Sometimes a fun horror movie needs to become a fun action movie if you really hope to have a franchise. At least, a PG13 franchise. That’s clearly Gerard Johnstone’s thinking with M3GAN 2.0
Co-writing this time with M3GAN scribes Akela Cooper and James Wan, Johnstone imagines a future where the tech that fueled a bloodthirsty doll has been stolen and put to use as a weapon called Amelia (Ivanna Sakhno).
Amelia sets her murderous sights on the architect of her AI, Gemma (Allison Williams)—which, in turn, puts young Cady (Violet McGraw) in peril. Guess it’s time to dust off last year’s model.
So, in the same way that the old T-800 helped John and Sarah Connor save the world from Terminator 2, M3GAN (Jenna Davis voice, Amie Donald body) has to help humanity survive Amelia.
Johnstone and team do abandon the horror in favor of action, but the comic tone remains, thankfully. Even before we’re graced with M3GAN’s gallows wit, Johnstone’s fellow Kiwi and comedic treasure Jemaine Clement joins the cast as a billionaire philanthro-capitalist and easy mark.
Clement is a hoot, and soon enough, the dark wit that made M3GAN so much fun is back, and secured safely in the body of a child’s toy. But if they really are going to do battle with hew new model, upgrades will be needed.
Plenty of self-aware dialog inches the film more clearly toward comedy than the original, which wore its own dark humor with a little more nuance. 2.0 is definitely going for laughs alongside its thrills, helping to elevate scenes burdened with exposition.
The plot gets convoluted and silly, the message about AI holds no water at all, and Amelia’s true purpose is always beside the point, never driving the narrative. And abandoning horror entirely is a bit of a disappointment.
I love Max’s unapologetic nature. Writer/director James Villeneuve’s spare feature Pins & Needles shares an adventure with a biology major and insulin-dependent diabetic who has no Fs to give. The result is a nice change of pace from “likable female leads.”
Max (Chelsea Clark) is leaving her biology field trip early, mainly because she’s not about to ride several hours back to campus with her “don’t be mad” lab partner, John. Because she is mad. And she’s not thrilled with Harold (Daniel Gravelle), even though he’s volunteered to give her a lift. She’s especially irritated when he picks up a buddy along the way, chooses an off-the-map route to avoid drug sniffing police, and gets a flat.
What Pins & Needles does in Act 1 is slightly revise the traditional road trip horror story in that it gives us a lead who doesn’t care if anyone—audience included—likes her. Everything else, from the medical frailty to the isolated home to the suspiciously friendly homeowners, is straight out of the genre playbook, though.
For the film to proceed, you need a reason that Max doesn’t just bolt while she can. Well, it’s that pesky insulin, an obstacle that certainly feels convenient and telegraphed, but honest enough.
What matters is that Clark and the homeowners, Emily (Kate Corbett) and Frank (Ryan McDonald) keep it interesting and sometimes wickedly funny back at the house.
Villeneuve’s medical horror contrasts the genuine needs of ordinary people (Max’s insulin) with the diabolical excess of obscene wealth (what’s going on in that basement). The commentary might feel heavy handed were it not for the sharp comic instincts of both Corbett and McDonald. The film itself is by no means a comedy, but the absurdity the actors bring to this glibly privileged pair of villains gives Pins & Needles a bright tension rather than the grimy feel a movie this gory might carry.
The plots needed some complications. This feels like a short film padded to feature length, and a couple of the lengthening pieces (particularly a dream sequence) don’t fit well. A solid b-story would have added needed depth, but there are some tense and satisfying moments to be had.
Get to know Dale Dickey. There is nobody else like her in film or TV, and what she brings to a role is grit and authenticity that can be heartbreaking or frightening. In the case of filmmaker Karl R. Hearne’s The G, it’s a bit of both.
Dickey plays Ann, known to her step-granddaughter Emma (Romane Denis, Slaxx) as The G. She smokes a lot, drinks vodka by the bottle, and has a tough time returning her invalid husband’s affection. Until a sketchy doctor tells a scheming judge the couple can’t care for themselves, and before either can change out of their PJs, their new custodian has them locked in a cheerless room with no access to the outside world.
It’s like I Care a Lot, J Blakeson’s 2020 thriller about the organized, legal business of preying on the elderly. Except The G takes place in a depressed small town where the stakes are lower and the lives considerably less glamorous. But the fantasy is still the same.
