Diabolical Dick(tator)

Blu Review: CALIGULA
18 – 152mins – 1979
Written by: Gore Vidal
Directed by: Tinto Brass and Bob Guccione
Starring: Malcolm McDowell, John Gielgud, Peter O'Toole, Helen Mirren, Teresa Ann Savoy
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Oh.

My.

Good.

God.

This is a genuine warning, CR@B fans: Any readers who thought Spartacus: Blood and Sand's penchant for fruity language and fruitier displays of T&A was too extreme for their chaste sensibilities – click away now. Seriously. This Penthouse co-produced picture is in a league all its own. 20,000 leagues under dignity, to be precise, and this rant– sorry: review does have to address some of these base issues in order to fully justify my shock.

Caligula, the infamously controversial taboo-flaunting “porn epic” has – for many years now – been floating around the foot of my “must see” film list. Not because I'm a giant perve (we-e-e-e-ell), but because I simply had to see a legitimate historical biography starring respected Hollywood thespians (just look at that cast!) which also features real hardcore pornography and explicit sexual violence – it just beggars belief! Rest assured you'll never look at The Queen the same way again...

But before I tackle the smut (oo-er), I will first flag up my concern over the casting: Fragile lead Malcolm McDowell didn't convince me at all as Gaius Caesar Germanicus, better known as the eponymous Caligula. Weedy and unimposing, he lacked any sense of gravitas necessary to lead an empire. Would his people really have bowed to his every demonic demand and sardonic whim? What the A Clockwork Orange actor does bring to the role, however, is a pair of authentically mad eyes, which, considering the Roman Emperor's obvious detachment from reality, does serve the immoral bastard well.

At a bum-numbing three hours, this notorious affair is a real schizophrenic failure: the “serious” drama segments concerning Caligula's murdering of his mad predecessor, Tiberius (O'Toole), and fall from grace once he has ascended to the throne and abused his power to the utmost, are overlong, undramatic and simply not in the least gripping; while the repeated insertion of shocking full frontal fetishistic sex scenes, castration, brutal murder and rape is distasteful and disturbingly off-putting to the extreme.

Supposedly representative of the decadence and debauchery prevalent in the Roman powerhouse, Caligula instead comes off as desperate – it's no wonder so many involved in the troubled three year production have since disowned what is little more than the highest budgeted porn film ever made. They can claim all they want that the explicit footage belatedly shot and inserted by Penthouse's Bob Guccione ruined their vision, but even without the all-too-obvious additions, Caligula is still an absolute mess! Almost ever other scene takes place in some new, vast and extravagant set – and yet all the camera is interested in is entwined naked bodies in all their up-close vulgarity. Trust me: you see e-v-e-r-y-t-h-i-n-g.

In one such jaw-dropping scene, Caligula is partaking in a menage a trois with his wife (Mirren) and beloved – in the carnal sense – sister (Savoy) while two random slave girls watch the incestuous depravity from a private room, becoming so turned on that they end up having lesbian relations themselves. The camera continues to dart between these two graphic displays for what feels like ten minutes too long, before jumping to the following morning as if nothing out of the ordinary has taken place. Just another day at the amphitheatre, then?!!

The eponymous mad-man is just so thoroughly detestable that you never once feel for this sister-fucking, mass-murdering, trust-abusing, backstabbing despot who sees no issue with torturing an innocent man until death, then encouraging his bevy of under-dressed minions to “seductively” urinate over the poor man's corpse!! Yet, when a blackbird flies into his bedroom, he squeals like a sissy!! Exactly how we are meant to embrace the “tragic” story of how his own inner circle eventually turned against him is beyond me. Just to preserve my sanity I had to view this obsene monstrosity in three instalments and I could easily have given up after each sitting. The things I do for you guys...!!


