Hell Bent for Leather

Her Private Hell (Nicolas Winding Refn, 2026)

Sometimes, a film comes along that really shakes up what I think makes it good or bad. Nicolas Winding Refn’s Her Private Hell (2026), his first new effort in ten years, is a perfect example of this. It really stirs up the kind of mental tug-of-war in my head that makes me feel like Landru, the supercomputer, crashing out after being probed (⏸︎) by Captain Kirk. Therefore, it is not an easy task to summarise Refn’s incredibly challenging and polarising film when it defies the very conventions of a linear plot narrative, and prioritises a highly stylised visual aesthetic instead. One would call it superficial; and they would be right.

Set in a cyberpunk city where only the tops of the tallest skyscrapers and a colossal statue of a man rise above the clouds and the engulfing, mysterious mist below, it is here that Elle (Sophie Thatcher) is introduced. A beautiful celebrity actress with a perpetually cynical outlook on life returning to her luxurious penthouse in the neon-lit and generically named Tower Hotel. Elle meets her wide-eyed co-star and potential plaything Hunter (Kristine Frosethe) in the lobby. She’s destitute; she’s lost both her belongings and room. Elle amusingly says “Aren’t you the poor little match girl?” Hunter is confused by the question, prompting Elle to follow-up with Hans Christian Andersen’s name for reference. A waste of time for the young co-star, as she answers with “I don’t really listen to European music” before the pair ascend to the penthouse in the sky.

While Hunter is impressed by Elle’s luxurious abode, attire and jewellery, Dominique (Havana Rose Liu) makes her presence known. An uneasy tension exists between Dominique and Elle. It’s later revealed that they were once lovers. However, in a typical soap operatic twist, Dominique ended up marrying Elle's estranged father, film maker Johnny Thunders (Dougray Scott). Thus, the melodramatic elements of the film are firmly established. Elle is emotionally conflicted between her lingering affection for Dominique, and the paternal bond she craves from Johnny. The latter character is surrounded by the aforementioned trio and joined by the rest of his all femme cast from his latest movie, the retro-sci-fi film Candy Floss Girls. He shares the urban legend of the Leatherman with them:

“The Leatherman is a father searching for his daughter lost in the Underworld. A father cursed to search for lifetimes. Who eventually forgets who he is looking for. But when the mist returns, he remembers. He remembers her. He comes with the mist. Searching. His face; an infinite abyss. His strength; insurmountable. He wears leather gloves covered in razor sharp diamonds. Searching for her and any girl who sees him. For when you see him, he sees his daughter, and he will try and destroy you and anyone around you to get to her. And the only way to kill him is to cut off his hands. That’s why they say, ‘take care of your daughters, or he will.’” — Johnny Thunders



Her Private Hell does contain various plot threads, along with character motivations in extensive detail. However, Refn’s tendency to direct each scene in an excessively alien manner, can be very off-putting, and dare I say, bring about a whiff of pretentious art-house about it. But beneath the gloss, Her Private Hell is very much a horror film. The film’s pulsating neon lights and lavish sets, bear the look of a fashion shoot rather than the dark and desaturated look in more typical horror fare. Which ought to have put me off, but its obvious homages and references to genre cinema, which range from the films of Brian De Palma, Mario Bava and Seijun Suzuki, kept me invested enough to want to unravel all its layers and symbolism. Hence, accepting the bait to Refn's trolling. The extent of which, prompted me to analyse it forensically for answers. Along with letting the film marinate over the course of a couple of days, I came away with a more positive assessment of the film than most, despite some lingering issues. 

Her Private Hell’s more action-packed second plot is introduced shortly after Elle and Hunter witness the murder of a neighbour by The Leatheman. This is set in the past and involves Private K (Charles Melton), an American G.I. searching for his missing daughter. He encounters violent yakuza gangs during his quest. During his latest fight with the yakuza, he meets two eccentric dressmakers who also appeared in the first act of the film. They seem to be supernatural sages, who offer Private K. vital information on his daughter, as well as The Leatherman. The G.I.becomes imprisoned on an alien world. A neon landscape adorned with giant crystals. It looks exactly like the film set of Candy Floss Girls. It also happens to be the realm of The Leatherman.

Various themes and motifs from Refn’s previous work are present here. Perhaps the most obvious being a latent brutality that awakens with his characters. It manifests here with Elle chasing Dominique around the penthouse with the hatchet gifted to her from her father. With the exception of Private K, there’s also the distinct coldness and plasticity to the characters. They’re virtually mannequins in clothes.

