Reviews

The first episode depicts Victorian Hull with diversity in spades and this sets the stage for a barrage of far left messaging of the sort one expects from the BBC these days. Everybody is sick, drunk, immoral and unpleasant. They speak with modern cadence and expressions for the most part. Haigh succeeds in extracting from the normally talented Colin Farrell, the worst performance he has ever given. Farrell has attempted to combine Hardy's Delaney from Taboo with the extraordinary manner of speech of Day-Lewis as the Butcher in Gangs of New York - the effect is off putting. Farrell's Drax even has the same implausible connections to savage dark tribes that Delaney has. Not only is North Water highly reminiscent of Taboo, but also of 2018's The Terror; all three portray an unconvincing and unpleasant picture of the 19th century heavily laden with a clumsy, trite and laboured political message. Farrell is supposed to be intimidating, but he appears more like a puppy in fancy dress, and is just as scary.

Someone's been bumming the cabin boy! Oh no! They are blaming the homosexual even though he says "boys are not to my taste" - in Haigh's fantasy world, it is the heterosexual man who bum rapes young boys while the homosexual is the victim of patriarchal homophobes who facilitate the bum raping. Right.

The protagonist in a historical drama set in Victorian England, couldn't possibly be an Englishman. As in countless other examples, he is an assimilated Irishman, but his pure and virtuous Irish blood gives him moral insights which set him apart from the seal clubbing, insurance fraud scamming, little-Indian boy shooting Englishmen.

How bloody tiresome this sort of thing is. Can't someone produce a drama about this period which reflects the actual values, culture and beliefs of the people of the time? The whaling scenes are quite good, but not worth slogging through this mess to watch!

Many are fed up with seeing the Viking age depicted with so much brown leather, tattooed heads, woke casting and punk rock haircuts. So when Robert Eggers, a director whose previous two films each dealt with pagan mythology and folklore in a nuanced and thought provoking way, announced that his third film would be about Vikings, I wasn't the only one who dared to get his hopes up.

The Northman is indeed consistent with Eggers' last film The Lighthouse, which delves into mythology as a means to explore the dark caverns of the human psyche. Yet unlike any his previous films, it contains impressively choreographed, high octane, action sequences which will appeal to an entirely different audience.

In a nod to the first ever story recorded in Western literature, the Odyssey, the Northman also begins with a plot summary in the form of a pagan invocation. While the immortal lines in Ancient Greek invoke the Muse, likely the goddess Calliope, the husky narration of a character later revealed to be a priest of Odin, invokes that god and then reveals exactly what is going to happen with merciless disregard for spoiler-sensitive surprise-enjoyers. This introduction is also highly reminiscent of the opening of Conan the Barbarian which presents the film as a story told by a wizened old yarn spinner, much like this Odinic priest. Right from the get-go, the very pagan theme of fate inexorably leading our protagonist to his end is introduced, and we know what must occur before we finish our popcorn.

Spoilers should not concern anyone who knows the story of Shakespeare's Hamlet since this plot borrows from the same source Shakespeare referred to; the medieval Danish tale of Amleth recorded in the 12th century by Saxo Grammaticus. Amleth was previously adapted for the screen in Prince of Jutland (1994), starring a young Christian Bale as 'Amled'. Eggers has replaced Denmark with the more dramatic landscape of Iceland, and England with the easternmost colony of the Viking world in Ukraine. But Eggers' Amleth does not feign madness like Hamlet, rather he descends into a very real divine madness after being initiated as a wolf of Odin.

