A DISH BEST SERVED COLD

THE NIGHT VISITOR (1971: Dir. Laszlo Benedek)

Some films crawl under your skin and make a home there. Upon my first viewing, I knew that I would never shake off The Night Visitor, a frigid thriller of resolute revenge. Directed without artistic pretension by Budapest native Laslo Benedek (The Wild One, Death of a Salesman), this US/Swedish co-production revels in the cold landscape, both physical and emotional, of its protagonists. Harnessing the intense screen personas of Ingmar Bergman alumni Max Von Sydow and Liv Ullmann cast as resentful siblings, The Night Visitor, is a mesmerizing cat and mouse potboiler detailing the meticulous retribution of an imprisoned man who escapes from a remote asylum to frame his brother-in-law (Per Oscarsson) for murder, then returns to his cell undetected. An atmosphere of chilly alienation emanates from the Nordic locations of the story, shot in the wintry wilds of Sweden and Denmark. Exacting his rancorous reprisal, Salem (Von Sydow), must use almost every scrap of tied-together clothes and bedding in order to scale his high prison walls and travel miles across windswept snowy tundra in shorts and a t-shirt. Proper Brit Trevor Howard is the wily Inspector investigating this seemingly perfect crime and it's his scenes matching wits with Von Sydow's stoical Scandinavian psychopath that demonstrate the unique effectiveness of seemingly mismatched international casting. Despite its starry cast The Night Visitor had a rather unremarkable origin starting as a story by hack American TV writer Samuel Roeca (Rawhide, Mission:Impossible) and later polished into script form by British screenwriter Guy Elmes (Across the Bridge). Securing the respected talents of Benedek, and superstar film composer Henry Mancini (Experiment in Terror) producer Mel Ferrer must have seen the film as a companion piece to his hit big-screen adaptation of the Broadway nail-biter Wait Until Dark (1967), which had starred his former wife Audrey Hepburn. Both are Hitchcockian tales of suspense, but whereas Wait Until Dark invites the audience to experience the nerve-wracking vulnerability of its blind protagonist, The Night Visitor, asks its viewers to identify with, and even be impressed by, the near super-human tenacity of a central character twisted by an obsession for vengeance. Mancini, who scored Wait Until Dark with a darkly melodic accompaniment, here chose more dissonant and atonal compositions, amplifying the audience's anxiety as they bear witness to an inevitable and cruel catastrophe. Max Von Sydow went on to portray a legion of menacing malefactors, but for me he will always be the relentless lone figure of wrath from The Night Visitor. BLU-RAY

DOOMSDAY QUARTET Part Four

CIGARETTE BURNS (2005: Dir. John Carpenter)

