Author: BRWC

There isn’t much to say about Floating Weeds that hasn’t already been said. Over the decades that have passed since Yasujirō Ozu remade his own silent film, A Story of Floating Weeds, many a superlative has passed the lips of movie aficionados across the globe. Quite simply, Ozu’s modest story of a troupe of travelling players to a coastal town in 1950s Japan is a timeless tale of humanity portrayed with poetic simplicity and a captivating sense of austerity.

Essentially playing out as a “week in the life of” film, Komajuro Arashi and his troupe of travelling actors arrive at a small fishing village home to his former lover and their son, Kiyoshi, who has grown up believing Komajuro to be his Uncle. When his current mistress, Sumiko, discovers Komajuro is visiting a old flame, she becomes increasingly jealous and hatches a conniving plan to humiliate Komajuro via the naïve heart of his young son.

It’s a simple story, and one that you could easily find in a Coronation Street omnibus on a Sunday. And while it’s not particularly exciting or overly thrilling, Floating Weeds is utterly captivating in its simplicity. Rudimentary, banal chatter between the locals of the village only enhances the reality Yasujirō Ozu is portraying. His fixed camera positions lay sole focus on the drama unfolding, relying on the story he is telling rather than the panache of filmmaking to connect with his audience. The performances are understated, the music is quaintly subtle and the colour of the film stock natural and beautiful. It’s poetic how it all comes together, and what we get is a truly stunning piece of cinema that is still relevant even after 54 years.

What’s so masterful about Yasujirō Ozu is his effortless expression of deeply poignant, and personal, issues. As briefly mentioned, it is film making at its most basic (it is from 1959 after all), but the transparency this creates is astonishing and the film itself becomes profoundly intimate. Any one-to-one confrontation is filmed in such a way where you can’t help but be enthralled. The characters stare deep into the lens when in an intense exchange, and their dialogue becomes emotionally arresting as a result. It’s pretty exquisite stuff, and a prime example of filmmaking and raw story telling as a thoroughly engaging art form. Very much an expression of human nature, Floating Weeds reflects the rhythm of life organically as it finely balances everyday, conversational humour with a grand and intense drama.

Despite being from the other side of the world, the film transcends all sorts of national barriers. It just feels a relevant story to anyone. Of course the customs of 1950s Japan aren’t familiar to someone from, say, 1990s Stevenage, but its tale is one of humanity, one of conflict, jealousy and love. These things are all pertinent no matter what continent you’re from, and what decade you live in.

Floating Weeds is available to buy on DVD and Blu-Ray as part of the Masters of Cinema range, and can be purchased for your viewing pleasure here. 

It’s fair to say that Piranha, Roger Corman’s love letter to (read: rip off of) Jaws is not a film that was made with Hi-Def in mind. The cult classic, re-released last week on Blu-Ray, hasn’t aged all that well, but is still a fun campy ride.

The movie starts, like so many others, with a pair of skinny dipping teens. Rather than swimming in the waters of ‘Lost River Lake’, they opt for something more adventurous, breaking into a dilapidated military research centre. Ultimately, they’re dragged below the surface of the centre’s pool. But, just what was it that lurks there? Spoiler: Piranhas.

Weeks later, Maggie (Heather Menzies) a missing persons investigator, turns up at the Lake in search of the teens. She enlists the help of local alcoholic loner/genre cliche Paul Grogan (Bradford Dillman) and they set off towards the military centre. While looking for clues, Maggie decides to drain the pool. The two things she doesn’t know are a) the pool drains into the Lake and b) it’s full of weaponised carnivorous fish.

What follows is Maggie and Paul’s race against time to warn the river-folk of the incoming threat. Unfortunately for the inhabitants of Lost River Lake (which include a kids summer camp and a holiday resort, natch) they always seem to turn up about 5 minutes late.

You have to assume that this is so that director Joe Dante can pack in as much carnage as possible. Where as Jaws’ killer fish managed to get his… jaws around maybe three or four hapless victims, these little bastards attack en-masse and without prejudice, going after helpless kiddywinks and water-skiing beefcakes with the demented fervour of, well, military-grade piranhas.

