Parky at the Pictures (In Cinemas 25/4/2013)

Shortly after the German occupation of the western outpost of Belarus, the residents of a small community are forced into the square by Nazi commander Vlad Ivanov to witness the execution of three men caught in the act of sabotaging a railway line. As the camera pans away from the hanging corpses to some bones outside a butcher's shop, the locals file away knowing that one person has escaped punishment for his part in the explosion. Two days later, however, Vladimir Svirski gets the knock on the door he has been expecting and he welcomes childhood friend Vlad Abashin and his partner Sergei Kolesov into his humble cottage. Wife Julia Peresild is terrified and, because she is as convinced as all her neighbours of her husband's collusion, knows that Abashin's reassurances that he will return soon are baseless.

Svirski certainly knows what's in store and asks Abashin if he needs to bring his own shovel, as they head into the woods. Anxious to get things over with as quickly as possible, Abashin agrees to move away from the swamp land on to sandier soil so that it will be easier for Svirski to dig his own grave. However, before Abashin and Kolesov can complete their mission, they are attacked by collaborationist militiamen and both Svirski and Abashin are wounded. As the former scurries away to protect himself, the action flashes back to a scene of Abashin blowing up a truck that he had built in order to prevent it from being commandeered by the Wehrmacht. His courage, therefore, cannot be doubted and Svirski crawls back to his side to establish his own innocence, as Kolesov creeps back to the underground camp to fetch a cart on which to carry the bodies.

According to Svirski's version of events, the hanged men were anything but patriots. They were simply railwaymen who detested their boss and hoped to land him in trouble with his Nazi overlords by destroying a section of the line. Svirski had tried to prevent them from doing anything foolish, but had become an accessory and, thus, when they were captured, he was implicated in their crime. Ivanov had offered him a chance to save himself by becoming an informer, but he had refused. Yet, rather than punishing Svirski with his co-workers, the sadistic officer chose to spare him and send him home, in the knowledge that his fate would be sealed and, most likely, in a less humane manner than by hanging.

By the time Svirski finishes relating his account, however, Abashin has died and the returned Kolesov very much doubts whether official documents will vindicate Svirski when the war is over. As they wonder what to do next, the focus switches to Kolesov, who had betrayed his family by divulging their whereabouts to the Nazis and then watched in horror as their home had been destroyed by a grenade. Yet, he remains loyal to Abashin and wishes to return him for a proper burial. But, before, they can pick their way out of the forest, the pair are ambushed and Kolesov is killed, leaving Svirski alone with his revolver as a mist starts to encircle him.

Concluding that innocence is a double-edged sword in a time of conflict, this is a rather conventional drama compared to longtime documentarist Loznitsa's fictional debut, My Joy (2010), which also harked back to the war in chronicling driver Viktor Nemets's encounters with old soldier Vladimir Golovin and underage prostitute Olga Shuvalova. Here, the brutal incidents in a remote village and a highway patrol point exposed the arrogance and bestiality of men in uniform in a manner that suggested Joseph Conrad's Heart of Darkness as re-imagined by Franz Kafka. But Loznitsa seems this time almost to be lampooning the tone and iconography of the Soviet war film, with even moments of supposed contentment, such as Abashin carving wooden animals for his young son being presented as an act of Stakhanovite fortitude. Even the touching, but throwaway detail of Peresild insisting that her condemned husband takes an onion and some lard in case he gets hungry is couched in terms of Eisensteinian significance.

Such knowing solemnity recalls the delicate debunking of the Meryan funeral rites in Aleksei Fedorchenko's Silent Souls and it is played with equally laudable conviction by Loznitsa's capable cast. However, the savage injustices and pitiable ironies of combat are considered with due seriousness in a screenplay that also rigorously examines the extent to which morality and honour are the first casualties of any war. Romanian cinematographer Oleg Mutu's autumnal palette and prowling camera moves (there are just 72 edit points in the entire film) reinforce this brooding atmosphere, along with Kirill Shuvalov's production design and Vladimir Golvnitski's exceptional use of sound (which is even more crucial in a picture without music). But what is most arresting here is the way in which Loznitsa restores veracity to caricatures on all sides of the fight and highlights the sad fact that humanity is doomed to make the same mistakes as it stumbles from one conflict to the next.

