To be honest, I didn’t have high hopes for The Collector. Speaking as a man who gave up on the Saw franchise after number two (in name and nature), I don’t have a lot of time for torture-pon grot. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve still got an old vhs of The Beyond I dig out once in a while, so I’ve nothing against ridiculously gratuitous splattering. I just prefer it when it serves the plot, rather than being the plot.Still, it was a quiet Friday and I’d managed to blag free tickets, so I figured I’d check it out – and I’m actually glad I did.

Director Dunstan worked alongside writer Patrick Melton on the aforementioned Saw franchise, as well as the ludicrous/idiotic Feast films, but here they manage to break away from by-the-numbers splatter and actually tie-in some serious questions aboout the nature of evil.

Josh Stewart is Arkin, a debt-ridden cat burglar breaking into an isolated and seemingly deserted house. But what’s this? That’s right readers! It isn’t deserted at all. The family who live there have been tied up about the place, and the perpetrator (Juan Fernández in full Leatherface mode) has set a series of bizarre, jigsaw-esque traps about the place. Hey -it could happen to anyone.
Credulity aside, it does open up a barrel of interesting moral worms, Arkin torn between the needs to rob, run or help the victims, and his internal conflict does wonders to spice up the otherwise overused home-invasion macguffin. And while the ‘torturous traps bit has been similarly overdone, there’s still enough invention on show here to provide some decent seat-jump moments (watch out for those bear-traps!).

...he knows when you've been sleeping..he knows when you're awake...

Combining two highly overused horror tropes and chucking in a stock loony in a bad mask shouldn’t work at all, but by cutting out any flab from the script and choosing to focus on the emotional dilemma as much as the flesh-ripping, the Collector drags itself out of the hostel for used gorno to take it’s rightful place as a lean and very mean chop-job.

2009 may well be remembered as the year of the apocalypse – cinematically at least, and despite strong (not to mention patently ridiculous) bids from Zombieland and 2012, The Road is the literary pinnacle of the years filmic lust for devastation. Based on a Cormac McCarthy’s Pulitzer winning novel, Proposition director Hillcoat has a stellar cast, and manages to pull off a literate, messagey Sci-Fi meltdown without ever coming across as portentous or overblown.

The key here, as in fellow not-quite-as-good Armageddoner Carriers, is focus on characters, rather than the actual disaster. Vague voiceovers and half-rememberings inform us that the world went down in a blaze and that’s it, no further explanation offered or required as we join a grimly convincing Viggo Mortenson on a trip through a downright terrifying landscape.

The aesthetic is disturbing, but its minimalist depiction of ravaged, grey landscapes and nuclear winter is nothing compared to the depths plumbed by the few survivors, and it’s in this examination of the darkness lurking in the hearts of men that Hillcoat finds himself on familiar ground and truly excels. This isn’t to say the director is ploughing familiar territory, as Mortenson’s unnamed father sees death and destruction at every turn, his son takes a more optimistic path. Where the father searches for food and water, his son seeks companionship – questioning which is more important for true survival.

As the lonely duo make their way across the battered landscape, scant flashbacks show Viggo and his dead wife making the decision to go through with the birth of their child, despite the prevailing possibility of destruction, weighing up options of suicide before settling on creating, rather than destroying new life. There are a few uneasy notes in the message – already being adopting for the pro-life cause in some quarters – and the obvious focus on various brand names may raise the odd misplaced hackle, here the very mundanity of a Coke can highlights the pervading sense of loss-while also providing a vague sense that the future may provide a better way. While the older generation becomes ever more cynical and brutal, there’s an optimistic bent to younger characters.

At times unforgiving, the movie never the less leaves the viewer with a cautiously enlightened mood that should carry over well with the Academy crowd come awards season.

Gerard Butler and Jamie Foxx team up for some credibility ruining violent nonsense.

While we try to give balanced reviews here at STS, fuck me this is nasty. While a bit of the old ultra-violence is to be expected in a revenge thriller, it needs to be handled carefully if you want to avoid your anti-hero becoming the villain. Here, Butler’s general blandness makes him difficult to root for, meaning he’s on thin ice from the get go, and his subsequent actions end up confusing who exactly your supposed to back.