There’s an overwhelming sense of love for genre cinema in Her Private Hell. From the obvious title borrowing of Norman J. Warren’s 1968 sexploitation film, to a glamorous, leather-clad giallo inspired antagonist. Scenes set inside a nightclub are very reminiscent of the opening credits sequence from Blood and Black Lace; which I absolutely loved. There’s plenty of that here to spot, while trying to comprehend what exactly is going on in the film. In many ways, Her Private Hell has a lot in common with the abstract films of French husband and wife film makers Hélène Cattet and Bruno Forzani, who borrow heavily from giallo and eurotrash cinema and convert them into more art house films. Much of the dialogue also comes as very Lynchian. An over used phrase by cinephiles, but an appropriate one for this film. The strange dressmakers could have easily been imagined from David Lynch’s mind. Of course, the biggest example of Refn’s affinity for genre cinema is having the legendary composer Pino Donaggio coming out of retirement to score his film and delivering an absolute banger of a soundtrack. It impeccably compliments Magnus Nordenhof Jønck’s beautifully stunning cinematography on the film.

In various interviews, Refn has revealed that he initially conceived two distinct stories which he subsequently unified by engineering a third narrative. He also admitted to frequently altering the script during filming; sometimes leaving his cast unaware until the final moment. This explains why the film’s plot often comes across as incomprehensible. It's doubtful that anyone other than Refn is even able to fully explain the film. Always a provocative film maker, his work has often been characterised by a mischievous and subversive approach; much to the detriment of viewers. His subsequent films, after his more accessible and widely popular Drive (2011), have been progressively more abstract. Both of his streaming exclusive television mini-series were even more niche. However, Her Private Hell appears to have pushed the boundaries even further and broken the patience of nearly everyone. It’s undoubtedly his most perplexing film yet.

The Great Cultural Evolution

Colony (Yeon Sang-ho, 2026)

South Korean filmmaker Yeon Sang-ho gained prominence with his action horror classic Train to Busan (2016). His aptitude for epic spectacle, claustrophobic action and bloody horror was on full display, as well as an unexpected strength for human drama. The result was a film that surpassed expectations of its simple zombies on a train premise. A remarkable achievement for a zombie film  to stand out today, given its over-saturation. Since then, Sang-ho has been unable to produce anything of a similar calibre again. His latest film Colony (2026), a quasi-zombie film (technically infected humans), is an attempt to replicate his past success with a unique twist.

This time around, Sang-ho swaps the confined and claustrophobic compartments of a train with a multi-storey building, containing a conference centre and a shopping mall. So far, so Dawn of the Dead. Villainous scientist, Seo Young-cheol (Koo Kyo-han) reveals his intentions in the opening moments by calling the police to report his imminent bio-terrorist attack at the Doongwoori Building. The location of a presentation by his former employers at Chains Bio. The twist: he has injected himself with the only known vaccine.

Subsequently, the film introduces an ensemble of characters who are trapped in the building during the outbreak. These individuals are recognisable templates drawn from various disaster films: a smart leader, a secondary antagonist who creates a power struggle; the one who needs to prove their past abilities; and the lame duck who endangers everyone. The rest serve as mere cannon fodder. While derivative, their purpose is to demonstrate how they are forced to change and adapt to survive against a virus that does the same.

The film’s central focus is the virus itself. After Young-cheol injects the Elon Musk-like CEO of Chains Bio with the infectious virus, it spreads rapidly within the complex. Initially, the infected exhibit a frenzied, quadrupedal state; mistaking cardboard cutouts for real people. As the infection progresses, the zombie-like horde begin to develop intelligence and evolve. They gain the ability to walk upright and distinguish between real and virtual individuals. When an infected person acquires a new skill, it communicates this to others via the fungal mycelium it secretes and spreads throughout the building. Throughout the film, the infected horde exhibits a behaviour that's reminiscent of meerkats posing together. Their milky eyes flicker as they receive the latest bio-firmware update. The infected share a collective intelligence and function as a hive mind. A bit like Reddit, innit?

Upon realising they are quarantined in the building, the survivors are compelled to locate Young-cheol, the human vaccine, in the hope of receiving any kind of rescue. They negotiate their way to his last known location by feeding false information to the infected hive and tricking them with different scents. It’s an ingenious plan from their group leader Kwon Se-jeon (Jun Ji-hyun). However, she and the rest of the survivors discover Young-cheol is motivated via revenge, and is willing to change the human race forever in what he considers progress. Thus, the scientist villain makes it even more perilous for the group who apprehend him, as he intentionally gets himself bitten by his infected former boss, and now able to tap into the hive mind and control them.

