This is a new title directed by Jeremy Dyson and Andy Nyman which they have adapted from their original stage play. Andy Nyman also stars in the film as ‘Professor’ Goodman. He is actually an investigator with his own television show. His investigations are into fake spiritualist. His guru in this activity is Charles Cameron (Leonard Byrne) who apparently disappeared some years earlier. But Cameron re-appears and asks Goodman to look into three claims of mystery sighting of ghosts or equivalents. The three investigations occupy much of the film so it operates a little like a portmanteau film.
The BBFC advised that it was ‘strong horror [and] language’. In fact there were only a couple of serious shocks/surprises and the only amount of schlock is right at the end of the film. In between we see Goodman investigate by interviewing the subjects of these ghostly events. The witnesses never complete their stories as we face an abrupt cut at a moment of high tension. The third event is completed verbally after a similar cut.
Such ambiguities are deliberate because the way the narrative works leads up to an unexpected ending. In fact the publicity poster or the film requests audiences not to reveal the ‘secret’ of the ending. What I can note is that the film opens with Goodman’s voice-over narrating flashbacks to his childhood. And one of the aspects of the film is the way that experiences in childhood and at school haunt adults later in life.
I saw the film at a Picturehouse preview. It is fairly well done. The ghostly sequences are effective and not especially scary. The film uses the 2.35:1 frame and there are some well photographed exteriors. The sound adds to the atmosphere with both effects, noises and music. And there is a popular song which emphasises the resolution of the film. The cast also offer an effective representation of characters and events. Jeremy Dyson is from Leeds and there are a number of Yorkshire locations in the production.
The presentation was preceded by a publicity poster on-screen. The film does not quite justify the hype here. But what was slightly odd was that it contained deliberate misspellings [that are not in the standard poster] with reverse lettering and exchanged letters in some of the text. I could not figure how this related to the film. I had also seen the trailer earlier which contained one character who claimed the events were ‘unexplainable’. I found this inexplicable.
Spanish cinema has a high reputation for genres such as horror, fantasy and science fiction – whether the films are aimed at cinéphile audiences, mainstream Spanish audiences or more cultish followers. The Night of the Virgin, as the title perhaps indicates, is skewed towards the third option, though it perhaps has some pretensions to attract the first. This is a horror film trading in disgust, but also trying to make some political points – though whether these are accessible to audiences outside Spanish culture is debatable.
It’s New Years Eve and the film’s first trick is to invite us to a live Spanish TV programme preparing for the New Year’s Eve celebrations in Bilbao – the extract is presented as a small 4:3 image within a CinemaScope frame. (IMDb suggests the film’s ratio is 2.70:1 ‘Ultra CinemaScope’.) Eventually the TV image expands to at least fill the frame vertically and then the image switches to the full ‘Scope frame to show a bar/night club where the titular character is attempting to find a woman to take away his virginity on the last night of the year. It looks like he will have no luck but at the last an attractive older woman invites him back to her apartment.
The virgin, Nico (Javier Bódalo) has borrowed a dress shirt and jacket to go out but he seems bewildered by the club. He’s also being goaded on by his mates and we see their text messages to him. Soon his hormones take over and a familiar scenario from teen horror emerges – he will seek a sexual adventure and something will go wrong. When he and the woman, Medea (Miriam Martín) reach her dingy apartment block, she warns him not to step on a cockroach as it will bring him bad luck – but, of course, he immediately does. We assume that he doesn’t know the story of Medea the sorceress. This Medea seems to have embraced sorcery from a different culture but she is certainly not to be messed with. What follows is a horror narrative with some comic elements which involves every kind of bodily fluids. It explores the desire for and fear of sexual acts and their place in rituals. Will Nico survive the night? What else goes on in this old apartment block? The narrative has a twist and the film ends with another TV broadcast which this time reports from outside the apartment block.