This transformation is depicted in two scenes showing separate Odinic initiation rituals. The first is early in the film, during Amleth's childhood, when his father King Aurvandil War-Raven initiates his son into manhood with the help of the court jester, Heimir. This 'fool' character is not in the original story but his inclusion was a stroke of real genius on Eggers' part. Heimir is a clear nod to Shakespeare's Yorick, the court jester Hamlet remembered so fondly from his childhood, but who appears in the play only in the form of a disembodied skull. The name Amleth itself, in its Icelandic form Amlóði, had come to mean a fool or jester in medieval Iceland, but it is thought to have originated from a term using the suffix óðr, a word cognate with Odin which refers to the divine madness or frenzy with which that god was associated. Since Amleth's feigned stupidity is replaced by Odinic frenzy in this plot, his feigned stupidity is instead personified as a character who Defoe skilfully portrays in a manner at turns hilarious and terrifying. But Heimir is also a deeply Odinic figure who introduces the young Amleth to the mysteries of the Odin cult in a visually captivating scene which reimagines the world tree of Norse mythology as a family tree which connects all the royal lineages to the god Odin. While this interpretation of the world tree would be alien to Viking pagans, they certainly did believe that kings were descended from Odin and this visual device also serves to illustrate an unforeseen plot twist at the end of the film. During the first initiation, young Amleth not only "becomes" a wolf of Odin, but is also advised by the fool in regards to the mystery of women which he says is connected to the Norns; semi-divine female entities who weave the fates of gods and men. Some Viking-age women practised a kind of shamanic, divinatory magic relating to the threads of fate which was called seiðr - a word which originally referred to a kind of thread like those used in spinning. Odin himself had to learn this magic from a goddess. The theme of the threads of fate is frequently invoked throughout the film with shots of spinning whorls and woollen threads as well as a Norn-like witch played by Icelandic popstar Björk. While Shakespeare's Hamlet agonises over the question of his own being and is thereby delayed from the righteous action of vengeance, Eggers' Amleth remains almost constantly focused on his vendetta, and when he tries to turn from this path, the threads of fate pull him back to his inevitable end.

The second Odinic initiation scene occurs when Amleth has become a man with enormous trapezius muscles (row-maxing will do that), employed as a slaver in the kingdom of the Rus in Ukraine. He and a group of men all wearing the skins of wolves are led by a horned priest in a shamanistic ritual which culminates in them howling and snarling like wolves. The priest wears a headdress with horns which terminate in bird heads and this motif is recorded on dozens of artefacts from Anglo-Saxon England and Scandinavia all of which are thought to pertain to a cult of Odin, with the birds representing that god's two ravens. Several depictions also show the horned man dancing with spears and one such depiction from Sweden shows the dancer next to a man in a wolf skin. Thus the priest in this scene struts rhythmically around a ritual fire brandishing two spears in one hand.

This is followed by a testosteronous, adrenaline pumping sequence where the wolf men raid a Slavic town for slaves. The town's defenders launch a spear at Amleth who catches it in mid air and returns it in one impressively fluid movement. This seemingly impossible manoeuvre is taken directly from the medieval Icelandic story of Njáls in which the Viking hero Gunnar catches a spear and throws it straight back into his enemy. So even the action choreography has benefited from consulting historical sources!

After the raid Amleth receives advice from the witch Björk who sets him back on his fated path of revenge, stowing away on a slave shipment to Iceland. This part was rather silly, since Russian slaves are unlikely to have been sent further west than Sweden (Icelanders were able to acquire slaves more locally from Scotland and Ireland). Presumably historical accuracy was set aside here because Eggers wanted the love interest, Olga, to be some kind of Slavic pagan witch who could be integrated into the dream-like sequences pertaining to fate and the Norns. Couldn't she have been a Celtic witch?

Next Olga and Amleth live as slaves on a remote Icelandic farm owned by his uncle and Mother who don't recognise him. This part of the film bears rather a close resemblance to 'When the Raven Flies' (1984), an Icelandic film about an Irish slave who seeks revenge on the Vikings who murdered his parents. There is then an innovative and enigmatic sequence in which Amleth is led by a fox to a cave in which he finds a priest of Odin. The priest, like Shakespeare's gravedigger in Hamlet, shows Amleth the disembodied head of the court jester he loved so well as a boy. But this is not merely a skull like Yorick's, rather the priest has preserved the head with magic, just as Odin preserved the severed head of Mimir so that it could recite to him the esoteric wisdom of Hell. Now we leave Elizabethan courts, descending into the misty realm of telluric pagan esotericism. We hear Defoe's voice speak from beyond the grave instructing Amleth to enter a barrow at night to retrieve a legendary sword with which he shall avenge his father. Heimir, like Mimir, serves as a prophet in death, but in fact he had been a prophet even in life too, for at the start of the film he makes lewd insinuations about Amleth's Mother the Queen. A grave warning disguised as bawdy humour.

