2/14/15 (Part One): Hurting the Ones You Love

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aliens, Ben Huber, body horror, cabins, cinema, co-writers, dark films, directorial debut, feature-film debut, film reviews, films, Hanna Brown, Harry Treadaway, Honeymood, horror, horror films, husband-wife relationship, isolated communities, Leigh Janiak, Lovecraftian, Lovely Molly, low-budget films, Movies, Phil Graziadei, possession, relationship, Rose Leslie, writer-director

Every relationship has its “honeymoon” phase: whether weeks, months or years, there’s always a sweet spot in any new union where cloyingly sweet pet names are common, arguments are unimaginable and every couple seem joined at the hips. These are the times when lovers can while away an entire afternoon just staring into each other’s starry orbs, whispering sweet nothings while hand-feeding one another grapes. While the honeymoon is always great, it’s never where the actual meat of a relationship lies, however: once the initial “puppy-dog” phase is over, couples have to actually get down to the business of dealing with each other, a process which misses as much as it hits. For every couple that grow old together, there are plenty that implode after the rose-tinted glasses (and gloves) come off. Being with someone during the good times is easy: you know that you’ve found a partner for life when the bad times are equally appealing.

Leigh Janiak’s Honeymoon (2014) is, both literally and figuratively, about this happy little time: we pick up with the film’s lead couple right as they arrive at their honeymoon destination, immediately following their wedding. Bea (Rose Leslie) and Paul (Harry Treadaway) are that aforementioned google-eyed pair of lovebirds that make everyone else gag and roll their eyes: he calls her “honeybee” and she “buzzs” while lovingly touching his face, every comment is some sort of “sassy” quip. They’re obviously in love and perfect for each other, the kind of “quirky” renegades who serve Indian food at their wedding as a reference to their first-date food poisoning and have a cake made out of cinnamon rolls. She’s an outdoorsy-type who spent 12 years as a Girl Scout, he’s a city boy who doesn’t know how to fish…it’s the ultimate meet-cute, as if we’re beginning with the triumphant conclusion to any number of generic modern rom-coms.

But then, of course, little cracks begin to appear in the smooth surface veneer. Paul makes an extremely odd comment about Bea’s “womb” which seems to surprise him as much as her…a childhood friend of Bea’s, Will (Ben Huber), lives in the nearby town and there seems to some underlying sexual tension between the two…the swamps and woods that surround Bea’s childhood home seem to be teeming with life, yet we see very little of it. Things come to a head when Paul discovers Bea missing, one night, and frantically searches the woods for her. Upon finding her nude and crouched in the dirt, Paul is (rightfully) worried but Bea passes the incident off as mere sleep-walking. As Bea’s behavior becomes ever stranger, however, Paul is confronted with the disturbing notion that something terrible might have happened to his wife in the woods. Was she attacked by Will or is there something altogether darker involved, something with motives no rational human could comprehend?

After a somewhat shaky first act (Bea and Paul are so nauseatingly cute and broad, at first, that the first 15 minutes or so almost play out like a parody), Honeymoon smooths out into a reasonably tense, atmospheric chiller, albeit one that manages to be both a little too vague and a little to on-the-nose (no mean feat, if you think about it). While none of the events in the film are ever really explained, there’s a point, towards the end, where Bea still manages to give us a recap, of sorts, similar to the point in many films where we finally “see” how all of the events transpired. If it reads a little confusing, it actually plays even more so: rather than wrapping everything up with a bow, she just re-explains what we saw, without the benefit of any new insight whatsoever. It’s similar to asking someone for the score to a sporting match and then having them recap said match without ever mentioning the final score. I’m certainly not a fan of hand-holding but Honeymoon’s many “clues” come across as red herrings simply because we’re never given quite enough to go on.