In a CR@B Shell: Eschewing art in favour of grot, this is a sick, pitiful and sorry exercise in torture – namely, ours! I really don't know how they got away with making this shameful and indecent mockery to the medium of film, but if you want to watch porn, then just watch porn and leave Caligula to rot like it deserves. Scandalous.
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Beyond Barrow

Blu Review: 30 DAYS OF NIGHT: DARK DAYS
18 – 92mins – 2010
Screenplay by: Steve Niles and Ben Katai
Based upon the graphic novel by: Steve Niles and Ben Templesmith
Directed by: Ben Katai
Starring: Kiele Sanchez, Rhys Coiro, Mia Kirshner, Harold Perrineau, Doira Baird, Ben Cotton, Troy Ruptash
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Back in 2007, David Slade’s big screen adaptation of graphic novel sensation 30 Days of Night assured its position as not only my favourite film of that year, but as one of my favourite films of all time. The feral portrayal of the vampire clan descending upon the isolated Alaskan community of Barrow as the sun descended for the eponymous duration left me as chilled as the terrified characters hiding in the snow-steeped settlement.

When a sequel was announced – based upon the franchise’s second comic installment and once again co-written by creator Steve Niles – there was no doubt in my mind that this was a must see follow-up, and my enthusiasm wasn’t even dampened when it became clear that this was to be a direct-to-video offering with the original’s only surviving character – Sherriff’s wife Stella Oleson – being played by a different actress.

I will state right from the off that Dark Days does not reach the same heights as its gloriously unreserved predecessor – perhaps due to a smaller budget and a less original concept – although it does do a sufficient job of expanding the in-story universe and not resting on 30 Days’s laurels, for which it must be commended.

For starters, flashbacks aside, we are no longer in decimated Barrow, but following grieving Stella (Sanchez) as she tours America in a futile attempt to convince the world of the fanged horrors hiding in the shadows. Her only support comes in the form of mysterious tip-offs from a correspondent called Dane (Cotton), that is until she joins forces with three likewise vamp-aggrieved victims and they set out to bring down the bloodsucking network by taking out the big bad vampire queen Lilith (Kirshner).

Kiele Lost Sanchez is an adequately tight-lipped replacement for “busy” Melissa George, while Kirshner does what she can with limited characterisation but buckets of style. Unfortunately it diminishes the effect of the animalistic sun-shy hordes when they are merely doing someone else’s bidding, and when Lilith’s attacking skills are eventually put to the test, it is hard to believe that she demanded such respect among her fearsome kind.

I enjoyed the crossovers and call backs to the original film – the vampire hunters board an Arctic-bound ship on course to carry out an analogous attack; Agent Norris (Ruptash) is a “bug eater” desperate to be turned, much like the locked-up lackey in Barrow – while a shocking revelation breathes life into the vampire mythos and leads to a surprising twist in the tale, but in other areas Dark Days falls somewhat short.

The human team of Paul (Coiro), Amber (Baird) and Todd (Perrineau) are one dimensional to the extreme, and for supposedly skilled hunters their “plan” of breaking in to the vampire’s tunnel lair armed with guns – despite admitting bullets only slow the undead down – and a torch (!!) is shoddy to the extreme, while a sex scene seemed totally out of step with Stella’s emotional stance and appeared to only be included to spice up the rating and make Paul more relevant to the story.

I definitely didn’t detest Dark Days, indeed it seemed quite polished for a non-theatrical release, but my hopes were far too high after the inspired original and no sequel could have lived up to that in my mind. There are flashes of class (look out for the symmetry between two vital scenes) and plenty of brutal violence and excessive gore to keep the sadists happy, but all too often Ben Katai’s sequel is submerged in a cavern of cliché and clambers out looking far too familiar.


In a CR@B Shell: Dark, dank but not dismal, Dark Days is an above average budget-conscious effort, retaining 30 Days of Night’s atmosphere without retelling a replica story. Pity the characterisation wasn’t sharper as your empathy may evaporate to ash.
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Wideboys versus Lost Boys

DVD Review: DEAD CERT
18 – 89mins – 2010
Based on an idea by: Garry Charles and Steve Lawson
Story by: Steve Lawson, Nick Onsloe, Jonathon Sothcott
Screenplay by: Ben Shilito
Directed by: Steve Lawson
Starring: Craig Fairbrass, Billy Murray, Dexter Fletcher, Lisa McAllister, Steven Berkoff, Jason Flemying, Danny Midwinter, Ricky Grover
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It's a novel idea for a genre mash-up, I'll give the horde of contributing writers that: Cockney gangsters take on Romanian vampires in the battle for a gentleman's club built on cursed land. Fist fights, firearms, funbags and fangs – it could have been a feast of frightening and frenzied fury. Shame, then, that Dead Cert is a disjointed and occasionally unfocused affair which at times verges on the dull. A case of too many cooks maul the broth, perhaps...?

