Shrunken Heads (1994)

Backlot New York in the 50/90s! Three kids (actor names redacted to protect the presumably innocent) are geeking out over DC comics – featuring specific superhero names and all –, spending time with their favourite newsagent, Mr. Sumatra (Julius Harris), who is also a former agent of Haiti’s repressive regime, and getting into trouble with the local gang of greasers. Because greasers are still a thing in New York, right?

Things escalate particularly badly when the kids believe they are in an afterschool special and stand up to the greaser bullies. It probably helps that one of our heroes has the hots for bully girlfriend Sally (Rebecca Herbst), too.

Alas, it turns out, these teenage delinquents come from a very different kind of movie than the kids believe they are in, and are actually part of organized crime, in this case lead by Big Moe (a cross-dressing Meg Foster, because at this point, why the hell not?), who has a bigger quiff and an even bigger ego than their underlings. Thus, standing up to Big Moe like a hero gets our three kids killed.

Fortunately(?) Mr. Sumatra is a proper Tonton Macoute, and therefore knows his voodoo. So, obviously, he cuts off the dead kids’ heads, shrinks them and brings them back to life as flying machines of vengeance with their own special powers – one can cast lighting, one has big teeth, the third carries a switchblade(!?).

Time for vengeance, fighting random crime and a valuable lesson about flying under your beloved’s shirt.

If it weren’t R-rated and somewhat inappropriate, I’d call this Full Moon production the kind of entry level horror they just don’t make anymore today. Though, really, this is probably just the particular weirdness director Richard Elfman (indeed the former Oingo-Boingo guy, brother to Danny, who does some of the scoring) prefers.

And who can blame a guy for wanting to make a film that apparently takes place in the 1950s and the 1990s at once, believes a running gag about how a character we are supposed to be somewhat positively inclined towards is a former Tonton Macoute and still glorifies the lifestyle is a good idea, and features a short sequence that parodies the then-current crop of superhero and proto-superhero movies by replacing the hero with three murderous flying kid heads?

As is obvious, Shrunken Heads goes for a certain tone of self-conscious camp and weirdness I often find rather difficult to vibe with in films. I’m of the “if you can’t bother to take your film seriously, why should I bother with it at all?” persuasion, so this sort of thing tends to annoy me more often than not. In this case, however, I found myself at least a little charmed.

Perhaps because the film does aim for a very personal seeming aesthetic, where the goofy and the macabre mix as well as the visual and pop cultural hallmarks of two very different decades, instead of a more generic kind of self-ironic nothingburger; or simply, because the juxtaposition between the childish and the very much not meant for children elements here come together to form something I think most children would actually enjoy rather a lot.

And since I’m incurably childish myself when it comes to horror, I’m pretty much Elfman’s core audience.

She-Wolf (1965)

Original title: La loba

A rural part of past Mexico is cursed by what one might believe are strange, deadly, animal attacks on people of all shapes and sized. In truth the killings are committed by a female werewolf, all jumping rage and frizzy hair. Curiously enough, the werewolf arises from a grave to go on her killing sprees, to return there after ger business is finished.

As it turns out, the grave comes with a practical tunnel that leads to the bedroom of one of the beautiful daughters of scientist Professor Fernandez (José Elías Moreno), kept under the watchful eye of the Professor’s creepily staring but buff servant Crumba (Crox Alvarado). The Professor is of the mad scientist persuasion, as it turns out – he is researching cryogenics, which will somehow be useful in curing lycanthropy, apparently. Just don’t ask me how.

Given that he’s letting his daughter out to murder her way through the peasantry in the meantime, we can assume his own experiments aren’t too kosher either, in any case.

In an uncommon turn, this scientist comes with not one, but two beautiful daughters, each of whom could the the wolfwoman. One is beautiful and wilful Clarisa (Kitty de Hoyos), the other is angelic Alicia (Adriana Roel), so it may not be a surprise to learn which one of the two has full moon hobbies.

To complicate the plot a little, the narrative also involves Clarisa’s secret lover, Dr Bernstein (Joaquín Cordero), a man very interested in lycanthropy, as it happens, as well as a wolf hunter (Noé Murayama) and his werewolf-certified dog. Also, rather more lycanthropic romance than I expected of a film of this era, so if that sort of thing floats your boat, you’re welcome.

But then, I also didn’t expect Rafael Baledón’s film to start with surprisingly explicit wolfwoman rampage that shows rather more of our titular character ripping out hearts than I would have expected going by other Mexican films of the era. In fact, the attack scenes here are on the savage side, with a ruthless choice of victims, and some fast editing and camera work that’s neither typical of Mexican pop cinema of this era nor of Baledón, who is usually at his best when it comes to the creation of backlot gothic mood and a certain dramatic dreaminess. Curiously enough, there’s much less expressionism and moody shadow play on display here than I would have expected going in, and instead much more muscular, straightforward and sometimes overlit pulpiness that seems to prefigure our favourite Spanish wolf person Paul Naschy’s body of work.

This directorial approach does fit the general tone of a script that contains two mad scientists, two werewolves, two sisters, two melodramatic romances, a police investigation, a cool werewolf hunter and his dog, as well as a mute child to be threatened, and that still finds time to squeeze several werewolf attacks and even a somewhat poignant ending into a runtime of less than eighty minutes.

