Reviews

It's not often you see a film that, when it ends, has you wondering why there are tears in your eyes: is it because it's such masterful filmmaking that it provokes an emotional response? Or that the themes of loss (of love) and regret, ageing and death are so powerful? It's also enthralling and horrific (a true shallow sea blue horror movie at heart) and daring too: the children here grow old but remain childish. They play sandcastles at 50, and lose virginity in their late teens having only just that morning been barely in double figures.

It's not a sleazy film though. The normality within the extreme weirdness and vice versa never feels forced or exploited: in a weird real world right now, we know how to handle crazy!

I think, in retrospect, I felt emotional at the end of this film (as the blisteringly cool and beautifully designed surge of end credits jumped out at an audience who barely moved and sat quite still until the music died) because creative, joyously wild filmmaking like this is something to be embraced, and welcomed back to our daily lives: the wilderness year is officially over!

M. Night Shyamalan's Old, is based on the graphic novel Sandcastle (a better title if I had to gripe) by Pierre Oscar Lévy. The film was made at the heart of Covid's limitations and the director has said it became something of a meditation on fear of sickness, death and entrapment. They genuinely had to get through each filming day safely. Really though, it's just a beautifully lit, filmed, acted, scripted triumph of visual ferocity. Soundtrack and cinematography are mesmeric, warm: the skin is glistening, the waves crash against rock in sprays of majestic anger or placid silence and you will believe that YOU are on that beach with these doomed, voyagers of the damned.

The sea and the shore and the caves are inviting and enticing, but equally places of uncertainty and threat. Which is as it should be. Nature here is the heroic one only, abused by those in positions of power. Like a wild animal, it can't be caged up. Not even in lockdown.

It's a terrifying and horrific film to experience; bursting with love, personal redemption and acceptance of the past: of an affair and forgiveness (a loss of love is at the centre of this story, along with losses of innocence, youth and normality). It's a film of sundrenched beauty - and of hideous wounding and decay. It's also about healing: physical and emotional.

Cinema is a good place for films like this.

'MEET GREGORY BREWSTER: INSANE... INEPT... INDOORS.'

The most horrible of sorts in the history of the horror movie, have always been the nicest as well; think Peter Cushing, Vincent Price or Ian Bannen.

Reece Shearsmith is perhaps an unlikely horror icon too - but he's scared the life out of us too often now for there to be any doubt; this man has a natural talent for portraying pure evil in a very nice way. But don't be fooled - because when Shearsmith does shocks, he does so with a smile that cuts you in half by the time the end credits roll.

In 'Him Indoors', Shearsmith plays the role of Gregory Brewster, a quiet agoraphobic (perceived as a fear of wide open spaces). To be picky, experts on the condition may tell you that agoraphobia is a general condition of panic attacks in any space, even crowded shopping centres, not just open areas, which is the basis of the film's final - wonderful and crowd-pleasing - twist.

Pollyanna McIntosh who was so excellent in last year's The Woman (where she played a feral find in the nearby forest, captured by a local family man and subjected to all kinds of hideous humiliations before gaining her revenge at the end), here plays mild-mannered - but slightly too kooky for her own good - next door neighbour, Lizzie. 'Mad' Lizzie really is the man-hungry sort and looks tall enough and scary enough to eat poor Gregory alive.

I half expected a twist where Pollyanna goes all wanton wildlife on us and tears little Reece to shreds before the end credits of 'Him Indoors', but it wasn't to be. Pollyanna has at least 12 film and TV projects on the go right now, including the long-awaited adaptation of Irvine Welsh's 'Filth' - and it's heartening that such a talented and rising young star still supports and appears in low budget shorts like this one.

All hell breaks loose in 'Him Indoors' when bubbly (and burning with hot desires deep inside her designer jogging pants) Lizzie pops round to Gregory's place for "a cup of tea. Or a shag," - in her words. She gets the tea. Interestingly, writer and director Paul Davis claims that Pollyanna played the role as if under the impression that Gregory is gay, her overt come-on less of a threat then, more playful. I'm not so sure. Remember when Boy George was quoted in the 80's as 'preferring a cup of tea to sex'? Lizzie seems the kind of girl who'd ask for both - at the same time, regardless of sexual preference.

