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Posts Tagged ‘Olivia Cooke’

“In no passage of the holy canonical books there can be found either divine precept or permission to take away our own life, whether for the sake of entering on the enjoyment of immortality, or of shunning, or ridding ourselves of anything whatever. Nay, the law, rightly interpreted, even prohibits suicide, where it says, ‘Thou shalt not kill.’ This is proved especially by the omission of the words “thy neighbor,” which are inserted when false witness is forbidden.” – Saint Augustine

Yes, I know, nothing says ‘welcome to this semi-humorous (mostly) film review blog’ like a quote about self-slaughter from a mediaeval theologian. But bear with me, for Easter is just around the corner, and if we’re going to do religion, then what better time? We are, if nothing else, about to cast an eye over a film which is probably more concerned with Easter eggs than any other in history, and so surely there’s some kind of connection there, right?

Oh well, please yourselves. Steven Spielberg’s Ready Player One has managed to swing the coveted Easter weekend release for this year, although this may be less to do with the thematic connection than the fact there isn’t a Fast and Furious movie out this year. Certainly, were it not for Spielberg’s involvement, and the fact the film’s had $175 million spent on it, you might not expect it to get such an honour, for it is after all a computer game movie, not a genre with the most distinguished pedigree.

Think of the quarter-century-plus history of the computer game movie and your mind ineluctably crowds with memories of Bob Hoskins in Super Mario Brothers, Dwayne Johnson in Doom, Milla Jovovich in the Resident Evil series, and much of the filmography of Uwe Boll. It can be somewhat traumatic, obviously. (Just the other day I observed that while watching the new Tomb Raider movie is more fun than is the case with either of the Angelina Jolie ones, the same can be said for sawing off your own feet.)

Ready Player One isn’t quite in the same category, being a film about playing computer games rather than an adaptation of one. There is a lot else going on here too, though, including some dystopian SF and something rather new which I haven’t really seen in a movie before (we will come to this in time).

The film tells the story of Wade Watts (Tye Sheridan), a teenager living in a sort of poverty-stricken demi-monde of 2045 following various ecological and financial disasters (well, as poverty-stricken as is compatible with everyone having top-end gaming and computer gear in their shacks, anyway). The real world is so thoroughly grim that everyone has retreated into a virtual-reality fantasy called the Oasis, where they can live out their dreams and be and do whatever they want.

The creator of this cyber-utopia, Halliday (Mark Rylance), has passed away, but left three keys hidden inside the game world. Whoever finds them first will gain ownership and total control over the Oasis, in addition to a stack of cash. Needless to say everyone is looking for the keys, including slimy corporate operator Nolan Sorrento (Ben Mendelsohn), who plans to flood it with advertising and reconfigure paradise for maximum profit. After a chance discovery puts Wade on the path to winning the prize, forces both inside the simulation and in the real world start to take a serious and possibly lethal interest in him. He and his gamer buddies team up with Art3mis (Olivia Cooke), another key-hunter who sees control of the Oasis as a means of bringing about social justice, and set about solving the rest of the clues…

Well, Steven Spielberg may be 72 this year, but he has lost none of his ability to wrangle a giant popcorn blockbuster, and with Ready Player One the great man is on magisterial form: the story is told with assurance, impeccably paced, and with stormingly good set-pieces at exactly the moments when they’re needed. I found it to be an almost irresistibly entertaining film, judged simply as an adventure and a piece of pure spectacle.

That said, of course, there is a lot of other stuff going on here. The actual story is not especially innovative, being a quest for plot coupons with various twists and reversals along the way, and most of the incidental fun of the movie comes from the fact that elements from a vast number of movies, TV shows and films exist in parallel in the Oasis. There’s a car chase near the top of the film in which one character is driving the DeLorean from Back to the Future, someone else is riding the iconic bike from Akira, and a third person is behind the wheel of the 1960s Batmobile, all of which are being pursued by King Kong. In a battle scene, people variously whip out colonial marine pulse-rifles, the Holy Hand Grenade of Antioch, or the glaive from Krull. At one point there is a brief appearance by a big name member of Toho’s monster stable. It goes on and on and on (though there are certain predictable exceptions – nothing from Marvel, obviously, and the most recognisable thing from the stellar conflict franchise in the movie is Ben Mendelsohn).

