Tales of Hoffmann (1916)

Based upon the opera by Jacques Offenbach and Jules Barbier; original title: Hoffmanns Erzählungen (Hoffmann’s Stories). This silent German film is simultaneously rather disappointing and very important—the first because it adheres closely to its secondary source, the opera, with its focus on tragic love, and downplays the horror and science-fiction themes of the actual stories by E.T.A. Hoffmann. Yet while doing this, Tales Of Hoffmann also employs a linear narrative rather than the flashbacks of its source, via which Hoffmann tells of his various lost loves, and as a consequence sometimes becomes confusing. Some passages from the life of Hoffmann (played young and older by Kurt Wolowski and Erich Kaiser-Titz) are used as a framing device, first bringing him into contact with a dancer called Angela (Relly Ridon), who has a mysterious illness that has forced her to give up her career. When Angela spurns Dr Mirakel (Andreas van Horn), he plays violin music to her which compels her to dance until she falls dead. Hoffmann himself then has a failed affair with an actress, Stella (Kathe Oswald), and leaves town as a consequence. He encounters Coppelius (Friedrich Kühne) and Spalanzani (Lupu Pick) and, given glasses which make inanimate objects appear alive, falls in love with the latter’s “daughter”, Olympia (Alice Hechey). This is the critical passage of Tales Of Hoffmann: Olympia actually is, to quote the credits, ein Automat—evidently cinema’s very first robot; and Hechy’s stylised and rather jerky movements make Olympia both humorous and uncanny. After this, the stories that follow are a letdown: first Hoffmann falls for Giulietta (Thea Sandten), who uses him to dispose of her rich but unloved “keeper”; he then returns home and this time falls for Antonia (Ressel Orla), Angela’s daughter, who is doomed to follow in her mother’s footsteps. Tales Of Hoffmann also features Werner Krauss as Hoffmann’s enemy, Count Dapertutto, and uses the music of Jacques Offenbach as its score.

Chandu The Magician (1932)

Based upon the radio serial by Harry A. Earnshaw, Vera M. Oldham and R. R. Morgan. After three years of studying the mystical arts of the East, the former Captain Frank Chandler (Edmund Lowe), now known as “Chandu”, meets with his yogi (Nigel De Brulier). He learns that his brother-in-law, Robert Regent (Henry B. Walthall), has been abducted by a megalomaniac called Roxor (Bela Lugosi), who wants him to divulge the secrets of his newly-designed death-ray so that he, Roxor, may rule the world. Chandu travels to Egypt, where he joins his sister, Dorothy (Virginia Hammond), and her grown children, Bobby (Michael Stuart) and Betty Lou (June Lang). He is also reunited with his former love, the Princess Nadji (Irene Ware), who is torn between her feelings for him and her duty to her people. While Chandu and the others make plans for the rescue of Robert Regent, Roxor enters into a partnership with Abdulah (Weldon Heyburn), promising him Nadji in exchange for his help… I considered giving Chandu The Magician the full treatment, only to conclude regretfully that this pre-Code fantasy isn’t quite there in spite of some undeniable virtues. These include the design and co-direction of William Cameron Menzies and the cinematography of James Wong Howe; though the omission in the credits of “Wong” points to one of the film’s main debits. None of the film’s wincing points – the racial impersonation, the imperialist attitude, the white man’s co-opting of the Eastern “arts” – are unexpected in context. However, the placing of this story in real-world terms makes them all a bit harder to swallow than is the case with Universal’s Never-Never Land fantasies of the 1940s—for example, Cobra Woman, which this further resembles in its blithe expectation that Princess Nadji will choose Chandu over her royal responsibilities. The other major sticking-point is a surfeit of Herbert Mundin as Odious Comic Relief Miggles, who does nothing but moan, drink, and argue with a Jiminy Cricket version of himself conjured up by Chandu. BUT—and yes, it is a significant BUT—set against all this we have the delicious maniacal ranting of Bela Lugosi, whose Roxor plans to destroy most of the world basically just for shits and giggles. Meanwhile, Chandu The Magician displays its pre-Code credentials in some (implied) extreme violence, and in the notorious scene in which Betty Lou is put up for sale at the local slave-auction while wearing a body-hugging négligée. Entirely typical of the serials of the 1930s, we never get to the bottom of why good guy Robert Regent designed a death-ray in the first place—but be that as it may, Chandu sets out to rescue him despite attempts upon his own life and the serial abduction of everyone close to him, and must fight back with his powers of mind control and hypnotism. The special effects in Chandu The Magician are quite well-executed, though it helps that they are only meant to be illusions; of course my favourite moment is when three gun-toting bad guys find themselves holding snakes instead. There are also various electronic doo-hickeys including the death ray itself. Edmund Lowe occasionally looks constipated as he tries to convey Chandu’s powers, but Lugosi is a delight here—and was weirdly rewarded by being “promoted” to play Chandu himself in two later serials.

The Tunnel (1935)

Based upon Der Tunnel by Bernhard Kellermann; also known as: Transatlantic Tunnel. A group of industrialists meet at the home of Mr Lloyd (C. Aubrey Smith), who introduces them to Richard McAllan (Richard Dix), an engineering genius. McAllan makes the group a startling proposition: the construction of a tunnel linking Britain to the United States… Begun simultaneously from opposite sides of the Atlantic, the tunnel project progresses more rapidly than planned thanks to advances in technology; but the nature of the work keeps McAllan away from his home, his wife, Ruth (Madge Evans), and their young son, Geoffrey (Pat Fitzpatrick). Ruth turns increasingly to Frederick “Robbie” Robbins (Leslie Banks), McAllan’s best friend and partner, though he stays loyal to both. Behind the scenes, trouble is brewing: two of those involved in the tunnel syndicate, arms manufacturer Grellier (Henry Oscar) and industrialist Mostyn (Basil Sydney), enter into a conspiracy to manipulate the project’s share value, with the long-term plan of seizing control. McAllan is called urgently to New York to meet with Lloyd, which forces him to abandon Geoffrey’s birthday party. Once there, he finds himself at the centre of a publicity campaign that links him with Lloyd’s daughter, Varlia (Helen Vinson), who is secretly in love with him. A despondent Ruth looks for something to give her life meaning and takes a job associated with the tunnel project—only to become one of those afflicted with a mysterious condition known as “tunnel sickness”… Made two years after Curtis Bernhardt’s Le Tunnel, this British production is more of a distinct take on the same material than a remake, with both its approach and its purpose operating in different areas. Whereas the earlier film was intent upon realism in spite of its outlandish premise, Maurice Elvey’s The Tunnel is science fiction—or at least, it is when it can pull itself out of the mire of its soap, with far too much of its running-time devoted to the crumbling McAllan marriage and Varlia Lloyd’s secret passion. This material drags and makes the film feel overlong. However, what else the screenplay by Curt Siodmak, L. du Garde Peach and Clemence Dane offers, both overtly and covertly, makes The Tunnel worth sticking with. Set in “the future” – we hear of McAllan’s completion of the Channel Tunnel in 1940, which has unintended ironic overtones for the rest of the story – the project is made possible by McAllan’s own development of “Allanite steel”, and by the “radium drill” invented by Robbins. The film’s set design and special effects offer us tunnels that are no mere concrete arches, but huge halls of gleaming metalwork; while high-speed rail links zip people from one part of the project to another. Up on the surface, too, are such touches as a “futuristic” car owned by the McAllans (actually the just-released Tatra 77); while people communicate via versions of television – noting again, the British had TV in the 30s – and video-screen phones. (Though in fact, the technology here hardly differs from that offered by 1929’s High Treason, right down to the video-phones still having an operator system.) Even the first disaster that strikes the project, “tunnel sickness”, is an invention—in this case, a mysterious seeping gas that attacks the eyesight, with Ruth, who has volunteered as a project nurse, becoming one of its victims. All this is to the good. So too, though in a very different way, is the political framework in which the story is set. One odd thing about The Tunnel is that it never bothers to establish an actual, practical use for its tunnel—particularly in a world where people can quickly hop from one side of the Atlantic to the other in small private planes that can land like helicopters. Instead, we hear about the tunnel’s inevitable contribution to “world peace”, and how it will seal the alliance between Britain and the United States. Ultimately, The Tunnel functions as an overt pitch from the UK to the US for immediate support in the looming real-life European crisis. The film offers George Arliss as the British Prime Minister and Walter Huston as the American President, and has both of them speechifying about their countries standing shoulder to shoulder in the face of any (unspecified) threat to “the English-speaking world”, as the screenplay repeatedly puts it. More chillingly, the climax of the film, with disaster striking the tunnel project, is pretty clear about the fact that, in order to deal with that threat, both nations will have to be prepared to sacrifice their sons. This is also the point at which soap re-enters the picture, with the by-now grown up Geoffrey (Jimmy Hanley) having taken a job at the tunnel just in time for everything to go horribly wrong, and McAllan and Robbins mounting a desperate rescue effort as the tunnel succumbs to an underwater volcano…

