THE DEVIL’S CHAIR
(Review)

“I guess you’ve seen Hellraiser. I’m guessing you’ve seen all those kind of films. Pumpkinhead or whatever. That’s probably why you’re watching this now.”


Well, this one was interesting. I can’t say I completely love it, but it’s an intriguing piece of horror cinema nonetheless.
We open with the scathingly knowing narration of Nick West (Andrew Howard), as we’re treated to fragmentary glimpses of how this tale will end, before we’re quickly shown the foundation of Adam Mason’s The Devil’s Chair: Nick and his bird Sammy (StarStreet’s Polly Brown) are larking about the abandoned Blackwater Asylum, when they discover the eponymous chair, which becomes instrumental in Sammy’s apparent demise.


We’re never really certain what exactly happened—not yet, at any rate—but Sammy’s body is never found, and Nick’s crazed rantings about the chair land him in a functioning loonybin for four years, before he’s prematurely sprung by Psychology professor, Dr. Willard (David Gant, possibly familiar to some of you from Paco Plaza’s Romasanta, François Girard’s Le violon rouge, or Terry Gilliam’s Brazil).
Willard intends to write a book about Nick, about the incident and his delusions. Central to that book is Nick’s reactions to his return to Blackwater, in the company of Willard and a few handpicked students.


Right off the bat, we can plainly see the terrible Catch-22 here: if Nick is indeed a nutter, then the good doctor is returning to the scene of the crime with the lunatic murderer (something which is actually brought up by one of the characters early on in the film); if Nick is telling the truth, then there’s some weird supernatural shenanigans going on in Blackwater.
Either way, an abandoned asylum is the last place any sane individual would want to be in.
But Willard and academic company take the plunge, with Nick in tow, and The Devil’s Chair chronicles the results of that boneheaded decision.

“Look at this poorly written, badly acted bullsh!t! Is there any truth in this B-movie banality? No! No!
“There is no truth, my friends. Believe no one. Believe nothing.”


At its core, The Devil’s Chair is a fascinating look at the dichotomy of the traditional supernatural-tinged horror film and the more modern, grounded brand of endurance horror which finds its roots in Tobe Hooper’s The Texas Chain Saw Massacre and Wes Craven’s The Hills Have Eyes.
Nick’s voice-over, which runs the entire length of the film, serves as a sort of postmodern commentary on the on-screen action, adding another layer to the whole. Initially, this may at first seem to be a way to inject a Guy Ritchie-esque air about the proceedings (complete with freeze-framing the action so as to better punctuate Nick’s observations and opinions), but ultimately the narrative technique bolsters the climactic reveal.
It’s the non-linear narrative though, which could make or break it for an audience.

As it is, that opening montage pretty much telegraphs the film’s outcome; it’s all right there.
Given though that the third act eventuality was always in my mind, when Mason and co-writer Simon Boyes choose to let that particular shoe drop, it’s still a horrible, pivotal moment that subsequently drags the audience through the grueling, bloody climax.
And, potential deal-breaker though it is, the reveal is certainly more intrinsic to the material than, say, a plot flip like Haute Tension has.
Love or hate that curve which The Devil’s Chair takes, it’s undeniably part of the whole.


For my part, I’ll say this: You know those moments in a movie where you see another film that might have been, had the filmmakers chosen to go down a particular path?
Those instances when you exit the theatre and go, Why didn’t I see that movie, instead of what I was actually shown?
Well, in the case of The Devil’s Chair, I can safely say, I’m glad I didn’t see that movie, the one that was actually going on… What we do see of it is enough to drive the point home.
After all, in this day and age of extreme cinematic horror, there’s something to be said for the adage “A little goes a long way.”

“I tell you what, party people, you geeks and freaks, you bloodthirsty morons... F*ck you. Bring on the red parade.”


As potent a brew as The Devil’s Chair is though (with enough bravado to sneak a David Lynch moment in before the end credits), it’s not without its warts.
There may have been a tad too many of those aforementioned Guy Ritchie moments, and the voice-over did get contrived in some bits, and in one stretch, strangely derisive of the film’s intended audience.
I was also none too thrilled with the CGI bits.
And even though the borderline hammishness of Gant’s portrayal of Willard makes a little more sense by the time the film wraps up, it’s still a borderline hammy piece of acting that we need to endure for the length of the feature.


Still and all, it’s an effective piece that marks Mason as a name to watch in the future. (I’ve yet to see his previous film, Broken, though in the wake of The Devil’s Chair, I’m certainly looking forward to his next feature, Blood River, which reunites him with Howard.)
If you, like me, revel in the broad and dark spectrum that horror resides in, then The Devil’s Chair is a title that needs to go on your viewing list.
At the very least, it could open up some involved discussions of the different kinds of horror, and the particular personal preferences of any given horrorhound.