And while I found all this to be rather delightfully amusing, I imagine that if you don’t have an encyclopedic knowledge of obscure fantasy and SF pop culture it may just be baffling, or even distracting. At one point the characters visit a lovingly recreated simulation of a well-known Stanley Kubrick movie, which is fine provided you’ve seen that movie already. (One does inevitably wonder why the youth of 2045 are quite so clued-up on – even obsessed with – pop culture from sixty to seventy years earlier, and why there’s relatively little from the 2010s. But I digress.)

Now, I am aware that some people have already taken Ready Player One to task over this, claiming the movie embodies the worst kind of geeky fanboy attitudes – basically, if you don’t have a vast knowledge of popular culture, you are only worthy to be scorned and pitied. The fact that this may actually be pushback against the attitude, still quite prevalent in society in general, that geeky fanboys are the ones who deserve scorn and pity doesn’t appear to have occurred to some people.

From here they tend to roll on to what is perceived as another problem with the film – namely, that it has a white male heterosexual hero, which is apparently practically anachronistic in a post-Wonder Woman, post-Black Panther world. I think this just sounds like people being determined not to like the film: it has very contemporary ideas about the fluidity of race and gender (who you are in real life doesn’t have to have anything in common with your virtual avatar), and it’s made clear that Wade only succeeds with the help of his very diverse group of friends.

What no-one seems to have really picked up on is what seems to me to be a genuine case of the film trying to have its cake and eat it. The central conflict is basically posed as one between free-spirited, iconoclastic, rebellious youth on the one hand, and massive, ruthless, profit-obsessed corporations on the other, with the kids obviously in the right. Well, fair enough, but the movie is being distributed by Warner Brothers, which made $31 billion last year, and is not noted for being a humanitarian charitable foundation: if they genuinely believed that high-end entertainment should be free to all, we wouldn’t have had to pay over twenty quid for our tickets (after taking concessions and my freebie card into account). And yet we did.

Well, this isn’t the first film to be hypocritical about big business, but it is emblematic of the way that Ready Player One comes on all street and revolutionary and ends up simply being rather timidly conventional in its attitudes. There is nothing genuinely surprising or unusual about its message or attitudes – in the end the characters decide that everyone should spend less time in the Oasis, because the only really real thing is reality (profound stuff, here – I’m surprised that Opus’ 1985 classic ‘Life is Life’ didn’t end up on the soundtrack, the period is certainly right).

What’s going on here is something fairly typical of films about VR and the like: the ultimate message that this can only ever be a poor substitute for the so-called ‘real world’. A really subversive and possibly much more interesting ending would be one akin to that of Brazil, with everyone retreating into their own personal solipsistic fantasies, leaving the real world deserted but for humming consoles and comatose gamers. But modern culture is ultimately as concerned with the preservation of social order as religion was centuries ago, and just as Saint Augustine was at pains to point out that suicide won’t get you into heaven (otherwise there is the risk of true believers topping themselves just to cut short their time in an imperfect world), so these days films and books about VR seem obliged to stress that they can only ever be a distraction, simply because someone’s got to do the work to keep the real world running.

In Ready Player One, this sudden emphasis on the priority of the real world comes as a crunching gear-change given we’ve just sat through over two hours of the Oasis being depicted as a miraculous utopia where dreams can literally come true, but it’s no less than what you would expect in a big mainstream movie like this one. It meets its social obligations with due diligence – but fortunately, Spielberg is also around to make sure it more than passes muster as a piece of entertainment, even if it isn’t as challenging as any of the episodes of Black Mirror it occasionally resembles. A big, shallow pool of a movie; lots of fun to splash around in, assuming you’re familiar with the water, anyway.

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It’s not very common for a film to make it all the way into cinemas without me seeing a reasonable amount of publicity for it – if it’s a film that falls within my (fairly undiscriminating) area of interest, anyway. And yet this is what happened with Juan Carlos Medina’s The Limehouse Golem. Two questions obviously leap to mind – why did your correspondent go and see it, based on nothing but a title, a cast list, and a vague capsule description? And is it genuinely receiving some kind of stealth release, or can the producers just not be bothered to pay for an ad campaign?

