Review: The Raven

The plot itself is a strange one. Struggling poet, Poe, is called in to assist police after a series of grisly murders takes place which seemingly emulate the writer’s macabre tales. Got it? Ok.

The title, The Raven, appears to have no significance whatsoever despite their near omnipresence as they soar, land, scavenge, squawk and perch throughout the film, only really serving as dark images to frame the scene. I can’t but think that one or two well-placed instances would have had much more impact than the apparent aviary-outbreak we see in the movie.

There’s a general lack of subtlety which is disappointing. Rather than allow the audience to feel Poe’s depression and darkness, it is clumsily revealed to us at every opportune moment as he brawls, drinks, offends and lapses into periods of melancholic introspection. The last can be forgiven as Poe’s work dictates as much, but the sprawling of limbs and overt replaying of conversation we have witnessed mere minutes beforehand feel clunky and really do not give the viewer enough credit. Particularly ironic, when you consider Poe’s work itself was that of the imagination run wild.

Cusack is a fine choice for the pained protagonist and delivers a number of witty and erudite remarks with charm and insanity, just as you would hope. Moreover, his intense sadness and depression is felt through his interactions and periodic fury with others and this is moving to watch.

The Raven, as a stand-alone film, is entertaining enough. Cusack hits the spot, there’s plenty of the macabre and burlesque to keep viewers visually satisfied and the plot, while contrived, more or less sustains its audience.

With remakes and adaptations dominating the movies, I wonder if perhaps we’ve lost touch with what makes these classic stories great. The legend is borrowed and traded for modern regurgitations with more action and peril than its predecessor ever had, or sought.

For more of my features visit www.acrossthearts.co.uk

Review: The Woman in Black

A widowed lawyer leaves his young son for an isolated and eerie manor house to organise the estate of the Drablow family. A curious and intensely sinister story unfolds as we learn the family’s secrets and the vicious legacy of the Woman in Black.

This is an old fashioned ghost story. No gore, no twisted plot, no half-naked teenagers. Instead the movie, like the book, relies on the sinister, the paranormal and most importantly, it’s left up to us to decide how frightening the vicious spectre really is. It’s what we don’t see that terrifies us. The vastness of the dreary causeway and the intense isolation of Eel Marsh house are visually rich so those who enjoyed the intense and atmospheric descriptions in Hill’s book will not be disappointed. The main foyer, staircase, upper hallway and nursery are really the only rooms presented to us in any detail while the rest of the house is left to our imagination. Finally a film that realises it’s what we don’t see that scares us. Rhythmic thuds, fleeting shadows, foggy apparitions, darting eye movements and murky reflections allow us to piece together this ominous character.

Of course The Woman must appear to us at some point and by and large this is frightening and skilfully done.

A surprisingly fun aspect of the film is the treatment of the paranormal itself as Kipps (Radcliffe) openly discusses his scepticism with a kindly villager he befriends. Radcliffe plays the role well enough but there are times when his speech and movements feel deliberate and he seems to lack emotional range. This is disappointing in his first post-Potter venture where movie-goers will be hoping for a more intense portrayal and sadly he misses the mark.

As the story reaches its climax and all seems to be resolved, the ending feels too abrupt and the creeping sense of pace so well-established throughout the film is lost.

All in, The Woman in Black is nothing special but it is a sinister tale, beautifully furnished and carefully crafted to draw us in to a truly frightening ghost story.

For more of my articles and arts reviews visit www.acrossthearts.co.uk

Glasgow Frightfest 2012

A film festival is a fun place to be.

For most of us, a cinema outing is a weekend treat. The film pre-approved via a quick Google search and subsequently ok’d with our chosen partner. Popcorn in hand we witness the latest trailers and experience our chosen movie politely in a quiet auditorium. Entertainment needs satisfied, we leave.

Festivals are different. Emotions in the theatre are audible. Films run all day, directors and producers chat with the audience, movies may not have seen their final edit and there will be sporadic surprises like shorts or clips of those yet to be finished. Each movie is introduced by (for want of a better word) a compere who oversees the proceedings, hosting Q and As between films, giving away freebies and chatting outside while he smokes his roll-up.

Such was the scene over the weekend Glasgow Film Festival’s Frightfest. The beautiful deco GFT hosted the two-day horror show in anticipation of the biggie in Leicester Square this August. There was a good mix this year with documentary, genre mixing, found-footage, apocalypse movies as well as the usual gory horror. Sadly nothing in the way of an old-fashioned ghost story.