“Do you ever get the feeling you’ve been cheated?”

Parting shot: Incidentally enough, having mentioned Ritchie, Howard had a role in his underappreciated Revolver.

(The Devil’s Chair OS courtesy of bloody-disgusting.com; images courtesy of bloody-disgusting.com & shocktillyoudrop.com.)

ROCKNROLLA
(Review)

“People ask a question. ‘What’s a RocknRolla?’
“And I tell ‘em, it’s not about drums, drugs, ‘n hospital drips. Oh, no. There’s more there than that, my friend.
“We all like a bit o’ the good life. Some, the money. Some, the drugs. Others, the sex game, the glamour, or the fame.
“But a RocknRolla, oh, he’s different.
“Why?
“Because a real RocknRolla wants the f*ckin’ lot.”


Now, when Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels blasted its way onto my film geek’s radar, it blew my proverbial socks off, and instantly made Guy Ritchie a name to keep track of.
And when Snatch came barreling ‘round the bend, I loved the damn thing too, despite those who clamoured that it was simply more of the same and that Ritchie was a one-trick pony.
Then came the whole “let’s get married to Madonna” thing and Swept Away, which, though it seemed to promise an altogether different Guy Ritchie, I’ve thus far managed to steer clear of, in fear that what all its haters have to say would turn out to be true.*
Afterwards, there was the widely misunderstood Revolver, which I also happen to love, where Ritchie took the lowlife criminal milieu he’d long ago staked out as his territory, and brought it to some new, interestingly heady places.
And now, with his Madonna Period apparently behind him, he’s brought us RocknRolla, which, if you haven’t yet figured out, is more of the same Guy Ritchie: the humourous and messy collision of crime, coincidence, and funny monickers.
This time though, I’m not exactly dancing in the aisles.


It’s a good ‘un, this, don’t get me wrong, it’s just a tad… sedate.
Not a word one would normally associate with Guy Ritchie, “sedate,” but what I truly missed here is the audacious adrenaline rush that Barrels and Snatch had.
Not that RocknRolla doesn’t have its moments—Gerard Butler’s two dance scenes; the sex scene; the Jaws nod. Those—and more—are here.
Somehow though, the whole doesn’t feel all that cheeky anymore. I hesitate to say it’s all become rather old hat now, but there could be an argument for that possibility.
Here, the various plot threads also seem to jostle against each other a little awkwardly, an indication that perhaps (unlike Barrels or Snatch) there may be a tad too much narrative going on.


Lovers of Ritchie’s first two films will know a significant chunk of the beats and the eventualities presented in RocknRolla only too well, so for those in whom familiarity does not breed a vague annoyance, this should prove to be bang-on.
There’s also a great cast in this: Butler, Tom Wilkinson, Mark Strong (Stardust’s Septimus, who also happened to be in Revolver), Karel Roden, the exquisite Thandie Newton, to name some, so that’s a plus too. (Curiously enough, for all my whinging about “same” this and “old hat” that, I do miss Jason Statham, who’s gone on to 21st-century Action Star status and left a gaping hole in Ritchie’s lowlife-landia. Hell, even Vinnie Jones might have been a welcome shot of nostalgia.)


Quite possibly, in some alternate reality where I’d never seen any of Ritchie’s past work before, I am truly, madly, and deeply in love with RocknRolla.
As it is, in this reality, RocknRolla and I are on good terms: we smile at each other while salsa-ing on the dance floor, exchanging polite pleasantries in fancy-fonted subtitles.
Truth is though, I’m just not that into her.
So, though I was looking forward to Ritchie’s take on Sgt. Rock (a project currently on hold in light of Quentin Tarantino’s Inglourious Basterds), I am still curiously anticipating Sherlock Holmes, if only because we may just get to see an altogether different Guy Ritchie at its helm.
And better Holmes than The Real RocknRolla, as the end credits of RocknRolla threaten, ey?


* “Star” (from the BMW Hire shorts) was also an amusing ride, though certainly not the best of the Hire bunch…

(RocknRolla UK quad courtesy of empireonline.com; images courtesy of empireonline.com & ew.com.)

