Category Archives: Film Review

Review: A History of Violence (dir. by David Cronenberg)

Posted on by Arleigh

“In this family, we do not solve our problems by hitting people.” — Tom Stall

David Cronenberg’s A History of Violence opens like a familiar American story but soon transforms into something far darker and more complex—a meditation on how violence reshapes identity and reality itself. The film begins in small-town Indiana where Tom Stall, a mild-mannered diner owner, becomes an overnight hero after killing two violent spree killers who attempt to rob his restaurant. These killers—Billy and Leland—serve as the initial violent intrusion that shatters Tom’s peaceful world and propels the narrative forward. Their actions attract the attention of Carl Fogarty, an East Coast mobster whose relentless pursuit gradually forces Tom and his family to confront a buried, violent history. This confrontation unravels the fragile facade of domesticity and sets the stage for the film’s profound exploration of identity, perception, and the primal tensions beneath civilization.

Cronenberg’s direction is a study in restraint and precision. Far from glamorizing violence, the film presents it as brutally efficient and intimately physical. Cronenberg himself described the action sequences as neither choreographed nor aestheticized but raw, unembellished, and quick—realistic portrayals of violence drawn from street-fighting techniques rather than cinematic spectacle. This choice heightens the emotional impact, making every outbreak of violence feel sudden, close, and devastatingly human. The opening extended shot of the spree killers, for example, follows them in a languid, almost eerie calm before revealing their cold-blooded brutality, establishing an unsettling tone early on. Cronenberg’s camera work—often tight and intimate—immerses viewers in moments where violence erupts not as a fantasy but as a harsh reality, forcing the audience to reckon with its consequences rather than its thrill.

Viggo Mortensen anchors the film with a layered performance that seamlessly navigates the duality of Tom Stall—a man striving for peaceful normalcy—and the darker instincts touched by his mysterious past. Mortensen’s portrayal moves fluidly between the affable family man and the capable, restrained force beneath, embodying the film’s exploration of how violence shapes identity and perception. His physicality and subtle shifts in tone reveal a man perpetually caught between two worlds, never fully belonging to either. Maria Bello as Edie complements Mortensen beautifully, delivering a performance rich in emotional complexity. Her character oscillates between nurturer and survivor, revealing a raw, sometimes unsettling vulnerability beneath her composed exterior. Bello’s nuanced acting gives weight to the evolving dynamics of fear, desire, and trust within their marriage, especially evident in scenes that contrast tender intimacy with underlying tension.

The supporting cast enriches the film’s moral landscape. Ed Harris brings a quiet menace to Carl Fogarty, embodying violence as a cold, business-like inevitability rather than a source of pleasure or spectacle. William Hurt’s portrayal of Richie Cusack is especially memorable—his eight-to-ten-minute screen time is electrifying, providing a darkly charismatic figure who embodies familial loyalty intertwined with brutal pragmatism. Hurt’s performance deftly balances charm and cruelty, offering one of the film’s starkest reminders of violence’s cyclical nature within families. These actors contribute to the film’s thematic depth, portraying violence as a heritage passed down and a force that both defines and corrodes.

Cronenberg’s screenplay, coupled with Howard Shore’s minimalist score, emphasizes mood and psychological tension over action set pieces. The film refuses to indulge in excessive gore or prolonged combat; instead, it presents violence as a disruptive force that shatters normalcy and forces internal reckonings. A notable subplot involving Tom’s teenage son and a school bully underscores the generational transmission of violence and fear, reinforcing the idea that violence’s impact extends beyond immediate events to shape social and familial identities.

One of the film’s most powerful effects is the way it forces viewers to reconsider notions of safety, civility, and identity. Tom’s line, “In this family, we do not solve our problems by hitting people,” starkly contrasts with his son’s chilling rejoinder, “No, in this family, we shoot them.” This exchange encapsulates the film’s core tension—the desire to reject violence while simultaneously being shaped by its inescapable presence. Moments of quiet domesticity are undercut throughout by an ever-present undercurrent of menace, illustrating Cronenberg’s thesis that violence is not merely an event but a contagion of perception and reality.

Ultimately, A History of Violence is a film of dualities—between past and present, civility and savagery, love and fear. Cronenberg’s direction delicately balances these tensions, crafting a film that is at once a taut thriller and a profound psychological study. The performances, especially those of Mortensen and Bello, give the film its emotional resonance, while the supporting cast strengthens its examination of violence’s personal and social ramifications. By the film’s haunting conclusion, viewers are left with a haunting question: can anyone truly escape the shadows cast by violence, or are we forever altered by its imprint?

Review: The Crazies (dir. by Breck Eisner)

Posted on by Arleigh

While remakes of older films have a tendency to fail in terms of storytelling and just overall quality, for some reason most remakes of George A. Romero’s films seem to do quite well. The Tom Savini-directed remake of the original Night of the Living Dead wasn’t better than the first but was very entertaining and stood on its own merits. The next Romero film to be remade was another of his horror classics, Dawn of the Dead. Another first time director in Zack Snyder handled this remake (despite howls of protests about the attempt to remake a film many consider one of the greats) and what he ended up making didn’t disappoint and has become of the the last decade’s best horror entries. While the remake of Day of the Dead ended up becoming a huge pile of crap I am happy to say that the remake of Romero’s bio-terror flick, The Crazies, under the directing work of Breck Eisner ended up better than I expected and, in my opinion, surpassed the original.

The film adheres pretty close to the original with just the setting having changed from Evans City, PA to Ogden Marsh, Iowa. Using this Midwest backdrop the film quickly establishes that Ogden Marsh is the prototypical Middle America town with everyone in the town of 1260 knowing everyone. They town even celebrates itself as the friendliest town in America. This all changes when a seemingly random and tragic event at a high school baseball game shatters the thin edifice of the town’s neighborly facade. The town’s sheriff (played by Deadwood’s Timothy Olyphant) knows that something is not right when another inexplicable murder happens the following day. The final clue which reinforces this hunch of his is when a trio of local hunters stumble upon the decomposing body of a pilot who died attempting to parachute and landing in a creek marsh close to town. The plane of the said dead pilot is later found. Not knowing what exactly was being ferried (later discovered to be a bio-weapon code-named “trixie”) on this plane the sheriff and his deputy (played by Joe Anderson) soon find the town’s phone lines, cellphone signal and network connection down.

The middle section of the film happens occur with the arrival of “help” in the form of biohazard-suited soldiers forcibly taking all accounted for townspeople from their homes and herding them in the local high school. It is in this section of the film where the remake deviates somewhat from the original. The story never truly establishes just exactly why the soldiers were using extreme tactics and protocols to contain the town and the surrounding area. The film seem to set the military as a faceless machine doing things by-the-book to the detriment of the town and it’s population. The original had the infected and uninfected civilians trapped between the military apparatus trying to contain the outbreak by any means necessary and the scientists flown in to try and find a cure. Writers Kosar and Wright keeps the film centered on the Sheriff Dutton, his pregnant wife (played by Radha Mitchell), his deputy and the his wife’s assistant.

