Parky at the Pictures (DVD 15/5/2014)

ANTISOCIAL.
The perils of social networking are laid bare in this serviceable chiller from producer-turned-director Cody Calahan. University pals Michelle Mylett, Cody Thompson, Adam Christie, Romaine White and Ana Alic gather to celebrate New Year and commiserate with Mylett, who has just broken up with the boyfriend who got her pregnant and deleted her page on the Social Redroom site after she was subjected to some vicious trolling. However, it soon transpires that the Internet is helping to spread a virus that essentially turns victims into zombies and the quintet become dangerously reliant on teen nerd Laurel Brandes for online guidance before the axe-wielding Mylett realises it's going to take more than a little auto-trepanning to save the day.

Terror-inducing technology has long been the preserve of Japanese horror, but Calahan and co-writer Chad Archibald seek to put a Canadian spin on the malevolent website scenario in this proficient, but allegorically superficial psychological slasher. Riffing on everything from George A. Romero's The Crazies (1975) to David Bruckner, Dan Bush and Jacob Gentry's The Signal (2007) and Bruce McDonald's Pontypool (2009), Calahan makes effective use of the confined space and generates a palpable sense of menace outside its walls. But, even though Mylett makes a spirited final girl and no film containing DIY brain surgery can be dismissed entirely, things become increasingly predictable once the body count starts to rise.

DRACULA: THE DARK PRINCE.
Bram Stoker's celebrated novel is given a sword-and-sorcery makeover in Pearry Reginald Teo's bold, but mediocrely realised reboot. Doomed to roam the earth as a vampire after renouncing God following the murder of his wife (Kelly Wenham), 14th-century crusader prince Dracula (Luke Roberts) dwells in an invisible castle in Wallachia with scheming factotum Renfield (Stephen Hogan), armoured warrior Wrath (Vasilescu Valentin) and a bevy of dutiful concubines. However, sisters Alina (Wenham) and Esme (Holly Earl) have teamed with Leonardo Van Helsing (Jon Voight) and maverick slayer Andros (Richard Ashton) to remove the scourge forever. The problem is, a dashing thief named Lucian (Ben Robson) not only has designs on Alina, but also on the Lightbringer, the staff with which Cain slew Abel and the only weapon capable of ending Dracula's reign of terror.

Straying in both décor and costume from its supposed 16th-century setting, this resolutely unfrightening melodrama consistently betrays a poverty of imagination to match its budgetary constraint. Screenwriter Steven Paul tries to reinvigorate the legend with borrowings from Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Game of Thrones. But, despite the best efforts of an earnest cast, the cheapness of the CGI effects and the staginess of the combat sequences leave this looking decidedly threadbare. Teo makes little use of his Romanian locations, but what proves most enervating is the fallibility of a nosfeatu whose penchant for bad advice seems more voracious than his appetite for fresh blood.

FOSSIL.
Documentarist Alex Walker makes an assured switch to features with this simmering thriller, which follows unhappily married John Sackville and Edith Bukovics to the South of France, as they seek to get over the anguish of a miscarriage. She stays behind, while he visits a nearby medieval village. But a second outing sees Sackville bump his head on a fossil during an argument and the pair return to their villa to discover American Grant Masters and his French girlfriend, Carla Juri, cavorting in their pool. Thinking the interlopers might help relieve the tension, Bukovics invites them to stay. But their amourousness sparks a rivalry between Sackville and Masters that results in the revelation of a long-suppressed secret and an horrific act that has grave consequences for the entire quartet.

Borrowing liberally from such classics as Roman Polanski's Knife in the Water (1962), Jean-Luc Godard's Le Mépris (1963) and Jacques Deray's La Piscine (1969), Walker brings some arthouse savvy to what is essentially a formulaic scenario. The dialogue often rings hollow, while the denouement is more than a little contrived. But the cast is splendid and Ollie Downey's shimmering visuals and Patrick Burniston's lowering score enable Walker to build the suspense, while also offering some sly insights into class, sex, keeping confidences, communication and the comfort of strangers.

