Craig R. Baxley-directed Stone Cold (1991) is a really fun action B-movie surprise starring ’80s football star Brian Bosworth as Joe Huff, an undercover cop who helms a white supremacist/neo-Nazi biker gang helmed by Chains (Lance Henriksen) and Ice (William Forsythe). I think the goal here was to make him the next Sly or Schwarzenegger at a time when these macho guys were very bankable; unfortunately, Bosworth cannot act and lacks the charisma that made his contemporaries so iconic, but he’s still really cool in the role. Perhaps best of all, his character owns a pet Nile monitor lizard (definitely DO NOT feed it what Joe does lol), although his ’90s mullet is pretty dated and looks a bit skunky.

This movie is ridiculous from start to finish but wildly entertaining, featuring lots of over-the-top, spontaneous explosions, bad acting, cool stunts, and a ridiculous plot. The climax of the film involves the biker gang trying to take over the Mississippi Capitol, which felt disturbingly similar to the Capitol Hill riots/insurrection in early 2021. Also, I felt disconnected from many of the biker gang members, mostly because of their beliefs. I know it’s just a B-movie, but perhaps the film could have done more to condemn or interrogate the fascism in the gang – as it is, I can’t really sympathize with a character like Gut, even though he is presented as more sympathetic. I just wasn’t sure how to feel.

Henriksen and Forsythe are great as gang members, however, and no one holds back with the violence or action in this one. This was not the big break that Bosworth was hoping for; in fact, he didn’t have much of a film career after this, but it is incredibly watchable and outrageously violent. I was also really impressed that it looks like they still had the budget to use a real Huey helicopter for the climax of the film, even though it has so many B-movie qualities. Apparently Bosworth rides motorcycles and did all of his stunts for this too, which is pretty cool. I think Stone Cold is one of the great unsung ’90s movie treasures, and you’ll get hooked in from literally the first five seconds of the movie (that’s how action-packed it is!).

I recently asked a (white) kiwi friend of mine recently about his thoughts on Lee Tamahori’s riveting 1994 drama masterpiece Once Were Warriors (based on the book by Alan Duff and referring to the warrior nature of the Māori people), and he said it was “hard-wired to New Zealand DNA,” which was a fascinating response since, as a Canadian, I hadn’t heard much of it until now. It’s a brutal watch, and not one that you’ll soon forget, telling the story of a working-class urban Māori family who begin to fall apart after the patriarch Jake loses his job. Consequently, his behaviour spirals into domestic abuse (physical and verbal), alcoholism, and worse. Indeed, Jake is a pressure cooker of rage and fury, as we see not only in the beatdowns in his local dive bar, but also at home when his wife Beth resists him (violence as a means of asserting control). Jake also harbours a subconscious resentment of his wife’s status as a princess in the rural Māori community (she moved into town to be with her husband, which was the first mistake), and while it is easier to blame most of the atrocities on Jake’s toxicity, I think the real culprit is colonialism. It is colonialism that has displaced people from their land and forced them to restructure family hierarchies (the patriarchal figure is not a traditional one in Māori culture apparently).

The acting in this film is stellar, particularly between husband and wife (Temuera Morrison and Rena Owen) – what starts out as a loving, romantic interaction between them in the kitchen switches mercurially to a burst of verbal abuse, and how it incrementally gets worse – little things cause him to explode with rage and violence. These scenes were especially hard to watch, but I think they realistically show how domestic violence, and how women can get trapped in abusive relationships – it is a gradual and incrementally more disturbing pattern that ultimately controls, traps, and manipulates. Naturally, Jake isn’t a likable character, but the viewer does care about him. While he is integral to the story, the film also deals with escaping from or confronting the poison destroying the family. The film also shows the impact of violence and alcoholism among the family: Nig, the eldest son, turns to a violent gang life as a means of avoiding his family; Boogie is a juvenile deliquent who is sent to a borstal; and perhaps most notably Grace, who devastatingly suffers the worst, takes on a maternal role among the younger children in the absence and chaos of the family life, and shows a budding creative side. The latter half of the film also deals with pedophilia, rape, and suicide in a relatively short period of time, although it is not trivialized, but rather shown quite disturbingly and realistically – the victim turns to suicide because they are rejected from all available support groups and finally humiliated by the ones who they trust and love most. I was shocked how trivialized and normalized violence becomes within this culture, particularly among Jake’s “friends” – it is so commonplace that few if any criticize it or even show shock.

