As the doors open for the last time at Nevada's 'Roaring 20's Cocktail Lounge', the regulars gather to reminisce about their favourite memories of the place, hoping to make a few more before the day is out. Among them is Michael, bringing with him celebratory doughnuts and determined to be the first one in and last one out to show his allegiance, even starting his day with a shave in their public restroom as if it's his own home. Alongside a host of friends cultivated atop a barstool, they plan to celebrate, commiserate and shoot the shit until last orders is called.
Bloody Nose, Empty Pockets is a hang out movie of the highest order, as if Richard Linklater and Charles Bukowski went for a drink together in a dive bar and their collective creative mojo conjured a film into existence, filled with booze addled romanticists spouting words of wisdom and lushes bemoaning the lives they've deprived themselves of in favour of staring at the bottom of a glass. '20's', as it's known to its patrons, is not a place of particular renown or infamy, but to these people it's important, and not just as the place where they can drink away their problems, when really, they should either be at work or at home with their families.
At times an unashamedly rose-tinted ode to the old-fashioned watering hole, this film isn't afraid to also show that the euphoria of that first, second or third drink quickly fades, and delivers some home truths about how wrong they might all be by spending their lives there. Michael, who prides himself in "not becoming an alcoholic until after I became a failure", rejects his Aussie neighbour at the bar's drunken proclamation that "this is home and you're my family", cutting him off and setting him straight. It might feel that way at the time, but that is not the real truth.
For all intents and purposes this presents itself as a genuine 'barfly on the wall' documentary, capturing the real lives and cross-talking interactions of these people in the space of a day. However... like many a tall tale told at a bar, that's not the whole truth of the matter. Despite first appearances, there's an element of structured reality at play here, with many of the "regulars" actually comprised of local actors, poets and performers, brought together to create something that blurs many a line, and not just due to the effects of alcohol. That's not to say that there's a Barney Gumble or Cheers' Norm here, as although you could politely describe a number of them as 'characters', they're never caricatures. It's not often that the boundaries of documentary appear stretched, with the possible exception of bartender's son, Tra, who drifts in and out of the story with his friends, hanging out in the alley outside the bar, seemingly with an ulterior motive that adds the closest we get to a traditional narrative structure when the camera switches to follow his antics.
It's cleverly constructed by brothers Bill and Turner Ross, who direct and handle the cameras themselves, floating around to get close to the often inconsequential conversations held around the bar, catching some snippets and missing others and using the mirror behind the bar to catch the smiles and hangdog expressions of the listeners. The camera crew is never acknowledged by the clientele (there are no interviews or even glances towards the lens), so the brief reflection of a camera lens in the mirror is the only time the ethereal presence of the camera crew is broken. As to what extent this is a depiction of reality, or a possible reality, is up to you to decide. What narrative there is never encroaches on the enjoyment of eavesdropping on these incredibly diverse, interesting people, and I found there to be enough truth in their words to make Bloody Nose, Empty Pockets an occasionally sad, but equally raucous and highly entertaining documentary, right up til closing time. And if if it does ruffle some feathers by defying the conventional boundaries of its genre? Well, I say cheers to that.
On the day of Marian's high society wedding, local dignitaries and politicians arrive at her parents house for the ceremony, despite the civil unrest and rioting that is happening on the neighbouring streets. Further complicating things, the registrar is running late and an ex-employee, Rolando, has arrived pleading with the family for money to fund the urgent surgery his wife needs. As Marian tries to get some cash together to help him, the violence in the streets threatens to penetrate the comfortable surroundings the assembled guests are in.
New Order begins with a brief montage... a threat of what's to come... showing violence, degradation, and the sight of a naked, blood soaked Marian (Naian Gonzalez Nervind) for us to interpret as we please. It then takes us back to the morning of Marian's wedding, where wealthy, important people arrive for her wedding at the grand, high walled house of her parents, each offering a financial gift to start off married life comfortably. So far, so Parasite. What follows flips the entire structure and driving narrative of the film on its head, instead demanding its audience take part in a disturbing, hard to stomach depiction of a world on fire, figuratively and literally.
Without wanting to spoil how much a rug pull the film employs at its halfway point, I'll just say that the scenes that take place in the ten minutes after the inciting incident are some of the most violent and graphic I've seen committed to film, and even after the pace of the film and the action slows down, New Order gleefully shocks you with more disgusting acts of violence. The social and political commentary subtext is clear, and the punishments delivered will be all too familiar to some regions of the world, and all too close to becoming a reality to others. However, I find that the filmmakers have taken a misstep along the way, as although I cannot fault the performances of the core cast, nor the impact it has had, New Order is a film I find difficult to recommend.
The world we live in is increasingly on a knife edge, and although I am sure that the aim of director Michel Franco is to show that we live in a fragile society, and all people are fallible and capable of the worst things imaginable when pushed, he needed to take a stronger standpoint against the fascists to offer any sort of entertainment value, instead offering no discernible delineation between privilege, greed, and full-on nazism. This is extreme cinema that wants you to question what form of dehumanising violence is more stomach churning than the other, asking you to account for your own complicity when you change the channel if footage of war torn countries appears on the nightly news.
A powerful, troubling indictment of society's worst impulses it may be, but the despicable lack of regard for human life means New Order will stay with you like a stain on your memory. An incredibly difficult watch that you won't want to repeat again.
Living a secluded life out in the woods with his wife Rose (Sophie Rundle), the isolated world Sam (writer Matt Stokoe) has created is put into jeopardy when his delivery of fuel fails to arrive on schedule. Forced to head into town to confront the people who've taken his money and not supplied the goods, the stability of their lives is tested and the reason for their seclusion may be revealed. Sam is prepared to protect Rose at all costs, but is he protecting her from the outside world, or is it the opposite?
A low budget British indie with no notable stars, I went into Rose: A Love Story pretty cold, knowing only that there was some festival buzz around it, and it's turned out to be one of my favourites of this year's LFF. A curious mix of survival horror and sweet romance, it's a film that keeps its mysteries close to its chest, laying down plenty of intriguing ideas, visual clues (leeches in masonry jars) and genre motifs in its first half, before the introduction of a new character upends Sam and Rose's world and we start to see the harsh reality behind their choice to shut themselves off from everyone else.
