Fidel Gastro

The Platform (Galder Gaztelu-Urrutia, 2019)

Occasionally, a film which has been on my radar winds up disappearing like Malaysia Airlines Flight 370. Netflix's The Platform (2019), or, if we want to call it by its original Spanish title, El hoyo is one such film. Helmed by a first time director Galder Gaztelu-Urrutia, The Plaform piqued my interest largely due to it being a dystopian sci-fi thriller where residents of the Vertical Self-Management Centre, a vast prison tower nicknamed The Pit, serve a given period in order to achieve their freedom and improved status in the outside world. The inmates are allowed one object while confined in The Pit, which can be anything from a weapon to a violin. Each day, these individuals are fed via a magically descending concrete platform laden with food. The catch being, it's the only meal of the day and those on the highest levels can gorge on as much food as they want once the descending platform spends a short limited time on their level. Thus, the higher-ups can feast like kings, while the lesser fortunate, further down, might face the very real possibility of starving to death. Hence, The Platform is an exploration of classicism, greed and the true test of human solidarity. A further twist to this situation is the inmates being reassigned to a random level at the start of each month. 

Frank Zappa lookalike Goreng (Iván Massagué) is the latest inmate. Armed with a copy of Cervantes's novel Don Quixote, it's not long before he's forced to learn the basic rule of survival inside the megastructure: Eat to survive! Goreng's cellmate, Trimigasi (Zorion Eguileor), a short and stocky elderly man with a misanthropic outlook on life, is wondering how long his new cellmate will last.Trimigasi is also pleased that he's on Level 48 in the complex; a relatively high level where food is more likely to be available from the upper level. More chance of leftovers. The disparity between the two individuals could never be more different; including the reasons for their admittance in The Pit. Goreng volunteered to be in their for an accredited diploma, while it was either a one year stint in the hell hole or forever in a psychiatric hospital for throwing a TV out of his window and accidentally murdering someone.

Goreng comes with the solution that it would be fairer to ration the food. An amused Trimigasi asks him, if he's a communist. Goreng attempts to persuade the higher ups, unsurprisingly, he's ridiculed. Similarly, his plea is also rejected by those below him. It's not helped when the odious Trimigasi urinates on the lower level after they complain about no wine being left, either. The elderly cellmate's logic being they would have done the same, if the tables were turned.

Trimigasi: The people below us are below us.

Goreng: Next month they might be above us. 

Trimigasi: Yes, and they'll piss on us. The bastards.

Goreng also has his first encounter with the beautiful Miharu (Alexandra Masangkay), a mute and battle-scarred woman, who rides the platform in the desperate hope of finding her child in the lower depths of the pit. Goreng is shocked by the notion of a child even being in the concrete hellhole. And yet, as Goreng's first month rolls by, he adapts to his environment; becoming more comfortable with eating from the platform and forming a close bond with Trimigasi. The scenes where he reads to his elderly cellmate and they exercise together for their mental and physical healths, are genuinely endearing.

Our cellmates' relationship takes a dramatic turn once the sleeping gas wears off and Goreng wakes up tied and gagged to his bed by Trimigasi. It's the start of a new month, and the pair are now way down the hole on Level 171. Starvation is very real. Trimigasi has been in this position before and survived it by resorting to cannibalism. The elderly man proposes a dark and twisted offer to his cellmate: he'll carve strips of Goreng's flesh to feed the both of them. In the midsts of his leg being cut up by the old cannibal, he's saved by Miharu and Trimigasi is subsequently killed by Goreng. Thus, the wannabe revolutionary himself turns to cannibalism in order to the rest of the month in the Pit. Having eaten human flesh, the act has made Goreng see visions of Trimigasi; haunting him from beyond the grave.

Another month, another twist of fate. Goreng is now on Level 33, a far more survivable part of the Pit. He's greeted by Ramses II, a sausage dog owned by a woman named Imoguiri (Antonia San Juan), the very same admittance officer who interviewed him for his application for the Vertical Self-Management Centre. Having lost her fight with cancer, the new inmate has decided to spend her final weeks learning of what her work has led to. She quickly learns how naïve she has been and makes similar pleas for solidarity and rationing to the other levels, echoing Goreng's first month. But it hits much harder for Imoguiri being a former employee for this diabolical construction. She has blood on her hands. How many have died here? Could her employers really have put a child in this ungodly construct? When the month passes, Goreng discovers he's on Level 202. Imoguiri has taken her own life. Once again, Goreng must eat human flesh. Another vision forever accompanying our protagonist. Imoguiri and Trimigasi now serving as our protagonist's good versus bad conscience.

