HATCHET III

Stars: Danielle Harris, Kane Hodder, Zach Galligan, Caroline Williams, Parry Shen, Robert Diago DoQui, Derek Mears, Rileah Vanderbilt and Jason Trost.
Writer: Adam Green
Director: BJ McDonnell

Rating: 3/5

Finding a comfortable middle-ground between the jokey tone of the first instalment and the overly grim milieu of its sequel, the third chapter in the gruesome adventures of vengeful spirit Victor Crowley is a cartoonish splatter-fest for hardcore fans of the genre.

The tone is set in a pre-credit sequence that picks up exactly where #2 concluded. Heroine Marybeth (archetypal final-girl Danielle Harris) is putting what she believes to be the finishing touches to her nemesis, Louisiana hillbilly-demon Crowley (series fave Kane Hodder). She stumbles out of the Honey island Swamp and into the Jefferson Parish Police Department, where Sheriff Fowler (Gremlin’s Zach Galligan) takes her blood-splattered visage (and the fact that she is carrying a human scalp) as reason enough to suspect her of the carnage she claims to have witnessed.

Deputies and paramedics dispatched to the scene soon fall foul of the resurrected Crowley, who favours the titular tool but is not above using his boot heel, a tree trunk or bare hands to do his bloody bidding. The sheriff and a SWAT unit (where they materialised from is never clear) face off against Crowley; Marybeth, Deputy Winslow (Robert Diago DoQui) and Amanda (Caroline Williams), a journalist with a passion for the Crowley legend make their own way to the bayou with what may prove to be the secret to ending Crowley’s spree for good.

Writer Adam Green hands the directorial reins over to BJ McDonnell, who graduates from his camera operator role on the first two films. The debutant lacks the style of his mentor, but he embraces the aesthetic of the 80’s slasher flicks upon which Green based his original (a minor hit theatrically, finding most of its fanbase on DVD). Adding to the melancholy sense of retro-fun is some earnest, over-wrought thesping, a cast rich in B-horror identities (including a loopy cameo by the great Sid Haig) and nonsensical plotting designed to serve no other purpose than get to the final confrontation.

All of which, somehow, adds up to an enjoyably daft gore-fest. The slayings are generally of the kind that inspire giggles rather than gasps; many look to be from the lower-end of the make-up effects industry that thrive on the slasher sector. Although the likes of Friday the 13^th, Halloween and Scream got respectable via studio budgets and name talent, Hatchet III more specifically recalls the output from indie outfits like Troma. Which, given the energy and thrills provided by McDonnell's bare-bones bloodbath, is perhaps exactly as it should be…

Hatchet III will screen as part of Monster Fest 2013 on Friday, November 29. Visit the website for further details. 

YOUNG DETECTIVE DEE: RISE OF THE SEA DRAGON

Stars: Mark Chao, Kun Chen, Angelababy, Shaofeng Feng, Dong Hu, Carina Lau, Lin Gengsheng.
Writers: Zhang Jialu and Tsui Hark.
Director: Tsui Hark.

Rating: 3.5/5

Though it strains ones willingness to suspend disbelief at an over-indulgent 133 minutes, action maestro Tsui Hark’s prequel to his 2010 hit is nevertheless a dazzling adventure fantasy with more than enough ‘wow’ moments to woo international audiences.

Gone is leading man Andy Lau, who stoically embodied the first incantation of the enigmatic Dee, a solid hero-figure best described as a mash-up of Sherlock Holmes and Indiana Jones with more than a dash of Eastern mysticism and inscrutability. In his place as the younger embodiment of our hero is strapping Taiwanese heart-throb Mark Chao, a suitably engaging if slightly too minimalist presence; Lau was square-jawed but with depth behind his eyes, whereas Chao appeal is slightly more superficial.

