Submarine (1928)

While naval diver Jack Dorgan (Jack Holt) searches for and buoys a sunken wreck, on the deck of their ship Bob Mason (Ralph Graves) acts as his phone contact. When a bomb is released overboard to destroy the wreck, Dorgan becomes tangled in the tow-rope and is dragged underwater; Mason immediately goes to his rescue, cutting him free: the two escape the blast just in the nick of time. Soon afterwards, the best friends are separated when Mason is assigned submarine duty. A year later, at a dance pavilion, Dorgan meets a woman called Bessie (Dorothy Revier) and is deeply smitten. Tired of her equivocal existence, Bessie accepts his proposal. Three months later, however, the narrowness of married life has begun to pall on her; and when Dorgan must leave home for a week’s assignment, Bessie takes the opportunity to revisit the pavilion for some dancing and fun. There she meets another naval officer: Bob Mason… The first entry in Frank Capra’s “transport trilogy”, to be followed by Flight and Dirigible, Submarine is a silent film but one which was originally released with synchronised sound effects. Though made with the cooperation of the navy, with access to the bases at San Pedro and actual seamen as extras, there is precious little submarine in Submarine, which instead spends fully half its running-time setting up the love triangle which is to tear best friends Dorgan and Mason apart. The only real interest here is the hard edge permissible before the Production Code: it is clear to the viewer that Bessie – or “Snuggles”, as Dorgan rather ickily insists upon calling her – is a B-girl at best; and while marriage at first seems to her like an escape, she is soon thoroughly bored with what Dorgan can offer and craving some excitement—which she finds with Morgan, to whom she lies about being married. The inexperienced Dorgan entirely fails to see Bessie for what she is, and likewise fails to recognise her culpability when he returns home unexpectedly to find her and Mason in a compromising situation. After this we finally do go to sea, with Mason’s submarine involved in a series of naval manoeuvres—during which it is struck and damaged, sinking to the bottom in 400 feet of water. As the trapped crew tries to ration its oxygen, several divers make an attempt to take an airline down to the stricken vessel, only to be driven back by the pressure. There is consensus that Jack Dorgan is the only man who might reach the submarine (he being uniquely pressure-resistant, or some such); but knowing that Mason is among those trapped, Dorgan evades the calls for his help… Though its footage of contemporary hardware is interesting, Submarine is ultimately disappointing—indeed, off-putting—not least because, despite the heroics of the climactic sequence, there’s no getting away from the fact that this film’s “hero” is perfectly prepared to let an entire submarine crew die horribly just because he is personally pissed off with one member of it.

Flight (1929)

During a critical college football match, “Lefty” Phelps (Ralph Graves) makes a catastrophic error that gifts the game to the opposition. Later, fleeing abuse and ridicule, he receives some gruff compassion from U.S. Marine Corps Sergeant “Panama” Williams (Jack Holt), which influences his decision to join the Marines himself. Selected for pilot training at Pensacola, Phelps is delighted to find himself working under Williams. However, when his fellow recruits find out about his football blunder, they make his life a misery, particularly his rival, Steve Roberts (Harold Goodwin). A brighter note is Phelps’ meeting with Navy nurse Elinor Murray (Lila Lee): he begins to fall for her, not knowing that Williams is in love with her himself. When Phelps is due to make his first solo flight, taunting from Roberts makes him lose his nerve: he flips his plane during takeoff and washes out of the flight program. When the unit is ordered to Nicaragua, Williams arranges to have Phelps go along as his mechanic; but when Elinor is stationed there too, the friendship between the men begins to fray… Though important both as an early aviation film and as an early talkie (though it was also shot silent), Frank Capra’s Flight is in all respects an inferior work compared with William Wellman’s Wings; even the plot is creakier, which is saying something. Following on from Submarine, Capra not only recast both Jack Holt and Ralph Graves here (the latter supplying what is laughably called the film’s “original story”), but also transposed the earlier production’s tedious love-triangle plot—albeit that it has been softened and sentimentalised (and made stupider); and again, there is more emphasis upon the personal stuff than on the military hardware that we’re really here to see. Another issue is that the plot ultimately revolves around the US occupation of Nicaragua, and the Marines’ battles with “bandits” led by the (fictional) General Lobo (Jimmy De La Cruze)—never, of course, sparing a thought for the rights or wrongs of the situation. However, for a production dedicated to the Marine Corps, Capra was given full cooperation and access to the naval bases around San Diego, and to no less than twenty-eight military aircraft; though for the more dangerous moments, models were also used. As expected, the aviation scenes are the highlight here, though there are not enough of them to completely compensate for the on-the-ground nonsense. The final phase of Flight revolves around, effectively, a re-enactment of the Battle of Ocotal: a Marine outpost under fire calls for air support, and Phelps must act as gunner for his old enemy, Steve Roberts. The men’s plane is shot down, and Roberts is fatally injured. A rescue effort is mounted but, now estranged from his former best friend, Williams calls in sick rather than join it—until a desperate plea from Elinor convinces him to set out on a dangerous solo mission…

More on this film in Spinning Newspaper Injures Printer: Up Close.

The Sound Of Fury (1950)

Based upon The Condemned by Jo Pagano; also known as: Try And Get Me! Howard Tyler (Frank Lovejoy) returns home after a long and unsuccessful search for work to face the fears and distress of his wife, Judy (Kathleen Ryan), who is early in her second pregnancy. Later, Howard encounters the brash and self-satisfied Jerry Slocum (Lloyd Bridges), who flashes his money and clothes at him before offering Howard a job—driving his car while he commits robberies. Though at first he baulks, Howard finally accepts the position of getaway driver, with his share of the proceeds and the relief of Judy silencing his conscience. Meanwhile, journalist Gil Stanton (Richard Carlson) is persuaded by his editor, Hal Clendenning (Art Smith), to write a series of beat-up articles about the local “crime wave”, ignoring the warnings of his friend, academic Dr Vido Simone (Renzo Cesana), about his responsibility to the truth. Dissatisfied with the small hauls from his robberies, Slocum plans a final, major crime: the kidnapping for ransom of a wealthy man’s son—but when things go wrong, Howard finds himself an accessory to murder… We touched upon the 1951 blacklisting of Cy Endfield when we looked at his disaster movie, Jet Storm; the film that brought the wrath of HUAC down upon him was 1950’s The Sound Of Fury, which like Fritz Lang’s Fury, which it name-checks, was loosely based upon the 1933 kidnapping-murder of Brooke Hart, and the subsequently lynching of the two accused before they could be brought to trial. Unlike the vast majority of American “persecution” films, Cy Endfield had the nerve to make his central characters guilty of the crimes of which they were accused—while arguing that they nevertheless deserve due process and the protection of the law; that, in fact, they are the people who most deserve it. The first half of the film depicts the descent into a life of crime of ordinary, decent family man Howard Tyler, whose inability to provide for his pregnant wife and their young son finally overrides his sense of right and wrong; though persistent guilt also makes him a secret drinker. (There is an air of economic depression throughout this film more in keeping with the time of the original crime than the post-war period of its setting.) Nevertheless, Howard goes along with Jerry Slocum’s kidnapping plan—and makes himself an accessory when the matter ends in unplanned, brutal murder… Though in many respects a powerful, noir-ish drama, The Sound Of Fury is also somewhat flawed. The middle section of the film, dealing with Howard’s journey through depression and heavy drinking into confession, is overly drawn out and a bit lethargic; while the film’s two plot-threads, the second dealing with the responsibilities of the press and the dangers of yellow journalism, are not at first well-integrated. Likewise, the use of Dr Simone as an outsider eye on America, with his lectures about the “disease” of violence, is heavy-handed and intrusive (though we can imagine how having a foreigner placed in this role would have infuriated The Authorities). However, all this finally melds when Howard and Slocum are arrested and charged and, fired by Gil Stanton’s reckless, inflammatory coverage of the case, a mob descends upon the prison in which they are being held… Whatever this film’s shortcomings, its climactic sequence is uncompromisingly brutal, with Cy Endfield bringing home the horrors of mob violence via an almost-documentary approach marked by close-ups, swift camera moves, sharp editing and frightening sound effects. The Sound Of Fury makes good use of Frank Lovejoy’s rather ambiguous screen persona; while it has been suggested that Lloyd Bridges’ casting as the sociopathic Slocum was payback for his HUAC cooperation. The film also features Adele Jergens as Slocum’s girlfriend, Cliff Clark as the sheriff who does his unavailing best, and Katherine Locke as the recipient of Howard’s unplanned confession.