Ascending to a more privileged Level 6 the following month, Goreng has a plan. Estimating there must be around 250 levels, our protagonist persuades his latest cellmate, Baharat (Emilio Buale), a religious man who literally gets shitted on by the higher-ups during an escape attempt, to descend to the lower levels with him in order to feed the prisoners below. They will demand the inmates on the first fifty levels to go without food for the day and use physical force if necessary to enforce it. During their decent, they encounter a scholar who suggests a message must also be sent to the hand that feeds them on Level 0; an untouched dish. The panna cotta is the message. 

The slow descent to the lower levels is easily the piece de resistance of The Platform. Gaztelu-Urrutia takes obvious inspiration from Dante's Inferno. The two cellmates traversing down on the magical concrete slab makes for compelling viewing. You're never sure what they expect. On one level you see charred remains of two people, on another two cellmates in a rubber pool, who turn out to be the film's story writers. A further twist is the platform going even further down than Goreng's estimation. It turns out out to be 333 levels. Two cellmates on each level. It couldn't be more clear what the Pit represents.

Gaztelu-Urrutia's commentary on capitalism and classism is about as subtle as being punched in the face by Frank Castle. Hardly, the first film with these criticisms, let alone the only that year. Bong Joon Ho's critically acclaimed Parasite (2019) was also released at the time. However, the South Korean black comedy, is a far more stylish and nuanced offering, whereas The Platform is ugly and austere. Incidentally, The Platform has more in common with Bong Joon Ho's dystopian sci-fi thriller Snowpiercer (2013), but the advantage of Tilda Swinton and Chris Evans not being in it. Another obvious influence is Vincenzo Natali's proto-Saw film Cube (1997) in its concept. Each of  The Platform's characters seem to represent archetypes in the dog eat dog world of the capitalist hierarchy: Trimigasi completely capable of committing evil to get to the top, while Imoguiri being blissfully unaware of her part in the brutal system she's contributed to until it's too late. Lastly, Goreng representing the socialist revolutionary striving for solidarity resorting to violence to enforce it after all pleasantries fail. The viewer never gets to see who runs the show, only a grim looking maître d' and cooks meticulously preparing the banquet of incredible food which is never enough to feed everyone.

The only real gripe is the ambiguous ending that I won't spoil. Considering how openly blunt the film's messaging has been, why opt for a cop out ending that's so intentionally vague? A notable sore point observed from other reviewers. Regardless, this wasn't enough to ruin my overall impression of the film. The many positives outweighed those final moments.

The Platform is a horrifying film; brutal, nihilistic and hard to recommend to any dog lovers. However, it's the film's sci-fi concept which is the most extreme aspect. The brutalist construct boxing everyone into various levels as an allegory to the class system. I absolutely loved this film so much, I immediately hunted checked out Gaztelu-Urrutia's two other subsequent efforts. Alas, both The Platform 2 (2024) and Rich Flu (2024 /25) are significant downgrades and even more infested with shameless Marxist propaganda than your kid's university. The latter film being utterly soporific despite a ridiculous premise of a virus which only targets the wealthy. In any case, at least comrade Gaztelu-Urrutia has one truly great film under his belt, making it a crying shame it's rotting on Netflix and not available on any English friendly physical format release.

Up to Snuff

Tesis (Alejandro Amenábar, 1996)

Video cassettes spawned a new way in how we watched films. Gone was the ritualistic process of having to find out what the local screenings were in advance; along with the potential of a film being ruined by a bunch of annoying twats sat in the auditorium. Video brought convenience to the masses. The ability to pause and rewind a specific scene gave us the ability to analyse with more scrutiny. It also opened a proverbial pandora's box. Mature content, bereft of a video classification, became more accessible to minors with lax parents; including theatrically rejected titles finding a new lease of life on video cassette. It would lead to the infamous Video Nasty hysteria. More importantly, it would usher in a new generation of extreme horror aficionados as well as a general desensitisation as whole in how society sees violence. This is the main backbone to Alejandro Amenábar debut thriller Tesis (AKA Thesis, 1996).

