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Messy Inheritence

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The Demon Disorder

by Hope Madden

A number of fine genre films have struggled through the particular horror of dealing with a parent in decline. The change in a loved one’s personality can seem horrific, and the specter of your own possible future is terrifying.

Natalie Erika James’s 2020 generational horror Relic tackled the subject with grace and dread. Fellow Aussie Steven Boyle sees something more monstrous in the family curse with is first feature as a director, The Demon Disorder.

Graham Reilly (Christian Willis) is reluctant to return to his family home, but older brother Jake (Dirk Hunter) says their youngest sibling, Phillip (Charles Cottier), needs help. The fact that Jake looks like a pirate left behind weeks ago on a desert island does not bode well for the shape of the younger brother back home.

Jake also says that Dad (John Noble) is back.

The entire film takes place in just two locations—a mechanic’s garage and a rundown family home—but Boyle gets plenty of traction out of those spots. The chemistry among the brothers feels strained but authentic, and their performances go a long way toward elevating a story that never feels fully realized.

The main event—and the biggest differentiator between The Demon Disorder­ and other films of this kind—involves some pretty impressive practical effects. Boyle’s film boasts three different globulous monsters—nasty beasties that make you want to reach for the disinfectant.

Possession film/body horror/creature feature is an enticing combination. In truth, the three don’t really fit that well together here. Eliminating the Christian symbolism might have streamlined this meandering script, but a lack of depth in the storytelling would still have shown its ugly, blobby, viscous face.

The monsters are cool, though.

But Boyle—who’s built a career on makeup design and creature FX—plays to his strengths and delivers a fun, DIY creature feature while he’s at it.

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Cosmic Revenge

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The Paragon

by Rachel Willis

Dutch (Benedict Wall) is pissed off. The victim of a hit and run, he’s had nothing but bad luck since that day. When you feel like your life is falling apart, what’s a person to do?

In writer/director Michael Duignan comic oddity The Paragon, the answer is to learn how to become psychic in pursuit of revenge.

Dutch’s indignation at being hit by a car (a silver Toyota Corolla) and left for dead bleeds into the rest of his life in often hilarious ways. He obsesses over small things—like people who ride unicycles but are not in the circus—ranting to a wife who is tired of listening.

Duignan and Wall do a wonderful job making Dutch an interesting character—fun to watch, even as his bitterness dogs him. When he begins his psychic training with Lyra (Florence Noble), you’re eager to see what happens next. Noble is the perfect foil to Wall’s emotional outbursts. The film’s straight woman, she excels at playing off Wall in ways that help define each character. This is a mismatched duo if there ever was one, and it keeps the humor flowing.

The film has a lot of fun playing with Dutch’s anger and the absurdity of his quest. Throw in the oddball character Haxan (Jonny Brugh), and the movie only gets funnier. Not taking itself too seriously is what allows this weird movie to work so well.

Duignan keeps the film from flying too far off the rails. The Paragon never feels weird for weirdness’s sake. Each element fits nicely into Dutch’s unusual journey.

The part of the film that doesn’t work quite as well is the length of time spent during Dutch’s attempts to harness his psionic power. While it’s a lot of fun, it’s also time that might have been better served deepening Lyra’s character.

But this is a film that enjoys exploring the “what might have beens” of life and keeps you hooked while it does.

Uncategorized

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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Lost in Elevation

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Peak Season

by Matt Weiner

With the passing of M. Emmet Walsh this year, it might be time to update Roger Ebert’s (Harry Dean) Stanton-Walsh Rule—that no movie featuring either actor can be altogether bad—to include a living guidepost. And there are few more apt candidates than Fred Melamed.

Thankfully, Peak Season, which features a brief but memorable turn from the veteran character actor, is much better than “not altogether bad.” The second feature from directors Steven Kanter and Henry Loevner takes a familiar romantic premise to welcome new heights.

Amy (Claudia Restrepo) is a fish out of water in more ways than one as she enjoys a brief vacation away from New York to spend the 4th of July holiday at Jackson Hole, Wyoming. She is staying with her well-to-do fiancé Max (Ben Coleman) at his uncle’s opulent vacation home. But after a family friend (Melamed) gets the couple fishing lessons as a welcome gift, she finds herself more in sync with the vibes of Loren (Derrick DeBlasis), a fly fishing guide, restaurant dishwasher, part-time landscaper, and whatever else pays the bills so he can fish and hike the Tetons.