This is where the conflict between the individuals and the collective must be resolved. The survivors are compelled to blindfold Young-cheol to prevent him from revealing their location. They communicate via a WhatsApp group to ensure he cannot overhear them. However, Young-cheol is aided by a massive army able to overcome many of his restrictions. A former ally is now part of the colony. Thus, the infected can eventually read phone texts. That's not all, they can communicate, operate firearms and drive vehicles within hours. They are already smarter than some of the survivors. Consequently, with the assistance of our antagonist, they are able to overwhelm the small rescue team attempting to apprehend Young-cheol with relative ease.

Sang-ho manages to deliver Colony with his trademark focus on spectacle. The action set pieces are particularly grandiose in the finale. The horror elements are also noteworthy. The scene in which the infected mimic a paraplegic survivor being carried on the back of her brother as a three-person contorted monstrosity, is particularly chilling. However, this comes at the expense of shallow character writing and plot holes. It's evident in a bully receiving her comeuppance or a predictable betrayal. A security guard is able to take on multiple infected with a kitchen knife feels very far-fetched. Nevertheless, I found these flaws forgivable given the enjoyment I derived from the film. If anything, these weaknesses appeared intentional; demonstrating the collective intelligence of a hive mind system against the reckless individualism of the human soul. Therefore, I perceived Colony as a metaphor for the horrors of AI and/or communism. Take your pick!

Colony is a divisive film. While I found it intensely enjoyable and was able to overlook some of its flaws, I can understand why others cannot. Ultimately, its unique take on the zombie/infected outbreak formula was what won me over; compensating for its other shortcomings.

Beastly Behaviour

Marquis (Henri Xhonneux, 1989)

Portrayals of historical figures or past events on film can often stray from the truth. Perhaps it's for creative reasons. Whether to offer a different perspective, subvert expectations, or appeal to a contemporary audience, historical facts can potentially be susceptible to being revised. Take the French nobleman and libertine writer Donatien Alphonse François, better known as the Marquis de Sade. His association with blasphemy, perversity and depravity is so well known that his very name is now a part of our lexicon to describe people who seek pleasure from those pursuits (and it's the professional name of the Soul singer Helen Folasade Adu, might I add). Therefore, it is somewhat disconcerting whenever de Sade is depicted in popular culture with a sense of romanticism as a sort of free speech activist. A bit like the contemporary view amongst 21st-century nerds that Velma Dinkley is more attractive than Daphne Blake.

Belgian director Henri Xhonneux (what an awesome surname) and his French co-screenwriter Roland Topor adopt this revisionism, and take it a step even further with an unorthodox approach on the libertine pervert in their 1989 film Marquis. What makes their idolised offering unique, is the use of anthropomorphic animals portraying all the characters. Actors wearing striking animal based animatronic masks, and partaking in acts unsuitable for Sunday afternoon television, make this an appealing proposition for purveyors of out-there cinema. Disney, this is not. Furthermore, our eponymous protagonist, played by François Marthouret, resembles a Spaniel dog, and spends the majority of the film talking to his ginormous, talking penis Colin (Valérie Kling). Cock and Spaniel!

They are both held in the Bastille, the infamous state prison which became a symbol of the French Revolution. De Sade is imprisoned there for the crime of religious blasphemy. While there, both he and his talkative appendage pass the time with stories. Colin presents his master with surreal and erotic concepts which are developed into popular novella by the Marquis. These are featured in the film as short and horrifying claymation sequences. These stories have made the Marquis a national celebrity. Colin also serves as his master’s most vocal critic, notably pointing out his excessive use of verbs in his writing. Amusingly, de Sade constructs a miniature puppet theatre for Colin to entertain him in. The surreal nature of a dog human conversing with a large talking penis is heightened even further by the addition of the latter in a costume and wig.

Within the Bastille, we are introduced to other unusual animal-human hybrids. Justine (Isabelle Wolfe), a bovine commoner, is the central figure in a conspiracy involving her carrying the unborn child of the king, who had forcibly taken her. To avoid scandal, the lecherous priest, Don Pompero (Vicky Messica), devises a plan with the Bastille’s governor, Gaëtan de Preaubois (René Lebrun), to implicate de Sade as the father of Justine’s child. Unbeknownst to them, the repugnant, rodent-looking jailer, Ambert has also had his wicked way with Justine and believes the unborn sprog is his. However, he is far more interested in the Marquis. He yearns to be buggered by the prisoner, and is willing to make life all the more unpleasant for the Marquis unless he obliges. In another section of the prison, two other inmates, the former Chief of Police Lupino, now involved with the bourgeois revolutionaries, and his gluttonous cellmate Pigonou, are planning an escape with the assistance of Juliette, a dominatrix mare.

The characters and various subplots interconnect over the course of the film, and it makes you appreciate just how well put together a perverse effort like this is.