Ángela Márquez (Ana Torrent), a student at the Complutense University of Madrid, is researching the effects of audiovisual violence upon society for her thesis. She's introduced in Amenábar's film onboard a stationary train. Along with her fellow passengers, she's made to alight from the transport, as a person had thrown themselves in front of the tracks. With morbid curiosity, she scrambles to get a peak at the gory mess. An official guides her away from the gruesome sight. Ángela's ghoulish interest is also evident when she asks her tutor, Professor Figueroa (Miguel Picazo), to lend her some dodgy tapes from the university's video archives; for research purposes, of course. This begs the question: what kind of reputable educational establishment would have morally reprehensible content on its shelves? Ángela also enlists the help of weirdo student Chema (Fele Martinez), a loner known for having an appetite for extreme horror and pornographic films. 

The mystery unfolds once Ángela's professor stumbles upon a mysterious iron door in the archives and discovers a room with video tapes. Figueroa comes to an unfortunate end, when Ángela finds him dead in the screening room; apparently while watching the tape he retrieved from the archives. Whether or not foul play was at hand, remains ambiguous. However, given the professor's obese state and constant respiratory wheezing, he could have just as well popped his clogs whilst watching Mary Poppins (1964). Our protagonist grabs the tape and rushes back home, without reporting the professor's death to anyone.

Ángela attempts to watch the tape at home, but is too afraid of whatever horrors she will see. Instead, our protagonist records its sounds onto an audio cassette. Listening on her walkman, the chilling sounds of a girl being tortured are too much for her. Therefore, it's off to Chema's fly-tip of a hovel to get him to watch it and describe what's occurring on-screen while her back is turned. Whist her back is turned and Chema's grisly intrigue, the pair stumble upon the revelation that it's an actual snuff tape. To drive it closer to home, Chema recognises the victim as a former university student who disappeared a couple of years prior. Thus, much like that all too familiar giallo trope, Ángela and Chema become unwitting amateur sleuths in a film laden with curveballs and misdirections to sate fans of Hitchcock style thrillers and Italian gialli.

Apart from its dark plot, heightened tensions and palpable suspense, what really drives Tesis forward is how well written the characters are. Ángela and Chema are like oil and water. At first, our heroine is like a moth to a flame in her morbid curiosity. She can barely watch the horrors which draw her, but she gradually is able to face it once she spends more time with Chema. A similar transformation happens to her sidekick. He becomes much warmer to Ángela, once she realised, much of his obnoxiousness and edge lord behaviour is more or less a personal shield in dealing with the outside world. Ought to add, despite living in absolute filth, Chema is right up there Mark Petrie, Tommy Jarvis and Charley Brewster as great fictional horror aficionados. Chema unashamedly wearing a Cannibal Holocaust (1980) T-shirt to university and adorning posters of Shocker (1989) and Alien 3 (1992) in his grotty bathroom speak volumes to me. A stark contrast to Ángela's solitary film poster in her bedroom of My Own Private Idaho (1991). Which has me cheering for him to not to die, solve the mystery and get the girl, even if he does give off school shooter vibes.

 

Bad boy Bosco Herranz (Eduardo Noriega) enters the fray as another integral character in the film. He's spotted by Ángela operating the same model video camera linked with the recording of the snuff film. Equally damning, is his association with the victim from the tape. Looking like Spain's answer to Paul Walker (Pablo Caminante, if you will), Bozco has Ángela both swooning and terrified of him. A key sequence reveals Ángela's mental being, as she dreams of having sex with Bozco, before he stabs her. Worth mentioning, both Ángela's mother and sister are smitten when Bozco charms his way into their house. The complete chad to Chema's virgin. 

Despite the few instances which defy logic (the secret area behind the metallic door in the university's video archives, being the obvious one), a night club playing the most atrocious euro techno music, and being around fifteen minutes too long, there's a lot I like about Alejandro Amenábar's thriller. Abundant plot twists and a number of red herrings, make it constantly engaging. It's all the more impressive once you realise this is incredibly low budget, written and helmed by a twenty three year old film graduate shooting at his university, and more importantly, more enjoyable than Mute Witness (1995) and 8mm (1999), two other Hitchcockian style thrillers from around that era, also themed around snuff films.