The opening scenes, where Sam goes to confront the young man who's stolen from him, ratchet up the tension that's already at a respectable height after the dark woodlands setting has been established. Dangerously low on fuel to power their generator, Rose, working away on her typewriter, is plunged into a darkness that she seems welcome in, her adverse reaction to the sight of a small cut already showing us signs that she's no normal shut-in. When Sam returns to their home in the woods he's clearly scared of what he might be facing, but with a lockable safe room within their house, he has planned for all eventualities to make sure Rose is protected. Well, almost all. The second half of the film switches the set-up drastically, as the quiet, unsteady balance of their marital bliss is upset by the arrival of Olive Grey's Amber, caught in one of Sam's rabbit traps and in urgent need of medical attention. Reluctantly allowed into the home by Sam, he must weigh up if helping Amber is worth the risk to Rose's safety.
Rose: A Love Story succeeds in establishing the convincing coupling of Sam and Rose, in no small part due to the natural chemistry between Stokoe and Rundle that comes from their real life relationship. Both on board as producers and with a script by Stokoe, this is clearly a passion project of theirs, brought to life brilliantly by first time feature director Jennifer Sheridan. Having mostly worked in short films and TV as an editor, director and writer, this is an impressively assured debut by Sheridan, presenting an ominous mood that suggests the horror genre may be something she should explore again in the future. Likewise Stokoe, who's crafted a gruff, brooding calling card for himself as a writer and actor that will certainly serve him well.
Making the most of of its remote, snowy surroundings (the snow apparently not by choice, but just the result of unexpected weather at the time of shooting), Rose: A Love Story taps into a feeling of isolation and fear of the outside world that feels all too relevant right now. And although the restricted focus of the film might leave some hoping for a grander finale than it's able to offer, there's plenty of simple, effective scares to enjoy in the preceding 90 minutes to make this a stand out offering for recent British horror filmmaking.
Performed at Broadway's Hudson Theatre and based on his most recent studio album (with the inclusion of many of his classic hits), David Byrne's American Utopia sees him team up with director Spike Lee to capture the performance art aspect of the live show on film.
It's impossible to begin any discussion of concert films without including 1984's Jonathan Demme directed Stop Making Sense, the film that caught Talking Heads, arguably in their prime, and introduced the world to David Byrne's infamous large suit. That film opened on David Byrne alone on stage, gradually bringing out the rest of his bandmates to create an orchestra of sound and vision, and he repeats the trick here to great effect. Seated, barefoot, wearing an grey suit so unremarkable it must be remarked upon, and holding a prop brain, he delivers an elegy that will run throughout the show, before he's joined onstage by back-up vocalists Chris Giarmo and Tendayi Kuumba. They dance, sing and emote their way through the rest of the show, as do the other vocalists and musicians, all carrying their instruments to allow free movement on the stage. Actually, unlike the freewheeling performance of Stop Making Sense, the term "free movement" is a misnomer here, as there isn't a single moment in American Utopia that doesn't seem like a perfectly choreographed piece of visual artistry, blend together dance and music. There's not a single (bare) footstep out of place.
This is a show that requires its musicians to play an active part in the visual tapestry of the performances, moving them around the limited space the square stage affords them, with the modern lighting techniques bouncing bright white lights off their grey suits to illuminate them or change the shape of the performance area as it wishes. The choreography looks like it would challenge the most seasoned of dancers, but the band look like their having a great time throughout, with Byrne eager to show the respect he has for them in a roll call that gives each a moment to show their musical skills. Cliched, perhaps, but there's a party atmosphere that regularly has the audience up and dancing.
The widest appeal of this will of course be to existing David Byrne and Talking Heads fans, although it's a show that will surely win over many more to the fold. Byrne punctuates the musical performances with a regular address to the audience, and it's here where the show takes on a most surprising tilt, as Byrne gets political to talk to his assembled fans (and clearly, us) about the importance of voter registration and turn-out, using the in-theatre lighting to illustrate his points. The live show originally ran up until February 2020, and was set to return before Covid-19 shut down Broadway, but it's remarkably topical in a way Byrne and director could not have foreseen, with one of the highlights of the show arriving in the band's performance of Janelle Monae's protest song, Hell You Talmbout. Here, for the first time, the linear reality of the show is broken to include photos of the men and women named in the song who have died because of police brutality, with newly added tributes to George Floyd, Ahmaud Arbery and Breonna Taylor giving the song's performance a unique timeliness, and the perfect meeting of David Byrne and Spike Lee's principles. There's not much opportunity for Lee to add his directorial flair, with him and his cinematographer and regular collaborator Ellen Kuras confined by the physical boundaries that come with the recording a concert - but here it's unmistakably the work of Spike Lee.
American Utopia is a wonder to watch, cinematic by virtue of being utterly impossible to take your eyes off, and featuring plenty of David Byrne's past hits that will have you as engrossed as the live audience clearly were. Byrne's vocals and wealth of visual creativity show he's still a force to be reckoned with, and with the added relevance to the times we're living in, this beautiful, vibrant companion to Stop Making Sense is unexpectedly vital viewing.
Directed by Yemi Bamiro, One Man and His Shoes charts the rise of the Nike Air Jordan brand and the impact it has had on culture, leading to a demand that is so high, some people are willing to kill to get their hands on a pair.
Starting all the way back in the mid 1980s, when Michael Jordan was a fresh faced 6'6 college basketball player, Bamiro's documentary goes over some ground already covered in the Jordan sanctioned Netflix documentary series, The Last Dance, but after throwing its net wide to discuss the plight of a black community ravaged by crack cocaine and mandatory minimum sentences, One Man and His Shoes zeroes in on Jordan as an up-and-coming player chosen as the face of a new kind of sports shoe. Rather than being a standard sneaker that might be worn by other basketball stars (as was the case with Larry Bird and Magic Johnson), this would be a shoe bearing the name Jordan, designed for him and the legions of basketball fans who wanted to emulate his sporting prowess and own this coolest of status symbols.
In the first half of the film there's a great deal of effort put into explaining the perfect storm that lead to Jordan being picked as the player to wear the controversial first run of Air Jordans (they were banned by the NBA, not because they gave MJ an edge but because they weren't the regulation white colour, but that didn't stop fans from believing the former), and a ton of talking heads from sports writers, sneaker writers and marketing lecturers offer their take on why it was such a runaway success story, with sales expectations of $3 million after 3 years soon eclipsed when they made $126 million in their first year.
