The Hidden Face: The Korean Remake

Andres Baiz’s Spanish film, The Hidden Face, is starting to generate as many international remakes as Oirol Paulo’s The Invisible Guest. At least many of the subsequent Hidden Faces have tried to put their own spin on the dark psychological themes. That is particularly true of the new Korean remake. The love triangle relationship-dynamics get especially torturous in Kim Dae-woo’s The Hidden Face, which releases this Tuesday on digital.

Seong-jin might direct the orchestra, but his fiancée, cellist Soo-yeon, calls the shots, along with her mother, the executive director, Hye-yeon. Everyday brings new emasculations, until Soo-yeon impulsively flies off to Europe. At least that is what she told him in the video she left behind.

Weirdly, there has been no sign of her since then—no calls, no credit card usage. Despite her imperiousness, Hye-yeon starts to worry. Nevertheless, she agrees Seong-jin should find a temp replacement for her. Conveniently, Soo-yeon also left behind a recommendation for Mi-joo. Years ago, they both studied cello together in the very same house Soo-yeon just bought, to live with Seong-jin. At the time, Mi-joo and her were quite close.

It turns out she and Seong-jin are also quite compatible. They both share a fondness for the melancholy of Schubert (much like Martin Landau in Crimes and Misdemeanors). Pretty soon, Seong-jin commences something like an affair with Mi-joo, even though he still presumes Soo-yeon abandoned him. Instead, Mi-joo locked her in the secret bunker behind the walls, where she can see everything through the one-way mirrors, but she cannot be heard through the thick glass and steel.

The game-playing in this Hidden Face is even more morally bent than it sounds. Frankly, it is a sign of progress that the film has not provoked boycott-fury from the various professionally outraged alphabet groups for the way it depicts certain sexual identities. Happily, we can all just relax and enjoy its perverse, twisted soul. This is indeed a twisty and twisted film, but it will definitely surprise viewers, perhaps even those who have seen the previous Hidden Faces.

Sleeping Dogs, Starring Russell Crowe

Criminologists consider eye-witness testimony the most unreliable form of evidence. Roy Freeman understands that better than most, because he is an ex-cop and an early Alzheimer’s sufferer. Even though he was fortunate to be selected for a revolutionary treatment, he still cannot remember the troublesome case that comes back to haunt him in Adam Cooper’s Sleeping Dogs, which opens tomorrow in theaters.

At first, Freeman cannot even remember his parents, but thanks to his doctor’s experimental process, some of his memory starts to return. However, his Philly PD career is still a black hole. Nevertheless, he agrees to meet Isaac Samuel a death-row inmate days away from meeting his maker, for the murder of Joseph Wieder, a psychology professor, who once testified against him. Freeman learns that he and his partner Jimmy Remis worked Samuel’s case. Of course, Samuel protests his innocence and challenges Freeman to redeem himself. Maybe the old Freeman would have dismissed Samuel, but since his doctor told him to keep his mind engaged, Freeman starts re-investigating the case, starting from absolute scratch.

Not surprisingly, Remis is less than thrilled to have Freeman poking around, especially since his former partner now sees him as a stranger. Despite his still questionable mental state, Freeman soon stumbles across a primo clue: an unpublished novel apparently inspired by the murder, written by Richard Finn, who rather suddenly died from a dubious overdose. It turns out Finn’s college girlfriend, Laura Baines, was Wieder’s research assistant—and maybe she had other duties as well.

Based on E.O. Chirovici’s novel The Book of Mirrors (also the title of Finn’s unpublished MS.), Sleeping Dogs builds towards pleasantly sinister twist, but it would be better suited to an Alfred Hitchcock Presents-style anthology, because 90-plus minutes gives thriller fans too much time to figure it all out.

Nevertheless, Russell Crowe is terrific as Freeman. In some ways, you could consider Sleeping Dogs the disreputable cousin of A Beautiful Mind, because Crowe does a tremendous job expressing the ex-cop’s instability and confusion. The truth is a lot of Crowe’s recent performances have not gotten the notice they deserve, because they came in less “prestigious” films, like Land of Bad.

Four Hands: Sisters in Vengeance

It is modern day Germany, not Dirty Harry’s 1970s San Francisco, but apparently the progressive judges and parole boards are just the same. Twenty years ago, Jessica and Sophie’s parents were murdered while they hid in terror. Now, the killers have been released from prison, because of rehabilitation or whatever. However, the dysfunctional sisters continued to feel the impact of the crimes every day of their lives. Sophie is finally ready to move on, but Jessica is not. In fact, she is determined to involve her sister in her bid for vengeance, even if she has to do it from beyond the grave in Oliver Kienle’s Four Hands (trailer here), which opens today in Los Angeles.