Tesis swept up all the major Goya awards (Spain's answer to the Oscars) in 1997. Alejandro Amenábar would follow-up its success with his science fiction drama Open Your Eyes (1997). He would cast both Martinez and Noriega again, alongside the gorgeous Penelope Cruz. It would get the American remake treatment, retitled to Vanilla Sky (2001) and starring action movie midget Tom Cruise. The remake would also feature Penelope Cruz reprising her role. Amenábar would also deliver The Others (2001), a fantastic supernatural chiller with Cruise's other half at the time, Nicole Kidman. No idea what Amenábar is churning out today, but I can confidently claim, he came out of the gate running with his impressive talent as both a writer and director. Tesis is superb mystery thriller.

Here's a currently working YouTube link of Tesis. Not sure how long it will remain, though,

In Darkness

The Descent (Neil Marshall, 2005)

The first real sign of a British horror renaissance came with Neil Marshall's action horror comedy Dog Soldiers (2002). It turned out to be one of the few lycanthrope themed movies post An American Werewolf in London (1981) that was actually any good. The low budget gem would serve as an appetiser to the Danny Boyle main course that was 28 Days Later — essentially the game changer which gave new life to zombie films. Marshall avoided the dreaded sophomore jinx by delivering his own masterpiece, with the subterranean horror The Descent (2005).

Dog Soldiers had trained men fending against a pack of werewolves; The Descent would follow a similar formula with chicks an all girl, extreme sports collective pitted against the horrors beneath the surface of the earth. Chicks with picks! Ingeniously, Marshall would utilise the dark horrors of a huge underground cave system as a metaphor for trauma, loss and grief. These elements would appear nuanced, initially, becoming increasingly evident throughout the progression of his film.

From The Descent's opening credits, showcasing three of its adventurous characters white water rafting, the audience is introduced to a secret affair. The scenes are short, but linger long enough to imply there is something going on between ultra sporty Juno (Natalie Mendoza) with the husband of Sara (Shauna MacDonald), our protagonist. This is also witnessed by Beth (Alex Reid), Sara's closest friend. We're barely given time to process this situation when a tragic car accident results with the fatalities of Sara's husband and young daughter, Jessica. Sara wakes from her hospital bed, calling for Jessica as she wanders a liminal corridor. The harsh fluorescent lights swiftly turn off as she runs from the darkness. If this isn't a metaphor, I don't know what is.

A year after the tragedy. The three women are joined by three more adrenaline junkies; Holly (Nora-Jane Noone), Rebecca (Saskia Mulder) and Sam (MyAnna Burning), for the latest adventure organised by Juno. This time, it's cave exploration in the Appalachian mountains (it's really filmed in the UK). Call it reckless stupidity, but Juno tricks the clique by taking them to a completely different cave than they were meant to be exploring. Worst of all, she couldn't be bothered to notify any park ranger or a non-party individual of their actual location, either. Therefore, should anything go wrong, a search and rescue team would be sent looking for them in the wrong cave. Genius.

The situation turns serious once the claustrophobic tunnel they've just crawled through collapses, blocking their entrance and possibly, their only exit. Their only choice, is to go further into the cave and search for another way out. As one would predict, events go from bad to worse for the party. From having to traverse across a subterranean ravine, to Holly's succumbing to a broken leg after a fall, to the hundreds of animal carcasses they discover which are littered everywhere. Meanwhile, Sara has apparently gone doolally to everyone when she spies a distant man in the caverns. Worst case scenario is when she turns out to be right, but also, the added bonus of an entire clan of subterranean denizens, nowhere near as likeable as Wombles, holed up with them. Have a guess what their dietary preferences are?

