Scag (Moe Issac) is a junkie looking to get his kicks any way that he can. Alongside his drug addiction he has no qualms about randomly killing people either, so Necropath follows him on his journey across town just as a zombie virus is taking over the population.
Along the way he meets many characters including a father of business (Nathan Faudree), a lost girl (Lillian Colvin) who’s looking after her sister’s baby and even encounters a mother (Brandy Cihocki) who has recently succumbed to the zombie outbreak.
The problem is that Necropath is a horror movie with a unique perspective and when you realise that writer/director Joshua Reale has been involved with real life haunted house experiences, it may dawn on you as to why Necropath doesn’t work as a movie.
The haunted house experience is reliant on a lot of things. Firstly, it needs an audience who are willing to be scared and want to go there in order to laugh and be frightened by the imaginative setting that puts real actors in there with you. Unfortunately, when watching a horror movie most of the audience will be expecting a fright or two, but most will be reluctant to let the horror in. That is unless they’re already anticipating a scare because they don’t like horror anyway.
Secondly, real life experiences rely on real people being around you and the constant frightening imagery is what they’re going for and not necessarily a decent plot. Even some of the worst horror movies and survival horror games have a little exposition or at least notes left around to tell the audience what is happening and why.
In haunted house experiences it comes thick and fast with little time to think about too much. However, with a movie, the audience has plenty of time to sit back and if there’s no sign of a plot then they may get bored easily.
Necropath feels like an experiment of putting the haunted house experience in the living rooms of its audience. The problem is that unless you’re actually physically in another location where you don’t know what’s going to happen, you can always turn off the TV and go to bed.
Can’t Get You Out Of My Head: The BRWC Review. By Ray Lobo.
Adam Curtis has made a career out of making documentaries that track how systems of power manage masses and how individuals sometimes disrupt the smooth management of those systems. Whether it is a system of power formed from a fusion of psychoanalysis and consumerism (The Century of the Self) or systems colliding against each other (neoconservatism versus radical Islamic terrorism in The Power of Nightmares), Curtis is masterly in his ability to merge visuals and audio as a way of tracking power’s many metamorphoses. Curtis’s latest, Can’t Get You Out of My Head, rewards the viewer with over seven hours of the most visually seductive yet intellectually stimulating theses that connect historic events, individuals, and ideologies.
Fans of Curtis’s work know what to expect: a history of ideas told via haunting BBC footage and cleverly selected music pieces that either enhance the old BBC footage or purposefully create dichotomies between sound and image. For the uninitiated, some disclosure: Those accustomed to detailed micro-empirical narratives will be dizzied by Curtis’s macroscopic survey of the historical forces operating beneath the surface of our societies. Can’t Get You Out of My Head finds Curtis equipped with his widest-angle lens.
He is interested in the forces that have shaped some of the current superpowers—The US, China, England, and Russia—and how those superpowers maintain their stability in the international stage while managing their domestic fragilities. Curtis connects dots in The US ranging from The KKK, to The Tulsa Race Massacre, to The John Birch Society, to Project MK-Ultra, to isolation in sterile suburbias, to Valium, to conspiracy theories, to Operation Mindfuck, to The Black Panthers, to police brutality, to neoliberalism, to climate change, to 9/11, to the deterioration of Appalachian coal mining communities, to Oxycontin, to rightwing populism. Curtis traces a line from English Industrialization, to colonialism in Kenya and Iraq, to anti-immigrant sentiment amongst English whites, to Live Aid, to Brexit.
Curtis’s previous narratives gave China and Russia a mere supporting status. Can’t Get You Out of My Head gives them leading roles. Curtis launches a crash course in Chinese history ranging from the trauma of The Opium Wars, to the communist victory, to the power maneuverings within Mao’s inner circle, to The Cultural Revolution and The Red Guards, to China’s opening up to capital, to concerns over Chinese citizens becoming one-dimensional consumerists and capitalists. Curtis unearths gripping footage of Russia’s convulsive recent history. Curtis’s interweaves events and individuals ranging from Soyuz 1’s doomed space mission, to Soviet dissidents, to the breakdown of Russian society in the Shock Therapy 90s, to the rise of Putin, to a period of non-ideology in a consumerist Russia and the subsequent rise in Russian nationalism.
