Extraction (2020) is an action film directed by Sam Hargrave and written by Joe Russo, centering on a high-stakes rescue mission led by Chris Hemsworth’s character, Tyler Rake. The story comes from the graphic novel Ciudad, following Rake, a hardened mercenary tasked with rescuing Ovi Mahajan—the kidnapped teenage son of a Mumbai drug lord—from a rival gang in Dhaka, Bangladesh.
The biggest highlight of the film is undoubtedly the action. Sam Hargrave’s background as a stuntman and stunt coordinator heavily shapes the film’s visceral, grounded fight scenes and chase sequences. Before directing Extraction, Hargrave worked extensively in Hollywood, doubling for Chris Evans as Captain America in several Marvel movies like Winter Soldier and Endgame, and choreographing stunts for The Avengers, Pirates of the Caribbean, and The Hunger Games. This experience shows in the film’s impressive physicality and well-structured action set pieces.
One of the film’s standout moments is a roughly 15-minute continuous shot that follows Rake through escalating fights, car chases, and shoots without cuts, putting the audience right in the middle of the chaos. Cinematographer Newton Thomas Sigel maintains great clarity during this complex sequence, making it easy to follow the action without losing tension or momentum.
Chris Hemsworth’s Tyler Rake is a mix of toughness and quiet emotion. While Rake is the typical stoic, skilled mercenary with a haunting past, Hemsworth brings enough charisma and subtlety to keep him interesting. Rudhraksh Jaiswal’s Ovi balances vulnerability and resilience, and their relationship adds some emotional depth to an otherwise action-heavy film.
The setting of Dhaka plays a significant role in creating tension. The crowded streets and claustrophobic urban spaces add a feeling of danger and urgency. The production design and score contribute to this gritty atmosphere, making the world feel lived-in and tense.
Violence in Extraction is brutal and unflinching, not shying away from the grim realities of its story. The R rating is earned through graphic fights, gun battles, and some harsh moments involving bystanders, including children. This unrelenting approach to violence adds a raw edge to the film but can also feel overwhelming at times.
However, the movie’s major drawback comes from its story and character development, which are fairly thin and formulaic. The plot is straightforward: a mercenary protecting a kidnapped kid while fighting off enemies. Most of the supporting characters are underdeveloped, with the villain Amir portrayed as a one-dimensional bad guy without much backstory or nuance. Although Randeep Hooda’s character Saju adds some tension and complexity, other roles feel functional rather than memorable.
The film attempts to add emotional weight through Rake and Ovi’s bond, but the effort sometimes falls flat. Key moments meant to build character feels like typical exposition, and some plot points are rushed or underexplored. A subplot involving David Harbour’s character feels tacked on and doesn’t quite fit into the narrative flow.
Pacing also hinders the film, especially in the middle act, where the story slows down and struggles to balance action with character moments. This section can feel tedious compared to the rest of the film’s adrenaline-fueled sequences.
The ending, while action-packed and satisfying in terms of spectacle, also features a somewhat questionable twist and a final shot that feels like a cheat, leaving some ambiguity that may frustrate viewers seeking clear resolution.
In summary, Extraction delivers on what fans of intense, well-executed action expect. It’s a showcase for Hargrave’s stunt expertise and Hemsworth’s physical performance but falls short when it comes to storytelling and character depth. The film is a gripping, high-energy ride with brutal, creative fight and chase scenes—but if you’re looking for a nuanced plot or fully fleshed-out characters, it’s lacking. Fans of pure action films like John Wick or The Raid will find much to enjoy here, but others may find the story too simplistic and the constant violence numbing over time.
“Sometimes I wonder… will God ever forgive us for what we’ve done to each other? Then I look around and I realize, God left this place a long time ago.” — Danny Archer
Edward Zwick’s 2006 film Blood Diamond is one of those big Hollywood productions that tries to be both a gritty, globe-trotting thriller and a politically conscious indictment of the diamond trade’s role in African civil wars. Set in Sierra Leone during the 1990s, it stars Leonardo DiCaprio as Danny Archer, a Rhodesian mercenary and diamond smuggler, and Djimon Hounsou as Solomon Vandy, a fisherman torn from his family by rebels and forced into brutal diamond mining. Rounding out the leads is Jennifer Connelly as Maddy Bowen, a tenacious reporter determined to expose the atrocities fueling the global supply of conflict diamonds. The film is ambitious, harrowing, and, at times, as slickly entertaining as it is bluntly didactic. But like many socially minded blockbusters, it walks a tightrope between genuine drama and Hollywood sensationalism.