Dubbed as Crawlers, there isn't much suggestion in the film as to what they really are, but the prehistoric cave art is an obvious clue. During the behind the scenes feature, Marshall reveals that the Crawlers are the evolutionary outcome of those human ancestors who had remained in the caves. The design of these feral creatures is first-class. The has made them blind. Also, the lack of any sunlight has made their skin alabaster white and clammy — a bit like Scottish folk. Their hearing, is far more acute than ours; with almost bat-like ears. The creatures emit dolphin sounding clicks as a sonar to navigate, possibly to communicate with one another, too. Very reminiscent of the Predator species sound. Crawlers are also incredibly nimble and dexterous at clambering over the rock surfaces. The male species are bald and hairless, while the females Crawlers have long, black hair.

For a film that's set beneath our feet, The Descent has an immense amount of visual interest to soak in. For instance, there are a variety of different looking areas of all shapes and sizes within this cave system. From expansive areas full of stalactites and stalagmites, to frightfully claustrophobic enclosures. My favourite mise-en-scène is the gruesome pool of blood. These were of course produced in a studio, for obvious safety reasons. An additional benefit, is how atmospherically lit the film is, considering it's entirely set in dark caverns. The use of flares cast a red illuminating light to everything, making it literally look like Hell. Chemical light sticks provide a sickly green glow, while the aid of night vision from the digicam adds a layer of found footage horror, which was commonly part of the trend in the 2000s thanks to the worldwide commercial success of The Blair Witch Project (1999).

Considering the era it was produced, what's truly advantageous about The Descent is its writing. Marshall expertly balances the tight rope of giving enough information about his characters, without burdening them with unnecessary exposition which would drag and potentially suffocate his film. Also, given how its predominantly all female characters, it's a blessing they're not eye-rolling, invincible girl bosses, as is the norm today by lazy and uncreative screenwriters. Juno for instance, has all the hall marks of your typical girl boss, and yet, beneath her tough veneer, is a flawed individual, who serves the film as both a secondary antagonist as well as character being somewhat sympathetic whilst striving to redeem herself. In contrast, Sara develops from an unreliable protagonist and a possible detriment for the clique, to a fighter battling both her own personal demons as well as the very physical ones. This culminates in an intense, and personally speaking, a cruel resolution between Sara and Juno in the film. Making it all the more memorable in the film.

Perhaps the worst offence committed upon The Descent, is the US cut completely editing out Marshall's downbeat ending, ruining Sara's psychological plight which is both prominent and pivotal to the true ending of the film. In a swift and choppy sequence, Sara manages to burrow out from her hell hole and drives as far away as possible. The twist being, it was only a dream. Sara is still trapped down below in the cave. Envisioning her deceased daughter blowing out a birthday cake. Twisted respite before the Crawlers finally reach Sara. Unfortunately, the imaginary escape is seen as the official ending, as the inferior The Descent Part 2 (2009) adheres to the terribly American ending. It isn't enough that Sara escapes, but she foolishly returns to the same cave for the sequel!

 

As enjoyable as some of Neil Marshall's later films were  — I'm quite fond of his obvious Escape from New York, 28 Days Later and Mad Max mash-up, the ridiculous Doomsday (2008), he never hit the same high as The Descent before working on more TV orientated work. Therefore, it makes it all the more invaluable in proclaiming The Descent is one of the best horror films of the 21st century, which by default, makes it one of the best films in general for your genre biased host. Considering, Dog Soldiers already received some 4K UHD boutique love, is it too much to request the same treatment for Marshall's masterpiece? One would say, no!

What an Excellent Day for an Iconoclasm

The Demon (Brunello Rondi, 1963)

Alarm bells tend to ring for me whenever a film is labelled as neorealism. There's nothing remotely real about them for me. Hence, going into Brunello Rondi's The Demon (AKA Il Demonio, 1963) came with a degree of hesitation. Thankfully, the frequent Federico Fellini (AKA Tinto Brass without all the smut) collaborator managed to bypass my defences with a compelling and virtual documentary like film set in the peasant confines of Lucania, Southern Italy. The Demon distinguishes itself from the cut and paste Bava-esque gothic horrors from this era by drawing a series of damning parallels between peasant superstitions to that of the Catholic church. The film would subsequently be banned by the Italian censors. A huge shame, as it's an excellent film from the Italian horror canon of the 1960s.