Much like the rise of Michael Jordan himself, it's a wild story that is easy to get swept up in, although the filmmakers know that a desire to dig into the varying designs and appeal of each model of Air Jordans is limited, but not completely absent, paying a visit to one collector who has 1175 pairs of shoes and other Jordan memorabilia worth over a million dollars in his house. Unsurprisingly, he doesn't share too much about where he lives. Instead this film shifts focus onto the darker side of the fervent fandom that goes with the launch of a new design, as huge queues wrap around department stores and purchase limits are put in place that mean not everyone who wants to buy a pair of new Jordans (and who can afford the hefty price tag) gets them, and so a resale market has emerged that sees the shoes go for thousands of dollars online, and worse, people assaulted and killed for their shoes.
It's of no surprise given the dark turn this film takes that there's no involvement from Michael Jordan, Nike, or key figures like Spike Lee - who hot off breaking out with his debut She's Gotta Have It, directed and co-starred in a series of commercials with Jordan that helped shape the brand's public image - instead putting grieving families as the focus of the final section of the film as shocking stories and footage of beatings and murders takes the place of on-court triumphs and the history of basketball endorsement deals. It's a bold swing that might shock audiences looking for a light-hearted documentary about sports shoes, but this film is more concerned with looking at the lasting effect this cultural behemoth has had on society, asking big questions about how much a billion dollar brand like Air Jordan and Nike should be held accountable for the criminal actions of consumers.
Like any great sports movie, One Man and His Shoes is not about sports, but it's unexpected how little it is about shoes too. Audiences expecting something light on its toes may be taken aback by the heavy pivot it takes, but it's a better film for facing up to the dark side of fandom.
Switching gears to be a virtual festival, with screenings taking place at home on the BFI Player and some select films also receiving screenings at venues up and down the country, the BFI London Film Festival 2020 is now underway. One of the first films I was able to catch at the festival was Elizabeth Lo's documentary Stray, following the life of Zeytin, a stray dog living on the streets of Istanbul. With a camera always close by, Zeytin shows us a typical day in her life, weaving in between traffic on busy roads, drinking from fountains and crossing paths with other dog friends and adversaries along the way. Her closest allies are a group of teenage Syrian refugees who live on the streets and in derelict buildings, sharing a lot of similar problems and treated the same way by the authorities. The film doesn't present this as a heavy handed allegory, but the subtext is plain to see. When the stray dog population grew out of hand, the Turkish government enacted a controversial plan to cull most of the dogs, leading to protests that saw them change the country's law, making it illegal to "euthanise or hold captive any stray dog". This has lead to an uneasy truce that sees the dogs roam the streets as they please, almost as if it is their city and they are the ones allowing the human population to be there.
The concept of Stray is a simple but powerful one, telling a larger story via Zeytin's life. This could have quite easily been a documentary charting the refugee crisis and focussing on the homeless children that occupy the streets, but the choice to home in on a stray dog, and Zeytin in particular, has provided a richer world to explore and capture on film. There are other dogs in the story, namely her best friend Nazar and a Kartal, a puppy who has caught the eye of the teenagers; but for the most part the camera is never more than a few feet away from Zeytin, often racing to keep up with her lawless antics. The closest thing I can compare it too is Larry Clark's Kids meets that episode of The Simpsons where Santa's Little Helper runs away, although rather than fighting bears or saving babies from burning buildings, these dogs show off their freedom by digging through trash for food and humping in the middle of a women's rights march. A documentary with a clear message behind it, using Diogenes quotes to equate the respect that is shown to the dogs in contrast to the treatment of the refugees sleeping on the streets, it has to be said that if the message somehow falls flat, Stray also works as a hang-out movie, so engrossing it is to watch the different behaviours of the dogs and how they interact with one another. Even if you're not a dog person, you'll soon be completely enthralled by Zeytin's journey.
The camera is positioned no higher than dog head height at all times, giving a unique perspective on the world and a true sense of what it must be like to feel like to be ignored by society. The people around them are literally higher-uppers. We hear the sounds of the streets and eavesdrop on the conversations of passers-by and people the dogs choose to sit down next to, their words carrying like an echo, and for the dogs just another source of noise in their city. What's surprising is that even though the camera stays about 3 feet off the ground and shows the dogs facing a forest of human legs before them, what we do see of the city paints it as a vibrant, bustling place to be, full of visitors, workers, traffic and nightlife. It's unlikely to be used by the Turkish tourism industry, but this film captures the beauty of the area, as well as the uglier side in the treatment of the young boys sleeping rough on the streets.
Showing a daily routine like no other, Stray is an impactful, moving documentary that is expertly captured by debut feature director (also producer, cinematographer and editor), Elizabeth Lo. Tinged with a sense of sadness but also playfulness, it's hard not to be moved by the whole experience.
Forced to move online after the Covid-19 outbreak scuppered plans for the usual August Bank Holiday horror film extravaganza, this year's Arrow Video Frightfest might have been a compromised experience that missed out on some of the particular joys of the festival (getting to know the people sat next to you far too well, witty horror decal t-shirts, the odour of Lynx Africa), but was still something of a triumph. Here's my thoughts on what some of the films had to offer.
12 Hour Shift
For those who don't have jobs with unsociable working hours the festival started on the Thursday night with an Evolution of Horror presented pub quiz and the premiere of the slightly ropey looking Sky Sharks, but for me the festival kicked off on the Friday with Brea Grant's 12 Hour Shift. Starring indie horror royalty Angela Bettis (best known for May and her lead role in the TV version of Carrie that people forget exists) as Mandy, a tired nurse who supplements her income by selling organs on the black market. On this particular night in question, things go wrong for Mandy when her cousin Regina (Chloe Farnworth), in charge of the collection and delivery of these organs, loses a kidney in transit. Rather than sacrifice one of her own to the local crime boss (Mick Foley), Regina returns to the hospital to get a replacement kidney by any means necessary.
12 Hour Shift is a pleasingly over the top 'night in the life of' a bunch of criminals, low-lifes, and people just trying to get by, that takes a simple premise and adds layers and layers of mishaps and unexpected twists and turns to deliver a funny, ridiculous, horror farce with great performances from an ensemble cast. Bettis is solid as the world-weary former drug addict Mandy, but a lot of the film is stolen by her co-star Farnworth, who plays Regina like a prototype Harley Quinn, making the film all the better for it.
The Horror Crowd
Frightfest doesn't just stick to narrative features, and regularly offers up some documentary gems that you won't catch anywhere else. That might sound like a dig, but oftentimes the docs are so niche in focus that they're solely aimed at a horror festival audience. One such example is Ruben Pla's The Horror Crowd, which sees director/presenter/interviewer Pla reach out to the many contacts he's made during his time as a jobbing actor in LA's independent horror scene. For that reason, the level of fame of his interviewees varies wildly, from established directors like Russell Mulcahy and Darren Lynn Bousman, modern horror icons like Lin Shaye, to lower budget filmmakers like Big Ass Spider! and Lavantula's Mike Mendez. In its favour, Pla seems to be over the moon to be acquainted with everyone he talks to, and gives no preferential screen time to anyone.