Because The G has connections and skills her new facility leadership doesn’t expect.
Dickey is, characteristically, understated, gravely perfection as the wrong granny to cross, but Hearne is not in this for comedy. This is no Thelma. The G mines a horrifying reality of disposable people for indie thrills without abandoning the tragedy at the film’s center.
A plucky Denis and the balance of the supporting cast populates this bleak town with low-rent hoods, smalltown gangsters, sleazy opportunists, and cowards. Hearne complicates the slow boiler without losing the threads or the sense of realism.
There are one or two lapses in logic, but at least as many welcome surprises. The G boasts a tight script and a director who knows how to showcase a lead. And Dickey takes advantage, from the drunken joy of Ann’s face bathed in the artificial light of a bulb she managed to change, to her pitiless growl, “He might last a day out here. Maybe less.”
Dickey’s a treasure, and one filmmakers are finally, truly recognizing. Her finest moment might have been Max Walker-Silverman’s lyrical A Love Song, but Dale Dickey delivers no matter the role.
Few films, animated or otherwise, breathe the rarified air of Pixar’s best. The animation giant has turned out an alarming number of outright masterpieces: Toy Story, WALL-E, Up!, Toy Story 3, Inside Out. Their second tier is better than nearly every other animated film you’ll come across. The originality, humanity, and visual magic on display in these films is so superior to anything else out there, it becomes an almost impossible standard to bear.
Pixar’s latest effort, Elio, tells the sweet story of a lonesome orphan who wants desperately to believe that “we are not alone.” Elio inadvertently casts himself as leader of earth and invites aliens to abduct him. They accept.
Elio’s writing team includes Julia Cho, who penned the charming Turning Red, and Mike Jones, whose Soul rightfully took 2021’s Oscar for Best Animated Feature. The directing team includes Turning Red’s Domee Shi and Coco’s Adrian Molina. That’s a solid team, one fully aware of the wondrous possibilities of animation and family friendly storytelling.
And they do tell a lovely story. As Elio (Yonas Kibreab) finally finds a friend in galactic warlord Grigon’s (Brad Garrett) son Glordon (Remy Edgerly), he also realizes that he might have liked his Auntie (Zoe Saldaña) more than he thought.
Once Elio is space bound, the film brightens. The inhabitants of the Communiverse are delightfully oddball. There’s brightly colored fun to be had. But Act I doesn’t dig deep enough into Elio’s relationship with his auntie to give the film real stakes, so the emotional center that creates the Pixar gravitational pull is never as strong as it is in their best efforts.
The story beats also lack the freshness of the best Pixar has to offer. Still, a first-contact film that retails a childlike wonder about what lies beyond the stars without resenting what waits at home is a rare thing.
Nearly a quarter century ago (!!), director Danny Boyle and writer Alex Garland unleashed the genre masterpiece 28 Days Later. Smart, prescient, with a broken human heart and 113 minutes of sheer terror, it changed the “zombie” genre forever with living, breathing, running, rampaging humans infected by a rage virus.
Original as it was, there was still a little Romero in there. You might not have seen it with the racing beasts, but Boyle and Garland understood what Romero knew all along—it’s organized human authority you need to really worry about.
Boyle’s film was followed in 2003 with a fine, if mean spirited, sequel, but the Oscar winning director returns for 28 Years Later. So does Garland (Ex Machina, Annihilation, Men, Civil War), who’s gone on to be one of the most interesting filmmakers of our time.
They pick up the story 28 years after the rage virus hits London. Onscreen text tells us that continental Europe was able to turn back the virus and keep it from spreading globally, but the islands that were once the UK are, and will forevermore be, quarantined. No one leaves. Not ever.
We’re dropped into a small Scottish highland community where 12-year-old Spike (Alfie Williams) is about to go on his first mainland hunt with his father, Jamie (Aaron Taylor-Johnson). They’ll cross a bridge only passable during low tide, which means 4 hours to get back or it’s an overnighter on the big island full of the infected—which includes some mutations we didn’t worry about 28 years back—and the uninfected, who can be worse.
Wisely, Garland and Boyle anchor the film with family drama. Plucky Williams makes for a great hero, his arc from innocent to survivor both heartbreaking and impressive. A supporting cast including Jodie Comer and the great Ralph Feinnes enhances that tender drama. But what’s missing are the scares.