The film’s primary draw is undoubtedly the use of anthropomorphic characters. Topor also designed the characters in Marquis and their distinctive features are immediately captivating. The uncanny valley association with these animal-human hybrids is complemented by their personality traits reflecting their animal likeness. For instance, the bovine Josephine is surprisingly docile and accommodating given her dire circumstances. In contrast, the rooster-like Gaëtan de Preaubois is full of vigour and cocky in his physical expressions and movements. This is a production decision one would expect to find in an animated children’s feature, such as a Disney adventure. Hence, this makes Marquis feel like a subversive perversion of family-friendly content, given it features an orgy, S&M, and sodomy with a crayfish to name but a few examples.

The decision to use claymation for the short stories was a wise choice. The crudeness and simplicity of stop-motion, renders the extreme content less disturbing. Drastically softening what potentially might have been the most nightmarish sections of an already outrageous film. Nevertheless, they are notable highlights.

Marquis’s closest relative is Peter Jackson’s Meet the Feebles (1989), an adult-oriented take of Jim Henson’s legendary creation The Muppet Show. However, Jackson’s film is more blatant with its intention to shock, whereas Xhonneux’s effort comes across as less exploitative. Despite their graphic nature, they work within the context of the film. Thus, I believe both Xhonneaux and Topor were focused on a narrative primarily rather than merely delivering strong content for the sake of controversy. I think it’s evident in both the professionalism of its production crew and the mature performances of its cast. 

The film was produced after Xhonneux and Topor completed their popular children’s television programme Téléchat (1983–1986). The series ran for 234 episodes and featured anthropomorphic puppets presenting the news in a satirical manner. Both creators felt the desire to work on a completely different project to Téléchat; to cleanse their palates. With the approaching bicentennial of the French Republic, a historical film relating to the birth of the nation seemed topically apt. Thus, Marquis was conceived.

Topor was a prolific individual whose talents extended into the creative arts. He co-wrote and illustrated René Laloux’s surreal, science fiction feature Fantastic Planet (La Planète sauvage, 1973) and starred as Renfield in Werner Herzog’s 1979 remake of Nosferatu. Perhaps his most significant contribution to cinema was as the author of The Chimeric Tenant (AKA Le Locataire chimérique), which was adapted into Roman Polanski’s 1976 film The Tenant - the third entry in his Apartment trilogy.

Apart from films based on the Marquis de Sade and his works, I haven't read any of his books, but I would hazard a guess they would be moderately tame by today's standards. When you have clit-lit, furry fantasy Morning Glory Milking Farm (a novel for lonely women, who yearn to wank off a Minotaur) being a best-selling book, you know the standards of depravity have definitely slipped. I digress, of course.

I have faint memories of seeing production stills of Marquis, possibly in the pages of the now-defunct Cinefex magazine, during my visits to Forbidden Planet in the 1980s and early 1990s. I was aware of the film’s notoriety, but it was far too obscure for the average teenaged film obsessive to track down back then. Today, however, the film is much easier to find, thanks to t'internet. Marquis was recently released on Blu-Ray as a limited edition by Mondo Macabro, a specialist distributor of unusual world films, and this unearthed my long-buried recollection of the lewd French film with anamorphic animals. I purchased it before it completely sold out.

Turns out Marquis lived up to my weird expectations and also surprised me with being a well produced film full of satire. More importantly, it's the type of taboo costume drama that appeals to my sensibilities, rather than the sleep-inducing, endlessly overpraised, Charlotte Brontë-like material that is always everywhere. I was also unprepared for a emotionally affecting farewell scene between a giant talking penis and a canine human hybrid. For that, I feel incredibly fortunate to have (re)discovered such an eccentric film. I don’t think I’ll see anything else like this again anytime soon, which makes Marquis all the more precious. Worth tracking down for fans of utterly bizarre European cinema.

As the World Burns

The Day the Earth Caught Fire (Val Guest, 1961)

The enduring British heatwave provides an opportune time to revisit the prescient science fiction classic The Day the Earth Caught Fire (1961), written by Val Guest and Wolf Mankowitz. Guest’s impressive filmography as a director reflected the thriving health of the British film industry through the 1950s; as evidenced by The Quatermass Xperiment (1955), Quatermass 2 (1957) and The Abominable Snowman (1957) for Hammer Films. The decline would also be mirrored by his sex comedies Au Pair Girls (1972) and Confessions of a Window Cleaner (1974). Fortunately, The Day the Earth Caught Fire was produced during a period when both the quality of Guest’s output and the state of British cinema were far healthier. Nevertheless, the film maker had to utilise his own influence and establish a production company to bring this personal passion project to fruition. The film was not considered a desirable property by other studios. 