It's harder to tell this year with the festival taking place in living rooms rather than Leicester Square, but there's an old adage about Frightfest that when the filmmakers appear to introduce their films to an audience, the nicer and more enthusiastic they are in person, the worse their film will turn out to be. I've witnessed this with my own two eyes, but maybe with the social distancing something is off this year, as Pla seems like a genuinely lovely guy, and his film was perfectly decent too. It's not going to win awards for documentary innovation, but it was never striving for that either, with Pla never fully settling on whether his place should be in front of or behind the camera as he works out his style along the way. The Horror Crowd's sole aim is putting a camera in front of Pla's friends and asking them to talk about their experiences working in the (usually low budget) world of horror movie making. That the spectrum of talking heads is so varied gives the film a unique angle, and there's some great insights from filmmakers like Ernest Dickerson, and the producer of the Final Destination, Craig Perry. It might not be the most elegantly delivered film, but a lot of the content is sound enough. It's a bit like Frightfest in that regard - bringing together a collection of oddballs with a shared love of horror and letting them compete over who is the bigger horror nut.
Blind
One of the most hyped films of the festival after the trailer revealed a genuinely intriguing villain in the mannequin-face masked Pretty Boy, sadly Blind ended up being an abysmal experience. When a routine laser eye surgery goes wrong, actress Faye (Sarah French) confines herself to her Hollywood Hills home, unaware that she is being stalked by a masked intruder. Her biggest chance of accepting her blindness comes from her new best friend Sophia (Texas Chain Saw Massacre 2's Caroline Williams) and the kind, mute Luke (Tyler Gallant). Hmm, mute you say? I wonder if that's going to play a crucial part in the story later on.
Blind suffers from a complete lack of research into laser eye surgery, the day to day lives of blind people, and it would appear, scriptwriting, so excruciating an experience this turned out to be. Lead actress Sarah French doesn't appear to have ever seen a blind person, or even another actor ever play a blind person (apart from maybe a guest spot on Saved By The Bell), so poor is her approximation of how she should communicate with others or act in her surroundings. The same goes for Caroline Williams (also a producer of the film) as Sophia, who finds it appropriate to caress the face of a mute man to assess his attractiveness. Add to this Luke's fake-sounding robotic voicebox, a panty-sniffing sushi delivery boy, no attempt at subtlety whatsoever and what you have is a film that defies the possibilities of suspension of disbelief.
As I said, there's something genuinely creepy about the mannequin-faced bad guy of the film, and his actions as he becomes more involved in the story are just plain weird; but even that image becomes neutered by the sheer terribleness of the film and a finale that features the most laughably contrived monologues I've ever seen. Light on horror and heavy on unintentional laughs, the biggest scare is that the film ends with "Blind...Part One." In retrospect I should have heeded the warning of The Greasy Strangler's Michael St. Michaels who appears early on in the film to state "this is bullshit". Right you are, sir.
Dark Place
The last film of Saturday was not a feature film outing for Garth Marenghi, but was a portmanteau collection of horror shorts made by indigenous Australians. Five films all of varying length, the filmmaking style and quality also differed from film to film, from the first short, Scout, a powerful but miserable tale of sex trafficking and the treatment of aboriginal women by white men, to the more comedic and extreme final film, Killer Native, that was like a Sam Raimi re-telling of The Nightingale. Often pulpy, outlandish and playful with genre, it's a nice collection of calling cards for a new generation of filmmakers.
The Clapboard Jungle
Sunday's line-up was an eclectic mix of filmmaking documentaries and topical infection horrors, the day starting with Justin McConnell's behind the scenes diary of the making of his feature film, Lifechanger, that appeared at Frightfest a couple of years back. Like Ruben Pla before him, McConnell has roped in some of his connections to provide heir own insights into the world of movie making, with Guillermo del Toro front and centre to start the film off. McConnell info dumps us at the start to bring us up to where his career is headed at that point, acknowledging that he's "not really anybody" and that there are thousands of other filmmakers like him.
What sets McConnell apart is the sheer amount of dedication he puts into his work, including this film which was shot over a number of years whilst he worked on other things. He comes across as ambitious and driven, but knows the game well enough to know it doesn't always come down to talent, and that a heavy dose of luck is needed. A horror filmmaker himself (as well as occasional film programmer at the Toronto After Dark festival), but the issues he talks about here like the death of cinema and the competitive and over-saturated market are applicable to all areas of the industry. Its biggest value is as a cautionary tale to those bold enough to try and navigate through the low budget film industry, as he takes us with him to try and find backers for his various projects, going through the hell of the sales booths at Cannes and Frontieres at Fantasia Fest, all in the hope that something will gain traction.
There's some absolute gems of interviews from genre filmmakers like Tom Holland (the Fright Night one, not the Spider-Man one), Sam Firstenberg, Richard Stanley, Barbara Crampton and Larry Cohen, who are all candid about their experiences and hopeful that a young filmmaker like Justin can make it. For anyone considering becoming a filmmaker who thinks they've got what it takes to survive in the industry, this doc will be a real eye opener.
Hail to the Deadites
The list of horror film franchises with fervent fanbases is endless, but unlike the attention given to the fans of other genres, such as Star Wars and Star Trek fans, there's not too many documentaries that look into the eccentricities of their most devoted horror nerds. Hail to the Deadites aims to do that with Sam Raimi's Evil Dead films, following the experience of a number of fans who tour around the many horror conventions that take place across the United States, all in the hope of meeting their idols - in this case, Evil Dead lead actor, Bruce Campbell.
At first what is most noticeable about HTTD is that it features no footage from the film franchise, but cleverly gets around this expensive road bump by including fan-made animations and recreations of some of the most famous scenes, even taking in a detour to Evil Dead: The Musical (respect to the producer of the show who earnestly states to the cast after a well received performance, "we're changing lives"). There's a sense that this has changed shape from its original form, almost like someone has taken the raw footage collected by someone else and given their best shot at repackaging it into something more palatable (including an incredibly cheesy voice-over), but for what is essentially a fan made movie it makes the most of the access it manages to get (a trip to Bruce Campbell's brother's house proves surprisingly fruitful), even if it is oddly out of date, covering the return of the franchise on TV in Ash vs The Evil Dead in 2015. It by no means needed to be a feature length endeavour and will appeal to absolutely no-one who isn't a mega fan of the Evil Dead films, but has a sweet, go-getter charm to it that gets bonus points for managing to snare the curmudgeonly but playful Campbell for an interview.