As the older sibling, Jessica shielded Sophie from the sight of the parents’ murder, but she saw it all. That helps explain her more aggressive and erratic behavior. When informed of the murderers’ release, she goes into a full manic cycle, pulling Sophie out of an important audition, so they can plan their attack. Wanting none of it, Sophie tries to flee, but their jostling leads to a fatal traffic accident. Sophie wakes up in the hospital, whereas Jessica went straight to the morgue.

At least Sophie should be able to live her own life now—but not so fast. Rather disturbingly, she starts blacking out, during which time she acts quite suspiciously. She threatens the nice doctor who helped her after the accident and clearly starts stalking the murderers. Then Sophie starts picking up the voice messages Jessica leaves for her.

Throughout most of the film, Kienle leaves plenty of interpretive room for viewers whether the vengeful Jessica is a supernatural or psychological phenomenon. Mostly, Four Hands is a rather intriguing thriller that never crosses over into horror, but should still appeal to the aesthetic sensibilities of horror fans (although there are no one-to-one parallels, it certainly feels like Cronenberg’s Dead Ringers was an influence). Kienle (the creator and head writer of the terrific German television show Bad Banks) is definitely playing with sister/twin/doppelganger motifs, but the film also directly explores the long-term emotional and psychological impact of violent crime, in a serious and thoughtful way.

Friederike Becht is impressively fierce as Jessica, especially during the scenes in which she appears to physically take over Sophie’s body. Again, for most of the film, it is unclear whether this is an actual manifestation of the uncanny or an expressively symbolic strategy of Kienle. Conversely, Frida-Lovisa Hamann often seems problematically bland and passive as Sophie, but that is arguably required of a character who has been dominated so long by a strong but unstable personality like Jessica. Christopher Letkowski is also believably grounded and appropriately freaked out as Martin, the doctor who haltingly pursues a relationship with Sophie.

There are some terrific settings in Four Hands (like the sisters’ isolated manor and a modernist concert hall), but Kienle never uses them to imitate Hitchcock or the Giallo masters. This is his film not a shallow homage. Recommended with enthusiasm, Four Hands opens today (9/14) in LA, at the Laemmle Music Hall.

Diane: Like Laura, but Grungier

Steven Warren is a lot like Dana Andrews in Laura, but he is also struggling with PTSD, as well as an impossible crush. It is hard to blame the Afghanistan veteran for obsessing over Diane Faye, because her body was found in his yard. Maybe the interest is not completely one-sided either, since the dead woman might possibly be communicating with him through dreams and visions, but they become increasingly sinister in Michael Mongillo’s Diane (trailer here), which opens this Friday in Los Angeles.

Right, Warren just woke up one morning and found the late Faye in his yard. First thing he did was take a picture on his phone. Then he called the police. For some reason, they are determined to rake him over the coals, but there is nothing linking her and Warren, except the obvious. It is too bad he lives in Connecticut rather than New York City, because the NYPD would probably have more respect for a combat veteran. Frankly, the New London coppers are almost as bad as his jerkheel neighbors, but they will be totally bored and frustrated staking out his house.

It might not look like Warren is doing much, but inside, he is starting to lose it in a big way. Even he is confused by the way Faye is twisting up his thoughts. Yet, in a weird, totally messed up kind of way, she spurs Warren to reassert control over some aspects of his sad, mopey life, albeit from beyond the grave, or as a delusional figment.

This is a hard film to write up, for dozens of reasons, starting off with the tricky business of classifying just what exactly it is. Diane has played at a number of horror festivals, but it is unlikely to scare any genre fans. Yet, it has some supernatural imagery that will give the Heisman to anyone hoping for a procedural or a domestic thriller. It is definitely dark, but its moodiness is even more pronounced. It is important to understand Mongillo does not merely use PTSD as an exploitative device. It is really at the core of what this film is all about, along with guilt, loneliness, and obsession.

So, doesn’t that sound like fun? Yet, Diane still has some interesting white picket thriller stuff going on. Jason Alan Smith and Carlee Avers are also quite compelling as Warren and Faye, which helps a lot. Mongillo tries to make a virtue out necessity, doubling down on the film’s grungy, purchased-from-Salvation Army look and vibe, with mostly positive results. Regardless, it is another reason why Diane requires viewers to work with it, more than a little.

There are rough edges all over Diane, but it is still a hard film to shake off. It is also tricky to pass critical judgment on it. I would not hesitate to recommend it to colleagues who see dozens of films each week, because they should be able to appreciate what makes it distinctive and different. However, consumers who only see a few movies a month, often featuring people wearing capes, will most likely be put off by its betwixt-and-between natures, as well as its ultra-DIY production values. You know who you are, so considered yourself advised. For more receptive genre patrons, Diane opens this Friday (9/7) in LA, at the Arena Cinelounge.