On the opening night of his new East End club, Paradise, small time gangster Freddie Frankham (Craig Faibrass) gets an unexpected offer from an uninvited guest, Eastern European Dante Livienko (Billy Murray): if Freddie's brother – bare fist brawler Dennis (Danny Midwinter) – can beat Dante's Romanian heavyweight (Dave Legeno), Frankham will scoop £3million, but if Dennis loses, Freddie will lose Paradise...

Such promise – especially with an 18 rating – but we barely get a flash of fang for the first 45 minutes. Whereas this surprise supernatural reveal worked wonders in From Dusk Til Dawn (1995), director Steve Lawson's long game approach just comes across as painfully slow to get going. Furthermore, when the ironically renamed club Inferno finally explodes into a deadly bloodbath, the shift in gear feels distinctly contrasting in tone.

Steven Berkoff plays the clichéd “madman” whose rabid warnings of death to all who cross the legendary “Wolf” go unheeded until the club is painted claret. The film's backstory - which stretches across the globe and dates back 500 years (even Jack the Ripper is dragged into the mix) - is so convoluted that it requires a double page essay in the booklet to help explain things, despite the Wolf/Livienko mystery being painfully obvious.

At a lean 89 minutes it just feels like Dead Cert ends far too soon, squandering its elaborate mythology by tying everything up quick-smart with a blink-and-you'll-miss-it cameo from go-to working man Danny Dyer. Lawson instead seems far more interested in CGI blood splatters and an orgy of vamp/gangster (vampster?) head-to-head scraps than a satisfying narrative.

It doesn't help that Billy Murray is an incredibly weak central villain, much less Romanian vampire. True, he is meant to be more deadly than his distinguished appearance suggests, but I am so used to seeing him as an honourable copper on The Bill that it is seriously hard to fear him as an imposing figure. When Freddie questions Livienko's lack of an Eastern European accent you can't help but think “miscasting cover-up”.

For all this Britsh horror's flaws, I was impressed by how the undead were not simply demonised blood-hungry husks when they reawaken: Ricky 'Orrible Grover is so devastated by his new existence that he stakes himself, while – SPOILER ALERT! – Dennis retains brain damage in the afterlife from his fatal final fight. Sadly, the minute the neck-biters open their mouths they sound like Stephen Hawking on autotune and all suspense evaporates.


In a CR@B Shell: With such a mouthwatering Underworld-meets-Underworld concept, it's a shame that Dead Cert is such a boring clash of hardcore genres. Things liven up in the second half, but the mythology suffers at the fangs of hyperbolic gore.
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Prison Monkeys

Blu Review: THE EXPERIMENT
15 – 96mins – 2010
Screenplay by: Paul Scheuring
Based on the novel “Black Box” by Mario Giordano, and the film Das Experiment (2001)
Directed by: Paul Scheuring
Starring: Adrien Brody, Forest Whitaker, Cam Gigandet, Clifton Collins Jnr., Ethan Cohn, Damien Leake, Travis Fimmel, David Banner, Fisher Stevens and Maggie Grace
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Eight years ago now, whilst I was away studying at university, a housemate of mine introduced me to a German film called Das Experiment (2001). He promised me that I would be utterly engrossed yet equally appalled by the psychological terrorism employed by the characters – a group of strangers being paid to take part in the titular study – and it would really make me question the term “humanity”. He wasn't wrong.

Almost a decade later and Hollywood has belatedly done what Hollywood does best (ahem) and remade a foreign language film which never needed to be remade, drafting in big name stars (Adrien Brody, Forest Whitaker) and well known faces (Maggie Lost Grace, Cam The O.C. Gigandet, Fisher Short Circuit Stevens) to show their range in this cruel and gritty prison observation gone very, very wrong.

That being said, as the credits rolled on The Experiment, I was just as riled up and exasperated by the narrative as I was in my dorm room back in 2002: this adaptation loses none of its potency in the translation as the designated “guards” – among them mild-mannered Christian mummy's boy Barris (Whitaker) – see the power of authority go straight to their heads as their treatment of the “inmates” – including recently unemployed carer Travis (Brody) – spirals into sadism.

