Three Films Make A Post: Paradise Has An Appetite

The Devil’s Mouth (2026): For a few minutes there, I actually thought Jeff “I Made Kick-Ass 2 And Somehow Still Have A Career” Wadlow’s teens in their twenties versus a shark in a cave movie might be good fun. Hell, I even thought it might do something with the co-dependent “friendship” it sets up between Kathryn Newton’s and Lana Condor’s characters. Obviously, it didn’t.

Instead, the cave most of the film takes place in is so dark, I can’t even complain about the shark being bad CGI – you’d have to be able to see it for that –, the script so lacking in tension, follow-through or ideas all hopes of being entertained soon left me, and Wadlow’s direction is without personality, style, or focus.

The whole thing’s simply a bore.

Brocéliande (2003): For more than half of its running time, the improbably named Doug Headline’s French entry into the then slasher cycle actually feels like an attempt at smuggling in a conspiracist giallo with added nonsense about druids. Despite his name, Headline’s not a great stylist, alas, so it is more exciting an attempt on paper than in practice.

Colour me actually surprised when the whole thing turns into movie about young people running through a cave system fighting a dude in a monster suit for its last third. Not a terribly good one – the action staging leaves a lot to be desired – but hey, at least, I didn’t see this turn coming.

The Book of Sijjin and Illiyyin (2025): This version of Cinderella but with black magic, Indonesian style, on the other hand, pretty much goes where you expect it to go. That’s not a complaint, mind you, for Hadrah Daeng Ratu – one of the few female Indonesian directors whose films I’ve encountered – has a lot of fun with insects digital and real, healthy spatters of blood, icky corpse manipulation based magic, religion versus black magic duels, and everything else one could hope for.

Despite an ending where religion kinda-sorts wins, this has a wonderfully nasty streak. Probably not recommended to people who thought Evil Dead Burns just wasn’t a very nice movie (unlike all those other Evil Dead movies about people having to brutally murder their possessed beloved ones)?

Thae Rae: The Exorcist (2025)

Ming (Thaneth Warakulnukroh), a long since defrocked former Catholic exorcist living in a small Thai village is possessed by something very nasty. His past is rather murky. He left the priesthood after a possession case could only be solved by the death of a child, and began – at least going by the villagers who have very little love for the man – to dabble in black magic. He also has the habit of marrying often – and becoming a widower just as often.

Now, things have really escalated, though, and the old man is running around threatening people and munching on raw buffalo guts.

Not completely surprising, his only daughter Malee (Nichaphat Chatchaipholrat) is estranged and living in the city, as far away from her old man as she can get. Some dubious messages supposedly coming from her aunt lure her back, though, right when her dad’s possession problem really hits the fan. Soon, Malee is under the threat of possession – and worse - herself.

Fortunately, at the same time, the Catholic Church sends in young hot shot exorcist priest Paolo (Jirayu Tangsrisuk) to take care of business. The case is so complicated, he will have to team up with streaming-enabled shaman Sopha (Mean Phiravich Attachitsataporn) and dive deep into the secrets of a very murky past to resolve the situation.

I very much enjoy the return of SARS Wars director Taweewat Wantha to the filmmaking world, particularly now that I’ve realized this is indeed the same guy. His two Death Whisperer films certainly are very fun examples of contemporary horror, with the second’s ghost punching tendency exactly the sort of thing to make my little heart all a-flutter, and this ecumenical exorcism film is just as entertaining.

And we are in the world of fun horror here, where even the dark backstory and various bits of trauma business are presented with a certain lightness of touch that keeps the film away from delving into true emotional depths. In other contexts, this wouldn’t necessarily be such a great thing, but Wantha’s film is so deeply involved in the business of racing through a fun mystery punctuated with fine horror set pieces, depth simply isn’t what the film is going for.

Those horror set pieces, based on Thai and Western exorcism tropes and some really dubious religious lore are graciously sprinkled throughout the film, realized with an experienced hand and often a dry sense of humour – without this ever becoming a comedy.

Despite a two hour running time, there’s a breathlessness to the proceedings I really appreciate.

I also appreciate how little bickering there is between our exorcising leads: once they’ve both realized their opposite number is on the level, they simply proceed to work together for the greater good, the fine details of doctrine taking a back seat to saving people. This is not a film about whose religion is right, but one about cooperation and respect, in a low key but obvious way.

Plus, the possibility to freely mix elements of different possession traditions (or the movie tropes thereof) opens up quite a few creative possibilities, Thae Rae then proceeds to make excellent use of.

Ikenie Man (2019) & Harawata Man (2019)

These two short – fifty-two and forty-six minutes respectively – horror comedies by Yu Nakamoto belong together, despite the second film being far superior to the first one. Even though I’m not going to go too deeply into the plots, some spoilers are inevitable here, especially for the second film.

A university film club goes into a pretty creepy forest to film a simple slasher. The final girl doesn’t actually like horror films, the director is a total horror nerd, and soon squabbling ensues that causes her to wander off while the rest of the crew stumble upon a camping site populated by the kind of social mixture of young people you only find in horror movies and videogame casts.

Because they are lacking a lead actress, the filmmaking idiots decide to film a nightly attack on the camp site; problems ensue, though not exactly those you’d have expected.

Ikenie Man. the first of these two films is not just a comedy, it is that most horrifying of things, a full on horror parody. Which, unfortunately, means much of its first half consists of the same jokes every single one of these films make, just less sharply written (and in my case also hindered by somewhat bad subtitles), and not always well timed.

The finale, in which the director channels all of his horror knowledge in an actually hilarious and very gory way to get everyone out of the situation is rather better, though, as a scene during which  a guy uses guts as a nunchaku is bound to be. Otherwise, Ikenie Man is about what you’d expect from a microbudget Japanese horror parody.

Harawata Man is of quite a different calibre, however. We follow members of the same film club, minus the first film’s director plus some memorable new members as they meet, greet and eventually go on shooting yet another horror film.

This time around, they plan on a guerrilla shot in that other mainstay of no budget movie production, the empty industrial building. As it turns out, there’s another crew – directed by a character played by no less than Shigeo Osako! - already shooting their own movie there. It’s not, as our rather loveable idiot protagonists at first think, a porn shoot, but a snuff film production, so again, bloody violence ensues. You really shouldn’t mess with university film clubs, or underestimate the powers of donning a slasher mask sack (sack mask?), though.

This time around, Nakamoto swerves from parody to a proper horror comedy that still has more than enough genre knowledge but whose humour is predominately character based, with a bit of splatstick to keeps things loose. Which leads to a much funnier film, particularly since, where Ikenie Man’s character work was rather perfunctory, this one deftly draws fun character relations, and presents everyone as a loveable goofball I found impossible not to root for. Also, the jokes simply are better, as well as better timed.

There’s real heart here, so much of it the film can even finish on one of those wistfully melancholic scenes of old friends meeting years later Japanese cinema of any budget level loves so well, and make it work.

Which is quite an improvement between two films that came out in the same year.

Three Films Make A Post: What happened to flight 298?

Black Box (2026): Or, as we should probably call it Body Snatcher Tentacles On A Plane, for this is indeed an unironic attempt at adding more tentacles (and UFO conspiracy nonsense) to Invasion of the Body Snatchers and setting it on a plane. Kudos for creative mixing towards director Steven Quale, at least.

Unfortunately, a commercial airline flight isn’t actually that great a place for the kind of paranoia various versions of the Body Snatchers are interested in: your seat neighbour being taken over loudly does not have as much resonance as your loved ones being taken over quietly.

It’s not a bad movie, actually, and some sharper character work might even have turned it into a good one, but the film can’t quite escape the sense that most of the thinking involved in its production went into its initial set-up, and much less into what to then do with it.

