We’ve all been there. We’re in the middle of extra-legal incursion into a foreign country, we’ve been shot, we’re bleeding out, not long for this world. Our old friend cradles our head as we take our last breath, and we use these last moments on this mortal coil to utter our final words…and we make a joke about our dick size. This has happened to all of us, right? No? Hmm. Well, this happens in Long Gone Heroes, to a significant character, late in the game when this should carry substantial weight, and it really nails the mentality of this movie.
I'm a sucker for any movie that's going along fine but then is all... "and now there are wolves." (Insert any variety of killer animal.) The hook here, in Adam MacDonald’s Out Come the Wolves, is the wolves, but that’s not really the point. The eponymous predators don’t show up until relatively late in the game—you know it’s coming, it’s right there in the title and prominently featured in all the marketing—but things are already harrowing and conflict-riddled enough by the time our furry pals appear.
If it looks like an Alien movie, walks like an Alien movie, and murders you in space with a giant armor-plated extraterrestrial killing machine, then it’s probably an Alien movie. And by god, Evil Dead director Fede Alvarez’s Alien: Romulus is an Alien movie. We’ve got xenomorphs, we’ve got face-huggers, there’s a chest-burster, corporate malfeasance, capitalistic overreach, acid blood, synthetics up to no good, and all the expected bells and baubles.
Birds sure are creepy little fuckers, aren’t they? Dinosaur-looking sons of bitches. At least that’s what Cuckoo would have you believe. Though Luz writer/director Tilman Singer’s latest off-kilter horror offering definitely keeps you guessing as to the why of the lingering avian motif, it ultimately pays off in wild ways, taking unusual paths to get there.
Do people still like movies where Elijah Wood walks around the New Zealand wilderness? Because there’s a great deal of that in Bookworm, the latest directorial effort from Ant Timpson (Come to Daddy). It may not be quite as epic as the Lord of the Rings movies, but it’s impossible for that landscape to not look incredible, and there’s plenty of adventure on this sweet, earnest journey of reconciliation between a long-estranged father and daughter, a journey that also happens to be something of a cryptid hunt.
When you hear about a DIY Estonian horror-musical that took the filmmaker (Sander Maran served as director, writer, editor, cinematographer, songwriter, and probably more roles) a decade to make, you can’t help but be curious. And Chainsaws Were Singing is all of that and so, so much more. This is a bizarre, wild time that goes way, way out in the wilderness and is something fans of movies like Cannibals: The Musical and Hundreds of Beavers need to check out.
If something seems too good to be true, it probably is. So goes the well-worn saying, so goes the story of Donna (Dana Namerode). A talented pianist, the diagnosis of an aggressive, highly localized cancer means the only way to save her life is to amputate her arm. As her days become a series of indifferent doctors and callous support groups, the prospect of losing everything she’s devoted her life to leads her to accept an offer from Sam (Johnny Whitworth, Empire Records), a mysterious (sketchy) scientist who claims he can cure her. What initially looks like an immediate, miraculous cure turns into something much more sinister. And occasionally quite gooey.