Would I recommend the film? I’m afraid that I don’t feel competent. I’ve seen enough Spanish horror and read enough Spanish history to know that there are some possible satirical/political points here but I can’t work out what they mean (apart from the attack on those idiotic New Year’s Eve TV programmes). This form of ‘body horror of disgust’ is not for the squeamish and unfortunately that includes me. The film has an 18 certificate for its UK release (strong violence, gore, sexual violence, sexual activity). Writer Guillermo Guerrero and director Roberto San Sebastián have produced a film that seems to have attracted extensive interest by specialist film festivals around the world. The film’s promotion cites many prizes and many glowing reviews from horror fans – “Disgustingly Unforgettable”, “Extreme, Grotesque and Gloriously Insane” are just a couple of them. The film is arguably too long but the music is entertaining.
It’s available from Matchbox Films, release date April 2 and can be pre-ordered from Amazon UK.
A film that ‘launched a thousand’ replicas: not quite but there are sixteen plus Japanese remakes or sequels. There are also numerous US versions: the original was re-edited and dubbed for the US market. Among the changes the US version downplayed the dangers of nuclear weapons, a key theme in the plot.
Beverley Bare Buehrer, in a commentary on the film recorded that:
“Toho executive producer, Tanaka Tomoyuki, saw the 1953 American film Beast from 20,000 Fathoms. He liked the film and coupled it with an actual event which happened in March of that year, the exposure to radioactive fallout of Japanese fisherman on the tuna boat, Fukuryu Maru, sailing in an area too close to an H-bomb test America had used near the Marshall Islands.”
Forgiveness is obviously a Japanese characteristic since they have co-operated with the Yanks since then rather than initiating economic boycotts.
The film was an expensive production by Japanese standards of the time. The film’s special effects relied on a skilled specialist Tsuburaya Eiji. I found the design of the production by Chuko Satoshi still convincing last time I saw the print. Tamai Masao’s black and white cinematography is finely done, [academy ratio]. The film’ soundtrack by Shimonaga Hisashi uses special sound effects. And the music by Ifukube Akira is especially effective. Director Honda Inoshiro orchestrates these talents into an excellent 98 minutes of action.
Whilst techniques have moved on and developed in the intervening decades the film stands up really well. The script is by Murata Takeo and Honda Inoshiro and the plot develops at a fairly fast pace and offers character relations as well as a monster and large-scale destruction. It is also the type of film that looks better in a 35mm print. So happily Hebden Bridge Picture House is using this format for a ‘reel film’ screening on Saturday February 3rd. The last time I saw the film the print was in good shape.
We enjoyed a good-looking 35mm print. The visual and aural special effects stood up well as did the monster and its rampages. Some of the plot is conventional but the recurring references to the US nuclear bombing of Japan are powerful. There is a reference to Nagasaki and a number of sequences that recall the horrors of 1945. There is also an interesting debate amongst the scientific characters about what should be done about the monster. Definitely a classic.
The Limehouse Golem is a fascinating film for several reasons. It seems to have divided audiences and overall its box office performance has been ‘soft’ for Lionsgate in the UK (albeit on one of the worst weekends of the year for the cinema b.o.). It’ll be interesting to see what happened in Week 2.
My personal interest in the film is mainly because its two key locations of an 1880s East End street and the interior of a music hall were recreated in the atmospheric setting of Dalton Mills in Keighley. This complex of three textile mills built in the 1860s is a listed building with several unique features which have been cleverly utilised. The complex has been used for a range of film and TV locations including North and South (2004), the TV adaptation of Mrs Gaskell’s novel and it lies adjacent to Keighley Station and the Keighley & Worth Valley heritage railway. Using other key locations in the North of England and then studio work in London, The Limehouse Golem has a very strong visual aesthetic with minimal visible CGI. This and the performances of an impressive cast are its strengths.