Titanic (1943)

Based (uncredited) upon the novel by Josef Pelz von Felinau. At a meeting of the shareholders in the White Star Line, the company president, Sir Bruce Ismay (Ernst Fritz Fürbringer), admits that share prices are falling due to the unexpected difficulties of completing the building of the Titanic, and the heavy loans taken out to cover the extra costs. Afterwards, however, Ismay encourages his board members to buy at the low stock price, confiding to them that a secret will be revealed during the liner’s maiden voyage which will significantly reverse the trend and make them all great fortunes. He invites them to join him for the journey. As the Titanic sets out, Ismay takes the first opportunity to meet with Captain Smith (Otto Wernicke), promising him a financial reward if the liner arrives in New York on schedule, and a bonus for every hour ahead of that. At dinner on the first night, Ismay makes a speech in which he announces that, in addition to being the largest and safest ship in the world, the Titanic is also the fastest; that as he speaks, it is moving at world-record speed. This announcement sends the board members rushing to the ship’s radio, to cable for the purchase of more stock before the news becomes public. They are unaware that John Jacob Astor (Karl Schönböck), who is also onboard, is working to drive the share value even lower, so that he may become majority stockholder in the White Star Line, and thereby own the Titanic… Having already produced versions of the Titanic disaster in 1912 and 1929, Germany returned to the game in 1943, but with other purposes than just retelling the story of the famous oceanic disaster. Titanic was commissioned by Joseph Goebbels and intended as an attack upon the Allies, but it did more damage much closer to home. The film’s original (and still-credited) director, Herbert Selpin, made the fatal error of criticising the on-set conduct of the naval officers who were supposed to be acting as the film’s consultants. He was reported, arrested, questioned by Goebbels, and jailed—and later found dead in his cell in a supposed suicide, though no-one believed that. While outraged cast- and crew-members were kept in line with promises / threats of more of the same, the film was quietly finished by an uncredited Werner Klingler—only to end up barely seeing the light of day. A variety of reasons have been suggested for Goebbels’ canning of his pet project (which was, at the time, the most expensive German film ever made), but to my eyes the main “problem” with Titanic is that it just doesn’t get the propaganda-job done. One of a number of German wartime films to attack capitalism, it stumbles in making the tragedy seem the result not of British and American conduct per se, but of the personal battle between Ismay and Astor – which continues even after the iceberg is struck – with everyone else simply caught in the crossfire. The script’s other form of attack is more amusing: it gives the Titanic a German First Officer, Peterson (Hans Nielsen), who emerges as the film’s hero—always adhering to his duty, daring to criticise the dangerous pursuit of the speed record, performing heroically after disaster strikes, and generally keeping his head while all about him, yada-yada. The body of Titanic makes this film an interesting forerunner to the modern disaster movie, with lots of soapy subplots and rich people behaving badly; and once the iceberg enters the picture, the depiction of the rising panic, the dawning awareness of imminent doom and the struggles around the lifeboats is scary and effective. (It has been suggested that the scenes involving the treatment of the steerage passengers may have cut a little close to the bone for Goebbels’ liking.) We get a brief burst of “Nearer, My God, To Thee” while the radio operator is putting his pet bird out the window; the shots of in-rushing water below deck are well-executed; but the model-work in the actual sinking is only too obvious and makes the climax rather underwhelming.

Arctic Fury (1949)

Now pay attention, because the next couple are kind of a long story—longer than the films that resulted deserve, but oh well. You might remember that a while back I took a look at Tundra, a project inherited by Burroughs-Tarzan Pictures Inc. after Universal hit the wall. This pseudo-actioner, supposedly based on the true story of a downed flying doctor trekking through remote Alaska, is about 80% made up of material shot on location and offers far more wilderness than plot. In 1949, for no readily apparent reason, Tundra was remade as Arctic Fury—reusing huge chunks of the first film and re-casting the decade-plus-older Del Cambre and Merrill McCormick to better disguise the fact. (Spoiler: it doesn’t.) The tactic takes an amusing turn when the film periodically forgets that its protagonist, “Jason” the first time around, is here called “Thomas”. This version gives Dr Barlow a wife (Eve Miller) and a young daughter (Gloria Petroff); and it has him introduced onscreen by Don Riss as the head of the (fictional) “Thompson Institute for Arctic Research”—who soon shifts to the more familiar role of voiceover narrator. The general set-up then follows the first film, with Barlow setting out for a distant Alaskan settlement struck by plague, experiencing engine failure and crashing his small plane about halfway there, and having to trek through the wilderness in an attempt to survive, while the searchers sent out for him overlook him on several occasions. This version keeps its predecessor’s more noxious aspects, the two bear cubs that accompany Barlow (complete with teeth-clenching anthropomorphism) and the fires that ravage the wilderness; and it includes even more location and wildlife footage. However, it also goes Tundra one better by not just forgetting about its plague-stricken village—although this takes a dark turn when Barlow actually reaches his original destination, only to find the infected Inuits dead, the surviving white settlers gone, and their starving sled-dogs left behind in possession…

(And proving that footage isn’t all that was being pirated, you’ll find Arctic Fury over in Spinning Newspaper Injures Printer: The Repeat Offenders.)

This cut-together epic, with Boris Petroff as producer, Norman Dawn as co-director, Gloria Petroff in the cast and Don Riss as narrator, points us irresistibly in the direction of their next project, Two Lost Worlds. And even after that, it was once more unto the editing-suite, dear friends—

Red Snow (1952)

So. Having plundered Tundra for Arctic Fury, and One Million B. C. (among other things) for Two Lost Worlds, in 1952 Boris Petroff produced and co-directed Red Snow, an early anti-Commie drama that about halfway through almost forgets about its premise and morphs into a faux-documentary on Alaska’s indigenous peoples—using footage lifted from an actual documentary from 1932 called Igloo and 1933’s Eskimo, a fact-based drama shot on location, both of which featured the Native Alaskan actor, Ray Mala. Petroff also repeated his Arctic Fury re-casting tactic; and the scenes involving a twenty-years-older Mala, when juxtaposed with the earlier, rather baby-faced version of him, are jarring. Red Snow is overtly dedicated to, “The men of the Alaskan Air Rescue Service”, but also to, “The loyal American Eskimo”: the latter proves more significant, as after an introductory sequence involving pilot Lt. Phil Johnson (Guy Madison), the arrival at the rescue base of Major Bennett (Robert Peyton aka Lee Frederick), and some unnecessary romance and “humour”, the film shifts its focus to the army’s native recruits, particularly Sergeant Koovuk (Ray Mala). Evidently the Soviets are testing a new weapon (explicitly not atomic) just over in Siberia, and the Americans are desperate to gather information. The three recruits are therefore sent home on fake furloughs, to see what they can find out. The matter is further complicated by the disappearance of any American Eskimo hunter that ventures into Siberia (causing food supply problems for their people), and conversely the infiltration of the Alaskan settlements by Soviet-recruited Siberian Eskimos. All of this is interesting, and so is – seven years before Alaskan statehood – the manoeuvring of both sides around the border area between Alaska and Siberia; but then Red Snow simply drops its plot in favour of a half-hour or so of recycled footage, accompanied by narration from Ray Mala. When the film finally picks things up again, we get the most interesting touch of all, when one of the two Russian pilots sent out to conduct a practical test of the new weapon realises he’s on a suicide mission and decides to defect instead—delivering in the process one of the more cogent speeches I’ve ever heard in a film of this nature. Unfortunately for Alex (John Bryant), his co-pilot, Kresnick (Bill Fletcher), is loyal to “the cause”; and potentially unfortunately for everyone, their plane is indeed carrying that new heat-bomb…