Not surprisingly, the whole thing does feel a little messy and more than a little rough around the edges, but there’s a wild energy and conviction to everything that should make the film impossible to dislike for any pumpkin-minded viewer.

Vampire Hunter D: Bloodlust (2000)

On a far future post-apocalyptic Earth that was once ruled by a class of vampire “nobles”, who are now in decline. Here, tech levels fluctuate wildly between cyborgs and laser guns and torches and pitchforks, so it’s a post-apocalyptic western gothic kind of place.

Peasants still huddle in their houses at night, for while they don’t rule whatever societies are left, there are still some vampires roaming the nights, doing as they please when they have a mind to.

These dangerous monstrosities are hunted by wandering bounty hunters like our protagonist D (voiced by Hideyuki Tanaka). D is a half-vampire with a somewhat standoffish manner, a talking face in one of his hands, at odds with his vampiric heritage but not great at living like a human being either. He’s also frighteningly good at what he does.

Which will stand him in good stead when he is hired to rescue Charlotte Elbourne (Emi Shinohara) from the vampire who kidnapped her. The somewhat dubiously named Meier Link (Koichi Yamadera) is said to be that rare vampire lord who does not use his fangs, though a village full of vampire ghouls left behind on his flight with Charlotte suggests something a little different about his sense of morality.

Compounding’s D’s problems are a rival group of vampire hunters – who come with their very own battle wagon and various wacky powers – and the barbaroi mutants Meier Link has hired to guard him. There’s also the little problem that Charlotte has actually left with the vampire of her own free will to live her private little vampire romance, everyone else be damned (sometimes literally so).

And even that’s not the final problem thrown at our hero and the other vampire hunters: for their prey’s escape route leads right into the castle of Carmilla Bathory (Bibari Maeda), a particularly dangerous vampire, who also protects the last rocket to the vampiredom’s now empty space station.

Fifteen years after the first anime based on a very popular (though not exactly critically acclaimed) series of novels, Madhouse produced this second anime adventure of everyone’s favourite (sorry, Blade) dhampir. This time around, directorial and scriptwriting duties fell on the wonderful Yoshiaki Kawajiri, a man well-versed in stylized over the top action, blood fountains and gore soups, sleaze and the beautifully grotesque, potentially all in one shot.

Which does make him the perfect candidate for a romp through a post-apocalyptic horror and SF world that also more than just nods at the Italian Western and Universal’s gothic backlot Europe.

Aesthetically, the Bloodlust is a little wonder that brings its disparate elements together with a sense of the grandiose that, in good gothic manner, simply ignores the inherent absurdity of the task of uniting only the cool bits of basically all genres. It’s beautiful to look at, full of things you still couldn’t realize in any other form than animation, and brought to life/undeath with an often breath-taking sense of detail.

As is his wont, Kawajiri directs the action with verve and grandiosity as well as clarity, but there’s also space for the slow moments, and for a film whose plot is absolutely based on the rule philosophy of one cool thing after another, there is a lot of time for quiet character moments. Every character here has lived too long and/or seen too much in a world that’s perhaps grown a bit too strange for normal human comprehension. Thus, there’s a sense of tiredness and melancholia, and the senselessness of a life that’s only ever going from one fight to the next, the dreariness of survival running through everyone.

However, curiously enough for a film whose aesthetics are so focussed on the rule of cool and maximalism in everything, it also suggests a potential for actual change, for going on in better ways than the one with the most cool violence, for genuine hope. Of course, it does come to this via moments of operatic melodrama and after a lot of wonderful bloodshed.

Nahual (2025)

After having been attacked by an elderly woman in a house in Chicago that basically screamed “witchcraft”, an encounter the old lady doesn’t survive, social worker Katia (Jenny Sanchez) is understandably traumatized. She takes some time off work and travels to a resort somewhere in rural Mexico.

Shortly after Katia’s arrival there, a series of killings committed by a very fast, very strong, and very strange animal begins. At the same time, Katia begins changing, in behaviour and appetites. It soon becomes clear she has been possessed by a malevolent animal spirit, a nahual, and is indeed the monster killing the locals.

The indigenous people know this sort of thing of old, but that doesn’t mean it is going to be easy to get rid of what has become of Katia.

To my delight, microbudget veteran Ricardo Islas is still making films. He is apparently still from the US, his homebase for two decades or so, but in the case of Nahual, the production was probably shot in Mexico, with a cast of exclusively Spanish language speakers. Which does give the director’s return to the realm of the were-creatures (see Plenilunio for his first, classic, visit there) a strong sense of the local, generally an asset in any production, particularly in the microbudget realm where you have to find your uniqueness because you typically can’t afford to construct it. How much of the local here is an imagined one or how much of it a real one, I’m not in a position to say from Germany, of course.

This is clearly made on the very cheap, with many of the cast members not professional screen actors, but the central roles are well-cast, and nobody is the kind of horrible you shouldn’t cope with in a film made on this kind of budget. Pleasantly for my old ass, this is very centred on middle-aged people who haven’t jumped into the well of chirurgical youth too enthusiastically, which, as the feel of locality does, provides this with a nice base of reality for the supernatural to work on. Plus, in how many horror movies do you find a normal looking, indigenous Mexican woman as the eventual heroine?