The cast of historical characters is encyclopedic even when compared to Curtis’s previous works. Entire documentaries can be devoted to each of these historical figures; however, the brilliance in Curtis’s craft lies in the thematic connections running through each of these figures. Michael X, Jiang Qing, Sandra Paul, George Boole, Kerry Thornley, Arthur Sackler, Eduard Limonov, Julia Grant, B.F. Skinner, Abu Zubaydah, and even Afeni and Tupac Shakur are but a sampling of the components propelling Curtis’s narrative. Curtis coalesces visual and narrative unlike any other documentarian. He intersperses footage of individuals dancing throughout the narrative. It is perhaps the perfect metaphor for the message he is trying to convey—if the passage of time is a dance between the individual and historical forces, sometimes the individual takes the lead, sometimes the historical forces dictate the steps in the dance.
It is not a fruitful exercise trying to pinpoint a singular theme in Can’t Get You Out of My Head. What the viewer obtains in over seven hours of footage are crisscrossing themes acting as tributaries and feeding into Curtis’s narrative flow. In many of his documentaries Curtis notices a tension in the twentieth and twenty-first century between collective managerialism and individualism. Can’t Get You Out of My Head introduces a regime of isms born in the late nineteenth and early twentieth century—colonialism, communism, nationalism, fascism. These isms, however clumsily and brutally, attempted to create compelling stories that would set order for masses of people.
The violence unleashed by these isms led to worldwide revolutionary movements in the post-World War II era. Some of these revolutionary movements, in the build-up to and after their victories, pushed their ideologies onto the masses and dispensed violence on dissidents both real and suspected. The failure of revolutionary and leftist inspired protest movements led many to discard ideology altogether and retreat into individualism. The thinking was that if utopias, social empowerment movements, and visions of a better future inevitably ended in failure; then freedom could at least be found within the individual, within the individual’s mind, in your “self-actualization.”
Individualism and self-actualization morphed into consumerism and political apathy. Curtis brilliantly chooses the figure of Tupac Shakur to illustrate this descent from idealism to crass individualism. The social problem shifted. It was no longer about controlling masses but about controlling a mass of individuals who no longer trusted political systems and were torn apart by neoliberal economics. Neoliberalism’s answer was allowing majority white factory towns to waste away, and worse, mass incarceration for people of color. The failures of individualism and neoliberal economics led to scary mutations in the form of more elaborate systems of management and surveillance. Management of individuals was now in the hands of police forces backed by “algorithmic governance” technologies—facial recognition, behavior predictors, etc. Added to this witches’ brew was an alarming mass revival of nationalism and neofascism.
As if all this were not enough, Curtis includes contemporary phenomena that were not given full attention in his previous documentaries. Climate change and the pains of economic austerity, to mention but two phenomena, aggravated whatever problems were already being felt by the poorest in many societies. In addition, the death of grand ideological narratives made individual freedom the default anchoring for most people, and that personal freedom became a lonely, anxiety provoking inner cell. Right on time came a new opium for the masses in the form of Valium and later Oxycontin to dull that anxiety. In a world without grand narratives, patterns of data without meaning were all that were left. Again, right on time came ludicrous rightwing conspiracy theories that gave meaning to those patterns.
It is all pretty bleak material told in Curtis’s inimitable style—a standout scene beautifully exemplifying Curtis’s craftmanship tells the story of Abu Zubaydah while footage plays of Peshwari Mujahadeen fighters backed by the Chris de Burgh song “Lady in Red.” Curtis adroitly notes the fork in the road upon which most leaders came upon: either change economic and political systems to meet the challenges of the future or create global surveillance systems that maintain a fantasy of stability. Many leaders and unelected technocrats chose the latter.
The wonderful world we are left with is one where individuals are seduced into a consumerist and social media fantasy that covers up a violent realism that tramples the unfortunate. In the US, after four long years of conspiracy theories, Trumpist absurdity, and fantasies of a return to a greatness that never existed for many, some feel relief in the shift away from the horrible Trump years and toward a return to the “normal” bad-old-days of neoliberalism and benign elite leadership in the figure of Biden. In the end, we all seem trapped in the same neoliberal and capitalist cycle. The philosopher Fredric Jameson captured this hopelessness when he said, “it is easier to imagine an end to the world than an end to capitalism.” Surprisingly, after more than seven hours describing what seems like an inescapable maze out of The Shining, Curtis does offer some hope for positive change in, of all things, the Covid pandemic. Historically speaking, it must be said, pandemics have reset societies.