(Major plot spoilers appear in the next couple of paragraphs)

But Gregory's life is in barely-contained turmoil with fear of eviction and being sent back into the real world, looming. In fact, he's just had a visitor, a delivery boy played by Seelan Gunaseelan who Gregory has tied to a chair in the kitchen "I was going to have a Chinese, now it's going to be an Indian," says Gregory, in a line that seems a bit unnecessary, but I think meant harmlessly enough. Director Paul Davis confirms this: "The line said to the delivery boy is actually intended to explain what it is he plans to do with him. Eat him. The revelation that he's a cannibal, as well as a serial murderer, is there to suggest how he's gotten away with it for so long and how he disposes of the bodies. The casual racism toward the delivery boy is a character trait I threw in, suggesting that he'd been sheltered from multiculturalism by his mother for so many years and didn't really have a grasp on political correctness."

The delivery boy is killed in a casual way, a quite revolting stab to the neck, and the body placed under the sofa. Lizzie of course notices the lump under the cushion where the body lies, explained away by Gregory as a design fault in the sofa bed, and the dark stain leaking from the side of the sofa also explained away as the red wine he spilled earlier. Lizzie sees horror posters on the wall ('Rosemary's Revenge' - and what a movie that could be!), as well as those horror and sci-fi collectible figures that all genre freaks stock up on (like others buy milk or bread) from shops such as Forbidden Planet, scattered around. Lizzie casually asks Gregory what film he last saw at the cinema. In the best line of the film, Gregory thinks for a moment: "The Fly, in 1986.. (long pause). I don't get out much." The brutal dispatch of Lizzie when she discovers that clearly the sticky red goo she touches on the side of the sofa isn't wine at all, is swift and not funny. Gregory gets what he hopes for - a prison sentence. Locked away alone for the rest of his life - sounds perfect. Except for the bit about daily exercise in a big open space!

(End of spoilers)

'Him Indoors' earned a fantastic reception at Frightfest 2012, and features a suitably unhinged performance from Reece Shearsmith that's effortlessly chilling, and sweetly contained. Pollyanna McIntosh as sex-mad Lizzie is almost as frightening a prospect, but you feel real terror for her as she begins to realise that Gregory isn't a bit of alright, or even at all right (in the head), after all. The horror is suitably nasty and the humour as black as four-day-old blood. Some of the dialogue was laugh-out-loud funny and chock-full of modern wit.

Director Paul Davis shoots with exquisite efficiency and agoraphobic flair; piling on that rising panic attack with a certain coolness and contained precision of touch, so that, when the horror comes - it's clinically brutal. Rather like the mind of Gregory Brewster in fact.

by Mark Gordon Palmer

UNDER THE BED (2012)

This film was all very 80's-family movie at the start and came over like a cross between The Goonies and E.T (hey, that older brother was also the older brother in The Goonies and E.T wasn't he?). But then imagine a film where the young cast of The Goonies get sliced and diced by the ugly pirate at the end or where E.T isn't cute and cuddly but evil and cruel, and eats Elliott instead of asking to help him phone home - this is that movie!

It worked, I felt, as an entry in the domestic stitch-up horror genre. The film had a subversive wisecracking feel. There was some genuine relationship developed between the older brother and the frankly (at times) hilarious kid brother (Gattlin Griffith), who was outstanding in his role. The cast played the film dead straight, which I liked. There were a few cute girls on the scene for the older brother (returning from a period of recovery after a breakdown) but this direction wasn't especially pursued as it would have been in many an 80's horror, I like to think this was another act of deliberate subversion. If it's just hasty plotting, I apologise.

The next door neighbour and his doopy kids were fun. I liked what happened to some of this family at the end of the film. In fact, I cheered the horror on. Out of all the cast, I half-hoped the stepmom would survive, I'm not sure if that's because she walks around the garden braless and seems like she actually cares about the kids, or because she's the only one in the family without 'issues', in fact - she's outrageously normal in a suburban garden of barking. At the end of the movie, she's the one holding the rope for the kids as they try to escape from hell, while the real mother is in ashes in the garage - if that's not subversion of the all-American family, I don't know what is.

The bed itself wasn't especially scary, but the plot, about the monster that lives under the mattress so you have to sleep on top of cupboards and things (but surely after all those years living with a monster in your house, that dumb dad would have spotted something odd going on, I mean,at the dinner table wouldn't you be asking your kid why he looks so traumatised every night?) was suitably creepy and weird, like a bad nightmare after too much Stilton and crackers.

The monster was decent enough but the scenes in the demon's world were wonderfully surreal and full of energy and realisation, as good as the underwater sequences in Argento's Inferno. It looked like these scenes were originally intended for 3D - if they weren't, they should have been.