His decades of experience as low budget filmmaker have provided Islas with a full toolkit as a filmmaker: his script is much better structured than these things often are, his character work, while not exactly deep, is precise and adds enough interest to everyone involved you are invested in their final fates, and though some of the direction is rough around the edges, there’s a solidity in the visual staging and the editing that simply works. When it is called for – the monster attacks and a great suspense scene in the climax particularly come to mind – Islas’s work becomes focussed and effective.

Obsession: A Taste for Fear (1987)

Original title:  Pathos - Segreta inquietudine

In some bizarre cyberpunk-ish near future as seen from 1987. Diane (Virginia Hey) works as a photographer and videographer doing arty softcore stuff with loads of elements of queerness and a bit of sadomasochism.

Despite/because of her unpleasantly dominating personality and a streak of badly hidden sadism – we in the biz call her state of mind being a self-centred, horny asshole – she is adored by her often mistreated assistant Valerie (Gioia Scola), who oh so very much wants to get into her boss’s panties.

Continuing the unhealthy relationships, Diane is still very close with her ex-husband Georges (Gérard Darmon), a peddler in smut somewhat darker than her own, and with a personality even more egotistical than hers – we in the biz call guys like him a nuclear meltdown waiting to happen.

After Diane helps out by fucking a potential client of Georges to lose that “potential” qualifier, ex-hubby gifts her with muscle model Teagan (Teagan Clive). Diane really rather takes a fancy to Teagan, but after one abortive shoot, the model disappears.

As it turns out, Teagan was murdered by a female killer wearing black gloves who loves to leave behind video disks of her exploits. Shaving-impaired Lt. Arnold (Carlo Mucari) is on the case, but between fighting off Diane’s advances (she finds his resistance to her dubious charms irresistible, of course) and moralizing, he just might need the unasked for help of our protagonist doing the amateur detective bit, as per the giallo handbook.

Conceptually, one-time director Piccio Raffanini’s Obsession is pretty much irresistible to me. A giallo taking place in a sleazy, hi-tech of 1987 near future, where somehow still everyone is from the platonic ideal of the late 80s, and where nobody can stop thinking about sex for more than a scene sounds rather perfect.

In practice, you need a bit of patience with the film. The giallo elements really only come to the fore in its second half – even the inciting murder isn’t shown in any relevant detail – and before that, you are at the mercy of garish/stylish lighting consisting of all the colours of the neon, copious amounts of nudity draped in some of the weirder attempts at arty sexiness I’ve encountered (the question “who’d masturbate to that!?” did go through my mind repeatedly but then I remembered humanity), and a bunch of deeply unlikeable hot people being horny at each other.

If that’s terrible or awesome really depends on one’s mood and personal predilections, I suppose. I certainly enjoyed the pretty colours, the nearly as pretty people, the analogue future tech weirdness on copious display – so many CRT TVs in the future, generally coming in stacks – but did not necessarily enjoy spending time with the characters until the giallo plot at least got into second gear.

Faster than that, the film doesn’t ever run, but as an occasional lover of slow cinema and slow horror, I did find myself more often captivated than not, if only in appreciation of the film’s distinct style of absolute 1988.

There’s a lot to be said for aesthetic conviction, and that, Raffanini clearly had in spades.

Amazing World of Ghosts (1979)

Here is a genuine picture of a ghost [cue static shot of a blurry black and white photograph that might show a cat, or a goat, or your mum, for all that’s visible]. What are its plans? Is it staring out at us, longingly, trying to send us a message from the void?

Look at the moon! Our majestic, silent companion! Did you know the number of UFO sightings increases on nights of the full moon? What do these visitors from outer space want from us? Do they fear like we do, love like we do? Or is this the beginning of an invasion? Why is it that the number of reports of ghosts increases whenever there are more UFO sightings?

Here is a picture of Nessie.

And so on, and so forth. If this sort of thing droned in an endless dramatic monologue performed by actor Sidney Paul’s (disembodied, obviously) voice over a backdrop of blurry photos, archival footage, mondo style nonsense and shots of outer space floats your boat, this late 70s documentary devoid of arguments, facts, or logical progression of thoughts or themes may very well become your new favourite movie. Sometimes, Paul’s monologue is even connected to the pretty pictures; sometimes, 70s racist assumptions meets bizarro nonsense; sometimes, it all turns to ambient noise devoid of meaning despite the use of actual words, put into order one assumes would make them sentences, before one gets distracted by Nessie.

Also included is what I can only be assume to be a pretty impressive assemblage of library music ascribed to one Jim Cookman that wavers between some lounge, quite a bit of lite acid rock and pleasant amounts of woozy synth drones that turns the whole affair even more bizarrely cosy, at least if you’ve got my aesthetic preferences.

It’s actually pretty amazing, as if a High Strangeness doc had turned into some kind of off-beat poetry project as written by people who never, ever should have been allowed to write poetry. Amazing, this most certainly is.

