Rack and Ruin

Ah, the mysteries of the Black Panther. . . not Wakanda, vibranium, or the ever growing Marvel franchise, but rather, the enigma that is those giant cats that have been rumoured to be part human. First explored in the 1942 classic B horror film Cat People, reviewed here on Filmizon last October, director Paul Schrader remade it in 1982 under the same title, finding his own unique spin on the tale. Starting a little earlier than normal this year, this will be the beginning of a number of horror reviews leading up to Halloween (if you are not a horror fan, fear not, there will still be several non horror related pictures reviewed).

Children: those cute, innocent little scamps that bring a smile to our faces get a frightening makeover in Colm McCarthy’s The Girl with All the Gifts – a 2016 zombie horror flick out of Britain that finds some interesting new ground within the sub-genre. Finding a place somewhere between Day of the Dead and 28 Days Later, a small group of people have kept some normalcy at a military base (much of which is underground – similar to the former film mentioned above). . . mostly armed soldiers, the men fall under the control of Sgt. Eddie Parks (Paddy Considine), who only answers to Dr. Caroline Caldwell (Glenn Close) – a military scientist who has been tasked with researching the fungal outbreak that has caused a worldwide zombie-like plague (only the creatures are excessively fast, much like the latter feature referenced above).

Ah, the good old days. . . when you could drive around drunk, blowing chunks out of the window along the way. Of course, I’m being facetious, but this folly-filled sequence, set in an era when this happened more than anyone would like to remember (the 1970s), is a lead in to the first of two cruxes at the centre of the politically incorrect leaning titled feature, Don’t Worry, He Won’t Get Far on Foot (2018) – co-written and directed by Gus Van Sant. Centred on John Callahan (Joaquin Phoenix), the fateful sequence finds him in the passenger seat while said vomiter, Dexter (Jack Black), drives them to their next alcohol-fuelled party – falling asleep at the wheel, the brutal accident leaves Callahan a paraplegic.

Conniving, chaos, cruelty, and paranoia – four words that aptly describe today’s film. . . and, whose first letters provide a hint as to the setting: that’s right – CCCP. The Death of Stalin, Armando Iannucci’s 2017 comedic spin on the historical event, follows in the vein of his BBC series The Thick of It and HBO show Veep, as well as his film In the Loop, a razor sharp political satire with quick banter, clever wordplay, and a more than interesting topic. Of course, if you know the work of Iannucci, it will be quite obvious that the lexicon of such a film is much more expansive than the four words used to open the piece – fear and power also come to mind. Going hand in hand, it is this power through fear that has Andreyev (Paddy Considine), a theatre manager that has not recorded a broadcast that Josef Stalin (Adrian McLoughlin) now wants a copy of, panicking to keep the band and audience in their seats to do it all over again. . . it is also the same dread that steers Stalin’s guards to stand pat after hearing a thump from within the leader’s room – when in actuality, the dictator is slowly dying, steeped in his own urine. It is this irony, and grey area comedy, that comes from a pitch dark premise – finding an absurd humour in the disturbing story.

Ah, vacation time. Nothing like getting that call out of the blue – excited to be invited on a golf trip, to be asked to go down south (avoiding the winter blues), or to fly over to Europe. . . alas, this is not the case in today’s feature. Our protagonist, negotiator/arbitrator Mason Skiles (Jon Hamm), is strong-armed into taking a flight over to Beirut (a place he has vowed never to return to again – and also the title of the film) to give a so-called “academic lecture” – as we all know, this supposed job is simply cover for something decidedly more shady. Scribed by Bourne franchise writer Tony Gilroy (his previous effort to this, Rogue One: A Star Wars Story) and directed by Brad Anderson (Transsiberian), the pair actually open the film in Beirut (1972) ten years prior to when our story takes place, a glimpse into the man’s past in the city. Flash forward a decade and Skiles is a shell of the man he once was – a disjointed alcoholic living a fugue state instead of a life.

One of the most divisive films of the year – a love it or hate it type (in which most fall into the latter) is Vaughn Stein’s 2018 flick Terminal. . . a feature steeped in film noir, dystopic future and gothic horror, a glossy B movie that pays tribute to the 1940s, Ridley Scott’s Blade Runner, the films of Brian De Palma, Quentin Tarantino, Guy Ritchie and tales the likes of Edgar Allan Poe and Lewis Carroll. As if dropped down the proverbial rabbit hole, Stein transports us into a dichotomous world, wet and sleek, decrepit and glossy, dangerously alluring, a Terminal (that seems to lead to nowhere) in which we find Annie (Margot Robbie) spinning her nasty web. Porting numerous garbs (one a striking red coat) and hair resembling Veronica Lake, the forking story has her working in the looming locale’s all-night diner. . . a waitress with a sharp tongue and cantankerously flirtatious attitude. Chatting up a sickly English professor, Bill (Simon Pegg), as he waits for the arrival of the next train to nowhere, his illness piques the fatale in the femme.