Second things first – and the honest answer is, I’m not sure. The film had its world premiere nearly a year ago, and while twelve months isn’t an exceptional period of time for a film to sit on the shelf, it doesn’t really indicate a distributor bursting with confidence either. I’ve commented in the past on the fact that trailers tend to appear before a film of the same general kind, and The Limehouse Golem is an extremely tough movie to categorise in some ways – is it a period detective story, a grisly splatter horror movie, or a slightly more niche drama? The other question is a little easier to answer – we’re going through a quiet period release-wise at present, I’m loathe to waste an afternoon off by not going to the cinema, and this looked like it might be agreeably Hammer horror-ish. Which, I have to say, only goes to show…

The movie is based on the book Dan Leno and the Limehouse Golem, by the noted authority on all things Londonian Peter Ackroyd – which seems to be one of those novels which flaunts its erudition by including all manner of historical figures as characters, some famous, some much more obscure. On some level I suppose this therefore qualifies as another Victoriana mash-up, along the lines of Anno Dracula or Dickensian, but it’s less user-friendly than either of those.

The year is 1880 and Londoners are living in fear as a savage, brutal killer walks amongst them, slaughtering prostitutes, Jews, and whole families, seemingly at will. Installed as the fall guy on this challenging case is police detective Inspector Kildare (Bill Nighy), along with his sidekick PC Flood (Daniel Mays). Kildare’s investigations lead him to the reading room of the British Museum and a list of four men, one of whom must surely be the killer who has been given the nickname of the Limehouse Golem.

However, one of the suspects has recently died in suspicious circumstances, and his widow Elizabeth (Olivia Cooke) is on trial for his murder. Is there a connection? Kildare finds himself obliged to delve into the history of a string of grisly murders, while trying to uncover the truth about Elizabeth and her own unsettling personal history…

I am sure that Peter Ackroyd is a very erudite man. However, the screenplay for this movie was written by Jane Goldman, and while I’m sure she has many fine qualities, erudition and subtlety are not necessarily the ones that immediately leap to mind based on her previous work (Kingsman, The Woman in Black, Kick-Ass). How to best describe The Limehouse Golem? Well, one thing you can say about it is that it is never knowingly under-wrought.

Another is that there is something genuinely refreshing about a film which so comprehensively cuts loose from normal conventions of movie storytelling. There were whole sequences in this film which had me slack-jawed and goggling at the screen, confounded by the sheer audacity and weirdness of the thing. Is it a period procedural about a set of murders clearly intended to suggest the Ripper killings of 1888? Or is it a rather different kind of film about a young woman’s rise from extreme poverty to success in the music halls of Victorian London, and the pressures on her even after becoming a star? The film ping-pongs back and forth between them like a cross between a particularly gory slasher film and an episode of The Good Old Days (younger readers, ask your grandparents).

If this movie were a pudding submitted for the Great British Pudding Showdown, I rather imagine that the first note from the judges would be ‘Easy on the eggs in future’. It opens at such a pitch of near-strangulated tension that it really finds itself with virtually nowhere else to go, and practically the whole film takes place with every element – script, performances, direction – elevated to an extreme level; naturalistic this movie is definitely not. At one point there’s a particularly startling sequence in which Karl Marx – yes, that Karl Marx – dressed up in a top hat and cape, saws the head off a prostitute. And this is not much more startling than most of the rest of the movie, which is stuffed with baroque dialogue, double-entendre-laden musical numbers, dwarfs, transvestitism, kinky sexual practices, severed body parts, and repressed libidos. There also seems to be some sort of LGBT subtext going on here, but as this is the one element of the film not rammed into the audience’s frontal lobes, it’s a little difficult to tell what message it’s trying to communicate beyond the obvious and pedestrian one.

Does it actually work as a movie, though? Well, you can always rely on Bill Nighy to deliver a superb performance, and I’m starting to think the same is also true of Olivia Cooke, who has never failed to impress me in any of the films I’ve seen her in. In terms of simple production values, British companies are simply very good at this kind of late-Victorian period piece. The Limehouse Golem is never less than arresting viewing, and rattles along energetically. But, at the same time, the film is so all over the place that I’m not quite sure what it wants to be or say, and it does feature the kind of plot twist which is simultaneously outrageously unbelievable and rather predictable.

In the end, The Limehouse Golem is really not very much like a Hammer horror film, but neither is it much like anything else I can remember seeing recently, either. There are lots of good things going on here, along with much that is baffling, some that is startling, and a few things that are actively silly. In the end the whole confection is probably a bit too bizarre and phantasmagorical to really succeed as a movie, but you could certainly argue that this is one of those movies where the incidental pleasures of the journey just about make up for the fact that the destination isn’t anything particularly special.