Raid On Entebbe (1977)

On 27th June 1976, Air France Flight 139 departs Tel Aviv for Athens. Shortly after the plane takes off on the second leg of its journey, bound for Paris, it is hijacked by two Palestinians (Alex Colon, René Assa) and two Germans (Horst Buchholz, Mariclare Costello). The German man forces his way into the cockpit carrying a grenade and a gun, and compels the pilot (Eddie Constantine) to alter the plane’s heading; while the other three order the passengers to the rear section of the plane. The non-arrival of the flight and its radio silence sets off alarms in both France and Israel. Israeli Prime Minister Yitzhak Rabin (Peter Finch) calls a meeting of his Crisis Committee, summoning from field duty General Mordecai Gur (Jack Warden), who offers the grim opinion that, “This time, they may have us.” The plane lands in Libya; the passengers are kept under control via explosives planted at the doorways, but a pregnant woman, who has collapsed, is permitted to leave via ambulance. The rest of the passengers are forced to give up their passports and any other identity papers. Eventually the plane takes off again, bound for Entebbe in Uganda, where another three terrorists wait at a disused airport terminal. From there, the hijackers issue their demands: the release of over fifty imprisoned revolutionaries, in exchange for their hostages’ lives… Proving that it ain’t what you do, it’s the way that you do it, Raid On Entebbe – which had its TV premiere on 9th January 1977, 27 days after Victory At Entebbe – is a much better telling of the hijacking drama and the dramatic military raid that ended it than its predecessor / rival, even though it uses essentially the same template. There are a few missteps early in this made-for-TV drama that make us fear the worst, including the presence of an unaccompanied American minor (Kim Richards) and an Israeli kid with a cute puppy; but these turn out to be only side details (spoiler: all three escape safely). More contentious is self-appointed passenger spokesman Daniel Cooper (Martin Balsam), in what feels like scriptwriter Barry Beckerman serving up an American “identification figure”, albeit Cooper is meant to be Israeli. Thankfully, the film soon settles down and shows itself content to tell its story in a straightforward and even low-key way. The soap that scuttles Victory At Entebbe is largely absent, and this particular all-star cast disappears into its roles far more effectively. Certain differences in the telling do emerge. This version spends a lot less time with the hostages as individuals. It also makes the point that France was a secondary “target” of the hijacking, in retaliation for its military and nuclear cooperation with Israel; while the separating out of the Israeli and other Jewish passengers is shown as a joint decision of the Palestinian and German hijackers, with the implications of history repeating mostly left to speak for themselves. One significant improvement here is Yaphet Kotto’s performance as Idi Amin, which captures the seeming contradictions of the dictator as he presents himself as a genial “host” before the cameras, but with the profound danger he represents never far from the surface. Raid On Entebbe is structured in three acts, with the final phase devoted to the planning and execution of “Operation Thunderbolt”. Here, too, this film differs from its predecessor, in depicting the raid as dangerously messy and protracted—and suggesting that, along with the undeniable skill and courage involved, the Israeli commandos – and most of the hostages – got lucky. Raid On Entebbe won the Golden Globe in 1977 for Best (TV) Motion Picture. It was directed by Irvin Kershner, shot by Bill Butler, and scored by David Shire; and, in addition to those already named, features Sylvia Sidney as hostage Dora Bloch; Charles Bronson as Brigadier-General Dan Shomron; John Saxon as General Peled; Robert Loggia as Foreign Affairs Minister Yigal Allon; Tige Andrews as Shimon Peres; David Opatoshu as Menachem Begin; Stephen Macht as “Yoni” Netanyahu; James Woods as an Israeli soldier; and Allan Arbus – who was married to Mariclare Costello – as a hostage. Sadly, Peter Finch died only five days after the film’s TV premiere—which in fact followed screenings of the shortened cinema version in several European countries.

Lupin III: The Castle Of Cagliostro (1979)

Funny how your pop-cultural pursuits can sometimes collide. Having decided to do a proper run at the works of Miyazaki Hayao, I naturally went back to the beginning—and discovered that the film I knew of as The Castle Of Cagliostro was more correctly titled Lupin III: The Castle Of Cagliostro. I have – seemingly forever – been plugging through the increasingly pointless Arsène Lupin novels by Maurice Leblanc (and in fact recently finished 1924’s The Countess Of Cagliostro), and long since recognised the gulf that exists between the books themselves and most of the adaptations they supposedly inspired. I have several problems with this series including its gear-grinding shift from Leblanc’s original concept of Lupin as essentially comic to its presentation of its “gentleman-thief” as a more serious and even tragic figure—which is ironic here, as I gather that Miyazaki’s animated film has been criticised for the reverse: turning the hardened criminal of its source manga into a more heroic but also more comic character, thereby accidentally aligning him with his literary grandfather. Be all that as it may—

Based upon the manga by “Monkey Punch” (Katō Kazuhiko), Lupin III: The Castle Of Cagliostro finds the international thief Arsène Lupin III – also known as “the Wolf” – and his sidekick, Jigen, pulling off a major casino heist—only to discover that the stolen money is an extraordinarily good counterfeit. Tracking the fakes to their source, Lupin and Jigen head for the Grand Duchy of Cagliostro, the world’s smallest nation. When they are passed on the road by a woman driver being chased by a car-load of thugs, Lupin instinctively intervenes. He manages to save the woman, but when he is knocked unconscious, she flees from him and her determined pursuers—leaving behind a signet ring. The woman is recaptured and carried by boat to the Castle of Cagliostro. Lupin follows—finally explaining to the exasperated Jigen that he recognised the woman as the Princess Clarisse; that many years before, he made an attempt upon the castle and its legendary treasure, barely escaping with his life; and that he owes it to Clarisse that he did… Meanwhile, intending both to consolidate his own power and to secure the treasure for himself, the Count of Cagliostro plans to force Clarisse into marriage. Hearing of the thwarted attempt to rescue her, he orders Lupin and Jigen found and eliminated… The body of Lupin III: The Castle Of Cagliostro finds Lupin, Jigen and their sometime-collaborator, master swordsman Goemon, laying siege to the castle stronghold of the evil Count, who is eventually revealed as the head of a “shadow empire” that has long held power over much of the world through its manipulation of the international economy. The film’s palette reflects the plot without too much subtlety, with the castle dominated by blacks and browns and greys, against which the potential rescuers provide contrasting splashes of colour, while Clarisse is generally clad in a wedding-gown whether on her way to the altar or not. However, some of the set-pieces here are remarkable in their attention to detail, particularly the climactic battle within an enormous clock-tower, with Lupin and Clarisse pursued through a deadly forest of oversized gears. Clarisse herself is not very interesting, being chiefly a passive object to be rescued; far more intriguing is Lupin’s professional rival (and, we gather, ex) Fujiko, who has been posing as a maidservant in the castle to give herself a shot at the hidden treasure. Though having her own ends to serve, Fujiko joins the battle against the Count—and ultimately escapes with more “treasure” than Lupin himself. It is an even more unexpected collaboration that provides the film’s best fun, though: such is the magnitude of the task, Lupin tips off his standing enemy, Inspector Zenigata of Interpol, to his own presence in Cagliostro. At first this is so the inspector and his men can unknowingly create a diversion, but later on, when Zenigata learns of the counterfeiting operation, the old enemies enter into a temporary alliance. In fact, my favourite part of this film has nothing to do with Lupin: it is Zenigata’s end-run around his removal from the counterfeiting case— “OH LOOK WHAT I ACCIDENTALLY FOUND.”

