Showing posts with label Psycho. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Psycho. Show all posts

Friday, 31 January 2025

Article: Going Gothic – I Am the Pretty Thing That Lives in the House


 If you happen to be the son of the actor who portrayed one of horror’s greatest villains, I think it’s safe to say you probably have a certain measure of pedigree. Oz Perkins, son of Anthony ‘Norman Bates’ Perkins, hit paydirt with the 2024 marketing hype beast that was Longlegs. While the 90s period procedural made pay dirt with a solid advertising campaign which turned heads, it is safe to say that the film polarised viewers with its refusal to bend to typical expectations...or logic. Believe me as a lowly film writer, I have no desire to lie to you. Longlegs doesn’t make complete sense. And yet the film’s interest in “vibes” still makes it a compelling watch with a climax that, while slightly goofy, still harbours one of the most concerning final moments of 2024…if you were down with what Perkins was selling.

The traction of Longlegs (2024) was unexpected. Especially when considering the horror features Perkins directed before it. As a genre director, he deals with deliberate slow burns which grow and build like mould in the corner of a damp room. His films are exercises in extended suspense. Shots get held longer than one would expect. Nothing ever feels conventional, and things are rarely fully explained. I Am the Pretty Thing That Lives in The House is in the same wheelhouse as Long Legs or The Blackcoat’s Daughter (2015). It is deliberately paced and uninterested in submitting to the horror status quo.  The film is gothic in its purest form. Taking a past tragedy and having it become a rotting stain or a burnt shadow which never fades. Perkins delivers horror films which linger and infect. Like Session 9 (2001) it suggests that such dread lies dormant in the shadows until the chance arises to infect the weak and the wounded.

Ruth Wilson plays Lily, a live-in nurse sent to a remote house in Massachusetts to look after Iris Blum (Paula Prentiss), an elderly female writer who suffers from dementia. Lily scares easily. With little in the house apart from Iris’ penny thrillers for entertainment, Lily’s imagination, or what appears to be her imagination, begins to play tricks on her. She begins to sense something supernatural is in the house with Iris and herself. Something connected to the books, and possibly events that previously occurred within the house itself.

There’s a layer of chill that rests on the surface of Perkins's film. The jump scares if indeed you can call them that, are mild in their execution. However, Perkins’ use of empty and liminal spaces brings a sense of uneasy stillness, making you wish something should happen to break the suffocating tension. While this may sound like an oxymoron, nothing happens and that’s the point. To a sub-section of horror fans, this film will piss them off. To those who find something within films that deal with the saddening deaths of lonely, forgotten women, they may absolutely find a new favourite film. There’s a subtlety to IATPTTLITH that can really connect with a viewer allows it. The film deals with a narrative of female abuse and loneliness that is as quietly upsetting as it is unsettling. What’s difficult is that not everyone will be able to cling to this theme. Narratively the film is so slight it’s easy to feel that you might have missed something. The film moves from beginning to end in a way that may feel inconsequential in its execution.

But there’s effectiveness in its atmosphere. Some films are louder with their scares but aren’t as disquieting with their sense of dread. Wilson is the perfect actress for this kind of story. A performer whose looks can’t be placed easily within the past or present. It’s easy to absorb her fear as she frets around the house, unsure of herself, or the abode she’s been asked to reside in. A lot of IATPTTLITH works because of how convincing Wilson is. A bundle of nerves, unsure of where to place herself. Either within the house or in conversations. The dominant aspect of Wilson’s performance lies in her creepy narration which slips into pockets of the film, helping to build the unease of the film’s sparse compositions.  

Much like the films of Kiyoshi Kurosawa, the film captures a bleak tone that often resides in the Gothic. We see remnants left by ghosts unable to save others from their possible doomed existence. An elderly woman dying of dementia. Her disease is doing its best to take away her personality and essence at the end of her life. This also leaves Iris unable to fully inform her carer of what may lie ahead of her. Iris’ book that Lily reads, is based on the film's main ghost, Polly and what may have happened to her within the walls of the house, the women are living in. It is mentioned in the book that Polly never gets to elaborate on what occurred to her, although the audience does. She is a woman unable to clarify what happens to her. Lilly also illustrates within the film’s narration, that her story is cut short, with her chronicle to be forever embedded within the house. The weight of dread lies heavy in this collection of stories by women who aren’t allowed to close the book on themselves.