New Filipino Cinema ’17: Bliss

Reportedly, film production in the Philippines is much more regulated now than during the glory days of Roger Corman’s jungle prison movies. However, Jane Ciego might have her doubts. She was badly injured on the set of her latest picture—a horror movie about a famous actress abused by her caretakers after she is badly injured on the set of her latest movie. You might have a general idea of the meta-ness afoot, but there are still plenty of twisted turns to Jerrold Tarog’s Bliss (trailer here), which screens during the annual New Filipino Cinema series at the Yerba Buena Arts Center.

Ciego has been a star since she was a child, but this film was supposed to be her breakout as a serious actress. Ditto for Abigail, the character she was playing. She has been successful enough to produce her ambitious art house horror film and continue to be a meal ticket for her ineffectual husband Carlo and her greedy stage mother, Jillian. Again, the same is true for her character, except her husband in the film-within-the-film is maybe slightly less contemptible. Regardless, this is hardly the sort of film you would want to “lose” yourself in, if that is indeed what happened to Ciego, or Abigail.

Things get even more sinister when Tarog gives us reason to suspect Ciego’s openly hostile private nurse Lilibeth is actually Rose, who is wanted by the police for sexually molesting young patients. As Ciego and Abigail’s realities conflict and intrude upon each other, Tarog keeps doubling back and folding the narrative over, to spring darkly clever revelations.

Iza Cazaldo has a Kate Beckinsale vibe working that is absolutely perfect for Ciego/Abigail. She establishes a strong persona as Ciego, which makes it so compelling to then watch her tear it apart at the seams. Evidently, there was a lot of buzz about her topless scene in the film, but it is nothing like what her fans probably assumed. Adrienne Vergara is also creepy as heck as Lilibeth/Rose and Shamaine Buencamino is spectacularly bad news as Mama Jillian. However, Audie Gemora often upstages everyone as her wildly flamboyant director, Lexter Palao.

Serving as his own editor, Tarog rather brilliantly cuts together all the reality problematizing and timeframe shifts. Mackie Galvez’s mysteriously murky cinematography further causes us to lose sight of ostensive in-film reality. It all adds up to a head-trip you can never take for granted. Highly recommended for fans of horror movies and Lynchian cinema, Bliss screens this Saturday (8/19) and next Thursday (8/24) as part of New Filipino Cinema 2017 at the YBCA.

The Ghoul: Head-Shrinking and Mind-Bending

You can definitely call this deep cover. The morose looking Chris is either an undercover investigator feigning severe depression to investigate a pair of nefarious shrinks or he is an emotional basket case who frequently gets lost in fantasies of undercover police work. Frankly, viewers will be completely unable to parse reality from fantasy and he is just as lost himself in Gareth Tunley’s head-spinning The Ghoul (trailer here), which opens in select markets tomorrow.

As the film opens, Chris has no reason to doubt he is a former cop, who took the fall for some sort of departmental scandal, but is brought back in from time to time in an off-the-books capacity. His ex-partner Jim has such a case. A couple fell victim to a double homicide, but from the evidence they were suspiciously hard to kill, like junkies hopped up on PCP, except sturdier and cleaner. It turns out the property was managed by one Coulson, a well-heeled playboy with a history of “pushing” the impressionable to commit anti-social crimes.

Coulson makes himself scarce, but a search of his flat reveals he has been seeing an analyst by the name of Fisher, but she might have referred him to her mentor, Alexander Morland. Chris will follow in Coulson’s footsteps, pretending to suffer from long-term debilitating depression with coaching from Jim’s wife Kathleen, a psychiatric nurse for whom he has long carried a torch. Except, Chris isn’t really faking it that much. No matter who the real Chris is, he obviously has trouble enjoying the little things in life. As his treatment progresses, it becomes unclear whether the assumed persona is indeed fake or if it is part of an elaborate fantasy life he has constructed. Of course, he too will inevitably be referred to Morland.

The Ghoul is not merely another Lynchian reality-problematizer. The villainy Tunley suggests could be afoot just might be a new one on us. It is hard to explain without getting spoilery, but it most likely involves the New Agey glyphs adorning Morland’s office.

It is safe to say Tunley twists are especially twisted. The stakes are also much more considerable than the immediate is-he-or-isn’t-he question. Things get big picture cosmic, on a small, intimate scale. This is the kind of genre picture that is totally cool, because it throws you for a loop, but has just about zero special effects.

As Chris, Tom Meeten looks like the poster boy for clinical depression, regardless of the reality he is working in. It is an exhaustingly haggard and existential performance, but we never catch him acting. Likewise, Rufus Jones is terrific as the flamboyant and openly manipulative Coulson, who repeatedly up-ends our assumptions and expectations. Geoffrey McGivern goes all in chewing the scenery like a Hammer villain as Morland, but Niamh Cusack is more ambiguously insidious as Fisher.