Suspense thriller Crawl is sleek and pristine. It boasts a comic-book exterior with gritty characters whose emotions play out silently on their lined faces. All three main characters are visually engaging and careful camera work invites the viewer to examine their thoughts throughout. There’s a very strong Coen Brothers feel and while this is cool, perhaps brothers Ben and Paul China (director and producer) rely too much on their borrowed sense of style. Shots are curious to watch but at times a little over-long to the point of losing us. Crawl feels more like an experience than a well-crafted horror flick. Poetic direction and emotive music keep the audience intrigued but there’s no real narrative and too many threads of the story are ignored.

Evidence and Tape 407 were the found-footage offerings. Both explore beyond the supernatural and, oddly enough, arrive at military intervention. The ‘monster’ is a fixture in each but there’s a need to take the plotline further, perhaps indicating the genre is becoming a bit tired.

Rites of Spring is really two films that twist and turn before finally crashing headlong into one another. On one hand, there is a kidnap and hostage situation which goes awry while on the other, there is the 70s-style horror with scantily-clad missing teenagers and a crazed maniac. Thriller and horror. Fine. Director Padraig Reynolds, a fan of Dusk Til Dawn, tried to fuse the two together in a market he believes to be untapped. Reynolds plays with the notion of escapism as each time any of the main characters manage to free themselves from their untenable positions, they become further embroiled in the twisted plot lines themselves. This is fun to watch and the movie is well-paced as it flits from one story to another. The frustration is the lack of storyline. While the characters stumble and barrel their way through, there doesn’t seem to be any destination and by the end of the movie this is a big let-down. Rites is part one in a trilogy and while more of the story will unravel in yet-to-be-made second instalment, it doesn’t feel like we’ve been adequately fed in part one.

As with every festival, there are some unexpected surprises. This year Wang’s Arrival was perhaps the oddest film of the lot. Akin to an episode of the Twilight Zone, this Italian horror nestles comfortably in the Frightfest programme and throws up some interesting questions we might all ask ourselves. A curious and probing film.

Cassadaga fuses all manner of tried and tested horror from séance and possession to the disastrously gruesome effects of an overly-protective mother on her young son. If you can stomach it, this is one of the weekend’s treats.

2012’s Frightfest had a varied, cross-genre mix which kept the weekend fresh and interesting and while most films held their own with the audience, none really emerged as anything special. There was an obvious nod to horror classics: Jeepers Creepers, Texas Chainsaw and Wicker Man to name but a few. Of course, these ideas will continue to influence and shape future movies but it’d be nice to see more of a departure into something playful and experimental.

Visually rich and atmospheric, there could be a tendency to sacrifice plot-line and narrative for a sexy-looking horror film. An increasingly gruesome demise takes precedence over a strong story while few films manage to juggle both. The main gripe, I’m afraid, is that there’s little new with what’s being done which is exactly what audiences really crave.

Fingers crossed for August.

For more of my writing and arts review visit www.acrossthearts.co.uk

Me and Tarm

The funny thing about wallowing in self-doubt is that sometimes you stumble into achievement without meaning to. It's a very pleasant experience, undoubtedly because you didn't see it coming.

It doesn't have to be a big thing. I think that's the key - see previous blog  -, it just has to be something you want to be different. All manner of change, up-grading and gaining experience is just part of life I suppose, but it's not often we sit down and think about how good the transition can feel. It's funny because we're proficient in focussing on how rubbish it so often is. So the good things? It might be losing a few pounds or a clear out of the underwear drawer. Or it could be a bigger; a new job, moving away, having kids. For me it was buying my first car.

My learning to drive has been both lengthy and truncated. For almost ten years I'd dabbled, taking the odd lesson but then uni or work or procrastination or moving away got in the road. I should probably mention that my brother is a driving instructor and so the process should have been much quicker for me; it was certainly cheaper. Anyway I finally got round to it sitting the test in December and after two attempts, the first with some experimental gear-changing, I am now a fully-licenced UK driving person.

Now there's passing the test and then there's having your own car. I hadn't really considered the implications of the latter until a very good friend of mine happened to be selling his much-loved nine-year-old Fiesta. I hummed and hawed amid grown-up advice from parents, 'It's not just buying a car. They're expensive to run!'. Anwyay, I went for it and not even a week later I now cannot imagine having said no. It makes me wonder why having your own car feels so good.

I think we spend our lives trying to escape. From being a child to moving out. From our monotonous and stuffling jobs to our excruciating bosses. From flats to houses and having a boyfriend or girlfriend to having a husband or wife and kids. The reason I write is because I think for so many, buying a car is that first experience of truly escaping. For that reason it's a lovely thing to dwell on and really enjoy.

The Story of the Elephant and the Jan Plan

Apparently we think in stories. I'm not sure about that though, my writing would be far better structured if it were so. Still, these words drift around the back of my mind and make themselves known whenever fingertips make it to keyboard.

Unfortunately this isn't a story.