The story kicks off with a bang—literally—as Solomon’s village is raided by Revolutionary United Front militants, a moment that quickly plunges the viewer into Sierra Leone’s chaotic civil war. Solomon’s family is fragmented: he ends up a slave at a rebel-run mining camp, his son is eventually brainwashed into a child soldier, and his wife flees for safety. Meanwhile, DiCaprio’s Archer lands in jail after a failed smuggling run—which sets the two men on a collision course. Archer learns of Solomon’s discovery of an enormous, rare pink diamond—a stone that could mean escape or redemption for both men but is a magnet for greed, violence, and compromise. Their uneasy partnership with Maddy Bowen, who’s chasing a story, adds layers as their individual motives collide and evolve.
The movie doesn’t shy away from illustrating the devastating effects of the diamond trade—child soldiers, forced labor, mass displacement, and political corruption. While most of the on-screen violence is handled to maximize emotional punch, it never lets the viewer forget the real-world stakes of the Blood Diamond narrative. The film ultimately points viewers toward the establishment of the Kimberley Process—a set of international regulations designed to combat the illicit diamond trade.
A lot of the film’s emotional weight lands on DiCaprio and Hounsou, and for good reason. Leonardo DiCaprio nabs the complex role of Danny Archer with a layered performance and goes the extra mile by working hard on the Zimbabwean (Rhodesian) accent. While accents in film can be divisive, DiCaprio immersed himself deeply, working with dialect coaches and spending time with people from the region to best capture the regional nuances. Although some viewers and critics felt the accent was uneven or shifted at points, many others praised him for nailing this challenging and rare dialect. For an American actor to convincingly embody a mercenary with roots in that part of the world is no small feat. DiCaprio’s commitment brings credibility to Archer’s character, who is morally ambiguous but immensely human.
Djimon Hounsou, playing Solomon Vandy, serves as the emotional core and grounding presence of the film. His portrayal of a man torn apart by civil war, who fights desperately to reclaim his family, is heartbreaking and physically compelling. Their scenes together create genuine tension, as trust is both scarce and necessary for survival. Jennifer Connelly’s Maddy Bowen, while less fleshed out, brings determination and serves as the moral compass driving the film’s exposé of conflict diamonds.
Director Edward Zwick has a way of blending spectacle with raw storytelling. The action sequences, especially the firefights and escapes, feel intense and immersive. The cinematography captures the lush, dangerous landscape of Sierra Leone vividly, contrasting beauty with brutality. Some technical aspects do show their age—like certain digital effects that can feel artificial—but these don’t significantly dampen the overall experience. The soundtrack by James Newton Howard underscores the drama without veering into heavy-handed territory.
Blood Diamond scores high on several fronts. The performances by DiCaprio and Hounsou are standout elements, their evolving relationship carrying the film’s emotional heft. The pulse-pounding action sequences inject thrills while highlighting the chaos of civil war. Perhaps most importantly, the movie exposes the grim realities behind the glittering allure of diamonds, educating audiences about child soldiers, forced labor, and the complicity of international markets in perpetuating violence. Though it sometimes leans into melodrama and moralizing dialogue, the film’s commitment to its message is fairly unambiguous and impactful.
That said, the film sometimes succumbs to the trappings of big-budget Hollywood storytelling. The plot can feel overly convenient, with coincidences and resolutions that stretch credibility. Supporting characters, aside from the leads, are underdeveloped, mainly functioning as plot devices. Dialogue can at times be heavy-handed, particularly in the final act where scenes verge on preachy. Some narrative contrivances—like the recovery and passing of the pink diamond—can feel forced even in a tense, action-driven context. On the technical side, a few CGI moments fail to hold up under scrutiny, but these are minor irritants in an otherwise immersive film.
An important and unavoidable observation about Blood Diamond is how, like many of Edward Zwick’s previous action-dramas, it leans heavily into the “white savior” trope, if not outright embodying it. This trope centers a white protagonist—in this case, Danny Archer—who becomes the crucial figure in the salvation or redemption of non-white characters and communities. While the film sheds light on the horrors and complexity of Sierra Leone’s civil war and the conflict diamond trade, the narrative perspective and moral center overwhelmingly revolve around Archer’s personal journey from cynical mercenary to reluctant hero. The African characters, though vital and powerful especially through Hounsou’s Solomon, are often cast in more reactive roles, with Archer positioned as the key agent for change. The film also features a white journalist, Maddy Bowen, reinforcing this pattern.