Argentina has been much in the news over the last month or so, and the release of Pablo Trapero's film about a saintly priest working with the poor of Buenos Aires could not have been better timed. In truth, White Elephant is rather conventional in terms of character and plot. But it, nonetheless, provides a fascinating insight into the relationship between the Catholic Church and the municipal authorities backed by over the last four decades by both militarist and democratic regimes. Once again demonstrating the empathy with the lower orders that made Lion's Den (2008) and Carancho (2010) so effective, this confirms Trapero as one of Argentina's most influential film-makers. But one can't help wondering what has happened to the edginess that made Crane World (1999), La Bonaerense (2002), La Familia Rodante (2004) and Born and Bred (2006) so cuttingly compelling.

The action opens dramatically, with liberal priest Ricardo Darín having a brain scan in a Buenos Aires hospital. Meanwhile, somewhere in the Amazonian jungle, Belgian missionary Jérémie Renier is being hunted down by paramilitaries and he weeps at own his cowardice as he cowers in the marshes while the villagers who had been sheltering him have their humble dwellings torched before they are pitilessly slaughtered. Exhausted and afraid, Renier is taken to a medical outpost and Darín travels across the country to bring him back to the Hidden City, a shanty town at the heart of the capital that has grown up around a half-completed hospital that is known to the locals as the White Elephant.

Renier is shown around by Darín's trusted associates, Walter Jakob and Mauricio Minetti, and is dismayed by the grinding poverty of the 30,000 residents and the threat their ramshackle homes face from repeated flooding. However, he doesn't quite get the entrenched nature of the rivalry between the different clans within the settlement, even though social worker Martina Gusmán explains the situation on a visit to the housing project on which everyone is co-operating, even though the council has fallen behind with its payments and the specialist construction workers are threatening to quit unless their wage arrears are met.

Ashamed of his unworthiness in the face of such suffering, Renier breaks down in confession and Darín urges him not to give up hope and to pray for guidance about what his new mission should be. Keen to make a good impression, Renier attends a drug counselling session and is delighted to get a laugh by teaching the chirpy Federico Barga and his pals some French swear words. However, he also learns about the feud between gang leaders Pablo Gatti and Susana Varela and, when he hears that the former's nephew has been killed in a street fight, he ignores the advice he has been given about not venturing into the shanties and is given safe passage into Varela's stronghold to retrieve the body.

Accompanying Renier through checkpoints and labyrinthine passageways, Jakob helps him carry the corpse in a wheelbarrow. But Darín is furious with Renier for breaching protocol and dealing directly with the druglords and he sulks at being reprimanded in front of his new friends. He throws himself into his duties and is distributing donations with Gusmán when they are caught in a gun battle and have to squeeze into a confined space for cover. A combination of lust and relief lands them in bed together. But they are soon inseparable and Renier admits that he would have liked to have had a family.

Gusmán is touched by his affection for Barga, who goes into rehab to beat his habit and is delighted when Renier comes to visit him. However, things are not going as smoothly on the building site, with the workers close to walking out. Gusmán discovers that the diocese has a stake in the company and pleads with Darín to convince Bishop Raul Ramos into helping out. But he is keener to get Darín to find proof of miracles so that a case can be made to Rome for the beatification of Carlos Mugica, a priest who worked in the slums in the 1970s and was murdered for his pains. Yet, even though Darín meets an old lady who claims to have been cured by Mugica, Ramos is reluctant to discuss industrial matters when he comes to the Hidden City to consecrate Julio Zarza as a new priest.

Shortly after this celebration, the police raid the enclave and Gatti is arrested. A seething Barga comes to the presbytery and threatens Darín's life for betraying his boss. But it turns out that Jakob is an undercover cop and Darín is distressed for trusting a man whose decency disguised his purpose. Moreover, he is powerless to defend him and is fully aware that Barga is responsible for his murder. The police also suspect Barga and use the unrest following the withdrawal of the contractors as an excuse to launch a second raid, which is repelled by residents barricading themselves into the site and announcing that they will finish the accommodation blocks themselves.