(I had to watch a dubbed version of this—and the insistence of the American voice cast upon pronouncing Cagliostro with a hard ‘g’ nearly drove me berko…)

The Shiralee (1987, 2 episodes)

Based upon the novel by D’Arcy Niland. In 1939, Jim Macauley (Bryan Brown) finds himself in a small town in country South Australia. His eye having been caught by Lily McMillan (Noni Hazlehurst), he wangles a job as apprentice to her father, Thad (Simon Chilvers). However, Macauley’s new life and burgeoning romance are wrecked by a jealous rival; and after a savage beating, he is deposited on a train out of town… Seven years later, ex-soldier Macauley is scraping a living as a carnival tent-fighter when he encounters Lily again—and finds her married. Devastated, he sabotages his own job and elopes with Marge (Lorna Lesley). He promises her life in the city, but is soon back on the road… Returning unexpectedly after one of his long absences, Macauley discovers Marge with another man, and that his young daughter, Buster (Rebecca Smart), has been given milk laced with brandy to make her sleep. Enraged, he beats his wife’s lover and, out of spite as much as concern, takes Buster away. When the child wakes on a train and cries for Marge, Macauley tells her harshly that she should forget her mother. Having outfitted Buster for the road, Macauley returns to his itinerant life—but soon realises that the presence of his daughter has changed everything… Having been filmed shortly after the publication of D’Arcy Niland’s novel (a version frustratingly difficult to access, but I’m working on it), The Shiralee was remade for television thirty years later—with its action shifted from New South Wales to South Australia to suit its production, but in other respects a heartfelt and careful rendering of the narrative. Crucially, the miniseries takes on the novel’s trickiest aspect: interrogating Australian ideas about “masculinity” – where pride becomes toxic, where independence becomes selfishness and even cruelty – while retaining a predominantly male point of view. This includes, most contentiously, the harsh depiction of Marge Macauley, who is effectively abandoned a short time into her ill-judged marriage and expected by her absent husband to be content with the money he sends. When Marge is given the chance to speak for herself, it is in the context of her open declaration of war against Macauley, in which her young daughter becomes her main weapon—as indeed she has already been for Macauley himself, who takes the child to hurt her mother with no thought to her future welfare. But soon enough, Macauley realises that he has acquired, in the indigenous term, a “shiralee” – a burden – and that his footloose life has changed forever… The early stages of The Shiralee move fairly quickly over the fifteen years of its back-story, lingering only over Macauley’s sabotaged romance with Lily McMillan, before its focus becomes squarely on the father-daughter relationship at its heart. Another careful line walked by this production is that between the temptation to romanticise the life of the swagman, something with a long artistic tradition in Australia, and the realities of a hand-to-mouth existence on the open road, where work and therefore eating is a daily challenge and isolation can be absolute. The reaction of everyone else to the fact that Macauley has a small child following stubbornly in his wake as he strides the roads of rural South Australia keeps the former impulse in check here. Whether he likes it or not – and he absolutely doesn’t – Macauley’s life is increasingly dictated by Buster, from her refusal to stay put with friends while he looks for work to the serious illness that strikes her down after a bad soaking on the road. Often angry and frustrated by the hampering of his actions, it is only after tragedy strikes that Macauley realises exactly how important his daughter has become to him… At the time of The Shiralee‘s filming, the co-casting of Bryan Brown and Noni Hazlehurst was pretty much a no-brainer, and they comfortably inhabit Macauley and Lily, surrounded by a supporting cast of familiar faces. However, it is Rebecca Smart’s remarkable performance as Buster—simultaneously infuriatingly bratty and heartrendingly appealing—that we most remember. And Gooby, of course…

(Ah. So the 1957 version is most easily accessed through a dodgy Russian film site? Yes, that makes perfect sense…)

The Haunted (1991)

Based upon The Haunted: One Family’s Nightmare by Robert Curran, Janet and Jack Smurl, and Ed and Lorraine Warren. After losing everything in Hurricane Agnes, Janet (Sally Kirkland) and Jack Smurl (Jeffrey DeMunn) and their two young daughters, and Jack’s parents, John (George D. Wallace) and Mary (Louise Latham), move into the two halves of a dilapidated duplex in West Paxton PA. For some years, which see Janet give birth to twin girls, all is well with the extended family except for a series of inexplicable issues with the house itself, including constant problems with the wiring. One day, Janet is in the basement when the lights fail; at the same time, she hears her mother-in-law calling her name, though when she goes upstairs there is no sign of her. Checking next door, Janet finds Mary withdrawn and shaken: she insists that she heard both Janet and Jack abusing her with obscene language, and rejects Janet’s denials. That night, lying awake and worrying, Janet feels someone touch her—but it is not her sleeping husband… Janet continues to be plagued by incidents that only she experiences – objects shifting, noises in the house, bad smells – until one day she sees a shadowy figure that seems to vanish through a wall. Rushing next door, she discovers that Mary has also seen it. The two women try to convince their sceptical husbands but get nowhere until Jack too hears strange voices… Like Grave Secrets, The Haunted is based upon an alleged real-life haunting that became a book before being turned into a made-for-TV movie. There is a curious internal contradiction to this story. We are led to believe that the Smurls’ religious faith, their Catholicism, is an affront to the entity in their house and the main reason for their targeting; yet the story told might as well have been titled “The Catholic Church Is No Effing Use In A Crisis”, as the Smurls’ pleas for official assistance fall on deaf ears, and they are forced to turn for help to – surprise! – Ed and Lorraine Warren (Stephen Markle, Diane Baker). The Warrens arrive like the cavalry but in fact achieve nothing (there’s a reason this story hasn’t been Conjuring-ed), and hand the Smurls off to a rebel priest who performs unofficial exorcisms in defiance of the “modern” Catholic church. This, too, is ineffective; and the desperate Smurls finally go public, in an effort to force their church’s hand… Though this was evidently a very well-known case at the time, provoking a media circus as depicted, the Smurls’ story has since been dismissed by some as “Amityville-lite”, with the family’s financial difficulties and their inability to move away placed front and centre early on; while a little reading around indicates that the Catholic church did investigate and refused to intervene not because of modern embarrassment over demons, but because it found no basis for the Smurls’ claims. (The suggestion in-film is that the demon deliberately stayed quiet during the investigation.) The Haunted is mostly told from the point of view of Janet, who finally undertakes research in self-defence (noting that if the demon did want to destroy the Smurls’ marriage, all it had to do was continue not manifesting in front of Jack). There are hints of both Satanic worship and “a terrible crime” being at the root of the haunting; while Lorraine Warren detects three spirits (briefly seen in old-timey clothes) and a demon on the premises. For the most part, the resulting manifestations are low-key, if we are indeed not asked to (ahem) take them on faith. There are a few creepy touches, however, while two scenes here are genuinely jolting. One involves Janet being levitated out of her bed and then tossed around the bedroom; the other, much more shocking in itself and even more so in context, finds Jack being sexually assaulted by a physical manifestation of the demon—with the latter’s inadequate (to say the least) presentation undermining this crowning moment of horror. The film also offers horror of quite a different kind, in its depiction of the behaviour of Homo sapiens in response to the Smurls going public—which in its way is quite as disturbing as most of what the demon serves up.