Zwick’s leanings toward this trope are not new or isolated. His earlier films Glory (1989) and The Last Samurai (2003) also engage with the white savior narrative. Glory, a Civil War epic about the 54th Massachusetts Infantry Regiment, tells a historically significant story but largely centers on Colonel Robert Gould Shaw, a white officer played by Matthew Broderick, as the story’s main emotional and narrative anchor. The film has been noted for respectfully addressing racism and heroism but still revolves around Shaw’s perspective and sacrifice as a key redemptive figure for the African American soldiers. The Last Samurai similarly places Tom Cruise’s character, an American military advisor, at the heart of a narrative about Japanese samurai culture and resistance, blending cultural appreciation with the problematic trope of the white outsider who becomes indispensable to a non-white community’s fate.
This approach, familiar in Hollywood, walks the line between broad audience engagement and ethical storytelling. Zwick’s films often balance studio and audience expectations with a desire to tell compelling stories about marginalized communities. Yet inevitably, this framing simplifies complex histories and contributes to critiques that such films center whiteness and diminish the agency of non-white characters.
Casually speaking, Blood Diamond is not subtle, but that directness is part of its appeal. For viewers looking for a gripping action drama with strong performances and an ethical core, it delivers. It entertains while providing a sobering look at the high cost of luxury goods. DiCaprio’s portrayal of Danny Archer, complete with an authentically worked-on accent from the region, puts to rest doubts about his action lead capabilities. Hounsou’s performance lingers emotionally, especially in scenes grappling with the trauma of child soldiering. The violence depicted is raw and unvarnished, contributing to a visceral sense of the film’s urgent themes.
Running for about two hours and 23 minutes, the film has plenty of time to develop its complex story and deliver tense action sequences without feeling rushed or padded. Ultimately, Blood Diamond is an effective historical thriller that balances high stakes and moral urgency. While it’s not nuanced in every aspect and occasionally tips into cliché and convenience, it makes a strong case for itself beyond mere entertainment. Whether you’re interested in history, action, or the human stories behind the diamond trade, this film offers a thought-provoking, emotionally resonant experience. Leonardo DiCaprio’s dedication to portraying a Rhodesian mercenary authentically, especially through his accent work, is a highlight that complements the film’s broader narrative ambitions.
Now, to make clear, I’m not the Bronson expert that Brad is so I will picking from a smaller pool of selections. But no matter! Let’s do this!
6. Death Wish III (1985, dir by Michael Winner)
Yes, I have to start with Death Wish III. The Death Wish sequels are definitely a mixed bag but Death Wish III was wonderfully over-the-top, a film that cheerfully dropped Bronson in the middle of an absurd circus and allowed him to tame the lions, as it were. I will always love this film for the presence of Plunger Guy, a bad guy who heads into battle carrying a plunger.
5. Breakheart Pass (1975, dir by Tom Gries)
This is an enjoyable mix of a western, a murder mystery, and an adventure film. Charles Bronson is a mysterious man on a snowbound train. Charles Durning, Ben Johnson, Richard Crenna, Jill Ireland, and Ed Lauter co-star and everyone — especially Johnson and Durning — bring a lot to their roles. This may not be one of Bronson’s best-known films but it is one of his most enjoyable and Bronson himself is at his most likable.
4. Death Wish (1973, dir by Michael Winner)
“My heart bleeds a little for the less fortunate,” Bronson’s Paul Kersey says at the start of the film and those of us watching immediately say, “C’mon, Charlie, really?” That said, one reason why Death Wish works as well as it does is because Bronson actually gives a very good and very emotionally honest performance as a man who finally snaps and starts to take the law into his own hands. (I love the barely veiled contempt that’s present whenever Paul talks to his son-in-law.) Not surprisingly, considering that it was directed by Michael Winner, Death Wish is an often-sordid film that doesn’t have a hint of subtlety. But it’s also brutally effective, a film that captures the way a lot of people feel when they hear about reports of out-of-control crime. Even today, it’s easy to see why Death Wish was the film that finally Bronson a star in the United States.