The Ghoul probably demands too much attention from Rob Zombie horror fans, but if you just focus a little, it will really get under your skin. It is also unusually well-acted by genre standards. Cinematographer Benjamin Pritchard gives it a dark, dank, eerie look in keeping with the films of executive producer Ben Wheatley, so you know its good stuff. Very highly recommended, The Ghoul opens tomorrow (8/11) in several off-the-beaten-path venues, including the Lyric Cinema Café in Fort Collins.

NYAFF ’17: Battle of Memories

When it comes to memory, we’re like Goldilocks. We always want a little more or a little less. It’s never exactly right. The temptation to start fiddling around with how memories are processed, stored, and accessed in that strange device called the human mind has taken on Frankenstein-like implications in speculative fiction and psychological thrillers. When bestselling novelist Jiang Feng has a few select memories extracted, it similarly leads him down a rabbit-hole he won’t soon forget in Leste Chen’s Battle of Memories (trailer here), which screens during the 2017 New York Asian Film Festival.

Pained by his upcoming divorce from Zhang Daichen, Jiang goes in for the Spotless Mind treatment. However, for reasons that will be revealed later, she insists he have them reinstated, before she signs the papers. This is a process that can only be done twice, so the next memory removal will be permanent. In a colossal mix-up, the wrong memories are re-inserted into Jiang’s noggin. Suddenly, he is getting flashbacks to murders he never committed.

Due to the suspense-enhancing circumstances of the process, it will take seventy-two hours for the memories to fully reconstitute themselves. He is also emotionally detached from the dramatic events in question, watching them unfold in his memory like a spectator. Yet, the killer’s identity remains unknown, because Jiang has no context for knowing it a priori. Instead, he will have to deduce it from clues within the flashbacks. The detectives investigating the latest murder, grizzled Shen Hanqiang and his eager junior Lei Zi, mostly believe Jiang, but they are not as proactive as he would like protecting Zhang Daichen. Logically, he figures if he has the killer’s memories, it stands to reason the unknown psychopath must have his.

Memories is the second serious-as-a-heart-attack psychological thriller Chen has made featuring a star of China’s blockbuster “Lost in” slapstick comedies, following The Great Hypnotist, featuring Xu Zheng. In this case, it will be Bo Huang carrying the film quite well as the increasingly disoriented and disturbed Jiang. In fact, his sad hound dog face is rather perfect for Jiang. He always looks like he is confused and suffering from a massive migraine.

NYAFF honoree Duan Yihong is terrific as the flinty Det. Shen and newcomer Liang Jieli (a.k.a. Patricio Antonio Liang) shows real breakout potential as Lei Zi. However, the film’s real not-so-secret weapon is Yang Zishan (star of the monster hit So Young) as police doctor Chen Shanshan, who will keep viewers guessing as her backstory is revealed.

The mystery Leste Chen and screenwriter Peng Ren have devised is devilishly clever and the murder scene flashbacks are stylishly eerie, while scrupulously adhering to their own internal logic. However, the film can be a bit confusing in terms of segues and transitions. Too often, viewers have to piece together on-screen context to get their bearings. However, Charlie Lam’s cinematography (soft, noir De Palma-esque color for the waking scenes and stark black-and-white for the inserted memories) is always visually dramatic and helpfully delineates the past from the present. Despite a few rough edges, Battle of Memories is easy to recommend for fans of psychological thrillers when it screens Saturday night (7/1) at the Walter Reade, as part of this year’s New York Asian Film Festival.

The Drowning: A Waterlogged Psychological Thriller

It takes advanced psychological training to really delve into a suspect’s inner psyche, but not in Danny Miller’s case. You tell just by looking at him he is an unhinged psychopath. Partly it is the piercing stare, but the total disregard for personal space does not help either. When he starts stalking the forensic psychologist who helped convict him of murder, the white bread Tom Seymour should just violate his parole, but instead he obsesses right back in Bette Gordon’s The Drowning (trailer here), which opens today in New York.

While perambulating in sleepy Connecticut, Seymour and his wife Lauren pull a would be suicide out of the drink and resuscitate him. Much to his surprise, Seymour subsequently learns this was the creepy minor he helped incarcerate. Of course, he cannot tell his wife any of this, so she is rather baffled why he acts so standoffish whenever Miller comes around to thank them, over and over again.

Apparently, Seymour cut a few ethical corners in his original examination, but the relentless stalker behavior ought to confirm justice was done. However, his in-the-know parole officer has gone over to Team Miller and is pressuring Seymour to play nice.

