John Krasinski directs himself, Emily Blunt and Millicent Simmonds in this survival horror where a family try to stay completely silent so as to evade sound seeking monsters who have decimated America.

A good solid thrill-ride. Bolstered by uniformly excellent performances (Blunt and newcomer Simmonds duke it out for top honours), a Spielbergian sense of confident visual storytelling and a well defined level of threat. The opening salvo lays out how brutal the consequences of making a sound in this universe are, and exactly how far the filmmakers are willing to go when putting this beautiful family through the grinder. The creature design is strong, about as good as CGI grotesques get. The moments where we hear things from the deaf daughter’s aural POV have a vivid true silence to them. In a world where everyone is trying not to make a sound, she is sometimes dangerously oblivious to her sonic footprint. It makes the toughest, most likeable player, harshly vulnerable. One quibble, the actual action set pieces are a little too brief – a Hitchcock, Craven or DePalma might keep the jeopardy churning at the clan for a few extra moments before resolving each attack.

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7

Jim Wynorski directs John Terlesky, Monique Gabrielle and Toni Naples in this tongue-in-cheek fantasy adventure where a swashbuckling thief escorts a dispossessed princess back to her lands.

Exploitation with a grin. John Terlesky is like a poor man’s Bruce Campbell. And there ain’t nothing wrong with that. Clearly a decision was made during the cheapo production on hand me down sets just to go with the flow, shoplift the best Han Solo gags from Star Wars and wink at the camera as much as possible. And that self-awareness works in a clunkily enthusiastic way. It never reaches the intelligence, of say, Terry Pratchett’s early novels but there’s a hint of the same knowing, humorous vibe. With added boobs and boobs and boobs and boobs. Boobs aside, the fight sequences are energetically delivered and the three henchmen actors are recycled nicely. Take that Beastmaster. I will probably never try Deathstalker: Episode I though.
5

Don Coscarelli directs Marc Singer, Tanya Roberts and Rip Torn in this adult fantasy actioner where an orphaned warrior prince develops the power to control animals. 

One of the earliest films I remember. My aunt and uncle had it on VHS and despite the 18 certificate I’m sure it was put on a fair few times while we played in the front room. Violence and shadowy buttshots aside, it is essentially a childish sword and sorcery romp. Like Phantasm, Coscarelli throws every piece of shit he can against the wall. Sometimes that churns up an decent bit of imagery (the flesh absorbing bat people, the writhing deformed witches) but it often feels slapdash. The fight sequences, for example, look like practice runs rather than anything that is supposed to convince or excite. It also says something about the human cast’s talent or dedication to the project that they are roundly acted off the screen by a pair of abused ferrets.

3

 

My Top Ten Fantasy Movies

1. The Lord Of The Rings: The Two Towers (2002)
2. The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring (2001)
3. The Wizard of Oz (1939)
4. Return to Oz (1985)
5. Highlander (1986)

6. The Princess Bride (1987)
7. Tale of Tales (2016)
8. Arabian Nights (1942)
9. Beauty And The Beast (1991)
10. Spirited Away (2001)

Roman Polanski directs Jon Finch, Francesca Annis and Martin Shaw in this grim and violent adaptation of Shakespeare’s murder play. 

The grubby horror elements are fantastic. The locations and costumes superb. You get a faithful and no holds barred take on the bard’s darkest work.

8

Albert Brooks directs himself, Charles Grodin and Frances Lee McCain in a mockumentary about a year in the life of an average American family warped by the constant attention of the camera crew and Brooks desire to make a film better than fiction.

For the first hour Real Life is a playful and prescient satire on filmmaking, star ego and family life. The cringe worthy 30 year old fake footage of a family falling apart proved accurate to the form that we now witness in an endless cycle on daytime TV. The self harming jibes at Brooks disingenuous director, trying to marshall a family’s happiness but not able to lose the attention of the camera himself, nor sacrifice his lavish lifestyle, are often the most amusing moments. And the oft-repeated visual gag of scuba-diver-helmet-looking cameras inauspiciously  drifting into the suburban action is a consistent killer. Sadly, something clanging somehow happens to the last half hour. The humour disappears and we are left with a wrap up that is dryly bureaucratic, while also being unbelievably over the top. For what started out as a brilliantly subtle spoof, it is shame the dismount is so off key.