Star Wars: The Mandalorian and Grogu (2026): Whereas this movie following the generally entertaining streaming adventures of its titular characters simple puzzles me, because its flaws are really rather atypical of the way blockbuster franchise movies are designed. Namely, these films do tend to follow a pretty strict scriptwriting rulebook where stakes are set up in the first act, escalated in the second and resolved in the third, where characters have rather precisely timed arcs, and the series of CGI set-pieces does of course escalate in size and drama as well.

None of this happens in Jon Favreau’s movie: there isn’t an actual plot, there sure as shit aren’t any dramatic or personal stakes, and the characters not only don’t go through any kind of arc, but demonstrate less, well, character then they do in the streaming show.

I do understand setting up the usual trappings of a blockbuster and failing, but not even trying nor even attempting to come up with something to replace them does leave me rather confused by the whole production.

The Bells of Astercote (1980): This BBC kid’s movie about two terribly well-spoken children stumbling upon a local legend that suddenly becomes entwined with the present when a golden chalice(!) hidden in the woods supposed to protect a nearby village from a return of the Plague is stolen belongs to a very different time. Then, proper children’s television was allowed to be mildly creepy, and resonant with folk imaginings. Different times, indeed, and while this isn’t one of the truly great examples of the form, it is worth an hour of one’s time, if only to become astonished by the way tropes of kid’s adventure, 70s style, collide here repeatedly with folklore and horror.

It’s like the Famous Five, but with less racism, and magic is real.

Which Is Stronger, Karate Or The Tiger (1976)

Original title: Butoken: Moko gekisatsu!

A domino-masked karateka going by the nom de plum of Iron Dragon (Yasuaki Kurata) is beating up the dreams of karate world domination of evil Kiramoto (Masashi Ishibashi), and in the ring.

As it turns out, our hero has good reason to wear a mask – he is actually one Tetsuji Ryuzaki, and Kiramoto and his equally evil brother once murdered Ryuazki’s father for a chest full of gold.

While getting in the way of Kiramoto’s dream of karate tournament domination isn’t terribly difficult, taking actual, bloody vengeance on the man turns out to be a somewhat different proposition. For the villain makes his home in a castle filled with gimmick-loving martial artists, traps, his very own torture dungeon, as well as the promised tiger, and while our hero is great at karate, he isn’t exactly the most subtle of men, so any mission of infiltration quickly turns into a frontal assault for him.

Apparently, Sonny Chiba couldn’t star in all of Toei’s karate exploitationers, so this one, directed by hand-held camera lover Kazuhiko Yamaguchi (also responsible for Sister Streetfighter and various Delinquent Girl Bosses), instead has to get by with Yasuaki Kurata, at this point of Fight! Dragon fame, later on more recognizable for his work in Hongkong, at least to an audience outside of his native Japan.

Even without Sonny, this is still an archetypal Toei karate exploitation movie, with all the stylistic flourishes and some moments of outright craziness you’d expect, but Kurata’s persona is somewhat different to Chiba’s vile, charismatic badasses. Sure, he’s beating villains to death with his bare hands and does rather unpleasant things to skulls when riled, but he’s more straightforwardly heroic than your typical Chiba character. At least, he’s never seen raping a woman, or selling somebody into sex slavery.

Hell, he’s even putting a young fighter he beat in the ring straight again. To be fair, he does so by beating him up during one of these particularly dramatic – and very blue - rain storms beloved of Japanese martial arts cinema, and doesn’t exactly prolong the guy’s life by getting him involved in his problems, but hey, Chiba’ would probably have ripped the kid’s voice box out and sold his female relatives.

So, befitting the comparative niceness of our protagonist, the Karate or the Tiger as a whole isn’t quite as bloody and sleazy as Chiba’s more extreme outings for Toei – even the torture scenes are more on the aesthetically cool than the unpleasant side, and the only bit of actual sexual violence here is a stolen kiss and one sentence about a rape, which is rather uncommon for a Japanese film of this era and genre; not unpleasantly so, obviously.

The violence is still fun and filmed with style and excitement, it’s simply not quite as extreme as it could be. Yamaguchi really loves hand-held shots and decidedly non-naturalistic lighting in the theatrical tradition that runs through much of Japanese studio exploitation, so there’s always at least something of interest to look at here, some emotion that’s visually heightened in interesting ways, and an sense of energy and excitement throughout.

As to the titular question, it is, indeed, karate.

Passenger (2026)

When Budding van lifer Tyler (Jacob Scipio) and his supportive but clearly long-suffering partner Maddie (Lou Llobell) come upon what looks like an accident by the side of the road, they take with them something worse than bad memories. A supernatural (the film goes with the yawn-inducing “demonic” as a descriptor) entity known as The Passenger (who rides and rides) latches onto them and starts playing increasingly deadly games with its endless, random powers.

I tend to be much happier with the films of André Øvredal than your average horror film fan (ask me about Last Voyage of the Demeter), yet this road movie didn’t do very much for me. In part, because Øvredal’s usually impeccable timing of shocks, jump scares, and suspense seems completely off here, with little of these basic building blocks of horror hitting as well as they should, the evil entity feeling more like a collection of tropes than something as specific as a highway-centric demon (sigh).

Attempts attempts at using good old hobo signs as part of the thing’s mythology lead nowhere interesting. In general, there’s a curious lack of specifity to a monster haunting such a specific liminal space as the US highway system. Most of the jump scares here could be in a movie about a haunted house, a haunted bus, or a haunted beach shanty.

Our main couple isn’t terribly unlikeable, yet here, too, the film never puts much effort into turning them into specific persons beyond “main couple in a horror movie with one character trait each”.

Øvredal does still have technical chops, of course, so this is never descending into the realm of the truly terrible, and instead dwells where the truly generic drive in eternal circles.

Three Films Make A Post: This is not a love story.

Mother Mary (2026): Sometimes, I really like the films of David Lowery; this one, I really don’t. It’s the kind of film where everything’s a metaphor, but never a metaphor for anything that’s actually complex (or, frankly, interesting) enough to warrant being talked about exclusively metaphorically. The kind of film where every single line of dialogue – mostly uttered by Anne Hathaway and Michaela Coel in exalted stage psychodrama mode – is spoken portentously, full of pregnant (with metaphor, obviously!) pauses.

The kind of film that makes many gesture about being deep, but misses depth in its incessant efforts of performing depth. Much like the kind of pop star Hathaway portrays, come to think of it…

Twisted (2026): Darren Lynn Bousman, for his part, apparently never left the early 2000, and still directs exactly like he did 20 years ago. So expect the shitty colour scheme of his Saw movies, the would-be Tony Scott editing tics of his Saw movies, the random attacks of blur of his Saw movies, the score made by someone apparently tone deaf of his Saw movies. One might notice a tendency there.

Because our director really, really like to keep to his old standards, this also has the dumb-pretending-to-be-clever plotting of the Saw movies, and the tendency to waste a perfectly fine cast (in this particular case especially Djimon Hounsou and Lauren LaVera).

Santo vs. the Strangler aka Santo vs el estrangulador (1965): Tonight, even El Santo let me down, or rather, René Cardona did by couching some perfectly fine Santo vs the Phantom of the Variety Theatre business in so many musical numbers, re-titling this into Santo vs the Musical Number seems not just fair but simply more honest.

The sad thing about this is: whenever this lucha movie actually concerns the adventures of the Idol of the Masses, it’s genuinely good fun. Alas, the next musical number is as inevitable as metaphor overload in a David Lowery movie.

