Cut & Paste Pictures is developing a feature-length documentary chronicling the lifelong friendship between Rise Against guitarist Zach Blair and wrestler Hassan 'MVP' Assad, who will also front an unscripted series about life after prison.
Faces of Death follows a pathologist trying to understand what happens when we die, subjecting himself and the viewer to a series of 'snuff' films depicting violent deaths.
Dead Lover's heroine is odorous by trade, a lovelorn gravedigger of indeterminate age and origin. Glowicki's accent, roaming between Canada, Canvey Island and Canberra, becomes part of the fun—she's driven to extremes after her verse-spouting poet sweetheart perishes in a shipwreck. Part-Burke and Hare, part-Victor Frankenstein, she salvages what she can of the corpse.
The first thing you notice about undertone is how quiet it is; not just in its audio mix, but in how it's shot - primarily steady wide shots that slowly pan across empty rooms, allowing your eyes to frantically scan for something amiss. It's an understated form of filmmaking that allows for the movie's scares to hit all that much harder.
Until recently, "liminal spaces" were only known to architects. But on the Internet, storytellers and amateur filmmakers have morphed these ubiquitous places you pass by on errand runs into caverns of cosmic terror. Now, a new A24 film from 20-year-old filmmaker Kane Parsons is set to kick off the summer and christen it the season of liminal horror.
After spotting that Eli's rash guard conceals a red, flaky skin disorder, the boys have concluded that he has the titular plague, a contagious disease that affects social standing as much as it does dermatological well-being. If anyone ever touches him, they must thoroughly wash themselves before they're considered full-blown infected. Even something as innocent as Eli sitting at the same lunch table sends his teammates running and screaming.
"I remember things in retinal flashes," Yuknavitch explains in the book. "Without order." In another passage, she says, "All the events of my life swim in and out between each other," adding that, although her memory is nonlinear, "we can put it into lines to narrativize over fear." The liberation of time is central to modern cinema, because, once a movie is acknowledged as a work of first-person art as much as a book is, subjectivity itself becomes its overarching subject.
A quarter-century later, it's safe to say that those days have come to an end. Not only does the streaming-only Netflix of the twenty-twenties no longer transmit movies on DVD through the mail (a service its younger users have trouble even imagining), it ranks approximately nowhere as a preferred cinephile destination. That has to do with a selection much diminished since the DVD days
This isn't your average pandemic thriller; here, the infected meld with inorganic material in their surroundings, until their outward contours and their personhood are gone. Thibault Emin's film starts with a little whiff of Jean-Pierre Jeunet and Marc Caro's Delicatessen. After their one-night stand, hypochondriac Anx (Matthieu Sampeur) and impertinent Cass (Edith Proust) find themselves bunkered up in one corner of a madcap apartment block.
For as much as gays love their horror, and as many examples there are of the genre finding its haunting power through queer metaphor (from the scary subtleties of Psycho to the screamingly obvious A Nightmare on Elm Street 2: Freddy's Revenge), there are relatively few mainstream horror films that actually tackle LGBTQ+ themes head-on. However, after a rapturous reception at the Sundance Film Festival, Australian supernatural fright flick Leviticus was quickly picked up for theatrical release by Neon and might just be the " queer horror masterpiece " we've been waiting for.
Boris Karloff stands tall as one of film history's most iconic performers, particularly within the horror genre. Foremost known for portraying some of the most iconic monsters in film history, from his work as Frankenstein's Monster in Frankenstein, Imhotep in The Mummy, or voicing The Grinch himself, Karloff had a few distinctive attributes that made him one of the most memorable stars of the era.
At the narrative midpoint, pathetic protagonist Yoo Man-su ( Lee Byung-hun) - also a hobbying horticulturist with a bonsai mag subscription - arrives at the home of a man he deems a rival for one of the only paper jobs on the market. He wields a pistol concealed inside several oven gloves, intending to kill vinyl enthusiast Goo Beom-mo (Lee Sung-min) as a means of levelling the playing field.
But most of the film consists of Ricciardi fighting against the dying of the light, recounting the discomfort of recovering from chemo (years of hangovers proved useful training, he says), the ridiculous indignities of radiotherapy and other treatments, weird side-effects such as eyelashes growing longer than usual, inept bedside manners from medical professionals, and the administrative screw-ups that punctuate the process.