Hark and co-writer Zhang Jialu convolute a typically grand narrative structure to back up the vastness of their visuals (it is the director’s first use of stereoscopic technology, an advent that DOP Jimmy Choi grabs with obvious glee). Set 24 years before the events of the first film, …Rise of the Sea Dragon opens with the spectacular destruction of a Tang Dynasty naval armada by a largely unseen force from the ocean depths. Biding time as a mid-level investigator in the royal corp known as the Da Lisi and under the command of tough leader Zhenji (Feng Shaofeng), Dee is employed by the chilly Empress Wu Zetian (Carina Lau) to get to the briny bottom of the mystery.

But Dee and his ‘Watson’, Satuo Zhong (Lin Gengxin), are soon distracted by the sad story of virginal courtesan Ruiji Yin (Angelababy), whose true-love, tea merchant Mr Yuan (Ian Kim) had been deviously infected with a parasite that turned him into a underwater beasty (resembling part Creature from The Black Lagoon, part Dan Aykroyd’s monster-character from Twilight Zone The Movie). The plot continues to swirl off into weird and wacky directions, exemplified by the discovery that the cure-all for parasitic infection is to drink the urine of young men (don’t ask) and almost always resulting in wildly inventive wire-work action.

Hark’s film may stumble outside of its homeland in its reliance upon period iconography and a densely detailed political milieu. The Tang Dynasty was a period of enormous growth for the region (artistry, industry and sociological definition all developed at a cracking pace in 7^th Century China) and it is to the production’s credit that so much sumptuous detail is on display. But such dedication to real-world historical minutiae in a film that also features a horse that runs underwater and a Kraken-like sea-monster often results in some jarring juxtaposition; one is left wondering, ‘Should my brain be on or off now?’

Where Young Detective Dee… and the veteran filmmaker at its helm leaves nothing to doubt is in the realm of the spectacular. Easily on par with any of the effects-laden tentpoles from the LA industry of late, Tsui Hark’s finely attuned vision of epic fantasy consistently bewilders the senses.

DIANA

Stars: Naomi Watts, Naveen Andrews, Douglas Hodge, Cas Anvar, Juliet Stevenson and Charles Ewards.
Writer: Stephen Jefferys; based upon the book by Kate Snell.
Director: Oliver Hirschbiegel

Rating: 1/5

Hammering the final nail in the coffin of a tragically disrespected afterlife, the most enigmatic woman in modern history is treated to the most anaemic biopic in living memory in Oliver Hirschbiegel’s Diana.

Stumbling and stuttering through the Princess’ headline-grabbing moments and iconic fashion choices, Hirschbiegel’s camp drama unfathomably focuses upon perhaps the least interesting period in Diana’s post-Palace life – her tepid, upper-class romance with heart surgeon Hasnat Khan (a not-very engaging Naveen Andrews).

‘The People’s Princess’ is predominantly reduced to a soap-opera stereotype, the narrative plodding forward with unintentionally giggly misdirection as the two spoilt lovebirds share furtive glances, find problems to whine over and exchange the most faecal dialogue; one particular coastal sojourn represents some of 2013’s worst cinematic dramaturgy. Screenwriter Stephen Jeffreys, offering up his first script since Johnny Depp’s 2004 oddity The Libertine, seems obsessed with hagiographic overkill.

Besides there being no compelling structure to his plotting, Jeffreys’ spineless script avoids any mention of Prince Charles and Queen Elizabeth, the two personalities that allegedly had the most sinister influence over Diana’s fate; her sons William and Harry are glimpsed from afar but play no part in her on-screen story. Her fate in the Paris tunnel is hinted at but never addressed; her romance with Dodi Fayed (Cas Anvar) portrayed in the most perfunctory terms.

Moreso than any other true-life tale of late (including Soderbergh’s vastly superior Behind the Candelabra), Diana carries a weighty degree of expectation based upon both the social importance of its central figure and the burden placed upon the actress ballsy enough to embody her. Naomi Watts is an undeniably fine actress, but she never stood a chance here. Her choice to adopt a plummy, stoic tongue ensures the heavy-handed lines positively plummet from her lips to the floor; romantic pillow-talk with Andrews’ Khan is horribly flat.