It may seem incredulous that within 48 hours of the proposed 14 day study civility starts to crack as the guards enjoy their temporary authority a little too much, believing they can get away with whatever the hell they like providing the revered red light doesn't turn on and indicate that big brother is unhappy, but The Experiment bares a horrifically close resemblance to the real life 1971 Stanford prison experiment, itself likewise aborted just six days into a two week trial: this shit actually happened, people!

My initial reaction was that it seemed remiss of writer/director Paul Scheuring to not reveal study leader Archaleta's (Stevens) reasons for delaying the cancellation of his controversial research, especially after bullying and cruelty is asserted upon the “prisoners”; but in hindsight the director made the correct choice, plunging us too into the mock penal environment, forever looking to the red light for guidance.

Whether in German or English, The Experiment is a tortuous and difficult watch, there's no denying that. You'll pick your side and you'll question everything as common decency gets dunked down the toilet and your sense of guilt is shoved into solitary confinement all in the name of a $14,000 paycheck. Is it true what they say: are we all just animals in suits who will turn feral the minute law is placed in our greedy paws?


In a CR@B Shell: As psychotic as it is psychological, The Experiment is a brutally shocking Lord of the Flies for grown-ups. It will enrage and upset your moral code, but you won't be able to look away.
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Creed Corrupts

Blu Review: THE DISAPPEARANCE OF ALICE CREED
18 – 100mins – 2009
Written by: J. Blakeson
Directed by: J. Blakeson
Starring: Gemma Arterton, Eddie Marsan, Martin Compston
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From oily Bond Girl to country slapper, via guardian Goddess and Persian Princess, it's been quite a breakthrough couple of years for Kent-born actress Gemma Arterton, so it was intriguing to see the A-lister who would be Tamara Drewe in a gritty and low key indie thriller – especially one which demanded her to be gagged and tied up for ninety percent of the shoot.

Arterton certainly has a rough ole' time of it as the eponymous victim Alice, bundled into the back of a van and locked away in a makeshift bedroom-come-prison by partners in crime Danny (Martin Compston) and the older and more proficient Vic (Eddie Sherlock Holmes Marsan). No other characters are introduced for the remainder of the film, as the nervy youngster Danny follows meticulous plotter Vic's lead in making calls to demand a ransom and checking up on their distressed captive.

Although the violence isn't tenaciously intense it is at times downright harrowing (particularly when Arterton is cut out of her clothes or made to urinate in a jug, shackled to the bed throughout), with all three players delivering steely performances which you truly believe in.

Sparse and contained though the action may be, The Disappearance of Alice Creed is deceptive in its scope, with the plot constantly evolving as backstory reveals throw up left field twists which cast the characters and their bleak situation into remarkable new light.

That first time auteur J. Blakeson adeptly manages such convolutions without the script feeling forcibly constructed or expositionary is miraculous. For instance, we learn that Danny has been in prison, but we are not sure for what crimes; we are told that Alice hates her multi-millionaire father, but we never discover what aggravated her resentment; while cold-blooded kidnap expert Vic largely remains a mystery until desperation sets in.

Fundamentally, the details are insignificant to the scenario and would only dilute the potency of the mystery (even the location of the flat holding cell is never revealed): characterisation is key here, and Blakeson's effectively drawn out exploration of his limited cast's complex relationships leads to a properly nailbiting spider's web of a thriller.


In a CR@B Shell: Low in key but high in trepidation, writer/director J. Blakeson's debut feature is an impressively executed three way powerplay which intrigues as persistently as it disturbs.
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Fusty Fanged Federation

Book Review: UPRISING
Written by: Scott G. Mariani
Published in the UK by: AVON
Released: 10th June 2010
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Best known for his high-octane series of Dan Brown-alike mystery thrillers starring intrepid ex-SAS protagonist Ben Hope, Scott G. Mariani's latest prose project – the first in a proposed new saga – is something of a departure for the acclaimed British author. Welcome to modern day London with a supernatural, err, bite... welcome to the world of the Vampire Federation.

Established by the undead hordes to keep their blood-feasting urges from being detected by the technologically savvy human population of the 21st century, the codes of the Vampire Federation are, alas, not adhered to by all neck biters. A rogue sect of traditionalists (or “trads”) lead by ferocious rebel vamp Gabriel Stone are out to bring down the dictatorial Federation, destroy its force of special agents and allow free reign for the fanged creatures of the night.