3. Once Upon A Time In The West (1968, dir by Sergio Leone)
Bronson plays Harmonica in the most epic of all of Sergio Leone’s spaghetti westerns. Leone pays homage to the American western while also gleefully subverting it. The quiet and unemotional Bronson is the film’s hero. Henry Fonda is the sadistic villain who guns down a child. Jason Robards is an outlaw. While I don’t consider it to be quite as good as either The Good, The Bad, or the Ugly or Once Upon A Time In America, Once Upon A Time In The West is still one of Leone’s masterpieces.
2. From Noon Till Three (1976, dir by Frank D. Gliroy)
For all of his reputation for being a tough guy who didn’t show much emotion, there was no denying Bronson’s love for his second wife, Jill Ireland. From Noon Till Three brings Bronson and Ireland together in a film that is a third western, a third romantic comedy, and a third social satire. It’s a film that gives Bronson a chance to show off his romantic side and it might leave you surprised! The film also featured Jill Ireland’s best performance in a Bronson film. I always highly recommend this one. It’s proof that there was more to Bronson than just shooting the bad guys.
Ten To Midnight (1983, dir by J. Lee Thompson)
This is the ultimate 80s Bronson film and one that I like for a reason that might surprise you. On the one hand, you’ve got Bronson as a tough cop, Andrew Stevens as his liberal partner, and Gene Davis as the disturbingly plausible serial killer, Warren Stacy. Bronson is great as the world weary cop. His scenes with Stevens are amusing and, at times, even poignant. (It helps that Stevens was the rare co-star that Bronson liked.) Davis is terrifying and the film’s final moments are very emotionally satisfying. (“No, we won’t.”) But the reason why I love this film is because of the relationship between Bronson’s cop and his daughter, who played by Lisa Eilbacher. Their scenes together — testy but loving — are well-acted by both actors and they always make me think of me and my Dad. Ten To Midnight is the Bronson film that actually makes me cry.
Two Americans meet up in Turkey in 1922. Josh Corey (Charles Bronson) is a cynical soldier-of-fortune who, along with his mercenary crew, is hoping to make money out of the ruins of the Ottoman Empire. Adam Dyer (Tony Curtis) is the heir to a shipping company and is hoping to get his last remaining boat out of the Turkish dock where it’s been interned since World War I. Osman Bey (Gregorie Aslan), one of the local powerbrokers who has risen to power since the Turkish Revolution, hires Josh and Adam to escort his daughters and their protector, Alia (Michele Mercier), to Mecca. Actually, the plan is for them to instead go to Cairo to recover a priceless treasure. The journey to Cairo is filled with action and betrayal as Josh and Adam try to navigate the upheaval of the post-war Middle East.
You Can’t Win ‘Em All is a mix of action and comedy, an adventure that owes more than a little to the other big budget heist films of the 60s and 70s. (Director Peter Collinson was hired due to his work on The Italian Job.) The film’s humor comes from the partnership of the stoic Bronson with the talkative Tony Curtis. In fact, the film’s main flaw is that Tony Curtis talks too much. Curtis simply will not shut up. After about fifteen minutes, I was tired of listening to him. Curtis’s acting limitations really come through the more that he talks and, as a result, Bronson walks away with the entire movie by saying next to nothing. Bronson keeps largely quiet because he doesn’t have to speak to make an impression. His stare says everything that needs to be said.
You Can’t Win ‘Em All is uneven but it has a few good action sequences and Bronson doing what Bronson did best. Watching this movie made me appreciate Charles Bronson all the more. Even when working with a less-than-great script and a miscast co-star, Bronson still had the undefinable quality that made him a star.
2014’s TheSong tells the story of Jed King (Alan Powell).
Jed is a singer-songwriter. He is also the son of David King, a country-western superstar who drank too much, smoked too much, and had an extramarital affair with Jed’s mother. (He initially spotted her while she was bathing in a lake.) After her then-husband killed himself, Jed’s mother married David but their marriage was fraught with difficulty. Jed grew up in a conflicted household. After his father died, Jed found himself expected to carry on in David’s name. Try as he might, he found himself permanent overshadowed by the legacy of David King.
(If all this sounds familiar, that’s because it’s a country-western version of the story of King David, Bathsheba, and Solomon.)
While performing at a wine festival, Jed meets and falls in love with Rose Jordan (Ali Faulkner). They marry and start a family. Jed writes a song about Rose and it becomes his first legitimate hit. Years later, Jed is a superstar, touring while his wife raises their son. It’s an arrangement that seems to work fine until Jed meets his new opening act, fiddler Shelby Bale (Caitlin Nichol-Thomas).