As Romero’s zombie films developed, so did his monsters. By Land of the Dead, they had their own leaders, their own families, their own kind of consciousness. The zombies were evolving around and without us. It was interesting, but it wasn’t scary. Likewise, 28 Years Later conjures beasts that have evolved into their own kind of society, and while it’s clever, it lacks the visceral terror of both previous installments. There’s also a lot of dubious science afoot.
The film’s opening and closing segments promise something meaner and more mischievous in upcoming sequels. (There are three films in this second part of the series, and the next installment—28 Years Later: The Bone Temple, directed by Nia DaCosta—is in post-production now.)
Maybe the bar set by the original is simply too high for any sequel to meet. 28 Days Later remains one of the scariest films ever made. Circling back to see how humanity’s getting along a generation later is interesting, sometimes gorgeous, awfully bloody, and frequently very sweet. It’s just not very scary.
Way back in 1988, legendary practical FX and make up genius Stan Winston directed his first feature film, Pumpkinhead. In it, a grieving father (Lance Henriksen) awakens an unstoppable evil to avenge his terrible tragedy.
The film remains effective because it is so genuinely heartbreaking. Winston, who also co-wrote, understands the unreasonable, destructive nature of grief, and that is what every frame in the film depicts.
Fast forward nearly 40 years, and veteran music video director Colin Tilley shapes Elisa Victoria and Michael Tully’s similarly themed script Eye for an Eye into something like Pumpkinhead lite.
Still reeling from the car wreck that took her parents, Anna (Whitney Peak, Gossip Girl) moves in with Grandma May (S. Epatha Merkerson, Chicago Med) in the Florida bayou. Grandma’s blind, but behind those big, dark glasses is evidence of something cursed, something supernatural. And now that Anna has gotten mixed up with a couple of locals who bullied the wrong kid, she might be cursed as well.
What works: some really believable performances almost salvage the film. Reeves has an understated, shell-shocked approach that slows down reactions, giving proceedings a dreamy quality while ensuring audiences keep up with plot twists.
Both Laken Giles and Finn Bennett veer outside of cliché as the nogoodnik townies Anna takes up with. And veteran Merkerson elevates the villain-in-waiting grandmother character with endearing bursts of humor.
Everything that works in the film delivers a YA drama. Three lost teens, one finding her way, the other two already poisoned by circumstances, face the music after an ugly incident.
But Eye for an Eye is a horror movie. And besides Grandma May’s empty stare, nothing genre related works. The confused Freddy Krueger-esque mythology feels Scotch-taped onto an indie drama.
Nightmare sequences are weak, backstory feels convenient and of another film entirely. The production values impress, giving creepy bayou vibes that emphasize the horror. But conjuring both Pumpkinhead and A Nightmare on Elm St. sets a very high bar for an indie horror flick, and Eye for an Eye can’t deliver on that promise.
The family that slays together stays together, isn’t that what they say? That was certainly a lot of the fun in Ready or Not, You’re Next, Frightmare and more. But what are the best examples of horrific families working together in horror movies? Brandon Thomas joins George with the full list!
5. The Hills Have Eyes (1977)
Wes Craven’s original Hills – cheaply made and poorly acted – is a surprisingly memorable, and even more surprisingly alarming flick. Craven’s early career is marked by a contempt for both characters and audience, and his first two horror films ignored taboos, mistreating everyone on screen and in the theater. In the style of Deliverance meets Mad Max, Hills was an exercise in pushing the envelope, and it owes what lasting popularity it has to its shocking violence and Michael Berryman’s nightmarish mug.
The Hills Have Eyes is not for the squeamish. People are raped, burned alive, eaten alive, eaten dead, and generally ill-treated.
In fact, Craven’s greatest triumph is in creating tension via a plot device so unreasonably gruesome no audience would believe a film could go through with it. The freaks kidnap a baby with plans to eat her. But by systematically crushing taboo after taboo, the unthinkable becomes plausible, and the audience grows to fear that the baby will actually be eaten. It’s not the kind of accomplishment you’d want to share with your mom, but in terms of genre control, it is pretty good.
4. Frailty (2001)
Director Paxton stars as a widowed country dad awakened one night with an epiphany. He understands now that he and his sons have been called by God to kill demons.
Frailty manages to subvert every horror film expectation by playing right into them.
Brent Hanley’s sly screenplay evokes such nostalgic familiarity – down to a Dukes of Hazzard reference – and Paxton’s direction makes you feel entirely comfortable in these common surroundings. Then the two of them upend everything – repeatedly – until it’s as if they’ve challenged your expectations, biases, and your own childhood to boot.