This was a horror film with a subversive touch - The 'Burbs meets The Beast in the Cellar and Disney's Don't Look Under The Bed (imaginary X-rated version), with some outrageously yucky special effects and squished heads at the end (hey - this was a family-friendly horror movie waiting to stab you in the neck just before the end credits rolled, mid-popcorn and cherry pop finishing off). Most of all, my God - I had fun!

mark gordon palmer

The Possession came with good pedigree with Danish director Ole Bornedal (of the two morgue-set Nightwatch movies - the original Danish language version and the US remake with Ewan McGregor) and producer Sam (the Evil Dead) Raimi on board the demonic ghost train to the heart of this Frighfest 2012 European premiere.

While the film did nothing new with the possessed child genre it was well shot and contained a few, mostly family-friendly scares. In the US the rating was toned down on appeal, to reach a wider audience - the Twilight generation if you like, but all horror fans can have fun with this one, whether hardened or hormonal.

I was sitting next to a couple on one side of me, for this penultimate Frighfest screening and one of the two had their head burrowed in the other's arms after a couple of the scares. On the other side of me, a group of young lads, probably not 18, looking like they could face anything on screen and not bat an eyelid - by the end of the film, at least a couple had jumped and sworn under their breath. Result Raimi!

Two young sisters join newly divorced Dad in his suburban home while Mum goes to the opera with her new dentist boyfriend. Dad lets the youngest daughter buy a weird wooden Dibbuk (demon inside - no extra charge) box at a jumble sale without realising it contains the terror of Judaism within - a spirit that seeks out the young and innocent (naturally, as what spirit would seek out very old drunken men with bad personal hygiene to live in, although - hey, what a movie that would make!).

The younger daughter gets possessed and all hell breaks loose (well, up to a PG-13 certificate in the US anyway!).

I loved the roaming sky-high camera looking down on the rows of suburban houses like a waiting spirit in the sky and the soundtrack that was composed of a deep note piano refrain, that occasionally turned into the soundtrack of Jaws for some reason. There were a number of unexpected scares involving teeth, deep throat, books in bed and bad table manners. Some of these shocks gave me a bad dose of the shiveries. The CAT scan was the most terrifying sequence in a horror film I've seen in a while. You know what's coming, but when it does - goosebumps on tap!

Best surprise of all, was that the girl playing the possessed younger sister, easily slunk into the rank and file of demonic movie kids alongside the evil likes of The Omen's Damien and The Exorcist's Regan. Possessed Em sitting on a swing in her short grey dress and Wellington boots glowering at the camera with black-ink filled eyes and wild hair blowing in the breath of a demonic breeze,sent chills to the base of the spine and back up again. Natasha Calis as Evil Em is a revelation - as convincingly in need of being saved as she is of being staked through the heart and splashed with holy water.

As a penultimate movie at Frightfest 2012, The Possession was a fun time to be had by all, and it's refreshing that a traditional demonic possession flick can still be as rewarding today in the horror genre as it has been in the past. While in an increasingly real-life hard-edged and randomly violent world, extreme horror and films with 'hoodies' as the boogeyboys probably deservedly thrive, and have a right to exist and confront fears of a modern age, while annoying those old enough to remember the original The Omen at the cinema (and it's right that horror films do annoy the older generation and cause controversy), there is still a place for old-fashioned fright films such as The Possession in modern horror. We've been here before in The Possession's world of targeted scariness, but there's enough that's different about this movie, to ensure longevity, especially the demonic exorcism by a young, fabulously deadpan, gangly and witty Jewish expert on all things demonic doing a job that his elders refuse to even consider being a part of - and the special effects too, including the deep throat crawling of nasties up and down the gullet, all earn The Possession real kudos for me.

The film is beautifully framed and while the ending in the hospital basement is perhaps a bit silly and contrived, it's a great ride to be on, and features enough contortions and red-eyed growling in the light of an overhead bulb or gloomy shadows to hold the attention. There were also at least a couple of deaths in this movie that I didn't expect and in the case of the last of these, the audience actually gasped when the moment came - also a moment that earned the legendary Frightfest rare round of applause. You can't ask for more in the closing hours of a five day long festival of horrors both sickening and, just sometimes, a little bit more magical and old-school demonic.

mark gordon palmer

HIDDEN IN THE WOODS/ EN LAS AFUERAS DE LA CIUDAD (2012 Spanish Language Version)

This film was a Grimm-like fairytale horror-crime story with a big nasty injection of wicked humour. It's no surprise Hollywood has already snapped up a remake from the original director (currently in development).