Soon, in the tradition of Johnny Cash, Jed King is drinking too much and popping pills and losing his way on the road. He comes home only briefly and Rose starts to feel as if the only reason he even bothers is so he can have sex. Jed’s life is soon falling apart….
TheSong is based on Song of Songs and the story of King Solomon and, to give credit where credit is due, the film is actually pretty clever in the way it updates the story. If you know the story, it makes sense that David and Jed King would both be musicians. King David spying Bathsheba in her bath becomes David King spying Bathsheba in a lake. Naamah, the only one of Solomon’s wives to be named, becomes Rose Jordan. (Naamah was said to be from what is now Jordan.) The Queen of Sheba, who tempted Solomon into sin and paganism, becomes Shelby Bale. David and Solomon were rules. David King and his son Jed are celebrities and really, there’s not that much difference nowadays. The film’s dialogue and especially Jed’s thoughts (heard in voice over) are largely borrowed from SongofSongs and again, the film actually does a good job of modernizing them without getting away from the main theme. This is one of the rare faith-based films that’s not only willing to frankly discuss sex but which also acknowledges that sexual desire is a normal thing and nothing to be ashamed of. There’s a maturity to this film that you don’t often find in the faith-based genre.
As you can probably guess, I really like TheSong. It’s well-acted, well-directed, and the film looks great. It might some like faint praise to say that TheSong looked like a real movie but, again, that’s an accomplishment for this particular genre. Alan Powell and Ali Faulkner had wonderful romantic chemistry. That said, my favorite performance came from Caitlin Nichol-Thomas, who turned Shelby Bale into a true force of chaos. TheSong remains a favorite of mine.
Halloween’s coming to an end. Actually, here in America, it’s come to an end everywhere except on the west coast. What better way to bring our annual Horrorthon to a close than spending a few minutes with Vincent Price and the Raven?
Unfortunately, I don’t know exactly when this was filmed. But no matter! It’s Vincent Price reading Edgar Allen Poe!
“In this Walk, it’s not about winning. It’s about refusing to be forgotten while the world watches us fade away.” — Peter McVries
Francis Lawrence’s The Long Walk (2025) delivers a relentlessly brutal and unyielding vision of dystopian horror that explores survival, authoritarian control, and the devastating loss of innocence. The film immerses viewers in a grim spectacle: fifty teenage boys forced to participate in an annual, televised event known as the Long Walk. To survive, each participant must maintain a constant pace, never falling below a minimum speed, or else face immediate execution.
At the heart of this bleak narrative is Raymond Garraty, played with earnest vulnerability by Cooper Hoffman. Garraty’s backstory, marked by the tragic execution of his father for political dissent, sets a somber tone from the outset. As the Walk drags on, Garraty forges fragile bonds with fellow contestants, particularly Peter McVries (David Jonsson), whose camaraderie and quiet resilience inject moments of hope and humanity into the harrowing journey. These relationships become the emotional core, grounding the film’s relentless physical and psychological torment in deeply human experiences.
The setting enhances this oppressive atmosphere. The time and place remain deliberately ambiguous, with evident signs that the United States has recently suffered a second Civil War. The aftermath is a landscape ruled by a harsh, authoritarian military regime overseeing a nation economically and politically in decline. Though visual cues evoke a retro, 1970s aesthetic—reflected in military hardware and daily life—the film resists pinning itself to an exact year. This timelessness amplifies its allegorical power, emphasizing ongoing societal collapse and authoritarianism without tying the story to one era specifically. The dystopian backdrop is populated by broken communities and a pervasive sense of hopelessness that mirrors the characters’ internal struggles.
Visually, The Long Walk employs stark, gritty cinematography that traps viewers in the monotonous expanse of endless roads and bleak environments. Lawrence’s direction is unflinching and unrelenting, echoing the merciless march to death and the broader commentary on institutionalized brutality. The atmospheric score complements this oppressive tone, underscoring the emotional and physical exhaustion pacing the narrative.