We never see the lips of the head move, and as with all the supernatural sequences in the film, Eggers leaves open the possibility that these phenomena are only depictions of what the characters imagine or dream they are seeing. In the following scene when Amleth, beneath the light of the full moon, breaks into the barro, we see again how faithfully the film adheres to historical accuracy, since the corpse of the great man in the barrow can be dated to the pre-Viking Vendel era based on his weapons and armour. There are many stories of men retrieving ancient weapons from barrows such as the poem Hervararkviða in which a woman climbs into her father's barrow to retrieve a sword called Tyrfing. The corpse Amleth encounters is sat upright on a throne, which in Norse lore is a sure sign that he will come back to life as a zombie which the Vikings called a draugr. Sure enough an intense fight scene between Amleth and the draugr ensues, ending with Amleth shoving its decapitated head between its buttocks - this too is attested in the sources. But then it cuts back to Amleth standing before the seated corpse as though nothing had happened. Was it all a dream? Exactly the sort of supernatural ambiguity we should expect from Eggers.

The depiction of the Odinic priest wearing a woman's dress and an anachronistic 17th century Christian symbol was unfortunate and based on a strongly contested theory that Odin wore women's clothes as part of divinatory seiðr rituals. These are, however, minor quibbles with an expertly crafted film which is well cast, with actors pulling off some phenomenal performances (Nicole Kidman deserves particular praise for her role as the detestable Queen Gudrún). Eggers is certainly among the greatest filmmakers of his generation and regardless of how well The Northman performs at the box office, I don't need to put on a dress to prophesy that it will be remembered as a cult classic of cinema history.

This film was as much a warning for the future as it was a history of a cultural phenomenon. Unfortunately that warning was largely ignored and America and all the West suffers dearly for it. The film is a bit overly American and sensationalist bit remains the only proper documentary that is critical of cultural Marxism.

As someone who appreciates artistic cinematography, beautiful nature and the mystique of Europe's pagan past, this film should have been perfect for me since it has all of the above.

Clearly the film is an achievement based on its low budget. The topic is interesting and there is artistry in the execution, but the script, character development and acting are far below what most audiences consider to be professional standards, to the extent that it becomes difficult to follow.

If you want a somewhat frivolous but visually stunning nostalgia trip, with emphasis on trip, then this Psychedelic retro horror is for you. There is certainly an homage aspect to it, so perhaps originality was never the goal, but there is a distinct lack in overall meaning to the story. The aesthetic of demonic LCD cults and bikers set in a neon 80's rural America is very appealing but the film seems schizophrenic. The first half of the film is quite arty, and seems to set up deep themes about love, but the second half descends into splatter fest revenge porn. The ending doesn't quite satisfy because of the unresolved issues from the first half. Cage is well caste as a screaming madman, as usual!

The main problem with this film isn't historical inaccuracy, but that is one problem. I won't go into details of how inaccurate this film was historically, but here's a summary; clothes are a ridiculous mix of History Channel Vikings tier biker gear and renaissance fair women's gowns, men in eyeliner and not wearing helmets in battle. "Shieldmaidens" (eye roll) galore and modern atheist/humanist attitudes toward religion and sacrifice among the actual pagans!

Even with all the nonsense, which removes any historical value, the film could at least have been a fun but silly action movie, but it isn't. Very bad script, poor acting and a lack of characterisation or originality in the plot all make this film very weak. The narrative arc flops about like a landed herring, some unimportant scenes drag on for no apparent reason, often with bombastic score serving the place of dialogue. It isn't convincing as a historical drama in the first place but the characters aren't convincing in any other respect either.