It cannot be stressed enough how exhilarating a ride Can’t Get You Out of My Head is for the viewer, the most exhilarating of Curtis’s career. After finishing all six episodes, I found myself trying to catch my breath, but ready to get on the ride again. This intellectual epic deserves to be re-watched. There is a lingering question, however, that does not dissipate even after hearing Curtis’s hopeful message. It is a question that may not dissipate even after a re-watch: Will the pandemic, after all the death and despair it has unleashed, finally be the spark that creates a better vision for the future, or will we continue to mindlessly sing along with Kylie Minogue, “La la la, la la la la la,” as the world burns?
LandSynopsis: Edee (Wright), in the aftermath of an unfathomable event, finds herself unable to stay connected to the world she once knew. In the face of uncertainty, Edee retreats to the magnificent, but unforgiving, wilds of the Rockies. After a local hunter (Demián Bichir) brings her back from the brink of death, she must find a way to live again.
Basking in the transcendental glow of the natural world, Robin Wright’s directorial debut Land isn’t afraid to embrace a gentle spirit amidst award season’s array of dramatically bold options. While its developments aren’t particularly revelatory, the film echoes its own assured depictions of loss and recovery.
Land’s meditative quaintness benefits from Wright’s poised work behind the camera. She exhibits impressive composure for a first-time filmmaker, trusting her material’s strengths enough to avoid overly-sentimental style choices (the inclusion of tighter aspect ratios skillfully adds a sense of intimacy). Her favoring of immersive wide-frames and restrained score choices elevates the insular conflicts without adding an unnecessary flash to the scenery. The lively setting eventually evolves into a character of its own standing as the weather conditions thoughtfully mirror Edee’s mental state.
I can see Land being too languid for some viewers, but the central performance work always kept the patient plotting engaging for me. In her exploration of Edee’s damaged persona, Wright effectively encapsulates the character’s pains without needing to wail at the audience. Her subdued performance ably carries the narrative despite having few actors to play off of.
Land’s other significant co-star Demian Bichir makes a welcomed addition as a sage and kind-hearted hunter. Both actors share remarkably warm chemistry onscreen, transcending your typical Hollywood melodrama within the character’s easy-going comradery. It all builds to an intimately-drawn finale where the two stars showcase their emotive strengths.
Even with its strengths, there are some limitations to Land’s delivery. Jesse Chatham and Erin Dignam collaborate on a script that is minimalistic to a fault. I don’t mind the lack of story developments, but the characters are left exploring their inner-turmoil without much to work with. It’s a film that rests all of its laurels on its cast, and while they prove up to the task, it would’ve been nice to see the script pull some more weight.
Land’s slight delivery won’t break any new ground. Still, Robin Wright’s agreeable debut strikes enough genuine chords to whisk along patient audience members.
Written, produced and starring Annie Mumolo and Kristen Wiig, ‘Barb and Star Go To Vista Del Mar’ follows Barb (Annie Mumolo) and Star (Kristen Wiig), two middle aged friends who have lived in the same neighbourhood their entire lives. After losing their jobs and their place in the weekly Talking Club, they decide to venture out of their sheltered lives in the suburbs and go on vacation for the first time ever.
This is an example of a film that gets better as it goes along and is, essentially, a live-action Spongebob Squarepants film. It features absurd moments that make no sense overall but, somehow, work and offer comedic value to the film. Furthermore, it has a charming, but strange, plot that works for the most part. As a huge Spongebob fan, I found enjoyment here, even if I do have a couple of issues with it.
It’s clear that ‘Barb and Star’ was Annie Mumolo and Kristen Wiig’s passion project (or an excuse to go to the Tropics!). They play the two leads who have known each other their entire lives and share a close friendship. And this is obvious from the moment they’re introduced; the two actresses’ have fantastic chemistry and work together perfectly, bouncing off each other’s dialogue seamlessly. And even when there’s conflict that tests their friendship, they make this aspect somewhat relatable still. However, while the two leads bounce off each other fantastically and they are charming, their actual personality is what makes the the first act insufferable. Because they’ve known each other for so long, they can have fast-paced conversations; it’s a testament to their relationship that they know what the other person’s going to say next.
However, it cannot be ignored: their fast-paced talking was stressful to witness. The scene where they’re in the airplane, travelling to Vista Del Mar, is a prime example of what’s right and wrong with these characters. And, yes, this scene is deliberately showing us how annoying they are to the other passengers, but that doesn’t mean that the viewers have to suffer through it for so long to get the point across. They haven’t stopped talking from the moment they’re on-screen! The film really needed a calmer and more level-headed character to appear to balance things out. And, thankful, that does happen once they get to Vista Del Mar!