It was Scott G. Mariani's desire to give the hallmarks of classic vampire mythology – namely those set out in the seminal masterpiece Dracula, which the author openly acknowledges as far more than a passing inspiration – a fresh and modern spin. Hence his action packed world of interspecies civil war is stocked with many an advanced gimmick and gizmo (although cynics may say "story-servicing cheats") which Bram Stoker could scarcely have envisaged: from an arsenal of vamp-dusting weapons, to pills which allow the night-walkers to get a suntan, and injections which wipe the recent memory of any neck-punctured mortal.

Of course, this is one mighty popular sub-genre of horror, and many recent films, series and novels have beaten Uprising to the punch. Blade, Nightwatch, Twilight, the True Blood/Sookie Stackhouse chronicles, 30 Days of Night and Daybreakers are but a few mainstream examples of modern twists to the age-old antagonists. For all Mariani's best intentions, this leaves Uprising with a terribly trite and stale stench. From the shadow strewn back-alley attacks, to the cloak-clad “baddies” with their secret dungeon graveyards and ghoulish minions masquerading as butlers: we've seen it all before.

Uprising's second half improves slightly over the unremarkable and clichéd first 250-odd pages, as venegance-powered human hero DI Joel Solomon finally teams up with Federation agent Alex Bishop and the odd couple head to Venice to track down legendary artefact – and ultimate vampire repellent – the cross of Ardaich (yep, that's another "story-servicing cheat").

With a clear goal, the novel picks up pace and feels more cohesive and focused than the globe-jumping mess of the first half where every bite-sized chapter - prefixed with a different locational brief - introduces yet another two dimensional character; from page to page you don't know where you will be, or who with. Were the chapters not so short (3-5 pages is the average, with many a blank page speeding up the journey) and the writing not so sprightly and easy to digest, I would have given up on Uprising long before the story began to grip me.

Mariani's prose has a strongly cinematic feel. This author clearly prefers writing action to detail, so although the story flies by, you never feel truly immersed. It is as if Uprising was written with one eye on a multi-million dollar Hollywood adaptation and Mariani went all-out to deliver what would look the most mind-blowingly epic on the big screen: there's a Thames speedboat chase, a fight clambering on the London Eye, a high speed car crash and a Dracula-riffing Romanian castle climax. Frankly, it all comes across as a little over indulgent.

The same is true of the over abundance of “fucks,” “shits,” needlessly graphic deaths and out of place sex scenes: I came away with the opinion that Mariani was out to drive home the point that his vampire novel is hip, extreme, current and for adults only. Unfortunately, this all just comes across as a contrived and immature attempt to assert that Uprising definitely isn't Twilight, which was already obvious from the first hint of fang.


In a CR@B Shell: A leisurely read, but Scott G. Mariani's supernatural horror debut brings nothing new to an overcrowded genre. For all its desperate attempts at “modern,” “edgy” and “extreme”, Uprising is a predictable and tired novel which is more hackneyed than homage.
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The Empire Strides Back

DVD Review: CENTURION
15 – 93mins – 2010
Written by: Neil Marshall
Directed by: Neil Marshall
Starring: Michael Fassbender, Dominic West, Olga Kurylenko, Ulrich Thomsen, Noel Clarke, David Morrissey, JJ Field, Liam Cunningham, Riz Ahmed, Imogen Poots, Ryan Atkinson
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Following the stellar double whammy of Dog Soldiers (2002) and The Descent (2005) – not to mention a near messianic level of admiration from Total Film magazine – it is a surprise to me that writer and director Neil Marshall’s subsequent releases (2008’s Doomsday and this year's Centurion) have been released to little fanfare. Indeed, Centurion’s cinema release must have been so limited it totally passed me by!

Sticking with his trusted blueprint of pitting an ever-diminishing band of heroes against a much larger and seemingly unconquerable enemy, Marshall here swaps the supernatural for the quasi-historical – although we’re still very much in his comfort zone of Scotland (Marshall’s beloved homeland and locale for all his previous films), even if it is known as Caledonia back in 117 AD.

Turning the tables on our expectations and favouring the invaders of the sword-slashing, armour-donning Roman Empire over the native, spear-throwing, warpaint-wearing Celtic Picts, Marshall mines the ambiguous legend of the ill-fated Ninth Legion (which was the film’s working title) for gritty, battle-heavy action/thriller gold.