Playing opposite Jamie Foxx’s odious ADA, things begin fairly black and white. While not the most Oscar-attracting actor in the world Butler does have the ability to imbue his habitual B-Movie roles with enough cod-gravitas to keep him afloat. Gamer and 300 cemented his action status, and his general beigeness actually works well playing an average Joe. One quick wife and baby murder later however, and all that’s out the window, Gerard’s Clyde Sheldon (Who thinks up these names?) spending the next decade amassing the resources to destroy the killers, Foxx and seemingly the entire city of Philadelphia.

While the story – such as it is – initially provides Sheldon with plenty of audience empathy, as his actions become more extreme things degenerate into an excuse to chop people up in a variety of Fianl Destination style murders that lack even surprise value, each large-print signposted for the exceptionally stupid viewer, and while the direction is efficient if workmanlike, the glee taken in slow-mo pans across the victims ultimately leaves you feeling in need of a shower.

Foxx provides effective backup, but his character is so irredeemably unlikeable that you have to wonder how he picks roles. For every Ray there’s a Stealth, and for every Soloist there’s this crap. Faced with multiple killings, his character takes it as an affront to his dignity rather than a threat to the citizenry, coming across as a right ratbag in the process. As the situation escalates things head downhill quickly, with lingering bone crunching and blood splattering that would make Punisher: WarZone crap it’s pants, such is the level of viscosity. Unfortunately these set pieces do little to advance the lot.

If we were feeling charitable this could be viewed as a subversion of the typical Hollywood Hero figure, but charity – along with mercy and believability – are in short supply throughout, leaving us with an overly nasty, grubby little thriller appealing to the lowest common denominator.

Generally, we watch any old crap round here – in the interest of being a representative, even-handed site obviously – from Marley & Me to Apocalypse Now,it’s all fair grist to the review grinder-yep,we even sat through Troll 2 once.

But just occasionally there are some movie crimes so cynical and heinous in their deployment that we’re robbed of even the enjoyment bought by bright shapes moving around a large screen.
Twilight: New Moon is one of them…

The Twilight Saga’s advance guard of posters and promos have been doing the rounds for a few weeks now, it’s gangsta/Calvin Klein ad Werewolves looking like the world’s worst boy band as they balefully bring to life everything awful about post-Rowling fiction in one sanitised, imaginatively stultified package

The reasons for the unerring – and to most people over 30,completely mystifying – popularity of the Virginity-embracing Goth-a-thon are manifold and as ancient as the vampire myth itself, but the main one?

Boredom.

To contextualise; it’s probably worth remembering at this point that tabloid fodder Cradle of Filth are from a small country village, the interminable ennui of small-town existence producing gratuitous, theatrical stabs at an inescapable conformity that have absolutely nothing to do with the isolationist work of their contemporaries

Twilight has risen from the endless malaise of the American Midwest. Despite the stunning scenery, for many growing up there it’s an endless vista of mini-malls and soccer meets, a land robbed of endless opportunity that retains a general snobbishness for any authentic ‘old-world’ culture (”What do you eat in Britain?” Is a standard enquiry I received while travelling), and while this is a gross oversimplification; in terms of romance, Utah is up there with Chernobyl.

It’s no wonder then that the Disneyfied, stripey-sock Goth peddled by Hot topic is grasped so ravenously by teenagers in a locale where dying your hair or missing church is a rebellious act, and although tweens the world over go through endless recycling of these tropes the constant marketing of them as a substitute for genuine invention is a troubling one. Potter and his ilk are the spawn of daytime TV and half-remembered nursery tales, rather than any familiarity with actual fantastical literature. It may be churlish to suggest, but I’d be sorely surprised if J.K’s library included anything by Lord Dunsany. Tapping into a culturally bereft society doesn’t gift a work with any greater kudos.

Likewise Twilight is born of a warped, half developed sexuality, a flirting with defiance in the face of the US religious machine, and the deeply unsatisfied and unrealised yearnings of its author. Vampires are the ultimate asexual – the bite representing a non-threatening penetration – that means they are non-threatening romantic partners, perfect grist for the mill of the unsettlingly carried out (if well-intentioned) Chastity movement the books encourage. While virginity and chastity are both admirable qualities, they are very personal ones that shouldn’t be enforced by mass-media or religion; to do so is a backwards step, rather than a liberating one. Here non-sensationalist information is the key, not mass hypnosis.

Most movies try to sell you a tie-in computer game and a McDonald’s happy meal. Twilight tries to sell you morality.