Allegedly based on a "recent, tragic true story" The Demon tells the tale of Purificazione (Daliah Lahvi), Purif for short, a beautiful peasant woman who is driven to madness and obsession after being given the push from her lover Antonio (Frank Wolff). Antonio is something of a player, as he's been seeing Purif on the side whilst engaged to another woman (a monumental downgrade in the looks department). The rejected woman's behaviour results with her becoming increasingly ostracised by both her superstitious family and Lucania's townsfolk. One example has her throwing a dead cat outside Antonio's home, making everyone think she is might be a witch or possibly possessed by the Devil. 

What's engrossing about The Demon is witnessing how the bizarre and superstitious customs of the townspeople are being equally as disturbing as Purif's actions. Before even getting to consecrate their marriage, Antonio and his bride are made to wait outside their bedroom while the elders prepare the room. A scythe is placed under the newly wed's bed ("to cut Death's legs."), while dried raisins are scattered in the form of a cross over the sheets to absorb any evil. Another scene involves Purif and other folk carrying heavy rocks to the town centre to metaphorically unload their sins. Each individual confessing their sin; from stealing a chicken, to having incestuous desires with their children. What a messed up town.

With such a restrictive and highly superstitious belief system, this makes Purif a sympathetic character in The Demon to a degree, as she is constantly treated cruelly by others for being perceived as evil. This is strikingly similar to Florinda Balkon's tragic witch lady from Lucio Fulci's Don't Torture a Duckling (1972). At one point, Purif is accused of straying the soul of a sick boy from drinking water leading to his death. She is beaten by her father. In another instance she is hog-tied and raped by a shepherd. A revered, local shaman is equally as bad as he sexually assaults her while masquerading in attempting to rid her demonic possession. These terrible events culminate to an unforgettable scene where Purif is desperately given the exorcism treatment by a Catholic priest in a church. Lavi's dancing experience pays off, as she spider walks for what is perhaps the most disturbing point in the film. Possibly inspiring the infamous deleted scene from William Friedkin's horror masterpiece in The Exorcist (1973).

Daliah Lavi's exotic looks and powerhouse performance are an irrevocable eye opener. Her role in Mario Bava's beautifully gothic and supernatural S&M The Whip and the Body (1963) was a real standout amongst her obviously-there-as-eye-candy roles elsewhere. Numerous camp '60s films such as James Bond cash-in O.G. Casino Royale (1967) and James Bond clone Some Girls Do (1969) are perfect examples of her talents being wasted, in all honesty. The Israeli soldier turned actress was essentially seen as the Gal Gadot of her era, sadly. In The Demon, however, she at least flexes some real acting prowess, fortunately. Lavi is mesmerising in her role. According to the late actress, this was her favourite role in her film career and understandably so.

Other than Daliah Lavi, American actor, Frank Wolff is the only other actor with the most screen time, as he is both the catalyst and antagonist in the film. Considering how insane Purif is, to the point that the townsfolk believe she is possessed, it's hard to be sympathetic to his character whilst he is taking advantage of her during her worsening state. Wolff appeared in countless Italian films; particularly spaghetti westerns. Perhaps his most recognisable role is his moustachioed Brett McBain, in a harrowing scene where he and his family are massacred by Henry Fonda's gang in Sergio Leone's all-time classic Once Upon a Time in the West (1968). Personally, I'm even more traumatised from the scene where he's turned on by Nieves Navarro seductively eating grilled fish in Luciano Ercoli's giallo Death Walks on High Heels (1971). (I'm totally aware the grammar of that film title is wrong. Blame the film makers!)

Carlo Bellero's lush black and white cinematography in The Demon manages to capture the ambience of Italian gothic horror while his documentary style footage of various religious traditions and customs appear like they're lifted from a vintage mondo film. That would explain why this formerly obscure Italian folk horror is sometimes tagged as neorealism, in some respect. A far more successful blending of two filmic treatments in comparison to Luigi Bazzoni and Franco Rossellini's convoluted, rustic giallo The Possessed (1965), which is obviously inspired by the look of Michelangelo Antonioni's films.

Didn't have any major gripes with The Demon, but I did find the whole convent scene before the climax of the film a tad trivial. Purif's previous run-ins with the clergy were effectively realised prior, so her brief time with the fearful nuns felt like unnecessary padding. Still, Purif's run-in with the nuns does result in some breathtaking scenery outside of the convent. The scene where Purif walks through a barb wire fence around a sacred tree being obviously symbolic.