Having strip-mined his own sci-fi horror oeuvre for the self-referential satire of Ghosts of Mars (2001), John Carpenter was clearly experiencing an extended period of creative burn-out when he received an attractive offer to return to his television roots. Showtime, the cable channel who had previously been unable to come to terms with Carpenter over his proposed portmanteau series Body Bags in 1993, had partnered with former film journalist turned writer-director Mick Garris to create an anthology show based on a series of raucous Hollywood dinner parties attended by a who's who of horror auteurs. Dubbed Masters of Horror, each 60 minute episode would be directed by a different veteran filmmaker, each enjoying complete artistic freedom in the matter of subject and content, within certain budgetary limitations. Appealing to these rebel outsiders who had been repeatedly worn down by the Hollywood development process, Showtime were able to attract a rogue's gallery of talent behind the camera. Enthusiastically joining Carpenter were many of his ghoulish contemporaries including John Landis, Joe Dante, Don Coscarelli, and Larry Cohen. The results were an often refreshing return to form, and in Carpenter's case, a brilliant book-end to his continued obsession with the supernatural apocalypse. Written by Drew McWeeny and Scott Swan, John Carpenter's Cigarette Burns, as his segment is entitled, could be read as a sly reference to the director's own oral addiction, as much as it refers to the vernacular for the ring-shaped reel-change markers that appear in the top right-hand corner of a projected celluloid frame of film. These markers have ominously begun appearing in the nightmares of the story's protagonist Kirby, a repertory cinema owner and film detective, played by a suitably seedy Norman Reedus. He has been hired by reptilian film collector Udo Kier, to locate the (fictional) lost horror classic La Fin Absolue du Monde, a notoriously chimerical cinematic opus reputedly responsible for driving everyone who saw it, including its own creator, insane. Kirby is also haunted by the loss of his girlfriend Annie (Zara Taylor), whom he was unable to save from a deadly drug overdose. Brought on by Kirby's search, reality itself seems to unravel, allowing Carpenter to stage imaginative scenes of the coming cataclysm, running the gambit from disquieting dread to giggling gory excess. It is however, the tragedy of a lost love that hangs over the events like a veil of sadness, with the director deftly bringing the manic atmosphere into emotional focus just in time for the rushed bravura climax dictated by the abbreviated running time. Cigarette Burns signaled Carpenter's renewed relish as a compelling storyteller, and he immediately followed this up with Pro-Life, a Season 2 Masters of Horror episode satirizing fundamentalist religious groups  and the ongoing U.S. abortion debate. This brief burst of creativity seemingly came to an end in 2010 with The Ward, a well-acted and suitably atmospheric tale of five women confined to a mental ward who become the prey of a vengeful ghost. Set in 1966 with a female dominated cast, The Ward was a fresh twist on Carpenter's typical tales of terror that disappointingly failed to engage both audiences and critics. More than half a decade later and he has still not returned to either the big or small screens, but last year he did release a album of instrumental music reminiscent of his spooky film scores. Even if Carpenter officially retires from film-making he will forever be revered for a lasting body of work, and of these horrific hallucinations none are memorable than his doomsday quartet. DVD 

DOOMSDAY QUARTET Part Three

IN THE MOUTH OF MADNESS (1995: Dir. John Carpenter)

The year was 1995 and writer-director John Carpenter's career was faltering, yet again. Having recently experienced his most dispiriting studio production, the Chevy Chase debacle Memoirs of an Invisible Man (1992) and experimented with the entertaining but slight Body Bags (1993), a cable TV horror anthology for Showtime, designed in the style of Tales from the Crypt with the director himself in ghoulish make-up as a cadaverous host, Carpenter knew he needed to get back to what his fans and he himself knew were his strengths as a filmmaker, scaring people's socks off. He found his opportunity with a script written by young New Line Cinema studio executive Michael De Luca. If many of Carpenter's previous films had cleverly cherry-picked devices from the seminal fantastique literature of H. P. Lovecraft, he now took the opportunity to re-embrace with his horror roots by making an all-out Lovecraft pastiche. Lovecraft's mythology posited the existence of old gods returning from their trans-dimensional imprisonment to punish humankind for its misdeeds. De Luca's script takes that premise as the underpinning for a story about the disappearance of a Stephen King-like author whose writings not only drive readers insane but are in fact opening a portal to the dimension where Lovecraft's demonic deities await their resurrection. An insurance investigator played with smarmy charm by Sam Neill is the audience's cynical alter-ego, whose sanity slowly disintegrates as he witnesses reality itself being pulled apart. Tapping into the burgeoning millennial anxiety of Western culture at the time, Carpenter created his ultimate meta-film statement about the artistic responsibility of creative people and how their work is often shamelessly exploited despite the harm this does to the artist and public alike. These charismatic profiteers are amusingly parodied in the casting of a righteous Charlton Heston as the publisher who hires Neill, a benignly evil-enabling role which foreshadows Heston's own future as a messianic president of the NRA. Perhaps not unexpectedly In The Mouth of Madness was largely overlooked during its initial release but as with nearly all of Carpenter's work, its value was eventually recognized by critics and fans on DVD and Blu-Ray despite being accompanied by a most tedious technical commentary from Carpenter and his director of photography Gary Kibbe.  It was to be the pinnacle of his work during the Nineties and remains his last great feature film to date.  BLU-RAY 