This sad aspect brings out one of Perkins’ strengths as a director. A Lynchian love for his female characters, something also seen in Longlegs and The Blackcoats Daughter. As vague as Perkins' films may be, he still finds reason to tell the saddening fate of these three women. Furthermore, as a horror formalist, he does this with a formidable command of mood. Many will want the film to “do more” with the material. But I Am The Pretty Thing That Lives in the House is much like Hitchcock’s Psycho (1960) in that less is more here. The film tells you enough. Possibly even more if you’re willing. But it’s important to note that Perkins wants to envelop people with mood. If you have the patience, the film will reward you. However, you must be interested in what Perkins is selling. You must be willing to get with the vibe.


I Am the Pretty Thing That Lives in the House can be found on Netflix

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Thursday, 5 September 2024

Article: Venice in Peril - Looking back at Don't Look Now.


In the years since I last watched Don’t Look Now, I had lost two children in a short space of time. Rewatching the film in 2024, with the dark shadow of grief clouded over my face, I must admit, the film hits a little differently. The horror films I love most are often tinged with a little sadness. Horror works better when a particular line of sorrow runs through it. But one of the reasons Nicholas Roeg’s film still strikes a chord, 50 years after its release, is just how well it hits the pain points of grief. Watching Don't Look Now this time around, I found myself stricken by its opening scenes. When John Baxter (Donald Sutherland) pulls his daughter’s body out of the cold muddy water, he emits an ungodly howl. His sobs come from the pit of his stomach. I’m stuck by this because I know those sounds. The resonance with that anguish is all too clear now. 

Family turbulence always goes a long way in horror films. The open wounds of a family broken by a traumatic incident are the perfect breeding ground for the supernatural to fester. Much like Roeg’s sophomore feature Walkabout (1971), Don’t Look Now has a family member's death as the catalyst for the story. When their young daughter drowns in the river near their home in England, John and Laura Baxter travel to Venice where John has accepted a commission to restore an ancient church. Saddled with the remorse and grief felt by their negligence that played a part in the tragic accident, Laura’s feelings soon take a turn with a chance meeting involving two elderly sisters. One of the siblings believes she is psychic and claims to have had contact with the Baxter’s daughter from beyond the grave. The readings give Laura hope, however, John stubborn with guilt and wary of a spate of murders occurring in the city, grows frustrated with his wife’s insistence of Christine’s happiness in the afterlife. That said, John also appears touched by the gift of premonition and is soon struck with visions of a small figure dressed in the same outfit Christine wore at the time of her death: A Red Hooded Mack.

For all the talk of visions and apparitions, so much of Don’t Look Now deals with the very human drama of a couple finding each other after a traumatic event. Where Walkabout used its guilt-riddled incident to approach themes of lost innocence and irrevocable change, Don’t Look Now’s tragedy leads towards how grief influences intimacy and romantic connection. Innocence is lost here too. However, Roeg frames this as two flawed human beings who still have a deep love for each other and, importantly, still look for ways to reconnect despite their differing views on tackling their loss.

One can say that travelling to Venice to get over their daughter's drowning is perhaps not the best way to go about overcoming their despair. Moving to a literal floating city surrounded by water ensures that the Baxters cannot get past their trauma. In the original short story by Daphne du Maurier, the death of Christine is caused by meningitis. Roeg and his screenwriters alter this in the film to drowning, a masterstroke. With that substance being the element that took their daughter away, the so-called city of water becomes a haunting presence for both the audience and the Baxters. A crumbling, sinking crypt masquerading as a place of escape. Full of labyrinthine alleyways and dead ends. At one point The Baxter’s find themselves lost in the city. Their disorientation metaphorically highlights the couple's struggle to find a way out of their pain. It becomes important to note that Laura leaves Venice at one point and does so after obtaining clarity from the clairvoyant sisters. For John, who never leaves Italy once the film’s action moves there, the location becomes a catacomb of grief. 