Twilight (And Buffy beforehand, although Weedon at least realised this and had fun with it) is in effect Mills and Boone without the edge. Here there’s no sex, and while there’s haemoglobin aplenty even death is robbed of it’s power.

Author Stephanie Meyer claims the novel is about ‘losing true love’, but has aimed it squarely at a population so cut off from genuine interaction the word becomes meaningless, a substitute for parental affection and an excuse to pretend at the rebellious. In one of the most telling scenes Bella’s ability to commune with Edward is enhanced when she pursues ‘The Dangerous’. In this case, riding a motorcycle – that ever present symbol of disaffection for American youth. Meyer has crafted a work where motorcycles and leather jackets stand-in for danger, where Italy represents the entire planet outside the Midwestern bowl, and where dreaming of wider horizons inevitably leads to terror and sadness-or at least a simulation of it.

New Moon offers an endless curse – one of morbid, flatulent commercialism infecting its victims with a warped feminine ideal where the answer to everything is a good man who doesn’t want to have sex. It has more in common with Mona the Vampire than Dracula – this is sex and death without the sex and death played out by blandly attractive mannequins whose only supernatural power is the height of their hair.

Excited yet?

Complete Disaster!

Ah Roland Emmerich, where would we be without you? Along with  Michael Bay, Emmerich is almost totally responsible for sucking anything even resembling plots out of Summer Tentpole movies over the last few years. In the case of transformers, at least Bay had an excuse-he wants to flog you toys – so it’s hard to work out why grumble like this ever gets greenlit. One can only assume that Hollywood junior execs are now so young they’ve never seen Ghostbusters, and actually think this is a real movie.

Eschewing the more traditional route of plot points building drama around interesting characters, Emmerich has instead decided to utilise the most powerful computers in the world to help him dumb down Independence Day, creating a non-stop senses-hammering disasterpiece that goes so over the top it actually becomes quite loveable.

Basing itself on quasi-science straight from ‘Weird Tales’ the film begins by dumping California into the ocean (the actually real threat of nearby Yellowstone exploding is mentioned briefly and then forgotten – presumably because the movie makers don’t want to start a panic…), fault lines bursting and huge explosions quickly becoming the order of the day. Obviously the US is the focus of these events, although there’s a couple of obligatory ethnic villagers shown scuffing about in Assbackistan and the now-vital Sky News lending credence to things. Remember, if it’s said in an English accent; It’s the TRUTH!

Of course, the world’s high and mighty aren’t going to sit back and let this happen, and have their own plans in place to escape, the rat-bastards. Lucky for the rest of us poor schmoes  Chiwetel Ejiofor’s on hand to convince President Danny Glover (definitely getting too old for this shit) not to quit on us. Meanwhile John Cusack does his very best to remain likeable as he drags his kids into more and more danger on the flimsiest of pretexts, resulting in a chance to leap out of a ‘plane in a Bentley (weighing upwards of 3 metric tons fact-fans) onto ice, help the government rescue some cute Giraffes and give his obviously strained marriage to a skeletal Amanda Peet a quick fix.

The rest of the cast? Well, think about Independence Day. Then think Stargate, The Day After Tomorrow, 10,000 BC..in fact, go to IMDB right now and check out Emmerich’s entire career: Do the regretful grandparent, the evil scientist who has a change of heart, the ditzy girl (with obligatory chihuahua in handbag), evil rich guy or Ultimate Sacrifice Dad ring any bells?

They should, because they’re in all those movies, and yep, they’re in this one too. Clearly giving up even the pretence of originality, Roland then has these cardboard standees variously cling to cliffs, pilot light planes heroically through explosions, and even at one point, set a timer incorrectly so it races towards early detonation. It’s like watching 100 best disaster movie moments, right up to the nauseatingly happy ending – I guess no one really cared about those 6 Billion dead right? – and it goes on and on, reaching levels so stupid they become amazing, as you constantly try to dredge your summer film memory to guess what happens next.

What actually happens next is that Woody Harrelson continues his glorious career revival as a conspiracy theorist/survivalist with awesome Marty Feldman eyes and enough ham to feed an Elephant being transported by Chinook Helicopter (yes, those are in here too…), almost completing a one-man mission to push this into full blown Airplane! Territory in the process, he’s far and away the high point of the movie.
So awful it’s fucking genius, we’re already looking forward to a sequel (we’re opting for ‘2013′ with Will Smith in the lead role), there are too many flaws to mention, but the only one that really needs fixing is Emmerich constant attempts to pull our sentimental heart-strings. Come on Roland, we’re willing to buy into a lot, but we’re not stupid.