And then there are just the patently odd moments that are beyond comprehension. Diana’s famous walk across mined territory is first diluted (it is revealed the ground was largely cleared before her arrival) then played for gallow laughs (the gathered paps refocus when told sometimes the clearing of mines goes wrong); Khan’s return to work after his romance with Diana is outed is met with throngs of ridiculously gawking co-workers (it’s a hospital, people!); Diana’s donning of a brunette wig just looks ridiculous.

Hirschbiegel and Jeffreys have sullied both their reputations and that of their subject. It will be an awful shame if future generations look to this and wonder what all the fuss was about regarding the Princess of Wales; as presented in this corny, convoluted soap opera, she was kind of sweet, a little naïve, a tad pretentious and occasionally plain dumb. That’s not the Diana we all know; shame on this production for making her so.  

THE DIPLOMAT HOTEL

Stars: Gretchen Barretto, Arthur Acuna, Mon Confiado, Nico Antonio, Sarah Gaugler and Joel Torre.
Writer/director: Christopher Ad Castillo 

Rating: 3/5

A gripping, tragic opening scene and some chilling, technically proficient scares in a hospital corridor set the stage for a potentially terrifying haunted house yarn in Christopher Ad Castillo’s The Diplomat Hotel.

But the Filipino auteur’s third film takes a muddled slow-paced turn into its second act, relying on some stylish though shallow atmospherics that deny a game cast of the opportunity to more fully define their characters. Castillo was clearly aiming to craft an emotionally resonant narrative within the genre, a la Kubrick’s The Shining, but instead the undeniably talented filmmaker delivers an arty riff on material more closely associated with the Corman/Castle stable (specifically, 1959’s House on Haunted Hill).

The main protagonist is Victoria (a fine Gretchen Barretto), a TV journalist whose career nosedives after a murder/suicide in front of her eyes puts her in a psych ward. Upon release, she pleads for her job back, finally landing the assignment of staying in the decrepit, reputedly haunted dwelling of the title.

Allowing a woman recovering from PTSD trauma this kind of gig first day back is one of the illogical missteps that Castillo’s script occasionally offers up. Along for the ride is Gani (Mon Confiado), the son of cult leader Herman Tau (played in flashback by Joel Torre) who committed horrible acts within the hotel walls; Gani is introduced as a loving family man with a small child, so why he agrees to revisit his bleak pass is never explained.

Veronica’s friend, cameraman Danny (Art Acuña) carries a secret shame surrounding the death of his teenage daughter Heidi (Brooke Chantelle), whose ghostly visage appears to him only to morph mid-embrace into a rotting spectre (recalling Jack Torrance’s encounter in Room 237 in Kubrick’s film). Along for the ride are perky production assistant Anna (Sarah Gaugler) and dope-smoking sound-guy Jake (Nico Antonio), characters who have their moments but both prove to be horror fodder.

Thematically, the film addresses the ghosts that haunt us all and the corrosive nature of memory and guilt left unchecked. As the group wander the deserted hallways, they become lost and disoriented; the building clearly represents the endless downward spiral into madness and depression our characters are trapped within. Castillo sets up the psychological underpinnings of his story with skill, but frustratingly little is ever explored. Ultimately, the film delivers suitable scares staged with consummate skill but falls short of transcending its genre trappings as the early promise suggests it might.

After its recent screening at the Cinemalaya Film Festival, The Diplomat Hotel is positioned well for its domestic debut this week. Adding to the sense of anticipation surrounding Castillo’s work is the publicity-friendly fact that the film’s location is the real-world haunted relic famous in his homeland and that the writer/director is the son of one of the region’s most revered filmmakers, the late Celso Ad Castillo (to whom the film is dedicated and who shot 1987’s The Mystery of the Dove, co-starring his son, on the same site). 