The small moment of respite the Baxters obtain in the film is also Don’t Look Now’s controversial sequence. Midway through the film, John and Laura enjoy a moment of passionate lovemaking. The scene is executed in such a way, that the gossipy whisperings that the actors had full sex on film remain to this day. For a British film, the last thing you’d expect to find is sexuality being so unbridled when the culture is often so chaste. So much emphasis is placed on the scene due to the will they, won’t they factor. What becomes more apparent, however, is when we consider how the scene is intercut with the couple getting ready afterwards. There’s a strong emphasis on the normality of it all. For the Baxters it is a small piece of levitation and true pleasure the couple has after the tragedy that’s befallen them. This makes Don’t Look Now one of the only films which observes sexuality in a mature and adult way. The scene seems more erotic because of this. The awkward gait and angles of their body movement give the scene a realism that has not been seen much of before or since.  Roeg's assembly of the sequence feels like the shower sequence in Hitchcock’s Psycho (1960). You are led to believe you saw more than you actually did.  

But this moment of intimacy doesn’t wash away the deep-seated pain that looms over the couple. The sex hints at the connection of love the Baxter’s once had. But their feelings on how to approach grief now show a vast rift between them. And that the disconnect is affecting. Anyone who has experienced anything similar knows how fleeting the feeling of normalcy is. So much of their location is used as a destabilising effect. The spate of murders lingers in the background. The priest John is working with seems blasé about the work taking place, and even the God he proclaims to believe in. Midway through the film, a detective is introduced to investigate the spate of murders occurring in the background. Roeg purposely casts an Italian actor whose command of English isn’t as strong as others. Pushing the isolation the couple feel even further. But the key ingredient to much of Don’t Look Now is the mosaic-like editing. 50 years on, Don’t Look Now is put together in a way that feels fresher than films released 6 months ago. So many films of the modern era appear incapable of utilising the language of cinema in such an expressive way. With so many elements of composition and editing being viewed as more of a means to an end. Roeg’s powerful use of cutting ensures the Baxters are unstuck in time. Reliving their pain in both past, present and future. Essentially experiencing grief as a Mobius strip. An unbreakable loop of anguish. 

At one point a character describes Venice as “A city in aspic, left over from a dinner party, and all the guests are dead and gone.”  When you think about it, you wonder: Why bring your trauma to such a place?  It is a city which leaves its characters unmoored in many ways. John tries to throw himself into work, but either appears unfocused or in peril. Heather’s unstableness is displayed in just how easily susceptible she is to these strange sisters who claim to see into the beyond. For many the scariest thing in the world is our fragile mortality. The death of Christine becomes a huge metaphor for this. Her passing disturbs John and Laura in all three tenses. Leaving them unprepared and uncertain. For Laura (impeccably played by Julie Christie), the sisters help her regain some emotional footing but leave her vulnerable. For the sceptic John, his reluctance only ramps up his anxiety and fear of the unknown. When you lose a child, even if you have the good fortune to have another, or the child has a sibling, that small piece of the puzzle of a person’s life will forever be missing. It becomes difficult to feel like the complete picture again. It becomes obvious to see what the Baxters are doing to try and break the loop. 

Don’t Look Now isn’t one for typical scare tactics. Save for one moment, the gore is scarce. The type of Lewton Bus scares which litter many horror films are also omitted. But what makes Don’t Look Now so unsettling is its sense of existential dread hanging around the edges of the frame. Noticeable in the symbolic decaying city of Venice but also in how the film hops across its fractured timeline almost at a whim. Having the audience occupy the same frame of mind as its protagonists. John suffers from the curse of premonition early. Experiencing moments of foreshadowing that could change the fate of characters if they could just understand what’s happening to them. It’s a disorientating and unsettling effect. Being led to see more of the future than one can comprehend. Through their grief, the senses of the Baxters are now heightened in a way that others are not due to their perception being dulled.  Roeg encapsulates a profound anxiety: a fear of the known unknown.  