Not much to laugh at in this film, to put it mildly, but its newspaper mock-ups offer both an existing and a new Repeat Offender.

The Spy Who Came In From The Cold (1965)

Based upon the novel by John le Carré. After an attempted extraction from East Germany ends in the agent’s death, Alec Leamas (Richard Burton) is recalled to London by the head of his intelligence organisation, “Control” (Cyril Cusack). Leamas fears that his time as a field operative is over, but Control has one last job for him… Apparently dismissed from the service, Leamas hits the skids: he gets a low-paying job as an assistant librarian, which connects him with idealistic young Communist, Nan Perry (Claire Bloom); but he also drinks heavily and behaves aggressively towards others, finally serving a short prison term for assault. Upon his release, Leamas is contacted by Ashe (Michael Hordern), who claims to work for a prisoners’ aid society, but is in fact the first in a series of East German operatives testing Leamas’s potential as a defector. At last Leamas is offered payment in exchange for information about his intelligence service, and flies to the Netherlands to meet an agent called Peters (Sam Wanamaker). Peters in turn passes Leamas to Fiedler (Oskar Werner), who takes him into East Germany for full debriefing. There, Leamas embarks upon his true mission: providing information that will bring down a dangerous high-ranking German operative called Mundt (Peter Van Eyck)… Staying close to its source material, Martin Ritt’s The Spy Who Came In From The Cold is a bleak and cynical look at the world of Cold War espionage, where there are no good guys or bad guys, just expediency; and where “right” is determined by whoever has the dirtier tactics—and is prepared to resort to them. Shot in moody black-and-white by Oswald Morris, the film projects an air of calculated despair: with its rain-swept streets, leafless trees and grim little retreats, 60s London never looked so depressing. Other than the outbursts intended to attract trouble at the beginning, and the famously bitter speech delivered towards the end, Richard Burton keeps things low-key and measured as Leamas plays his dangerous game of doublecross—delivering the critical information while denying its validity, and seemingly protecting the man he is in reality assigned to destroy. The other key performance is that of Oskar Werner as the intelligent and charismatic Fiedler, who even projects an oddly misplaced note of compassion in his dealings with Leamas: the two seasoned operatives clearly learn to like and respect one another, even as each tries to identity and exploit the other’s vulnerabilities. Conversely, the film’s main weakness is also the book’s: there is no reason at all why Nan should be attracted to Leamas (but then, male writers so rarely seem to think women need a reason for these things), and their relationship seems contrived rather than organic. Nevertheless, it is Nan’s arrival in East Germany, and her forced testimony before the committee convened to investigate the accusations brought by Fiedler against Mundt, that reveals to Leamas the truth about the role he has been unwittingly playing, and the lengths to which his handlers in London are prepared to go… The Spy Who Came In From The Cold also features Rupert Davies as George Smiley (a minor player here, but the backbone of John le Carré’s series) and George Voskovec as Fiedler’s shrewd defence attorney; while there are supporting appearances by Robert Hardy, Bernard Lee, Beatrix Lehmann, Niall MacGinnis and Michael Ripper.

Maroc 7 (1967)

The editor of a successful fashion magazine, Louise Henderson (Cyd Charisse) uses her company’s international shoots as a cover for a series of daring robberies. One night, Simon Grant (Gene Barry) breaks into Louise’s house and steals jewellery from her safe; he then attends her studio party, revealing his crime to her—and pointing out that the stolen jewellery wasn’t hers to start with. By these means, he manoeuvres himself into the working group due to depart for Morocco the following day, which is to provide cover for the acquisition and removal of a priceless pendant. While the travellers settle into their hotel under the guidance of photographer Raymond Lowe (Leslie Phillips) and production manager Freddie (Angela Douglas), Grant begins to make time with lead model Claudia (Elsa Martinelli)—unaware that Louise has ordered her to keep him busy while she and Lowe meet with Professor Bannen (Eric Barker), a British archaeologist who is to reveal to them the whereabouts of the pendant. However, with his health failing, Bannen has changed his mind—only to discover that the others won’t take ‘no’ for an answer… Maroc 7 is a fair crime thriller whose main virtues are all visual—which is to say, its Morocco settings and the plethora of genuinely gorgeous women that populate it. The latter is, in a way, also the rock on which the film founders: the main problem here is that, as Grant, Gene Barry is so thoroughly smarmy and unpleasant, the screenplay’s insistence that various smart and beautiful women find him irresistible is just impossible to swallow—and the flow-on effect from that wrecks the rest. The viewer learns in time that apparent safecracker and blackmailer Grant is actually Inspector Grant undercover, when he makes contact with Inspector Barrada (Denholm Elliott) of the Moroccan police and his special operative, Michelle Craig (Alexandra Stewart). Though the original jewellery is enough to prove Louise Henderson’s guilt (albeit that this “evidence” is the fruit of the poisoned tree, which the script ignores), Barrada is determined to prevent the removal of the pendant from the country and to expose Louise’s entire gang—which means that Grant must carry on with his dangerous mission… Though the final stages of Maroc 7 offer a rising body-count and several doublecrosses, the film rarely achieves any real excitement; while the viewer’s understandable preference for its bad guys over its alleged “hero” also works against its success. The only point at which the script by David D. Osborn hits the mark is with the subplot of production manager Freddie, the one genuine innocent in the whole crowd, who makes the mistake of asking too many questions…

Fantastic Planet (1973)