Basically, The Drowning is one long face-palm of a film. Talk about doing things the hard way. If there is ever a perversely difficult option, these characters will go for it every time. Seriously, you would think Seymour would find a way to tell his wife, “look, I can’t spell it out, but I know this guy from my work, so be careful.” Conversely, you would hope she would get suspicious constantly running into him in the City at the Ace Hotel, Magnolia Bakery, Chelsea Piers, and the Gagosian gallery. Quell coincidence.

As Seymour the head-shrinker, Josh Charles is dull enough to pass for someone who prefers CT to NYC. Frankly, Julia Stiles is one of the most under-rated screen actresses working today, but here she is stuck playing one of the most unintuitive characters to ever navigate the streets of Lower Manhattan. Avan Jogia plays Miller to the hilt, gluttonously chewing the scenery. We appreciate the effort, but it makes the underlying premise all the more difficult to buy into. At least we can still count on John C. McGinley to spread some sunshine as Seymour’s former-dodgy prosecutor-turned-dodgy defense attorney friend.

With their adaptation of Pat Barker’s novel, screenwriters Stephen Molton and Frank Pugliese clearly want us to leave the theater thinking: Miller was drowning in water, but Seymour was drowning in lies. Oh, the irony. Unfortunately, we are always six or seven steps ahead of everyone in the film, which gets boring after a while. Despite some colorful supporting turns, The Drowning is not recommended when it opens today (5/10) in New York, at the IFC Center.

HK Cinema at SFFS '16: Insanity

You would think Hong Kong would be tougher when it comes to criminal insanity defenses, but Fan Kwok Sang still manages to beat the rap for killing his wife by pleading temporarily nuts. His good luck continues when he is placed under the care of the highly esteemed Dr. Chow Ming-kit, who cures him in three years. Or does he? Chow will start to wonder when Fan gets involved with another suspicious death in David Lee’s Insanity (trailer here), which screens during this year’s Hong Kong Cinema at the San Francisco Film Society.

The trauma of losing his son essentially broke Fan’s grip on reality. Suffering from extreme paranoid schizophrenia, he finally just snapped, defenestrating his long suffering wife from their apartment window. Dr. Chow eventually pieced together his fractured psyche and proscribed a full battery of anti-psychotics to keep them glued in place. Being ever so progressive, Dr. Chow periodically checks in with Fan. Usually that means dropping by the restaurant where Fan works with his grossly under-appreciated fiancée, Shum Po-yee.

When Fan accidentally kills a creepy homeless guy on the roof of his building, Dr. Chow is his first call. Fearing the scandal of a supposedly cured patient committing a homicide (justifiable or not), Chow encourages him to take flight. Oh by the way, Fan just happened to mention he’d stopped taking his meds. As the cops start swarming and his colleagues’ suspicions mount, Chow decides to cure Fan once and for all, with special round-the-clock one-on-one immersion treatments. Of course, there will be unforeseen complications to their marathon analysis session.

Frankly, anyone who has seen a lot of psychological thrillers should be about twenty minutes ahead of the script (co-written by Lee, Bullet Vanishes helmer Law Chi-leung, and uber-producer-director Derek Yee). However, the first-rate work of Sean Lau Ching-wan as Fan still makes it worth the price of admission. It is a remarkable performance, implying much under vastly differing circumstances. Yet, he is always so tragically human and sad. Mainland superstar Huang Xiaoming also stresses out pretty impressively, but Nina Paw Hee-ching might out do both of them as Fan’s unhinged mother-in-law. Plus, Michelle Wai adds some red hot nuttiness in a memorable extended cameo as Mona, the patient who develops an unhealthy attachment to Dr. Chow. Fortunately, Alex Fong is also on hand to keep things real as Chow’s deputy-rival, Dr. Liu.

Even if you have a hunch where Insanity is going, it is still entertaining to watch Lee and his cast revel in the conventions and trappings of the genre. Chan Chi-ying duly cranks up the noir with his atmospheric cinematography, in the Robert Burks tradition. At times it is almost shamelessly over the top, but that is part of the fun. Recommended for fans of head-spinning head-shrinker thrillers, Insanity screens this Friday night (9/23) as part of the SFFS’s annual Hong Kong Cinema series.

The Ones Below: David Morrissey Moves In

Don’t call it post-partum depression. Frankly, Kate Griezmann has always been moody and she long had her doubts regarding parenthood (as has her husband, Justin). Her motherly instincts might have developed late, but they kick in with full force when she suspects their rather odd neighbors represent danger for her newborn son in British theater director-screenwriter David Farr’s feature directorial debut, The Ones Below (trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York.