Watching Don’t Look Now this time after experiencing a similar tragedy, the core relationship between the Baxters hits harder now than previously. From the quiet moments of intimacy to the unsaid things which lie amongst the small talk, all creeps under the skin. At the same time, the film’s infamous climax is just as heart-wrenching as it is unsettling. Perhaps because after experiencing something so painful, it’s easy to see oneself fall into the same trappings as John. Wary of a hesitant future, all the while being too stubborn to see what may be in front of you. The loss of innocence does indeed bring about existential dread. It also pulls intimacy into sharp focus. One of the scariest things for me in rewatching Don’t Look Now is how tragedy can alter one’s sense of perception. Even now, when watching the film again, a small part of me still cries out for its ending to differ. For John to regain some of his innocence.  For him to absorb a little more of that intimacy over his grief. Something to have him refrain from stumbling around dilapidated alleys. Sleepwalking towards more misfortune. 

In the time it took for me to collate some thoughts on this film, Donald Sutherland had died. His son Kiefer announced on Twitter that his father’s life was well lived. Be it M*A*S*H, Klute, or Six Degrees of Separation. Sutherland’s ability to bring pathos to whatever role he played was astonishing. I feel that John Baxter is amongst his best performances. A father whose grave trauma has rocked his foundations to the core. In a piece celebrating the film for Inverse magazine, Kayleigh Donaldson remarks: “It’s not simply that you cannot escape death; it’s that it’s everywhere, quietly reminding you of its arrival in your life.” In rewatching his performance here, I found a strange amount of solace within my two losses. A salve through observing grief on a Moebius strip. I was rewatching Death on a loop. In real life. On celluloid. Melded together in the same mosaic way Nicolas Roeg constructs his film. Yet despite the film’s melancholy, through Donald’s performance now comes his son’s words. We may not be able to escape death, but we can live life well before its arrival. I look forward. With an attempt to live well for my wife and son. The two of us looking for where we can rebuild our bonds and provide a new piece of the puzzle to reframe ourselves.


Sunday, 17 April 2022

REVIEW: X

Year: 2022

Director: Ti West

Screenplay: Ti West

Starring: Mia Goth, Jenna Ortega, Martin Henderson, Brittany Snow, Owen Campbell, Stephen Ure, and Scott Mescudi.

Synopsis is here:

 

I’m not sure at what moment Ti West’s X got me once again frustrated at film awards. It was possibly around the point in which the film delivers a tender split-screen involving Britney Snow singing a cover of Landslide by Fleetwood Mac. It might be the moment when a character tugs at a light switch. The film suddenly cuts back to the aftermath of a violent attack. An almost innocuous moment that becomes the film's most effective jump scare. West has always been an exciting horror filmmaker. However, watching the filmmaker’s maturity grow as a craftsman within these small moments reminded me of how much film organisations do the dirty within areas of the genre. Do I expect Ti West to win an Oscar? Not at all. But watching West create such an entertaining provocation on a tighter budget and with less pretension than some of the more typical prestige movies Hollywood tries to inflict on us reminded me of just how much horror should get more kudos.

X riffs hard on Tobe Hooper’s gruelling 70s opus; The Texas Chainsaw Massacre (1974). Like its predecessor, this slasher tale of an amateur porno crew embarking on a doomed feature starts innocently enough. Aspiring Porn actress Maxine (Goth) and his producer boyfriend Wayne (Henderson), head up proceedings with fellow actors Bobby-Lynne (Snow) and Jackson Hole (Mescudi), Director RJ (Campbell) and girlfriend Lorraine (Ortega) in tow, as they gallivant off to a rural Texas homestead to film footage of their movie The Farmers Daughter. They arrive at their location, which is home to elderly couple Howard and Pearl (Ure and Goth again). The abrasive nature of the shotgun armed Howard does little to deter the gang from performing their visual carnality. However, the day’s antics stir something within Pearl. Which soon quickly morphs from sexual to murderous, with tragic consequences.