The Unborn (1991)

After five years of fertility struggles, Virginia (Brooke Adams) and Brad Marshall (Jeff Hayenga) are referred to Dr Richard Meyerling (James Karen), a specialist with a high success rate and a reputation for “impossible” pregnancies. Virginia confesses to him that she doesn’t believe she can carry a child, but Dr Meyerling reassures her that he has dealt with more unpromising circumstances. After the Marshalls have left his office, Meyerling accesses and manipulates Brad’s sample… Under treatment, Virginia conceives, and she and Brad begin to prepare for their future as parents. They also invite to dinner Cindy (Janice Kent) and Jeff DeWitt (Matt Roe): Cindy reveals that after their first child was born mentally disabled, they hesitated about having another; but adds that their now-two-year-old, Alicia (Jessica Zingali), for whom they credit Dr Meyerling, is very advanced for her age. Virginia attends a birthing class run by lesbian couple Connie (Kathy Griffin) and Gloria (Wendy Kamenoff aka Wendy Hammers) but finds their methods ridiculous; however, she also makes a friend in the similarly unimpressed Beth (Jane Cameron). As Virginia’s pregnancy advances, she begins to suffer strange symptoms, and an increasing feeling of alienation from the baby. Meanwhile, the DeWitts’ older child is found drowned in his bath—which their hysterical nanny blames upon Alicia… The Unborn is a pregnancy-paranoia film par excellence, and one that has the nerve to foreground the doubts and fears, both physical and emotional, that even now women are discouraged from articulating. It is also a film that understands its antecedents. It riffs openly on Rosemary’s Baby, and at times plays like a twisted updating of It’s Alive, though it is entirely without that film’s grace-notes; while one moment recalls Dee Wallace at the end of The Howling. There’s even a whiff here of Harlan Ellison’s short story, Croatoan. While at the outset this is about the joint journey of Virginia and Brad, as The Unborn progresses it becomes more and more about Virginia’s changing response to her pregnancy, and her increasing sense that her body has been taken over by something that is not of her own making—and of course, she’s right about that. In contrast to It’s Alive’s vision of human evolution occurring naturally, here we find it being scientifically assisted: “Have you heard of the Human Genome Project?” Beth says ominously to Virginia, in an inadvertently gigglesome moment—thus inviting the fate of all those who stumble on the truth first in this sort of story. Having in turn discovered that fate, Virginia must take drastic action to avoid falling victim herself… To me, the fascinating thing about The Unborn is that it had an entirely male production team—because while watching it, I began to wonder more and more how this would play to a male audience, particularly when Virginia does something genuinely shocking late in the film. (Mind you, at this distance the most shocking thing here may be that five years into her fertility battle, Virginia is still smoking and drinking.) Though The Unborn is never outright scary, there is some seriously disturbing material here – including, sigh, a gorgeous little cat you just know something awful is going to happen to – and a unnerving focus on female-body horror. All that said, the film is certainly flawed. Its pacing is off, some of its dialogue is painful, and the special effects aren’t up to the film-makers’ ambition; though the “superior” baby is not without a certain perverse charm. The other questionable thing here is the screenplay’s treatment of Connie and Gloria, who at the outset are crudely mocked for their New Age-y, embrace-your-femaleness, no-men-allowed attitude to pregnancy, and tacitly for their sexuality; but by the end, all this has been placed side-by-side with the (coded male) scientific community’s vision of human reproduction with women removed from the process—so who knows? Brooke Adams’ committed performance helps to carry The Unborn over its rockier moments, and James Karen is effective as the deceptive Meyerling. The cast also includes K Allen as Virginia’s unstable mother, while Lisa Kudrow has a bit-part. The film’s score was co-written by Gary Numan (!).

(A quick look around at reviews does suggest a sex-split in reaction…)

Clear And Present Danger (1994)

Based upon the novel by Tom Clancy. Intercepting and boarding a stolen yacht, Coast Guard officers discover that its owners, the Hardins, parents and children, have been murdered… CIA analyst Jack Ryan (Harrison Ford) finds evidence suggesting that Hardin was laundering money for Columbian drug lord Ernesto Escobedo (Miguel Sandoval), and has the unpleasant task of presenting his theory to President Bennett (Donald Moffat), who was Hardin’s friend. In private conversation with James Cutter (Harris Yulin), his National Security Advisor, the President emphasises that he considers the drug cartels a clear and present danger to national security… To his great grief, Ryan learns that his mentor, Admiral James Greer (James Earl Jones), is terminally ill. Greer arranges for Ryan to be appointed Acting Deputy Director of Intelligence—urging him grimly to watch his back. One of Ryan’s first tasks is to testify before Congress, requesting increased anti-drug funding in return for his assurance that there will be no military involvement. He is unaware that Cutter and CIA Deputy Director of Operations, Robert Ritter (Henry Czerny), are using the funds to assemble a special-forces team to operate secretly in Columbia. When Ryan reports to the President that Hardin was embezzling from Escobedo, he is sent to Bogota to negotiate for seizure of the hidden accounts—and finds himself in the crossfire of an escalating private war… Though it retains its source novel’s framework, Clear And Present Danger significantly alters much of Tom Clancy’s narrative—chiefly with a view of increasing Jack Ryan’s involvement and making his a far more overt action-hero role than was originally the case, though also emphasising the “boy scout” qualities that his various reluctant collaborators find so objectionable. Indeed, after so much contact with CIA, we may feel that Ryan is rather too naively Shocked And Appalled^TM by what he discovers along the way about his own agency, the NSA and the President. However, Harrison Ford manages to sell Ryan’s deep sense of offence, both personal and patriotic, at the flagrant disregard of the law and the Constitution that he progressively uncovers; while the film’s climax positions Ryan as its outright hero, as he risks his life to try and save the soldiers who have been sacrificed to political expediency. As the special-ops team carries out its attacks upon the operations of Ernesto Escobedo, a secret villain emerges in the form of Escobedo’s intelligence officer, Colonel Félix Cortez (Joaquim de Almeida), who is manipulating events with a view to taking over the cartel. Posing as a Venezuelan businessman, Cortez has begun a relationship with Moira Wolfson (Ann Magnuson), the secretary of FBI Director Emile Jacobs (Tom Tammi), who inadvertently reveals to him that Jacobs is on a secret visit to Bogota. As the convoy of cars carrying Jacobs, Jack Ryan, FBI agent Dan Murray (Tim Grimm) and their security team passes through the city, they are ambushed; Ryan escapes, but Jacobs and Murray are killed. When he is blamed for the attack, Escobedo arranges a meeting with the other cartel heads—unwittingly offering a target for a deadly retaliatory strike… Though there was no shortage of such material in the book, the changes made in Clear And Present Danger have the effect of markedly ramping up the story’s cynicism and highlighting the hypocrisy of the office-bearers involved in the conspiracy. All of this we can, alas, believe. What I do refuse to believe is that a woman who has worked her way up to Moira Wolfson’s position would run her mouth to her new boyfriend…even if he is “a Latin Jack Ryan” (!). This detail comes from Clancy but was retained—necessarily for plot purposes, I guess, but it’s still infuriating. The other aspect of the film that may present a challenge these days is its depiction of what was, in the early 90s, cutting-edge computer technology, which Ryan and his CIA tech guy, Petey (Greg Germann), use to expose Robert Ritter—and which has that awkward “more dated than older stuff” quality. While Ryan tracks Ritter, Cortez comes into possession of evidence of the covert US operation and uses it to blackmail James Cutter, who with the tacit approval of the President abandons the mission—and the men involved in it. Since no-one tried to film Tom Clancy’s intervening novel, The Cardinal Of The Kremlin, in this world Jack Ryan and Clark (Willem Dafoe), the CIA operative in charge of the covert mission, don’t know each other; so when Ritter tells Clark that it was Ryan who was responsible for the abandonment of his men—he believes it… Clear And Present Danger is very much “a Harrison Ford film”, with the supporting cast being exactly that. Anne Archer and Thora Birch return to remind us of Jack Ryan’s domestic side; while Benjamin Bratt and Raymond Cruz play the surviving members of the special-ops team.