7

 

James L. Brooks directs Shirley MacLaine, Debra Winger and Jack Nicholson in this razor sharp weepie about a domineering mother and her quirky daughter’s long distance relationship when the latter gets married and leaves the state. 

I know Jack Nicholson’s boorish retired astronaut should be secondary to the powerhouse female leads but I enjoyed all his trademark bad behaviour more than the loosely defined mother-daughter dynamic. Not an unworthwhile Oscar whore. It has wit, edge and uncertainty but unless you want a good, manipulative cry then Jack is only reason to come back for seconds.

6

 

Cory Finley directs Olivia Cooke, Anya Taylor-Joy and Anton Yelchin in this teen thriller about two emotionally closed off rich girls who plot to kill an irksome stepfather. 

Heathers meets Kubrick but never proving itself as good as that combination really should be. It is just too cold, too lacking in energy to raise the pulse. Both girls are fine but only Anton Yelchin, in his last jittery, scrawny role, impresses. The poor dupe that the spoilt and privileged lean upon to do their dirty work. The discordant score also stands out. As the camera dispassionately stalks beautiful girls and luxurious decor, the wail and antagonistic beats of aleatoric music suggest far more depth and turmoil than the script or imagery or deadpan leads ever can.

5

 

 

 

Andy Nyman and Jeremy Dyson directs Nyman, Paul Whitehouse and Alex Lawther in this horror anthology based on the hit West End show, where a professional skeptic delves into some unsolved hauntings. 

As an acting showcase this spooky portmanteau is absolutely marvellous, particularly the new-to-me Alex Lawther. As a horror it is better at building up a stifling air of dread, but lacks the startling jumps and shocks of the superlative stage show. That was an utterly immersive experience, and a hymn to the art of storytelling, this self-adaptation by the creators will have to settle for being a classy if slightly stunted revival of British anthology horror. Stuff like Amicus or the BBC Christmas specials are affectionately evoked throughout. You wait for all that unease to translate into a cumulative visual thrash-out that wounds you, but that A-grade shock I craved never materialised on screen. A bird carcass disappears in a basement. A white furred daemon quivers on the roof of our car. What does that baby look like? Standard tricks, deployed with grim diligence.

7

John Cassavetes directs Ben Gazzara, Seymour Cassel and Azizi Johari in this character study of a strip club owner who finds himself in deep with the mob. 

A very stretched out, strung out mood piece. Whenever it is just Gazzara interacting with the sleazy populace of his self-made hell, it is captivating. When we see the overly serious strip skits play out ad nauseum, it is deathly. The overarching message seems to be to create even low art means compromising yourself with commerce. Gazzara’s doomed gambler is the auteur (he is even praised by an ignacious gangster as putting every aspect of the show together) while the mob (Hollywood, investors or the audience?) wants him to add violence and their own directions to his life and work. We share the charming Gazzara’s hellish descent, away from community based good time to red lit deadly trap, once they have their hooks in him. Shame the journey is so loose and ragged. Saint Jack does all this better.

5

Robert Benton directs Dustin Hoffman, Justin Henry and Meryl Streep in this relationship drama about a career focussed husband forced to care for his son alone when his wife leaves them. 

I’m a big fan of Dustin Hoffman. More often than not he plays characters so intensely revulsed by everyday modern life that he can barely keep his sanity as he clings to the far edges of existence. So watching him dominate the screen as a relatively normal, growing, if frazzled, person is a rare gift. His is a grand performance, emphasised by the last few scenes, symmetrical to the first act where we get to see how much he has adapted to being an engaged father. Enforced as that development maybe. Sadly the narrative is a loaded dice, demonising Streep’s runaway mommy as selfish until the last and keeping her off screen for a ridiculous, unbalanced swathe of the running time. It really should be called Kramer Vs Absence. The resulting film, acting showcase aside, becomes quite miserable. The stakes only read as tangible in a gripping sequence where Hoffman’s beleaguered ad man has to find a new job in 24 hours before Madison Avenue shutters up for Christmas.

4