 

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Summer must be over: there’s a new Woody Allen movie coming out fairly soon, for one thing, while the supply of genuine blockbusters seems to have dried up and we are starting to see a trickle of what I can only call ‘quality’ films – not because they’re necessarily better than the more commercial fare that’s out in the summer, but because they seem to be pitching to a slightly more discerning audience. A case in point is Alfonso Gomez-Rejon’s Me and Earl and the Dying Girl, which is out and about at the moment.

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An interesting title, n’est ce pas? It strikes me as being very carefully calculated to strike exactly the notes of honesty, black comedy, and shocking cynicism that the film-makers wanted, and it’s fair to say that this level of premeditation informs much of the content of the film. Thomas Mann (not the one you may be thinking of, book lovers) plays Greg, a Pittsburgh high schooler who has survived the experience largely unscathed, as a result of keeping an invisibly low profile and not really making any connections with anyone. The sole exception is his friend Earl (RJ Cyler), with whom he spends much of his time making micro-budget film parodies.

This changes (inevitably) when his mother basically forces him to spend time with Rachel (Olivia Cooke), a vague acquaintance from school who has just been diagnosed with leukemia. The two eventually become friends, and when Greg and Earl’s substantial back catalogue of films becomes public knowledge, the next step is obvious: make a new film to cheer Rachel up. But can Greg do this while still maintaining his studious detachment from any genuine emotional commitment? Or is it time for him to finally decide who he is and what he wants to do with his life?

Me and Earl and the Dying Girl is one of those films which has been rather well-reviewed elsewhere, something which will no doubt be of great consolation to the producers as they consider the $1.3m shortfall in the film’s takings compared to its budget. In short, it’s clearly connected much better with critics than it has with the mainstream audience, and at first it is a little difficult to see why this should be.

It is certainly an extremely well-acted film, with performances from the trio of leads that would definitely be called star-making had the film been a bigger success. Olivia Cooke has impressed me in a couple of good genre movies in the past; she is equally good here in something much less genre-oriented. The film also contains some lovely miniatures, in the form of the supporting performances from Jon Bernthal, Molly Shannon, and the ever-reliable Nick Offerman.

And, I suppose, the film is filled with a kind of knowing wit and cine-literacy than seems practically machine-tooled to make critics fall in love with it. This may be a combination of high school comedy, tear jerker, and bildungsroman, but it’s one which is stuffed with references to Werner Herzog documentaries, Stanley Kubrick movies, various raves from world cinema, and so on. (Speaking personally, I’m finding it almost impossible to be less than lavish in my praise for a film which – for crying out loud – includes homages to Peeping Tom and the fifth ever Doctor Who cliffhanger, in the same shot.)

On the other hand, though, once you get past all the film references and dry humour there’s not a very great deal here that you haven’t seen before – and as the film goes on it does turn into something more approaching a conventional tear jerker. Rachel’s leukemia is of the photogenic, soft-focus, cinematic kind, of course.

And perhaps it’s here that the film’s calculatedly awkward and gauche stylings perhaps start to work against it – that title, as well as several other things which are present, appear to be an attempt to stop the film from becoming too sappy and sentimental, to position it as something more elevated – hip, but in an emotionally committed kind of way. Personally I thought the film made a pretty good fist of this, but it may be that the audience that turned out in droves for an unashamedly sentimental weepie like The Fault In Our Stars didn’t much care for Me and Earl and the Dying Girl‘s mock-cynicism, barely convincing though it is. (They probably didn’t go a bundle for the Werner Herzog references either, come to think of it.)

Certainly, I enjoyed the film a lot – there is much talent and inventiveness on display, along with some genuinely surprising moments – but, certainly as it went on, I found it wasn’t quite having the emotional impact on me that I’d expected, or that the makers would have hoped for. I could appreciate the skill and artistry that had gone into it, but the very nature of the thing as something so clever and knowing and aware of itself stopped me from making a genuine emotional connection with it. Which is ironic, given that avoiding this situation is on one level what the film is actually about. Still, it’s a carefully assembled package that has enough sincerity not to feel actually manipulative.