Grace (Mamaengaroa Kerr-Bell – sadly her final role!) was the highlight for me, and perhaps the greatest victim of the film, although everyone suffers to some extent (I still think about the kid who lives in the wrecked car under the bridge), but everything we see has purpose to illustrate the devastating long-terrm and lasting effects of colonialism and indeed postcolonial life. All of the characters, even the most despicable and heinous ones, give something to this movie and its sense of development. Duff’s novels continue Jake’s story and show his redemption. I’d like to read his novels, but I have trouble sympathizing or caring for someone who commits so much irrevocable harm and damage. This film is an absolute eye-opener to the darker side of postcolonial Māori urban life, and more broadly how domestic violence and abuse can happen, as well as the destructive effects of alcoholism and poverty. I think it is the best New Zealand film I’ve seen so far, and I’m keen to watch the sequel What Becomes of the Broken Hearted? once my soul is prepared.

Nicolas Gessner’s 1976 film The Little Girl Who Lives Down the Lane has finally come to Shudder, enchanting and entertaining fresh audiences with yet another strong early performance from Jodie Foster and Martin Sheen. Foster plays Rynn Jacobs, a remarkably intelligent child who lives on the edge of town in a huge house with (apparently) her parents, although they remain unseen, creating ambiguity as to whether they are actually there or not. The story is based on a book by Laird Koenig’s 1974 novel of the same name (keen to check it out), and the film brought Shirley Jackson’s novels to mind, particularly We Have Always Lived in the Castle, particularly the invasive threat of the townsfolk (from nosy landladies to pedophiles) as well as the ambiguous agenda of the protagonist (Merricat and Rynn). As with most of her early roles, including Taxi Driver, it’s a challenging one and also controversial, but Foster really nails it. Martin Sheen is at his utmost depraved here as Frank Hallet, a pedophile with an unhealthy interest in Rynn who not only continues to frequent the house with increased malice with every visit (and the hamster scene is also truly unforgivable), but is also the son of the unpleasant landlady Cora. The landlady might also discover more than she bargained for when she tries to investigate the whereabouts of Rynn’s curiously absent parents.

I enjoyed uncovering the mystery of her parents in this one, and while I have many unanswered questions about Rynn, I think she’s much more sympathetic and likeable than Merricat in Shirley Jackson’s novel. There’s also a sense of poetic justice that pervades the text. Rynn seems to enjoy her autonomy and it earns her our respect as an audience when we see how independent and resourceful she is. She’s also visited by a friendly police officer (who is also a bit useless, naturally) and her magician friend/police officer’s nephew/friend with benefits Mario, who seems nice enough, although perhaps still a bit dodgy with their age difference (one of the main controversies from the film arose from Foster’s nudity in the film, which was thankfully a stunt double and played by her adult sister Connie). I think the critics who think the mystery plot points are weak are missing the point of the film – it’s really about Rynn and her preservation, and the mystery is just a framing device to expose us to her vulnerability (as shown in Frank’s increasingly heinous visits and demands) and self-preservation. Frank himself is the embodiment of white male privilege, a WASPish young man with no disregard for others or manners or even the well-being and safety of children, and indeed, his toxicity and predatory behaviour is a threat that is far more dangerous than any absent parents. Frank can do as he pleases and get away with his crimes because he lives a life of privilege from his mother’s investments, even though she is hardly likeable but carries sway in the town. His crimes are mostly well known and the town’s dirty secrets, yet no one seems to stand up and take him out as they really should.

As a genre film, it’s part mystery, thriller, and possibly even horror. I think the film effectively blends and transcends these genre categories, and it’s really fascinating to watch. Apparently it was initially supposed to be a play, and there’s a theatricality and sense of theatre set design throughout that make this appealing to watch, and augmented by the strong actor performances all around. This is a buried treasure in Foster’s early filmography and it exceeded all of my expectations. I’m glad that Shudder is offering this great film and I hope more folks can experience it.

