Fright Fest

Three reviews. Three horrors. Three diverse subject matters. Three distinct levels of quality. Feel “three” to read on, terror enthusiasts…

Film Review: FRANKENSTEIN
18 – 88mins – 2004

Lazily borrowing the title from Mary Shelley's vintage gothic novel, you'd be forgiven for thinking this 2004 telefilm is a modern day remake. In actuality it's a quasi-sequel, catching up with the eponymous monster-maker and his iconic creation some 200 years after the original story. And yes, both doctor and monster are still alive, with the mad genius's controversial experiments leading to evolutionary advances in human sustainability – which Dr. Victor Frank- sorry: Helios (as he has now taken to calling himself) has successfully tested on himself.

“The Monster” (Vincent Perez) may well be Helios's (Thomas Kretschmann) first foray into human resurrection, but in the intervening centuries many more patchwork people have been reawakened in the doctor's mission to create the perfect living organism – including Helios's own wife (Ivana Milicevic) and, worryingly, a mad man who is butchering his way through New Orleans. You see, Helios's creations want to die – but they can't kill themselves, so one rogue “monster” is setting himself up to be caught.

Enter Detectives Carson (Parker Posey) and Sloane (Adam Goldberg) who are aided by a mysterious third party (I'll give you a clue: “I'm not the monster anymore – I'm your best hope”) in tracking down the organ stealing serial killer. From Conan 2011 director Marcus Nispel I was expecting much better than this low budget trash, which mistakes gothic for “no lighting” and paints even the daytime scenes in a grimy blue/green hue. In addition, the camera refuses to take a step back from the characters, making the whole endeavour feel claustrophobic rather than atmospheric.

Conceptualised by horror writer Dean Koontz with a view to expanding this pilot into a TV series (which goes a long way to explaining the painful lack of closure), creative differences saw Koontz depart and go on to make his vision into a very popular series of novels. The Frankenstein he left behind is, unsurprisingly, a misfiring mess: scenes feel rushed, the editing often feels like it's worked around ad breaks, minor characters (such as Carson's autistic son) are introduced then wasted, while the whole project feels half-baked and unfinished (at no point do Helios and his creation/the police cross paths). This monster is anything but alive.

CR@B Verdict: aaaaa

Blu Review: INSIDIOUS
15 – 102mins – 2011

Zombies? Love ‘em. Vampires? No sweat. Creature Features? Piece of cake. Yet when it comes to ghosts I turn into an absolutely nervous sissy. What? Don’t judge me; we all have our weaknesses! Even before pressing play, I was already freaked out by Insidious’ atmospheric montage menu sequence – yet still I persevered through Saw creators James Wan and Leigh Whannell’s spine-chilling phantom fest; and I only needed three changes of pants!! I deserve a medal (or a pack of Huggies!).

Moving into a new house, a young family’s lives are turned upside-down when their oldest son, Dalton (Ty Simpkins), falls into an unfathomable coma. With doctors utterly perplexed, after three months the unresponsive lad is moved back home, but a number of ghostly visitations, bumps in the nights and whispers on the baby monitor lead terrified mother Renai (Rose Byrne) to persuade her sceptical husband Josh (Patrick Wilson) to relocate once more. Problem is: the supernatural entities follow them, because it isn’t the house that’s haunted.

A second half curveball where, out of sheer desperation, Renai hires a team of low-tech paranormal oddballs (Lin Shaye, Angus Sampson and multi-talented scribe Whannell) to rid them of spectral intrusion, moves the film away from its low-key haunted house concept and into full-scale demonic parasite invasion, via Ghostbusters-esque light comic relief. It’s a bit of a tone change, but no less jumpy, and the dread continues to mount in this tense and truly terrifying vision.

Much like the equally freaky Paranormal Activity (the creator of which, Oren Peli, is producer on this gig) I can assuredly say I will never watch Insidious again – and that’s the highest praise I can pay it.

CR@B Verdict: aaaaa

Film Review: PRIMAL
18 – 80mins – 2010

Six hopelessly ill-equipped university pals travel deep into the remote Australian outback to document long lost 12,000year-old rock paintings for their anthropology thesis. But, as is the convention with these genre B-movies, what starts out as a fun and exotic off-road expedition into the unknown soon spirals into disaster as one of their number contracts a mystifying fever which sees her hallucinate wildly as all her teeth fall out. Someone didn’t have their jabs!