Two Heads Creek
On at the same time as HTTD was Two Heads Creek, an Australian set comedy horror that follows a brother and sister in search of their birth mother in a small, stereotypical Aussie town. I was fortunate to receive an advanced copy of Two Heads Creek for review, but it's proven a tough nut to crack that I've gone back and forth over a few times. Apparently well received by most that appreciated its comic gore and Shaun of the Dead vibes, for me it proved simply too problematic to enjoy without wanting to call it out on its many transgressions. Yes, I completely dug the over the top gore, delivered by a huge piece of machinery designed to turn people into mulch, and there's a number of witty one-liners, most of which are delivered by co-lead Kathryn Wilder as a pompous princess out of her depth in a country she can't relate to; but where the film proved problematic for me was in its approach to race and where to draw the line at co-opting cultural stereotypes. The film starts in Brexit Britain, making the decision for the two Polish siblings to leave an unwelcoming and hate-fuelled city an easy one, but then leans far too heavily on portraying the Australians as simpletons.
The Outback and similarly secluded Aussie locations have proven fertile ground for horror films like Wolf Creek, feeding off the fears of backpackers entering into the unknown, and Australia has a history of commenting on its own issues with race in films like Dead End Drive-In, and it's fair to say that there's a playful relationship between Australia and the UK where a certain amount of gentle ribbing is allowed. But in its effort to be as shocking as possible, Two Heads Creek often crosses the line between the territories, painting the Australian inhabitants as boomerang throwing, XXXX drinking, in-bred, Australia Day celebrating dimwits, and treating its sizeable asian cast as little more than a punchline.
Following in the muddy footsteps of The Texas Chain Saw Massacre, House of Wax, Deliverance, and other Hicksploitation films, it may not be a sub-genre that's known for its subtlety or for painting non-city dwellers in the most flattering of lights, but aside from the moments of comedy and extreme gore that will appeal to a wide audience, Two Heads Creek ended up having too many issues for it to be a place I'd want to visit again anytime soon.
Hall
It was bound to happen, really. Just as life imitates art, so does art imitates life, and so here we have Hall, an infection horror set in the confines of a hotel. It hardly has the most exciting of titles, but the pared back name brings with it the promise of a no-fuss horror that would make the most of its location. Sadly, this did not turn out to be the case with Hall, which follows the efforts of a battered wife trying to flee her husband with her small daughter, just as the outbreak occurs. Concurrently in the neighbouring room, a Japanese woman is trying to escape from equal danger, stalked by people from her past her want to hurt her.
Firstly, on the positive side there's some decent effects work in Hall that draw you in during the many flash-forwards the film includes in its opening act, and the cast, including an impressive child actor who appears to have been cast based on her resemblance to Heather from Poltergeist, seem well up for a grisly night in the hotel. Unfortunately the filmmakers don't capitalise on the set-up they have, with the film moving at an increasingly glacial pace once the infection sets in. More foreboding than scary, it does offer some jumps in the last 15 minutes as the abusive husband hunts down his wife and child, but a late in the day shot at saying something satirical doesn't really land, and a post-credits TV report hat ups the conspiracy factor is a tedious information dump. A film with promise and some impressive visuals, but without the story to make it into anything memorable.
A Ghost Waits
One of the most enjoyable aspects of Frightfest that endured this year is the word of mouth buzz that accompanies some films. This was the case with A Ghost Waits, which if it had been shown in the bricks and mortar cinemas would have had queues around the block. Originally screened at the Glasgow Frightfest event that took place at the start of the year before Covid, this low budget, black and white love story was brought back to this festival to allow the main festival audience a chance to see it. One of the convenient parts of this year's festival was that films weren't going to reach capacity, and so decisions on which films to see could be made late in the day, which is exactly what I did when I switched my choice over from Aquaslash (great title but apparently terrible), to A Ghost Waits a few minutes before the start time. And I'm glad I did, as it's a delightful film that could warm the cold, dead heart of any hardcore horror fan.
MacLeod Andrews stars as Jack, a building surveyor who crashes at a perpetually vacant property when he finds himself in need of a place to stay. He soon discovers that the reason tenants keep breaking their lease is because of the spectral presence of Muriel (Natalie Walker), who is purposely scaring people away to keep the place empty as part of her afterlife career. Engaging her in conversation when her attempt to spook him out of the place fails, they connect over chats about the afterlife, God, the movie Memento, and Johnny Cash. However, when the spectral agency she works for hear about her failure to remove Jack from the building, they send a ringer to finish the job.
A Ghost Waits might have more in common with a Duplass Brothers film than a traditional horror film, but there's enough horror flavour added to it to give it a unique edge. Sure, it's not perfect and the budgetary restraints are regularly plain to see (Muriel's ghostly make-up is little more than caked on white face paint and heavy direct lighting), but it's sweet as all hell, and in lead MacLeod Andrews has a future star in the making, such is his ability to take what could be sugary dialogue and make it believable and often moving. I'm not sure what the release plans are for it, but it's sure to hit a streaming platform at some point, and is well worth your time.
And so there you have it. By no means exhaustive coverage of the festival, but hopefully a helpful guide to what to track down when they appear in cinemas, in DVD stores, or online over the next few months. Kudos to the Frightfest team for pulling together a great selection of titles to view, and for how smoothly the whole event went. It may have been missing some of the more livelier aspects that come with attending a horror film festival, but where it counted the most - delivering a memorable array of titles for horror fans to gorge upon - it was a great success. I'll see you next year, Frightfest...
Filmed over the course of 5 years, Flint looks at the environmental and health issues that have befallen the residents of Flint, Michigan, after the State Governor forced them to change their water supply in a cost cutting measure. Director Anthony Baxter (You've Been Trumped) follows a number of the locals as they campaign for a solution to their ongoing concerns about the state's lack of effort to fix the problems they created.