I waited a long time to see a film about Redbad of Frisia, who is an interesting historical figure, but this is just terrible. There even appears to be some appeal to regional Frisian patriotism of the modern era, and a nod to the fake history of Oera Linda, making the goddess Freyja (Frya in Oera Linda) a principle deity whom the priestess refers to as "Earth Mother" which is not a name the real goddess was ever known by, but which is the name of her Mother in the hoax manuscript of the 19th century which some Frisians actually believe to be authentic and which depicts Ancient Frisia as a matriarchal utopia.

The exterior scenes of London are convincing and the claustrophobic, incestuous halls of the tower seem an ideal setting for a drama about greed, betrayal and murder. The horror aspect is somewhat over played by Universal's marketing. It seems unlikely that any audience, even those in the 30's, would not have been more thrilled than horrified by the medieval power struggles depicted in the film.

The scenery and lighting enhance a dark and ominous tone that reinforces the typical atmosphere of a horror genre film. So too does the presence of Boris Karloff, playing a sadistic club-footed executioner named Mord. This Igor-like caricature is hardly scary, and even adds a humorous element when viewed by modern audiences. Basil Rathbone plays the truly ruthless Duke of Gloucester, as both villain and protagonist. The plot revolves around his desire to usurp his brother's throne, killing those who stand in his way. Vincent Price also makes an appearance, a weak portrayal of the Duke's alcoholic half-brother, Clarence, who is dispatched by being drowned in wine. Oh the irony! Rathbone's intense stare and slimy charm as the Duke make for a compelling depiction, although somewhat overacted. His intensity is complimented by the comic relief provided by Ian Hunter as Edward IV. The film has been compared to Shakespeare's Richard III, but to compare this disposable pseudo-history to the work of the Bard is both unfair and pointless. This film is certainly historical and also theatrical, but it is not a history lesson nor is it truly Shakespearean. The film is as raunchy and violent as was allowed in the 30's, which by today's standards means hardly at all. The performances carry the somewhat tedious plot along, combined with the intrigue provided by its historical significance and the striking cinematography.

The demonification of historical figures as depicted in The Tower of London may not correspond with the facts, but can be very entertaining. If a certain auteur has not applied fantasy to history, there would be no Count Dracula as we know him. This film is ideal for anyone with an interest in the War of the Roses, the mysteries of the Tower of London or the camp and theatrical horror of the black and white era. Those seeking an alternative depiction of Shakespeare's Richard III should keep looking.

With their black leather jackets and death's head badges, there's no denying that the Nazis looked kind of cool, but that doesn't change the fact that they are a symbol of all that is wrong with humanity and a cinematic villain that audiences love to hate. That may explain why three Nazi killing splatter fests are being released this summer; Iron Sky, Inglorious Basterds and from Norway the ridiculous Nazi zombie flick, Dead snow. Set in the desolate mountain regions of Norway, a snow sports holiday goes horribly wrong for a group of young friends when they encounter an army of undead Nazis from WWII.

This film is a composite of cheesy horror clichés. But the film is conscious of its own predictability and features a character named Erland, a zombie film fanatic who points out the obvious plot technique of opening a film with a group of friends heading to a remote cabin. He even going so far as to name drop the movies that writer and director Tommy Wirkola felt it necessary to plagiarise. The character is later disembowelled shortly after a bizarre toilet sex scene, thus fulfilling the tired conventions of a genre that desperately requires creative innovation to remain relevant.

The only original aspect of this horror film is the inclusion of Nazis, but watching the film one can't help but wonder at the meaning of it all. Are the Nazis, rising from the dead, a metaphor for a revival of right wing politics that needs once more to be put to death? Or is it simply that Nazis are the only human villains who it is acceptable to depict being disembowelled and torn asunder by chainsaws and machine guns? Whatever the reasoning behind the ludicrous plot, it has more holes than a bullet ridden zombie corpse. The Nazi resurrection is attributed to the fact that the group of youths find some stolen Nazi gold. Kind of a curse of the Mummie's tomb deal. Personally, I always find the nuclear radiation or voodoo magic explanations of zombism easier to swallow.

