Velvet Fog

Twenty-first century film studios have a very strict checklist as to which movies they produce. Sequels, spinoffs, crude comedies, reasonably priced horror flicks, animated fare, name/brand recognition, award hopefuls. . . all of this meaning that very few adventurous, risky projects get made anymore. Gone are the days (for the most part), when adult oriented features like Basic Instinct and Body Double graced the silver screen, or edgier family films such as Adventures in Babysitting, The Neverending Story, and Home Alone were made – whether you love them or hate them, they did not fit your prototypical mould. So, when a 2018 motion picture that is so far outside of the stratosphere gets a thirty-two million dollar budget (thank you 20th Century Fox – which may soon be snapped up by Disney. . . a worrisome acquisition for moviegoers, as the bloated studio already owns Lucasfilm, Marvel, The Muppets Studio, and Pixar), it is an exciting day for cinephiles and adventurous moviegoers. So, welcome to the El Royale. Bad Times at the El Royale is an R rated gem written and directed by Drew Goddard (co-scribe and director of Cabin in the Woods; adaptor for the screen of The Martian), the type of dynamic thriller that resembles a sharp British crime flick (one where we do not expect everyone to survive). As twisted as it is twisty, Goddard designs the most fascinating of settings (its own character). . . a neon-glowing, mid century modern gambling den of a motel, hidden on the outskirts of Reno, a building that straddles the Nevada/California border (and has one of those tacky red lines that indicates the boundary between states).

Pushing the boundaries of the Italian giallo, Andrea Bianchi’s aptly titled Strip Nude for Your Killer (1975), which features numerous examples of the seductive art of striptease, oodles of nudity, and a violently high body count, is an example of Eurotrash in its most disturbingly alluring state. . . not for the prudish or weak of heart, but fascinating to be sure. A glossy B movie set in the posh world of a Milanese modelling agency, one of the house’s top photographers, Carlo (Nino Castelnuovo), uses his advantageous position to pull stunning women into his bed (I use this term loosely – a steamy sauna works just as well for the cheeky fellow) with promises that they will grace the cover of the world’s most iconic fashion magazines.

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.

With a title like Seven Blood-Stained Orchids, you’d probably expect a fascinating nature documentary divulging the secrets of a rare flower. . . but of course not, this is part of the continuing series of giallo films reviewed here on Filmizon.com. Written and directed by Umberto Lenzi (and loosely based upon Cornell Woolrich’s novel “Rendezvous in Black”), the filmmaker immerses the viewer into a sordid tale of bloody revenge. A murderer, dressed (and gloved) in black, is dispensing of women in and around the city of Rome.

Picture this – a stunning modernist gallery catches the eye of a passerby late one night, not because of its striking white floors and walls that are the backdrop for noteworthy pieces of art, but rather, because it is the scene of a brutal attack. . . a woman being knifed by a man dressed in a dark raincoat, fedora and gloves, her panicked look and seeping blood in stark contrast to the pale decor. Attempting to rescue her, he gets stuck between two hard-wired glass door panels – this is the hook for the benchmark 1970 giallo The Bird with the Crystal Plumage, written and directed by Dario Argento. The man is Sam Dalmas (Tony Musante), a struggling author from the United States. Coming off of a bender, it is this disturbing sight that enlivens his senses, a chivalric jolt of adrenaline. Though he cannot rescue the girl directly, he is able to sound the alarm, flagging a late-night walker who calls the police.

Camping: a dream to some. . . a nightmare to others! For all of the beautiful vistas, calm lakes, and age-old trees that bring you closer to nature, the nights are the pitchest of blacks, hiding not only mosquitos the size of vampire bats (that hover around looking for a scrumptious meal), but also a throng of wild animals that lurk in the shadows – only their glowing eyes seen in the ominous dark. . . and soon, once you’ve meandered off the beaten track, those towering hardwoods all start to look the same. No one can hear you scream when you’re in the middle of nowhere. . . okay, perhaps laying it on a bit thick, but this is the basic premise of the high reaching, low budget 2014 Canadian horror tinged dramatic thriller, Backcountry. Written and directed by first time filmmaker Adam MacDonald, he transports us to a provincial park in northern Ontario during the last days of autumn. The rush is over, people have returned to the big city, but young couple Alex (Jeff Roop) and Jenn (Missy Peregrym) are making the trek to the picturesque natural locale before it closes for the winter. The stomping grounds of Alex for many a summer, it is not high on the to-do list for urban-loving Jenn – a cell-phone addicted lawyer. So confident is Alex that he tells the Park Ranger (Nicholas Campbell) that he does not need a map. . . the employee also informs the camper that the lake he was planning on bringing his gal to is off limits (as kids have been sneaking up there and partying – destroying the pristine, unpolluted loch. . . expect a grand in fines if caught – the horrors of government rules and regulations).