The scriptwriter Jane Goldman is known for her collaborations with Matthew Vaughn and Mark Millar but perhaps the important link here is her 2012 adaptation of the Woman in Black by Susan Hill. The Limehouse Golem has been adapted from a 1994 novel with the title Dan Leno and The Limehouse Golem by Peter Ackroyd. Ackroyd specialises in biography and novels about London and its history. The Limehouse Golem is about the trial of Elizabeth Cree, charged for the murder of her husband, a would-be playwright. The narrative involves going back over Mrs Cree’s emergence as a star of Dan Leno’s music hall. Leno is one of three historical figures (Karl Marx and the novelist George Gissing are the others) who appear to have been in the British Museum Library reading room at the same time as John Cree and whose testimony must be explored. I haven’t read the novel, but in the film, Inspector Kildare (Bill Nighy) is the investigator of this mystery which is presented through a series of flashbacks, some with ‘unreliable narration’. I suspect that, as in the case of The Woman in Black, there is possibly a degree of snobbery in some of the reactions to Goldman’s adaptation of a genre novel by an acclaimed ‘literary’ writer into a popular film. The other negative reactions may come from genre fans of horror or mystery films. The latter, in particular, can sometimes dismiss a narrative if they deem it too easy to ‘solve’ as a puzzle. It’s really a question of how you approach a narrative in order to be entertained. It may well be the case that The Limehouse Golem is an easy ‘puzzle’ to solve, but I would argue its pleasures are found in how the events are presented on screen.
The setting of the film in the Gothic world of late 19th century London is shared by a range of current film and TV offerings, including the TV series Ripper Street. What makes the setting particularly interesting for audiences in 2017 is the ability of familiar genre set-ups to absorb and use contemporary concerns in its storylines (whether this is intentional or not and this film first appeared in 2016). In this case there is an emphasis on gender identities and immigration. One character is an ‘exotic’ acrobat played by the Spanish actor María Valverde and the the Jewishness of the East End is explored in some detail, including in the reference to the ‘Golem’, the monster formed from clay that can be either protective or malign in its actions in relation to Jewish communities. Interestingly, it is his Jewishness that singles out Karl Marx rather than his work on Das Kapital. Cross-dressing is a feature of Dan Leno’s music hall performances, into which Lizzie Cree is inducted. These are traditional performances in an English context but the introduction of a ‘repressed’ gay sensibility by two of the characters is something that appears to have gone down badly with some audiences. I think that Peter Ackroyd is a gay writer so this may be in the original novel. The narrative could have introduced Oscar Wilde and his circle since he was active in London from the early 1880s. But then there is no claim to historical accuracy in the film and ‘real’ characters like Dan Leno are presented anachronistically several years out of place.
The clearest contemporary reference is to celebrity gossip and tabloid sensationalism so that in one scene an unworldly Inspector Kildare arrives at a crime scene overrun by goulish spectators and Daniel Mays as a uniformed constable explains that the blood attracts crowds because it is cheaper than paying to watch (or read) a ‘shocker’. The narrative is indeed about celebrity, ‘performance’ and the 1880s equivalent of reality TV. I didn’t enjoy the gore on display in the murders but this may please others. The discovery in the film is Olivia Cooke, a young actor (23) from Oldham playing Lizzie Cree most convincingly. Douglas Booth as Dan Leno, Henry Goodman as Marx and Eddie Marsan as the music hall manager lead the fine team of players and credit must also go to director Juan Carlos Medina, cinematographer Simon Denis (who also shot episodes of Ripper Street and Peaky Blinders) and the whole production design crew. I did note the comment that though the music hall scenes include interesting musical sequences, we never see any musicians – how odd. The trailer below gives an impression of the use of locations and sets and I’ve chosen the stills to show this as well.
I watched this recently in preparation for an event on film noir and enjoyed it very much. It’s a significant film in many ways, though its short running time (82 minutes) seems to indicate a ‘B’ picture. The cast and crew and the sheer artistry of the film do, however, point to an ‘A’ picture from RKO. Researching the film, I came across a fascinating website, The Film Noir File: A Dossier of Challenges to the Film Noir Hardboiled Paradigm written and compiled by Dan Hodges. I should have been aware of this site because it explores the arguments against the conventional academic film histories of film noir and also the supposed American uniqueness of the genre/style. I would tend to support both of the main aims of the website.