To modern eyes, the more violent parts of Piranha feel positively restrained compared to up-to-date creature features, including 2010’s ludicrously gory Piranha 3D. The fish puppets themselves are a little shonky (to say the least), but in many ways look better than their newer CGI cousins.

Performances all round are solid, although it feels like everyone’s taking things a little too seriously, such as recognisable Scream Queen Barbara Steele, who pops up as a marine scientist.

The Blu Ray comes packed with a decent raft of extras for anyone interested in the Making Of. Ultimately Piranha doesn’t reach the lofty heights of the toothy film it’s trying to emulate. It’s still good schlocky fun though, just not a film that will gnaw it’s way into many people’s top 50 lists.

For a film such as this, sugar coating a review with too many flowery adjectives and emotive metaphors is not a good idea. In fact, you sort of get the feeling that slasher aficionado and director of the 70s exploitation ode that is Dear God No! James Bikert (Better Off Bound, 1998 and Dumpster Baby, 2000), would be downright offended by any literary dodging of bullets. So let’s just come out with it. In the suitably direct and brutal nature of high school grading, Bikert gets a C. And whilst a C in school usually means you could’ve put more work in, in Bikert’s case it’s more like he shouldn’t have tried so damned hard.

It’s annoying that this film is only okay, as its potential, on paper, is massive.  Brought to the screen by Monster Pictures (responsible for the frighteningly brilliant Monster Fest) and Big World Pictures (responsible for the likes of, well, this), Dear God No! calls itself ‘retro bikers vs. Bigfoot’ circa 1976 which, lets be honest, sounds amazing. Centred on the activities of an outlaw motorcycle gang going by the deliciously obvious title ‘The Impalers’, the film follows these middle-aged leatherheads as they rape and murder their way into a tight corner before retreating into a secluded woodland cabin, which seems safe enough to them, but will clearly prove to be otherwise. Cue a bunch of basement-dwelling Nazis and more wincingly disgusting moments and flashing of naked bits than an episode of Embarrassing Bodies. The acting, script and postproduction is all spectacularly low budget and as monstrous as the characters behaviour and, with this in mind, any exploitation double feature fans should by this point be thinking they’ve stumbled across their perfect film. The only problem is that it isn’t.

Though the soundtrack is brilliantly befitting of its narrative, and the bikes and cars make even the most vehicularly-disinterested of people slaver at the revving of their engines, the film as a whole droops. Whilst the initial cabin scenes glimmer with the potential for sinisterly monotone-acted extreme cinema, the moment the bikers converge with it, all hope is somehow extinguished. It is as though the genre Bikert is so determinedly emulating was only ever described to him through textbooks and flow charts, and as a result the overall product is sort of formulaic. The excess is obvious, the shock-factor isn’t all that shocking, and between the unimaginatively expletive-riddled dialogue and extended close up shots of half naked dancers wielding tommy guns, it feels as though we’re watching a film made by a horny, frustrated fifteen year old starring his mates dads.

Don’t get me wrong, it’s definitely not terrible, it’s just contrived. And for a genus celebrated for its derogative mindlessness and hedonistic rule breaking, there is so much focus on how it should look that it seems no one is really having any fun. Nonetheless, there are amusing moments, with enough blood, boobs and brutality to be sustaining, and the opening credits on their own make the whole film certainly worth a watch, due to a gleefully deranged scene involving nuns, guns and a sharp boot to the vagina that made this reviewer shudder. In fact, I will go as far as saying that I can’t wait for Bikert’s next cinematic endeavour, as Dear God No! is like a promisingly burnished chunk of rock which, in films to come, will polish down to reveal a big ol’ blood-spattered, intestine shrouded diamond. Or something.

Like I said, it’s a definite C. Just next time, Bikert, don’t do so much homework.

To call Midnight Son a vampire film would do the drama a disservice. Written and directed visual effects maestro turned filmmaker  Scott Leberecht the film follows Jacob (Zak Kilberg) a young man who lives a solitary nocturnal life due to a rare skin disorder. The narrative kicks off as Jacob’s condition begins to worsen. Almost like a superhero discovering his powers, Jacob struggles to comprehend or accept the changes in his nature. Jacobs internal conflict is the central driving force of the film and is played perfectly by Kilberg who captures the classic Jekyll and Hyde duality of his character. Underpinning the story of Jacobs transformation is his relationship with Mary (Maya Parish). From there first meeting there is immediate chemistry between the leads, helped in no small part by well written dialogue as the two get to know each other.