Before long, the formerly flirtatious Mel (Krew Boylan) has grown a nasty set of animalistic gnashers, taken to communicating in primitive grunts and eating a wholly raw meat diet. Now her friends must decide whether to kill or be killed as they are hunted down in a ferociously primeval fashion. Slick production, a mounting sense of desperation and delightfully visceral cannibalistic carnage provide Primal with a superior edge over other similarly small-budgeted direct-to-DVD shockers.

Unfortunately, director Josh Reed’s vivid feature length debut stutters as it attempts to give reason to the madness (something about a giant horny cave-dwelling slug making the Neanderthals into its slaves to bring it fresh flesh to chow down on and women to impregnate) and an early stab at tying the events in with lead character Anja’s (Zoe Tuckwell-Smith) descendents is disregarded almost as soon as it is brought up. Should have stuck to the fiendishly entertaining stalk n’ strike scenario.

CR@B Verdict: aaaaa

To the Manor Dead

Book Review: THE DEAD OF WINTER
Written by: Chris Priestley
Released in: 2010
Published by: Bloomsbury
217pages
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In an attempt to temperate my ravenous consumption of the marvellous “Tales of Terror” series from Cambridge’s own young adult horror author Chris Priestley (click the links for my reviews of Uncle Montague and Black Ship), I decided to jump forward to his latest release; once again a ghost story with a young protagonist, but this time a singular extended story rather than an anthology of quick-fire yarns.

Newly orphaned Michael Vyner is this tale’s diminutive narrator, recalling the “heartbeat hastening” events of the last Christmas, where he was obligated to leave behind the life he knew to spend the holidays in the desolate and shadowy Hawton Mere, an ancient East Anglian abode which is home to his enigmatic and aloof guardian – the sickly Sir Stephen Clarendon – and a solitary woman in white who wanders the snow-covered fens…

The Dead of Winter could quite easily have been reduced to a 20/30 page short story from a “Tales of Terror” compilation, which is not to say it is an agonisingly drawn-out or humdrum affair when spread over a novel’s length, only that a lot of the time is spent accumulating a chilling ambience – shadows in the darkness, knocking behind walls, ghosts in the mist, etcetera – while the plot is never thick or complex. But then this is horror aimed at a teen audience.

Priestley’s descriptive prose is his greatest creative strength – he has great fun with his graphic and evocative imagery and metaphors, conjuring up a truly fearful vibe from the slightest of actions or most sensitive of sentiments. Par exemple:

“As I recoiled in horror, her face shone with a light of pure evil. Her eyes
that had been so bright in life were now white marbles, as if the fire had
licked all colour from them. She was like some spider who had waited for this
moment, and now the moment came…”

While the climatic clarification of the ghoulish goings-on did fall a little short of Uncle Montague’s extreme depravity (a wonderfully creepy faceless boy with just a mouth for shrieking in agony and the supernatural ability to morph into a giant arachno-lizard creature was sadly underused) and the solution to the overriding mystery of how Sir Stephen’s beloved wife died was all too predictable, what did impress me about The Dead of Winter was how well Priestley handled the increasing cast of supporting characters.

Cooks, lawyers, coachmen, servants, guardians, sisters; all play a part – for better or worse – in Michael’s sorrowful secluded stay at Hawton Mere, and none are given short shrift in the narrator’s first-person account. Even if they depart for extended periods of time, their presence is always felt by their absence, most notably Sir Stephen’s lawyer, Tristan Jerwood, who Michael gradually warms to and comes to see as a confidant, missing this new-found friend who must leave on business for long periods at a time. Of course this desire for companionship is only natural when your parent’s have died and you are imprisoned in an alien environment.

This kind of continuity may seem insignificant to some, but it is crucial to producing a consistent and relatable chronicle (particularly as Michael is only a child and – no matter how brave – still dependant on support from his elders), and it impressed me as proof that Priestley – an author who I have become acquainted with as a short story scribe – and his compellingly lurid shocks can translate to longer stories. I fervently await Mr Creecher, which is due for hardback release in October.


In a CR@B Shell: While not as vividly distasteful as the gloriously grotesque Uncle Montague, The Dead of Winter still succeeds as an old fashioned gothic yuletide nightmare in the fashion of Dennis Wheatley and Henry James ghost stories; not least because of Priestley’s slow-building tension and disturbingly macabre ambience.
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Fisherman's Fiend

Book Review: TALES OF TERROR FROM THE BLACK SHIP
Written by: Chris Priestley
Published in: 2008
Bloomsbury
242 pages
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Having been so enraptured by gothic anthology Uncle Montague's Tales of Terror (reviewed HERE), I was genuinely ecstatic to discover that it was just the first in a (hopefully not yet finished) series of Tales of Terror from Cambridge author Chris Priestley. Book two, Black Ship, follows Uncle Montague's winning formula of having an obscure storyteller narrating thematically-associated supernatural chronicles to a young protagonist.