THIS IS ENGLAND
(Review)

“Well, although I would never say this is a biography of Shane Meadows, I think the characters (specifically in This Is England) are based very much around my youth growing up in the hills and small towns. I would go around with a certain type of kids, participate in the random acts of violence, was very into the skinhead movement because all of my friends were skinheads. I wasn’t the most popular kid in school so I went around with a group of older kids, some of whom were good to me, some who just liked to have me there to pick on. But they did make me feel like a part of their group, which is why I did a lot of what I did.”
-- Shane Meadows (July 2007)

It’s summer in England, 1983, and Shaun Field (Thomas Turgoose) is a 13-year-old who’s lost his da to the Falklands War. Isolated and picked on, Shaun feels the first twinges of the transformation his life is about to undergo when he chances upon a group of local skinhead youths led by Woody (Joe Gilgun), who takes a shine to Shaun and gradually inducts him into their gang.
That’s the basic premise of Shane Meadows’ This Is England, a coming-of-age tale set against the backdrop of a country troubled by a questionable war and a flood of immigrants, while splinters of the skinhead movement continued to mutate into a decidedly darker, and more brutal animal.

Meadows’ script is almost neatly split into two sections (a two tone, if you will), the film’s first half chronicling Shaun’s absorption into Woody’s social circle, while the second half is viewed under the encroaching shadow of Combo (Snatch’s Tommy, Stephen Graham), an older skinhead who’s just been released from a three-and-a-half year stint in prison.
Tellingly, Combo’s introduction into the narrative occurs at the same time as Shaun’s first real taste of the opposite gender—as found in young Strawberry Switchblader, Smell, played by Rosamund Hanson—as if to suggest that sex and violence are two of the cruxes to be found in the adult world, which waits on the opposite end of this pivotal summer.

Meadows places his script in the hands of a largely young cast, and is rewarded with some naturalistic performances, particularly from Turgoose and Gilgun.
The revelation here though is Graham, who obliterates the image of the goofy sidekick he portrayed in Guy Ritchie’s Snatch, and delivers a textured performance as the film’s ostensible antagonist.

Before Combo’s entry, there’s an aching tenderness to be found in This Is England’s first half, as Woody takes Shaun in, not only making him part of a larger whole, but also providing the young boy with a male role model to emulate and admire.
But even throughout this section of the film, I dreaded the other Doc dropping, somehow thinking that Woody’s interest in Shaun would end in betrayal and rejection.
And perhaps it still did, but only in light of the gloom caused by Combo’s arrival, which opens the door for Shaun to enter a world of hate and racism.
But of course, like any proper coming-of-age tale, there comes a point in the narrative where Shaun is forced to make that final, fateful decision, as to what kind of man he will be when he enters the realm of adulthood, whether as a foot soldier for prejudice, or someone hopefully better than that.

Ultimately, This Is England is a slice of young life that offers up a snapshot of a time before the Internet and cell phones, a time of Rubik’s Cubes and Lady Di and Thatcher’s England, when a young boy’s lot was, sadly, still the same as it is today: to find a father figure who can help lead him into the world of adults, and, barring that, to hopefully stumble into it with the least amount of scarring possible.

Parting shot: Being a sucker for the Cinematic Musical Moment, Meadows’ use of the Clayhill cover of The Smiths’ “Please, Please, Please, Let Me Get What I Want” just slayed me, trumping the Ducky-pining-for-Andie-in-his-lonely-room scene from Howard Deutch’s Pretty In Pink.

Parting shot 2: This Is England has been nominated at the 2008 BAFTAs for Best British Film and Original Screenplay, and it also got a healthy number of nods at the BIFA 2006.
Out of 7 nominations, This Is England won awards for Best British Independent Film (beating out Stephen Frears’ The Queen, among others) and brought home the Most Promising Newcomer for Thomas Turgoose (who beat out strong contenders from Brothers of the Head and The History Boys).
Its other nominations were for Best Director of a British Independent Film, two nods for Best Performance by a Supporting Actor or Actress in a British Independent Film (Joseph Gilgun and Stephen Graham), Best Screenplay, and Best Technical Achievement (Ludovico Einaudi, Original Music).
This Is England also found its way onto the 2007 Top Ten Films lists of Newsweek critic David Ansen (# 3) and Los Angeles Times critic Kevin Crust (# 9).

Parting shot: You can check out the 2008 BAFTA nominations I’m excited about in Afterthoughts (41), in the Archive.
The complete lists of nominees and winners at the BIFA 2006 can be found at http://www.bifa.org.uk/.

(The Shane Meadows quote at the top of the review comes from the director’s interview with Benjamin Crossley-Marra of ioncinema.com. You can find the complete interview here.)

(This Is England UK quad courtesy of impawards.com; DVD cover art courtesy of amazon.com; images courtesy of ioncinema.com.)