Hidden in the Woods earned a long round of applause at its Frightfest 2012 screening. A cross between Lucky McKee's The Woman, Tarantino's Reservoir Dogs and Robert Rodriguez's From Dusk Till Dawn (without the vampires!), it featured lush and vibrant cinematography of Chilean locations and a pounding country/blues-rock score mixed in with gorgeous, atmospheric piano and appropriately synthy gloom. Ominous sound effects also punctuated the action, in the best Lynchian tradition.

The men were scumbags, drug dealers and earned delicious revenge at the hands and teeth of the two sisters who had been kept captive since birth by their brutal father, himself at the mercy of the local drug baron who, in the film's climax, comes looking for them all, and the missing stash of drugs. The dad had allowed the local crimelord (with white twirly beard and luxury villa and two daughters kept in comfort and wealth, compared to the lives of the family we follow whose lives he has ruined) to rape his own wife and possibly his daughters too (something the dad himself was also prone to attempting, in scenes that were not shown in any detail).

The rape scenes here were the cause of some controversy at Frightfest, understandably, and they are upsetting but brief, shot frenziedly and not lingering at all. I also felt they had purpose within the plot to create this montrous father figure, demonising him to the extent that the eventual revenge felt all the more sweet. But they were hard scenes to get through, and less sanitised -rightly - than Hollywood's usual salacious version of the same awful crime.

The Dad; the monster - all hairy of body and thick of muscle, was the 'ogre under the bridge', with his two daughters' 'trip, trip, tripping footprints' above - the beast that could burrow out of soil with his bare hands. The best movie monster since Karloff did Frankenstein.

Regarding accusations of misogyny from some critics towards the film, I can only report back that the usherette I sat next to (I was on the aisle seat, she was perched on the stairs.. at least I hope she was an usherette and not something more sinister) munched sweets and chuckled throughout the screening (actually, beginning to think she was definitely something more sinister now!) and there was also a question from a young female fan at the Q&A after the movie to the director that started with her saying how much she loved the movie and the bloody ending (that was very reminiscent of a sprawled Tim Roth from Reservoir Dogs, with most of the cast writhing on a slick of their own blood on the tiled floor of the local drug baron's villa while shooting at each other at close range) and even said she found the film 'sexy' - well, the scene between one of the daughters and the married man in the motel room was a rare moment of fairly consensual steaminess and the two girls did ooze a certain sexuality when chasing through the jungle after the poor henchmen of the local drug baron who didn't know what was about to hit them between the legs!

Within the Woods was an unnerving, unexpected, vibrant, hip, very bloody, gun-toting, great-Grimm fairy tale of a gangster movie with horror edging, that I think will result in more head-swirling films from this young director, Patricio Valladares - who is clearly a real, unpredictable talent to witness and wait for.

Valladares hinted at Frightfest that future films will be more crime based, less horror. Which is (when you take away such dreamlike, surreal additions as the feral cannibal brother kept locked up in a room by Dad and released by the sisters) what this film is at heart; a really quite brutal but sly crime movie in a heady, nightmarish, adult fairytale setting. It's a genre all to itself. It's what a Frightfest film should be.

mark gordon palmer

PAURA 3D

A vibrant horror movie, suitably sick and tense, with three wayward youths having fun at a posh guy's villa and reaping the payback big time.

The woman in this cellar was a mess of mystery; I couldn't make out whether I felt sorry for her, or just wanted to forget the evil beast forever by the time the end credits rolled.

The long, languid build-up worked - making the grisly horror towards the end of the movie, even more painful to watch. Nice to see some equality in that a man and a woman were chained up in the cellar at the end, though less equality that the woman was naked and the man had his trousers on. I saw one thing in 3D that I hope I never have to see in 3D again. It didn't belong to the actress, but to a stand-in random porn star. Although it felt a little out of place, visual extremes like this in a horror movie are brave and subversive. The soundtrack with creepy gargling and whispers was excellently Suspiriaish and the 3D was used to good effect, especially (and exceptionally) in the opening colourfully and trashily-animated credits straight from the pages of a Brothers Grimm book that featured a little girl exploring a mysterious forest and not liking what she finds - her 'guardian angel'(or maybe she is liking, I'm not sure quite). In the closing sequences, with a flickering flame in front of us, the 3D added a subtle intensity.