Performances elevate the film’s emotional stakes significantly. Hoffman’s portrayal of Garraty captures the youth’s evolving vulnerability and determination, while Jonsson’s McVries adds a poignant emotional depth with his steady, hopeful presence. Supporting actors such as Garrett Wareing’s enigmatic Billy Stebbins and Charlie Plummer’s self-destructive Barkovitch bring vital complexity and urgency. Stebbins remains a figure whose allegiance is ambiguous, adding layered mystery to the group dynamics. Judy Greer’s limited screentime as Ginny Garraty, Ray’s mother, stands out powerfully despite its brevity. Each of her appearances is heartbreaking, bringing a wrenching emotional weight to the film. Her panicked, anguished attempts to hold onto her son before he embarks on the deadly Walk amplify the human cost of the dystopian spectacle, leaving a lasting impression of maternal agony amid the surrounding brutality.
Mark Hamill’s role as The Major is a significant supporting presence, embodying the authoritarian face of the regime. The Major oversees the brutal enforcement of the Walk’s rules, commanding lethal squads who execute those who falter. Hamill brings a grim and chilling force to the character, whose cold charisma and unwavering commitment to the ruthless system make him a menacing figure. Despite relatively limited screen time compared to the young participants, The Major’s presence looms large over the story, symbolizing the chilling machinery of power and control that governs the dystopian world.
Yet, the film is stark in its depiction of violence. The executions and suffering are raw and often grotesquely explicit, serving as a damning critique of authoritarian cruelty and the voyeuristic nature of state violence televised as entertainment. This unfiltered brutality can, however, become numbing and exhausting as it piles on relentlessly, occasionally undercutting emotional resonance. The narrative embraces nihilism fully, underscoring the dehumanization and futility within the dystopian world it portrays.
The film’s overall pacing and structure reflect this bleakness but at times suffer from monotony. The heavy focus on walking and survival mechanics leads to a lack of narrative variation, testing the audience’s endurance much like the characters’. There is likewise a noticeable stretch of physical realism—the contestants endure near-impossible physical feats without adequate signs of weariness or injury, which can strain believability.
Character development is another area where the film falters slightly. While Garraty and McVries are well-drawn and immunize emotional investment, other characters tend toward archetypical roles—bullies, outsiders, or generic competitors—diminishing the impact of many deaths or interactions. Similarly, the repetitiveness of the setting and cinematography, relying mostly on basic shots following the walkers, misses opportunities for more creative visual storytelling that might heighten tension or spotlight key emotional beats.
The film’s conclusion, stark and abrupt, offers no real catharsis or closure, reinforcing the overarching theme of unyielding despair. While this resonates with the film’s nihilistic motif, it may alienate those seeking narrative resolution or hope. The visceral shock and bleak tone permeate to the end, leaving the viewer with a lasting impression of relentless suffering and sacrifice.
This demanding yet visually striking and emotionally intense film challenges viewers with its unrelenting bleakness and brutal thematic content. It critiques societal violence, media spectacle, and authoritarianism through starkly powerful performances and an oppressive, immersive atmosphere. Though it excels in evoking emotional rawness in key moments and maintaining thematic consistency, it struggles with pacing, character depth beyond the leads, and occasional narrative monotony. Its ambiguous setting in a post-second Civil War America ruled by a declining authoritarian regime adds a timeless, allegorical layer to its exploration of human endurance and societal collapse.
Ultimately, this film is best suited for viewers prepared for an uncompromising, intense vision of dystopia. It stands as a compelling, if bleak, meditation on youth, survival, and the human spirit under extreme duress, showcasing Francis Lawrence’s aptitude for crafting thought-provoking, provocative horror.
With Halloween approaching, the Shattered Lens presents to you a recording of the 2015 West End production of The Rocky Horror Show, featuring Richard O’Brien, Emma Bunton, Stephen Fry, Anthony Head, Ben Forster, Haley Flaherty, and David Bedella.
The film is so popular that I think some people tend to overlook Rocky Horror‘s theatrical origins. Personally, I prefer this energetic stage version to the film.
Happy Halloween! I see A LOT of terrible movies for your pleasure. It’s a really weird relationship we have. However, I am glad to do it because there are some gems, not from AI because that’s pretty much the worst. “The Mountains of Madness” AI short wasn’t terrible, but maybe I have trouble seeing it now because I have been so mentally hurt….for you. I have seen so many ham-fisted AI slops this month that you’d think that I worked in a deli! Unlike the usual dreck I watch for you, this short is a treasure and I am almost thinking I won’t review any other shorts because I want to end on a high note or maybe I’ll go all in and end on a very low note.