When Max has to return to the city for a work crisis, Amy seeks out Loren as a stark contrast to the Silicon Valley-types Max left her with. His life trajectory is the total opposite of Amy’s—her career as a well-paid but burnt out management consultant pleases her immigrant mother, but she lights up at Loren’s unburdened joy. Or at least the appearance of ease, as we learn there are some downsides to living out of a Jeep without health insurance while pursuing vigorous physical activities.

Max bounces in and out of town, oblivious to Amy’s gnawing uncertainties and focused more on work and video calls than Amy’s casual mentions that she’s been spending a good deal of time with a ruggedly handsome stranger.

Amy’s soul-searching is comfortable territory for romantic dramedy, but Peak Season has two major advantages. First, there’s Grand Teton and the Wyoming scenery. It’s easy to see how the town became one big dude ranch to the wealthy, which Peak Season hammers home to great effect with numerous hard cuts between the struggling local workforce like Loren and the urban cowboys who rely on them as set dressing to live out their own fantasies of a life that could’ve gone differently, if only.

Second, there’s the fully earned chemistry between Amy and Loren. Even as the story relies on some emotional shortcuts to save time on character development, the two are fully realized by Restrepo and DeBlasis.

For those who wrap up every vacation in a new place with a score of Zillow links for unaffordable homes in unaffordable neighborhoods, there’s a wistful comfort to be found in Peak Season. But when you ask yourself “How did I get here,” just know that you might not like the answer.

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Sins of the Father

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Betrayal

by Brandon Thomas

Thrillers wrapped in a healthy dose of family drama make me anxious. Issues with your parents, siblings, or other members of the family can be stressful enough without throwing in murder and betrayal. Although, having to listen to your uncle’s political takes at Thanksgiving can be pretty scary too.

Betrayal’s opening scene sees three brothers (Brian Vernel of Star Wars: The Force Awakens, Daniel Portman of Game of Thrones, and Calum Ross of Wednesday) shoot their sadistic father (Paul Higgins of In the Loop) and leave him for dead in a shallow grave in the woods. Short flashbacks show that the brothers had endured years of mental and physical abuse at the hands of their father. As the brothers return to the remote spot where they buried their father, they find the grave empty and also begin to suspect each other and their motives and secrets. 

Betrayal is wrought with tension and suspense from the opening scene. Without sharing the brothers’ horrific past, director Rodger Griffiths injects enough subtle unease and strife between the characters that you instantly understand something is wrong. It’s a level of suspense that never goes away – it only changes as different layers are pulled back as the film approaches its brutal climax. 

Griffiths wryly plays with the “is he or isn’t he” question of whether the father is actually dead. This isn’t Diabolique where that question is central to the overall story. No, the mystery of the father’s ultimate fate is a catalyst to jumpstart violent conflict between the brothers. It’s a clever spin that keeps the audience on an emotional rollercoaster of anxiety and fear. You want the brothers to persevere, but what if in some ways they’re ultimately as monstrous as the father they want dead? 

Higgins steals the show as the family’s brutal patriarch. He plays him as a villain through and through. This guy isn’t a conflicted father dealing with his own trauma and insecurity. No, he relishes putting his sons and wife in their place. He needs to remind them of his position at the head of the family, and he does so with his fists and his words, which sometimes do even more damage. 

Fans of brutal revenge films will find a lot to like with Betrayal. With solid direction, an excellent cast, and a script that throws in some nice surprises, this thriller is one to seek out.

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Feed My Frankenstein

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AfrAId

by Hope Madden

Artificial intelligence is scary. Mary Shelley knew it. When you create something smarter than you are, with an endless ability to learn, you don’t just become obsolete. You risk becoming a slave.

Writer/director Chris Weitz is the latest to spin the story for its scary implications, although the weekly titled AfrAId is more thriller than horror.  

Good guy Curtis (John Cho—who’s had tech unravel his world once already in 2018’s Searching) is pressured by his overbearing boss (Keith Carradine) to take a new client’s product home for a bit.

The company’s IAI—a kind of superpowered Alexa—immediately ingratiates itself by convincing the kids to do the dishes and watch an educational documentary and giving Curtis and his wife Meredith (Katherine Waterston) some alone time.

In the blink of the surveillance camera’s eye, the buttery voiced AI has befriended each of Curtis and Meredith’s children—Iris (Lukita Maxwell), high school senior with an emotionally manipulative boyfriend; Preston (Wyatt Lindner), the middle schooler struggling to make friends; and wee Cal (crazy cute Isaac Bae).