I enjoyed the frenetic energy in the chase sequence and felt genuine fear when the lights went out at the film's climax with just a lighter to give us hope. 'Felt genuine fear' in a horror movie - that's been a long time coming!

mark gordon palmer

TULPA (2012)

No giallo, or few, have ever really featured stunning dialogue and wonderful scripts.

This was no exception.

But the scenes in the s&m club, the odd occult barman, doorman (or door hermaphrodite) and general sense of unease were rewarding. Set in the world of big corporate business, someone is bumping off the boardroom at unnerving frequency. The manner of the deaths of the sharp-suited girls and boys, is dreadful - strung up on a merry-go ride with barbed wire hanging at the edges or locked in a box cut and bruised with a few hungry rats to gnaw away the hours with (in a lovely touch, the unseen man in the box is forgotten about until the end credits, when we go back to him as if we have just remembered there's someone left to save).

The film has a witty edge that could be mistaken for being entirely serious - hence some laughs in the audience at FrightFest. Giallo, as a genre, is often at its best when playful and painful in equal measure. This film clearly riffs on classic Italian horror director Dario Argento's work. Interestingly, Argento himself at the start of the festival in an onstage Q&A mentioned that many directors copy his style, sometimes good (as in Black Swan), sometimes really bad. Tulpa I think does reference classic Italian giallo with reverence and good effect, although few crime films are ever much good set in a corporate environment. When Tulpa breaks free from this environment, there's a lot more fun to be had, especially in the warren-like red light-bathed sex club or just escaping up trees in the Italian countryside in the dark.

I liked the way the killer grew more and more unhinged like their world was crumbling, about to be found out. I never would have guessed who the killer was. But then, I was having too much fun with the killer's nice (if a little weird) side to suspect.

Giallos have featured the occult before, but this one was still a refreshing homage to Hitchcock and Argento and everyone else inbetween -and the cheer when you know who (the odd chap) saved you know who (the pretty one) from you know who (the killer) - wow! That strange bloke needs his own show..

mark gordon palmer

MANIAC

I found it hard to catch the night bus home after this one, convinced I was going back to a room full of nude mannequins with scalped hairdos patiently waiting there for me. I couldn't look my fellow bus passengers in the eye, I'd just spent an hour and a half looking at the world through a maniac's bloodthirsty eyes. That POV method of film-making sure messes with your head after a midnight screening on a Saturday night! This was savage, shocking cinema - perfectly pitched by Elijah Wood as 'Frank', with a kind of resigned violence and divorce from reality.

This maniac is a shy guy with an interest in artwork involving mannequins and the selling of those figures on to those with similar interests or requirements that's a little bit of an odd job to want, but hey - someone has to do it. It's an artform all to itself. Of course, Frank spent a childhood of abuse watching his mum getting off with strangers on street corners or while hidden in cupboards. He even sees his own body as being that of a mannequin; his genitals are, to his way of thinking; a smooth mound of plastic. There's no way he could form a relationship with a body like that, or with the kind of memories he has of what relationships are like - a quick fumble on the bed with a few lovers at the same time while your kid watches from under the coat hangers. Frank can only have silent relationships with the shop dummies, but he personalises them with the hair of the ones he loves, to make them more real. It's getting that realistic hair you'd think could be tricky, although for Frank, it's easy.

I loves the opening title homage to the original Maniac movie from 1980 with the BIG RED LETTERS across the screen.

Unforgettable performances, a gritty, grimy, dead-of-night style, and truly toe-curling scenes of horror. A ferociously daring and chillingly languid remake with its own, unique, POV sense of (un)wellbeing. The shots of the killer's face in car windows and bathroom mirrors were clever and the one moment where the POV camera is set free, as if a rope of safety has snapped to circle round the maniac, suddenly exposing him as not being 'like the rest of us', was simply inspired.

mark gordon palmer

OUTPOST: BLACK SUN I didn't think I would enjoy this one. It reeked of straight to video and I'm not a fan of 'modern day Nazi zombies on the loose' franchises, of which (this may just be my imagination) there seem to be many.

However, this sequel to 2008's original 'Outpost' was a lot of fun. The gloomy, surreal, fairytale woodland setting and the well-utilised Nazi zombies (who also made an appearance on stage and scared families and tourists away from a visit to London ever again by patrolling outside the cinema for a while), were mostly hidden in shadow, and ensured the film remained a genuinely creepy experience. The battle scenes were well portrayed and the acting was fine and funny in the right moments.