Those who want nothing more than a blood soaked, brain splattered orgy of violence peppered with a few cheap jokes will be thrilled. The cinematography and building of suspense is at times more mature and intense than the infantile plot warrants. The bleak, featureless snow covered peaks of Norway provide a superbly atmospheric setting for a horror film, and Wirkola knows how to get the best from the landscape. But breathtaking imagery cannot excuse a plot this lazy, or such brief and shallow characterisation. I find myself caring less and less for the fate of the two dimensional Nordic youths as they are killed off one by one until ultimately I just wish I was watching Evil Dead instead.

Adrift in Tokyo is a heart warming comic drama about luck, a common theme in Japanese cinema, but interesting nonetheless. The film's protagonist Takemura is a law student with a debt to pay off, a debt collector named Fukuhara who visits his house and threatens him, offers him a way out, all he has to do is walk the streets with him. The untrusting relationship changes as the two learn more about each other, it has the feel of a road movie, with the friendship developing between the two men, with the underlying theme of luck shaping their futures, Fukuhara lost his child and Takemura was abandoned by his parents as a child, they end up posing as Father and son and gradually Takemura realises his luck is changing. This sentimental and somewhat obvious male-bonding plot is held aloft by hilarious secondary characters, unlikely comic scenarios and the beautiful cinematography that captures the full range of Tokyo's landscape and atmosphere. Uplifting, thought provoking and at times very amusing.

This tragic but often hilarious documentary shows the 72 year old music legend, Andre Williams, as a struggling drug addicted alcoholic, forced to stay in cheap motels and old people's homes, as he has very little money, and his health is deteriorating. The film starts as a biography, explaining his history and achievements with the aid of interviews and archive footage, but ends up focusing more heavily on how Andre finds it difficult to tour and perform in his old age, and is a difficult man for his band mates to get along with. There is a depressing contrast between the success of his early musical career with songs like 'shake a tail feather' and 'bacon fat' being legendary and his being brought out like an old bear at the circus in his twilight years, to perform, perhaps against his will, as a result of his poverty caused by the cruelty of the music industry and his own lack of foresight. The overwhelming message to be taken from the film is Andre's relentless optimism, passion for life, for women, for sex, for fun and high spirits, despite having so little to show for his remarkable career, he rarely lets his bitterness show, and despite the depressing reality, Andre's magnetic character and determined sense of hope make the film ultimately very uplifting.

An endearing comedy about a roma gypsy named Hekuran who lives on a gypsy camp in Albania during the reign of the 1970's communist government, he names his ninth child Mao-ce-dun, at first he is met with anger by the party as it is not a conventional Albanian name, but after he writes to the Chinese embassy, they show an interest and the party, eager to maintain a good relationship with China, award Hekuran with luxuries he has never before experienced. He learns to manipulate the party, but takes a greater interest in communism as the film develops, it is never clear whether he is manipulating the party for his own means, or he has just misunderstood the way communism works and merely wants to be a functioning member of communist society. By bringing his family into the world of politics, he puts himself and the security of his gypsy community in danger. Not just a critique of communism but also of hypocrisy and international political relations in general. The simple characters are easy to love, and their uncertain future weighs heavy on the mind of the audience, but the ending is unremarkable, unskillfully portrayed and would have benefited from a different pace of editing, or perhaps a different final scene.

This is a delicate Japanese comedy about how life can be disappointing. It features three main characters approaching 30; none of whom are satisfied with their lives:- A nervous, shy girl with an unusual affection for fish sausages, aspires to be an artist but is too clumsy to hold down a job, a hospital manager who never confronts anybody and commands no respect because he is always trying to be nice out of fear that people won't like him and the most compelling and amusing of all, Teruo, an obtuse, sadistic and dim-witted park keeper. He likes scaring kids and dreams of one day building a super-ultra-haunted-house-deluxe, which will literally scare people to death.

There is a briefly explored sub-plot in which the two men compete for the affections of the girl, but this is never resolved as she finds love with another man. None of their dreams are realised and there are no scenes where emotional hopes are addressed or aspirations achieved.

This is not a fantasy film, but rather a film about fantasy. The charming movie is set predominantly in a second hand book shop belonging to Teruo's father. Despite the lack of a neat, conventional plot resolution, the film is redeemed by a poignant message about the pleasure that can be taken simply by enjoying one another's company.