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Once more unto the Phoenix in Jericho for a visit to their Discover Tuesdays strand, which happens on (duh) a Tuesday, hence no need to fear the blight of allocated seating. Discover Tuesdays is a pretty eclectic catch-all receptacle for any films Picturehouse have snagged the rights to but which they think are too fringe, minority, or experimental to warrant a proper run across the week – and when you consider their major release this week was a searing behind-the-scenes documentary about couture, you may get some idea of just how fringe, minority, and experimental some of the Discover Tuesdays films turn out to be (the last one I went to was, I believe, a true-life courtroom-drama documentary about dinosaur fossil smuggling).

It’s a tough call as to whether William Eubank’s The Signal is more or less out there than that, for all that this initially looks like a fairly conventional indie film drama. This is the point at which I have to go on the record and say that this review may end up being rather shorter than most, or at least continue an even higher than usual ratio of pointless waffle to useful information. I really wanted the experience of being totally surprised by a film, and so, beyond knowing the name of one of the actors and a few vague clues as to the genre of the thing, I deliberately avoided all knowledge of what was to come. I think this added to my enjoyment of the movie immensely – and having spent what feels like about four months watching, analysing, and discussing just the trailers for Age of Ultron, I can’t help thinking this would be true of a lot of other films, too. I don’t want to spoil The Signal any more than I have to, so henceforth I shall be very circumspect about the plot and so on.

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Brenton Thwaites plays Nic, a young computer science student engaged on a roadtrip across America with his buddy Jonah (Beau Knapp) and girlfriend Haley (latterday Hammer starlet Olivia Cooke). Haley is moving to the West Coast and they, in theory, are helping her with her stuff, but there are various ulterior things going on too. Nic and Jonah are being plagued by a remarkably skilled hacker calling himself Nomad, and it may just be that the journey will allow them the opportunity to run their nemesis to ground and expose his true identity. Perhaps more seriously, strains are developing in Nic and Haley’s relationship – Nic is suffering from some kind of progressive medical condition (muscular dystrophy, apparently, though this isn’t made particularly explicit on screen) which will eventually put him in a wheelchair, and he is anticipating the moment when she breaks up with him on account of this. All this remains unresolved as they near their destination, which also happens to be close to the location they have tracked Nomad’s signal to: a remote shack in the Nevada desert, which initially seems to be deserted, but…

And here I must cease and desist, for the startling turns and twists the plot takes from this point on are really best experienced in a state of complete innocence.Well, I suppose I have to issue a few vague generalities, just for form’s sake and so people have a very rough idea of the tenor of proceedings: prior to this point, The Signal has looked not unlike an indie-ish drama about the lives of young people, albeit one with an impressively high level of computer science literacy. It proves to be very much otherwise, as Laurence Fishburne appears as an enigmatic figure in a hazmat suit, and the film reveals itself to be… well, from a very different genre.

Some of the advance publicity that I did see for The Signal compared it to a Shane Carruth movie, specifically the mesmerically cryptic Upstream Color, and I can sort of see where this comparison is coming from. However, it doesn’t quite manage to consistently strike an authentically Carruthian tone, because most of the time I felt I had a pretty good idea of what was going on from one scene from the next, at least superficially (I stress, most of the time: there’s one sequence with a cow and what seems to be an invisible monster I couldn’t quite figure out). This isn’t to say that the deeper workings of the plot are always apparent: in fact, as the film progresses, it almost gives the impression that it’s unravelling into spectacular visual and narrative incoherence, to increasingly stunning (but baffling) effect.

And yet, and yet. The Signal is ultimately an SF movie, and – perhaps – the most truly SF movie I’ve seen in a long time. Defining what SF actually is is one of those proverbially difficult things, but one suggestion which stuck with me is that it deals with the idea of conceptual breakthrough: the revelation and consequences of discovering that Things Are Not As We Thought They Were. The makers of The Signal have suggested that it is ultimately a drama about the conflict between logic and emotion, and to some extent this is apparent when watching the film – but my overriding impression when watching it was of a dizzying series of narrative transitions, not always tremendously coherent, it’s true, but with a remarkable cumulative impact.