Eat Drink Man Woman (1994)

In Taipei, widowed master chef Chu (Sihung Lung) lives with his three adult daughters. Jia-jen (Kuei-Mei Yang), the oldest, has led a withdrawn life since having her heart broken some years before, concentrating on her teaching career and her church activities, and effectively taking on the role of “mother”. Jia-chien (Chien-Lien Wu) is an executive with an airline, and maintains a “friends with benefits” relationship with her ex, art dealer Raymond (Chit-Man Chan); while Jia-ning (Wang Yu-wen) works at a fast-food outlet with her best friend, Rachel (Yu Chen). Every Sunday night, Mr Chu prepares a sumptuous banquet for his daughters—each of whom secretly regards the traditional family gathering as a kind of torture, especially since it has become evident that their father is losing his sense of taste and this is impacting his cooking. One such night, Jia-chen announces abruptly that she has put down a deposit on an apartment and will be moving out; furthermore, there is the possibility of a promotion which would require her to relocate to Amsterdam. Meanwhile, Jia-jen unexpectedly finds herself drawn to Ming-Dao (Chin-Cheng Lu), the handsome new sports coach at her school; and in trying to negotiate between Rachel and her on-again / off-again boyfriend, Guo Lun (Chen Chao-jung), Jia-ning finds herself falling for him… Ang Lee’s Eat Drink Man Woman is a comedy-drama exploring the nexus between tradition and modernity, how women cope with the pressure to conform to long-established expectations in the face of new life choices, and how people existing side-by-side can nevertheless have little idea of what is going on in each other’s lives, still less inside each other’s heads. The film also addresses family responsibility in general, and how such responsibility is often less about who is best qualified to assume it than who is made available by circumstance. At the outset, Jia-chen seems the most “together” of the daughters: the most modern, and the most likely to shake off the chains of tradition; yet unexpected shifts in the situations of her sisters leave her confronting the necessity of rejecting both personal and professional opportunities in favour of staying with her father, whose career is coming to an end, and who she comes to believe has serious health issues that he is concealing from his family. Eat Drink Man Woman is a film rich in ironies and humour, though with many sobering moments too. I do find it – not unexpectedly, I suppose – a little too forgiving of Mr Chu who, while Jia-chen is rearranging her life for his benefit, is quietly making his own plans with no reference to how they will affect his daughters. I also feel that the back-story of Mr Chu’s thwarting of Jia-chen’s own ambition to be a master chef is too lightly passed over—particularly so in light of the film’s emphasis on the vital role played by food in social and family rituals, and its various scenes of cooking and eating. (I confess to averting my eyes during the famous dinner-preparation opening sequence, and some later moments. So sue me, I’m a wimp.) The performances here are uniformly fine; though the show is very nearly stolen by Ya-Lei Kuei (aka Ah-Lei Gua) as the infuriating Madame Liang, who toggles without a blink between mocking / commiserating with the unmarried daughters, decrying marriage and praising divorce, abusing her own divorcing daughter, and trying to manoeuvre Mr Chu into marriage.

Rumble In The Bronx (1995)

Ma Hon Keung (Jackie Chan) travels from Hong Kong to New York for the wedding of his uncle, Bill Ma (Bill Tung). Uncle Bill is also in the process of selling his supermarket to businesswoman Elaine (Anita Mui). That night, Keung intervenes to prevent the vintage car loaned to his uncle being damaged during street races between two local gangs. Days later, members of one of the gangs try shoplifting from what is now Elaine’s store, but Keung throws them out. Later, hearing a woman cry out for help, Keung rushes to her rescue but ends up in a trap set by the vengeful gang: he tries to flee but is cornered in an alley and severely cut up. Staggering home, he is found and helped by his neighbours, Danny (Morgan Lam), a young paraplegic, and his older sister, Nancy (Françoise Yip)—who is actually an associate of the gang. Meanwhile, dangerous criminals led by a man known as “White Tiger” (Kris Lord) pull off a diamond heist, only for the proceeds to fall into the hands of gang-member Angelo (Garvin Cross). Pursued by the criminals, Angelo hides the diamonds in a cushion that Keung then unknowingly gives to Danny, to use in his wheelchair—putting Keung, the gang and the professional criminals on a collision course… Rumble In The Bronx is the film that belatedly brought Jackie Chan to the notice of America; and comparing this Hong Kong production to some of its later consequences is an instructive experience. First, last and overridingly, the film does what its American confrères simply will not: it lets Jackie be Jackie, with brilliantly staged fights, stunts and chases papering over the absurdities of its scenario—and not just its scenario. Rumble In The Bronx was actually filmed in Vancouver, which accounts for some though certainly not all of its visual peculiarities: one of the film’s pleasures is its bizarre, outsider-eye vision of the Bronx, which suggests that the film-makers prepared for this by binging on both 70s blaxploitation and 80s Italian science fiction—with a screening or two of The Warriors thrown in for good measure. The increasingly dangerous clash between Keung and the gang led by Tony (Marc Akerstream), particularly after he persuades Nancy to change sides, ends up transforming into a defensive alliance – and then into a wholly unbelievable friendship – when Angelo’s appropriation of the stolen diamonds brings White Tiger’s mob down upon both of them. With Nancy and Tony in the hands of the syndicate, Keung attempts to retrieve the diamonds and buy their safety, but a botched exchange results in the destruction of Elaine’s supermarket and the intervention of White Tiger himself. At this point whatever shortcomings and/or wince-y moments might have hampered our enjoyment of Rumble In The Bronx fade away into utter irrelevancy in the face of a climactic sequence of mindboggling hilarity, as White Tiger goes on the rampage in a stolen hovercraft, and Keung responds by constructing a sword-wielding Lamborghini. Really—the final act of this film is something I could watch on an endless loop, and that makes any criticism of the rest (however valid) seem churlish. The one point I would raise, though, is that perhaps we don’t see quite enough of the cross-cultural relationship between Uncle Bill and his bride, Whitney (Carrie Cain Sparks), which is both delightful and more thematically important than we may realise at the outset (I feel like the wedding scene lost out in editing). Also, the film needed more Anita Mui; but then, every film needs more Anita Mui.

Absolute Power (1997)

Based upon the novel by David Baldacci. Master thief Luther Whitney (Clint Eastwood) infiltrates a Washington mansion, disabling the security system and locating the bedroom vault, which is hidden behind a ceiling-high two-way mirror. Having reason to believe the entire household absent, Whitney is horrified to hear people approaching—and can only wait and watch silently as a man and a woman, both drunk, begin a sexual encounter. Abruptly, the encounter turns violent, with the man assaulting the woman and she fighting back with a paper-knife. When the man cries out for help, two other men rush in—and shoot the woman dead… When another woman arrives and orders the scene “sanitised”, the men clean up and stage things to look as though a burglary was interrupted. However, they also make two critical errors: they overlook the dead woman’s diamond necklace, removed and tossed aside early; and they drop the paper-knife on their way out. When the woman in charge realises, she sends the men back for the knife—and they arrive in time to discover Whitney repelling out the window, both incriminating objects in his possession… The first challenge of Absolute Power is deciding whether to be coy or blunt over its opening sequence—because, of course, Luther Whitney recognises the man at the heart of it, even if we don’t immediately know who he is. The presence of the Men In Black alerts us to the man’s importance but the big reveal comes later, at a White House reception, with the camera panning up to introduce President Alan Richmond (Gene Hackman) and his Chief of Staff, Gloria Russell (Judy Davis). The overriding challenge of Absolute Power, meanwhile, is whether or not to take it seriously, though honestly, it is more fun if you don’t: if you just sit back and enjoy the spiralling absurdities of the plot, rather than try and read some Serious Political Statement into the push-and-shove that eventuates between the honest thief and the dishonest politicians. In the wake of his accidental eyewitnessing, Luther Whitney has made the entirely sensible decision to flee the country when he learns who the other players in the tragic game are: the dead woman is Christy Sullivan (Melora Hardin), the much-younger second wife of billionaire philanthropist Walter Sullivan (E. G. Marshall), the man generally credited for Alan Richmond’s rise to the presidency. When a sickened Whitney watches a press conference in which Richmond consoles Sullivan, who he declares to be, “Like a father to me”, he decides to stick around and fight… While it doesn’t go to the unfortunate lengths of the later Blood Work, Absolute Power also finds Clint trying to deny the realities of his age. Though he tries to diffuse the point by making fun of himself during a (weirdly charming) scene with Ed Harris as homicide cop Seth Frank, the film never really recovers from the early sight of Whitney out-sprinting two Secret Service Agents half his age as he flees the crime scene. From here we also have to deal with Whitney’s Master Of Disguise act, his ability to come and go “like an eel”, and the implication that only he is capable of Speaking Truth To Power. Of course, the reality is that Whitney is as morally compromised as anyone else here—not just because of his criminal career, but because he could, perhaps, have intervened before Christy Sullivan ended up dead—but protected himself by doing nothing. Furthermore, Whitney – who is defended at various points on the grounds that he is, “Not a killer” – eventually resorts to murder himself, when the blow-back from the situation engulfs his estranged daughter, Kate (Laura Linney)… Setting aside the uses made of it, one of the strengths of Absolute Power is its cast, which includes Scott Glenn as the Secret Service man with a conscience and Dennis Haysbert as his My-President-über-alles offsider; with appearances from Kenneth Welsh, Penny Johnson, Richard Jenkins, and Kimber and Alison Eastwood. Given the vintage of this film and the novel on which it is (loosely) based, I presume that Alan Richmond and Gloria Russell were intended as caricatures of Bill and Hillary, but honestly—in terms of presidents behaving badly and the people who enable them, Absolute Power plays much better today. By which I mean, much much worse.