DOOMSDAY QUARTET Part Two

PRINCE OF DARKNESS (1987: Dir. John Carpenter)

I vividly remember when John Carpenter's Prince of Darkness first opened. I was living in Halifax at the time and it was playing at one of the city's seediest cinemas, The Casino situated in the impoverished North End. The area was known to be unsafe and infrequently visited by my friends who insisted on taking a taxi directly to and from the cinema. I even recall hearing about a bar fight across the street where someone was attacked with an axe! Regardless of these warning signs I would not to be swayed from my support for the work of my favourite contemporary horror auteur. It had been four years since filmmaker John Carpenter had been attached to a film where he was not a director for hire. Both Christine (1983) and Starman (1984) had been penance for The Thing, and although they found an audience, the undeserved failure of his follow-up, Big Trouble In Little China, left a bad taste in his mouth for the corporate bureaucracy of Hollywood. To restore his faith in film-making he decided on a personal project that would be independently financed. Carpenter has always acknowledged his affection for British fantasy writer Nigel Kneale. Kneale was a unique talent in the U.K. having created legendary science fiction character Bernard Quatermass for a trilogy of 1950s TV serials later remade for the big screen by Hammer Films, as well as scripting the feature film versions of  playwright John Osborne's seminal kitchen sink dramas Look Back in Anger and The Entertainer. Carpenter had even employed Kneale to dream up an esoteric ancient pagan boogeyman for Halloween III, a collaboration which fell apart after Kneale stubbornly refused to compromise his early draft ideas. Despite this personal rift, Carpenter retained his admiration for Kneale's eerie ouevre so in a concerted effort to return to the artistic freedom of his indie horror roots he chose to make an explicit hommage to Kneale's spine-tingling BBC haunted house tale The Stone Tape. With a minimal budget of 3 million dollars, and a pseudonymously written script by "Martin Quatermass", Carpenter grafted his trademark group under siege template (Assault on Precinct 13, The Fog) to a Lovecraftian doomsday story about a group of scientists investigating the properties of a vessel kept hidden for a millennium by the Catholic Church and said to contain the anti-God. It was to be the most intellectually audacious film of his entire career, incorporating Carpenter's then recent obsession with the science and philosophy of quantum mechanics into a challenging theological horror context. Made at such a low cost the film couldn't help but make money, however one is left with the nagging feeling that the film's quality could have been much improved with more accomplished supporting players. This is no reflection on the peerless casting of Carpenter favourite Donald Pleasence (Halloween), who brings an effortless authority and dignity to his role as a priest courageously confronting his own loss of faith as he seeks to defeat a supernatural being that defies the boundaries between science and religion. This epic battle over evil is atmospherically accompanied by Carpenter's own pulsating electronic musical score, menacingly summoning up an aural anxiety of the apocalypse. It all takes place in a lonely church located within a desolate district of Los Angeles, an area not unlike the poor Halifax neighbourhood that greeted me as I exited the cinema 28 years ago. Still shaken by Carpenter's intense and profound vision, I dared the dangerous journey back home to the "safe" part of town, but the thrill and paranoia of that viewing remains with me to this day. BLU-RAY 

DOOMSDAY QUARTET Part One

THE THING (1982: Dir. John Carpenter)

                                      

Director John Carpenter once made this famous observation about his reputation. "In France I am an auteur, in Germany I am a filmmaker, and in the U.S. I'm a bum." Having been responsible for Halloween (1978), one of the most successful independent films of all-time, followed by the seminal dystopian sci-fi actioner Escape from New York (1981), not to mention the ahead-of-its-time Asian martial arts fantasy spoof  Big Trouble In Little China (1986), Carpenter has had his fair share of career ups and downs. Although his cult of fans seem to follow him wherever he chooses to go, the core of his art rests with his self-coined "apocalyptic trilogy" a trio of features that later formed a quartet with the inclusion of the first of his two television episodes made for the envelope-pushing Showtime series MASTERS OF HORROR. These nihilistic nightmares encapsulate Carpenter's espoused cynicism for humanity's weakness in the face of unknown forces. Exploring the fears that result from loss of identity, loss of faith, loss of personal sanity, and loss of a loved one, these four tales make a ideal introduction to the misanthropic mind of this prophet of doom.