As a staunch defender of exploitation films in general, it's somewhat disappointing Rondi went that direction. Any director who delivers a thought-provoking, subversive and beautifully crafted film like The Demon and to later helm sexploitation films like Sex Life in a Women's Prison (1974) and Black Emanuelle, White Emanuelle (1976) kind of missed their chance at being a world class director, to be honest.

Another gem from Severin's legendary All the Haunts Be Ours: A Compendium of Folk Horror Vol. 1; a box set that's still too expensive for me. However, I have managed to cover some great films from the collection which I eventually discovered down the line: Alison's Birthday (1981) Eyes of Fire (1983) and Celia (1989). The Demon is objectively the best film I've watched so far, which makes the set even more desirable than before. It's also another fine example why physical media is so important, since The Demon is rescued from relative obscurity and readily available for today's film aficionados with a penchant for world cinema and folk horror.

Murder in Mind

Cure (Kiyoshi Kurosawa, 1997)

The success of Jonathan Demme's The Silence of the Lambs (1991) set off a particular wave of psychological crime thrillers in the Nineties. The protagonists were often characterised with a mental hang up, such as a crippling trauma which needed to be overcome in order to finally take down the film's monstrous antagonist. These films were less action orientated and more adjacent to the horror genre. A major selling point was the killer's twisted methodology and his grotesque crimes. Kiyoshi Kurosawa's slow burner Cure (1997) is a stellar entry in this scene. The selling point being the killer supplanting  murder into the mind of others via his power of suggestion.

Tokyo detective Kenichi Takabe (Kōji Hashimoto) is tasked with investigating a string of murders which have plagued the city. The crimes are perpetrated by seemingly random people, who subsequently slash the carotid arteries, leaving a carved ‘X' on the victims’ necks. These actions are barely remembered by their assailants after they're caught. With the aid of Shin Sakuma (Tsuyoshi Ujiki), a hospital psychiatrist, the investigative pair make some headway discovering the random killings are brought upon by a hypnotist. The cool and calm Takabe also has to deal with his wife Fumie (Anna Nagakawa) succumbing to a deteriorating mental disorder. Both the case and his wife's illness are taking an immense toll on the detective.

As for Cure's heinous antagonist, Kunio Mamiya (Hasato Hagiwara), the dishevelled and mousy looking individual is introduced early in the film. A lost man on the beach, appearing to be suffering from amnesia when meeting his latest victim. With the aid of his lighter or spilt water, the drop out psychology student manages to hypnotise his prey before moving on. Thus, turning these random individuals who have had the misfortune in conversing with him into unwitting killers.

Despite some bloody scenes, Cure doesn't focus too long on the killings. Instead, it's the disturbing and uneasy build-up to these crimes which Kurosawa excels in capturing on film. One scene in particular, set outside a police box, shows the chilling act of a police officer gunning down his colleague so matter of factly. This is all filmed in daylight with one fixed point of view from a medium distance. The affect of which makes the whole scenario all the more disturbing, as it looks so mundane.

Cure possesses heaps of foreboding atmosphere thanks to an excellent combination of Tokushô Kikumura's gloomy and distant cinematography and a sound department able to make the drone of a tumble dryer sound oppressively frightening. Although preceding the J-horror boom by a couple of years, Cure's palpable atmosphere and pallid colour palette are arguably influential to the scene. The dark and flat visuals are pitch perfect with its subject matter. The production design of the various interior locations range from squalid, to urban hellholes. Thus, Cure shares some obvious common elements with David Fincher's Se7en (1995) not only with its premise.

Kurosawa has a great handle on showcasing Mamiya's power over others, not just with his hypnotic powers. The diminutive amnesiac can command a room with his sheer presence. A great example is the power struggle between him and Takabe in a darkly lit hospital room. During their scene, the antagonist manages to turn the tables as to has the greatest stature and command of the room. The camera composition frames the detective as the sick patient, while Mamiya slyly becomes the authoritarian figure.