Three Films Make A Post: Touch of Leather

The Nightman (2023): For its first hour or so, this Belgian movie shot in Ireland with an Irish cast directed by Mélanie Delloye does some fine work adapting elements of the non-supernatural gothic to modern sensibilities, carried by some wonderful locations – the rural mansion at the foot of a castle ruin is pretty much perfect for this sort of affair – and a fine lead performance by Zara Devlin.

Once the plot has stabilized, the supernatural has been put aside, and it is clear what’s going on, things become less interesting.

The mood of dread and growing paranoia is replaced with Crazy Guy tropes and thriller by numbers plotting that’s executed well enough, but simply not all that interesting, particularly after what came before.

Hauntology (2024): Parker Brennon’s movie has nothing to do with hauntology, but is instead a very fun, decidedly queer microbudget indie horror anthology movie that tells some straightforward spook stories and a giallo homage from a queer perspective.

It’s that pleasant kind of horror that does tend to like its main characters a bit too much to have horrible or unfair things actually kill or really hurt them – that sort of thing belongs to backstories and the giallo segment here – but instead provides a fun, spooky time with ghosts, curses and (good) witches. If you’re not going in demanding a bad time for every character on screen, this is actually a very good time for a viewer, shot well enough (or rather, much better than the budget would have you expect, though not as idiosyncratically stylish as I always hope for), and with generally decent performances. Among the acting talent is the Love Witch herself, Samantha Robinson, as well as an unretired Nancy Loomis (now Nancy Kyes), so we are in very good hands.

Her Private Hell (2026): Following his success with Drive, Nicolas Winding Refn has put increasingly more effort into driving away any viewer who might come at his body of work from the direction of conventional thriller or horror expectations. In this sense, the highly divisive Her Private Hell is a rousing success. If anyone hasn’t noticed that Refn makes movies predominantly for himself, this one really should do as a teachable moment.

Given my predilections, and despite how little I enjoyed The Neon Demon (a film I should probably rewatch sooner rather than later, in hopes of better appreciation), I think Her Private Hell is rather brilliant as a film that’s all about wallowing in its directors’ obsessions, his kinks, and his favourite visual ideas. Imagine Cattet and Forzani with the kind of budget and clout to be able to hire an up and coming actress like Sophie Thatcher, and afford even more tacky/lovely tricks from an idealized version of the giallo and exploitation playbook, with even more pretentious dialogue and you’re pretty much there. This is the sort of thing I rather avoid to analyse on a plot and thematic level – though one could probably deduce all of Refn’s favourite sexual obsessions if one were of a mind to – but love to inhabit as an aesthetic place of muted neon, languor and the most Pino Donaggio score every to be Pino Donaggioed.

Tell Me Something (1999)

Detective Cho (Han Suk-kyu), right now under investigation for taking dirty money to pay for the medical bills of his now deceased mother, is still tasked with solving a serial killer case in rainy, dark Seoul. After a couple of dead men, Cho finds out that the victims all have something in common – they once dated artist (and daughter of a very famous artist herself) Chae Soo-yeon (Shin Eun-ha).

While Soo-yeon is not a suspect, she is very much of interest to the investigation, though she doesn’t really appear to want to break out of her shell of being a quiet, mysterious beauty. Perhaps she’ll change her mind when Cho finds himself rather drawn to her; or when the killer’s gaze seems to fall more directly on her than on her former lovers?

Often glacially paced, Yun-hyeon Jang’s serial killer thriller takes all of the elements of the late-90s state of the genre and gives them a good shake in a very typical South Korean approach to genre filmmaking to reconfigure it in shapes still quite recognizable yet also slightly estranged from their common form.

Which, given that part of the film’s thematic heft rests on creating a mood of alienation that’s just as big as its mood of menace, is a rather good way to get its audience on track, or at least in the right mood.

And mood really is where the film’s strengths rest – this is all grungy locations, rain, moody dark lightning, noir gone just about digital, interspersed with some moments of brutality, some of action, and carried by Cho’s halting attempts to move through the labyrinth of a case that appears constructed to foil and fool him personally. Why, if you didn’t know it better, you might think the universe wanted to tell him something about himself, the doubtful nature of mysteries or even the depths of his own heart.

In other – okay, American, hands, this would probably have turned into an erotic thriller with copious fucking between cop and witness, but even though there’s a growing attraction between Cho and Soo-yeon, the film really rather prefers to titillate us through the same sense of distance that attracts Cho, as the men before him, to Soo-yeon. It’s certainly still in the ballpark of femme fatale tropes, but reconfigured for a more distanced world.

Somewhat fitting to its insistence on distance and alienation, watching Tell Me Something is never quite the experience thinking about the film afterwards is – there’s a quality to it that makes it difficult to enjoy it in the moment as you’d do with most other good genre films. Instead, the idea of it, as well as the more abstract elements of its aesthetic start to nestle or linger in one’s mind, turning the experience of watching this much more intense in hindsight than during the actual time spent with it.

The Other Side of the Mirror (1973)

Original title: Al otro lado del espejo

The dominating father (Howard Vernon) of jazz-singing rich girl Ana (Emma Cohen) is really unhappy about her planned marriage to a perfectly okay young man. So unhappy, he disturbs Ana’s happy pre-marriage phase via a pretty dramatic suicide that leaves Ana rather turned off from getting married to her beau at all.