Paxton crafts a morbidly compelling tale free from irony, sarcasm, or judgment and full of darkly sympathetic characters. It’s a surprisingly strong feature directorial debut from a guy who once played a giant talking turd.
3. Where the Devil Roams (2023)
There is macabre beauty in every frame of Where the Devil Roams, the latest offbeat horror from the Adams family. The film was co-directed and co-written by its three lead actors – Toby Poser, John Adams and Zelda Adams – who are also a family. ike their earlier efforts, Where the Devil Roams concerns itself with life on the fringes, rock music, and the family dynamic.
The ensemble convinces, particularly the sideshow performers, but the film’s most enduring charm is its vintage portrait look. It’s a gorgeous movie, the filmmakers creating the beautifully seedy atmosphere ideal to the era and setting.
Where the Devil Roams feels expansive and open, but like anything else in the sideshow, that’s all trickery. There’s more happening in this film than they let on, which is why the final act feels simultaneously “a ha!” and “WTF?!” You won’t see it coming, but in retrospect, it was there all along.
2. We Are What We Are (2010)
Give writer/director Jorge Michel Grau credit, he took a fresh approach to the cannibalism film. In a quiet opening sequence, a man dies in a mall. It happens that this is a family patriarch and his passing leaves the desperately poor family in shambles. While their particular quandary veers spectacularly from expectations, there is something primal and authentic about it.
It’s as if a simple relic from a hunter-gatherer population evolved separately but within the larger urban population, and now this little tribe is left without a leader. An internal power struggle begins to determine the member most suited to take over as the head of the household, and therefore, there is some conflict and competition – however reluctant – over who will handle the principal task of the patriarch: that of putting meat on the table.
The family dynamic is fascinating, every glance weighted and meaningful, every closed door significant. Grau draws eerie, powerful performances across the board, and forever veers in unexpected directions.
1. The Texas Chain Saw Massacre (1974)
It is around the dinner table that a guest gets to see the true family dynamics. Sally Hardesty’s getting a good look. Like a really close up, veiny eyed look.
The family meal is the scene that grounds Tobe Hooper’s 1974 masterpiece. Suddenly it’s a family with a lived-in vibe and a backstory. And another person’s face. And a metal basin and a nearly mummified old man.
We’ve met the brothersk. Edwin Neal’s already had his chance to nab the spotlight in the van, and of course Gunnar Hansen’s the star of the show. But at the table, the cook, Jim Siedow, gets to dig in and create an unforgettable character.
Just two years ago, filmmaker Celine Song produced a breathtakingly original romance movies in Past Lives. With that film, she delivered a love triangle of sorts where no character felt cliched, no choice felt obvious, and every moment felt achingly true.
Now she sets her sights on something decidedly more mainstream, but that only makes her instinct for inverting cinematic cliché in search of authenticity that much more impressive.
Lucy (Dakota Johnson) is a skilled matchmaker at a high-end Manhattan boutique. When she attends the wedding of clients she introduced, she runs into her ex, John (Chris Evans). He’s handsome, thoughtful, clearly into her, and he’s catering. Actually, he’s a waiter working for the caterer.
Lucy also meets the groom’s brother, Harry (Pedro Pascal). In the parlance of Lucy’s profession, Harry is a unicorn: handsome, wealthy, smart, and single.
Immediately, we know this movie. Lucy’s job is to broker relationships. Check boxes. Create partnerships. And the film is going to teach her that a good match can’t hold a candle to the unruly nature of love.
It has been done to death. But the path Song takes to get there, and the insights and realities she explores along the route, never cease to fascinate.
Characters use the words value and risk a lot, terms that have a specific meaning in business but actually mean something quite different in the human setting. It’s interesting, in a society where women have agency and financial means, how different the vocabulary of love can be. Listening to women turn men into commodities, ordering as if from a buffet or build-a-bear, is simultaneously funny and horrifying.
Of course, Lucy has men for clients, too, and Song is quick to remind us of the entrenched language of objectification and conquest. And the different definitions of risk.
She also never asks us to root against anyone. Harry’s a gem. John’s a good dude. The one person whose flaws are explored is Lucy, and Johnson’s reflective, quiet delivery is characteristically on point, allowing those flaws to draw us closer to the character.
Materialists isn’t perfect, and to a degree, Song submits too much to formula. But the way she works within those confines is often magical.