THE MORTAL INSTRUMENTS: CITY OF BONES

Stars: Lily Collins, Jamie Campbell Bower, Robert Sheehan, Kevin Zegers, Lena Headey, CCH Pounder, Jared Harris and Jonathan Rhys Meyers.
Writer: Jessica Postigo Paquette; based upon the novel by Cassandra Clare.
Director: Harald Zwart

Rating: 1.5/5

From its clunky title resembling more a typing class exercise than a sequel- friendly franchise starter through to its gapingly illogical and overwrought climax, Harald Zwart’s adaptation of author Cassandra Clare’s teen fantasy romancer is a shallow, noisy and occasionally giggle-inducing mess.

The latest entrant in the “Who is going to be the next Twilight?” game that Hollywood continues to obsess over (note recent non-starters The Host and Beautiful Creatures), this self-conscious, irony-free plodder reeks of focus-group input, their brief apparently to pinpoint every reusable and exploitable aspect of Stephanie Meyer’s work then up the production stakes to the level of gaudy camp. Other pop-culture reference points include Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Star Wars, Men in Black and, of course, Harry Potter, but any chance that Zwart’s cacophonous melodrama will attain similar lasting importance are nil.

Our every-girl heroine is Clary (Lily Collins), who lives with mum (Lena Headey) in Brooklyn. She’s 13, cute and cool, partial to attending poetry groups with her best-bud Simon (Robert Sheehan) who, naturally, has secret longings for her. With the onset of the sudden self-awareness associated with puberty, she begins to notice symbols, signs and, most worryingly, sword-wielding ‘shadowhunters’ among the good people of NYC. It seems Clary comes from a long line of these human/angel hybrid warriors, who slay the demons that live amongst the ‘mundanes’ (that’s us regular folk, everyone…).

Most charismatic amongst the hunters is the chiselled R-Patz clone,  Jace (Jamie Campbell Bower), who is soon in a romantic tug’o’war for Clary’s affections with Simon and most other boy-men demon-slayers she comes across (except for Kevin Zegers’ Alec, who secretly fancies Jace). Having somehow acquired a new wardrobe of fetishistic-influenced combat garb (Clary rightly ask, “Why do I have to dress like a hooker?”), she and her shadowhunter posse (each one ripped and splashed with the coolest in body art, as you’d expect) set about slaying demons, werewolves, warlocks and witches (veteran actress CCH Pounder whoops it up as a black-magic witch in one of the film’s more entertaining characterisations).

Succumbing to all the traps of an origin-story episode that more skilled storytellers would handle with greater dexterity, first-time screenwriter Jessica Postigo Paquette allows herself to be bogged down in lore and detail. This dense intricacy may please fans of the books, but it grinds the film to a near standstill on several occasions; not helping at all is some risibly cheesy dialogue. 

Collins is luminously lovely in the lead role and does what she can to keep her head above the waves of convoluted, nonsensical exposition she and her endless parade of co-stars are forced to lumber through. Her portrayal is infinitely more engaging than Kristen Stewart’s mopey protagonist, representing one of the few elements in which this carbon-copy improves upon its ‘inspiration’.  

UNHUNG HERO

Stars: Patrick Moote, Annie Sprinkle, Dan Savage.
Director: Brian Spitz.

Rating: 4/5

Director Brian Spitz’s wildly entertaining international odyssey to define the nature of the relationship we share with our most schizophrenic organ draws many cogent conclusions, not least of which is that the size of one’s penis will always be second to the size of one’s heart as a man’s defining body part.

The warm, bittersweet journey of comedian Patrick Moote begins when his Jumbo-vision wedding proposal is knocked back, only to have further insult added to injury when his girlfriend announces (ultimately to the world, via a viral YouTube posting) that she said no because his penis was too small.

