Then she meets Kyle (Ben Smith-Petersen), and it’s as if she wakes from a trance. It starts off the same as every other meet up, but Kyle is different. They connect. He stays all night, they laugh and draw pictures of each other and hate to say goodbye the next day when her uber for work arrives.

She decides to keep in touch, but he never responds to a text. So, she shows up where he works, and a mystery begins.

Each act in The Dead Thing tells a different story. Hunt anchors the evolving storytelling with an authentic display of ennui, of disconnectedness—partly chosen, partly inevitable. Smith-Petersen’s vacant sweetness gives each change in the narrative an underlying sinister quality that also evolves nicely from one act to the next.

By Act 3, Kane abandons the film’s original metaphor in favor of a different analogy. While this change offers more opportunity for visceral horror, the result is less satisfying than the original, insightful image of modern romance.

Though the more traditional wrap up disappoints after such a stylish and intriguing premise, The Dead Thing—including Iona Vasile’s dreamy camerawork and deceptively creepy performances throughout—keeps your attention and manages to subvert expectations and entertain.

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Real In

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Rounding

by Hope Madden

Filmmaker Alex Thompson has already developed a good track record across multiple genres. His 2020 dramedy Saint Francis was a bold, impressive feature debut. Last year’s Ghostlight won critical acclaim and not an insignificant number of festival awards.

Somewhere between the two he wrote and directed a brooding medical mystery called Rounding that’s just now getting a theatrical release.

The film follows Dr. James Hayman (Namir Smallwood) as he navigates his second year in residency. As the film opens, James has an episode on his rounds in a large, urban hospital. It’s quite an episode, and after taking some time off, he decides he’d rather finish his residency in a more rural location where he can “have a bigger impact.”

There he studies under Dr. Harrison (Michael Potts, who elevates every scene, as is his way) and meets the 19-year-old asthma patient, Helen (Sidney Flanigan, Never Rarely Sometimes Always). James is convinced that there is something very wrong with Helen’s case.

Rounding is a slow build, essentially unraveling two mysteries simultaneously. As James sleuths the ins and outs of Helen’s illness, deteriorating mentally and physically as he does so, his own past trauma begins to take shape in front of our eyes.

That second mystery comes laden with the occasional supernatural imagery. Never once does it suit the film Thompson is making. Each of these scenes of horror feels spliced in from an entirely different movie. Although, these flashes are welcome bits of excitement in an otherwise laborious slog.

Thompson, who co-wrote Rounding with Christopher Thompson, keeps all information very close to the vest. It isn’t possible to unravel either mystery with what’s depicted on the screen, so nothing wraps up satisfactorily. Tidily, yes, and far too late and too quickly and with too little evidence to support it.

A slow burn thriller can work, but the thrill has to be worth the wait, the climax earned. We have to be building to something. Rounding boasts some solid performances, a few unnerving moments, and a oppressively creepy aesthetic. But they don’t amount to much.

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Seattle Was a Riot

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Heart Eyes

by Hope Madden

There is an undeniable goofy sweetness to Josh Ruben’s horror films, no matter the body count or blood flow or number of people with holes so big in their throats that you can see the characters behind them.

Heart Eyes is the latest from the Werewolves Within and Scare Me director. The new film, fit for the holiday, trails a serial killer slicing and dicing through couples every Valentine’s Day. It’s Year 3, and the marauder has moved from Boston to Philly to set up shop for this year’s gore soaked romance in Seattle.

Just as Ally (Olivia Holt)—still stinging from how quickly her ex moved on after their breakup—has to work with advertising fixer Jay (Mason Gooding) to right the marketing campaign she seems to have tanked beyond repair.

But when the Heart Eyes Killer mistakes the colleagues for lovebirds, a cross-city chase begins.

The script penned by Phillip Murphy (Hitman’s Wife’s Bodyguard), along with Christopher Landon (Freaky, Happy Death Day 2 U) and Michael Kennedy (Freaky, It’s a Wonderful Knife), trots out rom com tropes as often as machetes. From meet cute to grand gesture at the airport to a string of classic romcom titles worked into dialog, Heart Eyes wears its influences on its sleeve.

The glossy “the city is its own character” filming, the amiable chemistry between Holt and Gooding, and their unreasonable good looks center the romance, but Ruben does not go light on the gore. Nor is he skimpy with comedy, although he can’t seem to settle on a tone for the humor. He veers from witty to broadly comedic to gallows and back, leaving the film feeling slightly haphazard.

Heart Eyes is also drawn out a bit too long. The finale, though plenty bloody, feels more forced than satisfying. But it’s a fun, gory, sweetly romantic waste of time, just like Valentine’s Day.

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Past Tense

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I’m Still Here

by Hope Madden

Walter Salles’s beautifully understated true story I’m Still Here benefits from a powerful central performance, a poignant naturalism, and the timeless truth that dictatorships offer only cruel injustice.

Salles (The Motorcycle Diaries) adapts friend Marcelo Paiva’s book, written to record the life of his iconic mother as her memories faded due to Alzheimer’s. Paiva’s mother, Eunice Paiva, is brought to life with deeply felt humanity and power by Oscar nominee Fernanda Torres.

As the film opens, Eunice floats in the ocean, her five children on Ipanema beach nearby. A military chopper breaks her peace. Her older daughters play volleyball, her younger daughter plays in the stand, her one son, Marcelo (Guilherme Silveira) nabs a stray puppy and, knowing that his mother would deny him the pet, runs home to convince his sweetly indulgent father, Rubens (Selton Mello).

Many films present a wholesome, loving family unit in Act 1 so that the tragedies of Act 2 hit harder. But for Salles and the onscreen Paivas, the investment in this family time grounds every moment after. There’s genuine joy, bonds between and among family members that ring true and continue to ring until the final credits roll some 137 minutes later.

In 1971, shortly after Christmas, Rubens Paiva was taken from their home by Brazil’s military dictatorship. Like thousands of other Brazilians, he was “disappeared”. The balance of I’m Still Here participates in Eunice’s struggles in his absence.

Salles and Torres sidestep sentimentality at every turn. The graceful direction and formidable central performance pull you through every day—Eunice’s own arrest, fear for her children, her inability to even access the family’s bank accounts without her husband’s signature or a death certificate, and her aching worry and fear for Rubens.

We flash forward twice: once to the day, years after Eunice Paiva’s gotten her law degree and devoted her life to social justice, that Rubens’s death certificate is finally handed to her. When asked by the press whether it made sense to focus on Brazil’s ugly past when there was so much else fighting for attention, Paiva responded clearly that it was imperative. When government criminals go unpunished, they learn that their heinous acts are acceptable.

Parallels to our current climate certainly invest I’m Still Here with a particularly nightmarish urgency.  The timeline spreads the tale too thin, but it’s done to honor Eunice Paiva, whose strength in the face of right wing dictators inspires awe.