By keeping the film focused on these four individuals the film loses the epic, grand-scale Romero was trying to do with the original and instead we get a more intimate, personal film about survival in a world that suddenly has gotten apocalyptic overnight for these four. It helped the film and Eisner that his two leads in Olyphant and Mitchell were up to the task of giving their husband and wife characters some gravitas in what could’ve easily been just a paycheck performance for them. Olyphant as Sheriff Dutton was especially good in his performance. He kept his character grounded throughout most of the film. Never did he play his character false in that one-minute we get a confused, desperate husband searching for his wife and then next minute we get a badass action hero who can’t get hurt and always coming up aces. Joe Anderson as Deputy Russell Clank who added just a tad bit of levity to an otherwise very tense film from beginning to end.

The infected townsfolk were not zombies as others might like to say. They have a certain similarity to Danny Boyle’s “Rage-infected” but while those seem to get a boost in strenght and speed in The Crazies those who become infected seem to just go all nutfuck crazy. While physical changes occur the longer a person was infected (veins beame inflamed and show up visibly) the “trixie” bioweapon does to those infected what the title says: crazy. Some behave in a crazy non-violent manner with uncontrollable giggling. Some would start rambling for no apparent reason while others become homicidal. It’s the last example which becomes the film’s second danger to the film’s leads in their attempt to survive the night and find safe haven.

It’s from the viewpoint of these four individuals that the audience experiences the night when Ogden Marsh must survive not just the “crazies” but also the government sent in to “help” contain the situation. As stated earlier this time around we do not know the motivations of those sent in to help. The government and the military force sent in are not just faceless, but mechanical in their handling of the situation. People were gathered en masse from their homes and paraded through a series of checkpoints to be checked, prodded and separated from those infected. We hear random bits and pieces of radio communication amongst the soldiers and the scientists controlling the situation, but not enough to know what their true agendas.

As the film progresses the danger posed by the “crazies” themselves seem to pale in comparison when we finally see the final solution the military and the government has come to in dealing with the outbreak. An outbreak caused by an accident and one which happens to occur near this small Iowa town. Just like in Boyle’s own 28 Days Later the solution which the military has come up with to deal with both infected and uninfected ends up being the craziest and horrific action by any and all in the film. There’s a sense of detached horror in how the government decided to truly contain the trixie outbreak.

The film was by no means a great one, but director Breck Eisner does a good job of keeping the film moving forward at a brisk pace right from the start then turning things up the farther in the film we get. By the time The Crazies hit the midway point the film the pacing has gone from brisk to unrelenting. There’s barely a chance for the audience to take a breather from the tension and terror before another one comes along. The decision by the filmmakers to just show the film from the point of view of the sheriff, his wife, the deputy and the assistant keeps some of the moral questions brought up by Romero in the original. Just like with Snyder’s remake of Dawn of the Dead, Eisner goes for the easier route and concentrates on making a thriller instead of trying to push complex social and moral commentaries. While this  might disappoint some fans of the original in the end it makes the film more accessible for the wider audience.

In the hands of a more capable filmmaker and writers would this compromise to simplify the film have been avoided. Sure it could’ve but for what Eisner and company ended up creating was still quite engaging and entertaining. In the end, The Crazies was a remake of a horror master’s earlier film that more than hold it’s own against the original and actually surpasses it despite a storyline which had been simplified. It’s not one of the best films in the early part of 2010, but it definitely wasn’t the trainwreck may think horror remakes always end up being.

Review: Scanners (dir. by David Cronenberg)

Posted on by Arleigh

Scanners marks the emergence of David Cronenberg from low-budget horror auteur to one of the most unique voices in filmmaking of the last thirty or so years. He first came onto the scene directing such low-budget horror films such as Shivers, Rabid and The Brood. These three films were later said to have had that Cronenberg propensity to show the horror of the body-politic at its most basic. Cronenberg pretty much points out of how true horror might not be lurking on the outside, but within the the human body. Cronenberg makes the human body as forever changing and mutating against the individual person’s wants and desire of what was suppose to be the ideal. The horror that we as a people do not and will never have control over our own body was where the true horror lie.

In 1981, Cronenberg moves from the purely physical horror to one where the technology man was forever trying to create and achieve perfection would turn on the biological aspect of the human condition. This new form of techno-organic mutation was as terrifying as it was seductive in its potential to those afflicted with it. Cronenberg begins this phase in his filmmaking voice with his excellent, underappreciated and cult-classic Scanners.

The premise for Scanners had alot in common with Stephen King’s novel Firestarter in the fact that in dealt with an omnipresent and powerful organization: the CIA’s shadowy branch that dealt with experimental weapons programs for Firestarter and the ultra-powerful CONSEC multinational corporation in Scanners. These two organizations experiment on random select individuals using experimental drug treatments under the guise of helpful medications. What results from these experiments are more than what was truly expected by their handlers. In Scanners the result comes from mental abilities never seen or documented in the past. CONSEC’s experiments have yielded a unique group of individuals, 237 of them, to manifest powers of the mind that make them living weapons of mass destruction. Instead of becoming a new wonder-weapon for CONSEC to sell to their government contacts, these 237 become unstable in personality, some going as far as to develop a God-complex. Others are driven insane by these new abilities and retreat away from the rest of humanity in order to achieve a semblance of mental peace.

These two different reactions from the 237 are keenly represented by two of the main character’s in Cronenberg’s film. There’s Cameron Vale (played by Stephen Lack who had an eerie resemblance to the same named character of Stephen in Dawn of the Dead) who we first see as a vagrant who seems to be suffering from some sort of mental problem. This is farther from the truth as Dr. Paul Ruth (father of the CONSEC drug effemerol that causes the mutation and played with eccentric flair by Patrick McGoohan) soon discover that Vale’s mental problems is due to him possessing preternatural mental abilities of the highest order. Ruth’s guilt over what his experiments have done and created leads him to use Vale to counter the growing underground of those 237 who have seen their newfound abilities as a stepping stone to supplanting the normal status quo with their own in a plan of global domination that would make fans of X-Men very proud.

Leader of this underground groups of scanners (as the 237 were called) is one Darryl Revok. A scanner whose abilities rival those of Vale’s but whose mental instability for wanting to dominate the normals of the world makes him the most dangerous individual on the face of the planet. Genre veteran Michael Ironside steals the film from everyone else. His grand and classic introduction early in the film has gone down in filmmaking history as one of the most shocking scenes put on film. Ironside’s performance as the scanner with the God-complex was truly megalomaniacal and it was easy to root against him, but hard to take one’s eyes from the screen when he was on. Revok truly made for one of film history’s classic villains.