Instead she really jumps into the night life of jazz improvisation and alcohol, finding quite a bit of male company to pass the time as well. However, the men she gets involved with have the unhappy tendency to die, struck down with a particularly rare kind of dagger.

Curiously enough, whenever that happens, Ana has dreams – or are they visions? – of a mirror from her father’s house that reflects him, hanging dead, and what may or may not be her double (or is it her Jungian Shadow?), wielding a (particularly rare kind of) dagger more often than not.

I have probably made this particular joke before, but Jesús “Jess” Franco is my favourite Jesus as well as my favourite Franco. I am, still, and by now quite on my way to forever, the kind of viewer who really vibes with Franco’s output more often than not.

This one’s a film as much about Emma Cohen’s eyes, the transcendent joys of improvisation and the kind of woozy quality of sunlight Franco loved so much, as it is about its psychological thriller plot which may or may not carry a supernatural element but certainly wants to play with Jung as well as with Medea (the latter, the film is very explicit about). So if you’re looking for tightness or a structure that isn’t light and improvisational, you’re really going in for a bad time. Though in that case, you’re probably better off not engaging with Uncle Jess at all.

I’d argue that Franco is often at his worst when he attempts to care about providing more conventional genre thrills instead of shooting something he finds exciting or interesting at the moment (which may very well be slowly zooming towards a vagina, or getting really interested in a sax player soloing) and eventually editing it together into a movie-like shape. No worries about that here – Mirror is a thing of mood and moods, carried by Franco’s interests and his little perversions, Cohen, and whatever a given viewer brings to it.

Which is all I ask of the man’s films.

Three Films Make A Post: When the world breaks the brave are born.

Worldbreaker (2025): I was actually pleasantly surprised by this okay little movie by Brad Anderson, and thus can still carry some hope for the return of the filmmaker who brought us Session 9 and The Machinist to his initial form. This masquerades as a cheap Milla Jovovich starring post-apocalyptic actioner, but at its core is actually a slow, quiet film about a father (Luke Evans) and daughter (Billie Boullet) bonding in a terrible situation, with a line about consciously building hope in future generations when all of it should be lost. I also found myself enjoying the film’s mythological approach to its monsters, as well as Anderson’s willingness to be slow and patient.

Sure, the effects aren’t great, and the ending is somewhat frustrating, yet this is still a much better film than the one its – limited - marketing threatens.

Big Baby (2025): Apparently, featuring one’s spouse in one’s movies is a thing in the family, so Rob Zombie’s brother Spider One (yeah, I dunno about these names) features his wife Krsy (come on) Fox in all of his films. I have more time for One and Fox than for Zombie: Fox could clearly carry a movie on her own, and One at least doesn’t think ass-ugly is an aesthetic.

Big Baby, however, is not a great film. There’s enough material for a thirty minute short film in here, but dragged out to ninety minutes, this reality-bending meta horror tale of a whiny scriptwriter whose new slasher idea gets more than a little out of control never is quite as clever as it appears to want to be, and adds little to the already bloated canon of films about how terribly difficult it is to make movies. Those poor filmmakers!

Humint (2026): South Korean filmmaker Ryoo Seung-wan is a hell of a director of big-ish budget action and thriller cinema. Humint is one of his weaker films until it explodes into a fantastic final thirty minutes of intense, tear-jerking action whose tone, though not style, reminded me of John Woo’s imperial period in the very best way.

The set-up and middle part, though, feel uncommonly slow for Ryoo, and one can’t help but feel that he simply doesn’t feel quite at home with material that’s grounded in the quieter tropes of non-James Bond spy movies and melodrama.

It’s not a bad movie, mind you, and the climax is a good as this kind of cinema gets – as a whole, the film is just not as great as the director’s movies can get.

SPEC ~ First Blood (2010)

Following an incident during which one of his subordinates is heavily wounded either under supernatural circumstances or by him, Japanese SWAT-equivalent Lieutenant Sebumi (Ryo Kase) is transferred to the tiny unit of Tokyo’s police concerned with weird crimes committed by people who have “specs”. Specs are powers apparently explained by their wielders using the ninety per cent of their brains bad pop science said we don’t use.

The very straight Sebumi’s two new colleagues are even stranger than their cases: unit chief Nonomura (Ryu Raita) appears timid and more interested in his affair with a much younger policewoman than in the whole solving crime business. Whereas the heart and brains of the operation, Saya Toma (Erika Toda), is not only clearly on the spectrum, but also a near endless fount of strange tics, aggressive behaviour, body language from another planet and an unhealthy love of gyoza.

She’s also an absolute genius when it comes to solving weird crimes.

Directed – and as far as I understand also independently produced – by Yukihiko Tsutsumi, the ten episode series SPEC is a most curious thing in its mix of Japanese pop culture trope obsessions, the X-Files, and particularly once the main plot get going in a way Chris Claremont would probably approve of, the X-Men, filtered through a lens of absurdist slapstick that can swap to effectively deathly earnest and even genuinely affecting on a moment’s notice. None of this shouldn’t come together, but somehow, the show drags its disparate influences into a complete thing all of its own, a tone that’s utterly distinct.