Original title: La Planète sauvage; based upon the novel Oms en série by “Stefan Wul” (Pierre Pairault). On the planet Ygram, populated by the Traags, imported creatures known as Oms run wild, though some specimens are also kept as pets. When an Om female is tormented to death by three Traag children, her baby is rescued by Tiwa, daughter of the Traag leader, Master Sinh, and named Terr. Growing rapidly and rebelling against his situation, Terr must be restrained by an electronic collar that allows Tiwa to control his movements. A fault in the collar allows Terr to share Tiwa’s lessons, which are implanted directly into her brain via a special headset: in this way: Terr acquires literacy in the Traag language and knowledge of the species’ culture and history. When Tiwa becomes an adolescent, she begins to share her parents’ meditations and loses interest in her childhood possessions, including Terr. He escapes, stealing a headset, and makes contact with a wild female Om who removes his collar and introduces him to her tribe… This French-Czechoslovakian co-production is a strange and striking work of animation. Its visual style is hard to describe – simple and complex at once – sort of Monty Python-era Terry Gilliam done seriously, albeit that Fantastic Planet began production in 1963, so that the influence, if any, may have been the other way around. Debate continues as to whether the allegory at the heart of this work of science fiction is one of racism, colonialism or animal rights; though with its reduction of Caucasian human beings to the position of either pet or pest, it is broad enough to sustain all three readings—the one indisputable point being that the film functions as a consideration of what becomes permissible as soon as one species categorises another as “inferior”. Meanwhile— For some of us, the allegory is rather that of the dangers of importing a species of animal without considering the long-term impact upon the environment and the native fauna. With one Traag week equal to one year in Om terms, the latter grow and breed rapidly, giving rise to extensive feral populations that are periodically subjected to a brutal cull. Terr’s literacy and insight allows some of the Oms to escape the latest purge and flee to an abandoned Traag rocket depot, where they begin planning an escape to Ygram’s moon, known as the Fantastic Planet… Screened at Cannes in 1973, Fantastic Planet was awarded the Grand Prix special jury prize, and went on to become the first animated film rated PG by the MPAA, presumably for its nudity and a sort of (not really) sex scene.

The Man From Hong Kong (1975)

I’m not going to review this – I already did – sort of – but I did rewatch it, and I just want to reiterate that there is absolutely nothing about this film that doesn’t TOTALLY FUCKING ROCK.

Allegro Non Troppo (1976)

Co-written and directed by Italian animator and film-maker Bruno Bozetto, this mixture of live action, animation and classical music is a frank if affectionate spoof of Disney’s Fantasia, albeit with a lot more nudity and a little sex. The film’s framing device features The Presenter (Maurizio Micheli), who offers a speech highlighting the film’s various points of originality—only to be interrupted by some “liar from California” who insists it’s all been done before. An in-house orchestra consisting of ladies of a certain age gathers under the auspices of The Conductor (Néstor Garay); while The Animator (Maurizio Nichetti) faces the daunting task of creating on-the-spot visual sequences inspired by the playing of various classical pieces… Allegro Non Troppo offers seven animated sequences: an elderly satyr tries to recapture his youth (Debussy’s Prélude à l’après-midi d’un faune); an innovative caveman becomes exasperated when his less intelligent fellows copy his every move (Dvořák’s Slavonic Dance No. 7, Op. 46); evolution and the rise of Man begin when passing aliens toss a soft-drink bottle to Earth (Ravel’s Boléro); a stray cat remembers better times (Sibelius’s Valse triste); a bee’s attempt at a picnic is interrupted by a pair of rustic lovers (Vivaldi’s Concerto in C major, RV 559); unable to persuade Adam and Eve to eat the apple, the snake swallows it himself and suffers the consequences (Stravinsky’s The Firebird); an Igor-ish basement-dweller is asked to find a certain piece of animation to provide the film’s finale (various)… Apparently Disney used to have better perspective, and more of a sense of humour, since it seems the company not only permitted but even encouraged Bruno Bozetto’s nose-thumb; Ward Kimbell later used the Boléro sequence, which most directly mocks Fantasia, as a teaching-piece. Allegro Non Troppo also exists in an edited version with the live-action sequences removed, but the uncut version is the way to go (otherwise you miss the guy in the ape suit). Cat lovers should be warned, though: the Valse triste sequence is basically the feline equivalent of Jurassic Bark, so make sure to bring the tissues.

Patrick (1978)

When his mother brings a man home for the evening, Patrick (Robert Thompson) puts an end to their fun by throwing an electric heater into their bath… Trying to rebuild her life after separating from her husband, Kathy Jacquard (Susan Penhaligon) applies for a nursing job at the private Roget Clinic in Melbourne. Though the frosty Matron Cassidy (Julia Blake) gives her a hard time during her interview, direct intervention by Dr Roget (Robert Helpmann) secures Kathy the position. She is immediately thrown in the deep end by being sent to Room 15, which houses Patrick—who has now been in a vegetative coma for three years. Roget is frank with Kathy about Patrick’s value: his bizarre condition, which includes failure to waste physically since his admission, makes him the perfect subject for Roget’s research into the line between life and death. Uncomfortable with her colleagues’ attitude to Patrick, which varies from mere distaste to outright fear, Kathy’s natural kindness leads her to go above and beyond in her care, speaking normally to her patient and treating him as she would anyone responsive. In doing so, she begins to suspect that Patrick’s vegetative state isn’t as complete as Roget and the others believe. Meanwhile, she must also deal with the stalking tendencies of her estranged husband, Ed (Rod Mullinar), who wants to reunite. Invited to a party at the home of neurosurgeon Brian Wright (Bruce Barry), Kathy hopes to consult him about Patrick but soon finds that his interest in her is purely personal. As Wright lounges in his pool, he is suddenly attacked by an unseen force that drags him beneath the water… Written by Everett De Roche and directed by Richard Franklin, this Australian entry in the glut of telekinesis films that followed the success of Carrie was an important part of the Ozploitation movement, finding success both locally and overseas—albeit suffering the indignity of being re-scored and dubbed in some territories. Patrick is very much a slow-burn film that sometimes struggles to live up to the promise of its bravura opening sequence; its strength, conversely, is that it doesn’t always locate its horror where you expect it to. The screenplay’s pragmatism about the realities of nursing sits hand-in-hand with the almost instinctive recoil of even hardened health professionals in the face of what Patrick represents; and this, along with the suggestion that in spite of what the experts say there is an active consciousness trapped within his unmoving, unresponsive body, justifies Kathy’s overly emotional response to her patient. Patrick’s main flaw is its overlength, given its lack of action and real surprises; yet this stems from one of the film’s main strengths, the increasing interest it takes in Kathy as she finds herself surrounded by men who refuse to listen to her while trying to pressure or coerce her into being what they want her to be—and the fact that Patrick doesn’t always feel like the only or even the main threat to her speaks for itself. As Kathy seeks for a way to communicate with her patient, strange and fatal events begin to afflict both her and the people around her… Balancing its supernatural horrors with the all-too natural horrors of its central situation, Patrick is more thoughtful and less exploitatative than we might anticipate: its most confronting moment has nothing to do with Patrick’s psycho- and telekinetic acting out, but is rather a frog-pithing scene that was absolutely not faked. Though cast in part to secure a British distribution deal, Susan Penhaligon is really good as the flawed but compassionate and determined Kathy; while Robert Thompson also gives a remarkable performance considering he spends most of the film not moving a muscle.