Griezmann is very pregnant during the first act, as is her new neighbor in the duplex flat below. The Nordic Theresa is over-joyed (and perhaps somewhat relieved) by her pregnancy, whereas Griezmann is still maybe convincing herself she is okay with it. The two women form a bond through their shared experiences, even though Theresa’s blunt-spoken husband Jon makes little secret of his contempt for her attitude. Evidently they have been trying for years, which makes it especially painful when a freak accident leads to Theresa’s miscarriage.

As if matters were not awkward enough, Jon directly blames them for the accident. Frankly, there is more than enough blame to go around for Theresa’s tumble down the stairs, but that is not what the severe control freak wants to hear. Fortunately, their overwrought neighbors temporarily depart from London, allowing Kate and Justin space to adjust to parenthood and themselves time to grieve. Everything seems all better when they return. Jon is still Jon, but Theresa becomes a regular sitter Griezmann’s little gurgler. In fact, she might even have better rapport with the infant, whereas mothering just seems to take a lot out of Griezmann. Of course, there might be a nefarious reason for the physical exhaustion and mental haze enveloping her.

Ones Below is a slickly sinister film, but its biggest problem is the lack of narrative maneuvering room Farr leaves himself. As a result, we basically expect all the big twists after the first half hour. Still, there is something insidiously telling about the film’s social-generational conflicts, with early 30’s Griezmann’s ambivalent attitudes towards home and hearth contrasting with the yearning of the fifty-ish Jon.

As Jon, David Morrissey is one cool, menacing customer. However, Laura Birn (excellent in the Finnish Oscar submission Purge) is the film’s lynchpin and showstopper. As Theresa, she shows a multitude of dimensions, constantly keeping us off balance. Unfortunately, Clémence Poésy never adequately humanizes Griezmann before her wheels start coming off, while Stephen Moore Campbell is utterly inconsequential as her ineffectual hubby.

Although One Below is nowhere near as tricky as it thinks it is, the film will definitely inspire fresh waves of paranoia, especially among expectant urban parents. Basically, Farr will convince viewers they should worry about everything and everyone—and maybe that’s not so far wrong. Recommended on balance as an unsettling domestic thriller, The Ones Below opens this Friday (5/27) in New York, at the Landmark Sunshine.

The Great Hypnotist: Xu Zheng Gets into Karen Mok’s Head

Hypnosis is usually depicted as a dangerous tool of treachery in movies, going back to Svengali and the silent versions of Trilby before that. Dr. Xu Ruining might not help its image much. He is a reputable hypnotherapist, not a villain, but his bedside manner is rather brusque and arrogant. However, his latest patient might be more than his considerable powers can handle in Leste Chen’s The Great Hypnotist (trailer here), which releases today on DVD from Well Go USA.

When Dr. Xu hypnotizes patients, he really gets into their heads. In fact, we see him walking around their subconscious with them. It might be a bit of expressionistic flair on Chen’s part, but it will get rather ominous during his session with Ren Xiaoyan. His mentor Prof. Fang referred the case to him as a last resort. Apparently, all her previous shrinks were pretty freaked out by her claims of psychic powers, but Fang knows a materialist like Xu will not fall for such supernatural silliness.

Ren is not particularly grateful Xu squeezed her into his schedule and he is not exactly thrilled to have her there. Immediately, he realizes something is amiss with her file. Despite his suspicions, he duly proceeds to hypnotize her. He even starts to make progress, leading her to face some long buried truths. However, her repressed memories will start to fight back, or so it seems.

Everyone seems to hate Great Hypnotist’s ending, but if you take it as an homage to Simon Oakland’s explanatory epilogue in Hitchcock’s Psycho, it is arguably kind of cool. Unfortunately, the big pivotal revelation is harder to miss than Freud’s cigar, but the little stepping stone twists are all neatly turned. Chen seems to be enjoying the traditions and trappings of old school on-the-couch psychological thrillers, which genre fans can appreciate.

For instance, Dr. Xu’s office looks like it could have designed (by art director Luo Shunfu) for a classic giallo, (which is great for viewers but he would have to hypnotize his patients to prevent them from running away). Literally pouring it on, Chen always makes sure there is rain at the most atmospheric and [in]opportune times, while cinematographer Charlie Lam gives it all a satisfactorily eerie glow.

Regardless, the real surprise of Great Hypnotist is the successful pairing of Xu “Mr. Lost” Zheng with Karen Mok. Watching them thrust and parry is great fun. Frankly, we never knew Xu Zheng could chew so much genre scenery. (Maybe he can stretch out a little, playing more characters who are not also named Xu). Mok looks like a fragile reed, but she still projects a commanding presence. She also performs the best on-screen rendition of Weber & Rice’s “You Must Love Me,” most definitely including Madonna’s version (the context of which would be pointlessly complicated to explain). Lü Zhong is also terrific delivering all Prof. Fang’s psycho-babble.