Ti West coming off the back of a few years of TV work has come back with a horror throwback that holds a compelling use of form. The filmmaker seems to be in his element. Playing with classic inspirations as he’s known to do.  The homages are evident. Hitchcock’s Psycho (1960) is noted in both the dialogue and visually.  Maxine’s opening moments of preparation pay subtle homage to the mirrored finale of Paul Thomas Anderson’s porn drama Boogie Nights (1997). Albeit without the large penile appendage. The religious fervour peppered on old televisions holds shades of Michael Parks’ crazed priest in Kevin Smith’s Red State (2011) as well as the likes of noted, real-life televangelist Billy Graham. Such moments appear in the film’s neatly detailed 70s aesthetic as lived in aspects. It never feels that the nods are cheap.

X spends a good deal of time allowing its characters to be people. Let’s be honest, this is a 90-minute slasher movie, so we’re on the lookout for grand opera. But what the film does have is characters with valid intentions. The film’s cast is headed up by Mia Goth, whose dual role as both adult movie starlet Maxine, and elderly host Pearl, highlights the young actress’ incredibly versatile range. Never one to shy away from the sexual (2013s Nymphomaniac), strange (2016s A Cure for Wellness), and horrific (2018s Suspiria remake) Goth is remarkable here. Playing both titillating temptress and spiteful, murderous OAP with more nuance than one would expect. 

From repressed sound girl Lorraine (Ortega) whose curiosity about the sexual exploits she’s being shown shifts almost 180 degrees, to the rudimentary yet liberating sexual politics of porn stars Bobby-Lynne and Maxine who are more than happy to toast to the perverts who are paying their bills. The film is just as wry with its topical conversations about sex as it is with its sympathetic commentary of its rueful antagonists. West’s maturity has the director blending in modern tropes of sex positivism along with its scattered movie references to a more seamless effect. The film's overarching theme, however, involves ageing and regret. Howard and Pearl rue the fact that the passage of time has removed their youthful vigour. While the porno scooby gang has only angered up the blood. If only they could see that such frustrated desire will occur to them too.

West has been around the block for so long that fans are wise to his trademark approach to horror. Slowly placing block upon block of slow-burning dread tentatively on each other before everything collapses into chaos. The deliberate manner is reminiscent of West’s Satanic panic feature The House of the Devil (2009). Much like House, X takes its time presenting its characters, giving them time to breathe before the mayhem starts. What stands out is just how well everything is staged. Much like Hereditary director Ari Aster, West isn’t afraid to make the whole thing look beautiful. Delivering picturesque wide and overhead shots so pretty, they make you forget about the unnerving isolation of the surroundings. Backlit closeups and grim set pieces are equally well envisioned. And there’s never a feeling that a scare has taken an easy way out.

 All the scuzzy feel of the original Texas Chainsaw Massacre can be felt in X. But with none of the cumbersome “gen-z” pandering made by the recent Texas Chainsaw Massacre sequel. X certainly enjoys touching on topical sexual politics of the present and playing Don’t Fear the Reaper in a slasher film is just one of the few obvious gestures that X decides to make. However, West directs X with the kind of care that is needed in the genre. Creating a horror film that folds in eroticism, voyeurism, and the ravages of time with a sensitivity that a lesser film would bypass.

There is always talk about whether the horror genre is in a period of boom or bust. With no awareness that for the most part, the genre is nearly always steady. However, what makes the horror of the current age interesting is its strength in variety. There’s a genuine feeling that the genre and its filmmakers aren’t resting their laurels on just one thing. There’s also a strong crop of filmmakers who have something to say about the world. Even when mining into nostalgia to do so. X displays West’s deft ability to take what’s come before him and invigorate it with modern freshness and energy from unexpected places. An effective shocker with something to say. X proudly makes its mark screaming at the top of its lungs. It deserves credit.