Kind of shocked that Kiyoshi Kurosawa, a director associated with churning out low budget V-Cinema (Japan's straight-to-video) films like Door III (1996), managed to craft a gem of a cinematic thriller somewhere in between. Cure would be his belated break out success in international circles. The director would subsequently deliver the acclaimed, apocalyptic J-horror Pulse (2001), containing a similar look and under your skin vibe to Cure. A good film, but it's not one that I rate as highly compared to Cure; malevolent spirts from the internet don't exactly have the same impact for me as a serial killer Kenny Craig supplanting murderous thoughts into people's minds.

Embarrassed to admit that Cure is a new discovery for me. It's the type of psychological thriller that develops in a rich and intelligent fashion, without unfolding like some hackneyed police procedural which is so common today. A slow burn shocker that's so palpable, that it lingers on well after the closing credits; especially after that final scene. If you've seen it, then you know what I'm referring to. 

Highly recommended.

In the Doghouse

The Appointment (Lindsey C. Vickers, 1981)

Imagine if the same dreamlike and ominous atmosphere which permeated Picnic at Hanging Rock (1975) manifested itself with Edward Woodward driving a Ford Granada. That's the best way to describe Lindsey C. Vickers’s lesser seen, The Appointment (1981). 

Apart from the short film The Lake (1978) (which shares many elements with this film) and a host of second/third unit directing spots for various Hammer films, this was Vickers’s one and only feature film as a director. One and done like Herk Harvey. A real shame, as this unseen chiller is a bonafide gem.

The Appointment manages to convey a tremendous sense of foreboding dread throughout its run time. Even scenes that involve inanimate still life objects, like a flower vase, Vickers manages to turn it into prophetic doom, with fallen flower petals being a sign of what’s to come. This scene, along with an abundance of other moments, make for a compelling build up. Fortunately, the climax of the film manages to be equally as satisfying.

A pre-credits sequence involving a young school girl walking home is when the film's first major, and most unforgettable, shocker occurs. Whilst taking a shortcut through the nearby woods, she's shockingly grabbed and whisked into the dense undergrowth, never to be seen again. The only trace is her violin being crushed by an unseen entity. It's a disturbing scene; one which completely earns the rest of the film all undivided attention. 

Thankfully, the rest of The Appointment is equally as captivating. Edward Woodward plays Ian, the beige sweater wearing suburban dad, tasked with having to break the news to his bratty daughter Joanne (Samantha Weysom) that he won't be able to attend her violin recital, due to a work commitment. When she pleads for him to make it to her performance, it all gets uncomfortable. It’s a power struggle between the two. Not being able to attend his daughter's concert is perceieved as a betrayal, and seals Ian's fate. This is the crux of the story.

A restless night follows. Dad gets the worst of it with vivid bad dreams; one of which involves his wife Dianna disturbingly turning into Joanna. Another is where both Ian and Dianna experience the same nightmare, where Ian is involved in a very serious car accident. Meanwhile, a pack of mysterious rottweillers manage to stalk around the family's home and Ian's place of work. Not only are the canines the same breed as the demonic one from The Omen films, but they also behave the same way.

While the stealthy dogs are doing who knows what to Ian's car in the garage, the most disturbing part occurs when Ian is tempted to go into his daughter's bedroom. Joanne is awake and stares at the door handle. Wasn't until another viewing when I realised the supernatural source. 

Early in the morning, a tired and groggy Ian drives off to attend his long distance appointment. 

Really great how the sound of screeching tyres, which were featured in a nightmare, persist while Ian is resting at a motorway service station. It's a minor detail that lends to the impressive vibe of the film.

Ultimately, the significance of the mysterious dogs and Ian's upcoming doom become very apparent during the final act of the film, of which there's really no need to divulge any further plot details.

Considering The Appointment was released during the hayday of the video nasty, it's a virtually a bloodless affair. Foreboding, atmospheric dread is its main objective. Edward Woodward is great at playing authoritarian figures who’ve bitten off more than they can chew in horror films. For fans of British horror, it's a winner. Effective as a slow burn chiller that doesn't abuse one's patience with a long arse run time; and rewarding to the observant who can spot hidden clues and symbolism within the film.

The Appointment is one of the better films I've seen released via BFI''s Flipside imprint. Tragic how it's spent forty years in relative obscurity and doesn't even have an official trailer. Worst of all, is it spending another two years sitting in my unwatched pile until I got round to watching it.