A couple escaped their home where a demon they summoned called “The Choir” has killed all of their friends. One problem: they forgot the cat- Mr Whiskers; so, they have to re-enter the house of horrors to save their pet. There is a recurring song the couple wrote to get the cat to play: “Littlest Man” … it’s cute. As they struggle to rescue their cat, we learn that they are an unhappy couple.
The unhappy duo must fight “The Choir” demon to get the cat. The demon’s only weakness is loud noises and being stabbed. The couple’s relationship is like The Choir demon because they have endless awkward silences, which has destroyed their relationship. The cat was used by the couple to avoid their awkward silences; in fact, the cat was the only glue in their relationship.
By fighting the demon and rescuing their cat, they healed their relationship… a little. I still think that they will break up, but it is ok because the cat is safe and I got to review something good! It’s weird to be able to look a film up on IMDB again because AI films are excluded as far as I am able to ascertain. I recommend this short and I really do believe that you will like it! Enjoy the rest of Halloween!
It feels strange to actually watch The Rocky Horror Picture Show without an audience.
I say this because the film is actually far better known for its fans than anything else. First released in 1975 to middling reviews and, at first, anemic box office returns, The Rocky Horror Picture Show went on to become the first great cult film. It’s literally been playing in theaters for 25 years, which has to be some sort of record. When one sees Rocky Horror Picture Show in a theater, one does not merely sit back and watch in a state of suspended animation. Instead, most of the audience becomes a part of the show. They yell, they dance, and many of them return night-after-night. I have been to two midnight showings of the Rocky Horror Picture Show and I have to admit that it was actually pretty intimidating both times. The people in the audience — the veterans who knew every line and knew exactly what to do — were, more or less, friendly. I’ve read some online horror stories about people who felt like they weren’t welcome the first time they attended a showing. I had the opposite experience. No one was rude, no one glared. It was definitely a cliquey group but I felt as if they had earned the right to be in their clique. No one seemed to be bothered by the fact that I was mostly there just to observe. (I should also mention that neither showing that I attended demanded that the first-time watchers stand up or go to the front of the theater or anything like that. Apparently, there’s quite a few people online who got upset over being singled-out as “virgins” and never got over it.) But it was intimidating in much the same way as meeting a friend of a friend is intimidating or exploring a new town is intimidating. I was surrounded by people who had a deep connection with each other, one that had been forged by sharing the same experience for years. It was a communal experience that was actually touching to see, even if I never stopped feeling like an outsider.
It’s interesting to compare the midnight showings of The Rocky Horror Picture Show to the midnight showings of The Room. I attended several midnight showings of The Room and I have to admit that I eventually soured on them as it became clear that many people were showing up to taunt the film as opposed to enjoying it for the odd, communal experience that it was. The last few The Room showings that I attended were filled with a hostility that left me feeling a bit uncomfortable. Whereas The Room’s cult has often felt a bit mean-spirited (as if everyone had gathered together to laugh at Tommy Wiseau for thinking he could make a movie), The Rocky Horror Picture Show‘s cult is based on a genuine love for the film.
As for the film itself, I watched it last month without an audience and I judged it solely as a film. The pacing is a bit off and, without the group experience, it’s a lot easier to notice that the film’s storyline doesn’t make a bit of sense, though that was undoubtedly deliberate on the part of the filmmakers. That said, Tim Curry’s performance still gives the film a jolt of energy, recapturing your attention and holding it until the film comes to a close. (The genius of Curry’s performance as that, as flamboyant as it is, he still plays Dr. Frank-n-Furter as being an actual characters with feelings and emotions. He doesn’t just coast on attitude. One need only compare him to Laverne Cox in the 2016 TV production to see how strong Curry’s performance is.) Susan Sarandon brings some depth to her performance as Janet and, if Barry Bostwick is a little on the dull side of Brad …. well, the heroes who appeared in the film that Rocky Horror sends up were rarely that exciting. I enjoyed the snarky humor of Richard O’Brien’s performance and the energy that Meat Loaf brought to the production. Charles Gray, in the role of the Criminologist, really doesn’t get enough credit for holding the film’s disparate parts together.
In the end, when viewed as a film as opposed to a communal experience, The Rocky Horror Picture Show is undoubtedly flawed but it’s still energetic enough to work. The love for the old sic-fi films comes through and Tim Curry’s uninhibited performance works with or without an audience. The Rocky Horror Picture Show is a film that brings people together and I hope it continues to do so.
Through the Shattered Lens 