Octopus (2000)

During the Cuban Missile Crisis, a Soviet submarine attempting to deliver biological weapons to Fidel Castro is pursued and torpedoed by an American vessel, with its dangerous cargo leaking out onto the ocean floor… Thirty-eight years later, a bomb attack upon the American Embassy in Sofia and a second blast in the street ends in the capture of injured terrorist Casper (Ravil Isyanov) by CIA analyst Ron Turner (Jay Harrington). A decision is made to transport Casper to the US by submarine, though the only one available is the Roosevelt captained by Jack Shaw (David Beecroft), who has been on tacit suspension since running his previous vessel aground. Turner is given the job of escorting the prisoner in spite of his lack of field experience. Also onboard is Dr Lisa Finch (Carolyn Lowery), a marine biologist conducting research. Meanwhile, Casper’s collaborators use stolen intelligence to determine his whereabouts, and begin to plan a daring mid-ocean rescue, which requires Casper to escape and release the submarine’s distress beacon. Casper does manage to free himself, but during the escalating battle to recapture him, the submarine is suddenly attacked by a gigantic octopus… Ugh. Memo Nu Image: when we watch a film called “Octopus”, we want A FRICKING OCTOPUS, not a sub-sub-sub-sub-sub Clancy-esque political thriller…on a sub. My synopsis here only hints at the levels of torture inherent in this alleged monster movie, not least since it skips as lightly as possible over the first half of the film—with its Jack-Ryan-wannabe / gun-phobic “hero”, its posturing (but later redeemed) submarine captain, its cackling maniac terrorist, its marine biologist who can’t keep her clothes on and its black guy who is absolutely not going to make it to the end credits all jockeying to inflict the most pain on the deluded viewer. Once the octopus – mysteriously at home in the North Atlantic, despite the spilling of the anthrax (!) that spawned it in the vicinity of Cuba – eventually shows up, the film picks up a bit; though the titular beast mostly shows itself via unconvincing tentacles that somehow penetrate the submarine without taking it down altogether. Meanwhile, the terrorists’ plan for rescuing Casper involves hijacking a cruise ship (!!); and it is once again forced upon us that someone at Nu Image had their entire creative vision shaped by Deep Rising, when the octopus turns its attention to that vessel and its tentacles begin infiltrating the liner in a weirdly familiar way. Eventually the octopus attacks and downs a helicopter, but by that point I was so bored and angry that even that couldn’t rescue the film for me. Nor am I going to enshrine that too-little-too-late scene over in Moments. So there.

London Voodoo (2004)

For his job, Lincoln Mathers (Doug Cockle) relocates from the US to London with his wife, Sarah (Sara Stewart), and their toddler daughter, Beth (Grace Sprott). As they settle in, Lincoln suggests the hiring of a nanny to give Sarah a hand, which leads to the arrival of Kelly (Vonda Barnes). Though she appears competent and gets along with Beth, Kelly has a dark side… Though in phone-calls to her father Sarah assures him that everything is fine, Lincoln soon reneges on his pre-move promises, working long hours and spending more time away from home drinking with his work colleagues. During renovations in the basement, a workman is injured. Sarah goes down to see what happened and discovers that the men were trying to open a concrete slab in the floor. Using a hammer, she breaks it open herself—and is immediately engulfed by something… When Lincoln gets home, Sarah is still in the basement. She takes him down to show him her discovery: two intertwined and decorated human skeletons, possibly real and obviously very old, in what she suggests was a religious tableau of some kind. Lincoln is repulsed but Sarah is fascinated—and over the following days, her behaviour begins to change… Written and directed by Robert Pattern, London Voodoo tries to do something a bit different but just doesn’t work. We are given no reason whatsoever to care what happens to these people, who are uninteresting in themselves, and whose first act is to hire an obvious sociopath to look after their young daughter; though Kelly turns out to be something of a red herring, adding to the Mathers’ troubles without being the cause of them. The first half of the film spends so much time being foreboding that it forgets to have anything actually happen, and even when it does, it only succeeds in making being possessed seem really boring; though not as boring as Lincoln’s work problems, which are dwelt upon unnecessarily. Sarah’s possession eventually expresses itself in terms of – surprise! – her sexuality, as she becomes more aggressive and violent in her demands. Some of this is interesting, but there are some unintended giggles too. Where London Voodoo does win a few points is in having the local voodoo practitioners being the good guys here—intervening to help at the cost of one of their lives, and eventually guiding Lincoln through his desperate efforts to get Sarah back. (He manages to turn the tide with a I’ve-been-a-terrible-husband speech, though frankly it’s not a patch on Homer Simpson’s, “I’m sorry for the whole marriage up to this point.”) Also interesting is the relationship between the practitioners and local historian Fiona (Trisha Mortimer), who involves herself with them to reconnect with her late husband, and who acts as a non-, or less-threatening first-contact with the Mathers. Eventually we learn that Sarah has been taken over by a West African warrior-priestess, whose passion for the wrong man has condemned her to an eternal search for love…

(Kelly’s first action here is to crush a snail for no reason—in close up. The end credits assure us that this was faked, which is just as well; but honestly, the film nearly lost me at that early point.)