Even if Honeymoon ends up making imperfect sense (I hope it’s a rather clever, subtle take on Lovecraft’s Shadow Out of Innsmouth but it could also be a much less interesting alien visitation tale…I’m really not sure), there are plenty of creepy scenes here and some genuine pathos to the relationship between Bea and Paul. While Leslie and Treadaway aren’t always convincing as a couple (Treadaway, in particular, has a certain way of delivering lines that renders particular moments rather artificial, especially when he gets more agitated), they have a reasonable amount of chemistry together and the final scene packs a fairly hefty wallop. Leslie, known mostly for roles in hit TV shows like Downton Abbey and Game of Thrones, strikes a nice balance between kooky, sweet and distracted: when it all comes together, she projects a quite winning balance between aloof and vulnerable.  While Treadaway isn’t quite as impressive here as he was in either The Disappeared (2008) or Cockneys vs Zombies (2012), he’s still solid and largely sympathetic.

As a film about a relationship, there’s plenty of authenticity to Honeymoon. More than anything, the film is about the subtle little ways in which couples feint and maneuver around each other, digging into past injuries, hinting around bigger issues and feigning smiles when in-depth conversations might better serve. In some ways, the film can be seen as a microcosm of a fledgling marriage, with the crisis that befalls Bea and Paul serving as their first real “issue.” One of the subtlest, most effective scenes in the film is the one where Paul stares surreptitiously at Bea as they toast marshmallows: even as they’re supposed to be having fun, we can see the pain and suspicion festering in his eyes. Despite the couple’s desire to just enjoy their time together, their internal dialogue speaks volumes. In a genre that’s often criticized for being about “nothing,” Honeymoon actually has something to say, which is a nice change of pace.

As a horror film, Honeymoon is also effective, although it often feels like a modified take on a traditional found-footage film, minus the subjective camera element. We get plenty of staples from that sub-genre (shadowy figures appearing behind Paul, security cam footage, the notion that things are happening just out of frame) along with some (subtle) Lovecraftian elements and a particularly slimy ode to either Andrzej Zulawski’s Possession (1981) or Scott’s Alien (1979)…take your pick. Throughout the whole thing, first-time director Janiak (who also co-wrote the film with Phil Graziadei) displays a fairly deft touch with establishing mood and tension. That being said, I couldn’t help but feel that the film could have benefited from a much darker, grimmier tone, ala Eduardo Sanchez’s knockout Lovely Molly (2011): aside from the ending, Honeymoon never digs the screws into the audience (or its characters) as much as it could, which ends up being a little disappointing.

That being said, there is a lot to like here. While Paul ends up being the focus of the story, in many ways, it’s always refreshing to watch a horror film that gives equal screen-time to the female lead: much of the body horror here is feminine in nature, which provides another parallel to the aforementioned Possession. The film is never out-and-out terrifying, so to speak, but it’s certainly a slow-burner, worming its way under your skin and culminating in a suitably sad, striking finale. For a low-key, low-budget indie horror film, Leigh Janiak’s Honeymoon strikes plenty of right notes: here’s to hoping her follow-up continues to raise the bar.

2/21/14: What’s in a Name?

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Alan Ford, Apple Dumpling Gang, Ashley Thomas, bank robbery, British films, British horror, cinema, Cockney rhyming slang, Cockneys vs Zombies, Day of the Dead, Edgar Wright, Film, film reviews, former Bond girl, getting old, Goldfinger, Guy Richie, Harry Treadaway, Honor Blackman, horror films, horror-comedies, Jack Doolan, Matthias Hoene, Mental Mickey, Michelle Ryan, Movies, old-age home, Rasmus Hardiker, Ray, Shaun of the Dead, Snatch, the East End, Tony Gardner, zombies

As a guy who dearly loves horror films in every make, model and vintage, I’m also someone who has to wade through more than the usual amount of crap. For every new film that blows me away, there are probably at least four (or nine) that inspire rabid cries of “Meh.” Part of the problem is that there are a lot of horror films out there: the genre has become sort of the “gateway-drug” for burgeoning filmmakers, if you will (although Corman will probably attest that it always was). Since there are only so many hours in the day, I often find myself having to make snap decisions about certain films as a form of pre-screening: if this is going to get 90 minutes of my time, it should probably be, at the least, entertaining. I’m actually a big fan of B-movies and “so-bad-they’re-good-films” but some films are just plain dull: moronic cash-grabs that were probably sold in bulk to online sites like Amazon and Netflix similar to how you can buy 50-gallon drums of ketchup at Sam’s Club. These films aren’t fun: they’re time-wasters and that time could better be spent with something genuinely wonderful/awful like Troll 2.