This was clearly made on the very cheap, with only a handful of standing sets (all of those cheap but also thoughtfully made) and whatever locations Tsutsumi could scratch together. But then, the Tsutsumi proceeds to direct the hell out of what he’s got in a barrage of fast edits, peculiar angles and improbable camera movement that makes everything feel absurd, intense and exciting, and puts the show into a pretty unique aesthetic place somewhere between expressionism and live action manga.

This plays particularly well with Toda’s performance, which is an absolute thing of beauty. Toda turns a series of tics, slapstick ideas and always full-on physical acting into an actual person, a coherent character who is also perfect fit for Tsutsumi’s exalted style. She is as believable when she’s solving a weird crime, as when she has a dramatic revelation, or as when she has a Three Stooges style punch-up with Sebumi.

The show is inventive, funny and interesting throughout, with a plot that escalates from a series of golden age mystery inspired crimes with one added supernatural element into a grand conspiracy with high emotional stakes for both of our main protagonists.

The show was something of a surprise hit in Japan, kickstarting Toda’s career and was followed by two TV specials as well as a trilogy of actual movies of escalating plot insanity, though not necessarily quality.

Mockbuster (2025)

Unsuccessful Australian filmmaker Anthony Frith decides the best way to rescue his dream of becoming a proper director is to send an E-Mail to crap movie house The Asylum and ask for a directing gig.

The crapmongers agree, and thus the film follows Frith’s attempts at actually making said movie.

This comedic documentary by Anthony Frith is terribly light-weight and uncritical towards basically anything. There’s little care taken with establishing any sense of truthfulness here: for example, how does Frith’s making of a documentary about making a movie for The Asylum play into his actually being hired to make a movie for The Asylum is a pretty obvious question to bring up, one would think. But then, Frith’s planning of the documentary isn’t any part of the movie at all, so we’re probably meant to pretend everything happens by magic? Poetic truth only works when you’ve got more than wide eyes to back the concept up, and Frith is definitely not Werner Herzog.

This disinterest in ask any interesting questions Which fits the pose of faux naivety the filmmaker and star does put on for the whole of the running time, a tone that would even make James Stewart in his most “Aw, shucks” face tell the guy to tone it done. This pose of course also make it easy to play the deeply cynical approach to low budget filmmaking The Asylum’s producers espouse for laughs and not question it too tightly. I can’t say I find a couple of guys who apparently can’t even comprehend to attempt to use their small means to make films that are actually not total horseshit only funny to a very minor degree.

Particularly when you keep in mind what some backyard filmmakers achieve without access to actual professional crews, and on budgets that make these guys look like Marvel. Or look at Roger Corman, who also said he never lost a buck on the movies he produced, while being responsible for a whole lot of classics and for kickstarting the careers of many a talented filmmaker.

Three Films Make A Post: From the Director of Plane

Mutiny (2026): After the promising and even attractive to look at Shelter, this year’s second Jason Statham vehicle devolves to the stage of Stat by numbers: bland action, directed blandly in bland colours in which a bland protagonist sleepwalks through what would be a complicated thriller plot if the script actually did sod all with its set-up.

Mostly, this is Statham and Annabelle Wallis sneaking their way across a ship, with the Stat occasionally killing somebody. The emotional stakes are zero, because nobody bothered to include any, and the action is extremely underwhelming. Well, at least its not an Ayers/Stallone MAGA joint.

Shake, Rattle & Roll: Evil Origins (2025): If an anthology is two and a half hours long, it should have a good reason for it. This entry into the revived Filipino series certainly has not, and would probably be at least mildly improved if each of the three tales of clichéd horror therein would have have needed to focus a bit instead of going on and on and on.

The film’s only clever idea is in the set-up – all three episodes are kinda-sorta connected, so that the future set final segment is the whole she-bang’s grand finale. Unfortunately, in practice the connections between the segments amount for very little, and unlike you’re aggressively in love with unfunny jokes and a bit of middling gore, there’s just nothing here. Certainly nothing that deserves the insane runtime.

Supergirl (2026): Unlike certain parts of the internet, I do not hate Craig Gillespie’s Supergirl. It is not a great adaptation of the specific comics this is based on, but as an outer space superhero film, it’s mostly good fun, including a couple of fine set-pieces and a couple of bland ones – unfortunately the bland ones are clustered in the climax – and two game leads in Milly Alcock and Eve Ridley.

I could have gone without the product placement of an AI-sloppy Lobo as played by a characteristically one-note Jason Momoa, and the film’s doubling down on its sources bloodthirsty in the grand American style, ending. Tom King does at least have the excuse to be a former CIA operative, so a moral backbone isn’t to be expected.

Still, it’s a decently entertaining film.

Pitch Black (2000)

In some kind of interstellar space-faring science fiction future we’ll learn rather more about than we ever may have wanted in the sequels.

After being disastrously hit by a meteor shower, a transport ship crashes on an uninhabitable desert planet with three suns. Some of the passengers have survived, but of the crew, there’s only Fry (Radha Mitchell) left, the young docking pilot who would have blown the passenger part with the cryo containers off the ship to save herself, though nobody knows that juicy little detail.