Ghost Board (2026)

Apparently (the movies wouldn’t lie to us!) detention in Thailand means having to spend a day doing chores for a Buddhist temple out in the sticks for the terrible crime of board gaming during school hours. On their way back, the three male board gaming kids and the girl who had to join them for different reasons (trauma to be explained later on), stumble upon a ruin, wherein they find an ancient boardgame. Boardgames, say the rules, need to be played. Alas, this is a horror movie, so the thing turns out to be a cursed example of its kind.

Now, the kids have to fight off various crappy looking CGI versions of monsters from Thai folklore, as well as the deadite-style possessed sister (Panisara Rikulsurakan) of one of their own, to win the game and survive the night.

I had quite a bit of fun with Chanathip Wongpoltree’s Ghost Board. In fact, given that I’m probably not its core audience, rather more than I expected. Going by the general tone, this is certainly horror meant for kids, but clearly, made with rather different assumptions of what kids are officially allowed to see and enjoy in their exciting monster movies. So this one starts off with a little boy hanged by supernatural forces pissing himself during his death, and features rather more explicit trauma than media made specifically for Western monster kids are generally allowed to show. Though, having been a Western monster kid myself once, and watched and read things very much not made for my age group pretty early on, I think this approach is simply more honest.

Anyway, even with its pieces of past trauma the kids have to conquer besides the monsters to survive, this is simply a very fun monster movie, certainly influenced by Evil Dead and to a degree by Stranger Things, yet filtered through tropes and monsters of Thai folklore. The pacing is speedy without becoming hysterical, the characters and their plights simply drawn but not bland, and there’s a sense of fun running even through the trauma-solving bits.

Sure, the CGI is mostly a bit crap, but when it comes to children (and policemen) being threatened by a headless dude with two swords using the head of one of his victims as a kind of seeing-eye lantern, I care more about the spirit of the thing than about how well it is done on paper. So, I really had a blast with this one.

Daikanyama Wonderland Horror (1986)

Three budding idols in some kind of idol training establishment – aerobics are clearly a particularly important part of this – are offered the chance to level up to actual idol status by the not at all suspicious boss of their school.

Soon, the three are stumbling through dark, dry ice fogged streets and are hunted by a gutmunching hardcore band, Halloween masked versions of Freddy and Jason(!), and a full-grown man who can somehow disguise himself as a baby in a baby cart, and doesn’t who doesn’t need Tomisaburo Wakayama to do some damage. Also appearing is some kind of clown troupe and various wearers of lesser monster rubber masks.

In the end, the idol industry literally eats its children.

If you know director Teruyoshi Ishii predominantly as the director of POV horror V-cinema hidden gem Jaganrei (made a couple of years after this one), you’re going to be in for a surprise, for where the later film is really rather clever and formally inventive, Daikanyama is gloriously dumb and silly. Though, to be fair, both films show a healthy scepticism about what the idol industry does with/to very young women.

For its first third, this is a pure time capsule of 80s Tokyo, obviously shot guerrilla style, that culminates in the epic aerobics sequence other 80s films have only dreamed of. Once the plot gets started, Ishii throws all of his favourite things at you: punk, guts, and rubber masks of famous film monsters, adds rather a lot of gloriously improbable – and therefore awesome - home-made gore, and more dry-ice fog than any 80s music video you care to name.

Since its runs a mere forty-five minutes, there’s no time for this outbreak of youthful enthusiasm to get boring, or really, to ever slow down once we’re through the aerobics bit. I found myself hit by a true cinematic (videographic?) sugar rush – and what else could I ask of a movie?

Three Films Make A Post: Please state the theme of your movie clearly, sir!

Hive (2026): In the treatment of its truly weird monster, Felipe Vargas’s Hive is absolutely wonderful. It creates something strange, creepy and alienated/alienating out of a playground and the kind of home-made material a Tubi Original can afford, and then uses it in the creepiest way it can possibly imagine. That’s how low budget filmmaking is supposed to work for my taste.

Problems arise whenever it feels the need to make very, very sure its audience understands its thematic concerns about race and class in America, and puts its ideas into the stiffest, cheesiest monologues I’ve heard in quite awhile. It’s particularly irritating since the actors actually have the film’s back and have already expressed it all through gestures, glances and body language – particularly Xochitl Gomez is excellent – one would be wilfully ignorant not to understand. And yes, I know, the times and US educational standards seem to demand this sort of thing, but stating your theme like a little child never makes anything better, certainly not your movie.

Leaving D.C. (2012): A guy with obsessive compulsive disorder (writer/director/producer) Josh Criss moves from Washington, D.C. to the wilds of rural West Virginia. There, he encounters the kind of strangeness a man of his character and type of neurodivergence can’t simply keep away from, to unpleasant results.

This is a minor gem in the POV horror crown, mostly thanks to Criss’s impeccable sense of handling escalation in a slow movie, mixed with a willingness to portray a character who becomes increasingly difficult to like (in a believable manner), and a threat that’s just unexplained and undefined enough to be truly creepy.

For the POV connoisseur like me, there are some pleasantly imaginative uses of a supposedly securely installed camera, and surprisingly engaging playing around with audio software.

The Lost Footage of Leah Sullivan (2018): An attempt at making a documentary as a school project about a town legend in her former home town leads Leah Sullivan (Anna Stromberg, who also co-wrote and produced with her co-lead and director Burt Grinstead) to her doom.

Like a lot of the better POV horror films, this works particularly well because it is very good at emulating the form of what it is supposed to be – unedited raw material for an amateur documentary – and taking on the flaws this sort of thing would reasonably have. Stromberg is a great screen presence as well.

The plot is a little on the slow side, but the climactic creeping through an supposedly abandoned murder house is very cleverly staged, repeatedly making excellent use of a certain entity standing behind the characters only for the audience to see.

Pathaan (2023)

In a needlessly flashback-heavy plot, Indian super spy Pathaan (Shar Rukh Khan) has to thwart the fiendish and just as needlessly byzantine plans of super mercenary and ex Indian super spy Jim (John Abraham, presence-wise completely outplayed by everyone else on screen) to loosen a genetically modified small pox virus on, ahem, “Mother India”. Because this is a YRF Spy Universe film, Pathaan also falls for Pakistani super spy Rubai (Deepika Padukone), who may or may not be on his side.

This is much easier to stomach than Siddarth Anand’s earlier entry into the YRF spy universe franchise, the so jingoistic it took all of the joy out of the silly action War. It’s still plenty jingoistic, mind you, but it’s mild for the standards of what comes out of India these days, and keeps to the general tenets of the international action movies. It even manages to do something nearly unheard of these days in Bollywood – its hero is an adopted Muslim, and that’s a good thing, which only Shah Rukh Khan can get away with now. And come to think of it, Rubai is probably Muslim as well, though clearly not a very conservative one, given her fashion style, which leaves us with a contemporary Bollywood movie whose heroes are both Muslims.

Deepika, as it turns out, like quite a lot of her contemporary female peers in Bollywood is also a pretty convincing action heroine and appears to have genuine fun strutting more than just bikinis and opening her tear ducts. That SRK is still a well of off-handed charisma, who makes even machismo look not all that unpleasant should be taken as a given.

For most of the time, Pathaan gives up on all pretences at even a sort-of realism, or even just mild believability, and turns into a full-on live action cartoon, with impossibly beautiful people strutting through insane (that’s a compliment) action set pieces with terrible (but who cares) CGI, making goofy (but likeable) jokes, and demonstrating a cheerful hatred for that boring reality business. Imagine a Tom Cruise Mission Impossible with a sense of humour, and a lead whose ego doesn’t get in the way of letting the other actors on screen shine, too. Which also allows for an incredibly silly and fun Salman Khan cameo as his own YRF hero Tiger, making dad jokes while helping SRK out in an impossible/awesome fight on top of a train.