Gusmán supports the campaign. But her resolve waivers when she learns that Darín has collapsed during the stand-off and been rushed to hospital. He begs Renier to decide between Gusmán and God, as he wants him to take his place at the Hidden City, and he has to steel his courage when Gusmán tells him she has had enough of being overworked and under-appreciated. But, when Darín discharges himself to return to his parishioners, Renier knows where his duty lays and he helps him try to get the wounded Barga to a hospital on the other side of a police barricade. Despite Darín's entreaty for everyone to remain calm, shots are fired and Renier is bundled into the back of a squad car.

Several months later, he is released from an enforced retreat in a Patagonian monastery and Gusmán comes to meet him. They go on a march in memory of Darín and, as the picture ends, Renier sits in his empty office and wonders how he can possibly fill his shoes.

Exposing the corruption and lethargy of those at the top of the civic and church hierarchies, this is a hard-hitting and well-intentioned saga that is played with laudable conviction. However, while the script seeks to touch on as many contentious issues as possible, Trapero fails to prioritise them. Moreover, clichés undermine every aspect of the storyline, with Darín's incurable illness being as predictable as Renier and Gusmán's irresistible affair and the eruption of police-gang violence. Much more might have been made of the tenets of Liberation Theology and the comparison between Mugica (who operated under the Junta) and Darín, who finds that things have scarcely improved in the Kirchner era. But Trapero shies away from political and philosophical debate in focusing on the strengths and weaknesses of mere mortals, as they try to survive in what is essentially a hell on Earth. 

Exposing the corruption and lethargy of those at the top of the civic and church hierarchies, this is a hard-hitting and well-intentioned saga that is played with laudable conviction. However, while the script seeks to touch on as many contentious issues as possible, Trapero fails to prioritise them. Moreover, clichés undermine every aspect of the storyline, with Darín's incurable illness being as predictable as Renier and Gusmán's irresistible affair and the eruption of police-gang violence. Much more might have been made of the tenets of Liberation Theology and the comparison between Mugica (who operated under the Junta) and Darín, who finds that things have scarcely improved in the Kirchner era. But Trapero shies away from political and philosophical debate in focusing on the strengths and weaknesses of mere mortals, as they try to survive in what is essentially a hell on Earth. 

The repetitious use of Michael Nyman's insistent and rather bombastic score hardly helps matters, although Guillermo Nieto's cinematography and Juan Pedro de Gaspar's production design are exemplary. But what most lets this sincere picture down is the lurching tonal shift from social realist drama to high-octane thriller and, while Trapero stages the police crackdowns with chilling authenticity, too many of the villainous on either side of the law are ciphers. Consequently, this lacks the potency of such Brazilian studies of criminous penury as Fernando Meirelles and Kátia Lund's's City of God (2002).

Gene Hackman had just played a reverend in Ronald Neame's disaster epic, The Poseidon Adventure (1972), before he teamed with Al Pacino in Jerry Schatzberg's idiosyncratic road movie, Scarecrow (1973). This remains somewhat underrated, in spite of sharing the Palme d'or at Cannes with Alan Bridges's equally overlooked adaptation of LP Hartley's class study, The Hireling. In many ways, this follows Dennis Hopper's Easy Rider and John Schlesinger's Midnight Cowboy (both 1969) in updating the myth of a better tomorrow peddled by John Steinbeck's picaresque novel Of Mice and Men, which had been filmed by Lewis Milestone in 1939. Even more clearly than Wyatt and Billy or Ratso Rizzo and Joe Buck, Max Millan and Francis Lionel Delbuchi are a latterday George and Lennie. But, even though they have some amusing, some disturbing and some poignant moments en route from California to Detroit, Schatzberg and screenwriter Garry Michael White are always too aware of what Max and Lion symbolise and, consequently, they fail to evolve into characters the audience can genuinely care about.

Released from San Quentin after serving six years for assault and wearing every stitch of clothing he owns, Gene Hackman is on his way to Pittsburgh, where he plans to open a car wash with the money he has saved from his prison job. While trying to hitch on a deserted road, he is joined by Al Pacino, who has just returned from running away to sea and is making for Detroit to reunite with girlfriend Penelope Allen and meet the child he has never seen. Uncertain whether it is a girl or a boy, Pacino has bought the five year-old a lamp, which he clutches in a box under his arm, as he tries to catch Hackman's eye and start a conversation.

