• The Return of the Living Dead

    The Return of the Living Dead


    A film that begins by claiming everything we are about to see is based on true events, and ends with an imminent Apocalypse, puts the viewer in a strange place indeed. Are we watching from the other side of a Doomsday we can’t even remember happening? Are we already on Team Zombie and we don’t even know it? Is this why the popcorn is so unsatisfying? Or has this movie been lying to us, just like that other movie lied…

  • The Heart Is a Lonely Hunter

    The Heart Is a Lonely Hunter

    The Heart is Lonely Hunter is my favourite book.

    The movie makes me think I should have probably hated it.

    I think I'm just going to hate the movie instead.

  • O Fantasma

    O Fantasma

    This movie is an inescapable sweat stain of a movie. Like being trapped under a sexual deviants armpit for an hour and a half. We become so acclimatized by watching nothing but the sexual misadventures of a garbage collector, and the films point of view is so disinterested in commenting on it in any kind of emotional way, that we become numb. Everything is so tedious it is hard to care enough to moralize, even as it becomes clear what…

  • Messiah of Evil

    Messiah of Evil


    Just because Messiah of Evil moves slowly, doesn’t mean you can catch up with it. Just because it methodically drifts from one familiar location to another—gas station, art gallery, supermarket, movie theater—doesn’t mean the life lingering there beneath our unwavering gaze, won’t still somehow sneak away towards something otherworldly. Every seemingly mundane scene seems to either begin with, move towards or organically transform into something we don’t quite recognize. A mechanic at the far end of a parking lot shooting…

  • Killer Workout

    Killer Workout

    Lives in the tenuous crosshairs where 80's aerobic videos and fist fights co-exist.

    The only slasher I can think of that would probably be just as good if it had no murders in it.

  • The Mummy

    The Mummy

    I prefer my mummies without hats.

    Could only be improved if Steely Dan's "The Fez" began to play every time he lumbers on set.


  • Mother's Day

    Mother's Day


    When I first saw Mother’s Day, I considered it grandma-friendly. I told her it was nothing to fret about. There was barely any blood. Not as much as I was used to, at least. Hardly violent, at all. “The Killers don’t even use knives”, I’d explained in the kitchen after she asked for details. “Instead, they just beat the girls to death”. It was impeccable seven-year…

  • Yesterday


    So bad it is worth considering the Beatles never existing, just so it couldn't.

  • Psychomania


    Into the frame they ride, hunkered down on their motorcycles, silently winding in slow motion round slabs of rock that stand solemnly like tombstones. Obscured in an English fog so thick that it could nearly get snagged in their ever turning spokes, these riders appear as little more than glum, leathery shadows as they churn round and round their cemetery like surroundings. These are the images that Psychomania opens up with, hazy glimpses into some sort of motorcycle afterlife where…

  • The Night of a Thousand Cats

    The Night of a Thousand Cats

    This seems like a movie that was salvaged from a fire. Only an hour of footage managed to be saved. Nearly all of it clips of a man in a cowboy hat, flying around in a helicopter, trying to pick up chicks.

    I can’t help but be reminded of The Passion of Joan of Arc, a film once presumed lost, until it was mysteriously found in a mental institution in Oslo decades later. It also finds power in repetition. All…

  • Onibaba



    Onibaba makes me think of bones. All that remains when everything has been picked clean. What gets left behind when life goes somewhere else. A reminder that you were once here, but don’t matter anymore.

    Hidden behind the tall grass, crawling in the dirt, and joylessly sucking on their own share of bones to sate their endless hunger, the characters in Kaneto Shindo’s film are an illustration of lives that continue after everything else goes away. Over the course of…

  • Freak Orlando

    Freak Orlando

    Freak Orlando reminds me of a Christmas where I looked at my blood underneath a microscope. Dozens of dancing red blobs, some wearing hats, all of them apparently drunk and bumping into each other. It seemed like a joyous party, until it all dried up and everyone died. Meanwhile my uncle, who had encouraged the analysis, sat nearby with a kitchen knife saying ‘neat, huh?’. I agreed.

    “The Greatest Christmas of all”, I beamed, dripping into the carpet.

    Freak Orlando…