In the middle of Vale and Revok’s war for control lies Kim Obrist (played by the beautiful Jennifer O’Neill) who tries to lead those who just want to be left alone from being used by both Revok and CONSEC. O’Neill’s performance was the most grounded in reality, as much as a film about people with mental powers could be, and tries to keep the film from getting too fantastic.

This I think was what made Scanners such a great film. As ludicrous a premise as the film had to base its sotry on, there was always a sense of realism to keep everything form becoming too much like a comic book. The story paints a story that could happen in reality since similar things have occurred in the past such as the LSD testing on US military personnel during the 50’s and 60’s. Cronenberg plays on such fears of outside factors introduced by scientists looking to forever improve on what nature took eons to evolve. It’s this hubris about man’s attempt to dominate his own body which interests Cronenberg and what would happen if he did succeed in doing something nature and humanity wasn’t ready for.

Scanners marked Cronenberg’s interest in examining the effect of man’s quest for better and better technology, whether mechanical or biological, on humanity’s physical and mental existence. What he brongs forth, first with Scanners then later on with Videodrome and The Fly, was something both horrific and seductive. Who wouldn’t want to have such abilities as Vale and Revok had at their command. But by the end of Scanners the film posits the question of how much of one’s humanity must be sacrificed for such huge leaps on the evolutionary ladder. Will the resulting amalgamation of nature and technology still leave something human or just something that pretends to look like one.

Some have called Scanners a horror movie and some have called it a sci-fi thriller. It’s both those and more. It’s really hard to pin down just exactly which genre Scanners falls under since Cronenberg never tried to stay within one particular one. The film works as a thriller, as a science-fiction story, a horror flick and a philosophical exercise in examining the human condition. Cronenberg’s skill was clearly evident in keeping all these differing themes and genres from becoming out-of-place and bringing the finished product from becoming too flawed. Cronenberg’s first foray into this new phase of his filmmaking career ushered in what some have called Cronenberg at his most daring and pure. I wouldn’t argue with such an argument. Scanners is a film of great quality that would forever be used as an example of Cronenberg’s genius as a filmmaker.

Review: Dog Soldiers (dir. by Neil Marshall)

Posted on by Arleigh

Werewolf films have always felt like they’ve been given the short end of the stick when it comes to quality and artistry. In horror cinema, vampires tend to be the ones treated with glamour—getting richly developed lore, elegant aesthetics, and narratives that weave romance with menace. Werewolves, by contrast, are too often relegated to playing second fiddle, treated more as brutish monsters than complex characters. This isn’t to say there haven’t been standout entries in the genre—classics such as An American Werewolf in London, The Howling, and Wolfen proved that werewolf tales could be inventive, atmospheric, and even poignant. Unfortunately, many modern werewolf films still feel stuck emulating the aesthetics and narrative beats of the 1940s Universal Wolf Man formula, unwilling to evolve past its roots.

That’s why Dog Soldiers, Neil Marshall’s 2002 action-horror film, came as a breath of fresh air. Marshall, then an up-and-coming director from the UK, took the basic premise of a werewolf story and infused it with the pacing, intensity, and tone of military survival thrillers. In doing so, he leaned into genre hybridity, crafting something closer to Aliens meets Zulu, peppered with elements from siege films like Assault on Precinct 13 and even hints of Night of the Living Dead. This fusion not only differentiates Dog Soldiers from typical werewolf fare, it also helps the film sidestep some of the genre’s usual narrative pitfalls.

The plot is refreshingly straightforward and tightly executed. A squad of British soldiers is dispatched to the Scottish Highlands on what appears to be a routine training exercise. However, the mission is actually part of a covert operation led by Captain Ryan (Liam Cunningham) from British special operations. The higher-ups believe there is an unidentified creature prowling the remote wilderness—something worth capturing and experimenting on. Naturally, plans unravel almost immediately when the soldiers stumble upon the very real threat: a pack of predatory werewolves. In quick order, both the military squad and Ryan’s covert team suffer heavy casualties, forcing the handful of remaining survivors to retreat to the relative safety of an isolated country cottage.

At this point, Dog Soldiers shifts from a creature-hunt narrative to a tense siege story. The soldiers, along with Megan (Emma Cleasby), a young anthropologist who happens upon them while driving along a desolate road, barricade themselves inside the cottage. It’s a familiar setup to horror fans—a small, heavily outnumbered group defending themselves against a monstrous threat—but Marshall handles it with sharp pacing and escalating stakes. The werewolves never attack in full force right away; instead, they probe the survivors’ defenses, testing weaknesses, thinning numbers, and forcing improvisation. The incremental nature of these assaults keeps the tension high and recalls the strategic pacing of Aliens and Zulu. By the final act, the film’s momentum surges into a frenetic, revelation-laden climax, where buried secrets between the survivors come to light, confirming that the encounter in the Highlands was anything but accidental.

The performances are one of the film’s strongest assets. Kevin McKidd anchors the story as Private Cooper, a grounded, quick-thinking soldier with a contentious past involving Captain Ryan. McKidd brings a combination of sharp competence and understated emotional weight, keeping the film from tipping into camp even when the gore and action turn exuberant. Liam Cunningham’s Ryan complements this dynamic by embodying the archetype of the cold, mission-focused officer—aloof, calculating, and ultimately morally questionable.

Sean Pertwee’s Sergeant Wells deserves special mention for his portrayal of a gruff but paternal squad leader. Despite being wounded early on, Wells remains a symbol of resilience, offering the squad guidance and resolve amid desperate circumstances. Emma Cleasby’s Megan strikes a balance between being a narrative catalyst and a functional participant in the group’s survival. As the siege wears on, she lets slip fragments of information about the nature of their attackers, deepening the mystery and tension without leaning on clumsy exposition.

Then there’s Darren Morfitt as Private “Spoon.” His performance injects the film with a lively combat bravado that stands out from the rest of the ensemble. Spoon isn’t just a trigger-happy soldier—he revels in the absurdity and extremity of their plight, seeing it as an ultimate test of British military skill against impossible odds. His confidence and gallows humor recall Bill Paxton’s Hudson in Aliens, but with less overt panic and more disciplined enthusiasm. Spoon references historic battles like Rorke’s Drift—famously depicted in Zulu—as touchstones of courage, further cementing Marshall’s homage to siege war films.

For a production with limited resources, the effects work is impressively convincing. With a budget far below that of major Hollywood horror films, Marshall and his crew leaned into practical effects and selective creature reveals. Some critics have accused the werewolf suits of looking like men in costumes, but in execution the designs work well within the film’s framework. The creatures are tall, lean, and menacing without relying on heavy CGI. Importantly, Marshall applies a “less is more” philosophy reminiscent of Spielberg’s handling of the shark in Jaws. Full, lingering views of the werewolves are reserved for the final act, allowing the audience’s imagination to do much of the work until the climax. This restraint helps sustain suspense while ensuring that, when the creatures finally take center stage, viewers are already fully invested in the world of the film.