Until the film suddenly remembers that all of its main characters have torture and dead parents in their past and goes all gritty for five minutes. Fortunately, it will proceed to get distracted by yet another explosion in few minutes, so all is well in the YRF Spy Universe.

Three Films Make A Post: It all started when he met a woman.

The Tourist (2010): On paper, I’m all in for the ridiculously named Florian Henckel von Donnersmarck’s attempt to make a film about the Hollywood idea of an everyman stumbling into a spy-ish romantic adventure in the light mood of Hitchcock circa North By Northwest. The problem, well, one of the problems, is, von Donnersmarck sure ain’t Hitchcock. The script by the director himself, Christopher McQuarrie and Julian Fellowes lacks tension, pace and charm, so there’s really little of the joyfulness this sort of film needs to breathe.

Putting paid to the film’s romantic aspect is the simple fact that Johnny Depp and Angelina Jolie have no chemistry, and are both not exactly at the best stages in their respective career: Depp seems mostly completely checked out, going through the motions – I blame the alcohol; Jolie is at the stage of being so perfectly together, made up and beautiful, she’s totally lifeless.

So what’s to like here?

Chum (2026): I already didn’t like the shark and serial killer movie Dangerous Animals Jonathan Zuck’s film seems rather enthusiastically, ahem, “inspired” by. Having seen Chum, I believe I was much too hard on that film, seeing as that one offered competent editing, dialogue that didn’t make me cringe in pain, and also didn’t take the lazy hack’s way out of using hefty amounts of AI for the shark footage. But then, of course a filmmaker who shows no talent in directing actors, action, or shooting a simple fucking establishing shot would do that.

The Blackwell Ghost (2017): The first of a by now 8-part series of POV horror films is a thing of small yet real pleasures: filmmaking one man band Turner Clay (accompanied by his long-suffering wife Terri Czapleski) spends an hour checking out a supposedly haunted house. Pixel hunts and minor attacks of creepiness ensue; a wife wields the power of sarcasm. All this is presented with a sense of naturalism, featuring two characters that feel likeable and real, and performed without any pretence. While everything here is really very minor, it’s also done well, pacy for the kind of film it is, and appears to know where it wants to go and how to get there without falling into the classic pitfall of unlikeable characters spending hours of your lifetime farting around.

It’s just a likeable project, done well inside of limited means.

Three Films Make A Post: From Oblivion to Oblivion!

My Dearest Assassin aka Lueat Rak Nakkha (2026): Taweewat Wantha’s action movie about the vagaries of having a rare blood type reminds rather effectively of how great action in Thai movies can be – there are great stunt performances, choreography that isn’t obsessed with grappling but actually features punching and kicking, gun fu, as well as a director who knows when to get out of the way of his performers, and when he can make things more intense or interesting.

I was rather reminded of Hongkong’s heroic bloodshed movies by the way the film mixes heavy melodrama with its awesome violence, while it ignores boring facts like how anaemia or blood transfusions work to squeeze more tears out of the audience. And with this kind of movie, blood and tears truly belong to each other.

Pater Noster and the Mission of Light (2024): With Christopher Bickel’s movie, we are entering the world of really indie indie horror, but the kind of ultra-indie project that puts all possible effort and energy in. So here, when a young record collector (Adara Starr, who is one of the most enthusiastic screen presences I’ve encountered in quite some time) and her friends stumble into the world of a cult of the elderly people that was once also a Ya Ho Wha 13-style cult band, we get a full-on Mission of Light album beyond what’s needed for the soundtrack.

Also, rather a lot of increasingly freakish and wonderful gore, an eye for the hallucinatory, fountains of fake blood, and the sort of H.P. Lovecraft meets John Keel lore that’s like catnip to me. Bickel and his collaborators make a lot of limited means here.

Khitrovka. The Sign of Four aka Khitrovka. Znak chetyryokh (2023): Karen Shakhnazarov’s Russian adaptation of the other fully readable Holmes novel by Doyle has at least an interesting set-up. It puts the plot into a lovingly recreated Moscow of 1902, replaces Holmes and Watson with historical figures Konstantin Stanislavskiy (Konstantin Kryukov) – yes, the man with the Method – and crime reporter Vladimir Gilyarovskiy (Mikhail Porechenkov), adds other historical cameos (Chekhov knows a lot about India) and a sexy singer/thief (Anfisa Chernykh), and then proceeds to amble through the novel with little sense of tension.

Clearly, Shakhnazarov is more interested in showing off his talents at historical recreation, which leads to a film that is certainly interesting to experience but never really does much with the novel its working with. Hell, it doesn’t even try to reduce the weirdest bit of racism of the book nor does it understand how to have less than three endings.

Shinjuku’s Number One Drunk-Killer Tetsu (1977)

Original title: 新宿酔いどれ番地 人斬り鉄

After spending the usual ten years in prison for the brutal slaughter of an enemy gang boss, mad dog yakuza Tetsu (Bunta Sugwara) finds himself repelled by yakuza politics and a Tokyo he doesn’t quite understand anymore. People are now lieutenants he wouldn’t even spit on – and he likes spitting on people nearly as much as bashing their faces in – and there are clearly things going on his boss Eisaku Daimon (Mikio Narita) doesn’t want to tell him about. It doesn’t help Tetsu’s mental state that Harumi (Etsuko Ikuta), the woman who promised to wait for him hasn’t been seen for three years.

Cue various bouts of a drunk Tetsu getting into people’s faces, and lashing out. Not that Eisaku is actually surprised by this; he had clearly already decided to make use of the man’s nasty disposition before he ever stepped foot out of prison. So he sends Tetsu to Fussa, another part of Tokyo under control of a different yakuza clan to disturb the other clan’s business so forcefully, they’ll just have to allow Daimon’s people a foot in the door.

For that, Tetsu teams up with a hated corrupt cop, a former boxer and cell-mate, a former race car driver, a rocker-style delinquent, and his old buddy Fujiwara (Makoto Sato), one-armed and clearly having had enough of Tetsu’s shit, though Tetsu, not being the sensitive type, doesn’t quite manage to notice.

The group do manage to cause a lot of carnage, but once it’s time for the carnage to stop, a guy like Tetsu can become a bit of problem.

For once, a jitsuroku-style yakuza movie actually starts off declaring it is not based on any actual exploits of real brutal thugs. That’s pretty much the only actual surprise you’ll have with Yutaka Kohira’s movie if you have even the faintest knowledge of this genre. The rest of the film is all about checking all of the surface jitsuroku boxes: Tetsu’s little team of thugs is only somewhat better than their enemies in that they actually seem to believe in not murdering their co-workers – until the expected betrayal, of course –, while the heads of every clan are horrible and manipulative, society corrupt, and the camera nervous, often hand-held and always energetic.

There’s little depth or complexity to the plot or the characters here – most of Tetsu’s team members get their redeeming character traits a scene before they are dispatched (and after having committed yet another act of brutal violence), and the old romantic troubles between Tetsu and Harumi (who is in Fussa, because of course she is) are so undercooked, they might as well not be there. The same goes for the friendship between Tetsu and Fujiwara.

Having said that, I also have to say I had rather a great time with the movie. While this isn’t out to bring anything of complexity to its audience, as an explosion of late 70s yakuza violence this is an absolute blast, with some brilliantly edited action, some low-key fantastic car-stunts and a time-capsule quality to the filmmaking I found completely irresistible. While this is as far from reality as John Rambo’s adventures in Afghanistan, there’s something about the specific kind of grain, the shots of the ugly side of Tokyo, and the manic energy of the film that makes this feel more real than the reality of 1977 itself.