The Spiral Staircase challenges the ‘paradigm’ of film noir in one sense and ‘fits’ it in another. It is not based on the kind of ‘hard-boiled’ crime fiction of the 1930s/40s, but it is directed by an émigré German director, Robert Siodmak and photographed by another, the Italian Nicholas Musaraca (who had worked in Hollywood since the 1920s). In fact, Siodmak and Musuraca were two of the principal ‘creators’ of film noir as later described by Hollywood film scholars. Musaraca worked under Val Lewton in RKO’s ‘B’ unit in the early 1940s on films such as Cat People (1942) and would later shoot the film noir classic Out of the Past (Build My Gallows High, 1947). Siodmak came to RKO after early noirs such as The Phantom Lady (1944) and The Suspect (1944). He would go on to make another recognised noir classic, The Killers, also in 1946.
So, how does The Spiral Staircase challenge the paradigm? The first films noirs to be studied extensively in retrospect were based on hard-boiled crime stories, often featured a ‘doomed man’ and a femme fatale and were contemporary in setting (though they might update 1930s stories to the 1940s). The Spiral Staircase is based on a novel by Ethel Lina White, a British writer who turned to crime fiction in the 1930s. Three of her novels were adapted for cinema, beginning with The Lady Vanishes in 1938 (UK, Alfred Hitchcock). She died in 1944 and didn’t see either The Spiral Staircase or Unseen (1945). The Spiral Staircase was adapted by a radio drama writer Mel Dinelli.
Ethel Lina White was born in 1876 in Abergavenny so it isn’t surprising that she set her 1933 novel Some Must Watch in the Welsh borders. It was adapted as The Spiral Staircase and transposed to early 20th century New England, but still featuring an isolated country house. Though the adaptation sees a few characters altered, the important point here is that the central character is Helen (Dorothy McGuire), a young woman who has lost her voice after a childhood trauma and is now the ‘ladies companion’ of the bed-ridden Mrs Warren (the formidable figure of Ethel Barrymore). The local town is experiencing the terror of a serial killer and the film opens with the murder of a young woman in a hotel while below an audience (including Helen) watches an early film screening. When Helen returns to the isolated country house (in a rainstorm), Siodmak reveals the shoes and single voyeuristic eye of the murderer hiding in the shadows on the stairs of the great old Victorian gothic mansion. The film’s title refers to the staircase down to the extensive basement/cellar. If you want more background on the book and film (with possible SPOILERS) there is an interesting post on ‘Le curieux Monsieur Cocosse | Journal’.)
We can guess what will happen, but the film is highly engaging with its narrative twists and turns and the superlative camerawork, lighting and set design make it always watchable. Helen is both ‘damsel in distress’ and investigator (and arguably the ‘final girl’ as identified in the horror films of the 1990s). As well as Helen and Mrs Warren, the film also features two other significant female roles played by Rhonda Fleming (who went on to lead roles in the 1950s) and Elsa Lanchester (wife of Charles Laughton and dogged by her early Hollywood success in The Bride of Frankenstein). The narrative draws primarily on the suspense thriller repertoire. The visual style suggests the horror film as much as the film noir and it is supported by a strong soundtrack mix of effects referring to the terrible storm outside, the banging of windows and shutters and the sound of the wind and rain. Horror and film noir arguably have roots in common in German expressionism of the 1920s and the same roots also apply to the particular cycle of female-centred melodramas that became popular in the 1940s. Many of these reveal a certain kind of paranoia about being in the ‘old dark house’. In Gaslight (UK 1940 and US 1944), both films adapted from Patrick Hamilton’s play, a woman in London becomes fearful that her house is subject to strange events. Her relative was murdered in the house some time ago but is her present husband trying to frighten her? Ingrid Bergman is the frightened woman in the Hollywood version with clear film noir links. The Spiral Staircase also links to the Barbara Stanwyck ‘woman in distress’ film Sorry Wrong Number (1948) in which she plays a woman who is bed-ridden, like the Ethel Barrymore character in the Siodmak film and similarly fearful of an attack. These melodramas are also films noirs.