Duncan Skiles’ 2018 “killer thriller” The Clovehitch Killer is a real pearl on Netflix, a fantastic find that was recommended via one of Stephen King’s Tweets (he also gave it a glowing review). It’s based on the crimes of the BTK Killer (Dennis Rader), a serial killer who would break into homes and then bind and torture and kill (hence the name) whole families. He disappeared into the guise of dedicated suburban family father for decades before being uncovered. While the serial killer tropes and stories have been seemingly milked to death, this film takes the frightening idea of the potential serial killer father and asks the question, “What if your father was in fact a serial killer?,” and I think it ultimately succeeds in breathing new life into the serial killer story and offering fresh perspectives and questions. And there are plot twists and red herrings galore, particularly how the serial killer manipulates everyone around him, and the audience is also manipulated by their psychopathy and total lack of empathy (we also believe the lies and question our own intentions and antics).

The story is told from the POV of teen Tyler Burnside (Charlie Plummer), who lives with his devout Christian family somewhere in the Bible belt and whose father is scout team leader and an involved and cherished member of the community. When he discovers weird bondage photos in his father’s truck, he starts to question who his father really is, and the film gradually reveals increasing evidence that he may actually be the Clovehitch Killer who has been butchering women throughout the years, although there is ambiguity as to whether it is really him. Tyler’s revelations are met with backlash and ostracization from the Christian community, particularly his Christian “friends” and love interests, who are quite shallow and judgemental despite their seemingly Christian upbringing (they see him as a BDSM fetishist and thus a pervert within their conservative mindset), which is perhaps an indictment of conservative Christian followers in these small suburban communities in general. The POV is effective in building suspense, particularly since the findings and clues are revelations for both Tyler and the viewer, and the limitlessness to the serial killer’s depravity through these reveals is particularly shocking. As a viewer, I think we are endlessly drawn to this idea of social deviation, the idea that someone could be so detached from human feeling and emotion for another human being, especially within the parameters of our mundane suburban lives, and this really draws us in.

Tyler’s vegetative uncle Rudy is blamed for the crime, but one wonders if perhaps he was put into that state to be culpable for the crimes. Again, that ambiguity is employed to create tension. Tyler is joined by Kassi (Madisen Beaty, who notably played one of the Manson girls in Once Upon a Time in Hollywood – now that I think about it, most of the actresses who play Manson girls in that film [see also Sydney Sweeney, Maya Hawke, Dakota Fanning, Samantha Robinson, etc.] are smoking hot and are all really famous now!), a sexy neighbour who is also super interested in serial killers (and has read all of the case files!). They naturally team up to find out whodunnit, and the horror of discovery (or what they will discover, or what if they’re caught) lingers with us, and well as Tyler’s moral confusion (should I do the right thing? What is the right thing to do? Protect my family or tell the truth?). Tyler’s father Don (Dylan McDermott, The Perks of Being a Wallflower) is excellent as the possible serial killer, and the likeness between him and Rader is uncanny. I really enjoyed seeing Samantha Mathis (Broken Arrow, Pump Up the Volume, Ferngully, and also River Phoenix’s last girlfriend) as Tyler’s mother as well, although I didn’t recognize her at first. I shouldn’t ramble on too much longer for fear of spoiling too much, but The Clovehitch Killer is a great little thriller/horror movie on Netflix, and I encourage everyone to watch it.

I finally got around to watching the classic 1982 The Slumber Party Massacre, and it was worth the wait. I think it’s my new favourite slasher movie! The film had a strange production, and because of it, it’s delightfully subversive in terms of gender and expectation (most of the women are independent and pretty resourceful, and most of the guys in it are kind of losers and pretty useless when it comes down to it). Apparently Rita Mae Brown (feminist author of Rubyfruit Jungle) wrote the original screenplay as a parody of the slasher film genre, but then the studio wanted to play it straight, so they added the usual sex, nudity, and gore. The end result is a lot of fun to see, and also quite refreshing for a slasher movie. It’s also directed by a female director (Amy Holden Jones, who co-wrote 1992’s Beethoven), so it’s great to have a female perspective, even though the female nudity is quite surprising considering. One of my favourite characters was the sexy telephone repair person, but unfortunately she gets killed minutes/seconds after being introduced. Still pretty cool to have more women in trades though!