Speaking of fun, Bunta turns up his favourite mad dog persona until it crosses the border of the cartoonish, and everybody else plays their one note to the T, as well, apart from Sato, who appears to come in from a much more serious movie, which befits his plot function. Bunta also “sings” the title track, to prove not even he is perfect.

So, while it certainly isn’t any kind of artistic triumph, Shinjuku’s Number One Drunk-Killer Tetsu (also winner of the title of the week award), is an absolute blast of nihilistic energy.

Masters of the Universe (2026)

As a guy who had a somewhat intense He-Man phase in his childhood, I hardly know what to say about this sad attempt at nostalgia baiting by Travis Knight, the director of the only good live action Transformers film – Bumblebee.

Unfortunately, this ain’t no Bumblebee, kids. For a film that has less plot than many a short film, this somehow manages to be nearly two and a half hours (too) long. It’s so slow, we get our first He-Man transformation an hour into the non-proceedings. But then, how else to fit all of the “jokes” in, and that’s why we’re here, right?

And with jokes I mean the sort of winking, no actual jokes included awkward bullshit every movie that didn’t understand why the Guardians of the Galaxy movies worked now uses to undercut every single moment in a nerdcore movie an audience member might actually think is awesome (which really is what this should be all about, even Cannon knew this much about pulp filmmaking), and to destroy every single emotional beat this bloated monstrosity otherwise might have had. Hell, Masters of the Universe doesn’t even manage to utilize a needle drop of Queen’s “Princes of the Universe” properly, because it does of course need to make exactly the “joke” you’ll expect it to make at this point.

For a film that really wants to get my nostalgia money, the tone feels eternally (see what I did there, I’m just as funny as the script) embarrassed by the toy line and cartoons it is based off, always going for the easiest joke (Fisto, anyone?). Consequently, the whole film shows no actual appreciation of what could be fun about all of this.

The actors mostly show themselves equally unenthusiastic (in a way the now much belittled Marvel would never let anyone get away with in one of their films not directed by Waititi), apart from Idris Elba and Alison Brie, who make actual acting choices and have actual screen presence. Jared Leto’s Skeletor is even worse than his Exxxtreme Joker was (at least you could understand all of what he said there), and Nicholas Galitzine and Camila Mendes are less expressive than the action figures they portray.

Man, do I suddenly feel old and grumpy.

Three Films Make A Post: True love never dies.

The Crow  (2024): What a mess. There’s obviously nothing wrong with re-adapting Jamie O’Barr’s classic goth comic. Even though Alex Proyas’s film is basically perfect, there would certainly be ways to do something new and interesting with the material.

Unfortunately, this was directed by the guy that brought us the live action version of Ghost in the Shell and Snow White and the Huntsman, and is consequently the sort of remake that does make not a single good decision. The characters are insufferable – and cutting out the actual human emotional heart of the proceedings is a ridiculously bad choice –, the music choices often downright bizarre, and Rupert Sanders has no sense of style or flow as a director. I sort of dig Danny Huston chewing the scenery as the film’s Big Bad, but these are low hanging fruit.

Man of War (2026): While I can’t help but feel somewhat uncomfortable with an action movie that takes place in the early stages of the Russian attack on the Ukraine, it is difficult arguing against William Kaufman being the one director working the ever shrinking field of the direct to home viewing action industry whose particular talents are best suited to this sort of thing.

Much-feted – and rightly so - by the handful of people who care for his hyperrealistic approach to modern tactical gun combat scenes, Kaufman is also able to provide enough actual human grounding to the action for it to feel organic and in contact with those parts of the human experience that aren’t violence and/or cowering in fear. The characters are clichés for a movie of this type, but breathing ones, so there are actual emotional stakes here. That the action is pretty fantastic is to be expected of Kaufman anyhow.

Webmaster (1998): You probably won’t find many people who’d call this ultra-cheap looking cyberpunk movie from Denmark of all places an actually good movie, but it certainly is an entertaining one when one is interested in watching cheap cyberpunk movies from Europe (which I obviously am).

Its future consists exclusively of the most primitive computer animation standing in for cyberspace, grotty maintenance corridors, noir tropes and general horniness, filmed in ugly colours and with the most basic blocking.

Thomas Borch Nielsen’s film certainly has a very specific vibe; if you meet it there, it’s actually a fascinating little film of a future made out of discarded bits of the past.

April Fish (1986)

Original title: Shigatsu no sakana

Director Shohei Nemoto (Yellow Magic Orchestra’s Yukihiro Takahashi) made a critically acclaimed, yet commercially unsuccessful film a decade or so ago, and has been floundering ever since, while declaring he’s an artiste to anyone who doesn’t want to hear it. Shohei did manage to marry the leading lady of his film, now slightly aging star Fujiko Kinugasa (Miyoko Akaza), however, and she’s been paying the bills whereas Shohei stays at home and indulges in his hobbies of cooking fine French cuisine and nibbling cheese.

Shohei did shoot a – never used, of course – commercial on a South Sea Island a couple of years ago and got friendly with one of the local chiefs, a second generation Japanese named Panapora Handa (Tetsuro Tanba). They got so friendly, the Chief lent Shohei his wife for a night, as is apparently local custom in this very special South Seas community. Now, Shohei didn’t actually do anything untoward even when provided the opportunity because he actually loves his wife very much indeed, but when Handa comes to Japan for a bit, our hero is very much afraid the Chief is going to want to have Shohei reciprocate with the wife sharing.

Even though he isn’t the type to cheat on his wife, Shohei also isn’t the kind of guy able to say no to that sort of idea, or admit any part of this bizarre business to Fujiko. Fortunately, a screenwriter friend of his has a brilliant idea: why not hire a young actress (Kyo Kanoko) who is very much into free love to pretend to be his wife for an evening? Surely, nothing at all can go wrong, there.

Nobuhiko Obayashi, rightly beloved for Hausu in cult movie circles, was a director of many more facets than I understood before I started to dive deeper into his filmography. What connects all of his films are immense technical abilities as a director, as well as the knowledge when and how to apply these abilities for any given project. Which may mean going hog-wild for two hours, or never moving one’s camera for three.

Visually, April Fish is a pretty calm film for Obayashi, but adding too many flourishes to this wild, often slapstick-heavy homage to screwball comedies and especially Billy Wilder would have made the film utterly insufferable. As it stands, Obayashi puts a heavy emphasis on catching the physicality of his actors, be it Takahashi’s nervy, neurotic qualities, or Kyo Kanoko’s silliness and sexuality.

This isn’t a movie that’s afraid of a pratfall or a thrown condiment, yet there’s also an emotional core here that speaks about a marriage in crisis, where everything that’s actually important between a couple is left unspoken, and where all necessary fights have been avoided for years. It just does so through the language of screwball comedy, an epic cooking scene, and Tetsuro Tanba chewing the scenery in new ways even for this experienced chewer.

One might look askance at some of the racial politics here – the sexual ones are actually much less regressive than the plot description would make one fear – but the film’s basic silliness really works as a shield here I see no point in even trying to push aside.

Mad Max: Beyond Thunderdome (1985)

This is the Mad Max film I’ve returned to the least, so seldom indeed it must have last seen it in the late 90s. At that point in time, following the classic joyful childhood viewings when silly things like taste simply don’t get in one’s way, I really couldn’t roll with much of this at all. Miller’s decision to shift things to a PG-13 degree of violence and nastiness, Max’s evolution into a minor redeemer figure, and Tina Turner were all things that got me pretty worked up.