The arrival of Jamie Dornan’s character, Edgar, not only creates a change in the leads’ personalities, but it also kickstarts the secondary plot in this film: A no-named Bond-style villain is plotting to set deadly mosquitos on Vista Del Mar, and Edgar is her assistant/supposed lover. The concept of two middle-aged innocent women stopping an evil plot is extremely funny, even if this did feel very out of place during the first act. But, like previously mentioned, this is a film that gets better as it continues on. And Dornan’s relationship with the leads is delightful.
He was needed to not only calm Barb and Star’s fast-paced personalities but to also create a conflict with the two, ultimately testing their friendship. And he even gets some scenes to show off his comedic acting, which he fits into comfortably; going forward, I hope Jamie Dornan appears in more comedies because his comedic timing was fantastic.
While Star and Barb were amusing, it was the colourful side characters and absurd jokes that stood out personally. Jamie Dornan’s musical number as he dances around the beach and has a mental conflict with himself was definitely a highlight in the film.
There’s also a talking crab, voiced by Morgan Freeman, Andy Garcia, another spy who is terrible at his job and a musical number in the hotel that Star and Barb think they’ve booked, to only discover that they’re at the wrong location. These were all aspects that earned the biggest laughs, and this is where the Spongebob Squarepants comparison comes in: these are all scenarios that the famous cartoon would include.
Overall, ‘Barb and Star Go To Vista Del Mar’ was absurd and hilarious. Despite the wonky first act, the film really shines from the moment Star and Barb arrive at the tropical town. Kristen Wiig and Annie Mumolo are fantastic as the fast-talking friends, and their friendship is believable. The humour is surreal but enjoyable, most of which was provided by the crazy side characters that the film introduces. This does lead me to wonder whether they were inspired by the Sea Sponge who lives in a Pineapple under the sea.
Body Brokers Synopsis: Utah (Jack Kilmer) and Opal (Alice Englert) are junkies living on the streets of rural Ohio until a seemingly chance encounter with the enigmatic Wood (Michael Kenneth Williams) brings them to Los Angeles for drug treatment. He soon learns though that drug treatment is but a cover for a predatory business, where addicts enlist other addicts to profit off their circular habits.
Writer and director John Swab delves into society’s rampant drug abuse with his latest Body Brokers. Acting as a condemnation of the US’s flawed rehabilitation structures and a journey of recovery for a wayward soul, Swab bites off a sprawling narrative with his Big Shortmeets Requiem for a Dream leaning. I give Swab ample credit for his well-intended critiques, but they’re ultimately stuck in a scattershot narrative that rarely reaches its dramatic potential.
In his effort to combine two contrasting perspectives (the endless profits for the exploitative brokers versus the addict’s hopeless cycle of self-destruction), Swab leaves both relatively undefined in the process. He conveys a fittingly cynical tone within Frank Grillo’s narration as a ringleader broker, but his writing isn’t sharp enough to truly condemn his subject matter.
Aside from a few alarming statistics, Swab presents a flatly loud presentation that says little outside of obvious denouncements (his few attempts at satire are a swing and a miss comedically). The played-out fourth-wall-breaking nods only highlight the wearisome simplicity, as Body Brokers clings to a stylistic voice that lacks any real perspective.
On a character-driven front, Body Brokers reeks of after-school special melodrama. Star Jack Kilmer delivers a capable performance as the newly-initiated Utah, although the actor has little to do with the thinly-conceived role. Utah acts more like an amalgam cipher of the drug addict experience rather than a specific character, lacking enough agency to have a presence in his own narrative.
The other addict characters merely serve as outstretched personas devoid of any empathetic traits, while Michael Kenneth Williams’ role as a broker mentor goes nowhere despite the star’s personable talents. I wish Swab’s incorporated a few more authentic frames to match his dour perspective. A fittingly bitting finale helps punctuate the director’s intent, but it comes too little too late to register a lingering impact.
Body Brokers boasts a few strong frames as an eye-opening examination of a problematic societal structure. It’s a shame those sobering blimps only equate to parts in a half-baked narrative, with Swab’s promising intent outstretching his film’s capabilities.
Vertical Entertainment will release BODY BROKERS in Theaters and on Digital and On Demand on February 19, 2021.