Beautifully, irredeemably awful- and all the better for it.

Let’s face it, if characters from movies were real, you’d hate them. Imagine if your neighbour was a chiselled man-mountain who regularly slept with supermodels in between blowing things up with his flying, time-travelling tank.

Us regular guys just couldn’t compete.

Fortunately Hollywood knows this, and balances things out by rampantly increasing the odds that he’ll be horribly killed at any moment – and none more so than when he’s getting’ some! Sure the sex you have may be dry and perfunctory, but at least it won’t end in death by robot. Want proof? So do we- it’s death by sexy as we take a look at cinema’s deadliest sex scenes!

Jason X

Running seriously out of ideas, the FTT producers well and truly jumped the shark when they sent the hockey-masked marauder into Spaaaaaaaace for instalment 10, with amazingly good results!

In among the saucy androids in leather pants, there’s just time to squeeze in some good old fashioned teens with loose morals! “We love premarital sex!” Squeals one photonic cutie-just before being stoved against a tree by the big man.

What a way to go!

Titanic

The ultimate expression of the cinematic virgin rule!

If Jack could have just kept his hands out of Kate’s whimsical underwear, hundreds would have lived! Hell, if young Rose was really that up for a bit of rough before marrying the decidedly unsexy Cal surely she could have got it down at the docks before they left?

Nope, she had to shake her thang on the ballroom floor, sealing the doom of every man woman and child aboard with every hip-shake, the callous cow! Proof positive that the ocean is a very jealous lady who doesn’t take kindly to people poking on her turf, and is fully willing to instigate Oscar winning effects to prove it.

Flash Gordon

When a pair of leather hotpants is considered acceptable wear for a state funeral, you know you’re in for a pretty sexy time! Of course, Flash himself isn’t really the star of this 80s exercise in ultra camp, so his wiggling, gas chamber death only comes second here.

Sexiest death? Well, that honour goes to the completely bat-shit crazy Max Von Sydow as Ming. If submission is your thing then there’s no finer example than Mrs Mercyless’ most over-achieving son being well and truly rogered to buggery by the imperial flagship – hell, it even has Freddy Mercury shouting in the background!

Phallic substitution on a cosmic scale!

Teeth

I Spit On Your Grave may have used the classic “Todger-Off” manouver first, and spawned a host of grisly imitators, but after a brief struggle to escape distribution hell Teeth revealed itself as the Citizen Kane of castration flicks! (It’s a compliment -honestly!)

Hale Appleman looks like one lucky dude when he takes super sexy Jess Weixler to bed, but unfortunately he’s oblivious to her dark secret: A pair of comedy chattering teeth buried in her lady-garden.

Tapping into every man’s deepest psychosis, this is quite literally a teeth-grinding nightmare of a death scene!

11:14

A deservedly straight to bargain bin movie with the added value of a topless fresh-from-Josie and the Pussycats Rachael Leigh Cook, it’s 99 pence well spent!

Unfortunately the poor dude taking advantage of young Rach never gets past the vinegar strokes – instead receiving a huge tombstone to the noggin halfway through: Garuanteed to squish any libido!

Of course, Ms.Cook does exactly what we always knew she would, and carries on to the bitter end. Gives a whole new meaning to the phrase “getting head”.

Goldeneye

Famke Janssen offs more than her fair share of guys as Bond baddie/babe Xenia Onatopp, but it’s during her sauna scene with a horny Canadian admiral that she really earns her name.

Engaging in some excellently angry banging, most people would only have to worry about slipping on the tiles, but unfortunately for the over-sexed officer there are two far more deadly items in this bathhouse; Famke’s thighs.

Displaying the kind of muscle tone previously only seen on prize livestock, her wraparound technique makes sure the guy goes down – and stays there.

Species

While Spider-man opted for punching him the face, Alfred Molina enjoys a far more saucy defeat in this Ben Kingsly starring codswallop from the early 90s.

Here he’s a bizarrely accented scientist hot – in every sense of the word- on the trail of a spawning alien lizard thing; even though he’s fully aware she’s fond of killing her mates.