FRANKENSTEIN: THE TRUE STORY.
Co-scripted by Christopher Isherwood and Don Bachardy, this inventive tinkering with Mary Shelley's 1818 novel was originally shown on television in two parts. It opens with medical student Victor Frankenstein (Leonard Whiting) telling fiancée Elizabeth Fanschawe (Nicola Pagett) that he would sell his soul if he could bring back the brother who had died in a boating accident. But he soon discovers that he might not have to contract such a reckless bargain, as tutor Henry Clerval (David McCallum) is working on an electro-regeneration process in London. Clerval succumbs to a heart attack before the pair can animate a creature assembled from the body parts of the victims of a mining disaster. But Frankenstein misinterprets his mentor's unfinished notes and brings to life a second Adam (Michael Sarrazin), who combines physical beauty with childlike curiosity. However, the flaws in the process soon begin to manifest themselves and Frankenstein turns for help to Clerval's great rival, Dr John Polidori (James Mason), who only agrees to co-operate if the apparatus can be used to revive Agatha (Jane Seymour), the daughter of a blind man who was crushed beneath the wheels of a speeding carriage.

Following James Whale's Bride of Frankenstein (1935) in demonstrating the importance of respect in giving an iconic story some new life, Jack Smight's teleplay is intelligently scripted, handsomely mounted and played with knowing gravitas. Much of it was filmed at Pinewood (not a million miles from the Hammer studios at Bray) and there is a telltale quality to Arthur Ibbeson's cinematography, Wilfrid Shingleton's production design and Roy Whybrow's special effects. Isherwood and Bachardy were supposedly unhappy with Smight and Whiting and wanted John Boorman to direct and Jon Voight to star. But both rise to the challenge admirably and it is a constant pleasure to see such familiar faces as John Gielgud, Ralph Richardson, Michael Wilding, Agnes Moorehead, Margaret Leighton, Tom Baker, Peter Sallis and Yootha Joyce popping up in key supporting roles.

I, FRANKENSTEIN.
If Mary Shelley's spirit ever gets restless, it's a safe bet that writer-director Stuart Beattie will be the first person it would think of haunting after this execrable adaptation of a graphic novel by Kevin Grevioux, who stands a good chance of being second on the list, as this monstrosity is essentially a work of cine-literary desecration that is all the more unpardonable by dint of the fact it has been so shoddily done.

The story opens in the 1790s with the Creature (Aaron Eckhart) biding farewell to his maker, Dr Victor Frankenstein (Aden Young), and wandering off into the wilderness to forget. Two centuries later, however, he strays into a city where the cathedral gargoyles ruled over by Queen Leonore (Miranda Otto) have been entrusted with keeping Adam (as they know the monster) and his creator's lab notes out of the clutches of a band of shape-shifting demons led by Naberius (Bill Nighy), who is amusing himself by masequerading as a tea-sipping tycoon while waiting for electro-physicist Yvonne Strahovski to crack the secret of regeneration or his minions to capture Adam so that he can bring about Armageddon.

And that's pretty much it, as far as plot is concerned. Yet almost every exchange is so stuffed with exposition that Beattie might have been better off saving himself a fortune on risibly false-looking CGI and presenting the entire sorry mess on the radio. The target fanboy demographic will doubtless relish the endless explosions and whizzy light displays. But there is something depressing about watching an actor of Eckhart's capabilities being required to do little more than strike poses with his shirt off, while Nighy is reduced to camping it up as the urbane spectre whose fleeting flashes of sardonic wit fail to alleviate the bloated sense of significance that merely makes the picture seem more ludicrous.

Michelle McGahey's production design appears impressive, but it's hard to tell as Beattie keeps Ross Emery's camera moving so rapidly that only experienced computer gamers will be able to take in the scenery while following action that has been cut to ribbons by editor Marcus D'Arcy and almost rendered inaudible (if only) by the combination of Andrew Plain's cacophonous sound design and Reinhold Heil and Johnny Klimek's pounding score. Beattie is best known as a screenwriter on the Pirates of the Caribbean franchise and this is only his second directorial outing after Tomorrow, When the War Began (2010). However, one suspects, he will have to be at his most erudite to persuade someone to let him wield the megaphone a third time. 