Rewatching it with less need to prove my good taste to myself – that train has not only gone but dive-bombed into a canyon with all passengers lost – I was first surprised by the heavy sense memory I was hit with during the first act, in an intensity I don’t get all that often. Apparently, the parts of the film until shortly after the Thunderdome sequence have been burned into my brain like Claremont X-Men comics, the original Star Wars trilogy, and Inframan. That went away once Peter Pan’s weird children appeared, but even as a child, I wasn’t too much into child protagonists, so that tracks quite well.

What I truly realized about the film this time around is how incredible Miller’s design sense is, how lived-in and strange Max’s world has become, and in turn, how Miller made his world stranger with every movie, the world breaking apart into further weirdness and strange delusions the longer it goes on after the apocalypse.

I don’t hate the children anymore as I once did, either. Or at least, I absolutely appreciate how Miller uses the Lost Boys to present an alternative to the capitalist hell of Bartertown, hope born from innocence and a lack of knowledge of the most destructive alternatives, but hope nonetheless. Emotionally, Max’s turn into a saviour figure still doesn’t quite work for me, but on the other hand, I wouldn’t want to watch the adventures of a guy who just lets a bunch of children run to their doom.

So this still is my least favourite Mad Max film, but now one I’ll occasionally rewatch and enjoy. Also, Tina Turner is a fantastic villain, what were you thinking, young Me!?

Three Films Make A Post: Honor Was Their Code.

Windtalkers (2002): At the time when it came out, John Woo’s American war epic was often unfavourably compared to The Thin Red Line and Saving Private Ryan. Apart from World War II, I don’t actually see much of a connection to Malick’s film – Woo has never been interested in the sort of introspection and the reflective mood that dominates Malick’s cinema, and certainly not when making a war movie. There’s a bit more kinship to Spielberg on display here, but I don’t see much use in a comparison here either.

This feels very much like an attempt to marry more traditional war movie tropes – often closer to 50s US war cinema than Woo’s peers – to incredibly dynamic but also hyper-realistically brutal action, making very cool looking scenes that still carry an emotional “war is not fun” heft. Add to that Woo’s unparalleled ability to create deeply felt and believable male bonds out of tropes and clichés, and you have a film only this specific director could ever have made.

Deep Water (2026): Clearly, his audience weren’t the only ones bored to tears by Renny Harlin’s Strangers prequel trilogy. The director apparently hasn’t gotten over the whole thing itself, so his return to the spectacle and shark well (the Well of Sharks, hire me!) here often feels surprisingly clunky. The film is populated with characters you won’t give a shit about, to be killed in ways I found myself giving even less of one about, while the plot, such as it is, clanks and clunks away into nothing.

Hungry (2026): When it comes to animal attack movies this month, I found myself much more entertained by this cheap and silly affair directed by James Nunn. This tale of an evil hippo(!) in the Bayou (!!) hunting tourists is a much more surehanded prospect: the characters are clichés but workably written and decently portrayed by the cast, there’s some actual tension in the hippo attack scenes, and where Harlin’s film often feels bloated and unfocussed, this is a film that knows what made pre-Sharknado SyFy movies work – simple craftsmanship applied to a very silly idea presented with a straight face.

Vampires of the Velvet Lounge (2026)

Some kind of vampire hunting organization lead by a Tom Berenger cameo has sent mercenary turned vampire huntress Cora (Dichen Lachman) and intelligence expert Alexis (Rosa Salazar) to stake out an absinthe bar run by Elizabeth Bathory (Mena Suvari) herself. Modern vampires like Elizabeth and her coven – the bitchy one (Sarah Dumont), the eternal tragic teenager acting out one (India Eisley) and hairy dude for the gory work (Mark Boone Junior) – lure in their prey through the powers of internet dating as well as the more usual mind control business.

Cora’s and Alexis’s mission will prove rather difficult, for their prey hasn’t survived several centuries without acquiring quite the bag of tricks.

Velvet Lounge director/writer Adam Sherman isn’t Uncle Jess, and he sure as shit isn’t Jean Rollin, but there’s space in the realm of the female vampire movie made by filmmakers who put all of their weird, potentially embarrassing obsessions on screen for lesser lights fetishizing blood drinking women as well.

So, if you’re in the market for a mix of all modern vampire clichés except for the sparkle, with bits and pieces of noir – Lachman’s off-screen monologues are quite the thing –, low rent action movie, and general sad vampire whining, a bit of modern technology and lots of absinthe and gore, this is the film for you, especially if you like talky vampires.

Unless you expect thematic or narrative coherence, or a tone that doesn’t fluctuate wildly between stupid, whiny, silly, and deathly self-serious. But really, would anyone going into a film with this title expect these things from their obsessive vampire fetish movie?

On the other hand, one also wouldn’t expect a more than decent cast that features Mena Suvari going scenery-chewing mad leading an ensemble of capable and well-known – at least in our circles – thespians who certainly don’t act bored slumming.

I’m generally not a fan of “you’ll like this thing if you like this sort of thing” recommendations, but this a film made 1) for its director and 2) for people who read the above description and purposefully seek out this kind of movie. As a member of group 2, I was certainly entertained, moved to snark, to companionable giggles at mad ideas like “vampires are literal absinthe fairies” and can’t help but respect a film that clearly doesn’t care to aim for any obvious audience beyond its creators.

Ura Horror (2008)

I have been pretty vocal about my love for the works of the contemporary king of POV horror Koji Shiraishi, as well as my general love for the horror anthologies of purportedly real footage that got churned out for the local Japanese home video market for a time. So much so, finding a new fansubbed movie of the sort provides me with a genuine moment of happiness.

Ura Horror, an anthology of shorts that tend to be around the five minutes mark, brings these good things together, with Shiraishi co-directing together with Yohei Fukuda (who also spent some time in the realm of cursed footage and tapes banned from broadcast on his own). Quality and depth of the pieces wavers between what amounts to short jokes and their set-ups, to tales that suggest a larger world of the supernatural lurking right at the upper right corner of a fuzzy video.

For the Shiraishi maniac, some moments here feel like suggestions and sketches of what is to come later: yes, digital worms are indeed in here, and AV actress turned general purpose idol and Noroi stalwart Maria Takagi is featured (and getting cursed) as well in a segment that also features the great Takashi Shimizu playing himself. Shiraishi’s love for the low-rent parts and aspects of Japanese popular culture is already in full effect.

This is, of course, all pretty lightweight in the sense that none of the tales here is an actual story with a traditional beginning, middle, and end, or features an explanation for the weirdness we have just witnessed, and no deep characterisation is going to be forthcoming. One could, of course, argue this to be exactly the point: these are films about the lack of explanation, about weirdness only briefly encountered, caught on camera, and then locked away by the survivors.

Three Films Make A Post: A new breed of mystery.

Videoheaven (2025): We all have our nostalgias; some of us feel the need to make three hour long essay films that attempt to defend them by amateurish attempts at intellectualizing, layered over endless clips of movie scenes taking place in video rental stores.

This is the video store version of Los Angeles Plays Itself, but where that classic of the overlong essay movie has complex ideas – some of whom I very much disagree with – it uses its clips to argue for, this is a strenuous clip show overlaid with an overwritten, pretentious monologue read by Maya Hawke that needs ages to explain the few, superficial ideas director/writer Alex Ross Perry actually has. The whole tone of the project mostly makes me happy video stores are practically dead, because if they made people this insufferable, they weren’t a good thing.

The Sheep Detective (2026): I wouldn’t have been surprised to also hate Kyle Balda’s high budget Amazon original about a bunch of sheep (voiced by Julia Louis-Dreyfus, Bryan Cranston and Patrick Stewart, among others) solving a murder in the most clichéd British murder village (possibly situated in the neighbourhood of Midsomer). However, this turns out to be utterly charming, working with and against golden age mystery tropes, making actually funny jokes and even nailing its emotional beats so well, I found myself tearing up at a movie about animated sheep.