As Jacob’s condition develops so does his relationship with Mary, providing a perfect catalyst for his inner struggle. It would be easy to compare the themes within the love story at the centre of Midnight Son to another more mainstream series of films (which will remain nameless). However the dark, realistic tone of the film along with scenes of both emotional depth and extreme violence set it apart from its peers as a grown-up drama first and genre film second. It’s no coincidence that Leberecht’s tight, direct script only uses the ‘V’ word once. At just ninety minutes the drama moves at a brisk pace and while its refreshing to see a movie get to the point in an age where more and more films are pushing the three hour mark, the quality on show here only made me wish the film was a little longer. An extra half an hour to the running time could have helped flesh out some of the supporting characters and made the ending that much more dramatic.

A well-acted and well-directed spin on a genre thats almost been done to death Midnight Son offers a small personal story driven by horror and suspense.

The Last Days Of Dolwyn is a period drama that was written and directed by Emlyn Williams and originally released in the UK in July 1949.  It stars distinguished British stage actress Dame Edith Evans and, in his debut screen appearance, future Hollywood legend Richard Burton.  Set at the end of the 19^th century, the film tells the story of the villagers of Dolwyn, a tiny hamlet in a Welsh valley that is about to be flooded in order to provide Lancashire with water.  Matters are complicated by the fact that the agent responsible for persuading the villagers to sell up (played by director Williams) is an embittered former resident of Dolwyn who was hounded out of the village in shame after having stolen the collection money from the local chapel.

The film isn’t subtle instead opting to tug at your heartstrings in its depiction of bucolic working-class bliss threatened by grasping aristocrats; I’ve no doubt that life in a Welsh farming village at the turn of the century was a lot tougher than this film would have you believe.  Similarly, the obvious parallel of the unstoppable wall of water that threatens to engulf Dolwyn with the inexorable advance of industrialism is pretty heavy-handed.

The film reserves most of its ire not for the gentry but for the nouveau riche, represented by the agent.  His crime – which is evidently greater than that of the lords and ladies – is to have turned his back on his own: a class traitor.  In essence then it’s a pretty conservative movie, endorsing as it does the status quo, decrying ‘progress’ – pah, who wants clean drinking water anyway bach? – and doing its bit for nationalists everywhere.

That said there’s no denying Dolwyn’s charm or that of the villagers themselves although their innocence takes some swallowing.  A good example is this clip, in which Gareth (played by a positively adolescent Richard Burton) tells his mother and brother about his brief experience of Liverpool.

The Last Days Of Dolwyn – Dinner Scene

In fact, if you ignore the no doubt well-intentioned but actually rather patronising politics, there’s much to enjoy in The Last Days Of Dolwyn.  For one thing, the Welsh language – as spoken by what must have been every Welsh character actor working at the time – is a truly beautiful sound, to say nothing of the singing. Yes it may be another stereotype but it’s impossible to deny the stirring power of a Welsh choir, to the extent that even the hardened cynics will begin to wonder just what is being lost in the name of progress.

The Last Days Of Dolwyn – Welsh singing

For the most part, this is an engaging and gently humorous account of what even in 1949 was a vanished way of life.  Ironically, it also stands as a record of contemporary film-making techniques, in which regard it looks and sounds an awful lot older.  It seems incredible to believe that, across the Atlantic, Rebel Without A Cause was only six years away.

It would be remiss of me to review this film without making special mention of Richard Burton, who went on to achieve superstardom without perhaps ever reaching the artistic heights predicted for him.  In the last decade or so it has become fashionable to knock Burton, writing him off as a stiff as a board stage performer who did all his acting with his (admittedly incredible) voice.  Indeed, some even held that view while he was still alive, notably Montgomery Clift who said of Burton “That’s not acting; that’s reciting.”  However, I maintain that he was a truly great actor who needed the right material to highlight his gifts but rarely got it.  His early Hollywood career was something of a false start but for a period of about 12 years from 1958 he made some of the best and most interesting films going.