Melodrama implies other familiar conventions. Helen is affected by her trauma so that she can’t speak – and therefore can’t ask for help or convey what she knows quickly. In the scene above she looks at herself in the mirror, a common image from melodrama that might suggest that there are two Helens or that she has something to hide that might not be revealed to the other characters. The mirror also allows the composition of images which are ‘disrupted’ in their presentation of narrative space. Here the deep focus which operates throughout the film shows the dining room below. In this case, the mirror image helps conjure up Helen’s fears that being unable to speak will be dangerous in the febrile atmosphere of her gothic surroundings. This image also gives an indication of the detailed set design and ‘set dressing’ which adds greatly to the power of the images. The art direction duties are credited to Albert S. D’Agostino and Jack Okey. D’Agostino worked on 27 films released in 1946. The Spiral Staircase certainly benefits from the experience and expertise of personnel working within the studio system. Helen’s ‘lack’ of a voice is also a feature of certain melodramas where such ‘lacks’ are often seen as symbolic. In this film, the lack is also imagined by Helen in a sequence representing her internal thoughts and in another where a visual effect obscures her mouth.
I think that Dan Hodges is right to challenge the ‘paradigm’ of American film noir. So many different kinds of films have benefited from the application of themes and style features associated with noir. I think I’d describe The Spiral Staircase as a noir melodrama melded with the suspense thriller/horror film.
Blumhouse has a reputation for low-budget horror productions, such as the very successful Paranormal Activity (2009-15) and The Purge (2013-) series. Get Out has beaten them and parlayed a $5m budget into, to date, $184m worldwide box office. In order to attain such numbers it’s clearly broken out of its teen core audience and shows what can be done when genre pleasures, this is a good horror film, are woven into the zeitgeist. Jordan Peele, the writer-director, has made a film that is about race in the 21st century.
Black British actor, Daniel Kaluuya, takes the lead as Chris who’s going to meet the parents of his white, preppy, girlfriend Rose Armitage, played by Allison Williams. He asks if they know he’s black and she tells him her parents aren’t racist. Chris is obviously not entirely reassured by the blasé statement because he knows that even if they aren’t racist it doesn’t mean that they won’t treat him in a racist way so embedded, particularly in the American psyche, is the politics of slavery.
The end credits state the film’s shot in Alabama, however this location (to my eyes at least) is not obvious in the film. At first I thought this was a missed trick, evoking the Deep South would immediately trigger associations of slavery, however I realised that Peele didn’t want to make a point about the racism of Old America, he was showing racism now anywhere in middle class America.
Peele leads us into the horror with great skill. The Prologue shows a black man being attacked on a suburban street; when he states before the attack that the suburbs are scary he means for a black person. After this the build-up is slow, with enough hints (particularly from Catherine Keener’s mum) that beneath the wealthy, liberal surface there lurks something not right. Allison’s dad points to a cellar, that resonant setting for horror, and states it’s sealed off because of black mould. Chris’s discomfort increases as the wealthy white and their black servants surround him; when he tries to connect with a ‘brother’ he finds incomprehension.
Peele takes us on a tour of references including Invasion of the Body Snatchers (US, 1956), The Stepford Wives (US, 1975 and 2004) and, in the clinical and opulent mise en scène of the Armitage house, Kubrick’s The Shining (UK 1980). These references avoid being derivative because they’re used to make a statement about contemporary racial politics, particularly the #Blacklivesmatter campaign in America. In a fantastic climax it appears the police have arrived to save Chris. He puts up his hands, his white girlfriend is lying on the floor crying for help… Peele knows most in the audience would realise that there is good chance, in those circumstances in reality, that the police would summarily execute Chris.