I'm currently attempting to structure the January Plan. 'The Jan Plan'. Rhyme makes it quirky and fun. It's not though, really. When is anyone's Jan Plan fun? It is, in fact, a list of frightening tasks you have no idea how to implement nevermind execute and really only pay heed to out of guilt brought on by the debauchery of the eight-hundredth Ferrero Rocher forced down your throat mere days beforehand. Like many Jan Planners I've made a list. Three actually. '2012 plan', 'Writing' and 'Publishing'. I'm torn between the latter two. Must learn what publishing actually is (as per item one on the list). Must write more. Must update LinkedIn page, e-mail publishers. Must find inspiration. Must then translate to witty, sexy blog.

Night one went badly. Looked at my CV (needed major updating), looked at jobs (didn't understand half the 'candidate requirements'). It's rare I want a drink because I feel worked-up and overwhelmed but this was one such occasion.

At university I had a lecturer who told me not to eat the whole elephant at once. Eating any part of an elephant is an awful idea never mind being encouraged to take advice from a woman who had obviously not only eaten the elephant but professed to know the best method to employ in order to consume him (or her). Still, I chose to consider her words metaphorical. At the time I was whingeing that I couldn't manage my workload. She told me to focus on the wee things. Managable things. So now I'm deciding which bit of the elephant to eat first.

Not long after this mini-meltdown with the CV and the subsequent two glasses of rioja, I picked up a new book. One I'd been meaning to read for a while now and happened to be a £2 Fopp bargain fortuitously-placed on a stack by the shop door on my way home from yet another festive shift from Hell in my waitressing day job. The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy has turned out to be one of those books that hooked me from the tenth or twelfth sentence and is now responsible for my new blog picture which, with some luck, will propel me calmly into this year as I look for a job as a grown-up.

I think this sentiment could be useful for someone like me who gorges on elephants.

4.3 Miles From Nowhere review

4.3 Miles from Nowhere is where five teens find themselves after running out of petrol – and phone battery – on their way to a fancy dress party. It is, in a sense, a modern-day fairy tale which reminds us that sometimes we have to get lost before we can be found.


The play succeeds in capturing that teenage sense of confusion and the pressure of expectation that we all feel at one point or another as it seeks to explore our own ideas of independence and freedom.

Through the course of the night, each character finds themself wrestling with their self-confidence as they flirt, chat, drink, sing, dance and ponder. As morning dawns, so does the realisation that just being yourself isn’t so bad.

A nice element of the play is the variety between the characters and their frustrations, from family expectation to chatting up girls. Each of the five is fed-up of having to behave in a particular way and after the initial panic of being stranded in the woods wears off, they come to accept that it has in fact given them some sought-after respite from the roles they all play.

The themes touched upon here are well –trodden and there’s no real surprise in the direction the performance takes. Nonetheless, it’s an enjoyable hour with curious characters, solid acting, amusing dialogue and an emotive supporting folk-band to help walk us through the narrative.

4.3 Miles from Nowhere is mischievous, whimsical and cheeky, if not altogether original and although there is only so much you can learn about five characters in 60 minutes, you leave feeling like you have been on a journey of self-discovery with each of them.

3 stars

A review of the naughty Woof! A Werepunk

Woof! A Werepunk is the tale of a murderous punk who makes nightly visits to the window of his beloved to declare himself. Sadly, his advances go unnoticed in this comic-book inspired, dark fairy tale and the ‘Werepunk’ must find a way winning her over.

This performance is not for everyone but it’s a fresh and brave piece of work from Italian-born Paulo Faroni who penned the show, then had it translated into English.

His soliloquies are, at times, particularly poetic and touching as he attempts to woo the unknown woman, the closest glimpse of whom we ever get is when she opens a door or switches on a light and the stage becomes illuminated.

Faroni takes the notion of falling in love and twists it into something selfish and dangerous. Love itself is an inexhaustible theme and with Woof! we see a curiously new approach. For this alone it should be congratulated. Faroni would rather show us the shameful consequences of being in love through the Werepunk’s deranged anger at his rejection. Love is viewed paradoxically as it becomes a consuming force which results in frustration, loneliness and murder.

Sexuality is also explored without taboo in this work. The programme itself gives a snapshot into what we can expect from the show; it consists of creased pages seemingly torn from a wordless comic book showing a woman in varying states of undress as she… enjoys herself.

The play opts for a Watchmen-inspired comic-book flavour which on the whole works well. There is more scope for playing with the idea though, through graphic drawings and lighting effects; both of which could potentially produce a slicker show.

Woof! A Werepunk is a little bare, perhaps requiring a stronger sense of direction. That aside, it is a bold and ambitious work - both thematically and visually - and executed nicely with a strong sense of identity and style.