The Figurine (2009)

Original title: Araromire. As Femi (Ramsey Nouah) prepares to attend his National Youth Service Camp near Araromire, he worries about having to leave his sister, Lara (Tosin Sido), behind with their father (David J. Oserwe), who is terminally ill. At the mustering area, Femi meets Mona (Omoni Oboli), with whom he has long been secretly in love. Meanwhile, Sola (Kunle Afolayan) is unable to get a job because he has not completed his NYSC training. To get clearance to attend the camp, he calls on the Dean (Muraina Oyelami) of his university who, hearing where he has been posted, recounts a legend about the goddess Araromire, who was called into a figurine by a priest and brought the local villagers first prosperity, then disaster; but Sola is not listening… Arriving almost at the end of the camp, Sola manages to infiltrate the established group of trainees. Femi is struggling because of his asthma; while Mona faints one day in the heat. Later, she confesses to the dismayed Femi that she is pregnant with Sola’s baby. During an endurance run, Femi is unable to continue and Sola drops out to sit with him. The two are caught in a violent storm and take refuge in a ruined shrine. Inside, Sola discovers a carved figurine and, over Femi’s objections, decides to take it back to the city and sell it. Instead, he ends up keeping it—and immediately, the fortunes of Sola, Mona and Femi begin to change… One of the most ambitious projects to emerge from “Nollywood”, The Figurine is an uneven but interesting horror movie—though what kind of horror movie remains somewhat in question even at the end. The film opens with a prologue set some hundred years before the main action, in which a village feels both the beneficence and the cruelty of the goddess Araromire, and responds by destroying her shrine. When the action shifts to modern Lagos, some time is spent on the introduction of the central trio—setting up perceptions that are interestingly challenged – or are they? – later in the film. We are given full reason to think the worst of the shiftless Sola, and see nothing but trouble in store for him and Mona; but when the film jumps forward another seven years, we find the couple perfectly happy and expecting their second child; with Sola likewise successful in business. Then Femi, who has been living overseas, returns to Lagos fit and healthy, his asthma a thing of the past, and his career on the rise. His arrival coincides with the birthday of “Junior” (Tobe Oboli), the son of Sola and Mona, who is turning seven—and also with a sudden reversal of fortune for everyone who has been in contact with the figurine… During its final act, there is a revelation in The Figurine that calls into question some of its apparently supernatural aspects, including the film’s creepiest touch: the repeated return of the figurine despite the efforts of several of the characters to destroy or dispose of it. This unravelling of the film’s overt plot and the substitution, as it were, of an alternative one may disappoint some viewers; yet plenty of ambiguity remains, particularly around the characters’ unlikely good fortune. The Figurine was directed by Kunle Afolayan, who also plays Sola (and who also made the earlier horror movie, Irapada; now hunting that). The film is perhaps overlong and certainly has some pacing issues, along with some technical roughness; while the toggling of the dialogue between English and Yoruba, while obviously authentic, may present a challenge for non-local audiences. However, the unfamiliarity of the material and its setting, and the response of the characters to the seeming intrusion of ancient legend into their modern lives, makes this worthwhile.

Munafik (2016)

After his wife, Zulaikha (Zarina Zainordin), is killed in a car crash, with the driver responsible fleeing the scene, Adam (Syamsul Yusof) struggles to put his life back together and to reconcile his young son, Amir (Izuan Fitri), to the loss of his mother. Amir disturbs his father by telling him that, in his dreams, Zulaikha insists that she is coming back… Adam begins to neglect his home and his farm, and ceases to perform rugyah for the people of his rural community. His friend, Azman (Fizz Fairuz), urges him to hold onto his faith, but Adam reacts angrily, telling Azman that he cannot forgive the person who killed Zulaikha. There is also trouble in the household of Mr Osman (Razib Salimin), with tensions rising between his young second wife, Zeti (Sabrina Ali), and his adult daughter, Maria (Nabila Huda), particularly after Zeti reports to her husband that Maria seems to be studying only those parts of the Quran that deal with Satan. Meanwhile, after avoiding the advances of her boss, Fazli (Pekin Ibrahim), who wants to marry her, Maria has a terrifying experience in the elevator of the building where she works. Adam admits to the Imam (A. Galak) of the local mosque that he is struggling with his faith and with forgiveness. However, he agrees to help when Maria’s behaviour becomes even more erratic. As he performs rugyah in the Osman house, Adam realises to his horror that Maria may be possessed… Written and directed by Syamsul Yusof, who also stars as Adam, Munafik is one of a crop of Islamic-focused horror movies to emerge over the past few years. Its religious content is overt and omnipresent, and non-Muslims may need some help in understanding exactly what is going on at points. To wit— An ustaz, as Adam is sometimes addressed, is a spiritual teacher; rugyah is a form of medical practice consisting of religious rituals that target both physical and spiritual affliction; while a munafik (or munafiq) is someone who poses as devout but rejects religion in their heart. Faith is at the centre of Munafik, with both of its main characters, Adam and Maria, battling challenges to their belief—albeit challenges of a very different nature. Meanwhile, the strong conservatism of the rural community as depicted blends interestingly with modern touches such as speeding cars, ubiquitous mobile phones and Maria taking medication for her depression. The main secret upon which the plot turns is easy enough for the viewer to figure out, but there are a couple of others here that are better hidden, and which add a sting to the film’s concluding scenes. In fact, this is a film that in some respects works better the second time around, with the viewer ahead of the characters. There is some real horror here, including the scene in which Maria is exorcised, her terrorisation in a hospital morgue, and the various manifestations of the demon – possibly Satan himself – who is tormenting her. A number of Adam’s experiences are only in his head, though, including the film’s most jolting scene, when he takes drastic action to prove to Amir that his mother is dead and gone… The very title “Munafik” warns the viewer that there is a secret villain hidden here, and various characters come under suspicion: Zeti and her talisman; Fazli with his accusations of others; Shah (Ruzlan Abdullah), who breaks into Adam’s house; and even Adam himself, after the afflicted Maria tells Fazli that she has been having an affair with him. The latter, however, Damian Karras-like, rediscovers his faith while battling the dark forces attacking his community, with the Imam killed in an “accident”, and Mr Osman disappearing…

Mommy’s Little Angel (2018)

After her violent ex, Darren Motts (Peter Dillon), breaks into her house, Shawna Porters (Kimberly Laferriere) flees to the home of her cousin, Nikki Bilson (Amanda Clayton), along with her twelve-year-old daughter, Katie (Morgan Neundorf). As they settle in for the night, Shawna reassures Katie about their safety; while Katie, in turn, remarks disapprovingly about her mother’s pill-popping. After Shawna is asleep, Katie takes the bottle and empties it out. Meanwhile, via video link, Nikki and her husband, Luke (Chris Gallinger), discuss their so-far failed attempts to have a baby, and what their options might be. Luke tells Nikki that he should be able to return a little earlier from his deployment. Katie begins to bond with Nikki, remaining passive and indifferent when her mother frantically questions her about the missing pills. Shawna tries to find a doctor who will refill her prescription, and finally makes an appointment; but as soon as she has, Katie accesses her phone… As she leaves the medical centre, Shawna is confronted by Darren: he assaults her violently, then throws her over a railing… When Nikki and her mother, Helen (Rennie Wilkinson), break the news of Shawna’s death, which is ruled a suicide, to Katie, they are concerned by the child’s lack of reaction: instead of grieving, she makes it clear that she now considers Nikki her mother… Mommy’s Little Angel is quite an interesting entry in Lifetime’s recent roster of “evil child” films, chiefly because it makes an effort to engage with Katie’s deteriorating mental health rather than just using her condition as the basis of disaster for the adults around her—though it certainly is that too. Intriguingly, Katie is aware of her own situation and struggles to overcome her tendency towards violent outbreaks, which she always bitterly regrets afterwards. Nevertheless, in time she begins to show signs of outright psychopathy, namely animal killing and arson; though knives are her go-to. Where the film gets fuzzy is in what it implies about Katie’s relationship with her father, with hints of both nature and nurture behind what is eventually diagnosed as antisocial personality disorder. Before this, Katie’s determination to have things her own way and her ability to manipulate the adults in her life set in motion a series of escalatingly violent events. First she uses her father to get rid of her mother – in that ineffable Lifetime way, the cops find nothing suspicious in the circumstances of Shawna’s death – before using Nikki to get rid of her father; though she herself delivers the fatal blow. But having, by these means, secured the family that she wants, Katie is immediately confronted by two more potential threats: a returning Luke is quickly suspicious of her; and Nikki falls pregnant… Though many of its specifics are absurd (I particularly enjoy what the film puts Nikki through, after she is prescribed bed rest and no stress), Mommy’s Little Angel also offers a thread of serious drama, chiefly in the conflict between Luke, who agrees with the doctors that Katie needs to be institutionalised, and Nikki, whose real affection for the sick little girl blends with her guilty sense that this would be abandoning her. There isn’t much the adults can do here in the face of Morgan Neundorf’s performance as Katie, but Amanda Clayton has a few good moments.