When the action does explode, Marshall doesn’t shy away from gore. Dog Soldiers takes a hard-R approach, delivering violent set pieces that are as visceral as they are functional to the narrative. Bodies are torn apart, entrails spill onto floors, and dismembered remains are devoured on-screen—a rare choice for werewolf films, which often cut away from feeding scenes. Yet the gore never overshadows the horror elements; rather, it complements them, reinforcing the brutality of the attackers and the hopelessness of the situation.

At its core, what makes Dog Soldiers so memorable and effective is its clever blend of genre DNA, drawing inspiration and structure from both Aliens and Zulu. Much like James Cameron’s Aliens, Marshall’s ensemble of soldiers must depend on each other to survive, facing off against an external threat in an environment where resources and options dwindle by the hour. The tension is ramped up through a progressive siege, with monsters probing at the group’s defenses, forcing rapid adaptation—an approach that maintains the audience’s suspense and empathy. The way the squad’s camaraderie is tested amid escalating shock and violence feels akin to the Colonial Marines in Aliens, with Spoon and Wells providing flashes of humor and heroism reminiscent of Paxton’s Hudson and Biehn’s Hicks.

Meanwhile, the homage to Zulu manifests in the setting and the sense of a last stand. The cottage becomes not just a shelter, but a makeshift fortress, echoing Rorke’s Drift in Zulu, where British defenders held out against overwhelming odds. Spoon’s direct references to the historic battle, coupled with strategic use of terrain and improvisational defense, strengthen the film’s identity as a genre junction—a supernatural thriller rooted in military siege drama. The sense of camaraderie, tactical ingenuity, and resilience facing certain death is palpable throughout, elevating the intensity far above ordinary monster fare.

By fusing these influences, Dog Soldiers revitalizes the werewolf genre and offers a reminder that horror doesn’t have to retreat into soft scares or ironic pastiche. Its hybrid approach creates a kinetic, emotionally resonant narrative, where supernatural terror and military heroism collide. The suspense not only builds from the threat outside, but also from the evolving relationships and secrets inside, giving the film depth and dimension.

In summary, Dog Soldiers succeeds not only as a visceral werewolf film but also as a smart genre blend, marrying elements of action-horror and siege war drama to make something memorable and genuinely thrilling. For fans of both horror and action cinema—especially those that crave suspense, teamwork, and practical effects—it’s an exemplary demonstration of how fresh vision can rejuvenate even the most familiar legends. Neil Marshall proves with his debut that he understands exactly what makes horror gripping, and with Dog Soldiers, he gives audiences a wild, unrelenting ride they won’t soon forget.

Review: The Thing (dir. by John Carpenter)

Posted on by Arleigh

 

In what may well be John Carpenter’s finest film—greater even than Halloween and Escape from New York—the director boldly remakes Howard Hawks’ 1950s sci‑fi classic The Thing from Another World and, incredibly, surpasses the original. Unlike Hawks’ version, steeped in Cold War anxiety, Carpenter draws more directly from John W. Campbell Jr.’s short story Who Goes There?, shifting the focus to paranoia festering within an isolated group of men. His setting, an American scientific station buried deep in the frozen desolation of Antarctica, becomes the perfect pressure cooker for suspicion, distrust, and barely contained madness.

Carpenter’s vision announces itself immediately. The film begins with an overhead shot of jagged, snow‑capped mountains—an endless expanse of icy barrenness. This stark imagery is paired with Ennio Morricone’s minimalist score, a low, pulsating bass throb that mimics a heartbeat. In just these opening moments, Carpenter and Morricone establish the film’s defining tone: desolation, unease, and a creeping inevitability. Carpenter never lets this sense of dread relent; the unease initiated in the opening frames lingers throughout, until the final note of the end credits.

Where the 1951 film wasted no time showing an alien in the flesh, Carpenter follows Campbell’s original concept more faithfully: the creature hides, assimilates, and imitates. It kills and replicates members of the Antarctic crew, transforming everyday interactions into moments of terror. This conceit allows Carpenter to stage his film not just as a monster movie, but as a psychological exercise in tension. Each man is a potential threat. Each argument, however trivial, is laced with suspicion. The audience feels trapped alongside the crew, caught in their spiral of mistrust. At its core, the film is less about the monster’s abilities than about what happens when trust is stripped away from a community forced to live in isolation. The most chilling moments often occur not during the creature’s violent reveals, but in quiet exchanges where fear and doubt spread faster than the Antarctic cold.

The special effects remain legendary, an enduring benchmark even decades later. In the early 1980s, CGI was not a viable option, so Carpenter entrusted Rob Bottin, then in his early 20s, with designing the creature effects. Puppetry, animatronics, latex, and rivers of stage blood combined to create some of the most grotesque and imaginative transformations ever put on film. The kennel scene—when the alien first erupts from the body of a sled dog—remains a horrifying pinnacle of practical effects, unsettling in its creativity and biological plausibility. Bottin’s work is still studied in film schools as a triumph of practical ingenuity. The tactile, slimy, unpredictable reality of these effects would be nearly impossible to replicate with CGI. If any film demonstrates why computer graphics can feel cold and weightless compared to visceral practical effects, The Thing is it.

Anchoring the film is Kurt Russell as helicopter pilot R.J. MacReady, equal parts rugged pragmatist and reluctant leader. Russell’s performance gives the film its center of gravity, portraying a man forced into command when order collapses. Keith David brings an equally commanding presence as Childs, his wary, confrontational energy making him a perfect foil to Russell. The ensemble cast is one of Carpenter’s great strengths here. Each character is distinct, each performance meaningful; there are no throwaway roles. Even smaller parts resonate, as every man crumbles at his own pace under the weight of fear. One of the film’s most unsettling turns comes from Wilford Brimley, whose genial, trustworthy persona makes his gradual descent into paranoia and violence all the more disturbing.

The music deserves as much recognition as the visuals. Rather than scoring the film himself, as he had done in his earlier works, Carpenter handed the task to legendary composer Ennio Morricone. The gamble paid off. Morricone’s spare, throbbing motifs mesh seamlessly with Carpenter’s minimalist style, complementing the stark visuals rather than overwhelming them. The score is skeletal, almost primal—music that feels less composed than unearthed, vibrating with dread. It remains one of the finest examples of how sound can serve as a force multiplier for tension.