Sometimes I can tell by the production company: I always know what to expect with the Asylum or August Underground, for example, which is why I steer clear from pretty much anything with their names on it. Spectacularly crappy cover art can do it for me, too: if it looks like it was designed for a ’90s-era CD-ROM game, I usually pass. In this day and age of generic poster art, it’s getting harder and harder to use this as a reliable yardstick (most new films seem to have generic, terrible poster art) but some covers are just too damn obvious. If the film is directed by someone whose reputation precedes them (Uwe Boll, Michael Bay, Brian DePalma), I tend to proceed with extreme prejudice. Sometimes, however, one of the very best early warnings is simply the name of said film. If I recognize the name from a video game, I’ll probably pass. If the title features the phrase “The Terror of…” and isn’t followed by either Dracula or Frankenstein, I’m probably outta there. If there’s a “Vs” in the title (ala Strippers Vs Zombies, Strippers vs Werewolves), I’ll probably look elsewhere, although this particular rule is put to lie by a few films. There is, of course, the unmitigated awesomeness of Billy the Kid vs Dracula. There is Tucker and Dale vs Evil, possibly one of the finest horror comedies ever. And now, of course, there is Cockneys vs Zombies.

At first glance, Cockneys vs Zombies is just about as generic as it gets. We start with the lazy title, which seems to indicate exactly where the film’s sensibilities lie. There’s also the incredibly generic “zombie-arm-thrusting-up” artwork that graces the official cover art (the artwork for this particular blog comes from an alt cover, which usually tend to be more my speed). Put together, this is a film that I would probably pass by at any other time. I’d heard good rumblings, however, and I’m an unabashed lover of British cinema so I gave it a shot. The good news? Beneath the generic exterior, Cockneys vs Zombies is a rip-roaring comedy-crime-horror film that puts Guy Richie and Shaun of the Dead into a blender, pouring out a concoction that’s definitely more Shaun than From Dusk Till Dawn. This is a surprisingly good-natured film, despite the copious amounts of torn flesh on display.

The movie kicks off with a pretty cool sequence that introduces the zombie threat as the result of unearthing an ancient tomb rather than as the by-product of modern living. This jumps right into a dynamic, comic-book-inspired credit sequence that perfectly sets the mood for the rest of the film. Terry (Rasmus Hardiker) and Andy (Harry Treadaway) are a pair of brothers always one step over the line dividing “legal” from “go straight to jail.” Hard not to be, however, when their beloved grandfather Ray (Alan Ford) is one of the most notorious gangsters in London, albeit long retired. His retirement home is slated for demolition and Terry and Andy decide to do the only thing sensible: rob a bank with their moronic friend Davey (Jack Doolan), insane gun-runner “Mental” Mickey (Ashley Thomas) and locksmith cousin Katy (Michelle Ryan). As expected, the robbery goes ass-over-tea kettle mighty quick and the gang (which makes the Apple Dumpling Gang look like the Triad) are forced to take hostages. When they finally bluster out of the bank, however, they discover that everything, including the surrounding cops, has been over-run by your standard, garden-variety zombie outbreak. The group must work together (not always the easiest the easiest thing when one of your members is a hair-trigger gun-nut with a metal plate in his head) and make their way to Ray’s retirement home, where the decidedly non-helpless septuagenarian has organized the various old men and women into a lean, mean, zombie-killing team. He might not need help but he’s more than happy to put a boot up the lads’ asses for botching the hold-up: he has a reputation to uphold, after all!