(Most: noting that this film’s final shock moment pre-dates another film’s far more famous closing jump-scare by a full two years.)

Alison’s Birthday (1979)

Along with her friends, Chrissie (Margie McCrae) and Maureen (Julie Wilson), sixteen-year-old Alison Findlay (Joanne Samuel) is attempting to receive messages through a Ouija board when Chrissie is possessed by an entity claiming to be Alison’s father: in a harsh, garbled voice, it warns her about someone called Mirne and her own nineteenth birthday. The room is then swept by a powerful force which wrecks it, with a toppling bookcase killing Chrissie… Three years later, living and working up the coast, Alison receives a phone-call from her Aunt Jenny (Bunney Brooke) about her upcoming birthday. Reluctant because of the strange warning, among others reasons, Alison tries to get out of her expected visit home, but agrees when her aunt confides to her that her Uncle Dean (John Bluthel) is in failing health. She is, however, relieved when her boyfriend, Peter Healey (Lou Brown), arranges to get a few days off work so that he can accompany her back to Sydney, where his own father also lives. Arriving at the suburban house where she grew up after the deaths of her parents, Alison is unnerved to find her room exactly as she left it, and feels stifled by her aunt and uncle’s effusive welcome and determination to have her company. As quickly as she can, she escapes into her relatives’ extensive back garden—and from there into the overgrown wilderness beyond, which she was always warned away from as a child. Forcing her way through the vegetation, Alison is startled when she stumbles into a clearing marked by a stone circle—while eerie laughter sends her fleeing back to the house… Written and directed by Ian Coughlan, Alison’s Birthday is a film that came and went without much notice upon its first release, but which with hindsight is interesting for reasons both intrinsic and accidental. With its low budget showing at every turn, a lack of real shocks, its running-time filled out chiefly via a glacial pace, and suffering from more-dated-than-older-stuff in spades (Alison works in a record store; and if you can survive that, there’s a doctor who makes a house-call), the film’s Rosemary’s-Baby-in-suburbia vibe nevertheless has a certain charm about it; while there are also allusions here to lesser-known horrors such as Burnt Offerings and The Mephisto Waltz. The smartest thing this film does is not pretend that we don’t know what’s going on: sweet Aunt Jenny and overpowering Uncle Dean are muttering soon enough about how to separate Alison and Pete, and also doing some fast talking in order to explain everything from the Druid stones in their backyard to the 103-year-old wheelchair-bound woman who invades Alison’s bedroom one night. Conversely, the film’s main flaw is that Alison herself quickly becomes merely a passive object needing to be rescued, with the film’s focus shifting to Pete’s efforts to understand the nature of the danger she is in. Mind you, Pete is a boyfriend to delight the heart: he cares for Alison, enjoys her company, listens respectfully when she talks, and cuddles after sex—so it isn’t at all difficult for some viewers, at least, to become invested in his determination to save Alison or – as the case may be – die trying… Like so many Australian films of the time, Alison’s Birthday was shot on location because they couldn’t afford anything else, and part of its fun is seeing exactly how much Sydney’s northern and eastern suburbs have changed in the interim; with key scenes taking place at the State Library and in the iconic Gore Hill Cemetery. The cast also includes Vincent Ball as a sinister doctor, Ralph Cotterill as Pete’s father, and Lisa Peers as his helpful astrologer friend; while Brian Wenzel turns up as – surprise! – a police officer, and producer David Hannay appears as one of the cultists.

Death Warrant (1990)

In Los Angeles, Louis Burke (Jean-Claude Van Damme) of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police takes down the serial killer Christian Naylor (Patrick Kilpatrick), known as “the Sandman”. Sixteen months later, Burke is invited back to LA and asked to undertake an undercover mission in Harrison Penitentiary, where the assistant warden and nine inmates have been recently been murdered. The plan is brokered by Tom Vogler (George Dickerson), the Attorney General, with the assistance of Ben Keane (Jack Bannon) of the State Board of Corrections, who argue that his undercover experience and the guarantee of his being unknown to any of the other prisoners make Burke the ideal candidate. Meanwhile, Vogler’s assistant, ambitious young attorney Amanda Beckett (Cynthia Gibb), is assigned to pose as Burke’s wife and act as his liaison. Arriving at Harrison with a cover story of a conviction for armed robbery, Burke along with his fellow “new fish” are confronted by the brutal Sergeant DeGraf (Art LaFleur), who rules the prison with an iron fist—and a savage billy-club. While being processed, Burke takes note of prisoner / clerk Hawkins (Robert Guillaume), who he believes may be useful to him; he also wins over his cellmate, Konefke (George Jenesky aka Conrad Dunn); however, neither will talk about the murders, and Burke must take increasing risks before he begins to unveil a dark conspiracy… Death Warrant was produced during the final sad phase of Cannon Films, and there is a definite sense that director Deran Sarafian was trying to do something “different”, to create an action film that stood apart from its fellows. He succeeded, as far as that goes, though not necessarily in a good way. The very nature of Death Warrant as a prison film simply means that there cannot be enough fight scenes to paper over the increasing stupidity of the plot, nor the parallel stupidity of the depiction of this particular prison—so that eventually it crosses the line between enjoyably and tiresomely dumb. In particular, it doesn’t pay to think too closely about the logistics of the conspiracy that Burke eventually uncovers, although that said it is still the most imaginative and amusing part of the film. Cynthia Gibb’s role here is just embarrassing; and while it is tempting to say the same of Joshua (John) Miller as teen hacker Douglas Tisdale, given that this was only 1990, perhaps he was actually setting the style for that sort of role? Meanwhile, though Patrick Kilpatrick’s performance as the Sandman seems to be the film’s high point for some viewers, he belongs to the cackling maniac school of villains and that rarely appeals to me. Burke’s cover is eventually blown when the not-quite-as-dead-as-we-have-been-led-to-believe serial killer is transferred to Harrison, where he is received with rapturous acclaim by the inmates—his status soaring still more when he reveals Burke’s true identity, forcing the latter into a desperate race to save his own life… Though Death Warrant doesn’t work for me, it has a few compensations. Al Leong shows up as a prisoner, and gets his butt handed to him in the film’s first fight scene; while the duplicitous prison doctor is played by Armin Shimerman. Also, Van Damme gets nekkid (but then, you knew that, didn’t you?); while the screenplay by David S. Goyer, his debut offering, gifts us one of the most mind-boggling lines of dialogue ever committed to film:

“Listen, Burke, this is LA, not Canada: we have procedures here!”