There are some remnants of an old mining colony on the planet, but there’s little there to secure anyone’s survival, so the small group of survivors will have to band together quickly.

Worse still, one of the passengers was a prisoner – the dangerous, amoral prick and killer Riddick (Vin Diesel). And as it goes with these kind of people in the movies, he didn’t just survive the crash but also used the opportunity to escape and is now haunting the little group (among them characters played by Cole Hauser, Keith David and Claudia Black) from the side-lines.

Riddick still isn’t the worst bit of news the film has to offer its characters: there are also monsters on the planet, monsters who only come out at night and in the dark, or, say, during the solar eclipse that’s going to hit the planet very soon.

Over the years, David Twohy’s Pitch Black has grown on me, and by now, I’m not even sure anymore what flaws exactly put me off it as completely as they once did. As it stands now, this is the epitome of clever low budget science fiction filmmaking with horror elements, the kind of genre fare whose ambitions show themselves through craftsmanship rather than huge gestures. It’s a Howard Hawks kind of film, concerning a group of disparate yet basically competent people having to come together against a shared threat.

The characters are of various stock types, but brought to life by a script that gives everyone either an interesting or uncommon little character moment or an interesting opinion in one of the more life-philosophical interactions to make them more than stock. One can never overvalue a cast of actors who know and appreciate these kinds of opportunities. This also has the neat little side effect that character growth actually feels earned and not just Twohy following scriptwriting rules.

In its pacing, this is absolutely on point; in its style, it uses some of the visual markers of early 2000 filmmaking for good: the monochrome colour schemes beloved of the time make sense given the planet this takes place on, and even add to the strangeness and otherworldliness of what was in reality the Australian desert.

The digital effects haven’t aged all that gracefully, but I can’t say I really cared about that on more than an abstract level – this is filmmaking that makes the best of what it has, and thus deserves some patience with unavoidable weaknesses.

Pitch Black certainly offers more than enough to make up for the little problems it has.

Case of Umon: One-Eyed Wolf (1959)

Five men are found hanging from a particularly creepily picturesque tree. While an older comic relief colleague – who comes with his own comic relief sidekick – are convinced this was some kind of group suicide of unidentified merchants, young magistrate Umon (Ryutaro Otomo) begs to differ. These men clearly were experienced swordsmen and therefore samurai – and they were murdered.

Together with his comic relief sidekick (Shunji Sakai, as if you didn’t know), and the various friends he has in low places, Umon follows the case to (a surprise if you’ve never seen a jidaigeki detective movie before) a conspiracy to not just kill but blow up the shogun himself.

Even though it suffers from a surplus of comic relief characters – at the point where comic relief characters have their own comic relief characters, things have gone too far – this first film in the Umon series is a particularly fine entry into the realm of somewhat pulpy (to enable swordfights and grand villainous plans) jidaigeki detective tales. I have developed a great fondness for the genre, particularly the various series Toei produced before things became bloodier and rather more cynical in the jidaigeki realm, and nobody’d try to protect the ruling dictator anymore.

Director Tadashi Sawashima must have been in a particularly creative mood when this was made, for this is atypically dynamically filmed for a late 50s jidaigeki of this type. We start with the wonderfully creepy and atmospheric discovery of the five corpses – some shots here do rather look like the kind of painting I’d put on my walls if I had any room for them –, find the director experiment with nearly expressionist framing and rather exciting camera movement during the big fight scenes, and also see him experiment with some excellently melodramatic suspense, like Hitchcock on speed, when Umon has to fight the climactic fight while also making sure the shogun can make his temple visit not just unexploded but on time. It ain’t easy working for the Man.

One-Eyed Wolf is also rather exciting, lovely to look at and genuinely suspenseful if you’re able to roll with the importance of the shogun not being late, and keeping unexploded.

Three Films Make A Post: A Knifepoint Horror Story

Lockbox (2026): I am of course happy to see that Soren Narnia appears to reap some of the fruits of having made one of the best horror/weird fiction podcasts by now reaping the reward of that sweet, low budget adaptation money from it.

I am definitely much less happy that the first Knifepoint Horror movie coming out of that is this limp thing directed by Daniel Stamm that wastes a fantastic cast (Carla Gugino, Lou Taylor Pucci and Katherine Isabelle are certainly great for the material) on a script by one Justin Yoffe that turns what could be a great psychological horror film, or a great film about trauma, or a really weird exorcism movie into a series of shitty jump scares and been there done that set pieces, until everything crashes even further down in an orgy of exposition and an aggressively stupid climax.

Fight Against Evil 3 (2026): The first two entries into these Chinese copaganda martial arts streaming movies were deadly earnest; this third one finds our hero cop played by Xie Miao as the straight man to a number of weird characters, something the actor turns out to be nearly as convincing at as he is at doing martial arts.

That doesn’t mean there isn’t a pleasant amount of excellently choreographed scenes of men grabbing each other very tightly (because the modern martial artist doesn’t really punch or kick anymore) and a plot about children abducted into slavery – director Yang Bingjia simply humanizes the mood around the action movie business with quite a few surprisingly funny jokes.