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Sunday, 29 December 2013

Review: Oldboy

Year: 2013
Director: Spike Lee
Screenplay:  Mark Protosevich
Starring: Josh Brolin, Elizabeth Olsen, Sharlto Copley, Samuel L Jackson

Synopsis is here:

If you type Oldboy into your favourite search engine, you should notice that the 2003 Korean thriller appears first, above this year’s remake. I say this now as it reminds me of one thing: Spike Lee hasn’t ruined Oldboy.  Has Matt Reeves ruined Let the Right One in? Has Gus Van Sant besmirched your memories of Psycho? No. They haven’t. If you think they have, then turn in your film fan card and give your original version DVD’s to someone else.

That said, while imitation is the highest form of flattery, such projects usually fail due to a misalignment of elements. The repeating of sequences may satisfy an audience who feel they’re above reading subtitles, yet these set pieces and narratives are regenerated without the reason why they were so beguiling in the first place. Often it’s something cultural that’s subtracted for the sake of boarding the perspective of the new viewers. Spike Lee’s Oldboy suffers because it’s full of such examples.

Unlike The Departed, Scorsese’s crime drama, which took the Hong Kong based Infernal Affairs and reformatted itself into a property that could stand on its own two feet, Oldboy merely eliminates the oddities of its Korean source material a simply movies the rest to American shores.  The Oldboy narrative is so peculiar and the original director so particular that a straight up reimagining just doesn’t cut it.

If we liken films to cooking, Lee’s has the basic recipe, but it’s possibly missing the unami paste that gives us a certain flavour. Maybe certain ingredients have been placed in the oven a tad too long (explaining Sharlto Copley’s over baked performance). Perhaps it forgets when the pot needs to simmer and when everything needs to be brought to the boil. This is a film which looks like it should taste the same, but will have you reaching for the seasoning. 

A scene we remember from the 2003 Oldboy has our lead protagonist devour a live octopus on screen as he wishes to eat something alive. After being locked up for 15 years, we are watching a character that is quite simply dead inside. He is consuming the creature for feeling. Fast forward ten years to the U.S counterpart. We have a moment in which Josh Brolin spies an Octopus briefly. We’ve suddenly shifted from an acute visual metaphor to a vague silly head nod. Now something which had significance is now rendered near meaningless.

Spike’s take on the originals infamous corridor sequence is one of the most striking moments of choreography of the year. It’s a solid piece of action filmmaking and yet still it misses the point. Instead of a character that is unsure of his capabilities, Brolin stomps on each stooge as if he was a superhero with little weakness. No weakness, no worry.

You shouldn’t really compare remakes to their original counterparts. However Lee’s Oldboy never strays too far from the original property, and when it does, it sways into the wrong direction. I can once again point you in the direction of Copley’s annoyingly distracting display, but here is also the matter of Elizabeth Olsen being left out to dry with the flatly portrayed character of Marie, as well as Brolin’s solid but overtly macho Joe Doucett who is set up as a raging animal from the start and little of the wounded beast which we remember Oh Dae-su.

You can sense that Spike is not that interested in the studio system. He’s avoided it for most of his career and Oldboy shows why. So many elements feel like studio influence as opposed to director’s choice. Take away a few Spike traits and Oldboy could have been filmed by anyone. There is little of Lee’s own persona or creativity to counterbalance the problems the translation brings, so the outcome feels like a mishandled exercise more than anything.

This American retelling loses much of the melodrama of the Korean film mostly because American retellings have little time for such things. Park Chan-Wook’s 2003 piece is a film that understands that stillness is as important as ferocity. It’s no surprise that when we look Park’s work in this year’s Stoker, it’s played with the same delicate touch. Spike's Oldboy is primal from the get go, but adds no layers to itself. Broiln is an animal that needs to be caged and that's it. There's little poetry to proceedings, the tragic nature of the outrageous twists is never really peeked at. Simply put: Oldboy is an opera that Spike tried to make a rap remix from.

