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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.