Let me start by saying that every James Bond film, be it ‘good’ or ‘bad’ (for lack of a better term), is special. Since 1962's Dr. No, Ian Fleming’s famed spy has lit up the silver screen, not only awing and entertaining (for even the most frustrating of Bond films still have those wow moments of action, or those most entertaining one liners), but also holding a magnifying glass up to the then present day – analysing current issues (such as The Cold War, The Space Race, North Korea. . . the list goes on and on). . . understanding when to be more jokey or serious, it is a measuring stick of an historical document that speaks to what was on people’s minds in that specific year. Now, you might be wondering – why oh why review Roger Spottiswoode’s 1998 film Tomorrow Never Dies – for it is arguably one of the less magical efforts in the franchise. Being a fan of all things Bond, I recently read the film’s novelization, written by Raymond Benson (who wrote three novelizations during the Pierce Brosnan era, as well as six original novels, and three short stories). . . and was quite impressed by how entertaining it was (which didn’t exactly compute with my memories of the film).

An Americanized twist on the Agatha Christie murder mystery, Rian Johnson writes and directs Knives Out (2019), an entertaining crime-centric dramedy that earned him an Academy Award nomination for Best Original Screenplay. Centred on the suicide (or is it murder – cue the dramatic music) of famed crime writer and patriarch Harlan Thrombey (Christopher Plummer), he was the centre (and benefactor) of his entire family. Though this is the genesis event, the main player is actually his kind-hearted and thoughtful caretaker/nurse, Marta Cabrera (Ana de Armas) – someone who is constantly reminded by Harlan’s relatives that she is a part of the family (despite them claiming she is from Ecuador, Cuba, Uruguay, Paraguay and Brazil – definitely part of the family). With a really weird disorder, she vomits anytime she attempts to lie – not good in a murder mystery.

Sequels are a fickle matter. Nearly impossible to match the original’s magic in a bottle, they tend to become a greatest hits of the previous effort. . . less story and more about outdoing the first film’s visual antics – attempted appeasement for fans and more fodder for its detractors. This is no different for 1982's Death Wish II (coming to theatres a lengthy eight years later), director Michael Winner and star Charles Bronson coming together for another vile look at the seedy side of big city America. Set two years after the original, Paul Kersey (Bronson) has uprooted from New York to Los Angeles. . . the architect finding love once more, this time in the arms of reporter Geri Nichols (Jill Ireland – Bronson’s wife and frequent collaborator – a whopping 16 times). His daughter Carol (Robin Sherwood), after the heinous acts seen in the first film, is slowly making progress with her doctors – at least uttering a few quiet sentences each week.

Are you in the mood for a Taste of Sin. . . perhaps with a dash of Double Jeopardy. . . and what the heck even is a Prozzie (for those of you not in the know, it is slang for a prostitute). . . or, to end with the most generic and lackluster of all, meet Olivia. Every once in a while, you’ve just got to love finding a little known, underground, low budget B movie that has stayed hidden from most of the world since its release (in this case, 1983), and Olivia (which was also released under the three other titles mentioned above) fits the bill. A film that pulls a bit from Alfred Hitchcock’s Vertigo (you might also recognize some similarities to Marnie and Psycho), as well as from the luridly entertaining crime and thrillers coming out of Europe the decade previously (gialli and poliziotteschi), and a number of other sources, co-writer/director Ulli Lommel (who was a frequent collaborator with acclaimed Rainer Werner Fassbinder), introduces us to poor Olivia (Suzanna Love as an adult; as a five year old – Amy Robinson), a young woman who has been dealt a poor hand in life. Growing up with her prostitute mother overlooking London bridge, she witnesses her mom’s demise at the hands of a sadistic American soldier (Nicholas Love). . . flash forward fifteen years, and she has found her way into the arms of the first brute she bumps into, Richard (Jeff Winchester) – already four years married to the uncouth, violent factory worker.

Ryan Gosling’s first, and to date, only writing and directing credit, 2014's Lost River is by no means a film for everyone. . . an arthouse style dark fairytale with tinges of gialli violence and colour, the actor turned filmmaker sets in place a slow, unsettling mood that will either hold you in its oppressive grip, or might just leave you up the creek without a paddle. The title a reference to the town in which we are dropped into, it is like much of smaller town America (and some of larger city America as well – it is actually filmed in Detroit), a crumbling locale where many young folks have fled, businesses sit empty, roving gangs of hoodlums burn houses for the fun of it, and everyone lives in a dystopic-like fugue state of depressed apathy.