Of course, there’s always the theory that he took a look at the future career of his Ex-Ghandi boss – in tripe like Bloodrayne -and took the opportunity to cop off with a naked Natasha Hendstridge while it was going.

and of course…this entire movie:

There you have it, from crashing ships to horny zombies, these are movies that work way better than a cold shower! Anyone would think the marleting men had realised that Sex and Death sell, to the point where we can’t possibly keep track – let us know which ones we missed!

Zombie apocalypses may be all the rage these days, but it’s heartening to see that other cretures that go bump in the night aren’t being completely ignored. Witness the new trailer for Daybreakers, with the always value for money Sam Neil leads a particularly stellar cast fighting a Vampire plague ridden Earth.
Let’s face it-any movie with Willem DeFoe firing a crossbow at Dracula has to be worth a look right?

In a frankly shocking display of prejudice, Hollywood has traditionally shunned the dead. Oh sure, there’s plenty of zombie movies out there, but when is the last time you saw a dead guy get the girl-and not eat her brains? STS sets out to redress the balance by bring you Six of The Best: Movie Dead Guys!

Sloth- Se7en

You know its coming. They break into the apartment; they wander around, lifting the plastic sheeting slowly and lurching backwards. If you’ve been to film school in the past 10 years you probably wrote an essay on the use of the Pavlovian response. He’s tied to the bed, looking like Skeletor’s S&M fancying cousin, and he’s dead as a doornail. Lean in closer detective, he smells a bit but there’s nowt to fear here. Until of course…That Ain’t No Corpse Grandma! The only dead body on the list to have forgone that whole pesky dying thing, Sloth gets our vote for possibly the finest ‘Cat-In-Closet’ shock in movie history. Possibly because the regular furry kitty has been replaced by a weeping, insane rictus that’s eaten its own tongue.

Bernie Lomax –Weekend at Bernies

Think of the truly great cinematic actors. Olivier, Brando, DiNiro. Presences that fill the screen with their intensity, burning emotion and conviction into the hearts and minds of the audience. Now ask yourself, honestly. Could any one of those screen heroes have played dead as well as TV regular Terry Kiser? Could you keep a straight face while a horny dog drags you off a balcony by your balls? Or while required to Conga with a paraletically drunk starlet in a bikini? No way, Dustin Hoffman has nothing compared to this guy, which is why he is and ever shall be cinemas greatest dancing corpse!

Bubba Ho-Tep

Yeah Yeah Yeah, there’ve been other mummies. Their was Nephren-Ka in Universal’s The Mummy, there was that bald dude in..er..The Mummy…but none of them was bad enough to wear a ten gallon hat and beat up a Karate-ing Elvis. Ho-Tep sucks the life outta oldies and lightbulbs alike with his mere presence, so it’s ironic that he’s finally despatched by a couple of septegenarians with back – and brain – problems. This ignoble demise doesn’t stop him dressing to kill in the smartest pair of western boots ever to walk outta Memphis.

Evil Ash - Army of Darkness

Despite looking like boil in the bag Spaghetti Bolognese, Evil Ash takes having his arms and legs chopped off in his stride, giving us one of cinemas greatest rising from the grave sequences. He commands a huge army of skeletons despite behaving like the fourth Stooge most of the time, and is the only action figure ever to arrive with Kung-Fu grip AND ‘Detachable Jaw’. Altogether now:” I…Live….AGAAAAAIINNNN!!!!!”

Dracula

Easily the best dressed cadaver in the house, Drac is the only necrotic body you’d ever feel comfortable taking to an opera. Capable of turning into a wolf, he’s his own best friend, which may explain why he’s happy enough sitting alone in his study when he has three nymphomaniac vampire women waiting in the bedroom. Even managing to be cool when George Hamilton is playing him, Drac is the thinking ladie’s corpse.

Death – Bill & Ted’s Bogus Journey

Not content with his more traditional role as king of the dead, Death enjoys taking time out to win the Indy 500 on foot and release terrible bass solo albums. His Bergman-esque style extends to a head as smooth as his ‘Reaping burn a lot of calories’ sculpted behind, and he’s good with both a sickle and a shopping cart. The first dead dude brave enough to attempt transvestism in front of God Almighty, Death is the epitome of both poor sportsmanship and Rot N’ Roll. The only ex-person you’d want to go to a party with.