A volatile loner, who simply wishes to be left alone, Hackman tries to ignore him. But, such is Pacino's persistence that the pair wind up eating together in a roadside diner and, as he orders just about everything on the menu, Hackman invites Pacino to become a partner in his car wash business. Grateful to have made a friend, Pacino readily accepts. But he insists on the detour to Detroit and Hackman is happy to oblige because Pacino makes him laugh, especially when he compares them to a couple of scarecrows who rely on goodwill rather than fear to keep the birds away from the fields.

Bailing out of camper van belonging to hippy parents Al Cingolani and Rutanya Alda, they arrive in Denver, where Hackman takes Pacino to meet his sister, Dorothy Tristan, who runs a ramshackle junkyard. Hackman has the hots for her best friend, Ann Wedgeworth, and they manage to slip away from the clingy Pacino long enough to have sex and leave him mooching around the bric-a-brac in the yard. That night, they go to a nearby bar, where Pacino enjoys the feeling of belonging and watches open-mouthed as people drink, dance and let their hair down. However, when he tries to join in the revelry outside, he gets picked by some of Tristan and Wedgeworth's possessive hick neighbours and Hackman starts a punch-up that lands them both in an honour farm for a month.

Blaming his sentence on Pacino's helplessness, Hackman ignores him from the moment they are billeted in a dormitory. Pacino tries desperately to make amends and his eagerness attracts the attention of Richard Lynch, a tough-looking customer who recognises Hackman's prison savvy and befriends Pacino in a bid to drive a wedge between them. He ensures that Pacino gets a cushy job, while Hackman is sent to sweat in a pig pen at a scorched extremity of the compound. But, when Hackman learns that Lynch has been trying to abuse Pacino, he rushes to his aid with both fists, even though he knows his term will be increased.

Following their release, Hackman pays a visit to hooker Eileen Brennan to boost his spirits and promises Pacino that everything will be fine once they reach Pittsburgh. He even does a striptease in a bar to prevent another incident, when the locals take exception to his antics and Pacino watches him admiringly, as he defuses the situation. Trusting his friend implicitly, Pacino decides to call ahead to let Allen know he is coming. However, she has married since he was last in touch and, in the hope he will stay away and while looking guiltily at her son playing happily in the next room, she tells him that she had a miscarriage and that the baby couldn't get into heaven because she had been unable to get it baptised.

Pacino is devastated by the news, as he had invested so much in having someone depend upon him. He leaves the lamp on the bonnet of a car next to the callbox and quickly descends into a near-catatonic state. Hackman entrusts him to the state mental hospital and, bellowing at the staff to warn them to take good care of his pal, he vows to get his business established and come back with enough money to pay for Pacino's treatment. However, given what we have already seen of this luckless pair and knowing Hackman's predilection for trouble, one is left suspecting that good intentions are going to be insufficient.

Many road movies feature ill-matched travelling companions. But Hackman and Pacino are actually heading in opposite directions for much of the movie. A loner by experience, Hackman comes to value Pacino's friendship and even starts to embrace his more optimistic worldview. However, Pacino reaches the shattering realisation that he is alone during his conversation with Allen and not even Hackman's sincere camaraderie can rouse his from his despair. Yet, for all the bravura and amiability of the performances, Hackman and Pacino always seem to be acting. What's more, they seem to be competing to show off whose brand of the Method is the most potent.

Photographer-turned-director Jerry Schatzberg and cinematographer Vilmos Zsigmond also strain for effect in shooting so many supposedly naturalistic sequences through a self-consciously arty haze. Nevertheless, the vistas are often imposing, with the opening passage on the wide open road in the back of beyond being particularly impressive. It also contains the best gag - as Hackman carefully negotiates a barbed wire fence, only to disappear from view into a shallow ditch on the other side - and suggests that this odd couple are as much Stan and Ollie as Vladimir and Estragon. But, while the freewheeling is compelling, the ending is disappointingly melodramatic. Yet such downbeat denouements were typical of the New American Cinema that burned brightly and all too briefly between the collapse of the studio system and the beginning of the blockbuster age in which Hollywood is still trapped. Thus, this is very much a snapshot of its time and it is dispiriting to realise that a company like Warner Bros will probably never make many like it ever again.