There were some well-realised special effects of mad scientist Nazi death rays and the electric blue detonation where the sound went muffled, like we had all been deafened, had me worried for a few moments - a nice touch.

Great setup for a sequel. I may even be watching!

mark gordon palmer

{MINOR SPOILERS FOLLOW}

BFI London Film Festival Screening: 26/10/2011

The Awakening is a film that's hard to talk too much about.

There are many plot twists, sudden turns and sheer shocks throughout. There is one twist involving a boy's death, locked outside the school, that seems to end the film in its tracks prematurely–a smart sleight of hand. Rebecca Hall plays Florence Cathcart; a fake spook exposer in a shell-shocked England, post-First World War, the year 1921-a time of sickness; both post-shock of the horrors of the battlefield and post-epidemics. It's not surprising that many are turning to mediums to find their lost loved ones. Florence helpfully exposes all the trickery, but – in an effective and original opening scene – this exposure isn't welcomed even by those who are being tricked.

Some spirits however are undoubtedly real.

Florence receives a visit from the handsome, if haunted (of looks and of house and home), Robert Mallory; a teacher at a private boarding school for boys in the country. Dominic West is perfect as Mallory; a charismatic and withdrawn 'little boy lost' performance. Part-dashing, part-Dashwood. Like those who are reeling across the country from the loss of loved ones, the boys at his school are equally lost and lonely. They are, well - as good as orphans, despite being collected during the holidays by their parents. All except for one poor lad whose parents are unable to collect him as the journey is too far. So, during the school holidays, it's just him in the house, along with the fussing, furrow-browed matron (Imelda Staunton in a fabulous portrayal of malevolence and love – you never really know which)- and Mr Mallory.

The lost and lonely schoolboy is played by Isaac Hempstead Wright, who really is outstanding in conveying quiet uncertainty. You just want to give him a big hug at times. But with so many things going bump in the night around him, he probably wouldn't believe any words of comfort, other than - "run!" Like the grown up roll call around them, all the young cast of schoolboys are excellent – less Harry Potter, more Harry House of Horror.

Writer Stephen Volk (who co-wrote the screenplay with director Nick Murphy) is no stranger to sorting fact from fiction, or rather blurring the lines. Volk was also the writer of the BBC's 'is this actually real?' live Halloween chiller,'Ghostwatch'.

The screenplay and story of 'The Awakening' is blisteringly scary; I mean really, really scary, helped along by the character of a scary old groundsman called Judd, played by a scene-stealingly creepy and sly Joseph Mawle. Throughout the movie, you know that something is up with Judd – he walks around with a shotgun and has a haunted look to his eyes; like it wouldn't matter at all if he actually pulled that trigger. Towards the end of the movie, he looks through a window and gets the shock – or thrill – of his life.

A couple of the 'jumps' made me tingle for a good minute or so - a kind of frightened buzz that didn't fade away for a good while: a sheer orgasm of fear. Director Nick Murphy (bolstered by sublime work from cinematographer Eduard Grau) shoots and saturates the movie in cold, heartless, dead-tinted hues and handles the shock bits very well – often brilliantly. The film is shot in colour, but in bright early morning blues and greys, so the feel of the film is like being in an old black and white photograph from, well – 1921.

Rebecca Hall is astoundingly beautiful and enticing as Florence, even when sifting through the most bizarre spook-detecting gadgets and devices, or running through the houses of fake mediums exposing the lies like a well-to-do Lady Sherlock Holmes. Florence has her own agenda for trying to expose fake mediums and ghost sightings; having lost her parents in a tragic accident - anger understandably burns away inside her when she confronts those who offer false hope. Florence knows there's a missing part to the puzzle she certainly won't (unlike some of those poor souls also searching for the dead out there) find in the fakes. Like all the best actresses, for all the best directors – the leading lady is shot with love; Rebecca Hall's face and body framed against stark backgrounds in full, leering (but never tacky or forced – only natural)close-ups. Sometimes the camera veering so far towards the actress's freckled face and full, bee stung lips that it's almost like we are looming in for the kiss; reminding of how directors such as Polanski framed their pouting, ravishing best stars such as Nastassja Kinski in films such as 'Tess'.