The Thing is not for the squeamish. The violence is graphic, the gore extreme, and the imagery deeply unsettling. Yet for those who admire masterful filmmaking, it stands as essential viewing: a perfect marriage of vision, execution, and atmosphere. For students of cinema, it offers a lesson in how genre filmmaking can transcend cliché and attain something close to pure, operatic terror. In the end, Carpenter’s The Thing is more than a remake—it is a redefinition. It strips away the veneer of mid‑century optimism and replaces it with a stark meditation on distrust, survival, and the alien within us all. Few horror films hold up this well or manage to stay this scary for fans old and new.

Review: Henry – Portrait of a Serial Killer (dir. by John McNaughton)

Posted on by Arleigh

“It’s always the same… and it’s always different.” — Henry

John McNaughton’s directorial debut deserves its reputation as one of the most unsettling first features in American cinema. Working with a reported $125,000 budget, a committed cast and crew, and the premise of fictionalizing a week in the life of serial killer Henry Lee Lucas, McNaughton created something raw, unflinching, and difficult to shake. Completed in 1986 but held back from its eventual 1990 theatrical release by a prolonged ratings battle, Henry: Portrait of a Serial Killer challenges more than the audience’s tolerance for violence. It challenges the reassuring conventions through which movies usually make violence entertaining.

Loosely inspired by Lucas rather than functioning as a faithful biography, the film offers neither a comprehensive criminal history nor an explanation that makes its subject comfortably understandable. Its Henry exists in an American landscape of cheap apartments, anonymous streets, and seemingly endless highways. Roger Ebert described the film as “an unforgettable portrait of the pathology of a man for whom killing is not a crime but simply a way of passing time and relieving boredom.” That observation gets at its horror: murder has become part of the texture of Henry’s everyday existence.

The opening establishes that perspective with devastating economy. McNaughton presents bodies left behind in different locations, cutting between the aftermath of violence and Henry moving through ordinary surroundings. We encounter the results before we can impose a familiar dramatic structure on them. These deaths are not arranged as the satisfying conclusion to a chase or the payoff to an elaborate suspense sequence. They register as abandoned lives, their stillness made more disturbing by the suggestion that the man responsible has already moved on.

That approach gives the film its grim, almost documentary texture. Its power comes less from the quantity of blood than from the absence of comforting distance. There is little visual glamour to soften the ugliness, and little sense that the violence belongs to a separate, recognizably cinematic universe. The rooms are cramped, the conversations awkward, and the surroundings indifferent. McNaughton makes the extraordinary horror of murder coexist with the dullness of daily life. What unsettles us is not simply that Henry kills, but that killing seems to interrupt his routine so little.

Michael Rooker’s performance is essential to that effect. He does not announce Henry’s dangerousness through constant theatrical menace. Instead, he gives him a watchfulness and emotional opacity that make his quieter moments as troubling as his outbursts. Henry can appear withdrawn, practical, even momentarily considerate, without becoming someone we truly understand. Rooker refuses to turn him into either a charismatic monster or an easily diagnosed collection of symptoms. We keep looking for a stable personality beneath his behavior, only to discover how little reassurance that search provides.

Henry’s former cellmate and roommate, Otis, supplies a different kind of ugliness. Played with repellent enthusiasm by Tom Towles, he initially seems more buffoonish than threatening. That impression gradually collapses as Henry introduces him to murder. Where Henry often appears detached, Otis becomes excited by the possibilities. Violence gives him an outlet for impulses that were already present, and his growing enthusiasm makes their companionship increasingly sickening. Henry does not create Otis’s cruelty so much as offer it permission and a practical education.

[youtubhttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qxxZ8yspQyw]

Their relationship reaches its most disturbing expression in the videotaped home invasion. The sequence strips away whatever distance remains between violence as an event and violence as something consumed. When the recording becomes material for playback, Otis’s pleasure forces us to confront the relationship between perpetrator, spectator, and image. His desire to revisit the murders is repulsive, but the film makes that revulsion uncomfortable rather than easy. We, too, are watching images of people being brutalized, although our reasons for watching may be entirely different.

This is where Henry becomes more than an exercise in endurance. McNaughton raises a question about spectatorship without pretending that every audience member has the same response. Do we recoil, become numb, or continue watching because the film has made looking away feel like abandoning its argument? The sequence does not prove that watching fictional violence makes someone equivalent to Otis. Instead, it exposes how framing, repetition, and emotional distance can transform suffering into a consumable object. The distinction between his appetite and our attention remains crucial, but it is no longer comfortable.

Henry’s relative restraint beside Otis creates another trap. Because Otis expresses such obvious delight in degradation, Henry can begin to look like the lesser evil. His apparent detachment becomes something we are tempted to mistake for a boundary, perhaps even a surviving moral principle. Yet indifference is not mercy, and a lack of visible excitement does not diminish the suffering he causes. The film understands how desperately an audience will search for someone to identify with, then makes that instinct a source of dread.

Becky, Otis’s sister, gives that search its emotional weight. Tracy Arnold brings vulnerability to a character whose longing for affection makes Henry’s occasional gentleness seem meaningful. She wants to believe that escape is possible, and the audience wants to believe it with her. Their scenes allow the possibility of another kind of movie to emerge: one in which damaged people recognize each other and find some fragile way forward. McNaughton lets that possibility exist without promising that Henry can fulfill it.

The ending destroys that hope without turning the destruction into a conventional climax. As Henry and Becky leave together, their departure briefly resembles an escape from the ugliness that has surrounded them. We are ready to interpret movement as progress and tenderness as transformation. The final roadside image exposes how much we have supplied ourselves. Henry has not necessarily changed because someone loves him, nor has the story become redemptive because we need relief. What remains is the road, his mobility, and the terrible suggestion of repetition.

I consider Henry: Portrait of a Serial Killer a great work of American filmmaking because its severity serves a coherent purpose. Its ugliness will repel some viewers, and its methods deserve scrutiny rather than automatic praise for being uncompromising. But McNaughton does not use brutality merely to decorate a thin story. He builds a character study around the absence of the explanations and consolations we expect. The result is not entertainment in any reassuring sense. It is a confrontation with a man whose capacity for murder exists alongside an almost unbearable ordinariness—and a film that refuses to make that contradiction easier to live with.

Review: Oldboy (dir. by Park Chan-wook)

Posted on by Arleigh

2003 would go down as the year a master filmmaker emerged from the ranks of the independent circles to the forefront of elite directors. Park Chan-wook was already well-known amongst the indie circuit as an innovative director coming out of South Korea’s burgeoning film industry. He’d already released such well-received films as Joint Security Area and Sympathy for Mr. Vengeance. In fact, the film in question that’s propelled Mr. Park to the forefront would be the second part of a film trilogy dealing with the existential nature of vengeance and its effect on all involved. Oldboy follow’s Sympathy for Mr. Vengeance like a sonic boom and inproves on the first leg of the trilogy in every way.