First of all, let it be said that Cockneys vs Zombies is legitimately, laugh-out-loud funny. Similar to other well-made horror-comedies like the aforementioned Shaun of the Dead and Tucker and Dale vs Evil, C vs Z gets much of its biggest laughs from character development and well-timed extended jokes. While the film has plenty of fun gently ribbing the various clichés of zombie films (one character remarks that he’s surprised the dead don’t move faster, to which another quips, “Well, they’re dead, aren’t they?”; an old man “outruns” a horde of extremely slow zombies while using a walker), it has much more fun blowing holes in the conventions of gangster/Brit-crime films. Alan Ford, in particular, is absolutely magnificent as Ray, the hardest old man in the entire galaxy. Playing a role that’s like an age-advanced version of Brick Top in Snatch, Ford doesn’t chew the scenery: he napalms the landscape and toasts marshmallows in the ruddy glow. Ford is so intense, so spot-on endearing that he’s almost like a black hole: it’s impossible to escape his orbit for any given scene. In fact, the absolutely bananas ending, where Ray yells out “Oi, zombies: get the fook outta me East End” as he machine-guns hordes of the ravenous dead was so epic that I almost restarted the movie from scratch as soon as it ended. There’s a whole lot going for C Vs Z but don’t think for one minute that it would be half the film it is without Ford’s take-no-prisoners performance.

The rest of the cast, while nowhere near as magnetic as Ford, still bring their A-games. Hardiker and Treadaway are completely likable and believable as the slightly dense brothers who really do love their granddad and are always just one bad idea away from success. Ashley Thomas, as Mental Mickey, gets to chew up whatever scenery Ford leaves intact and he’s consistently fun to watch, even if his delivery eventually approaches cartoon levels. Tony Gardner deserves special mention as Clive, one of the hostages and just about the biggest douchebag to grace the screen in some time. Astute viewers might also notice former Bond girl Honor Blackman (Goldfinger) as one of Ray’s fellow rest-home residents. Like similar British crime-comedies, C vs Z is very much an ensemble piece and the whole cast works amazingly well together.

I’ve already said that Cockneys vs Zombies works great as a crime film: how does it fare as a zombie film? To be honest, it does pretty damn well. In some cases, I’d actually rank it above Shaun of the Dead, although Wright’s film is probably more consistent. There are two set-pieces in particular, the aforementioned walker vs shufflers bit and another where the tied-up hostages must navigate around a hungry zombie, that easily stand up to the best in the genre and the rest of the action is pretty solid. The gore, for the most part, is practical and looks pretty good: one of the characters dies in a manner reminiscent of Capt. Rhodes “wishbone” death in Day of the Dead and it’s definitely a little urp-worthy.

Ultimately, Cockneys vs Zombies is an incredibly fun, fast-paced and gleefully vulgar film that still manages to be surprisingly good-natured and vibrant. Whether the film is showcasing a character’s failed attempts at Cockney rhyming slang (culminating in one of the funniest, most fist-raising scenes I’ve seen in some time) or a white-knuckle double-decker bus chase, it never ceases to be endlessly inventive and wildly entertaining. Cockney’s vs Zombies has a genuinely smart script and some really interesting ideas floating around. As usual in these kind of British films, there’s a distinct notion of classism, made plain when Ray states, “We’re on our own: we’re old-age pensioners. We gotta take care of ourselves.” He’s taking about them, specifically, but he may as well be speaking for all of the old, poor and marginalized people who must fend for themselves. It’s a sobering reminder that the haves and the have-nots will experience whatever apocalypse might be coming in very different ways: some will observe from relative comfort while others will be getting dirty in the trenches. Cockneys vs Zombies, however, is a film that knows how possible, if highly difficult, it is for the little guy to make good. In the face of grave odds, the salt of the earth will always prevail. As Terry so eloquently puts it: “The East End has been through far worse. It’ll bounce back: it always has.”

He’s talking about them, specifically, but he could really be talking about any of us.