Robot Wars (1993)

Though mega-robots were once the main military hardware of the North Hemi, a single remaining Mega-Robotic Assault System-2, or MRAS-2, now transports tourists across the wastelands of what used to be the southwest United States. When bandits known as Centros attack, Drake (Don Michael Paul), the pilot of the MRAS-2, opts for a defensive strategy in order to protect the civilians on board. However, when he alerts Op Com about the attack, Rooney (Peter Haskell), the Chief of Operations, insists that he fight back with the MRAS-2’s full power, in order to demonstrate its capabilities to the visiting General Wa-Lee (Danny Kamekona) of the Eastern Alliance. Drake reluctantly obeys, resulting in a rough and frightening experience for the passengers, and shattering the specimens collected by Dr Leda Fanning (Barbara Crampton). The battle is passed off as a training exercise, and when the MRAS-2 docks, Leda angrily confronts Drake, who infuriates her more by trying to flirt with her. However, Leda’s attention soon turns to the arrival of her friend, Annie (Lisa Rinna), a journalist, to whom she confides her suspicions of something hidden beneath Crystal Vista, a perfectly preserved 1990s ghost town. Meanwhile, Drake presents Rooney with what he believes is evidence of conspiracy between the Eastern Alliance and the Centros… That’s an overly long and complicated description of a film that really doesn’t have all that much there there. While it has its amusing touches, Robot Wars is finally too much people and not enough battle robots, even with a meagre 72-minute running time. The highlight here is of course the MRAS-2, effectively a mechanised scorpion designed by David Allen, which is adorable to the point of distracting us from the improbability of these things ever having been a ubiquitous weapon of war (delightful as is the mental image that phrase conjures up). However, Drake is an exasperating “hero”, and the we-hate-each-other-so-we’re-in-love “romance” between him and Leda is frankly rather skin-crawling. The main plot, such as it is, finds Rooney trying to broker a deal with General Wa-Lee, selling oxymoronic mini-mags – cutdown versions of the MRAS-2 – to the Eastern Alliance in order to prop up North Hemi’s failing economy. Rooney goes so far as to invite Wa-Lee into the cockpit of the MRAS-2 for a few piloting lessons; but only he and replacement pilot Boles (Steve Eastin) are surprised when the lessons turn into a hijacking. Meanwhile, Leda and Annie have penetrated beneath Crystal Vista, where they find signs that the last MEGA-1 battle robot, the predecessor of the MRAS-2, may not have been dismantled after all… The final phase of Robot Wars of course consists of Robot Big Battel between MRAS-2 and MEGA-1, and while this is giddy fun in itself, whether it makes up for the rest will be a matter of individual tolerance.

Drunken Master II (1994)

Also known as: The Legend Of Drunken Master. Wong Fei-hung (Jackie Chan), his father, Professor Wong Kei-ying (Ti Lung), and their servant Tso (Ram Chiang) travel back to Canton by train after a journey to collect medicinal herbs and roots for the Professor’s clinic. Before boarding the train, travellers are required to pay taxes on their goods: to avoid this, Fei-hung hides a parcel of ginseng in the suitcase of a British diplomat. However, when he tries to retrieve it onboard, he ends up in possession of an Imperial Seal intended for the British Museum; while former military hero Fu Wen-chi (Lau Kar-leung) finds himself with the ginseng. The British consul (Louis C. Roth) sends his henchmen to Canton after Fei-hung to retrieve the Seal, one of many Chinese artefacts being smuggled out of the country. Learning about the missing ginseng, Fei-hung’s step-mother, Ling (Anita Mui), tries to help by selling her necklace, so that they can buy more; but when the bag containing her jewellery is mistaken by the henchmen for one containing the Seal, a brawl erupts in which Fei-hung must resort to his notorious “Drunken Boxing” style… Made sixteen years after its predecessor, Drunken Master II is in all respects a superior film – very much a “Jackie Chan film”, as its credits declare – though perhaps with just a few sticking points that keep us from total enjoyment. That the tone of the film is far more serious is a welcome change, but it leads to one of its major issues, namely, that with the comic element toned down, the drunken boxing itself and the associated (over-)consumption of alcohol tends to comes across as genuinely unpleasant—even aside from the bad-taste moment that closes the uncut print of this film. There is also the inherent contradiction of the Professor having sent Fei-hung for drunken training in the first place, only to be angry and humiliated whenever he uses it. Fei-hung himself is still capable of being a thoughtless jerk, to say the least; but it is the way in which he rises to the occasion over the second half of this film that gives Drunken Master II its impact. Fu Wen-chi is leading an effort to retrieve the artefacts being sent out of the country by the British and their quislings, and when he is killed after joining a defiant brawl against the hired Axe Gang, a guilty Fei-hung vows to complete Fu’s mission by putting a stop to the smuggling… The strength of Drunken Master II lies in a plot which makes serious and legitimate use of historical reality, while at the same time providing the framework for some of Jackie Chan’s most memorable onscreen fights. These confrontations are not only numerous, but are allowed to play out at length—the work of Jackie’s own team in collaboration with choreographer / director Lau Kar-leung. The two undoubted highlights here are the brawl between Fei-hung and Fu and the Axe Gang, in which the seemingly overmatched pair nevertheless see off the hired thugs sent to kill them, destroying a restaurant in the process; and even more so, the extraordinary one-on-one between Fei-hung and lead henchman John (Ken Lo) which climaxes the film, and in which the former’s drunken boxing is pitted against the latter’s savage Taekwondo. On a lighter note, another real pleasure of this film is the interaction between Jackie Chan and Anita Mui as Fei-hung’s enabling step-mother, Ling; while the film also boasts a number of other welcome appearances in supporting roles, including from Felix Wong as Fei-hung’s rival / friend, Tsang, Ho-Sun Pak as another henchman, and Andy Lau as the real-life war-lord Chang Hsueh-liang. Those with quick eyes will also spot Bill Tung and “Mars” (Cheung Wing-fat).

King Cobra (1999)