One of Carpenter's earliest influences was director Howard Hawks (Only Angels Have Wings, Rio Bravo), therefore it came as no surprise when he chose to remake the Hawks-produced sci-fi classic The Thing From Another World. Re-titled simply The Thing, Carpenter took full advantage of the latest special effects techniques, and together with screenwriter Bill Lancaster (The Bad News Bears), was able to fully envision the protean nemesis from John W. Campbell's original short story "Who Goes There?". Re-locating the action from the North Pole to an isolated Antarctic research station , Carpenter provocatively returned to Campbell's all-male cast of disparate scientists and civilians in order to explore the group dynamics of those under attack from alien invaders with the power to assume the physical image of any human individual. Identities once taken for granted, now become vital certainties to survival, as cinematographer Dean Cundey's prowling widescreen Panaglide compositions ratchet up the jittery paranoia to almost unbearable levels of tension. Often criticized for its grotesque scenes of biological transformation courtesy of 21 year-old make-up prodigy Rob Bottin, the film remains a bone-chilling exercise in Eighties dread, auguring both the AIDS crisis, and the Cold War sabre-rattling of the Reagan era. With this, his first major studio production, Carpenter confidently demonstrated a skillful maturity that belied his origins as a low budget exploitation filmmaker, however, unlike Universal Pictures' other blockbuster 1982 alien film, E.T. The Extra Terrestrial, neither audiences nor critics could warm up to the film's explicit imagery and bleak tone. The Thing, finally gathered a significant following on video where its fervent fans turned it from turkey to triumph within the period of its VHS release and the film's arrival on DVD. Befitting its grassroots cult classic status the disc contained lavish extras including a peerless documentary detailing every aspect of production, deleted stop-motion effects footage, and a rousing commentary by Carpenter and star Kurt Russell, whose infectious camaraderie echoes the fertile partnership of Hawks and his frequent leading man John Wayne. A subsequent Blu-Ray version featured improved picture quality that makes the snowbound scenes glisten with icy clarity but fatally omits some of the vital bonus material. I look forward to a definitive HD special edition in the near future. It would be the ironic crowning achievement for such a hard-won success as John Carpenter's The Thing. BLU-RAY

A CHILLER FROM THE GREAT WHITE NORTH

THE DISAPPEARANCE (1977: Dir. Stuart Cooper)

    