Saturday, 3 August 2013

Review: Only God Forgives

Year: 2013
Director: Nicolas Windin Refn
Screenplay: Nicolas Windin Refn
Starring: Ryan Gosling, Kristin Scott Thomas, Vithaya Pansringarm

Synopsis is here

A quick glimpse of the trailer for Only God Forgives, Cannes’ most recent infant terrible, reminded me of something that veteran web film reviewer and general twitterholic Scott Weinberg mentioned briefly on one of his many rants on the current state of cinema. As I didn't save the tweet, I’ll do my best to paraphrase: “If there are no reviews, you’ll only have the marketing telling you what to watch.” I'm sure there was more to it than that. Possibly more swear words, but I digress. His point is important for the simple fact that as much as critics/reviewers/bloggers get a bad rap (particularly as we often appear to be out of touch with the general audience), their job is to merely inform a viewer.

This does not just mean tell someone if the film is good or not. While that is of course a large majority of what they do, they should also try and provide a certain amount of context around the film at hand. Internet commentators and keyboard warriors may feel differently, but a world without them would have even more people happily parting their well earned cash with whatever flick Hollywood would like them to consume.  Yes, I'm trying to prove my own existence here, but seriously, now that trailers and posters have stopped trying to tell you that the films released actually differentiate from each other, it’s nice to maybe have a heads up, even if you don’t agree with the writer.

Getting back to the reason why you’re on this page, Only God Forgives is the latest movie from Nicolas Windin Refn, whose 2011 feature; Drive, gained a fair amount of praise and profit from all quarters, including. If you take anything away from my review it’s this, if you see a trailer/poster for this film and see the words “from the director of Drive” anywhere on it...I'm warning you now. That’s the marketing and not the film talking. While there’s some slight thematic connections between the films (although this seems to lean more towards Refn’s Valhalla Rising), Refn leaves the muscle cars and typical convention behind. This isn’t in the same ballpark as Drive. It’s not really even on the same planet.

Sparse, violent and deliberately paced; Only God Forgives, like A Field in England and Spring Breakers, is more interested in exercising mood than narrative. If walls could talk; the cheerless and shadowy corridors that inhabit Refn’s film, would say little about the decidedly typical revenge plot situated within the films Bangkok setting. They would however, be screaming hellishly of the bleak and corrosive souls that walk amongst the blood red walls. I feel they'd have more to say than the two aforementioned films.

American ex-pat Julian (Gosling) finds himself forced to confront the killer of his morally devoid brother by his incestuous mother (Kristin Scott Thomas channelling the sorority sister of Norma Bates and Janine 'Smurf'Cody). The murderer; Chang, is a self proclaimed angel of vengeance, who takes it upon himself to deliver swift and brutal justice to those he believes deserves it.

The film is less bothered with telling the story; instead it tries to entrap the viewer inside nightmarish, neon drenched purgatory. These characters are soaked in the guilt that they've created. Visceral imagery of bound or amputated hands becomes metaphors for pleasure or protection being denied or taken.  Vithaya Pansringarm plays Chang with an all knowing mysticism that’s hard to shake off. After delivering his violent sentences, he performs sickly sweet karaoke to his fellow officers who watch in straight faced silence. In doing this; is he trying and claim repentance? The film leaves such questions for the viewer.

Will the viewer respond to Only God Forgives? Hard to say. For me, it starts off a little forced before becoming a little too full of itself once or twice. A neon-lit Thailand? A film set in Asia that deals with honour and vengeance?  Even the gloomy, never flinching face of Ryan Gosling makes a few of its elements feel a tad too commonplace.  

Yet throughout I found myself enthralled by its imagery and absorbed by the sheer absurdity. I found myself caught up within the rhythms of its dark, blistered heart. I caught glimpses of pity, drip through the lavish production design, perfectly framed shots and stained souls that wander these damp, darkened Bangkok halls. For those who are willing to let it in, they maybe something in the films dankness that they may be willing to embrace.  If the walls could talk, they’d tell you that their screams get muffled by marketing posters.