We know the story, but the jump scares actually work pretty well, and the multiple narratives (girls at the party, and the new girl who’s babysitting his mischievous little sister) are compelling to watch. I also liked how the driller killer (an escaped homicidal mental patient) doesn’t have a disguise or conceal his identity like Jason or Michael Myers, and instead we see him as insane and very human as he is, and this makes it all the way frightening, particularly how easily he infiltrates the school and its surroundings. There’s a very Freudian reading of his drill as weapon of choice since it is so conspicuously phallic, and suggestive of his need to assert his masculinity by killing (virtually all of) his victims with it. There are black comedy leftovers from Brown’s screenplay that create bizarre humour, such as the scene where the slumber party ladies eat pizza over the corpse of the poor pizza guy who got his eyes drilled out. It feels almost out of place, but makes the film fun, and reminds us that we’re watching a movie at the end of the day. The resourcefulness and survival instincts of these women also creates a feminist angle for the film. Even poor Linda, who dies in the first few minutes of the film, manages to survive the killer by bandaging herself up and hiding/holding out in the gym.

I generally find that most slashers are formulaic or predictable or boring by now, but sometimes there are a few gems that sit a “cut” above the rest (The Town that Dreaded Sundown (2014), or Silent Night, Deadly Night, or many of the giallo classics such as Tenebrae or Don’t Torture a Duckling). Puppet Combo’s slasher video games really inspired me to give this one a try, and it was a delight. It’s a great movie to watch on Friday night with friends and pizza and drinks, but also a powerful feminist take on the slasher genre in its own right. The ending of the film was really satisfying too, when the remaining women have a showdown with the killer, and hot damn, there are so many drop dead gorgeous women in this movie. Definitely one of the classics!

Nikolaj Arcel’s 2012 Danish film A Royal Affair (En kongelig affære) is an absolute delight and a visual feast for the senses. I recently watched Thomas Vinterberg’s latest film Another Round (Druk), which also stars my favourite actor Mads Mikkelsen (Hannibal, The Hunt, Valhalla Rising, Casino Royale, At Eternity’s Gate, Arctic), and it was also excellent, and not just an essential rumination on alcoholism, masculinity, maintaining and balancing adulthood, and more, but also a powerful affirmation of life, especially in light of the death of Vinterberg’s daughter, who died days into the shoot (and you can feel her presence in a beautiful way as you watch the film). Watching Another Round inspired me to dig through more of Mads’ (actually pronounced “Mass” rather than “Mads”) Danish filmography, especially since there are so many buried treasures. He’s also great in The Hunt, Pusher 1 and 2, and Adam’s Apples (but such a good person should not have to suffer as he does), among others. I had a hard time getting into Flickering Lights or Men and Chickens because I didn’t appreciate or understand the humour as much as I wanted to, and I look forward to seeing him in The Green Butchers and After the Wedding (any other Mads recommendations are welcome too!). A Royal Affair is indeed a buried treasure among others.

A Royal Affair is set in the late 18th century, a transitional period in which Enlightment philosophy and ideas and progressive reform clashed with religion and conservative thinking (sound familiar?), and it tells the story of Princess Caroline Matilda of Great Britain (played by Swedish actress Alicia Vikander before she was super famous – of course, she’s absolutely gorgeous and speaks beautiful Danish too – what can’t she do? ;)), who moves to Denmark to marry the mentally deranged and puerile king Christian VII (Mikkel Følsgaard). Seeing it from her perspective is very enlightening, particularly how arranged marriages could result in an absolute nightmare, as we see from her very first encounter with Christian, who I wouldn’t put in charge with a potato gun. Her married life is just as unfulfilling and unsatisfying, and it makes us sympathise with the state of her marriage. Naturally, it is refreshing when the German physician Dr Johann Friedrich Struensee (our Mads) is hired as the royal physician, and they form a deep, passionate, and intimate relationship behind the king’s back. Their chemistry is red hot too – I just wanted to see him jump into that bathtub with her, and I like how it deals with the taboo of an extramarital affair because we feel the connection through their POVs, and it is so much more emotionally gratifying to see them together than with Christian, who I came to despise and loathe immensely. Mads and Vikander’s relationship here is not just lustful either, but very emotionally connected, and perhaps metaphorically representative of their idealistic values and agenda.