Great Hypnotist is the sort of film that allows mood and style to trump everything else. Still, Mok and Xu manage to scratch out some emotional payoff during the eleventh hour. Frankly, the one hundred forty-four-minute film feels shorter than it is, strangely enough given long tacked-on denouement, but that certainly beats the converse. Recommended for fans of head-shrinking thrillers, The Great Hypnotist is now on regular DVD and digital platforms from Well Go USA.

The Lady in the Car with Glasses and a Gun

Dany Dorémus could be a serious femme fatale, but she lacks the confidence. Perhaps it is because of her glasses. Her parents probably did not help either. Apparently, in French author Sébastien Japrisot’s source novel, they were rather notorious during the German occupation, but that subtext is completely buried in Joann Sfar’s The Lady in the Car with Glasses and a Gun (trailer here), which opens this Friday in select theaters.

Dorémus is bizarrely mousy given her movie stars looks, but the audience is immediately given reason to believe she is not quite right in the head. Regardless, she will gamely agree to do a favor for Michel Caravaille, the boss she has long carried a torch for, despite his marriage to her former business school classmate, Anita. While they attend a party, Dorémus types up his urgent report and will then drive them to the airport next morning for their weekend of business and pleasure.

She was supposed to take Caravaille’s Ford Thunderbird straight home, but instead the devil on her should tempts her into taking a joyride down south to see the sea. However, Dorémus is baffled when everyone along her impulsive route insists they saw her drive through that way the day before. A black-clad Giallo man even seems to assault her in a service station restroom in order to give her a wrist injury to match her doppelganger. At least that is how it appears from Dorémus’s POV, but her grasp on reality could be somewhat problematic.

Sfar, the graphic novelist and director of the animated The Rabbi’s Cat embraces the foreboding visual élan of the Giallo genre and the groovy 1970s period trappings. It is always great fun to watch, even when the film appears to be barreling off the rails. At times, it feels like a marginally more grounded Mortem or a dramatically more grounded Lost Highway, but Sfar brings it all together down the stretch. Along the way, he does his best to dazzle with split screens, flashbacks, and noir mood lighting.

The Scottish Freya Mavor is terrific as Dorémus, the sexually charged naïf-waif. Similarly, Benjamin Biolay has the appropriate upper-class swagger for Caravaille. Frankly, Mavor and Biolay could easily pass for the daughter and son of Samantha Eggar and Oliver Reed, who first played the roles in Anatole Litvak’s1970 adaptation of Japrisot’s novel. As Anita the entitled trophy wife, Stacy Martin more or less picks up where she left off in Lars von Trier’s Nymphomaniac. Frankly, Sfar’s cast looks almost as good as the beautifully sinister cinematography of Manuel Dacosse (who also lensed Hélène Cattet & Bruno Forzani’s neo-retro Giallos, Amer and The Strange Color of Your Bodies Tears). Costume designer Pascaline Chavanne's chic threads also directly contribute to the dangerously seductive vibe.

There are definitely shades of Hitchcock in Car, but it is steamier than anything Hitch could ever get away with, except maybe the first act of Psycho. Clearly, Sfar is definitely riffing on the masters, which makes it quite a lot of fun to watch. Highly recommended for fans of psychological thrillers, The Lady in the Car with Glasses and a Gun opens in a handful of theaters this Friday (12/18), including the Gateway Film Center in Toronto, releasing simultaneously on VOD platforms, like iTunes.

Let’s Hear It for the Boy

Compared to the Mountain Vista Motel, the Bates Motel is quite a going concern. Like Norman Bates, Ted Henley also has mommy issues, but his absentee mother ran-off with a truck driver, abandoning him and his shell of a father long ago. That has not helped his moral-ethical development much. However, there is good reason to suspect the nine-year old is naturally inclined towards sociopathic violence. We will watch as his nature and lack of nurture lead to horrific results in Craig William Macneill’s The Boy (trailer here), which opens tomorrow in New York.

The Bates Motel comparison is inescapable, but frankly, everything about Henley screams future serial killer. Even his name evokes memories of Bundy and Hinckley. As the film opens, Henley’s pa pays him a quarter for each roadkill carcass he cleans off the mountain highway skirting round their usually vacant motel. Henley has devised ways to entice more small varmints to their death, hoping to earn enough money for a bus ticket to visit his disinterested mother. Of course, these killer instincts will steadily escalate over time.

William Colby is first outsider to get caught up in Henley’s schemes. He happens to have the misfortune of barreling into a deer grazing on Henley’s highway chum. With his car totaled, Colby will be staying for a while. Decidedly not the former CIA director, this Colby has a mysterious past of his own, which fascinates Henley for all the wrong reasons.