Released in the same year as Scarecrow and directed by William Friedkin, who had worked with Hackman on The French Connection (1971), The Exorcist changed the face of mainstream horror. However, the genre had already become a good deal gorier in the early 1960s, thanks to independents like Herschell Gordon Lewis following the lead set by Hammer. It would be fascinating to know what the 83 year-old Lewis makes of pictures like The ABCs of Death, which exploit cutting-edge CGI and make-up effects to take conceits not entirely dissimilar to the ones he pioneered half a century ago to gleefully gratuitous extremes.

The premise devised by producers Ant Timpson and Tim League couldn't be more straightforward. But, in giving each director a letter and the complete freedom to make any film they wanted providing it riffed on the theme of death, they made themselves hostages to fortune, as the abecedarian structure deprived them of any editorial control and not only prevented them from moderating the tone and pace of the running order, but also from hiding the weaker vignettes. Any portmanteau is going to be inconsistent, especially when it includes contributions from 15 countries with very different notions of the horrific. But, while this one has plenty of ingenious, disconcerting and amusing moments, it also has more than its share of misfires, as well as a couple of out-and-out abominations. Consequently, this is often a film to be endured rather than enjoyed.

Spaniard Nacho Vigalondo (who remains best known for Timecrimes, 2007) gets things underway with `A is for Apocalypse', in which long-suffering wife Eva Llorach stabs, scalds and batters bedridden husband Miguel Insua because Armageddon is imminent and she can longer afford to wait for the poison she has been feeding him for months to take effect. Compatriot Adrián García Bogliano (Penumbra, 2011) also adopts the shaggy dog approach for `B is for Bigfoot', which sees Harold Torres and girlfriend Alejandra Urdiaín get a big surprise from Pablo Guisa Koestinger when they concoct a tale about a child-abducting abominable snowman in a bid to scare Torres's young cousin Greta Martinez into going to sleep at 8 o'clock.

Chilean Ernesto Díaz Espinoza (Kiltro, 2006) presents a tale of the unexpected in `C is for Cycle', as Matías Oviedo makes a bloody discovery near a garden hedge after he being sent to investigate a noise in the night by wife Juanita Ringeling. Coming to hours later, he returns indoors to see his doppelgänger in bed with Ringeling and about to be dispatched on the same fool's errand. Much more troubling, however, is `D is for Dogfight', in which Californian Marcel Sarmiento (Deadgirl, 2007) makes exceptional use of slow motion and oblique cutting to establish the bond between man and beast when boxer Steve Berens recognises that the opponent snarling crook Chris Hampton has put up for a backstreet bout (whose spectators include a small girl) is his long-lost pet.

One trusts that no animals were harmed in the making of this unsettling contribution, which is followed by `E is for Exterminate', a lightweight offering by Texan actor-director Angela Bettis (Roman, 2006) that plays the odd trick with perspective as Brenden McVeigh pays in pseudo-Buñuelian fashion for trying to kill a spider on the loose in his apartment. Much more effective, although undeniably strange, is `F is for Fart' by the prolific Japanese auteur Noboru Iguchi, whose many cult favourites include The Machine Girl (2008), RoboGeisha (2009), Mutant Girl Squad (2010) and Dead Sushi (2012). However, this fleeting tale is closer in tone to Zombie Ass: Toilet of the Dead (2011), as it reveals how model student Arisa Nakamura asks adored teacher Yui Murata to break wind in her face so can perish from something more pleasurable than the toxic gas unleashed by an earthquake.

Ending with the pair naked and kissing inside a yellow cloud, this merrily eccentric item is followed by Andrew Traucki's `G is for Gravity', a predictably nautical follow up to Black Water (2007) and The Reef (2010) that uses point-of-view shots to show how an unseen Aussie drowns off his surfboard while weighed down by bricks. But the wackiness is quickly restored by Thomas Cappelen Malling (Norwegian Ninja, 2010) in `H is for Hydro-Electric Diffusion', which sees a British bulldog in RAF apparel (Johannes Ellertsen) relaxing in a strip club whose foxy performer (Martine Årnes Sørensen) turns out to be a Nazi agent, who connects him to a fiendish contraption and seems set to eliminate him when he receives renewed strength from a locket motto urging him to keep calm and carry on.