A team of scientists led by Dr Irwin Burns (Joseph Ruskin) is studying the biological control of aggression using a variety of animal models, including a purposely-bred hybrid snake. When a reckless experiment by two of the team results in an explosion and a fire, the deadly creature escapes… Two years later, in the small town of Fillmore, Police Chief Jo Biddle (Casey Fallo) and Dr Brad Kagen (Scott Brandon aka Scott Hillenbrand) work through their goodbyes, with Brad on the eve of relocating to the city to take up a hospital position. However, both are summoned to a property where the owner has been found dead, his body riddled with haemorrhages; Brad discovers a piece of an enormous fang in the victim’s foot, while a police search discovers a shed snake skin some thirty feet long. Brad’s subsequent application for large amounts of antivenin attracts the attention of Dr Burns, who survived the destruction of his laboratory. When Brad’s father, Dr Pat Kagen (Paul Morgan Fredrix), is next to fall victim, Burns recommends that the town send for herpetologist and snake hunter, Nick Hashimoto (Pat Morita)… King Cobra is a real mixed bag of a film. Ultimately it falls on the negative side of the fence, with its flashes of fun offset by, for the most part, uninteresting characters and far too many drawn-out sequences in which nothing much happens. On the other hand, the plot is set up by a truly asinine SCIENCE!! scene, the script is almost solemnly respectful in its invoking of The Tropes Of Jaws, and the biological background of the titular beastie – known as “Seth” – is so jaw-droppingly wrong, pondering it can almost get you through the film’s overabundance of dullness. (I can’t even really say “long story short”: Seth is declared to be an African king cobra, whereas king cobras are Asian; he has the markings of a spectacled cobra, which is Indian; and he spits, which neither of those two species does. This on top of the fact that he is supposedly a king cobra / eastern diamondback hybrid!!) Things pick up over the second half of the film with the arrival of Nick Hashimoto – bitten 167 times and a walking antivenin factory – and he, Jo, Brad and Dr Burns team up to find a way of locating, trapping and killing the snake: no easy task, given its ability of Offscreen Teleport^©… King Cobra turned out to be the final film of Hoyt Axton, who plays the mayor (and Jo’s father), Ed Biddle, and he gets his Larry Vaughn on by refusing to cancel – get this – the BREWFEST; while Erik Estrada contributes an embarrassing single-scene cameo as a flaming gay brewer. Seth is realised through practical effects, and while he is far from being the best work of the Chiodo brothers, this was probably the last killer snake film before shonky CGI took over, so he has that going for him. The film was co-written and co-directed by David and Scott Hillenbrand (the latter casting himself as Brad Kagen), who went from this to Piñata.

(…and if you wanted to get even more mired in herpetology, technically king cobras aren’t cobras at all…)

Witchblade (2000)

When New York police detective Sara Pezzini (Yancy Butler) and her partner Danny Woo (Will Yun Lee) confront crime boss Tommy Gallo (Conrad Dunn) and one of his enforcers, it ends with an assault on Danny and Sara pursuing the enforcer into a museum displaying artefacts connected with Joan of Arc. There, Sara has a strange encounter with a man who vanishes almost beneath her eyes and is drawn to a metal gauntlet in a display cabinet. A violent gunfight then erupts; during the battle, Sara comes into possession of the gauntlet after its case is shattered, and discovers that it is able to deflect bullets. The fight ends in a massive explosion that kills the wanted man but leaves Sara mysteriously unharmed. It is only later that she discovers the jewelled bracelet around her wrist… Suspecting Gallo in the deaths of both her own father and her estranged best friend, Sara continues to press hard; but when she and Danny follow Gallo to a meeting in an abandoned theatre, it ends in Danny’s death. Sara herself is at gunpoint when the bracelet on her wrist converts into the gauntlet—then extrudes a deadly blade… Rather loosely based upon the comic book series by Top Cow Productions, Witchblade is the TV-movie pilot for the series of the same name which ran across 2001-2002. Unsurprisingly, it finally offers more set-up than story and has that familiar unfinished feel to it. The inevitable “Chosen One” here is explicitly a Chosen Woman, with the revelation that Sara – who learns along the way that she was adopted as a baby – is the latest in a long line of warrior women chosen to bear the Witchblade; though also that the artefact can be capricious, sometimes abandoning its wielder. While Tommy Gallo makes for a dull and obvious real-world antagonist, the pilot also introduces the more ambiguous (and presumably longer-lived) figures of Kenneth Irons (Anthony Cistaro), a billionaire obsessed with the Witchblade, and his protégé Ian Nottingham (Eric Etebari), a shadowy individual who becomes a guardian figure to Sara, though possibly an untrustworthy one. She acquires a better one, a literal guardian angel, when Danny Woo’s ghost shows up; while also on the side of law and order are her boss, Joe Siri (Kenneth Welsh in a rare good-guy role, at least at this stage); and the new partner forced upon her, Jake McCartey (played by David Chokachi in a piece of casting that reeks of The WB). At this point Witchblade’s fight scenes are all flash-cut editing, sub-Matrix camera tricks and wire work; while Sara spends much of the pilot likewise experiencing rapid-fire visions of the Witchblade’s history and of the cases she is working on; also being followed around by an atavistic suit of armour. Yancy Butler makes a sympathetic protagonist, however, and conveys both Sara’s toughness and her confusion in the face of her unexpected destiny. The film uses its New York settings lovingly, though at times the city appears both mysteriously depopulated and overly clean, particularly during the climactic face-off between Sara and Gallo.

Xchange (2001)

After the assassination of a company CEO in San Francisco, New York-based executive Stuart Toffler (Kim Coates) is ordered to attend the subsequent press conference—and with time short, he must do it by ‘Xchange’: swapping his consciousness into a volunteer body already on the west coast. Deeply reluctant but left with no choice, Toffler submits to the process and, after agreeing to the terms and conditions relative to his treatment of his new body, finds himself in San Francisco. At the press conference, Quayle Scott (Charles Powell), son of the murdered CEO and possibly his replacement, reacts with shock at the sight of Toffler’s new body (Kyle MacLachlan), who he clearly recognises. Toffler then finds himself locking horns with journalist / activist Madeleine Renard (Pascale Bussières), with whom he was once involved. After his work commitments are over, Toffler allows himself to enjoy some of the possibilities of “floating”, including hooking up with a woman who is also in a stranger’s body. The next day, Toffler presents himself at Xchange to be greeted by appalling news: his own body has not been returned in New York, and he must submit to having his consciousness placed temporarily in a GEF – a genetically enhanced facsimile – which has a lifespan of only a few days… Xchange is a reasonably interesting futuristic thriller, which ultimately fails for predictable reasons: it didn’t have the budget to present convincingly the world it imagined, and at about the halfway mark it mostly gives up its attempt to create that world and settles for being a familiar action / chase thriller, complete with Star Trek-esque “countdown to the very minute” time pressure, as Toffler must get out of his stolen clone body before its lifespan expires. The first part of the film succeeds in holding the attention, with its vision of a powerful and predatory corporate class, hints of a widely damaged world, ubiquitous ID cards that place individuals in their social caste, widespread terrorism both domestic and international, the creation of clones intended to be used and discarded, verbally responsive “smart” technology, and of course the concept of “floating”. However, none of this is explored in detail, and the bits we are given hardly hold up to scrutiny. The cast is another problem. Kyle MacLachlan, as the host of first terrorist Fisk (never seen in his real body) and then of Stuart Toffler, does a good job of replicating Kim Coates’ body language and speech patterns as the latter, but he exits the film at about the halfway point, which is when it starts to go off the rails. Neither Kim Coates nor Stephen Baldwin manages to convince us they’re someone other than who they are (beyond some gum-chewing, presumably included for that purpose), and really, whoever cast Baldwin as the film’s eventual centrepiece needs his head examined—not that he isn’t convincing as a generic, disposable clone; it’s as a sympathy figure he’s hard to take. After successfully hijacking a clone, Toffler goes on the run with the help of Madeleine Renard, desperately searching for his own body while evading the authorities and knowing that he has only hours in which to transfer his consciousness…

(Question: did the film-makers intend that glimpse of a “futuristic” cinema marquee? High Fidelity plus Here On Earth, really!?)