Whatever you make of the conception and plotting of the film, it features impressive performances from the key performers – Laurence Fishburne is on particularly fine form – and it is visually highly impressive. Possibly¬†The Signal¬†is ultimately just a triumph of style over substance – and simply on the basis of the film’s technical virtuosity I can see William Eubank having talks with a couple of big-name movie-making outfits in the very near future – but it’s still a fascinating piece of storytelling legerdemaine with its own slightly unearthly sense of style about it. I got a very real kick out of watching it, and I’m very curious to see what Eubank does next.

 

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I very rarely go and watch a modern horror movie. Virtually the only thing which will get me out of the house for one of these things, if we’re completely honest, is the involvement in the production of the current incarnation of Hammer Films, a studio I have been an enormous fan of for most of my life. Hammer’s current revival shows no signs of running out of steam, happily, which is why I trotted along the other day to see John Pogue’s The Quiet Ones.

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As usual, this is a Hammer horror with a period setting, though the period in this case in 1974 (the producers have missed the opportunity to show the characters going to watch Legend of the 7 Golden Vampires at the cinema, and instead establish the timeframe by simply playing Cum On Feel The Noize every time someone switches on the radio). The story concerns slightly louche academic Joseph Coupland (Jared Harris) and his determination to put the study of poltergeist phenomena and associated mental problems on a properly rational footing. To this end, he and his students are intent upon encouraging a troubled young woman (Olivia Cooke) to manifest the psychokinetic forces she has long been a martyr to, so they can be properly studied and then safely vented. Or something. To be honest, the professor’s methodology struck me as a bit vague from the start, but then again you just know this sort of experiment isn’t going to go according to plan.

Along to document the proceedings is youthful cameraman Brian (Sam Claflin), who soon finds himself developing an emotional attachment to Jane, the test subject. This is an issue, but then so are developing tensions within the team, Coupland’s obsessive determination to prove his theories, and the fact that everyone is full of ideas on how to summon up a poltergeist, but hasn’t really thought about how to then get rid of the damn thing again…

It does sometimes occur to me that my devotion to the latterday incarnation of the Hammer marque is a little foolish, given it is little more than brand name with no material connection to the glory days of Michael Carreras or Terence Fisher. However, I feel justified in making a point of seeing each new Hammer release simply because they are generally pretty good movies (the rotten American-made The Resident being the sole dud to date this century). I have to say that The Quiet Ones is not up to the standard of The Woman in Black or Wake Wood, but then neither is it a waste of time.

Putting my thoughtful-analytical-cultural-historical hat on (it’s a big hat, obviously), The Quiet Ones is an interesting attempt to blend some of the classic tropes and themes of British horror (mostly TV horror, it must be said) with a modern transatlantic approach to the genre. The plot distinctly recalls things like The Stone Tape and Ghostwatch (claims that this is based on true events are spurious; particularly as the film-makers seem rather evasive as to which true events they’re talking about), while stylistically the film does make its obeisance to Hammer of the past – Jared Harris gives a proper old-school Hammer central performance as a rather untrustworthy scientist; you could easily imagine Peter Cushing or Andre Morell in the part. The younger actors are attractive but mostly bland, which I suppose is also a bit of a Hammer tradition (Cooke, I should say, is an exception: she is genuinely good in a part where the temptation to ham it up must have been considerable).

On the other hand, when it comes to generating scares The Quiet Ones adheres with great devotion to the formulae of many modern American horror films – especially the quiet-quiet-quiet-LOUD trope. The fact that the protagonist is a cameraman sets us up for a lot of quasi-found-footage, too, which I found a little bit tedious (especially as it’s established that none of the footage survives to get found in the first place). But I suppose you can’t blame the studio for following the market, and the mix between the classic Hammer motifs and the modern tropes is handled fairly deftly.

But is it scary? Well, there are plenty of jump scares, but these are mechanically achieved and not particularly noteworthy. The ideas of the film are not especially original – to be honest, some of them were well-worn back in the time when this film is set – and the plot really lacks the strong central hook of its most obvious sources. As a result, the film is technically competent but not really engaging or memorable. The climax is pleasingly overwrought, but there’s a definite sense of the denouement unravelling rather than unfolding.

Still, as I say, this is a competent modern horror movie that isn’t too hobbled by its obvious low budget and features some very accomplished performances. It should do okay for the studio. That said, most of the recent Hammer releases have been either spook stories, psycho-thrillers or folk horror – what chance a proper monster movie, guys? But in the meantime, a film like The Quiet Ones is no disgrace to the House of Horror.

 

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