The plot is feeble at times, and the character's motivation unconvincing but the flawless style of the movie more than makes up for it, including the teddy boy clothing, zombie gore and classic comic book style framing with actual illustrated comic panels used in place of montages for the plot links. The cast is also very impressive including the Oscar winning Faye Dunaway as Lieutenant McKenzie , the one armed American cop partnered with detective sergeant Miller played by Mark Benton who had her flown in to catch a rockabilly serial killer in the dark decrepit environment of a modern Welsh city which lends itself well to the horror genre. There are some great one-liners and amusing Monty pythonesque blood squirting wounds that provide the comic relief from the rampaging zombie teddy boy murderer Johnny Taylor, whose insane mother played by Liz Smith (Royle Family) is the best part of the film.

Female directors are too rare, particularly those willing to approach the horror genre. Walsh uses the beautiful Western Irish coast to create a bleak atmosphere of isolation and vulnerability. The plot is somewhat obvious, a young couple move away from the bright lights of London to raise a family, the wife is pregnant, and the husband has inherited his childhood home in Ireland, but the neighbour's child Daisy is suspected of being a fairy changeling, born in a fairy ring on Halloween. The Neighbour's son is killed under mysterious circumstances and the parents are soon to follow, the child is then adopted by the London couple, the motivation for this aspect of the plot is addressed but remains unconvincing. The superstitious locals become increasingly scared of young Daisy. The film lacks originality but has some redeeming qualities, the child actress Mhairi Anderson who plays Daisy is remarkable, providing a genuinely disturbing performance, the cinematography and score combine to give the film a unique character that is tense and compelling. The theme of fairies and the supernatural remains unaddressed which is frustrating, it is never made clear whether the girl suffers from autism, is very disturbed or is really a fairy changeling, a question left unanswered deliberately by the director, but in a clumsy way, that doesn't encourage the audience to feel sympathy for the girl, who is properly identified neither as victim nor as aggressor. Despite the flaws The Daisy Chain, a combination of Straw Dogs and the Wicker Man, is a beautiful and at times moving addition to the horror genre.

I was optimistic about this film, as I thought it could be a big step forward for Irish cinema, alas, it is not. The producers wisely tried to engage the American market by funding a film about a group of travelling American teens. This is another of those teen slasher horror flicks from a genre that should have died in the eighties, a sure thing for the box office, perhaps, but it isn't real horror, and it isn't even any good.

They make the best of what appears to be a very low budget by shooting in some very atmospheric locations, with some interesting shots, and a well paced introduction but the characters are the same boring stereotypes I've seen a million times before, the jock, the slut, the blonde catholic girl with psychic inclinations. They are led by an English guy to some woods in the Irish countryside, where they pick and eat magic mushrooms, and learn that the woods are haunted by the ghosts of some catholic monks who ate some special mushrooms with black nipples which give them psychic power and immortality. Plausible? No. Entertaining? No.

The idea of a horror film based on hallucinations come to life intrigued me, but this was just a thinly veiled attack at Catholicism, containing some very negative portrayals of rural Irish communities. The monsters are essentially just men in black cloaks, so clichéd I nearly fell asleep. The special effects for the hallucination scenes feature some interesting blurring effects, but nothing that spectacular. The speeded up frame rate used in films like 'The Ring' was effective in the first few films I saw it used in, but it is tedious to see it used over and over in the numerous scenes in which the blonde catholic girl has psychic fits. The film ends with a twist that is obvious to anyone who has the ability to maintain concentration on something so mundane. I love horror, and psychedelic cinema, I thought this could be a brilliant union of the two genres, I was wrong. Avoid this film.