Red Riding: The Year Of Our Lord 1983 (2009)

Based upon the novels by David Pearce. When nine-year-old Hazel Atkins (Tamsin Mitchell) goes missing on her way home from school, it opens up bitter memories of the abduction and murder of Clare Kemplay under similar circumstances some nine years earlier—not least for DCS Maurice Jobson (David Morrissey), who was responsible for the subsequent arrest and conviction of learning-disabled Michael Myshkin (Daniel Mays). Meanwhile, solicitor John Piggott (Mark Addy) is contacted by Myshkin’s mother (Beatrice Kelley) and asked to see him with a view to lodging an appeal. Though feeling himself unqualified, Piggott does as asked and is deeply disturbed by Michael’s account of his confession and guilty plea, which he claims were the result of coercion not only by the police, but his own solicitor. The investigation into Hazel’s disappearance leads Jobson and his colleague, Dick Alderman (Shaun Dooley), to Mandy Wymer (Saskia Reeves), a medium who claims to have information about several of the area’s missing children. Jobson is unnerved by her reference to swans, since the mutilation of Clare Kemplay was never made public. With Michael Myshkin in custody, the police turn their attention to his former best friend, Leonard Cole (Gerard Kearns), who found Clare’s body… The concluding entry in the Red Riding trilogy is an exercise in tying up loose ends; and while it would be too much to say that everything is resolved by the conclusion, a great deal that was previously conveyed to the viewer only via the fractured, not always comprehending perceptions of the earlier films’ protagonists is made horrifyingly clear. The narrative of 1983 jumps back and forth between the present and the events of 1974, with Maurice Jobson’s belated attack of conscience putting him at dangerous loggerheads with his colleagues—in particular, Chief Constable Harold Angus (Jim Carter) and Assistant Chief Constable Bill Malloy (Warren Clarke), who brokered the involvement of the inner circle of the WYMP in both the local vice racket and the development projects of business magnate John Dawson (Sean Bean). Along the way, 1983 acquires an unlikely hero in the form of slovenly solicitor John Piggott, who becomes increasingly convinced that first Michael Myshkin and then Leonard Cole – who “commits suicide” in custody – were framed by the police, and begins to pursue his own investigation into the child victims… The ugliness of the Red Riding trilogy arguably reaches its pinnacle here, going even beyond the story of the Yorkshire Ripper in its relentless insistence upon endemic corruption and brutality and a confronting narrative built upon child abuse and murder. The constant cross-cutting makes serious demands upon the viewer’s attention and memory, as various events across the trilogy play out from different points of view, characters come and go, and revelations are made about the true responsibility for much of what we have been watching.

Boar (2017)

A tourist couple driving through the outback swerve to avoid a rabbit and run their car off the road. As they pull themselves together, they notice that some of the local wildlife seems to be fleeing in terror. The next moment, something enormous slams into the car… Local woman Debbie (Simone Buchanan), her American husband, Bruce (Bill Moseley), her grown children, Ella (Christie-Lee Britten) and Bart (Griffin Walsh), and Ella’s boyfriend, Robert (Hugh Sheridan), drive out to the remote farm owned by Debbie’s brother, Bernie (Nathan Jones). Meanwhile, a neighbouring farmer goes looking for his lost dog and ends up tangled in a barbed wire fence, lying helpless while something attacks from the darkness. The next night, two camping couples fall victim. Drinking out in the bush, mates Ken (John Jarratt) and Blue (Roger Ward) stumble into the campsite and discover the mutilated remains of two of the campers. Realising that their gun is unloaded, Ken sends Blue back for ammunition while he searches for the missing couple. Blue is almost at their truck when he is attacked and killed by a gigantic wild boar… Though the cloven hoof marks of Razorback are all over it, Boar is in every respect a lesser entry in the teeny-tiny pantheon – can you have a teeny-tiny pantheon? – of killer pig movies. Though it eventually gifts the viewer a couple of gnarly daytime death scenes, one in particular, and there are some fair gross-out moments involving mutilated corpses, the film’s obvious preference for hiding its beastie in the dark is indicative of its overall issues, with too many scenes consisting of screaming and swearing and grunting and squealing without being able to see what’s actually going on. This may, ironically enough, be a side-effect of one of the film’s strengths, its decision to realise its killer boar through practical effects—with the animal played predominantly by a five-metre fibreglass model with a three-man operating team. While not always convincing, to say the least, we are largely spared the obvious CGI that has sadly become the hallmark of this sort of film-making. The other challenge of Boar is its decision to make (almost) all its characters as relentlessly, as punishingly Australian as possible—and ultimately the viewer’s enjoyment, or not, might rest on whether they find this funny or just excruciating. In pursuit of this, writer-director Chris Sun succeeded in assembling a pretty remarkable cast, which also includes cameos from Chris Hayward and Ernie Dingo. Nathan Jones is an intimidating and memorable presence as Bernie, but overall it is Melissa Tkautz as Sasha, the local pub-owner and Ken’s daughter, who emerges best, managing to come across as a real person despite her dialogue being, shall we say, as colourfully idiomatic as anyone else’s. Much of Boar was shot on location around Gympie in Queensland, which is another of its strengths.

The Empty Man (2020)

Based upon the graphic novel by Cullen Bunn and Vanesa R. Del Rey. Bhutan, 1995. While four friends are hiking through the mountains, one of them follows a strange, high-pitched sound and stumbles into a crevice. His friends retrieve him, but he remains unresponsive for three days—at the end of which time, an outbreak of violence leaves only one of the four alive… Missouri, 2018. Formerly an undercover cop and now running his own security business, James Lasombra (James Badge Dale) is drawn into the disappearance of teenager Amanda Quail (Sasha Frolova), the daughter of his good friend, Nora (Marin Ireland). Though a message written in blood – THE EMPTY MAN MADE ME DO IT – is found on Amanda’s bathroom mirror, the circumstances of the case make the local police believe that she has merely run away. Lasombra persuades Amanda’s friend, Devara (Samantha Logan), to confide in him about Amanda’s mood and movements prior to her disappearance. She tells him about a strange ritual led by Amanda, involving her other friends including Devara herself, and intended to summon an entity known as the Empty Man… Sequentially cursed by studio upheaval, a delayed and spotty pandemic release and an eye-rollingly stupid “advertising” campaign that made it look like nothing more than another urban-legend-ish teen-based horror movie, David Prior’s The Empty Man is actually a problematic but complex work dealing with the search for belief and the nature of identity. The film’s ambitions are conveyed by its jolting twin openings, which deliberately evoke the beginning of The Exorcist—from the leisurely pace and mostly silence to the seeming disconnect of the Bhutan sequence from the main narrative, and with the skeletal remains of something more than human doing duty as a stand-in for the earlier work’s demon-figure. The shift here plunges us into James Lasombra’s search for Amanda Quail, his only tenuous clues a strange conversation which he had with the girl just before her disappearance, and some literature from something called the Pontifex Institute. Researching the Institute prior to investigating it in person, Lasombra discovers that it is a cult-like organisation with a belief system drawn from a form of Buddhism, built around the concept of the tulpa: an entity brought into being by the power of thought… While the evident determination of The Empty Man to do something different is to be applauded, the way that the film goes about its business almost courts disaster. Even while unfolding its deeper themes,  its scenario foregrounds the tropes of a variety of horror subgenres – the urban-legend tale, the slasher film, the J-horror, the Blumhouse – repeatedly setting up expectations that it has no intention of fulfilling, and almost deliberately placing obstacles between the viewer and its real purpose. There is also, I should mention, a shocking mass-death scene that truthfully I don’t think the film quite earns the right to. There’s another problem here, too, one I’ve complained about before—and I still don’t think it’s just me: there is a lot of important dialogue in this film, but too often the actors whisper or mumble, making it very difficult to catch all the necessary details. On the other hand, the film offers some striking visuals, including its use of bridges and the repeated image of someone in the lotus position, both of which become increasingly unnerving. James Lasombra’s search for Amanda becomes, ever more ominously, a journey of self-discovery, in which every seeming revelation merely deepens the mystery. After infiltrating the Pontifex Institute, Lasombra finds himself afflicted by nightmares and a growing sense that he in turn is being pursued, as the various facets of his life begin to spiral out of control; but it is only after reuniting with Amanda that he learns the whole and shocking truth…