Struensee is also historically responsible for pushing for much of the progressive reform which continues to inspire and inform Denmark today. But at the time, such reform (such as opening orphanages for homeless children) was seen as “dangerously radical” (interesting how conservatives in America today think socializing higher education and healthcare is “dangerously radical”), and Struensee faces resistance from the church (in the form of the repulsive priest Ove Høegh-Guldberg, an absolute snake and a fucking Judas) and the queen mother Juliana Maria of Brunswick-Wolfenbüttel (another snake). They are also strongly opposed to the royal affair as it becomes more well known, and the ending of the film will break your heart, but the acting across the board is excellent, especially from the core three leads, and the costume design and set design look outstanding. I admit that the 18th century is not my favourite historical period (I do love pirates and the French Revolution and ironically even the excesses and indulgences of the Sun King), but having taught a 18th-century literature course this term really made me gain a greater appreciation of it, as does this film. One of the great Danish films that absolutely deserves to be seen, and also an important part of European history.

Martin Scorsese’s 1999 film Bringing out the Dead is an adaptation of Joe Connelly’s excellent novel of the same name (the title actually comes from, as you might think, from the infamous scene in Monty Python and the Holy Grail), which is actually based on his own experiences as an EMT in New York City, and tells the story of Frank, a burnt-out paramedic working the graveyard shift in Hell’s Kitchen who starts to see hallucinations/ghosts of his dead patients, namely Rose, a young woman who overdosed that he couldn’t save. Nicolas Cage stars, but he is unusually restrained for the most part here, and it’s one of his best films in my opinion, alongside some of his other less over-the-top roles such as Leaving Las Vegas, Joe, Raising Arizona, and Red Rock West, to name a few. But he’s great for the role – he really wanted to work with Marty, and Marty thought of him instantly when he read Connelly’s book. I devoured the book in a few days, and its themes of grief, overcoming trauma, healing, and rumination on why we cared about others really stayed with me. In addition, Frank’s philosophical and existential musings were very inspiring. I couldn’t unhear Nicolas Cage as I read the book, and that’s a good thing, although part of me kind of wishes I had read the book beforehand.

The film is set during two days in New York City as Frank works as a paramedic, contemplates quitting his job (in a very memorable scene, he tries to quit and his boss won’t let him, which I think is symptomatic and critical of perhaps working as an EMT in a metropolitan city), and rides with a medley of other EMTs including Ving Rhames (who takes on a quasi-religious role in his job), John Goodman (reunited since Raising Arizona), and Tom Sizemore. Sizemore’s character, who is also named Tom, struck me the most, and his Islamophobic slur later in the film, his disillusionment and distrust of the government and society, and his quasi-conspiracy theories really seem to represent and evidence the early seeds for Trumpism. The film also brilliantly recreates a pre-9/11 New York City – there’s a lingering sense of restlessness, aimlessness, a stasis that feels quite ominous, like something is about to happen, but not sure yet. Thankfully Bringing out the Dead is anything but aimless, and I think it’s a beautiful and very meaningful reflection on overcoming trauma and wife. He is alcoholic and a workaholic, and he lives with the grief of his wife having left him as well as his inability to save his latest patients. Rose’s ghost is a metaphor for this enduring trauma that haunts him, a physical reminder of not only his inability to help someone, which is the core value of his job to him and what he perceives as his own personal failure (“Inadequacies and foreign bodies” as Van Morrison sings in “T.B. Sheets,” which Marty brilliantly uses as a crucial and very telling theme song through the film), but also his burn out, the fact that he has crossed so many personal mental (and physical) boundaries and limitations with his job that he is seeing ghosts and hallucinations. He is also haunted by his latest patient Mr Burke, who suffers cardiac arrest at the beginning and remains on oxygen through most of the rest of the film. He befriends his attractive yet troubled daughter Mary (Patricia Arquette, who was actually Cage’s wife at the time, and their chemistry is genuine and really suits the film), and through her, he meets a whole cast of characters, including drug dealer Cy and Noel (Marc Anthony), a brain-damaged addict. All of this leads to Frank’s own personal salvation and renewed sense of purpose and belonging. He learns to save again, but not just someone else but himself. Mary is shown interchangeably with Rose too, and despite their mutual trauma, they form a relationship and have a promising future. I understood his mercy killing of Mr Burke at the end, but I have a complex view of it – does he kill him to just help himself move on, or does he do it to actually relieve the family? After all, despite Mr Burke’s voice in Frank’s ear, which is most likely delusional, the family wanted to keep him alive, so the mercy killing goes against this and might just serve to validate himself, although I like to think that Marty and Joe Connelly had a greater meaning and intention behind it. But there is a definite catharsis in his conclusiveness with Rose’s ghost (saving Cy after he is impaled after a botched drug deal and bonding with Mary), and now Frank can move on from his workaholic lifestyle and find new meaning elsewhere.