I can also report that this is a film that uses colours, perhaps excessively so.

The East Palace (2026): For its first half, this South Korean mix of supernatural shenanigans, horrible people at a horrible imperial court being extremely horrible, and a videogamer’s idea of boss fights is really good fun. Alas the streaming series starts dragging its feet considerably in the middle, trying to reach its runtime goal by repeating the same plot beats again and again instead of continuing to escalate, so that the perfectly decent climax feels like something of a relief.

Human Vapor Season 01 (2026)

Tokyo gets into a bit of tizzy when a scientist rises into the air and explodes during a live TV interview with reporter Kyoko Kono (Yu Aoi). The case is more than a little weird, so the police reactivate Kenji Okamoto (Shun Oguri).

Okamoto had been suspended because he was taken to be responsible for leaks about a date-raping yakuza turned CEO reaching a journalist, and the concurrent suicide of said yakuza turned CEO. The journalist was, of course, Kyoko, who was in a relationship with Okamoto at the time, and betrayed him to get the info.

Obviously, there are complicated feelings between these two now, which will not become less complicated when both of them start investigating the murder. Not that Kyoko has much of a choice, for the killer, someone (something?) calling himself the Human Vapor (Uta), wants her – specifically - to interview him about his further plans.

Apparently, he uses practically supernatural powers in a quest for vengeance on a mysterious, influential group in the habit of using the weakest members of society as “human fuel”.

This Japanese/Korean co-production directed by Shinzo Katayama and written by Yeong Sang-ho (of Train to Busan fame) and Ryu Yong-jae does a very convincing job of adapting the Ishiro Honda classic to modern times and the demands of the streaming show form. Though, curiously enough, the filmmakers seem to do this through the lens and style of mangaka Naoki Urasawa, who has nothing whatsoever to do with the show, unless his way of storytelling fitting the streaming show form pretty perfectly.

Yet still, the structural approach, the use of flashbacks, even of classic Japanese rock, the character types used, even the show’s moments of very Japanese and genuinely endearing goofiness (let’s just say “bowling” so as not to spoil things), are so in tune with how the creator of 20th Century Boys and so on operates, one can’t help but wonder how and why this exact approach was chosen. Hell, the show even shares Urasawa’s tendency for cheap plot twist trick tactics based on first showing the audience only half of what actually happened in a scene. Which is okay when used with care, but does get a bit old when it happens in nearly every single episode.

On the plus side, the plot runs like clockwork, and many elements that seem like pointless asides to get the series to length – curse of streaming - will eventually turn out to be actually meaningful and important not just structurally but also thematically.

Speaking of themes, the show is driven by a genuine sense of righteous fury about the abuses and uses, possibly even existence, of power in ways tiny and huge. Men – and it’s invariably men – with power are all portrayed as grotesques, mostly having left their actual humanity behind when they started to convince themselves people without power are only there to be used at their whim, if they ever cared at all. Even the small fry bad guys are fucking weirdoes.

The cast is obviously pretty great. Aoi and Oguri of course so, the rest of the cast sometimes to my surprise. Everyone sells even the plot’s less plausible parts with conviction, and appears to do their outmost not to be made subservient to the plot twists, and instead make these twists actual parts of their characters and performances.

Evil Dead Burn (2026)

Alice’s (Souheila Yacoub) marriage to abusive Will (George Pullar) ends rather abruptly when he dies in a drunk driving accident. Well, actually, it’s more a drunk driving deadite accident, for his family owns an object that is apparently very unhealthy for the things, and they’re drawn to destroy it.

Following the death, and Will’s incineration, Alice is supposed to spend some time with her husband’s family somewhere out in the sticks. This would have been a rather unpleasant experience in any case, given the amount of dysfunction in the family and their barely checked aggressions towards Alice, but once the first of these mostly horrible people get possessed, our protagonist finds herself in a maelstrom of cruelty and bloody violence even worse than the relationship that got her there.

Sébastien Vanicek’s entry into the Evil Dead universe has been rather divisive apparently. To a degree, I am sympathetic if a viewer doesn’t want to inflict a film on themselves that’s quite as effective at causing stress, and quite as brutally getting into inter-familial trauma and cruelty as this one does. On the other hand, isn’t a nasty, cruel streak a protagonist somehow has to get through pretty much what the Evil Dead films (apart from Army of the Dead, a film too stupid for it) have always been? These are films whose protagonists have always been pushed into hacking nasty versions of the people they love into little pieces, so I don’t think it’s fair, or even makes sense to me, to complain when a film is simply particularly good at stressing you out, like this one is.

So, obviously, I come down on the side that finds Evil Dead Burn to be a fantastic film, nasty on the level of its pretty extreme violence as well as in the many ways it reproduces the particular emotional resonance of realistic abuse, but very much so in a manner I found as cathartic as I found it exhausting. Add to this an incredible control about how to pace this sort of affair – this one feels like a train running amuck, but somehow still stops at every station on its timetable – and a gloriously messed-up imagination about what to do to human bodies and human minds, and you have quite the piece of horror filmmaking, with a heroine who rings absolutely true as an abuse survivor to me.

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.