Having made an excellent impression with We Are What We Are (2010), Mexican Jorge Michel Grau proves himself again to be thoughtful and provocative with `I is for Ingrown', which centres on a jealous husband (Octavio Michel) giving a lethal injection to the wife (Adriana Paz) restrained in the bathtub. Exposing the fact that, according to Grau, femicide so often goes unpunished in his homeland, this uncompromising depiction of cold-blooded murder contrasts with the more mischievous attitude to brutality adopted by Yûdai Yamaguchi (Deadball, 2011) in `J is for Jidai-geki', which takes its title from the Japanese term for period drama and alternates between the agonised expressions of samurai Daisuke Sasaki and the barely suppressed giggles of Takashi Nishina, who turns out to be the swordsman waiting to behead him at the climax of his act of seppuku.

The mood changes considerably for `K is for Klutz', in which Danish animator Anders Morgenthaler (Princess, 2006) chronicles a young woman's increasingly frantic and occasionally hilarious efforts to flush a recalcitrant poop. However, `L is for Libido' by Indonesian newcomer Timo Tjahjanto (Macabre, 2009) immediately plunges viewers into a much more sinister world, in which Paul Foster finds himself strapped to a chair and forced to compete with rivals in a masturbation contest with the loser being killed by a spike shooting upwards from beneath their seat. What makes the competition watched by a masked audience all the more discomfiting, however, is the fact that the stimulation provided by (Kelly Tandiono) becomes increasingly grotesque and the exhausted Pedrero is almost relieved when he finds himself on the dais being straddled by Putri Sukardi wielding a chainsaw.

Delawarean Ti West (The Innkeepers, 2011) similarly pushes back the boundaries of taste with `M is for Miscarriage', which follows (Tipper Newton) as she charges around her home in distress to find a plunger to unblock her bloody toilet bowl. Mercifully, Thai Banjong Pisanthanakun (Shutter, 2004) relieves the tension with `N is for Nuptials', in which (Wiwat Krongrasri) gets more than he bargained for when he trains a caged bird to propose to girlfriend (Om-Arnin Peerachakajornpatt) and it proceeds to deliver a verbatim account of a tryst with his mistress. By contrast, the mood is much more sensual as Bruno Forzani and Hélène Cattet (Amer, 2009) concentrate on `la petite mort' in `O is for Orgasm', in which they crosscut artily between close-ups of the body parts of Manon Beuchot and Xavier Magot against the sound of cracking whips and her moans.

The scene switches to Surinam for `P is for Pressure', which has been slickly directed by Brit Simon Rumley (Red, White & Blue, 2010) and centres on single mother Yvanna Hilton, who works as a prostitute to feed her three children. She is propositioned by a man in a bar and takes his card, even though she turns him down. Back home, however, one of her male friends terrorises her kids and steals the money she has hidden in their shack. So, she calls the number on the card and shoots a film in which she has to crush the head of a kitten with her high heels. Once again, no animal welfare codes were breached and the same is doubtless true of `Q is for Quack', in which co-directors Adam Wingard (Pop Skull, 2007) and Simon Barrett have writers' block and cannot come up with an idea for their segment of the anthology. Eventually, they decide to shoot a duck in a cage and the boom operator watches nervously as Wingard loses his nerve. But things quickly spiral out of control when Barrett's gun jams.

By all accounts, cinema is the victim in `R is for Removed', a dense allegory by Srdjan Spasojevic (A Serbian Film, 2010) that has Slobodan Bestic hooked up to an intravenous drip so that a doctor can scalpel thin slices of his skin to be used as 35mm film. He is shown to a crowd of women, who cheer hysterically and try to touch him. However, when his nurse leaves the room, Bestic kills the doctor and gathers what he can of what has been stolen from his body and makes his escape. Slaughtering anyone in his path, Bestic reaches a railway line and attempts to push back a small train. He collapses under it, as blood begins falling from the sky.  If this combatively complex isn't to your liking, it's unlikely you will take to `S is for Speed', either, as Brit Jake West (Evil Aliens, 2005) fastens on to an abduction in a Stateside desert. Darenzia pushes handcuffed Lucy Clements in the boot of her car and unleashes a flamethrower at hooded pursuer Peter Pedrero. However, no matter how fast she drives, she cannot shake his car and, when she runs out of petrol, Darenzia pleads with Pedrero to take Clements instead and he insists it is not her time. As he touches Darenzia's hand, the action cuts to a squalid bedsit, where Clements reaches across her dead friend's corpse to remove a small bag of drugs from her bra. As she cooks the contents, she is transported to the desert.