Set in motion is a man’s quest to learn more about that most enigmatic of appendages. Initially, Moote revisits past lovers who confirm, with varying degrees of shock and honesty, that yes, he is relatively small (oddly, he never fully reveals his manhood for the camera); he approaches strangers in the street to ask if size is of consequence to the average woman (as well as gay and straight men); he even reveals the reasons behind his break-up to his parents, sibling and childhood friends, in some of the film’s most tummy-tightening moments. Following the lead set by the likes of Morgan Spurlock and Michael Moore, Moote suffers for his art by subjecting himself to ‘enlargement methods’ such as pumps, pills and a stretching technique called ‘jelqing’ (Google it, kids…).

Having maintainined a playful tone throughout its first half, with Moote proving a game, likable subject and his steady voice-over providing personal insight, the film turns slightly more serious when the crew jet to Asia and the prospect of penile enhancement day surgery in Korea, needles filled with tribal lotions in Papua New Guinea and genital weights as prescribed by masters of the martial art of Qigong all become very real.

It is in Spitz’s third act that Unhung Hero reveals itself to be both a powerful character study and a revealing commentary on the manipulated, inherently false image of the penis in our society. Moote is shaken by just how much self-worth he has unknowingly placed upon perception of his size, largely based upon the pornification of western culture over the last half-century; credit to the production for rightly acknowledging that women have had to deal with societal issues regarding breast size for a lot longer than men have had to confront self-image problems.

Punny title aside, Unhung Hero emerges as a thoroughly winning and subtly serious story of one man’s emotional redemption via an immersive period of personal examination. That it should also reveal the depths to which our environment and society dictate our very sense of self is both enlightening and gently heartbreaking. Ending on a high with one of the best last lines in a movie in years, Spitz and Moote have crafted a thoughtful crowdpleaser.

Unhung Hero will screen as part of the Sydney Underground Film Festival on Saturday 7th and Sunday 8th of September. Tickets and further details here.  

NOW YOU SEE ME

Stars: Jesse Eisenberg, Mark Ruffalo, Woody Harrelson, Isla Fisher, Dave Franco, Melanie Laurent, Morgan Freeman, Michael Caine, Common, Michael Kelly and David Warshofsky.
Writers: Ed Solomon, Boaz Yakin and Edward Ricourt.
Director: Louis Leterrier

Rating: 4/5

One must approach Louis Leterrier’s ridiculously entertaining Now You See Me with exactly the mindset you would adopt if you decided to sit down for one of the magical extravaganzas central to the movies conceit. If you are going to avail yourself to two of hours slight of hand and slippery conjuring, you are going to have to be willing to believe the unbelievable to fully enjoy the show.

The lean, snappy, funny script from Ed Solomon, Boaz Yakin and Edward Ricourt spins the story of a quartet of magicians with varying skills who, under the stage name ‘The Four Horsemen’, enact elaborate bank heists and elude international authorities with arrogant panache. Showman Daniel Atlas (Jesse Eisenberg) is the self-appointed leader of the group, though mentalist Merrit McKinney (Woody Harrelson), illusionist Henley Reeves (Isla Fisher) and upstart Jack Wilder (Dave Franco) keep his ego in check with quick asides and their own well-honed skills.

A pre-title montage establishes them all as down-on-their luck bit players in the world of magic, until a mysterious invitation and the presence of a hooded figure spins all their lives off into Vegas superstardom. Backed by smug benefactor Arthur Tressler (Michael Caine), the quartet make headlines when a showstopping act of international thievery puts them in direct conflict with grizzled FBI agent Dylan Rhodes (a terrific Mark Ruffalo) and Interpol sidekick Alma Dray (Melanie Laurent). The investigators, constantly flummoxed by the quick hands and minds of their suspects, employ debunker Thaddeus Bradley (Morgan Freeman) to help crack the case.

Given his hit (Unleashed; The Incredible Hulk) and miss (Clash of the Titans; Transporter 2) career to date, Leterrier exhibits a sure and professional touch with his fifth and best feature. He adheres closely to the primary tenets of the magician’s code, spinning his narrative on the maintenance of illusion via misdirection create the perception your audience is one step ahead when in fact they are two steps behind. He wisely keeps his magicians at an enigmatic arms-length from the audience, never quite revealing motivations until the timing is just right. Some viewers may be a little surprised at the central role Ruffalo and the stunning Laurent take in the plot, but the pay-off, however convoluted it may feel, is immensely satisfying.