The beauty of The Awakening rests in the fact that, during the end credits, you feel like you have understood something further about the spirit world – I felt quite tearful, not because I was scared. Which I had been. Or because the film was an outstanding ghost story and will be seen as a classic of the genre for many years to come. Which it will be. I'm not sure what aspect of the movie affected me so deeply. The film does have an upsetting yet beautiful plot twist towards the end that plays with ideas of good and bad, real and unreal, life and afterlife – in a way that few ghost stories have managed before; that only the work of such masters of the craft as M.R.James can capture. But I think the way I felt went beyond this – in the same way films such as The Exorcist or The Omen are said to have tapped into real evil, I think The Awakening taps into something a little too real as well. But like ghost investigator Florence Cathcart, I have no idea – yet – what that reality is. Like others in this movie; I don't think I'd be telling anyway.

TONY MANERO (2008/ Chile - directed by Pablo Larrain) *SOME SPOILERS FOLLOW*

Raul is a man just beyond middle-aged; a little bit past his prime. Not very good at anything. Except maybe dancing. Trouble is, Raul's knees aren't too happy these days about the kind of disco dance moves they are forced to take the strain of. But that's not going to stop Raul from doing what he now knows he was born to do - dance the disco!

Meet Raul Peralta - a man looking for a way to escape from a life where all he has to rely on is mimicking the John Travolta role of iconic dancing king Tony Manero in Saturday Night Fever. For a living. Or for a chance of a living. It's a shot at stardom, doomed to fail, but what else is there to rely on? The dark days of the Pinochet dictatorship hang heavy in daily life all around him; his heart is blackened, and the soot falls heavy on the white suit he wears to the dance class. But the dancefloor holds more hope than any of the the streets this man walks down, any of the bedrooms he finds himself stumbling into.

Raul spends all he can on cheap and chipped glass tiles to make a pathetic little disco dancefloor to impress his fellow dancers with; a group of wide-eyed and hope-drained followers who see the white suit Raul wears as evidence of freedom; of a better life.

Raul's love life is equally bleak; though he does at least have one, and seeks occasional company in the arms of his dull-eyed but willing girlfriend and later in the arms and untidy bed of his girlfriend's daughter, a girl conspiring against the Pinochet regime but ultimately doomed to lose everything in every way possible. Raul is seen walking the perma-strutting daughter through the living room to the bedroom after a few too many drinks; right past her watching friends and right in front of his so sad-eyed but strangely passive girlfriend, in a quite unsettling and shocking scene.

Raul's obsession with the film Saturday Night Fever, playing daily at the local picturehouse, is absolute. It's freedom and escape. But in the end; it's a curse and a slippery slope into total immorality. In real life, in Raul's reality - old women get mugged; projectionists get beaten to a pulp when they play (horror of horrors) the film Grease, where Travolta is no longer the harder-edged Tony Manero character, but a character all bright and breezy and wearing a different outfit, with different dance moves.

Raul has devoted too many days of his life to practising the Manero dance moves; to wearing the exact same outfits; into trying to win the Tony Manero of Chile competition, to stop now. Trouble is - he's not a very good Tony Manero. He's more Al Pacino in Dog Day Afternoon or Scarface; more Tony Montana than Manero. In the original Saturday Night Fever, a girlfriend of Travolta's character compares him to Pacino after kissing him on the dancefoor: "Ohh, I just kissed Al Pacino" she croons - a nice touch and neat link to the original movie.

Raul can dance - but not that well. He slips and stumbles at key moves; his knee giving way. The lingering camera doesn't zoom in on any reaction when the inevitable, literal fall - or slip from assumed perfection, comes. Raul carries on with the dance - and the camera does too. In a way, the camera tries to hide what Raul is also hiding; as if we may not notice. But we do. This is masterly direction from Pablo Larrain.

In the last reel there's a chance it may not all end in absolute failure for Raul. A decision in the final stages of the dance competition could go either way, with just two contenders up for the crown at the last dance saloon -could Raul actually win? Is he the 'new best Tony Manero impersonator' in Chile? He will either come first or second. But a runner-up is just another nobody. When asked what his profession is at the dance contest, Raul looks puzzled: "This" he replies, without seeing the irony.

Raul may do something unexpected and nasty to the suit of a rival (in a scene that is really quite disgusting and puts to bed any hope that Raul isn't as depraved as he may at first appear), but it's his own white disco suit that is forever ruined; that will forever be missing the right number of buttons to make him a true Manero impersonator - a suit that is already splashed with the blood of the innocent.