This time around we are marooned by a ravenous storm in the isolated cliff-perched dwelling The Old Inn, where home alone siblings Ethan and Cathy Matthew's are the scare-hungry youngsters bewitched by shelter-searching sailor Jonah Thackery's nightmarish ocean-orientated fables. Waiting for their father to return with the medicine they need to cure their ailing sickness, Ethan is guardedly cautious of their yarn-spinning guest, while Cathy seems transfixed and eager to be spooked.

The reveal in penultimate chapter “The Black Ship” that there is both more and less to Thackery's own history is disappointingly predictable, but the absolutely superb and genuinely spine-chilling twist in the conclusive “Wolfsbane” was an unanticipated knockout which raised the bar and blew me away, totally justifying the back cover warning: “This is a seriously scary book – younger readers be warned!”

Regrettably, away from the superior climax, while I still found Black Ship to be a well written and atmospheric collection, I have to admit that the other short stories were not quite up to the high standard set by Uncle Montague. There's a motley medley of macabre monstrosities without doubt – from vampires in the slave cargo (“Piroska”) to giant flesh eating snails (“Nature”), paranormal tattoo's (“Irezumi”) and an escaped exotic creature devastating a crew of scavenging pirates (“The Monkey”) – but, ultimately, none of the tales are as dark, daring or deadly as last time around.


In a CR@B Shell: Lacking the emphatic bite which made Uncle Montague such a ghoulish treat, but nevertheless as engrossing and enjoyably digestible as the original; Tales of Terror from the Black Ship is saved from sinking by a devilishly remarkable eleventh hour shock in the spectacular final chapter. Shades of genius to be shore.
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Tales From the Decrepit

Book Review: UNCLE MONTAGUE'S TALES OF TERROR
Written by: Chris Priestley
Published in: 2007
Bloomsbury
239 pages
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Ostracised by the local children and detached from his cold-hearted parents, little Edgar has taken to visiting his reclusive and eccentric Uncle Montague for company. In his creaky and creepy dilapidated house in the woods, Uncle Montague entertains his young guest with a series of gothic ghost stories, each inspired by the curious artefacts which clutter the man’s living room: a brass telescope, a gilt frame with no picture, a wedding photograph from bygone times, a demon bench end…

Each chapter presents a new chillingly atmospheric story, but after each story is completed, Edgar and his withdrawn uncle’s own story is expanded too. Just where did Uncle Montague get all these bizarre collectables? Why does his butler, Franz, refuse to show his face? Who is it rattling at the windows and running across the upstairs floorboards if Uncle Montague lives alone? Is there any truth to these outlandish tales? All these questions accumulate as the collection continues, climaxing in a final bone-chilling tale of revelation: Uncle Montague’s own.

Some of the yarns are stronger than others – my particular favourites are “The Un-door”, “The Gilt Frame”, “Ghost Story” and “The Demon Bench End”, while “Jinn” and “Offerings” lack definition or intent – but all successfully evoke a macabre ambience and involve child protagonists who invariably meet ghastly ends in wickedly unforeseen twists. If these Tales of Terror are indeed meant for children (they are published by Bloomsbury, after all), the author doesn’t restrain from audaciously shocking deaths and grotesque descriptive passages:

“The features were utterly ruined and looked like something glimpsed in an
abattoir or a nightmare. One side of the face was a hideous mass of gristle and
torn flesh, like a sheep carcass after the rocks have worked it. An unblinking
eye look out from the other side.”

Chris Priestley’s taut but immersive raconteur-befitting prose is complemented by a selection of over-stylised line-drawn illustrations by David Roberts which bring to mind the gothic works of Tim Burton and really help to set the scene: angular tree branches, imposing buildings, never-ending shadows et al. Edgar Allen Poe would undoubtedly approve – and I can only assume Priestley’s protagonist was named as such in homage to the master of the macabre.


In a CR@B Shell: Reader beware you’re in for a scare… Uncle Montague’s Tales of Terror is a remarkable anthology of campfire ghost stories which is delightfully presented and makes for a tense and morbid treat for all ages – just don’t blame me if you get goosebumps!
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