One false note for me was LilRey Howery’s Rod, Chris’s ‘comic turn’ mate, whose bumbling detracts from the drama too much. As a horror film it has enough gore at the climax to satisfy most and not too much to detract for the squeamish.
I imagine that the film is popular with minority ethnic audiences and demonstrates, like the never-ending Fast and Furious franchise (2009-), that producers daring enough not to assume ‘white’ is the default setting can be a profitable route. The film garnered a bit of controversy in America when Samuel L. Jackson questioned the casting of a British actor rather than a ‘brother’. Kaluuya’s considered response, in Vanity Fair, suggested he is a brother because he is an ‘outsider’:
“When I’m around black people I’m made to feel ‘other’ because I’m dark-skinned,” he explained. “I’ve had to wrestle with that, with people going ‘You’re too black.’ Then I come to America and they say, ‘You’re not black enough.’ I go to Uganda, I can’t speak the language. In India, I’m black. In the black community, I’m dark-skinned. In America, I’m British. Bro!”
Get Me Out is about outsiders and how some poeple use liberal attitudes as a badge of their own character and not as an ideological position to fight for equality. Although not quite directly related to this, an altercation on CNN between a white Trump supporting pundit and three African American voices shows how the default setting of debate is the white setting – click here.
Wild doesn’t just promise to be transgressive. It delivers. But it’s transgressive in a carefully structured and composed way with a strong central performance and a coherent aesthetic approach. Technical credits all round are excellent. I’ve seen references to a host of other films and I understand why most of the references are made – but this film stands on its own. Citing the references is needed for us as readers, so we can negotiate the text.
Ania (Lilith Stangenberg) is an office worker in an IT company. She’s alienated by the petty jobs she is given by her boss Boris who summons her by throwing a tennis ball at his glass office wall, behind which Ania works. She lives in a flat with her sister, who then moves out with her boyfriend. Meanwhile, her grandfather is in hospital and has gone into a coma. Ania is now seemingly ‘alone’ when she sees a wolf lurking in her local park on her journey home. She becomes obsessed with the animal and seems determined to not only capture it, but to become ‘one’ with this wild creature. It occurs to me at this point that there is a large genre repertoire of narratives that deal with alienated workers and what happens to them. Kafka’s Gregor in Metamorphosis might be one example.
Try to imagine what this obsession with the wolf might mean in reality. Believe me, writer-director Nicolette Krebitz goes further than you imagined and Lilith Stangenberg seems prepared to do virtually anything that her director requires. The wolf is played by a pair of animals named Nelson and Cossa and as far as I know no CGI was used (or at least non visibly) so the wranglers deserve enormous credit. Stangenberg is just extraordinary.
Woman – wolf – Red Riding Hood is one possible line of investigation. Rabbits as food offer a link to Polanski’s Repulsion. Is Ania losing her sanity? One of the strengths of the film is that it switches direction – so at one point Ania stalks the streets like a vampire looking for bloody meat. At other times it feels as if a kind of feminist revenge is uppermost in her mind – this fits with the growing number of female-centred horror film narratives over the past twenty years. One reviewer mentions Ginger Snaps (Canada 2000) and that sounds a good call. Ania’s only recreation prior to her fascination with the wolf appears to be on a deserted shooting range. The film certainly plays with political sub-texts, including in its use of migrant workers. Ania’s sexuality seems equally malleable and we are also asked to try to work out what is fantasy and what is ‘real’. I was certainly never bored. On the whole the film has received positive responses from film festival critics, but as many point out its transgressive nature is likely to offend the more staid end of the arthouse market. Perhaps it is destined for the smaller niche of cult cinema. That would be a shame. This isn’t in any way a ‘trashy film’ (and that term in itself doesn’t imply a film that is not worth seeing). Instead, this film intelligently explores aspects of our personalities that we usually keep under wraps. I suspect that Wild may be more disturbing to dog-lovers than to those of us who look after (domestic) felines. A wolf is both more dangerous and potentially more loyal.
Here’s a German trailer that gives less away than the English subtitled version. The film was released in Germany on 40 screens in April.