The acting across the board here is great for the most part, particularly from the character roles. I didn’t like Arquette’s acting in this one, but her chemistry with Cage is excellent, and Marc Anthony is great as Noel. Scorsese uses incredible lighting and contrast here to give the film a feel of endless night/work/emergencies, and it draws us into Frank’s mindset and the restlessness of the EMT lifestyle. That sense of duty tends to blur with the burn out of the endless needs of the job, but in the dead of night and through its repetitions (much like “T.B. Sheets”), Frank finds his most invaluable philosophical meaning and reflections upon the world (e.g. “Saving someone’s life is like falling in love. The best drug in the world. For days, sometimes weeks afterwards, you walk the streets, making infinite whatever you see. Once, for a few weeks, I couldn’t feel the earth – everything I touched became lighter. Horns played in my shoes. Flowers fell from my pockets. You wonder if you’ve become immortal, as if you’ve saved your own life as well. God has passed through you. Why deny it, that for a moment there – why deny that for a moment there, God was you?”). As with most Marty films, the soundtrack is excellent too, and Van Morrison and The Clash are used to very meaningful non-diegetic ends, particularly lyrically (you feel the music of “Janie Jones,” for instance, as Tom and Frank drive chaotically into the night, warping to lightspeed). There’s a strong sense of familiarity and yet total unfamiliarity in the film, and this is intentional. We feel like we know New York or have always known it, even if we’ve never been there, yet there’s a latent darkness or danger that remains unstoppable. Maybe that is Death itself. Some folks say that it is a spiritual successor to Taxi Driver, which Scorsese also directed. I can see the parallels, particularly their focus on these troubled minds building up like pressure cookers over time, but I think Frank and Travis are very different men whose lives lead to very different outcomes (I think Travis’ salvation comes with killing Sport and the johns and lowlifes so that Iris can lead a new life). Travis’ rejection from love and displacement in society leads him to kill in a terrific climax, and he justifies this as a means to save Iris from prostitution/child abuse, whereas Frank’s rejection from love and displacement in society leads him to save others and himself.

Bringing out the Dead is one of my favourite Scorsese films, and a bit of a buried gem that for some reason, didn’t quite get all of the love and accolades it deserved when it came out (also a fun fact: it was one of the last films released on LaserDisc). But it is excellent and deserves to be seen. Cage is perfect as Frank, he has that world weariness to him and he really embodies who Frank is without being over the top. It’s a refreshing role for Cage, as high energy as he usually is (“Not the bees!”). I watched it again recently and I loved it even more, perhaps with the knowledge of the book and 9/11 and the horrors and lived experience of Trumpism in mind. I hope that more folks will seek out this movie and also find meaning and truth in the philosophical reflections and healing, overcoming trauma, and finding a sense of purpose presented in this film.

What a dazzling corker of an opening! The camera cranes down to the marquee of a health facility and suddenly lightning strikes on the sign. Henceforth the club is “Death Spa” and cinematographer Arledge Armenaki lurks around the corridors with a voyeuristic point-of-view. In a steam room, a curvaceous dancer sensually caresses her body until the temperature increases and she is practically simmering inside.