Oldboy at its most basic is a revenge film. It is a film about a man wrongly and mysteriously imprisoned for reasons unknown to him and to the audience. We see Oh Dae-su — the man in question — through his 15 years of mysterious imprisonment and we see him change from the Average Joe from before his kidnapping to a taut, volatile and somewhat insane individual whose only goal in life is to find whoever did this to him and make him pay. Oh Dae-su’s imprisonment takes a good part in the telling and makes up the first third of the film’s tale. As the years go by we see him spiral down to the lowest depths a man can get to before sanity leaves him. There’s no evidence that he didn’t go insane during his imprisonment, but Park does show us scenes that Oh Dae-su’s singular focus to find out why he was imprisoned and to exact revenge on those involved might have just unhinged the poor man in the process.

The second part of the tale being told occurs the moment Oh Dae-su was suddenly — as mysteriously as his imprisonment — released. One moment he’s still in his prison where his only contact with the outside world is the TV in his room and then he’s on the rooftop of a building with new clothes on and a suitcase with more clothes and his notebooks where he’s listed all the names he thinks may have caused him this wrong. From here Dae-su goes on a whirlwind search to find clues and information on who may have imprisoned him. Along the way he meets the young sushi chef Mi-do who seem to have taken some interest in Oh Dae-su’s well-being and who slowly falls in love with him. It is their journey through the maze and labyrinth of false leads and trails that dominate the second third of this tale. It is also the part of the film where Oh Dae-su’s monster persona takes precedence as he wreaks havoc on anyone and everyone who may have the information he needs to solving the mystery of his imprisonment.

Many have already mentioned the wince inducing pliers scenes and the single-take corridor fight scene. But it is the lovemaking scene between Oh Dae-su and Mi-do that I consider the most pivotal scene of this part of the tale. With the two characters finally consummating their mutual attraction to each other we see the two as not separate entities but a singular one where both will reap whatever their search will sow in the end. Mi-do becomes less of a sidekick and more of an equal partner in Oh Dae-su’s search. She knows that the only way she and Dae-su would find true happiness together is if she helps him finish his quest even if it means finding the truth that may not be to their liking.

The third and final part of this tale finally puts to light just who exactly is the mastermind of all that has transpired. The clues picked up by Oh Dae-su starts to fall into place and the puzzle that opens up for him and the audience is nothing less than tragic and Shakespearean. This third part really hits the audience between the eyes about the nature of vengeance and how all-consumming it can be if allowed to simmer, grow and take root. We see how it has already driven Oh Dae-su to the brink of madness and how he teeters just beyond the point of no return. Then on the mastermind of the whole thing we see how one slip of the tongue in the distant past of all involved has consumed this individual to exacting a complex and appropriate plan of revenge on Oh Dae-su. As the tragic and heartwrenching final part of the tale weaves and continues to its conclusion no one ends up being the victor. All have become just the victim of the cycle of violence and vengeance thats taken hold of everyone.

Park Chan-wook’s direction was flawless and there’s not a wasted scene from beginning to end. Every scene was shot and edited with a sense of purpose to convey the mood and feel of the situation. It didn’t matter whether it was a a slower-paced scene where the actors conversed in intelligent dialogue or a scene full of frantic energy where burst of violence seemed both randomly shot but choreographed at the same time. The composition of the scenes and his judicious use of wide-angle and static shots with little editing helps convey the single-minded focus of Oh Dae-su and his main antagonist. Some of the scenes even show hints and clues to the audience that — as unlikely as it might seem — the whole film might be a figment of Oh Dae-su’s fractured mind as a consequence of his imprisonment. Park Chan-wook doesn’t answer whether it is a figment of Oh Dae-su’s imagination, but the theory is there for people to ponder over.

The screenplay written by Park from the original Japanese manga was excellent and doesn’t waste unnecessary exposition to distract the audience from the main tale being told. Everything said and acted on the screen ultimately leads to the shocking climax in the end. In fact, I would say that the climax of the film doesn’t happen until the very last second of the film before everything fades to black and the credits roll. That’s how tightly written and focused the screenplay was from beginning to end.

Then there’s the three main characters as played by Choi Min-sik , Yu Ji-tae , and Kang Hye-jeong. These three actors play their parts to perfection. Choi Min-sik as Dae-su Oh was a picture of focused madness. We invest in his quest for vengeance and as the final secret was unveiled we truly feel his shock, horror and anguish. Yu Ji-tae plays the mastermind of the whole thing with icy calculation. This was a man who had spent half his life working on, preparing and letting loose the events that would lead to him finally getting his revenge on Oh Dae-su. The two, though after the same goal of vengeance, are diametrically opposed in terms of look and personality. Then we have Kang Hye-jeong as Mi-do, the young sushi chef caught in the middle of this duelling vengeance tale. She was both endearing, innocent and the pure soul that keeps Oh Dae-su from spiralling into final madness. It truly becomes tragic that the final consequences of the vengeance wrought by both male principals impacts the female in the middle and in the end she remains oblivious to the truth and Kang Hye-jeong conveys this sincere, innocent naivete to sweet perfection.

There’s much more to say about Oldboy, but its really just more accolades to be heaped upon a near-perfect film. A film exploring the darker side of man’s inhumanity towards one another to satiate their self-righteous quest for so-called “justice” and retribution. Like Cronenberg’s A History of Violence, Park’s Oldboy also shows the unending cycle of vengeance heaped upon vengeance in addition to the violence it inherently breeds. Like Cronenberg’s 2005 film, Oldboy doesn’t fully answer this existential question but leaves it up to the viewer to make their own decision. Park Chan-wook’s Oldboy is a film that comes but once in an era and helps redefine an era of its place in film history. Oldboy also continues the vengeance trilogy with Sympathy for Lady Vengeance (shortened to just Lady Vengeance here in North America). Oldboy marks the true arrival of one of the new masters of film and he joins the fine company of such people as Scorcese, Cronenberg, and Kubrick. A near-perfect film all-around.

Indie Short Film – Plague (dir. by Matt Simpson) w/ review

Posted on by Arleigh

“Plague is a Horror short focusing on an isolated journey into the unknown. We follow Vilhelm, an illegal migrant and gun runner, who is trying to make a new beginning.

When he arrives in London, The dead rise and consume the living. can Vilhelm escape the bloodbath?”

Thus describes the premise for a fine of a short indie film by Australian filmmaker Matt Simpson. Plague has a running time of just over 17 minutes, but in that brief time he has crafted a well-made zombie short film. When I first heard of this film I was hesistant to check it out since I’ve been fooled and burned in the past about so-called great zombie short films done by aspiring filmmakers on a shoestring-to-no budget.

I finally decided to watch it and I am definitely kicking myself for not doing it sooner. Matt Simpson’s Plague is one of the best indepedent horror short film I’ve seen in quite awhile. Done on a very minuscule budget the film definitely looks like it was a labor of love from a filmmaker who knows the zombie subgenre and respects its traditions and trappings. Despite the shoestring budget this filmmaker deftly avoids giving his film that amateur home video appearance that seem to plague (no pun intended) most short films. The way this film was shot and edited tells me that Matt Simpson has a future as a filmmaker if he decides to continue on that path.