The result is a supremely slick piece of commercial filmmaking; despite being patently implausible in every respect, the swirling camera and warm colours employed by DOP’s Mitchell Amundsen and Larry Fong, the rich depth of Peter Wenham’s production design and the beat-perfect cutting of editors Robert Leighton and Vince Tabaillon dispel disbelief with a giddy pace. Special credit goes to Brian Tyler’s driving, buoyant score, which ebbs and flows beautifully with the onscreen action and goes a long way to making Now You See Me a daft but dazzling adventure.

PARANOIA

Stars: Harrison Ford, Gary Oldman, Liam Hemsworth, Amber Heard, Julian McMahon, Embeth Davidtz, Richard Dreyfuss, Lucas Till, Angela Sarafyan and Kevin Kilner.
Writers: Jason Dean Hall and Barry Levy; based upon the novel by Joseph Finder.
Director: Robert Luketic

Rating: 2/5

Afforded just enough effort from everyone involved to see it through its late US-summer release date, Robert Luketic’s blah techno-thriller Paranoia employs all the tropes and red herrings required to pad its micro-chip thin premise out to a respectable running-time. Otherwise, the tempting pairing of Indiana Jones and Dracula is a wan non-event.

Adapting Joseph Finder’s novel, screenwriters Barry Levy (Vantage Point, 2008) and novice Jason Dean Hall aim for a fresh, smart-phone era take on tech-thrillers like Phil Alden Robinson’s Sneakers (1992), but Luketic fails to convey any of that films excitement, urgency or sense of fun. Given the Australian director is still best known for 2001’s vibrant Legally Blonde, the dour dramatics of Paranoia are particularly hard to fathom.

One’s first reaction may be why on Earth talents like Harrison Ford and Gary Oldman would bother with this sort of programmer but, in fact, stars have been filling their down time and bank balance with dross like this since the biz began. Remember Johnny Depp’s Nick of Time? Tom Cruise’s Knight and Day? Al Pacino’s The Recruit? No one does (least of all, most likely, the actors themselves) and nor will anyone involved recall Paranoia by the time it hits home video shelves in about six weeks.

Aussie export Liam Hemsworth plays it ultra-safe in his first leading man role, his he-man physique and bushy eye-browed good looks front and centre in lieu of any real character depth. He plays Adam Cassidy, a hotshot developer for ruthless Brit CEO Nicholas Wyatt’s (Gary Oldman) comm-tech mega-corporation. When he unwittingly puts himself in a compromising position, Cassidy becomes Wyatt’s tool; via nefarious (and boldly ridiculous) means, Cassidy compromises his beliefs and agrees to infiltrate the upper echelons of Wyatt’s fierce rival and ex-business partner Jock Goddard’s (a startlingly bald Harrison Ford) competing market leader.

There are peripheral support parts that the producers fill with quality co-stars as a means by which to give dramatically inert subplots some onscreen oomph. Richard Dreyfuss as Cassidy’s hard-working, blue-collar dad (a role that carries with it the same heavy-handed symbolism as Martin Sheen’s part did in Wall Street); Julian McMahon and Embeth Davidtz as Wyatt’s shady offsiders; a likable Lucas Till as Adam’s best mate and the barely glimpsed Josh Holloway as an FBI investigator all do what needs doing.

Most hard done by is Amber Heard who, as Goddard’s recruitment exec Emma Jennings, is relegated to the sexy but soft corporate stereotype who serves no greater purpose than to be the leading man’s ultimate reward. Since her attention-grabbing role in 2006’s All The Boys Love Mandy Lane, Heard has been skirting super-stardom while doing admirable duty in flops Drive Angry, The Rum Diary and The Joneses and little-seen indies The Ward, And Soon The Darkness and The River Why. She exudes integrity and strength in the right role; in Paranoia, you can almost see her grinding her teeth.