The performance of Alfredo Castro as Raul is heart-wrenching, absolute and intense. It's real, without the barriers of a performance to distract; he is Raul, in the same way he will never be Tony Manero.

This remains a film that refutes the beauty and passion in hardship; denies its existence; embraces the blackest humour and lives the darkest of days. There's no bad boy made good moral to be found here. No pot of gold or winning ticket at the end of this rainbow; this great glass elevator is chipped and broken and going nowhere.

If you thought the real Tony Manero had it bad, you ain't seen nothing yet! by ~ Mark Gordon Palmer

Well, I was so excited about this movie! Last year, meeting Argento at the premier of Mother of Tears was amazing; the film was fantastic; loud, quirky, stylish, random, violent, erotic, dreamlike, - perfect. That was Mother of Tears. Giallo ....was.......just as brilliant, just as devil-may-care, just as funny, frightening, fantastic and two fingers in the air fabulous as Mother of Tears! I really enjoyed this, and yes, I count myself as a huge fan of the earlier movies - Suspiria of course, Sleepless, Phenomena (possibly my favourite), and I loved La Cinque Giornate, also Masters of Horror. As much as I worship films such as Suspiria, I don't think Argento should be trying to mimic such films, in 2009, - Suspiria for instance, is very much a 70s movie; it couldn't be remade today, at least not in the same way (I hope the remake doesn't try, but is along the vibe of Mother of Tears or Giallo). The fact is, like the films of Jess Franco, you either 'get' Argento - or you don't. To 'expect' another Deep Red or Suspiria is to deny the auteur his creative freedom. I don't want a retread or a rehash. To do that would kill the man and his movies. The fact that he is reinventing the genre and having fun (yes - very probably at the expense of his many fans!) is a fabulous kick in the teeth to convention, and the predictability of some horror films, especially once great directors trying to recapture their past glories by cloning their talents. Giallo made me jump twice. It made me cringe a few times. It made the two girls sitting next to me walk out when the lip-cutting scene came in (a masterstroke - so gruesome, yet you don't see a thing. Another kick in the teeth from Argento. Fabulous!). I thought, the make-up of our friend Yellow, was over the top, but I think, deliberately so. Argento isn't a fool - he knows the look he wants. For me, it's a nightmarish, trashy, unreal look, in the same way the entire movie (and Movie of Tears) has an unreal feel, as if inner demons in the mind of the director have become real, have risen up past barriers to creative freedom, and stuck that one finger up high in the air - a perfect "f*ck you" to the critics. Because, for a movie that references the genre that puts the killer to the fore, to relegate the villain to a level of quite perfect ridiculousness, is a wonderful and confrontational idea. To mix up scenes of extreme brutality, with a villain who comes across as just, well - weird! Is fun and frightening at the same time. Enough with the black leather clad knife wielding maniacs in the shadows (as much as I love 'em...) this villain is no more believable than Jigsaw, but exists at the same level - a random villain, a caricature, a nightmarish man made blood red cartoon, a dreamlike protagonist; the killer doesn't matter; the killer is a nightmarish, sick-minded, visualisation of unreality, and sick bloody fear, from Inspector Enzo's past. Yellow could be anyone. Anyone to Enzo. Anyone to Argento. Yes, there's a hint of film caricatures in this movie, from great American movies; in both Yellow and Enzo; it's like a dream of American cinema mixed up in one big bloody pulp. The fact Enzo talks, acts and doesn't take the world so seriously; in fact, acts like the world has nothing left to shock or surprise him, to me sums up the thoughts of a man traumatised by his past, seeing even killers as some kind of bizarre childlike nightmare, that he is trying to suppress - with humour, with sometimes unbelievable comments - "he understood" but in context, just the perfect response. Yellow is Enzo's past and his nightmares made real; but not in the reality you might expect; a kind of horrible visceral vision, bloodily childlike, this is a man who doesn't want to live in convention, wants to stick two fingers up to the world, wants to skulk in the basement shadows like a captured beast with beauty never too close, for fear she shall get her wings burnt (Yellow can do that, Yellow, although hidden, is not so hidden away as Enzo) ... you know, Enzo isn't so far removed from Argento himself. Or as he may like us to view him. Who knows? It's that stubbornness, that off-handedness, that meanness, that makes Argento such a masterful director and such a master of horror. Thank you Dario. There are fans out here that still "get" you. What a fabulous horror movie Giallo is. And thank you FrightFest for showing it.

damatotomato, London