Canadian Cinema was still in its infancy in 1977 when the Liberal Government changed the tax code allowing home-grown film producers to write off all of their cash investment in the first year providing that the project was certified Canadian according to specific content regulations. This decision to encourage film-making in the Great White North led to a surge in co-production that effectively established Canada as an increasingly viable place to make movies. Technical facilities, and crews were finally given the promise of steady employment mainly due to outside investment from counties such as France, the U.K. and the U.SA. The Disappearance was one of these early films to ride the new rails of the so-called "tax shelter"boom in Canada. Adapted by screenwriter Paul (The Man Who Fell To Earth) Mayersberg from the novel Echoes of Celandine by spy author Derek Marlowe (A Dandy in Aspic), it was developed as a British production, with former actor and American expatriate Stuart Cooper attached to direct, and co-star David Hemmings producing. The Rank Organization were to be the principal financiers but when they backed out at the last minute, a partnership was formed with Toronto-based entertainment lawyer and fledgling executive producer Garth Drabinsky. In order for the film to be considered more Canadian, the main character's residence was moved from Britain to Montreal, and New Brunswick native Donald Sutherland, Cooper's former co-star from The Dirty Dozen, was chosen to star after Lee Marvin turned down the lead role of paid assassin Jay Mallory. Sutherland suggested his real-life spouse, Quebec actress Francine Racette to play his on-screen wife Celandine, and together with Toronto born actor Christopher Plummer as the other corner in the love triangle, the film has the distinction of being one of the few of its era to feature three prominently-billed Canadian stars. Dismissed by critics at the time and almost entirely forgotten today, The Disappearance is in an emblematic example of the burgeoning artistic aspirations of Canadian cinematic culture. Thanks to the intellectually jet-setting glamour of Prime Minister Pierre Trudeau, Canada in the Seventies was enjoying a new period of envy in the world just as its neighbour to the south was recovering from the political paranoia and economic uncertainty of the post Nixonian era. Taking advantage of these changing winds Cooper advantageously embraced the Canadian content he was forced to include, resulting in a brooding evocation of a vulnerable yet capable killer, living in the cold climate of Canada, but whose life is still controlled by frosty British bureaucrats from across the ocean. At the time, this was also a subliminal notion for many proud Canucks, whose burgeoning political independence now seemed more than ever diminished by their antiquated British patronage. It is an especially poignant metaphor given what we now know of Trudeau's future plans to introduce the radical idea of repatriating the Canadian constitution. The wintry locale of Montreal's ultra-modern Habitat housing complex overlooking Expo 67's Biosphere on the shores of the St. Lawrence provides the perfect chilly locale for the emotionally distant married life of Mallory and Celandine. They represent Canada's "two solitudes", the French who feel with their hearts and the English who think with their heads. When Celandine suddenly disappears without warning, Mallory is tormented by jealousy but reluctantly accepts an assignment in England that ends up being more personal than he ever expected. Cooper daringly employs a challenging flashback structure to the narrative, while Canadian composer Robert Farnon utilizes themes by Ravel to give warmth and humanity to the otherwise deadly proceedings. Not surprisingly, the American distributors of the picture rejected the Cooper's European art-house editing style thereby reducing the length (and subtlety) of his director's cut by twenty minutes as well as re-scoring it with cheap electronic thriller music. The new Blu-ray from Twilight Time is a revelation compared with any previous releases, as it includes both a standard definition 101 minute director's cut, in addition to a new high definition 91 minute version that preserves most of the film's original moody qualities, particularly the stately elegance of John Alcott's cinematography, as it captures the icy beauty of this subzero story of love and death. BLU-RAY 

THE POWER OF SPECULATION

RESISTANCE (2011: Dir. Amit Gupta)

It defies understanding when nearly five years after its British release, North American audiences are still unable to see a great film. Resistance, co-written and based on the novel by Owen Sheers, is an intense portrait in miniature about an isolated valley in Wales that is occupied in WWII by the German army. This is the genre of alternate history, a speculation based on the premise of a Britain invaded after the failure of D-Day. Sheers, a proud Welshman, masterfully conveys an ambient sense of place and premonitory power with the story of a group of women who awake one morning to find their farmer husbands have mysteriously absconded in the night. The main protagonist is Sarah, played by the ever-compelling Andrea Riseborough, an abandoned woman in personal conflict with the courteous and cultured German officer (Tom Wlaschiha) whose patrol unit controls the valley. Theirs is a relationship symbolizing everything that makes the British a resolute island people and the Germans a ruthless invader. Northumberland-born Riseborough, an actress whose porcelain countenance and fragile frame often conceal the stuff of steely determination, is superbly matched opposite Wlaschiha, an East German actor whose gentle voice and penetrating stare provide a soothing sense of unease. Their scenes, as with those of  the rest of the cast are expertly directed by Amit Gupta, in his astonishingly assured feature directorial debut. Gupta, with a painterly eye, composes scene after scene of haunting imagery, where solitary figures linger amidst the secluded rolling green hills of Wales. Such serenity provides shocking contrast with a violent war better suited to the baneful beaches of Normandy.  It is however the ambiguity of moral choice that is at the heart of Resistance, driven home by the simple poetry of Sheers and Gupta's screenplay. Silences as much as dialogue, communicate the inner life of characters forced to fully confront the banal danger of everyday existence. Having been born on a continent without a history of invasion, one is humbled by this small yet forceful film. An inspiring tale with an unerring courage of its convictions. Blu-ray