As the plot thickens, the contrivances multiply. Most irksome – everyone is at the cutting-edge of technology, until it is convenient to forget or overlook the most basic communications system so as the story can proceed. The most heavily-guarded tech secrets in the smart-phone business are infiltrated in a whim; the security team in charge of the complex seems to number about three, and is led by one of those types that yell “He’s in the stairwell!” a lot. The ambient electro-pulse soundtrack of Dutch techno-guru Tom Holkenboirg, aka Junkie XL, fails to convince that this is a very old B-movie heist caper hoping to look very modern.

PASSION

Stars: Rachel McAdams, Noomi Rapace, Karoline Herfurth, Paul Anderson, Rainer Bock, Benjamin Sadler, Michael Rotschopf, Dominic Raacke and Max Urlacher.
Writer: Brian De Palma; based upon the screenplay ‘Love Crime’ by Alain Corneau and Natalie Carter.
Director: Brian De Palma.

Rating: 2.5/5

Director Brian De Palma descends further into late career dirge fuelled by an artless ‘dirty old man’ fascination with niche, particularly sapphic sexuality with Passion, his most lurid, loopy melodrama to date.

This Berlin-set battle of the same-sexes potboiler is a wildly indulgent work for the 73 year-old, once celebrated as Hitchcock’s heir apparent and lauded member of the film-school brat, 1970’s wunder-kinder generation. Like his contemporaries Francis Ford Coppola, George Lucas and Peter Bogdanovich, it’s been a long time since De Palma has made a decent film (1996’s Mission Impossible, maybe; certainly 1987’s The Untouchables); more recently, his output has been notable misfires (The Bonfire of the Vanities, 1990; Mission to Mars, 2000; The Black Dahlia, 2006; Redacted, 2007) and little-seen guilty pleasures (Snake Eyes, 1998; Femme Fatale, 2002).

Passion falls somewhere in between. Christine (a game but never fully convincing Rachel McAdams) is the driven head of an advertising agency, determined to be promoted back to the corporation’s NYC head office. We meet her giggling over wine and work with her underling Isabelle (Noomi Rapace), a 24-hour ad exec who nails the concept for the firm’s most important client only to have Christine brazenly steal it. So begins an increasingly ruthless sequence of get-squares between the pair, which soon involve Isabelle’s PA Dani (the stunning Karoline Herfurth) and Christine’s slimy boyfriend Dirk (Paul Anderson).

Stylistically, De Palma displays all the skill audiences have come to expect from the director who, in his heyday, gave us Carrie, Blow Out and Scarface. But when the plot turns all murder-y at the midway point (and a convoluted, implausible murder at that), the veteran filmmaker indulges in garish, random lighting and skewy camera angles (DOP Jose Luis Alcaine, Pedro Almodovar’s go-to lensman, may have something to answer for). We get that it is meant to represent one characters descent into madness, but it is jarring and pretentious, taking the audience out of the already daft plot even further.

Passion never quite becomes as generically dismissable as its title suggests, but there are an awful lot of elements that we have seen before in the director’s oeuvre; the complex psychological bond between siblings, specifically twins (Sisters, 1973; The Fury, 1978; Raising Cain, 1992); the manipulative and ultimately corrosive nature of potent, twisted sexuality (Obsession, 1976; Dressed to Kill, 1980; Body Double, 1984). De Palma returns again and again to these themes but unlike his hero Alfred Hitchcock, it has become clear the director’s own obsession has overtaken his ability to creatively explore itself.

For those still there at the end, De Palma ramps up the energy for a deliriously enjoyable denouement (aided immeasurably by an omnipresent Pino Donaggio score). But Passion is the work of a director falling back on what he has done well for four decades and plays tired and desperate. Apparently, with nothing new to say, Brian De Palma settled for repeating himself. He should have called his film something else. 