The book this is based on is apparently considerably darker, but I found the film as it stands balancing quite wonderfully on the line between kitsch and goth.

Hi-Five (2025): Dear Internet, I’m still not suffering from that “super hero fatigue” I read so much about – how could I when superhero movies make up perhaps one percent of the movies I watch in a year? – and I’m not sorry about it, either.

So Kang Hyoung-chul’s South Korean superhero comedy about five very ordinary people and a Christian cult leader getting super powers, does have it kind of easy with me. But then, what’s not to like about a well-paced, genuinely fun film filled with just as fun characters, the proper not-Zach-Snyder-approved ideology for a superhero film, and a sense of playfulness and style?

The Summit of Mount Fuji (1970)

Original title: Fuji sanchô

After some years of failed attempts at convincing the government, the Japan Meteorological Agency manages to secure a mandate to install a weather radar device on the summit of Mount Fuji. This is predominantly going to be used to forecast dangerous typhoons much earlier than possible up to this point.

It’s not an easy project though: the weather affords only about forty working days per year, with a very slim two year window to finish it at all provided by the budget. There’s also the little problem of hard physical labour having to take place in very thin air, as well as the logistical and practical nightmare of masses of production materials having to be hauled by horse and higher up on foot.

And that’s before the kinds of troubles arise a project of this kind can’t avoid: backroom squabbling, worse weather than expected, and so on.

When you see the “Nikkatsu” logo on a film, you generally expect something more pop or more nude than a somewhat dry two hour movie about an ambitious construction project, but, with the assistance of the JMA and Mitsubishi Motors (the company who built the actual weather radar on Mount Fuji), this is indeed what we get here.

Surprisingly enough, I found myself often riveted by Tetsutaro Murano’s film. There’s something to be said about a film concerning a bunch of serious, professional people – all of them men, because that’s the times unfortunately – doing serious, professional work under difficult circumstances to build something of actual use to their society. Especially when watched in a time when the thing to admire in the real world are incompetent fools trying to destroy as much of our societies in many of the countries of the West in as short a time as possible to get rich on the backs of everybody else.

Murano tells the story calmly, often emphatically without drama. Thus, he can focus on the small triumphs when yet another difficult hurdle is surmounted by hard work and professionalism, and doesn’t exactly need too become too heavy-handed.

This isn’t much of a character movie. There are a lot of fine Japanese actors here – like eternal favourite Shintaro Katsu as the leader of the horse porter cooperation which will turn into the bulldozer porter cooperation – who provide screen presence to not let the film drift off into the inhuman. Yet this isn’t a film about personal problems but one about the solving of impersonal problems through competence, stubbornness and a bit of luck.

Visually, there are some exciting shots of Mount Fuji – particularly the daring helicopter transport of the radome is impressive –, of heavy machinery crawling up a mountain while a group of pilgrims goes down the mountain, and rather a lot of bad weather, made with enough heft to convince anyone they are indeed witnessing the building of a radar station on a mountain summit.

Which, it turns out, was exactly the kind of thing I needed to see today.

The Stately Ghosts of England (1965)

Ah, the Sixties, when NBC News somehow deigned to hire – apparently already paranormally inclined – Frank “future The Entity guy” De Felitta to adapt a non-fiction – of a kind - book by Diana Norman about some haunted manors in England.

Because as guy from the Bronx doesn’t exactly scream “stately manor house”, the ensuing documentary is actually carried by Margaret “Miss Marple” Rutherford, her apparently mute husband Stringer Davis, and “clairvoyant” (not space cadet!) Tom Corbett.

So Rutherford and her hangers-on in turn visit three stately manors, all of which clearly can only be filmed in Dutch angles, let some posh twat tell the local ghost story in the tone of often told, well-rehearsed stories, and then begin wandering about the place while an impressive orchestral score swoons. Corbett inevitably sees ghosts (and corrects the number of ghosts from the stories upwards), Rutherford overacts every of the very many reaction shots asked of her while quoting Shakespeare or Byron. All the while Stringer Davis looks on, confused why he’s even there.

In other words, it’s pretty fantastic entertainment for the lover of ghost stories or of the less YouTube sort of posh English ghost hunting – Dame Rutherford certainly won’t measure any magnetic fields or shout at any given spirit person – and the paranormal as cosy entertainment.

For me, as someone who grew up on our German Edgar Wallace adaptations as a focal point of what England is supposed to look and feel like – that is, not at all like the real place – the film provides the additional kick of doing something comparable through the eyes of American De Felitta, with the added frisson of De Felitta actually having some proper British upper class people to act out his fantasies about their country for him.

Three Films Make A Post: MIGHTY MAX!

The Solar Thread (1963): The mere existence of this short film is something of a Fortean encounter. Commissioned to make a PR film for a large producer of artificial textiles, Kazuo Kuroki turned out this portrayal of capitalism as an abstract nightmare of empty factories filled with machines voided of human input, bathed in an atonal score by Toshi Ichiyanagi. Possibly one of the great dystopian yet beautiful movies I’ve seen. Somehow, a large company’s PR arm signed off on this, and a gentleperson on the internet fansubbed it and put it on the Internet Archive.

Speed Demon (2026): I seem to be one of the few people alive who actually enjoyed this “nun exorcist Katie Cassidy on a train” movie, but Jon Keeyes’s film is so joyfully cheesy without winking at its audience, and carries itself with such a sense of fun, I’m not going to complain about the bizarre characterisations, the improbable dialogue, and the, ahem, variable acting. All these so-called flaws really only add to my enjoyment, as does a final sequel set-up in which an undercover Pope first tells our heroine that he doesn’t like her methods but approves of her results and then leads in to promise us the exorcism of the President of the United States (who really could need one) in the sequel. How could I resist?

Bored Hatamoto: The Daimonji Conspiracy (1959): Unlike the other films in the long-running jidaigeki mystery series I’ve seen, this entry, directed by Yasushi Sasaki, does involve a somewhat more down to earth plot about a corrupt official’s attempt to rope an honourable but ill-used clan into a rebellion against the Shogun. There’s an emphasis on palace intrigue, plots and counterplots, and comparatively few of the pulpier elements of other Bored Hatamoto films. Though Utaemon Ichikawa does get an opportunity to make one of this patented grand surprise entrances in the finale, and still gets to stare down and kill a lot of mooks.

I have to admit, the film’s general quality notwithstanding,m I found myself missing the magical curses and, ninjas and vampire bats of other entries into the series a little.

Highwaymen (2004)

Already car-hating Molly Poole (Rhona Mitra) barely escapes with her life from the attack of a serial killer we’ll later learn to be called Fargo (Colm Feore) – one of her friends is less happy. Fargo uses his souped-up car as murder weapon of choice, and really as a replacement body, for he is wheelchair-bound, which makes the while serial killing thing rather difficult. Given the car angle, nobody actually believes Molly’s story, and the police treat the situation as a bad case of a hit and run.

Well, nearly nobody believes her – a traffic investigator (Frankie Faison) has his doubts about the normalcy of the situation, and a mysterious man (Jim Caviezel before he lost his mind to QAnon) in his own souped-up car shadows her. Rennie, as we’ll mostly come to know him, lost his wife to the killer who attacked Molly and has been hunting him for years now, sharing the ways of the road and an occasional CB taunt/come-on with him.

Rennie is convinced Fargo is going to attack Molly again, and he’s not above using her as bait to finally get his man.

What a difference a decade and a half make. When I first (and last) saw Robert Harmon’s Highwaymen, I treated it as a less than successful attempt by Harmon to return to the glory days of his masterful The Hitcher, with the film at hand a slickly made yet basically empty attempt at catching lightning in a bottle a second time.