Presented in a striking yellow hue, The Day the Earth Caught Fire opens with a car announcing an important countdown as it drives through a dystopian Piccadilly Circus, in central London. The purpose of this announcement, is yet to be revealed. The scene transitions to a solitary man walking through a deserted Fleet Street, the hub of the British press. This man is Peter Stenning (Edward Judd in his first lead role), a journalist at the Daily Express, who is unable to write what might potentially be his final article and that of mankind, because the ink ribbon of his typewriter has turned into a molten sludge. He finds a work around by transcribing it to the perspiring copy desk worker on the other end of his phone.

“It is exactly 30 minutes since the corrective bombs were detonated. Within the next few hours, the world will know whether this is the end or another beginning. The rebirth of man or his final obituary. For the last time, man pursued his brother with a sword, and so the final fire was kindled. The Earth that was to live forever was blasted by a great wind towards oblivion. It is strange to think that barely 90 days ago…” — Peter Stenning

Before Stenning can finish his monologue, The Day the Earth Caught Fire flashes back to a more palatable monochrome visual, depicting the busy offices of the Daily Express. It’s raining outside. Amidst reports of floods in Ascot and earthquakes in Jakarta, an even more concerning hot scoop has occurred: the simultaneous detonation of two atomic bombs by the United States and the Soviet Union. Stenning is reintroduced in a less ominous context.

Due to a messy divorce, it is revealed that our once gifted journalist has hit a career slump, and the bottle. If not for the watchful care of his professional colleague, science editor Bill Maguire (the best Number Two from The Prisoner, Leo McKern), Stenning would have already been out on his ear by now. In the wake of the detonations, our protagonist is sent on a menial task by the paper to learn more about the recent increase of sunspots. The’ve been causing havoc on aerial transmissions. After barging his way to speak with the big cheese at the British Met Office, our reporter encounters Jeannie Craig (Janet Munro), a typist there who Stenning had been rude to during an earlier phone conversation. He subsequently receives a slap in the face from her. Even more humbling for our protagonist, he misses his sunspots article deadline, and it’s Maguire who saves his skin, by both writing the article and crediting it to Stenning.

Despite its sensationalist title, The Day the Earth Caught Fire approaches its outlandish premise with maturity and intelligence. This is largely due to the enduring relevance of its anti-bomb message and its prophetic vision on extreme climate change. The gravitas of the premise is reflected with the absence of a dedicated score. No bongos in this '60s science fiction film!

The nuclear detonations have caused widespread outrage. While attending a nuclear disarmament protest in Trafalgar Square, Stenning witnesses an unexpected solar eclipse. Along with the unusual weather conditions occurring globally, the Daily Express’s editor-in-chief Jeff Jefferson (played by real life editor Arthur Christiansen, delivering some truly amateur levels of acting in the few scenes he is in) hypothesises that all the phenomena are linked to the nuclear tests. Evidently, he isn’t the only one who believes this, hence an unexpected television broadcast by the government denying the connection.

The record breaking heatwave is felt all over the nation. After spending quality time at the funfair with his young son, Stenning has a chance encounter with Jeannie once again, while she is sunbathing by the Thames river. This time, it’s a much friendlier meeting between the two, and the potential of a romance appears to be on the cards. “Look there’s a lunch place down there, by the boating pool. We can get fish and chips and pretend we’re in Venice.” Classy. During the flirtations, the local crowd rushes to the edge of the Thames. An eerie fog, not unlike the luminescent one from John Carpenter’s 1980 film The Fog, envelops the entire city. Maguire theorises that the heat mist is the result of the melting of the polar ice caps. He further speculates that the unusual weather conditions can be explained by a shift in the Earth’s axis caused by the two atomic tests. Maguire’s hypothesis is confirmed when Jeannie reluctantly turns whistleblower. The global emergency is further worsened when Jefferson’s source in the Soviet Union reveals that the Earth’s orbit has been disrupted by the atomic tests, and has sent the planet hurtling towards the sun. 

The meticulous attention to the film’s three main characters fosters a strong emotional connection with them. Edward Judd’s character undergoes the most development throughout the film; from his initial saturnine state of personal despair, to receiving a new lease of life with his relationship with Munro’s Jeannie. Val Guest appears to favour having Janet Munro in compromising situations that emphasise her physical attributes and vulnerability. One notable example is her home being invaded by a cult of doomsday beatniks, terrorising her while she is naked in her bath. One wanders what would have happened had Stenning not come to her rescue in time. I find it reminiscent of the motel scene in Touch of Evil (1958), where a menacing gang of leather jacketed, greased-haired juveniles drug and abduct a helpless Janet Leigh. Rounding the trio off, is Leo McKern’s Maguire, who, beneath all the world-weary cynicism, offers a paternal-like helping hand to Stenning (“Tell me about sunspots, Daddy!”), giving him multiple chances to redeem himself. Perhaps he perceives Stenning as a lab rat in determining whether or not mankind can be redeemed.