Leeds-based Claymation specialist Lee Hardcastle (Chainsaw Maid 2, 2010) offers a little grim levity in `T is for Toilet', in which Mum (Kim Richardson) and Dad (Hardcastle) struggle to understand why their young son is so afraid of the lavatory. A quick peek into his dreams explains all, as he is convinced it's a monster that will gobble his parents up. But, when the boy gets up in the middle of the night, he becomes the loo's unexpected victim, much to the horror of his watching father. Also keeping the British end up is Ben Wheatley, who follows up the crowd-pleasing Down Terrace (2009), Kill List (2011) and Sightseers (2012) with `U is for Unearthed', the uncomplicated climax to a reign of terror that assumes the viewpoint of a figure lashing out at the angry mob chasing him and captures his agony as he is held down and has his fangs pulled, a stake driven into his heart and his head chopped off with an axe.

Decapitation recurs in `V is for Vagitus', a boldly ambitious sci-fi chiller from Canadian Kaare Andrews (Altitude, 2010), which envisages that most women will be infertile in New Vancouver by 2039. Cop Kyra Zagorsky has just had her application to have a child denied, but she is decidedly conflicted when her robot sidekick kills a young family and she is entrusted with protecting a resilient baby boy whom her superiors call `the prophet'. If this resembles a trailer for a future feature, `W is for WTF' feels like something lifted off YouTube, as director Jon Schnepp (the creator of such TV shows as Metalocalypse and The Venture Bros) ponders potential subjects for his contribution with partner Tommy Blacha and the zombie clowns, giant walruses, warrior women and flesh-eating infants they pitch start tipping news reporter Dink O'Neal to the verge of insanity.

This delirious montage gives way to the standout contribution, `X is for XXL', by French director Xavier Gens (Frontier(s), 2007). Having endured constant taunting because of her weight and unprepossessing looks, middle-aged Sissi Duparc gets home and raids the fridge for comfort food. As she gorges, however, she sees a commercial featuring the bikini-clad Yasmine Meddour, whose image is plastered all over Paris like a hectoring reminder of her own imperfections. So, Duparc vomits into the sink and climbs into the shower with a carving knife to sculpt her torso into a grotesque facsimile of Meddour's.

While Gens judges the balance of content and style to perfection, Canadian Jason Eisener (Hobo With a Shotgun, 2011) overdoes the latter in `Y is for Youngbuck', in which Rylan Logan exacts his revenge on creepy school janitor Tim Dunn by attacking him in the gym after basketball practice with the antlered head of the deer he had forced him to shoot. However, Yoshihiro Nishimura goes over the top in all directions in wrapping things up with `Z is for Zetsumetsu', which takes its title from the Japanese word for `extinction'. Admirers of Tokyo Gore Police (2008), Vampire Girl vs Frankenstein Girl (2009) and Helldriver (2011) would expect nothing less than excess and this abstract analysis of Japanese history between Hiroshima and Fukushima flits frantically between images of bare-breasted Nazis, killer genitalia, rice-spattered lesbians, assassinated salarymen, a demented variation of Dr Strangelove and a mammarian lampoon of 9/11. The intention is clearly to shock. But, like much else in this portmanteau, the disparity between intention and implementation is disappointingly wide. 

What is fascinating, however, is the amount of thematic and stylistic overlap between the film-makers from so many different nations. Yet, for all the scatological references, beheadings, fast cutting and first-person subjectivity, there is no found footage and no hint of the supernatural. But what this exercise demonstrates most intriguingly is how difficult directors who started out making shorts find it to return to the form after moving into features. Admittedly, the slots are much smaller here than in comparable ventures like Dead of Night (1945), Dr Terror's House of Horrors (1964), Necronomicon (1993) and V/H/S (2012). But too few seem to be able to combine brevity with wit and one awaits the announced sequel with a mix of curiosity and trepidation.