V/H/S 2

Stars: Lawrence Michael Levine, Kelsy Abbott, Adam Wingard, Hannah Hughes, Simon Barrett, Mindy Robinson, Monica Sanchez Navarro, Jay Saunders, Bette Cassett, David Coyne, Fachry Albar, Hannah Al Rashid, Oka Antara, Epy Kusnadar, Riley Eisner and Zack Ford.
Writers: Brad Miska, Simon Barrett, John Davies, Jason Eisener, Gareth Evans, Jamie Nash and Timo Tjahjanto.
Directors: Simon Barrett, Jason Eisener, Gareth Evans, Gregg Hale, Eduardo Sanchez, Timo Tjahjanto and Adam Wingard.

Rating: 3.5/5

The anthology trip V/H/S 2 (formerly S-VHS) is a fully immersive assault on the senses that will fuel the fire of naysayers who hate the predominance of handheld ‘shaky cam’ projects. But for those who are keen to see some of world cinema's most visually arresting and narratively fearless new directors working through some pretty f***ed-up horror visions, your wishes are granted.

Essentially a Twilight Zone-like compendium for the found-footage/YouTube generation, this sequel to the 2012 cult DVD hit waivers in its overall fright factor but slam-dunks enough horror moments (most of them inventively bloody and grotesque) to ensure a franchise arc in years to come.

As with the first film, the bridging device is home intruders (here, smug PI’s Lawrence Michael Levine and Kelsy Abbott) who discover a wall of TV screens and piles of VHS tapes in an abandoned house. One by one, they work through the footage on the tapes; it is not fully explained how all the tapes come to be in this particular rundown dwelling, but V/H/S 2 is so full of tenuous links and off-the-wall logic it barely maters.

Director Adam Wingard takes lead acting duties in the first instalment, entitled Clinical Trials, which sees him agreeing to be guinea pig for new medical technology that replaces his damaged left eye with a bionic substitute. His vision is improved to the extent that he can see all the vengeful demons he shares the world with. It is a one-note premise to kickstart for film, though features some well-staged shocks and one particular icky scene that was probably the inspiration for the entire segment.

Eduardo Sanchez, co-directing with fellow Blair Witch Project alumni, producer Gregg Hale, offers up A Ride in the Park, a first-person take on the early stages of the zombie apocalypse. A recreational biker, recording his backwoods trail workout, is bitten by an undead; his descent into a zombie state is cleverly tracked by helmet-cams and video footage from a child’s birthday party, horribly interrupted by the swarming savages. Capturing the zom-poc from the pov of the infected proves a better premise than finished product, but it is gruesome and funny enough to satisfy.

The film kicks into high gear with the third instalment Safe Haven, co-directed by The Raid’s Gareth Huw Evans and Indonesian-born filmmaker Timo Tjahjanto. A TV-crew enters the compound of mysterious cult group Paradise Gates, only to find their presence is part of the Satan worshippers overall plan to introduce their master to our earthly plane. Evans and Tjahjanto go to places horrifically indescribable, playing on possession lore, child-birthing imagery and Jonestown-like blind faith in their relentlessly shocking tale (during a rare silent moment, one patron at the screening attended by SCREEN-SPACE pleaded loudly “Make it stop,” drawing a big, tension-relieving laugh from the audience).  

Rounding out the instalments is Hobo With a Shotgun director Jason Eisener’s Slumber Party Alien Abduction, which…well, you get the picture. The Canadian schlock maestro employs some of the film’s most inventive handheld technique, somehow getting his camera strapped to a small dog as the home-alone teens flee Slenderman-like extra-terrestrials.

So assaultive is the overall impact of the segments that come before, the fate of Levine and Abbott’s ‘host’ characters provides a meagre wrap-up. But those few minutes certainly allow audiences, most of which will be the ‘Midnight Slot’ festival crowd or teenage horror-DVD connoisseurs, to take a breath before venturing into the night. There’ll need it….