Lucile Hadzihalilovic, the director and co-writer of Évolution is the partner of Gaspar Noé (who is thanked in the credits of this film). I wonder what they talk about at breakfast? Noé is controversial in terms of treatment of sexuality. Hadzihalilovic has three short/medium length films to her credit plus two full length features. Her previous feature, Innocence in 2004, focused on a mysterious girls’ boarding school. Évolution introduces us to a small community of pre-pubescent boys who live with female carers (not their mothers according to one of the boys) close to the sea in small concrete block houses. There are no men in the community and seemingly no girls.
The film begins with an underwater shot, looking up to one of the boys swimming on the surface. He dives down towards the camera and finds something on the sea-bed which will propel him forward as the protagonist of this tale. We aren’t surprised that as all the heroes of fantasy/horror/science fiction/tales of mystery, Nicolas our hero will investigate to uncover the truth and will risk himself becoming a victim of whatever is happening in this unusual community.
What follows is a triumph of camerawork (Manuel Dacosse), editing, set design, production design, effects, music and, not least, performance. The landscape of Lanzarote with its black volcanic ‘sand’ is matched with the dark interiors of a classic horror hospital – with dingy lighting, peeling paintwork and water running down the walls. As one reviewer has pointed out, the opening shot reminds us that humanity came out of the sea and water remains in our consciousness as connected to ‘birthing’. How can I explain anything about what happens without ‘spoiling’ the narrative? All I’ll say is that Nicolas is a real hero and that he has a ‘helper’ – a nurse in the hospital who is for some reason attracted to this boy. In the final reel, Nicolas calls out her name, ‘Stella’. In the opening sequence, referenced above, Nicolas sees a red starfish. A starfish isn’t actually a fish and is perhaps better considered under its alternative name of ‘sea star’. In Latin this is ‘stella marina’. ‘Stella’ (Roxane Duran) is a red-haired nurse. The sea star is an amazing creature and Lucile Hadzihalilovic must have spent some time thinking about this creature and its habits. I certainly found it interesting to research them. In doing so I found a group of Haitian midwives associated with a project called ‘Stella Marina’ – which aims to provide ‘birthing kits’ for use in poorer communities.
I’m not going to say any more about what actually happens in Évolution. All I would say, to give you a flavour of the film, is that it reminded me at one point of the John Sayles film The Secret of Roan Inish (1994) featuring the myth of the Selkie – the creature that can transform from seal at sea to human on the land. Others, less squeamish than me, refer to David Cronenberg films and the cycle of ‘body horror films’ from the 1980s. I can see those references but Évolution is different in tone with its 10 year-old protagonist. It really is a remarkable performance by Max Brebant. It’s only 82 minutes long, but there is a great deal packed into the narrative and trying to tie together all the elements is intriguing.
Évolution was the latest screening in the Picturehouses programming slot in the UK. This involves the possibility that any cinema in the Picturehouses chain (or, I think, programmed/booked by Picturehouses) can show a film for a single screening on a Tuesday. These are films presumably deemed by Picturehouses as not commercial enough for a proper release of multiple screenings across a week or so in selected cinemas. I have heard arguments that this is a positive move because it gives the possibility of a specialised film becoming available at cinemas across the UK. That may be so and as a concept it goes back to the beginnings of digital cinema in the UK as something similar was suggested as part of the first round of subsidised digital cinema projectors instigated by the UK Film Council in the 2000s. Even so, it works against the idea of local programming and strategies which attempt to grow a local audience through ‘word of mouth’ screenings. There were 10-12 people in the cinema when I saw this film. Perhaps there would only have been three or four if it was showing two or three times this week, but I’d like to think that with good reports the audience for this and similar films could be grown. Instead, Picturehouses is using those other possible programme slots to show Independence Day and Absolutely Fabulous and if you can’t get to a screening on Tuesday at 18.00, then specialised cinema is not for you. So, I guess you’ll have to look for Évolution online.