Well, this AI is a godsend! Which, of course, is entirely and pretty obviously inaccurate. Weitz’s screenplay reflects societal anxieties effectively enough but there’s no center to it, no “but why?” explanation.

Terminator had that. Frankenstein had it, too. It’s a curious omission and without it, the film collapses on itself.

The cast elevates every scene. They are, top to bottom, first rate and the film boasts an always welcome David Dastmalchian sighting. The smooth performances and easy chemistry onscreen heighten tensions, and Weitz does make a narrative choice that feels like a grim surprise. But it’s not enough to make AfrAId one that stays with you.

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Pollinator and Predator

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The Wasp

by Hope Madden

There’s something about a two person show.

Yes, there are more actors in The Wasp than just Natalie Dormer and Naomie Harris, and each one of them—Olivia Juno Cleverly, Leah Mondesir-Simmonds, Dominic Allburn—does a fine job. But Guillem Morales’s thriller is more than anything a suspenseful showcase for two remarkable talents.

Harris plays Heather, an elegant, wealthy, unhappily married woman. Carla (Dormer)—pregnant with her fourth child, married to a gambler, making ends meet with a cashier gig and whatever other cash she can pick up—is suspicious and reluctant but desperate enough for cash to agree to meet with her old classmate. Not that she and Heather were friends back at school.

Heather has a proposition. You may be able to guess what that is even if you haven’t seen the trailer. You can also guess that there’s more to it than meets the eye. Indeed, there’s a chance you’ll figure out the twists as they come up. Maybe not. Either way, Harris and Dormer will draw you in and leave you marked.

Morgan Lloyd Malcolm’s screenplay plays with expectations in a number of ways, obscuring the label of protagonist and antagonist. The ground shifts beneath you as frequently as it does the characters. And it wouldn’t work, you wouldn’t buy it as easily as you do, were it not for these performances.

Harris, and Oscar nominee for 2016’s Moonlight, delivers a nuanced, brittle performance that keeps you off center. Dormer is a revelation. Angry, apathetic, vulnerable, desperate—in her hands, Carla is a survivor more resigned than resilient. She’s less afraid to hope than she is pissed off about it.

Dormer also finds moments of humor to humanize the character, moments Morales uses to let the audience breathe. Whatever its dramatic contrivances, and there are a few, the success of The Wasp boils down to riveting, believable performances that command your attention.

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Underdog Day Afternoon

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You Gotta Believe

by George Wolf

On the heels of last weekend’s Little League World Series championship (congrats, Florida!) comes You Gotta Believe, a generically titled, broadly brushed “based on true events” story of one of the most memorable runs in LLWS history.

It’s 2002, and Texas Dads Jon Kelly (Greg Kinnear) and Bobby Ratliff (Luke Wilson) are coaching the worst Little League team in Fort Worth, when they get an unlikely offer. To keep the local sponsors happy, Kliff Young (Patrick “You’re killin’ me, Smalls!” Renna, the first of a few callbacks to better baseball movies) has to send one team to the LLWS qualifying tournament…so whaddya say?

What could possibly turn these cellar dwellers into the Good News Bears? Thanks to writer Lane Garrison and director Ty Roberts, it’s a mix of some tragically bad news, and one shamelessly bad trope.

Coach Ratliff is diagnosed with aggressive melanoma skin cancer, giving his son Robert (Michael Cash) and the rest of the team what local card shop owner Sam (Martin Roach) says they lack: something to rally behind. Sam, apparently the only African American in town, also quickly turns the team’s pitcher into an ace. And though he doesn’t get a coaching offer, Sam still comes to the games to cheer for the boys while seeming to interact with absolutely no one else.

Magical? No, it’s crap.

As the “Westside All Stars” start winning, Garrison and Roberts keep the film perched on the edges of the faith-based genre. But while the preaching here is minimized, there is that familiar feeling of an audience being taken for granted. There’s little concern for depth or character development (Wilson doesn’t even pretend to go bald during his character’s courageous fight with chemo), an awkward singalong sequence, and a wait for authentic humanity that only ends when the real-life players show up in an epilogue.

Over 20 years ago, these Texas kids had an inspiring run in the face of tragedy, and since then have shown a commitment to cancer research. The story at the heart of You Gotta Believe is worthy. It’s just a shame that the storytelling thinks demanding we believe is all that’s required.