As is so often the case, I’m looking more than a little askance at my past self’s willingness to wave away a film that’s nearly as good as The Hitcher itself, a film which does indeed use elements of that past achievement as well as some taken from the mass of serial killer films that had accrued between the two movies. Where the old one is about a boy becoming a man/monster (interrogating the borderline between these two in a violent male-dominated society), this one takes place at a point where the protagonist’s innocence is already lost, and there’s only a difference in degree between him and his prey anymore.

So, this is a movie about men who have turned feral, roaming empty highways in cars that have become parts of their bodies – in the killer’s case even actual replacements for much of their bodies – performing a ritualised hunt Rennie uses to keep himself from ever having to actually process the death of his wife like a normal person would have to. In this context, it is no surprise he is only able to finish the hunt once he’s pressed into relating to Molly – and to a degree to investigator Macklin – as a person instead of a tool or an obstacle that doesn’t truly belong into Car World.

All of this is baked into a masterfully made thriller/action movie, a film of dark streets reflecting neon, the empty spaces between the places people actually inhabit, and seemingly endless nights. In fact, one of the best little tricks Harmon uses is the elegant shift from night to day for the film’s final stretch.

Basically, past me was an idiot. But that’s not news around here anymore.

The Convenience Store (2026)

A couple of cops are trying to piece together the strange occurrences that took place one night at a rural convenience store. There’s rather a lot of strangeness, as well as a dead, eyeless manager in the basement to consider.

The case’s main witness is student Tazuru (Kotona Minami). She had been working the night shift of the store that night, as she does six nights a week to earn money for college and to take care of her mother. During the interviews, she, and eventually other characters, reveals some of the peculiar and horrific things that happened at the store during the last few nights.

Because what the girl has to tell is very strange indeed, seeing as it concerns ghosts, apparitions and a doom-saying homeless man, it is lucky she can offer some memory cards with videos to prove at least some of her supernatural experiences. Surely, watching those videos can’t connect anyone watching them to a curse, right?

Director Jiro Nagae has been doing cheap Japanese horror for the home viewing market for quite a few years, and he does by now clearly have a good grip on how to make a very basic horror film. Thus, I mostly found this videogame adaptation a pleasant enough time, featuring as it does some somewhat effective scares and doesn’t overstay its welcome.

The film carries its affection for the superior classics of the J-horror boom on its sleeves: the investigative structure is mostly an excuse to tell the story out of order like a Ju-on story, there’s a little boy ghost also more than a little reminiscent of those classics, and the eventual cursed object is so Ringu, I’m a bit surprised nobody got sued.

Of course, being quite so derivative, there are few surprises here – if you have seen any Japanese horror made post 1995 at all, you’ll know what the big final reveal is going to be very early on, and if you’re bored by J-horror style ghosts, this isn’t going to be the movie to show you how wrong you are (even though you are).

As an unapologetic part of its tradition, The Convenience Store is a pleasant enough experience.

Three Films Make A Post: This is not an expedition. It's an execution.

Iron Lung (2026): While the YouTube to movie director pipeline has already introduced some excellent new blood to the cadre of horror genre filmmakers, it also has enabled the return of the vanity project, this time with an in-built audience your past vanity filmmaker could only have dreamed of.

On one hand, I applaud YouTuber Mark Fischbach falling in love with a horror videogame and deciding to use his influencer clout to finance and create his own movie adaptation of it instead of becoming a serial killer or MAGA techbro. My problems start when he then takes on the role of director, writer, executive producer and co-editor of the project, while not being very good at any of these roles. He then proceeds to turn out a film that moves slow like molasses – this is about an hour longer than the material warrants – lacks the visual flair needed for something that mostly consists of shots of Fischbach or some sexy, sexy dials and screens, and which focusses on one single actor who simply isn’t good enough to carry a two hour movie on his shoulders. Much of which could have been avoided in a project where someone would have been in a position to say “no” to the auteur’s bad ideas, or could have convinced him to hire an actual actor for the lead role, a screenwriter for the script, and so on, and so forth.

Personally, I’d also have loved some professional sound editing, but then I’m too old for this shit anyway.

Paura il diavolo and Blue Fear (1993): On the other hand, these first SOV short-ish features by British DIY filmmaker Darren Ward, mostly made with friends and family, show much more of a coherent vision than Fischbach’s endless meandering shots of his own face, even though these, too, are amateur productions completely in thrall to their influences.

In Paura’s case, these influences are mostly from the gory side of Italian horror – Lamberto Bava’s Demons and Fulci are clearly involved – and Evil Dead, so this is predominantly a showcase for some fantastic homemade effects, but also already shows a filmmaker with an eye for the creation of mood through colour and shadow, a flair for concise and expressive editing (hi, Mr Fischbach), all clearly visible even with the limitations of the Shot on Video style and the damn fuzzy VHS source the Blu-Ray was sourced from.

In a sense, Blue Fear is a bit a of a regression for Ward, mostly because here, he’s in full-on giallo mode. Which is more than fine in the highly effective and ridiculously stylish (this is SOV!) slash and stalking and dream sequences that actually suggest a young director sharpening his visual tools. However, a giallo also needs a plot and therefore needs acting, and here, Ward doesn’t seem as secure in his abilities to get the desire results yet, leading to some awkwardly edited and slow dialogue sequences, certainly not helped by the lack of actual actors on the project. Family and friends can only take you so far in this regard, unless you’re called Bridges or Carradine.

The Adventures of Kosuke Kindaichi (1979)

Original title: Kindaichi Kosuke no boken

In the world of the film, famous detective Kosuke Kindaichi (Ikko Furuya) is also a famous mystery novel character, and a famous film character. For his newest case, he teams up with Inspector Todoroki (Kunie Tanaka). Todoroki is mostly interested in a series of art thefts committed by a gang of roller-skating young people who like mime and/or David Bowie make-up, whereas Kindaichi is waiting for a murder to happen, for there are always murders in his cases, as well as tainted blood, generational guilt, and complicated murder methods, because that sort of thing is at the core of the Japanese experience as he sees it.

Which is about as sensible as I can make the great Nobuhiko Obayashi’s mystery comedy’s plot sound. There is a properly Kindaichi-like murder mystery happening here, mind you, but it is nearly drowned out by Obayashi at his most exhaustingly unleashed: there’s not a single shot here without any sight gags going on in the background, hardly a line said that doesn’t hint at broader pop culture, Japanese golden age style mysteries, movies, books, music, or ads that have nothing to do with the supposed plot. Some of it is completely inexplicable from my distance of time, geography and language to its point of creation, some I could parse thanks to the amount of Japanese movies, books and manga I’ve consumed during the course of my life, some should be clear to everyone. In any case, it can all become a bit overwhelming, particularly combined with the breakneck speed with which Obayashi goes from scene to scene here.

Of course, this being an Obayashi movie, it also looks absolutely beautiful, and shifts from visual style to visual style with an off-handed surety that must have intimidate any lesser director; also of course, this does not make The Adventures any less overwhelming.

All of this reads like a commentary on the kind of art a Kosuke Kindaichi film must be to me, something referential to a torrent of other media in its own series, as well as the torrent of popular media surrounding it, as well as the torrent of different popular media that surrounded the other versions of the same character, a hall of mirrors that goes on and on until it becomes difficult to find the substance of whatever the adventures of Kosuke Kindaichi actually mean. Or once meant, or will mean, and so on and so forth, until one is overwhelmed enough by the whole thing one has to make Kindaichi himself the killer to return to any kind of sense at all.

Another Break

The European heatwave makes my tentacles dry out, so normal service will resume with a fresh new post on the first Sunday in July.