IN FEAR.
A romantic outing goes horribly awry in the debuting Jeremy Lovering's In Fear, a claustrophobic real-time thriller that confines Iain De Caestecker and Alice Englert in a Range Rover in the depths of the Irish countryside. Only dating for two weeks, De Caestecker hopes to persuade Englert to share a hotel room before they meet up with some friends for a music festival. But the satnav and a downloaded map prove useless when a fork in the road and some unhelpful signs keep bringing the pair back to the same spot. As the tension mounts between the strangers, Englert convinces herself that she can see figures stalking them. Yet, they readily offer Allen Leech a lift after knocking him down and he convinces them that he is also on the run from the sinister locals De Caestecker and Englert encountered in a remote pub.

In a bid to ensure that the action remained as chillingly authentic as possible, Lovering shot in sequence and refused to tell his leads what was going to happen next. This sounds good in theory, but, by withholding crucial information from De Caestecker and Englert, they are left uncertain what level of threat they are facing and what intensity of dread they are supposed to be exhibiting. It could be argued that Lovering and Leech are playing the same game. But Lovering seems more willing to bend the rules and his decision to give the audience a more privileged view of proceedings than the protagonists diminishes the suspense and raises the odd hackle about smug manipulation.

The leads do well in the circumstances, while David Katznelson's  photography, Julian Slater's sound design and Jonathan Amos's editing are more effective than Daniel Pemberton and Roly Porter's cornball electric organ score. But the plot becomes increasingly preposterous, as Leech seeks to sew dissent between the nascent lovers and Lovering cleaves overly stubbornly to the piece of pub toilet graffiti that reads, `If a man hunts an innocent person, the evil will fall back on him and the fool will be destroyed,' and Englert unwisely mocks with her scribbled addendum, `Or not.'

MACHETE KILLS.
Indulging in too many adolescent conceits and in-jokes, low-budget maestro Robert Rodriguez seriously loses his way with this sequel to Machete (2010). Hauled into the Oval Office after failing with Jessica Alba to wipe out the arms dealers supplying the Mexican drug cartels, maverick Danny Trejo is dispatched by President Charlie Sheen to capture psychopath Demián Bichir before he unleashes a nuclear warhead at Washington. However, having infiltrated the Acapulco compound, Trejo and agent Amber Heard (who is posing as a beauty queen) discover that the launch device has been implanted in Bichir's heart by its sinister creator, Mel Gibson.

Bookended by a spoof trailer for Machete Kills Again...In Space, this seems less intent on telling a story than finding excuses for stellar cameo spots. Thus, Sofia Vergara plays a brothel madam sporting some deadly lingerie, while Antonio Banderas, Cuba Gooding, Jr., Walter Goggins and Lady Gaga (who was nominated for a Razzie for her woeful efforts) all crop up as assassins. Trejo reprises his deadpan schtick to solid effect, while Michelle Rodriguez also returns as the leader of the illegal immigrant aid network. Moreover, Sheen and Gibson gnaw the scenery sportingly in a bid to repair their damaged reputations. But, while everyone appears to be having a fine old time, the endless round of shootouts and lazy gags soon becomes wearying.

PENTHOUSE NORTH.
Originally known as Blindsided, Joseph Ruben's hugely derivative thriller opens in Iraq, where photojournalist Michelle Monaghan loses her sight in a suicide bombing. Fussed over by boyfriend Andrew W. Walker, she prepares for a party to thank her friends for their kindness. But he is murdered while she is out buying champagne and the showering Monaghan is menaced by Barry Sloane, who demands to know the whereabouts of the diamonds that Walker stole from him. Managing to flee, Monaghan runs into the arms of Michael Keaton, who just happens to be in cahoots with Sloane. However, they each plan to keep the stash for themselves and, when her pet cat gets thrown off the balcony, Monaghan vows to go down fighting.

Ever since Alan Arkin came looking for drugs in Audrey Hepburn's apartment in Terence Young's Wait Until Dark (1967), the `blind girl in peril' premise has been done to death. In truth, this was itself something of a knock-off from the `bedridden woman in danger' scenario conceived by Lucille Walker for Barbara Stanwyck and Burt Lancaster in Anatole Litvak's Sorry, Wrong Number (1948). But Ruben has nothing new to add here, as he ticks off the inevitable incidents that Monaghan must endure before vanquishing her foes. The special effects work is shoddy, while David Loughery's script is studded with implausibilities and peters out just as it should become unbearably tense. Monaghan does well enough as the surprisingly unsympathetic victim, but she is roundly upstaged by Keaton, who is too good an actor to be wasting his talents in pulp of this calibre.