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Feeding Frenzy

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Out Come the Wolves

by Hope Madden

Predator and prey. Alpha and beta. Necessary and expendable. Writer/director Adam MacDonald puts these ideas into perspective with his latest thriller, Out Come the Wolves.

MacDonald returns to the woods, where he’s long wrought havoc (Pyewacket, Backcountry). In this forest, Sophie (MacDonald’s regular collaborator Missy Peregrym) is hoping her childhood best friend Kyle (Joris Jarsky) can teach her big city boyfriend Nolan (Damon Runyan) how to hunt.

Nolan’s a writer planning an article on the experience, but he’s also eager to meet Sophie’s dear friend to get acquainted and maybe gauge the competition.

MacDonald’s cinematic bread and butter has been the small cast, big woods, test of the survival instinct. In Backcountry it was a bear; in Pyewacket, a demon. The title here probably gives away the antagonist this go-round, but MacDonald has more in store for us than just a couple of hungry wolves.

Though small cast plus limited location generally equals low budget, Out Come the Wolves boasts impressive production values. Interiors, though slightly hokey and sometimes obvious, develop tension with claustrophobic close ups. MacDonald also takes this first (mainly interior) act to set up the gender politics at work, something he plays off of well in the coming outdoor adventure.

Jarsky delivers the most believable performance, one fraught with roiling emotions and conflicting goals. Runyan is slightly hamstrung by the underwritten “big city guy” role, but he finds a nice balance between smug and vulnerable, insecure and earnest.

Peregrym’s third act makes her first act easier to stomach. She’s saddled early on with a bad dance scene and unrealistic levels of emotional ignorance. It’s not Peregrym’s fault—the writing team (MacDonal and Jarsky along with Enuka Okuma) unable to craft a realistic character is to blame. And Peregrym does what she can, but it’s not until the final third of the film that she gets any opportunity to shine.

It’s still not a very convincing character, but the performance elevates the script.

Out Come the Wolves has some obvious ideas on its mind. It takes those ideas in tense, often interesting directions buoyed by Jarsky’s performance, in particular.

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Time to Quit Without Notice

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First Shift

by Daniel Baldwin

We all have filmmakers whose works we actively seek out. Even those of us who only watch a few new movies a year. For many it’s Steven Spielberg, Christopher Nolan, or Martin Scorsese. For others, it’s John Carpenter, Jordan Peele, or Sam Raimi. These are names that are marks of quality, style, and substance. They are names that say, “Hey, you’re about to watch something good.”

They’re also names that frequently have (or had) solid financial resources at their disposal. This, of course, is not always the case for filmmakers. Some often have little to work with, but often manage to carve out a noticeable career anyway. Some have excelled at this level, others have not. Cinephiles know such filmmakers in both categories. People like Russ Meyer, Albert Pyun, Andy Sidaris, and Jim Wynorski. And yes, Ed Wood and Uwe Boll too. Since 2003’s House of the Dead, Boll has made a name for himself as king of “tax shelter trash cinema”. He’s even built up a following, much like the others listed above.

Mr. Boll has fans who celebrate his works from Alone in the Dark to BloodRayne to the aforementioned  Dead. They exist and unfortunately even they will derive little enjoyment from his latest endeavor, First Shift. A New York City-set crime drama, First Shift is a mismatched buddy cop thriller that pairs a seasoned NYPD officer (Gino Anthony Pesi) with a super-green rookie from Atlanta (Kristen Renton) on a single hellish 12-hour shift that pits the against, among other things, the mob.

Boll wrote, produced, and directed First Shift, which is very evident as one watches the film unfold, as he is the problem at its core. The assumption now might be that he has conjured up another “trashterpiece” like Seed, Postal, or Rampage. That’s what has fans crossing their fingers whenever he gets behind the camera again. I wish I could tell those fans that he has done just that here, but I cannot. Barely any Boll-isms are on display here. Instead, the viewer is offered a poorly written and poorly directed cop thriller that dishes out little in the way of thrills, chills, or chuckles. The cast try their best to elevate the material – kudos to them for that – but it’s not enough to keep First Shift from being a bland, inept, and authorless affair.

Every movie made is a minor miracle, but not all miracles are good. First Shift is for completists only. All others should perhaps skip this Boll and watch a Meyer, Pyun, or Sidaris cult classic instead.