Described as 'the Silicon Valley of its day', Flint was once a thriving industrial city thanks to the motor industry that employed most of the residents. Now that the car manufacturers have largely deserted Michigan, Flint now has one of the highest poverty levels in the country; something that incoming Governor Rick Snyder hoped to change by drastic cost cutting across the region, including the decision to have Flint source its water supply from the local Flint River instead of the Great Lakes. A catastrophic move if ever there was one, the Flint residents were forced to drink and bathe in brown water that the powers that be claimed was completely safe, even after testing revealed it to have dangerous levels of iron, and the rates of stillbirth and infant mortality skyrocketing. Baxter and his team appear to have been on the ground in Flint since early on in the scandal, as locals are forced to buy gallons upon gallons of bottled water to consume and bathe in. Mothers show evidence that their children developed skin conditions from showering in the water they were told was okay to use, and even when Governor Snyder relented and the water was reverted back to the original Great Lakes supply, the damage done to the pipework infrastructure continued to poison Flint residents for years.
There's plenty of elements to this film that show Flint to be a microcosm of many of the issues that are plaguing America at the moment. During one of many protests of government buildings, Reverend Ira Edwards couldn't put it more clearly when he states, "You see what happens when you elect a businessman to run the state? He doesn't care about the people he hurts... he doesn't care about the lives he effects. Enough is enough". Chants of "No justice. No peace" and placards of 'Flint Lives Matter' from the BAME residents offering further evidence that not all people in America are considered equal. The issues shown here are many, and are documented with an eye for detail by Baxter and his team; however this does lead to the film having a lack of consistent focus. A balanced and level-headed account of what is understood to be the facts, Governor Snyder and his decision making abilities is pushed to one side whilst we follow the genuinely inspirational grass roots campaigning of Flint residents, and the efforts of two highest profile experts from Virginia Tech and Water Defense. There to test the supplies for Flint to ensure it can be safe to drink again, it turns into a complete soap opera as defections, uncomfortable revelations and threatened lawsuits (including against the filmmakers), for lack of a better term, muddy the waters.
The film has a strange relationship with celebrity, as Mark Ruffalo and his Water Defense charity appears in Flint, in what appears to be a genuine attempt to use his star power to make sure the issue is not forgotten, albeit (unbeknownst to Ruffalo) based on questionable science and research methods. Concurrently, the film is so enamoured by the involvement of Alec Baldwin as a (underused and arguably unnecessary) narrator, that it's prepared to change the course of its finale when, after seeing a rough cut of the film, Baldwin decides to increase his involvement and actually sets foot in Flint. It's a gallant attempt on the part of both men to try and highlight what is a serious issue, and perhaps this was an attempt by Baxter to add some sort of closure to proceedings that are far from over, but from a filmmaking point of view Baldwin's involvement in the production only adds another non-sequitur to what is already an over-long and over-stuffed narrative, and doesn't help to solidify any of the points raised in the film.
Every issue raised in this film is an important one that needs attention, and the continued mistreatment of the Flint residents is clear, but by trying to cover all of the issues in the 2 hour running time, Anthony Baxter's film struggles to wade through the narrative threads to deliver a stronger, cohesive argument. The most resonant element of the film, particularly now during the Covid-19 crisis, is seeing how the community sprang into action, as volunteers deliver bottled water supplies to other locals, and educate them on the unseen dangers of things they once took for granted. Were the film to have centred itself on these campaigners and protestors and not got bogged down in the minutiae of (real and bogus) test results, this could have been a more powerful statement about the community of Flint as a whole.
Part of the Rhyme and Rhythm strand from this year's Sheffield Doc/Fest and available to rent from the Doc/Fest Selects streaming platform the festival has launched to combat the lack of cinema screenings due to the Covi-19 crisis, The Go-Go's re-unites all of the key band members of the '80s all-female pop-punk group.
Be honest, unless you were around in the early to mid 1980s, The Go-Go's is a band name that you might be familiar with through cultural osmosis, but could you easily name one of their songs? You're more likely to recall the name of one of lead singer Belinda Carlisle's solo career ballads; or at least that's true for anyone whose mother had Heaven is a Place on Earth on tape and would play it on every car journey (like myself). I say this not to cast doubt on the need for a documentary about The Go-Go's, but to ask why such a pioneering all-female pop group, who played all of their own instruments and had a huge impact on their audience at the time, hasn't enjoyed the same level of cultural appreciation as, say for example, The Runaways?
Thankfully, Alison Ellwood's documentary is not just the Belinda Carlisle story, and sheds an impressive amount of light on the history of the band, right back to their early days in the L.A. punk scene of the late 1970s where rhythm guitarist and songwriter Jane Wiedlin and singer Belinda Carlisle decided to form a band, toured the U.K. with Madness and The Specials and then huge arenas around the world when they became one of the biggest success stories of the early MTV days with music videos played in heavy rotation. Ellwood gets full access to every member of the band (even those who either walked early on or were pushed out due to the change in their musical direction), all interviewed in their lovely looking houses and looking nothing like the rebellious, punky teens they started life in the band as.
Reminiscing on their touring days, each member comes across as likeable enough, but as the interviews reveal, they were a band clearly hungry for success and willing to step over people on the way. Hey, that's showbusiness. The film does reckon with the often cutthroat nature of the music biz, particularly the discrepancy in pay the non-songwriting band members were getting, including frontwoman Carlisle. It's clear that even with some mended bridges, there's still some bad memories and residual bitterness towards the chief songwriting members of the group, although conversely they had a heroin problem (when 1980s era Ozzy Osbourne asks you to leave his dressing room, it's time to get help), and a desire to sing at least one song in the album leading to a dramatic departure and the eventual dissolution of the group. As one member states, they were "like sisters. Sisters who stab each other in the back".
What's most enjoyable about this doc is that you don't need to have been a fan of the band beforehand to enjoy this in depth history of the group, delivering all of the ups and downs, in-fighting, power struggles and reconciliations you could hope for from a true rock and roll band's story. Perhaps the defining story of The Go-Go's is that no matter how hard they toured, due to their gender, they were never taken seriously as musicians. The archive concert footage shows that they were a legitimate punk group in their infancy, dealing with rowdy skinheads on their early UK tour telling them to "show (their) tits", and even when their sound evolved into something more poppy and radio friendly, magazines such as Rolling Stone sexualised them on the front cover in a reductive way.
To answer the question I posed at the start, it's frankly ridiculous that The Go-Go's aren't a more highly revered band. Sure, they certainly had an influence on the generation after them (including Bikini Kill and Le Tigre's Kathleen Hanna, who appears here to express her love for them), but with a selection of fantastically fun, pop classics (and don't even get me started on guitarist Jane Wiedlin's solo single Rush Hour, possibly the catchiest song ever recorded), they really should be getting reappraised by the 80s obsessed youth of today any time now. This film should go some way towards that, as The Go-Go's is a well orchestrated doc that will please long time fans and those just discovering them too.