Val Guest manages to incorporate genuine newsreel disaster clips, as well as editing in actual footage from anti-bomb demonstrations into his film. They provide an air of cinéma vérité and build a sense of urgency and realism to his doomsday tale. In the context of the news, it is evident that Guest holds a high regard for the press; portraying it as an honourable profession, rather than the bunch of lying, manipulative bastards of today. The inclusion of Arthur Christiansen, a real editor with limited acting ability, in the film may be considered excessive for the sake of authenticity, but I’m willing to believe Guest might have perceived the journalistic class was cut from a different cloth back then. The director even includes the original Art Deco building on Fleet Street, which still remains as the London headquarters of the Daily Express to this day.

Beyond the three leads, the film’s appeal is further enhanced by its depiction of the British public’s reaction to the worsening ecological situation. Initially, the heatwave is met with widespread enjoyment, as women on the high street wear bikinis and revel in the sunny weather. However, when the heat mist blankets the city causing the public to become disoriented and unable to find their way home, concern begins to grow. When water amenities become scarce and force the populace into queues, the film depicts a return to the familiar wartime spirit. As society descends into chaos, particularly among younger generations, who engage in street parties and rioting, the narrative transitions from the whimsical style of the Ealing Studios film to the more sombre and nihilistic tone of science fiction films from the late 1960s and into the 1970s. Definitely a film ahead of its time, in many respects.

Filmed in a 2.35: 1 aspect ratio, The Day the Earth Caught Fire presents the devastation of extreme climate change in a panoramic view. Les Bowie’s special effects are particularly striking in this format. Familiar landmarks and cityscapes are smothered by an eerie fog or distorted by the scorching heat, creating a surreal atmosphere.

I feel obligated to mention a couple of uncredited actors in the film. Carry On stalwart Peter Butterworth appears in a few brief scenes as a Daily Express journalist. An unusual role for him, considering he is primarily associated with being a comedic actor. Finally, there is a minor bit part for a young Michael Caine as a policeman warning our Stenning to “Stay clear of Chelsea! They say it’s pretty rough down there”, in his ever so distinctive Cockney accent.

In a desperate attempt to correct this disaster, both the superpowers decide to detonate two additional bombs, at exactly the same positions as before, hoping to return the Earth back to its natural orbit. The film concludes with ambiguity regarding the outcome. Two Daily Express front pages are hanging off the printing press: one celebrating humanity’s successful attempt to save the world, and the other lamenting its total destruction. Stenning's final monologue reflecting the ambiguity of mankind's fate in the film.

“So man has sown the wind and reaped the whirlwind. Perhaps, in the next few hours, there will be no remembrance of the past and no hope for the future that might have been. All the works of man will be consumed in the great fire out of which he was created. But perhaps at the heart of the burning light into which he has thrust his world, there is a heart that cares more for him than he has ever cared for himself. And if there is a future for man, insensitive as he is, proud and defiant in his pursuit of power, let him resolve to live it lovingly, for he knows well how to do so. Then he may say once more, truly the light is sweet, and what a pleasant thing it is for the eyes to see the sun.” — Peter Stenning

Unless one considers the US release of the film, which added the sound of jubilant church bells signalling the world had been saved. This is not the only classic British film to have its finale altered for its transatlantic release. The 2005 film The Descent features a similarly upbeat alternative ending that was the basis for an inferior sequel.

Given its age, The Day the Earth Caught Fire may disappoint those expecting something more akin to a trashy science fiction B-movie. This is a distinctly more serious film with a heavy focus on character and emotional resonance. Beneath the veneer of the doomsday scenario lies a story of mankind as its central theme. There are no Martians intent on obliterating us; our destructive enemy is ourselves. And it is driven home by Val Guest's didactic sense of urgency that makes it even more relevant today.

The Day the Caught Fire is currently available on Blu-ray in the US by Kino Lorber and in the UK by the BFI.

The Man of Steal

Danger: Diabolik (Mario Bava, 1968)

Until recently, I had deliberately delayed reviewing Mario Bava’s deliriously, mad cap film Danger: Diabolik (1968) due to not having read any of the comics it was adapted from. The master thief known as Diabolik was created by Italian sisters Angela and Luciana Giussani in 1962. He was more of an anti-hero/villain, given his motivations and actions. From my understanding, the ingenious thief, with a maniacal laugh, would not hesitate to murder any innocent bystander who stood in his way. Hence, the book is allegedly more subversive than traditional comics of that era. Diabolik’s popularity spawned a whole sub-genre of Italian comics known as fumetti neri (dark comics) and gave rise to other notorious characters: Kriminal, Satanik and Sadik; some of which had their own film adaptations.