The preternatural occurrences at the clinic are malevolently ineffable except that director Michael Fischa must’ve sublet the location and quickly doodled a rough outline sans revisions during the production phase. The culprit behind the lunacy could be a possessed artificial intelligence system for the equipment.

Yet how could glitches in the programming tamper with the bolts on a diving board? Queries such as this only accentuate what a colossally muddled mess ‘Death Spa’ is. Somehow owner Michael Evans’s (William Bumiller) handicapped, revenant wife and her miscarried baby might be suspects.

Horror icon Ken Foree is the janitor but he is deprived of any avenging-hero moments. The co-financiers’ refusal to cancel the Mardi Gras festivities is the equivalent to the Amity mayor’s obliviousness in ‘Jaws’. With such a potent setting, chemical burns and midsection tears are ancillary to the smutty, peephole high jinx of women in the shower and various other states of disrobing.

The resolution to the phantasm happenings is deliriously incoherent and in hindsight, a jeering insult to the drag community. This is a film that is a laughable guilty pleasure (the voracious fish attack specifically) in some circles but it is too aridly Agatha Christie for its own turpitude.

‘The Hunt’ is Blumhouse’s archly hipster, redundant rendition of ‘The Most Dangerous Game’ with liberal dosages of presumptuous gallows humor which never materialize into talking-head laughs (the anti-elite lines are mortifying edentate- “We’re gonna be on Hannity…Just like those two Jew boys that fucked Nixon up.”).

Instantly by lobbing buzzwords like “deplorables”, “snowflake” and “crisis actors”, scribes Nick Cuse and Damon Lindelof pander to the sectarian political factions. The mystery-box asterisk around the premise is highly pellucid from the plane kidnapping of several innocents who are paralogical in their self-preservation (ex. Why would someone crowbar open a crate that could be a boobytrap?).

The gore quotient is embellished to Eli Roth gratuity with an eyeball nerve skewered by a stiletto heel and another bystander in a pit of spikes. However, their collective reactions are incredulously lackadaisical or narcotized as if they were superficial, exasperating paper cuts.
More than once, Craig Zobel tergiversates the Jane Leigh rule of bankable billing as a safeguard for longevity. When Yoga Pants (‘American Horror Story’s Emma Roberts) is sniped within minutes of awakening, the shock value of other stars on the chopping block dissipates rapidly.

The social commentary about left-wing versus right-wing is lip service next to the ganglionated vomitorium in Manorgate’s “Arkansas”. The symposiums about gun control, climate change, immigration and the euphemism of “African-Americans” over “blacks” are broached with sound-byte simplicity.

‘The Wolf of Snow Hollow’ is an enjoyably blithe horror-comedy hybrid for Jim Cummings’ trifecta of headliner, writer and director and beyond that, it is a bittersweet epitaph for Robert Forster whose gravitas stratify this lycanthrope tale to snowbound film noir on the wavelength of Coen Brothers (“You feel like you’re having a heart attack? Right now?” “Nah, since August.”).

For connoisseurs of the werewolf subgenre, the litmus test is the tenable efficacy of the transmogrification effects and the creature itself. In that respect, the lupine menace is a wooly, bipedal victory for suitimation. Unfortunately, its appearances are unconscionably scant.

With pulchritudinous shots of the full moon, Cummings engraves a brooding aura before the slice-and-dice escapades. Cummings is naturalistically deadpan and occasionally splenetic as Officer John Marshall. His quarrelsome behavior at a forensic crime scene is an example of his folksy sensibility.

The quixotical murder-in-a-small-town singularity is a mainstay of the Coens since ‘Blood Simple’ and Cummings is at the tangential in-jokes of the ski-resort municipality. Surprisingly, all the victims’ peripheral backstories are juicy such as a politically correct couple on the precipice of a betrothal and a jilted slopes instructor.

Although he is mostly ambidextrous, Cummings doesn’t always titrate the recipe between yuk-yuks and teeth-chattering terror precisely such as a postmortem interview with survivor PJ Palfrey (Jimmy Tatro), but, at a lean 83 minutes, the asymmetry is hardly an impediment.