One of the titles I've managed to catch so far is David France's follow up to How to Survive a Plague and The Death and Life of Marsha P. Johnson, Welcome to Chechnya. At a time when civil liberties for the LGBTQ+ community are in danger across the world, Chechnya is a place to look at to see how bad it could become if people aren't willing to take a stand. The film features some collected CCTV and other footage of truly horrific acts of violence against gay, lesbian and transgender Chechens, who since a regime change in 2017 are kidnapped, tortured and forced to reveal others by those who don't want them as part of their society. One of the primary instigators of these practices is allegedly the current head of the republic, Ramzan Kadyrov, who in an interview with an American reporter, scoffs at the idea that homosexuality even exists in Chechnya, and laughs at the accusations of barbaric treatment towards some of his citizens.
Thankfully he is not the focus of the film, instead France's camera follows a group of activists lead by David Isteev and Olga Baranova, who are sought out by at risk citizens in the hope they can find a way to get them out of the country, and to safety. One such person is teenager 'Anya', whose uncle is trying to blackmail her into having sex with him or else he will reveal her homosexuality to her father, a high ranking official who Anya fears will have her killed. The preparation and execution of the highly secretive plan to move Anya to somewhere safe (a title card helpfully states "somewhere in Eurasia") is the centre point for the film, and is a tense, terrifying piece of documentary filmmaking. If they were to be caught by the authorities, Anya, the activists and the people behind the camera (often collected as spy footage) would be in grave danger, and this is something the filmmakers have taken into account for anyone still at risk by using an incredible piece of digital technology to protect their anonymity.
Whereas in years past you might expect subjects reticent about revealing their identities on camera to only appear on screen via a silhouetted interview, or perhaps a dramatic re-enactment, or possibly with their faces either pixellated or black-barred to hide their most distinguishing features that would make them identifiable. Here, using a technique I personally have never seen used this way before, the filmmakers have captured the raw footage of their subjects and closest relatives going about their day to day lives, like collecting people from the airport, smoking, talking to each other, etc, and have used a "digital disguise" in the post-production process to super-impose a different face over the top of those at risk. A disclaimer at the start of the film warns you of this necessary process, but it's a startling, uncanny thing to see in use, as the other main focus of the film, 'Grisha', seeks the help of David and his team to move his entire family out of Chechnya, all now at risk because of his open sexuality.
A drawback of such a startlingly effective technique is that you can't help but closely scan the face of every new person we encounter, looking for tell tale signs that the face we are seeing is not their own, such as the slight blurring of the edges that appear when people stand in profile and the face "phases" slightly, like the Scramble Suit in Richard Linklater's sci-fi film, A Scanner Darkly. I was completely happy to accept the face we see as their own, but as new people appear and we see a new face, this detective work did prove to be a distraction. However, I do say this after one single exposure to the process in this film, and fully anticipate seeing this method used in the future where it becomes a commonplace and less of an issue, provided it can side-step association with Deep Fake videos. It's clear that there's no fakery in the story here, and I commend the filmmakers for taking such a bold leap in presenting these people's stories as truthfully as possible. Is the face we see theirs? No. But their words and actions are genuine, as is confirmed in a glorious reveal towards the end of the film, and therefore is worth the sacrifice.
Technical marvels aside, this is a story about the victims of these atrocities, and the people willing to put their own lives on the line to help them get to a safe house whilst they try to find asylum to live freely in a country willing to take them (since 2017, often Canada, but so far never Trump's America). The film shows the urgency for action to be taken, but with so many lives at risk, there are so few who are willing to go public and tell of their treatment, and it's easy to see why. Welcome to Chechnya is a tough watch at times, with violence, rape and an interrupted suicide attempt by one of the safe house residents, all caught on camera. This is undoubtedly an important film, both as an introduction to the digital disguising that will hopefully allow other oppressed people to tell their stories, and in telling the story of the brave activists who hope to bring an end to this truly dark chapter in Chechnya's history. Utterly engaging but truly horrifying.
In a stylish apartment overlooking the streets of Paris, a group of five strangers meet to discuss the one thing they have in common; the man who is locked the room next to them. A parasitic and controlling presence in their lives, in some way or another they have all been mistreated and manipulated by him. As they collectively try to work out why he was able to effect their lives so much, they go into the room one by one to confront their problems, and him.
With topics of discussion ranging from politics to secret desires, the five young, attractive, but narcissistic and damaged people (Manika Auxire, Geoffrey Couet, Simon Frenay, Francois Nambot & Lawrence Valin) cook, eat and flirt with each other, building a steady stream of tension, and not just sexual. Directed and written by Olivier Ducastel and Jacques Martineau (of Theo and Hugo fame), due to the confined nature of the single setting it wouldn't surprise if this project originally started out as a play, although that doesn't seem to be the case here. It certainly draws from similar single location narratives, like Alfred Hitchcock's Rope and Sidney Lumet's 12 Angry Men, although in this case they know the accused is guilty of the social and emotional crimes against them. The why is the real mystery here. Rope is an interesting film to compare this to, as similarly, the person the party is based around is never seen on screen, but is never not a topic of discussion. And boy, there's a lot of discussion.
All five of them have different reasons to feel aggrieved by their common enemy, and this film is in no real rush to tell us why. It's a purposely talky piece, finding its human drama in the commonality they find between the hitherto complete strangers they are in a room with; but it's also an incredibly self indulgent film that's not averse to a sing-a-long interlude and a stress relieving dancing scene (complete with flossing). There's a lot that adds genuinely interesting flavour to the plot, such as the debate as to how to cut an apple tart into five equal pieces when it would be much easier to cut it into six; something Lawrence considers bad luck considering the scenario they're collectively faced with. But sadly, the exploration of the decisions and conclusions they are making over the course of the night does hit fallow ground occasionally, making the (not extensive) runtime of 89 minutes seem overly long and, once again, self indulgent. It's a visually striking film, with the apartment bathed in neon hues, but at the end of the day there's only so much you can do to make a kitchen/diner look exciting.
It's certainly not without merit, offering frank and revealing discussions of sexuality (something that could only be presented as subtext in Hitchcock's Rope), and the cast are all uniformly solid in their varying roles, given a chance to bounce off each other in a variety of pairings in the oddest group therapy session you'll ever see. Unfortunately the stagey set up turns out to be a drawback the story can't overcome.