Island Of Shadows (2020)

Also known as: Is There A Killer In My Family? Successful true-crime author Carly Travers (Anna Hopkins) and her actor / acting teacher husband, Kevin (Christopher Jacot), arrange to take a vacation on a private island once owned by the wealthy Crawford family. While Kevin makes arrangements for their transport, Carly looks around the small town on the mainland and visits the store managed by Kathie Bellak (Vickie Papavs). The latter recognises Carly and welcomes her enthusiastically, proclaiming herself a fan—until she learns that Carly will be staying on Crawford Island, site of the area’s most notorious unsolved mystery, the murder of the beautiful young Diana Crawford some fifty years before. Turning cold, Kathie tells Carly that any prying into the much-loved Crawfords will not be appreciated. On the island, Carly and Kevin are shown around by a member of the local Historical Society: it is during this conversation that Carly reveals not only her knowledge of the Crawfords, but that she has a personal connection to the island and the mystery in the form of her great-grandfather, Charles Travers, who was a cousin of John Henry Crawford, Diana’s husband. Ambivalent over Carly’s work since she was attacked by someone affected by one of her books, Kevin is both dismayed and angry when he realises that she cannot – will not – leave the mystery alone; and tensions rise between the two even as Carly begins to suspect that they are not alone on the island… Island Of Shadows is an amusing exercise in exactly how much attention the viewer pays to Lifetime movies generally—because the real mystery here isn’t the murder of Diana Crawford, it’s whether this film is an example of Lifetime Movie Plot A, B, C or D. The last, alas, is fairly quickly eliminated despite a couple of would-be eerie events and ominous mentions of shadowy figures and “a woman in white”; C is never really on the table; and after that the pieces fall into place with tedious predictability, leaving only the question of the various proportions of A and B in the mix. Meanwhile, Carly Travers is an example of what less well-versed viewers think most Lifetime movies serve up as a leading lady: indeed, she is almost in Designated Hero territory in her complete self-absorption and the way that she disregards Kevin and repeatedly puts him second to her work. That said, the total lack of chemistry between the two and the failure to establish any real connection between them makes it hard to feel that anything is at stake; and though the film finally does sort-of punish Carly, it sort-of justifies her too, so it’s hard to know what the take-home message is. Meanwhile, Island Of Shadows’ overarching absurdity is its contention that Carly does nothing but solve high-profile cold cases: a vocation that makes her the target of family members less than grateful for the exposure / resolution of their secrets. As Carly pursues her research into Diana Crawford’s murder (which is to say, the local librarian hands her piles of documents and she finds a cache of love letters that somehow escaped scrutiny over the previous fifty years), danger begins to close in—bringing with it revelations that will turn Carly’s own life upside-down… Island Of Shadows was filmed in and around Owen Sound Bay, Ontario, and its settings and ambiance are by far the best things about it.

Secrets Of A Marine’s Wife (2021)

Based upon the book by Shanna Hogan. Despite the doubts of friends and family, nineteen-year-old Erin Heavilin (Sadie Calvano) rushes into marriage with Marine Corporal Jon Corwin (Evan Roderick) and finds herself headed for the 29 Palms Marine Base in California. There, the excitement of her new marriage and new circumstances sustain Erin for some time; but a different reality soon begins to set in. Younger than the other Marine wives, most of whom have small children, and often left alone at the remote base with nowhere to go while Jon is on duty, Erin becomes bored and frustrated. She finds a measure of escape in her friendship with another Marine, Chris Lee (Tom Stevens): the two bond over the horses at a local rescue centre where Chris volunteers and, during a TV party at the base, sneak away to play video games instead. The friendship soon escalates dangerously into secret meetings and kissing: catching the two, Ashley Malakie (Christie Burke) promises to keep the secret but warns Erin sternly to break things off. For a time Erin maintains her good intentions, but temptation remains—and finally leads to tragedy… Secrets Of A Marine Wife is a retelling of the murder of Erin Corwin, whose partially burned body was found down a remote mineshaft in the Joshua Tree National Park some two months after her disappearance, the physical evidence indicating that she had been strangled. This is unavoidably an uncomfortable viewing experience; and while it puts great effort – as, I hasten to emphasise, it should – into the avoidance of victim-blaming, there is a deeply dismaying quality to the seeming inevitability of this story, with Erin’s naivety and inability to see the bigger picture leading her down a path of unsuspected danger. (It never, for instance, occurs to her that even if things work out as she begins to dream they might, she would simply be exchanging the boring life of a Marine’s wife for the boring life of a different Marine’s wife.) The screenplay by Gregory Small and Richard Blaney walks a difficult line well, illustrating how tiny gestures of thought and attention became weighted with greater meaning in the void of Erin’s loneliness. Secrets Of A Marine’s Wife opens with Erin on her way to a meeting with an unidentified person deep within the desert; it passes from there to the police interrogation of the inevitable prime suspect in her disappearance, Erin’s husband, Jon, who tells their story in flashback. As that story expands, two other suspects are presented to the viewer: Nicole Lee (Emma Johnson), who has become aware of the dangerous flirtation between her husband and Erin and exposed it to the entire Marine “family” – threatening Erin at the same time – and Lee himself, who the viewer knows has personal issues stemming from his time in the Middle East beyond what he has confided to Erin, and whose career becomes increasingly at stake in the matter. Finally, it is a secret in the possession of Erin’s best friend, Jessie (Kelli Ogmundson), that cracks the case open… While far from perfect – goodness knows I’m no expert, but the depiction of life on the base seems very “off” here (lack of haircuts included) – Secrets Of A Marine’s Wife is a good-faith attempt to tell a sad and painful story with integrity.