The story is pretty simple with dialogue kept at a minimum. Most voice-over use in films usually don’t come off well and seems to be more of a narrative gimmick to hide inadequate performances from  the cast. This time around the use of the voice-over makes sense since there’s only one speaking role and the rest zombies through most of the film. There’s two scenes where some dialogue between characters were required but they were handled well and fit the scenes. Joseph Avery who plays the role of Vilhelm doesn’t do the voice-over but instead left to one Costa Ronin who gives a very good reading with a Slavic accent without making it too heavy.

A zombie short film can’t be a zombie film without showing some zombies and the requisite gore the subgenre requires. The make-up effects on the zombies and the damage done to their victims does not look like amateur-hour. Most zombie short films use white paint, some heavy mascara around and eyes and maybe some whipped up blood to simulate a zombie. Simpson actually took the time to create zombie make-up effect appliances and uses enough of it to make the zombies look believable. While not all the effects work was perfect they were all done well enough to hide the “strings” so to speak.

All in all, Plague is a gem of a find in the dregs of most zombie short films which infests the internet. While the film still shows some growing pains for this aspiring filmmaker he does have a handle on not just the flow of storytelling, but in the editing process which assists in pulling the narrative together. Even the greatest screenplay could end up becoming a bad film when employing a bad editor and/or editing process. I hope that Mr. Simpson continues to hone his craft and finds a way to have his talent discovered by studio heads looking for the next young director to mentor.

PLAGUE – OFFICIAL SCREENER from Matt Simpson on Vimeo.

Review: Terminator Salvation (dir. by McG)

Posted on by Arleigh

It has been 25 years since a certain James Cameron introduced the film-going public to the post-apocalyptic world of Judgement Day. While he’s never really fully shown the war-torn future ruled by the machines in the the two films he directed in the Terminator franchise he does show glimpses of it. It’s these glimpses of desperate humans fighting to survive against Skynet and its machine hunter-killing robots which have always intrigued and made its fans salivate at the thought of seeing it realized. Terminator 3: Rise of the Machines in 2003 tried to show how it all truly began, but again it just hinted at the future battlefield and not the full-blown war. It is now 2009 and the most unlikely filmmaker has finally shown what the future of Judgement Day looks like. McG’s Terminator Salvation succeeds and fails in equal amounts yet has laid the groundwork for the future of the franchise as a war series instead of of its past as installments of what really is one huge chase film.

There are many things which work in Terminator Salvation and one of them happen to be its director McG. A director who is much-maligned for his too campy Charlie’s Angels set of films would’ve been the last name to look to for a restart to the stalled franchise. His direction of this fourth entry in the series was actually very well-done. There’s none of the cartoony and way over-the-top action set-pieces of his Charlie’s Angels past. Instead he moves the film along in a brisk and energetic pace with very little downtime for much introspection. It is this pacing which makes this a good and, at times, an above-average action-film but also serves to make any of the scenes questioning what it is to be human (once again) and machine seem tacked on. The first three films in the series have delved into this theme and question too many times for a fourth attempt make it seem any more relevant than the previous times.

McG went out to make a war entry to the series and to an extent that’s what he did. While there are chases to be had it doesn’t necessarily mean its all about John Connor once again (though the film does make it a point of targeting him again in its own fashion). Terminator Salvation has finally shown what the world looks like after the events of the third film and what had been hinted and teased at in the first two. The world is a desolate place with ruins of landmarks to give the audience a reference point. We see Los Angeles a tumbling and crumbling wreck which looked eerily like something out of the recent Fallout 3 scifi-rpg game. Even San Francisco makes a post-apocalyptic appearance as a major Skynet headquarters. McG achieves this post-apocalyptic look by bleaching out the film’s color palette to the point that browns and greys dominate. He actually achieves to add grittiness to this film which his past films had never shown him having the ability to do. While this film won’t sway people to admiring his skill as a filmmaker it does show some  growth. Then again he does have a hold of a film series which is nothing but B-movies elevated through bigger budgets and access to the latest in film FX. If I have any gripe to point out about the action in the film it’s that there’s not enough of it to truly convey a “War Against the Machine” scenario. We get these tantalizing hints, but not something on par of what a fuure war should look.

The budget could be seen on the screen as the film uses a combination of CGI and practical effects to pull off a much more complex robotic army for Skynet. It’s the robots and machines which keeps bringing the audience back each and every time the series releases a new entry. We don’t just have the Human Resistance fighting the typical T-800 or even the more advanced T-1000 or T-X. We get the earlier versions of these human hunting and killing machines. From a brutish and zombie-like T-600 we see in the LA-scenes to newer and bigger specialized Skynet soldiers like the anime-inspired mech Harvester which towers several stories high and literally harvests humans it finds to take back to SKynet’s R&D bases. When the original Terminator does make an appearance it’s both a welcome and a surprise as McG’s technical wizards find a way to bring back the original exactly the way it’s supposed to look. I’m sure the Governator of California would want to have that physique and youth back.

As an action-film Terminator Salvation works well enough when the action appears on the screen. Now as a film that tries to delve into the philosophical trappings of the series it doesn’t so much as fail and sink the film, but almost does which would’ve been a shame. While not the worst in the series in terms of storytelling it does come across as very scattershot in what story it wants to tell. The film actually has three ideas which could’ve been used to make it’s own film. Is the film a story of John Connor and his rise to his prophesized leadership of the Resistance (he’s a leader of a branch of fighters, but not yet of the whole group in this film)? Or is this film about the search and attempt to make sure the person who will be Connor’s father stays alive to allow what transpired in the past to happen (time-travel can be a tricky and confusing thing to comprehend)? Or is Terminator Salvation the story of the new character Marcus Wright and his quest to find out just who, or what he is exactly? It’s all three of those and all three weren’t explored enough to make one care too much for the story being told. There’s great ideas in all three but trying to combine them into one coherent storyline mostly falls flat and uninsipiring for a film trying to be the war movie in the series. For what are war movies mostly but attempts to show inspiration in the face of desperation. There’s very little of that in this film. If the writers had been given a chance to further streamline the story into one major arc then this film would have benefitted greatly in the long run.

With acting very tightly tied-in with the story being told it’s only logical that the performances by the cast rarely go beyond acceptable. Christian Bale’s John Connor is always dour and brooding. He’s almost becoming a typecast for any role that requires for him to be the down man in any party. He does this ably, but he doesn’t bring anything to the role which hasn’t already been explored in past entries. His performance does show hints of mental instability as the weight of being the savior and prophet of the human race may be starting to get to him. The other two pivotal roles in the film have more meat to play around with. Anton Yelchin as the teenage Resistance fighter destined to become John Connor’s father in the past shines in the scenes he’s in as he elevates a bland script with some youthful energy and hints of the adult Kyle Reese fans of the series know so well. Then we arrive on the newest character in the series: Marcus Wright.