I found it challenging to locate an English translation of Diabolik . As an alternative, I decided to watch the recent trilogy of films directed by the Manetti Brothers: Diabolik (2021); Diabolik: Ginko Attacks! (2022) and Diabolik: Who Are You? (2024). Fans of the comic consider the trilogy to be more faithful to the source material compared to Bava’s film. After binge-watching all three films, I shan’t bother with the comic books. They are drab, dire and completely lifeless. The complete opposite of Bava's adaptation. All three of them are diabolically bad (I thought I was being clever here, but I'll probably regret typing that sentence whenever I reread this review). Therefore, I can confidently conclude Danger: Diabolik is the superior version; regardless of its deviation from the comic.

Danger: Diabolik is pure bork overload. A visually striking Italian-French co-production, characterised by Bava’s vibrant colour palette and camera wizardry; grandiose and opulent set designs; recognisable European actors in camp mode; and Il Maestro of film composers, Ennio Morricone, creating a distinctive blend of his trademark spaghetti western sounds, ecclesiastical organs, jazzy pop and lounge lizard muzak, furthering the psychedelic experience. The result is a demented Pop-Art film that easily sits between the early James Bond films and the kitsch Batman television series.

The film’s production history was fraught with difficulties. The Nanny’s Seth Holt was the original director when filming commenced in 1965; with Jean Sorel being cast as the titular character. Producer Dino De Laurentiis was dissatisfied with the dailies and production was brought to a halt until Mario Bava was hired to restart the film on a significantly reduced budget. Sorel was out by this time. Having already been familiar with the comic, John Phillip Law secured the lead after impressing De Laurentiis with his dastardly eyebrow expressions; a skill essential when having to wear a latex balaclava while racing around in a speedboat or a sport scar. Bava was unhappy with Catherine Deneuve as Eva Kent, Diabolik's beautiful girlfriend and partner in crime. The Austrian bombshell Marisa Mell was subsequently cast in her place. This proved to be a successful casting decision as Law and Mell exhibited great onscreen chemistry and contributed to the racy scenes in the film.

In terms of the film’s plot, Diabolik’s ingenious and daring heists have driven the nameless European country’s Minister of Interior, played by the gap-toothed, British toff Terry-Thomas, to extreme measures: by enforcing the death penalty on all criminals. His arch-nemesis, Inspector Ginko (Michel Piccoli), is counting on the crime syndicate, led by Ralph Valmont (Adolfo Celi, virtually reprising his villainous role as Emilio Largo from the 1965 James Bond film Thunderball) to rid them of the master thief. Following the kidnapping of his beloved Eva and a free-falling confrontation with Valmont, Diabolik steals the world’s largest gold ingot. Unaware that traces of the ingot were irradiated under Ginko’s orders, thus the objects serves as a homing device. This leads to the law's discovery of Diabolik’s secret lair and the film’s climactic finale.

Bava’s film presents an intriguing dynamic by positioning Diabolik against both law enforcement and the criminal underworld; forcing the master thief into an anti-hero. This is evident when he unleashes a bombing campaign against the state’s tax department after learning of their enforcement of the death penalty. By not permitting Diabolik to steal, he will reciprocate by preventing the government from doing the same. His anti-establishment and individualistic nature comes across as subversive and ahead of its time for a 1960s comic book character.

Danger: Diabolik is an exceptional visual experience for those who appreciate wonderfully eccentric and vibrant cinema. Mario Bava was a masterful filmmaker; renowned for his exquisite cinematic eye, autistic levels of detail to the mise-en-scène and ingenious visual effects. Bava demonstrated his ability to create a wonderfully whimsical and trippy comic book movie with the same care and attention to the sumptuous, atmospheric, gothic Italian horror he became renowned for. A very versatile and capable director, who was unjustly lumped as a poor man's Alfred Hitchcock.

The elaborate sets provide an exceptional playground that are a huge part to the film’s charm. The most notable is Diabolik’s underground lair. An eye-catching, post-modernist structure built within a vast cavern. It’s spectacular enough to rival some of Ernst Stavro Blofeld’s residences. The home is furnished with modern conveniences including his and hers groovy showers and a giant, rotating circular bed (you won’t find one of them in Dreams) where they make passionate love all day amongst all their stolen cash. Not exactly hygienic, but a lifestyle I can respect. The lair is surrounded by a fleet of Jaguar E-Types; the protagonist’s trademark wheels. With a subterranean entrance to the sea, Diabolik’s hideout comes complete with its own submarine. A convenient transport for moving a giant gold ingot. Above all, I’m particularly fond of the giant pipe organ which serves as the lair’s security alarm. A unique, yet very fitting device for any supervillain.