This film unashamedly attempts to replicate Kubrick's 'A clockwork Orange' and is also similar to other youth gang movies such as 'Romper Stomper' and 'Suburbia' The issues of radical politics, racism, disillusioned youth, vengeance and gang violence are all addressed, but there is nothing original about this film. There is excellent cinematography and an interesting synth score which seems appropriate. The story focuses around a the 'surf Nazis' the dominant surfer gang in California, they kill a young African American, but things go wrong for the gang when the victim's Mother seeks a bloody revenge. The story is simple and the acting pretty abysmal, but if you're a fan of the amateur charm of Troma movies then this probably won't bother you, as long as you accept there are a lot less laughs and a lot less tits than other Troma classics such as 'Class of Nuke 'em High'

This film is certainly not comparable to its contemporaries, just as the horror genre was becoming a safe-bet for producers to cash in on idiotic teens eager to see the blood of one-dimensional characters splattered across the screen for no apparent reason, this diamond in the rough emerges.

Mike Enslin (John Cussack) is a horror writer who travels the nation documenting his experiences in staying at supposedly haunted hotels; he is disillusioned with his life and feels spiritually bereft after the death of his beloved daughter resulting in the break down of his marriage. He delights in shattering the hopes of others so that they may share his bleak outlook of life.

His publishers encourage him to visit the dolphin hotel in New York in which 56 deaths have been recorded all taking place in room 1408, he visits with the intention of using this as the final chapter in his novel. The manager of the hotel Gerald Olin (Samuel L.Jackson) desperately tries to convince him not to stay in the room explaining that "no one has lasted as hour" but ever the sceptic, also somewhat curious Mike insists on visiting the room.

What follows is far more than just a ghost story, I was wondering how a film could remain entertaining when for the most part it focuses on one man in one room, but I needn't have been concerned, this film had me on the edge of my seat. The audience's views and perceptions of reality are challenged just as those of the pessimistic protagonist are. He experiences visions that wound him emotionally by manipulating the very core of his fears, hopes, regrets and past experiences, distorting his perception of time and space whilst driving him to the verge of madness and suicide.

An instant classic and recommended for anyone who enjoys real horror, or films that make you think whilst also stimulating your emotions.

The title is not the only thing about this film which is ridiculous, Boo follows in the same vein as much of the unoriginal and uninspired 21st century horror film remakes (hills have eyes, Texas chainsaw massacre), it is yet another of the teen slasher movies left over from the hangover the film industry is suffering from in the aftermath of so many appalling video nasties that seek to imitate or worse yet duplicate the effective elements of classic horror films.

The movie follows the logic that more is more, with plenty of violence being committed against the hapless white American teenage stereotypes, needless to say, the sexually assertive and deceptive characters are killed off whereas the sexually modest blonde girl with psychic inclinations is destined to survive, there's a surprise! there is little characterisation and far too many characters, none of whom are fully developed leaving the viewer very much indifferent to the fate of the shallow one-dimensional, poorly acted would-be models.

The cinematography and visual effects are almost entirely faultless, which is the only thing that makes this composite of clichés watchable, his timing of suspense is also highly developed. Ferrante should try directing a film someone else has written, for his talents lie exclusively in his eye for lightness and dark, certainly not in his imagination or script writing ability. If he realises this, and perhaps adapts a novel or someone else's script or screenplay I will certainly watch it however i fear his next film will be a sequel. The only way you will enjoy this film is if you are a horror fan who has never seen a teen horror flick before, has a lot of time to kill and have no interest in original plot lines.

The film oozes with Tarantino's conventions, the script betrays his anally retentive obsessive compulsion from which he is identifiable in almost every conversation and the mise-en-scene is stylised far beyond the point of realism, but who cares when that means unbelievably beautiful women and undeniably cool automobiles? Some of the best chase sequences in cinema history, a carefully selected slick score of blues, soul, rock n roll and some very memorable one-liners make this a classic. However the film is certainly not without faults. There are no characters in the film with whom Tarantino encourages the audience to consistently identify; large chunks of the film are wasted on story lines for characters whose part has no significance to the plot, these include the supermodel Lee and the Texas rangers amongst others. Kurt Russell as stunt-man Mike is as cool as ice, however there is no redemption nor satisfaction for his character, I suspect Tarantino intended to punish the sadism of the male viewer who bays for the blood of the fetishised, scantily clad women he so clearly adores.