According to historians (and lazy researcher’s best friend, Wikipedia), the 4,000 strong Roman legion marched into Scotland and just disappeared, never to be heard from again... Marshall creatively surmises that the military failure was wiped from the history books to keep the Roman governor of Britannia's record untainted, after a Pict sect lead by a mute, vengance-fuelled warrior (Olga Quantum of Solace Kurylenko) slayed the invading army for murdering their chief's (Ulrich The World Is Not Enough Thomsen) young son (Ryan Atkinson). Lovely chaps.

Yet here we are, siding with the pillaging Roman's, whose motley crew of seven Everyman survivors – lead by centurion Quintus Dias (Michael Hunger Fassbender) – first march north to rescue their captured commander (Dominic 300 West) from the Pict settlement, then head south (via the west, naturally: tactics, people!) to the supposed safety of their fortified garrison. It's a simple plot unburdened by too much character detail.

What Centurion does offer a lot of, however, is walking. Even when the two forces aren't walking towards one another, they're chasing after one another, weapons in hand and revenge in their eyes. And when the chase is up, they're fighting one another. Relentlessly. You see, Centurion also offers a grandiose amount of fighting, and Marshall doesn't skimp on the more spectacularly savage money shots. Many a head is separated from body, eye gouged out and limb hacked off – and we see every bloody strike and slash.

Away from the blistering action, the film’s washed out blue-grey palette, coupled with its misty woodland-shrouded landscapes and swooping aerial views of the Scottish Highlands, lend Centurion an epic and atmospheric quality similar to the obviously comparable Gladiator (2000). Although Neil Marshall's brisk and slimline 93 minute sprint will not remain as iconic as Ridley Scott's drawn out marathon, Centurion does deliver exactly what you would expect from a genre piece carrying the tagline "Fight or Die".


CR@B Verdict: Grisly, grimy and with gallons of gore, Centurion may not be perfect but what it lacks in brains it more than makes up for in brawn: Neil Marshall’s latest is a straight-up slice of hardcore popcorn entertainment.
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But What Does It All Mean, Lars?

I really do not know what to make of Danish director/writer/auteur Lars von Trier. He is either a troubled genius exorcising his inner demons through stylised works of unconventional art, or a depraved nut stretching the limits of decency for controversy's sake. His latest celluloid curiosity, Antichrist, does little to swing my opinion. In fact it flames the fire of uncertainty higher than ever before.

For the uninitiated, Antichrist in a paragraph-sized nutshell: Willem Dafoe and Charlotte Gainsbourg play a grieving couple dealing with the death of their young son. They retreat to a cabin in the woods of Eden to overcome their grief, but things take a dark and twisted turn for the horrific in this so-called paradise...

Featuring real – and seemingly unprotected* – sex between the stars (as well as a 'solo' performance by the clearly unashamed – or extremely well paid – Gainsbourg), graphic sexual violence, torture, genital mutilation (you'll be crossing your legs for hours after the credits roll, regardless of your gender), animal cruelty, and the aforementioned death of a toddler (the couple were too busy having sex to stop him falling out of a window), Antichrist is anything but a subtle portrayal of depression and mourning. To call it explicit is an understatement.

And yet, for such a boundary-bandying, taste-testing, decency-defying assault on your eyes, the film's purpose remains hidden away in a fox hole, its meaning overshadowed by an abundance of grotesque, unsettling and bewildering imagery. The film is a metaphorical onion you're too scared to peel the layers off of (yet you're still crying). This wouldn't normally be a problem, except taken at surface level, Antichrist is nothing more than nonsensical torture porn.

For actors as renowned as Gainsbourg and Dafoe to go to such lengths for their director, they must fully comprehend his ambiguous implications, and be impressed enough to bend to his every disturbing whim, but without re-watching the film with the director's commentary (that WON'T be happening; frankly, it shouldn't be necessary), I'm utterly clueless. Yes, all good films should leave you thinking, but not lost, confused and uneasy. All I'm left with after Antichrist is a desire to vomit and strip the DVD of its packaging and burn the naked disc on a giant log fire in the middle of the woods.

Blockbuster are gonna be pissed – it was a rental copy...


* I didn't pause it to investigate. Honest.