Little-known Australian actor Sam Worthington was recommended by James Cameron for the role of Marcus Wright. Like Anton Yelchin’s performance, Worthington’s work in the role of Wright saves the film from mediocrity. While it is not a start-turning performance by any means Worthington does make it difficult not to pay attention to him throughout the film. The man has presence and every scene he is in shows why Cameron himself has faith in being the latest to carry the Terminator torch. The rest of the cast is quite a throwaway in that we never really get to know any of them and invest anything in their well-being.

Terminator Salvation is a very frustrating film in that there’s so much great ideas to mine. The series has always tried to explore such themes as fate, predetermination and human free will. While the third film in the series was quite lacking in memorable action sequences this fourth entry makes a mess of trying to explore these themes. Again, it seems as if the film’s script was rushed into production with very little doctoring and as the production continued forward no one bothered to point out just how average and bland the storyline does sound despite being the most overly complex of the series.

One thing I am sure of is that the one person people thought would be the weakest link in this film instead happens to be its strongest. McG and some inspired acting from two newcomers keep the film from becoming a total failure. Terminator Salvation is an able and, for most of it’s running time, a very good action film with brisk pacing and energy in its action sequences. Enough of these elements keeps the film’s fractured and scattershot of a storyline from sinking the film into total failure. As a summer tentpole action film it delivers on some of what it promises, but it could’ve been more and better. Some would settle on calling this entry in the franchise a failure, but I am always an optimist and a fan of action thus I’ll land on calling this film a successful failure.

Review: Bubba Ho-Tep (dir. by Don Coscarelli)

Posted on by Arleigh

Bubba Ho-Tep was one of those film projects which just screamed out “can’t lose” the moment it the people who were going to be attached to it were announced. I mean for people who grew up watching horror movies and other such fun things during the 80’s would know of the name Don Coscarelli. His Phantasm franchise scared and creeped out a large number of young kids and teenagers as they grew up during the 1980’s. Author Joe R. Landale is not as well-known for the unread but he also brings big smiles to people who also like their stories to be full of quirky humor, dry sarcastic wit in addition to pulp-style horror and thrills. But the major coup this film had which made all genre fans suddenly smile and grin like fools has to be hearing that genre-veteran and B-movie extraordinaire Bruce Campbell taking on the role of an aging Elvis Presley.

The movie was released in very limited screens in the summer of 2002. In fact, the movie really only got shown during the summer genre film festivals which dealt with genre movies like horror, sci-fi and other so-called low-brow genre projects which the more elitist film goers tend to shun. Luckily I wasn’t too elitist enough to be able to find Bubba Ho-Tep playing in the San Francisco Film Festival. To say that what I saw was pure cheesy fun would do the film a disservice. While it’s true that the film had it’s moment of horror, I mean it is a movie about a soul-sucking Egyptian Mummy let-loose in a Texas retirement home. What I was surprised to see as I watched through Bubba Ho-Tep was just how much more than a cheesy B-movie horror flick it turned out to be.

The film pretty much brings up the scenario of how it would be if the real Elvis Presley was still alive, in his 70’s and wasting away in a Texas retirement home. That the Elvis Presley who passed away sitting on a toilet at Graceland was actually an impostor who switched places with the real Elvis after the genuine article decided all the fame, groupies and excessiveness of being The King was just too much and wanted a break from it all. So, the real Elvis lost his chance to switch back with his double and thus ended up forgotten in a Texas retirement home where the employees and caregiver treat him like a child and don’t believe him when he tells them he is the real deal. To make matters worse he now has to deal with a cowboy hat and boots wearing Egyptian mummy whose sole source of nourishment are the souls of the old retirees who inhabit the retirement home. The way the mummy sucks the souls from its victims become a running joke within the film. Let’s just say it doesn’t try sucking the souls out through the old folks’ mouth or nose.

Bruce Campbell has always been a mainstay of the B-movie scene. His popularity as being “The Man” who has inhabited such iconic cult characters such as Ashley “Ash” Williams of Evil Dead fame has made him a well-known actor to genre fans everywhere. Campbell could’ve easily hammed it up in the role of the aging Elvis Presley in Bubba Ho-Tep. No one would’ve faulted him for such an over-the-top performance, but instead of going that route he instead plays the role with such an understated and subtle style which made the character more human and sympathetic. Campbell’s nuanced performance also turned a horror-comedy into something more sentimental and sad. Bubba Ho-Tep had turned into a horror-comedy which had a unique and sympathetic look at how the elderly have been treated and seen more as nuisances and less than human. It doesn’t help that their cries for help once the mummy targets them for feeding fall on deaf ears as those hired to help them consider their pleas as the senile ramblings of someone whose mental facilities have long left them.

Campbell’s performance as “The King” was supported quite well by the great, late Ossie Davis whose role as an elderly black man who thinks he’s John F. Kennedy brings new meaning to the film cliche: buddy movie. Davis’ character truly believes that he was and is President Kennedy who was turned black through some conspiracy by Lyndon B. Johnson to save his life. At first, we the audience are in on the joke but due to Davis’ wonderful performance we begin to believe that he may be right. If cowboy-attired Egyptian mummies and an aging Elvis look real why not him. The interplay between Campbell and Davis makes for some great acting and comedy. Without these two men the film would’ve been relegated to the direct-to-video level of filmmaking. Instead what we get is a wonderfully crafted film which despite its pedigree still became one of the better films of 2002.

Don Coscarelli does a fine job of balancing the scenes of comedy and horror with poignancy without ending up with a film that’s too maudlin for its own good. It’s a good sign that one of the 80’s master genre directors has found a nice project to show that he hasn’t lost the edge and skill when it comes to making genre movies. He has also shown with Bubba Ho-Tep that one can have a horror-comedy without drowning it in gore (which this movie had a surprisingly little of) and juvenile slapstick. Even joke sequences involving aging Elvis’ penis with it’s unidentifiable growth made for genuine laughs instead of laugh for laughs sake. The same goes for the double entendre from JFK involving his Ding Dong snack. I think with anyone else at the helm of this picture the movie would’ve fallen either too much into gorehound territory on one side or inane slapstick comedy on the other end.

In the end, Bubba Ho-Tep was one of those rare little genre gems which transcends its genre pedigree and beginnings without meaning to. Like I said with the convergence of Coscarelli, Lansdale, and Campbell making the project happen this was one little movie that was bound to not fail. I highly recommend this movie to anyone who hasn’t seen it. Despite it’s silly sounding title the movie is more than just the sum of its cover.