Sources suggest the reason a sequel was never made was that Bava did not enjoy his experience working with De Laurentiis. Alternatively, the film’s commercial failure is a more plausible explanation. If Danger: Diabolik had been successful, a sequel would have been produced even without Bava’s involvement. Regardless of which is true, it is now considered a cult film and often listed amongst the best comic book movies by various media. 

Danger: Diabolik did not leave the same first impression on me as Bava's gothic horror films initially did. The film has greatly grown on me with subsequent revisits. I think it might have been Diabolik’s quintessential European stylings and campiness being not to my taste during my edge lord youth. This was a time when Batman had long abandoned the campiness of the ‘60s television series and embraced the dark and gothic sensibilities as reflected by Tim Burton’s 1989 Batman film. Since then, however, I have found Danger: Diabolik deeply refreshing in comparison to the irreverent deconstruction and revisionism committed to familiar comics book characters today. They are trends that have become increasingly tiresome and clichéd for me. Hence, a fictional character who steals for the adrenaline rush and to support his lavish lifestyle with his sexy girlfriend, is both beautifully simplistic and far more appealing to me than the latest Marvel and DC slop.

One of Mario Bava’s greatest films.

Eureka has recently released a superb 4K UHD of Danger: Diabolik as part of its Masters of Cinema series. This is perhaps my favourite boutique film release of the year. Alternatively, I would highly recommend that those who have not seen the film to check it out for free on YouTube. Deep, deep down, you know you want to!

Actions Speak Louder Than Words

The Furious (Kenji Tanigaki, 2025/2026)

As an aficionado of onscreen violence, I am particularly drawn to action films that feature intense combat sequences, copious amounts of pain and a dash of blood or two. Fortunately, acclaimed fight choreographer Kenji Tanigaki, who was involved in one of your host’s favourite action films in recent years - Twilight of the Warriors: Walled In (2024), has transitioned to film directing and has subsequently delivered an action-packed bruiser that’s a summer riot.

The Furious (2025/2026) follows Wang Wei (Xie Miao), a mute, Chinese handyman working “Somewhere in Southeast Asia” (the location is intentionally left vague), as he embarks on a mission to rescue his young daughter, Rainy (Yang Enyou), from child traffickers. He forms an alliance with Navin (Joe Taslim), who shares a similar motive in finding his missing journalist wife. The premise is straightforward and the plot is not particularly complex. The narrative’s simplicity justifies the pair’s decision to launch a series of devastating assaults on numerous machete-wielding adversaries in locations connected to the trafficking leader Paklung’s (Joey Iwanaga) operation.

Wei may lack the ability of speech, but martial arts skills do all the necessary talking in his quest to retrieve his daughter. Throughout his journey with Navin, the extent of the trafficking operation’s reach is revealed, including the corrupt police captain who remains indifferent as desperate children attempt to escape from a dilapidated apartment building known as The Snake Pit.

The fight scenes are choreographed with expert precision; drawing the eye deeper into the intensity of the battle. The impact of every punch, kick and weapon used is viscerally wince-inducing. Bones are shattered, blood is spilt, and in some cases, body parts are severed. This is back from the pub heaven for your humble host. Meteor Cheung’s cinematography is characterised by a fluid dynamic that mirrors the chaotic visual spectacle of the unrelenting action that occurs on screen.

Diminutive Miao’s strict kung fu discipline is contrasted with Taslim’s more erratic judo skills. When Wei mistakenly identifies Navin as a child trafficker, the pair briefly engage in a fight. A comedic moment occurs when Miao removes his jacket as he warms up to unleash pain. To Navin’s relief, he realises that Wei shares a similar objective and they subsequently team up. For fans of the game-changing martial arts classic The Raid (2011), Taslim has a rematch with the indomitable Yayan Ruhian. The latter plays a ruthless henchman to Paklung; who wields a deadly bow, upping the bloody gore quota considerably. However, Brian Le almost steals the film as the bald, dungaree-clad Ho, a strong and persistent antagonist who is more than a match for the combined skills of Wei and Navin. Ho is instrumental in the film’s unforgettable pièce de résistance; consisting of an epic two versus two versus one rumble.

The English dubbing may be an issue for some viewers. While it did not detract from my enjoyment of the film, it was sufficiently noticeable to warrant mentioning it for this review. Apparently, there is a Mandarin language version of the film; one that includes some different scenes. This is enough to interest me in determining which might be the better cut of the film in the foreseeable future. Although, given The Furious is a martial arts film of a very high calibre, it's a win for action film fans, regardless of which version they watch.

The Furious is an excellent martial arts film. Blending the premise of Taken with the intense action of The Raid, and if that justifies it with the label of dadsploitation movie by some, then so be it. Hail to 2026's big daddy of action flicks!