THE RISE.
Initially known as Wasteland, debutant Rowan Athale's heist thriller defies early fears that it is going to be another Tarantino-cum-Ritchiesque rip-off of Bryan Singer's The Usual Suspects (1995) by grounding this laddish romp in some gritty social realism. It's evident from the outset that Luke Treadaway's bid to wreak revenge on the man who landed him in prison has misfired, as the action flashes back from his interrogation by DI Timothy Spall. But Athale's slick script provides plenty of twists, as Treadaway returns to Yorkshire and seeks to get back together with girlfriend Vanessa Kirby, while also persuading mates Iwan Rheon, Matthew Lewis and Gerard Kearns that they're on to a good thing by breaking into the safe at the local working men's club and stealing the ill-gotten gains accrued by vicious drug dealer, Neil Maskell.

The dialogue may fizz a bit too knowingly with larky japes and the plot may be over-cockily convoluted, but Athale deserves considerable credit for eschewing caper conventions and attempting to expose the connection between crime and privation. The performances are spirited, with Treadaway laudably resisting the temptation to create a loveable rogue and Spall quietly revelling in the process of giving him enough rope while teasing out crucial information. But the standout contribution comes from editor Kim Gaster, who assembles the fragments with pace and precision without diminishing the impact of Stuart Bentley's moodily lit visuals.

SCAVENGERS.
Hands up those who have been longing for a movie about intergalactic rag`n'bone men. Well, production designer Travis Zariwny has heard your pleas and delivered a directorial debut whose premise is as wretched as its performances and Z-grade special effects. The action turns on the rivalry between scavengers Roark Critchlow and Sean Patrick Flanery, who comepete for scrap across space. However, when the crew of the Revelator gets hold of pieces belonging to an alien device with the power to transform anything and everything, Flanery vows to piece the Chaos Generator together and hold the uninverse to ransom.

Let's not beat about the bush. This is dreadful. Lacking the self-aware wit that might have given it a cult cachet, the picture lurches between over-played standoffs (several of which occur off-screen because the budget wouldn't permit their staging) that not only expose the flimsiness of the plot and the character development, but also leave a willing cast that includes Jeremy London and Louise Linton looking rather foolish. The sets might have also passed for retro kitsch, as might dialogue dripping with faux jargon. But, while Zariwny clearly seeks to invoke the spirit of any number of 1990s TV series, this too often feels like a junked first draft for Mel Brooks's Spaceballs (1987).

TRAVELLER.
Benjamin Johns makes a decent directorial bow with this adaptation of the John F. McDonald novel, Tribe. Despite always feeling like an outsider because of his gadjo blood, Billy Cook hides out with Gypsy horse trainer David Essex after he and roguish buddy Eoin McCarthy botch a robbery. Having already been caught up in a shootout and handcuffed to a hospital bed, Cook is keen to steer clear of the police and a vicious gang. But, while Essex and Mongolian horse whisperer Khan Bonfils try to show Cook there is more to life than easy money, he finds himself falling for both feisty copper Kerrie Hayes and married traveller, Lois Winstone. 

Clearly the aim here was to break with the clichés and stereotypes peddled by the Big Fat Gypsy franchise. But, for all their respectful intentions, Johns and McDonald still manage to include fortune tellers, bareknuckle boxers and strippers, as well as three songs by the soulful Essex. He has always been a decent actor and shows well alongside Cook (his real-life son), Hayes and Winstone. But this only marginally improves upon caricature-strewn offerings like Ricky Grover's Big Fat Gypsy Gangster, Kris McManus's Travellers (both 2011) and Mark O'Connor's King of the Travellers (2012) and has little of the insight or authenticity shown in Perry Odgen's Pavee Lackeen (2005), Jean-Charles Hue's The Lords Ride (2011) or any of Tony Gatlif's sensitive studies of Romany life.