Dodging the coronavirus by finding a new venue online as#BFIFlareAtHome, this year's festival continues on the BFI Player with For They Know Not What They Do, Daniel Karslake's documentary about the intersection and difficulties families have faced in finding the balance between their religion and their children's sexual and gender identities.
In frank interviews with Karslake, evangelical Christians like the Robertson's tell of their reaction to finding out their 12 year old son Ryan was gay. Telling him that he was putting his soul in jeopardy, to appease his parents Ryan went into years of conversion therapy in an effort to fight his feelings, before spiralling into a drug habit and homelessness. Ryan's parents, Rob and Linda, are upfront about their initial reaction and their failure to support their son by believing in the vitriolic hatred of homosexuality that was preached at their church and spread through their community.
A follow up to Karslake's previous film For The Bible Tells Me So (that also covered similar themes and also featured Bishop Gene Robinson of the Center for American Progress), the title here, For They Know Not What They Do, evokes a need for forgiveness and understanding of why these religious are so against these marginal groups, and it's clear from the documentary that what most of the objecting parents and grandparents suffer from is a lack of education on the matter, or perhaps it could better be described as mis-education. The film continuously cuts to disturbing video footage of pastors and preachers encouraging violence against homosexuals and transgender individuals, leading into Vico's story. Raised as Catholic and fearful of his father and grandmother's reaction to his homosexuality but met with acceptance and love, his world changed when he encouraged his friends to go with him to the Pulse nightclub in Florida on the night of the mass shooting in 2016.
The other two key subjects offer a glimmer of hope for the acceptance of transgender people, with the inspiring story of Sarah McBride who, after coming out as transgender in her last year of college, has continued to pursue the career in politics she wanted, including an internship in Obama's White House and speaking at the Democratic National Convention as the first openly transgender person to do so. Her story is not without its hardships, but there's something so moving about how her father smiles as he talks about her achievements. It also goes to highlight how much has changed since 2016. The last main focus of the film is on Elliot, a mixed-race teenager about to go to college. Despite knowing early on that he was transgender, Elliot fought back against his identity and tried to present as female, leading to a personal crisis and self harm, something that is all to common among transgender people. His parents are also quite open about their initial confusion about what to do; but its fair to say that the aim of the film is not to chastise those who were scared about their children's identities, but to tell their stories in order to help others react in a better way.
Karslake's documentary tells four wildly different stories of people and families from all different backgrounds. It doesn't hold back from showing how the current White House administration has done immeasurable harm to LGBTIQ communities, with a sharp rise in the murders of transgender people of colour in 2017, the barring of transgendered people from joining the armed forces and the continued acceptance of conversion therapy in 41 states where they are still legal. For They Know Not What They Do succeeds in giving each story the platform it deserves, featuring some traumatic stories but is ultimately an inspiring and uplifting experience. It should be seen be the friends and family of anyone in the LGBTIQ community, and hopefully by more too. Easily one of the best films of the festival.
For They Know Not What They Do is currently available on the BFI Player until March 29th as part of their#BFIFlareAtHome content, along with other features and a whole host of short films too. Catch them while you can.
Despite the best efforts of the Coronavirus to cancel every major film festival over the next couple of months, the BFI Flare LGBTIQ+ Film Festival team have adapted as best they could in these difficult times, moving some of the features and tons of the shorts over to the BFI Player so that people can enjoy them in the comfort of their own homes as #BFIFlareAtHome. Among the short films is a collection they've dubbed Five Films For Freedom; a collection of dramas and documentaries from LGBTIQ+ filmmakers, telling stories that could only be told by them. Here's a brief overview of what they have to offer.
When Pride Came to Town follows Bjorn-Tore who left his rural hometown of Volda after coming out to move to Oslo to find acceptance. Decades later he's now returning to Volda to attend their Pride parade, the first of its kind for a rural Norwegian town. The film sees Bjorn-Tore find a town much different to the one he left, with his neighbours proudly hanging a rainbow flag outside, although the documentarians do explore the opinions of those locals whose attitudes haven't caught up yet, including one woman who states that "my best friend is gay and I'm okay with that. He's living in sin, of course", and the words of Hans Reite, a pastor who is against Pride parades happening anywhere. The reconciling of sexuality and religion is a common one in films at Flare, and When Pride Came to Town is just the tip of the iceberg for this year. Well structured and presented, this is an uplifting and moving doc that can see the visual power of the rainbow flag and uses it to its advantage.
134 is a short Irish drama that shows a young transgender girl as she competes in an Irish dancing tournament. Largely told from the point of view of the parents as her mother plays scenes from the past in her head from when she was unsupportive of her child's gender identity (something her father is still struggling to do), it only hints at the intolerance her daughter is facing in pursuing their dream, but there's an interesting idea in the exploration of Irish dancing (and competitive dancing as a whole) as an acutely gendered activity that needs to move away from its traditional definitions.
Flare is an international festival that screens films from across the globe, including the Brazilian short After That Party. Leo seeks the help of his friend Carol in working out how best to speak to his supposedly straight father after witnessing him kissing another man at a party. It's a premise that could have been mined for gritty drama, but instead After That Party is pleasantly light, fluffy and comedic in its presentation. It's a sweet natured film that's not interested in digging for drama in Leo's discovery, and is more interested in showing a story of acceptance, albeit with some comedy from the social awkwardness of it all.
The final documentary in this collection is a very short snapshot of Pxssy Palace, a monthly club night in Hackney that champions queer people of colour. In the doc there's a lot of voiceover explaining how they started with house parties before finding a fixed venue (a studio space in Hackney), with footage of them in fashion shoots and as photographers creating "an archive of queer nightlife". What's most surprising is the lack of footage from an actual club night to convey the real atmosphere. Instead the documentarians have given their subjects better lighting and a glittery back drop for them to dance in front of in slow motion, all the better to control their image. How very Hackney. It's a stylish and slick looking film, but plenty of room has been left to expand on the subject.
The final short in the collection is probably my favourite, and a rare genre short for this festival. Something in the Closet isn't shy about its subtext, when after a game of spin the bottle two teenage girls kiss in a closet for the first time. Struggling to know how to respond to the realisation of her sexuality, Madi avoids talking to her mother and faces the bullying of her friends, all while a malevolent force with glowing red eyes appears in her bedroom closet. A mini horror filled with teenage angst, forbidden love and a compelling story; it's a visual metaphor writ large, but done very well. The Five Films For Freedom are available now on the BFI Player without a subscription, with plenty more shorts and features available to those who sign up. It's well worth taking advantage of a free trial membership just to catch some of the BFI Flare 2020 features that are being added during the festival.