The Boy is a decidedly slow building thriller, but it really does build, with the tension slowly increasing second, by discernable second. This is only Macneill’s second full feature and his first as the sole helmer, but it is remarkably disciplined. He shows the sort of mastery of unitary mood Poe advocated for short story writers. Macneill never indulges in cheap gore just to placate genre fans, but The Boy is absolutely not a tease. When it gets where it is going, it is pretty darned jarring.

Young Jared Breeze is perfectly cast as Henley. A first blush, he looks like an innocent toe-headed scamp but when you peer into his eyes, you see the psychotic hellion. Unfortunately, the film’s midnight genre credentials mean David Morse will probably receive limited recognition for one of his best film performances as the tragically in-denial and self-loathing Mr. Henley. Rainn Wilson also does some career best work as the erratic Colby.

In fact, there will probably be a bit of an expectations disconnect for The Boy as a former SXSW midnight selection released under Chiller’s theatrical banner. It is an unusually accomplished work from Macneill and his cast that would appeal to fans of art house auteurs, like maybe Refn Winding and Gaspar Noe. Highly recommended for discerning horror and psychological thriller fans, The Boy opens tomorrow (8/21) in New York, at the Cinema Village.

Amnesiac: Meet Your Strange Wife

Nothing gives neuroscientists fits like amnesia thrillers. They basically come in two speeds. Most of the films will devote much of their set-up to meticulous psychotherapy, but the third act inevitably down-shifts into a restorative bash to the noggin. Unfortunately, this beleaguered man with memory loss will not be receiving any of the former in Michael Polish’s Amnesiac (trailer here), which opens tomorrow in Los Angeles.

The unnamed man has a lovely wife, but her bedside manner is a little off. Apparently, she is a veterinarian, but that only partially explains it. He doesn’t really know what her problem is or what her name might be. However, he can still pick up on her bad vibes. She seems darned determined to start a new family, but the man has a feeling they already have a perfectly good daughter—or at least they did before the accident that put him in the position. He has a bad feeling about what happened that fateful day, but we expect the truth will be even worse.

While Amnesiac will never make anyone forget about Spellbound (a tough film to top, since Hitchcock and Dali will not be working on anymore collaborations anytime soon), it still manages to put a few new spins on the amnesia thriller, all made possible by one of the laziest cops you will ever find outside of New Jersey. It becomes more of a cat-and-mouse game than a psycho-babbling psychological thriller, but it has a potent trump cards stashed up its sleeve.

Amnesiac is worlds removed from Polish’s underrated Big Sur, which also co-starred his future wife, Kate Bosworth. Although it was written by screenwriters Amy Kolquist and Mike Le, Amnesiac seems like a strange project for a happily married couple to take on, but at least it gives Bosworth the opportunity to channel her inner early 1950s Bette Davis with a severely chilly lead performance. She sort of hits the same note over and over again, but it is an impressive note. Poor Wes Bentley just gets the living stuffing kicked out of him as the unnamed man, but he sells the big revelations relatively well.

Amnesia is a strangely disconcerting film that appears to exist outside of time thanks to the way Polish blends 1950s imagery with more contemporary trappings. Yet, somehow it seems to work in the context of the film. It is a nice bit of noir film making, but it is the sort of film the head appreciates more (for the ways it successfully plays the viewer) than the heart. Distinctive in its way, Amnesiac is recommended for psycho-captive thriller fans when it opens tomorrow (8/14) at the Arena Cinema in Los Angeles and also launches on iTunes.

AAIFF ’15: Jasmine

You have never seen the streets and business plazas of Hong Kong so empty. Fortunately, thanks to cell phones, loitering does not look nearly as suspicious as it used to. Despite his awkwardness, Leonard To will indeed be able to closely shadow the man he believes might be responsible for his wife’s murder in Dax Phelan’s English language HK production, Jasmine (trailer here), which screens as part of the 2015 Asian American International Film Festival in New York.

To is very definitely not over his wife’s death yet, but the Hong Kong police have apparently moved on. As a result of his debilitating grief, he lost his job and his waterfront apartment. However, just when he starts looking to restart his career, he observes a mysterious figure placing flowers on his wife’s grave. When he subsequently follows the strange man to the site of his wife’s murder, he assumes this must be the guilt-ridden killer.

Having plenty of time on his hands, To manages to find a way to snoop through his suspect’s luxury flat. He also starts tailing the unnamed man’s girlfriend, Anna, a model struggling to jumpstart her acting career. Only Grace, an understanding family friend, still finds time to see him, but even she is alarmed by his increasingly erratic behavior.

Jasmine is definitely what you would call a slow-burner. It is also a “big twist” kind of film, springing a third act revelation that will radically alter the audience’s perception of everything that preceded it. You can never re-watch Jasmine with the same mindset, but it would be interesting to revisit each scene in a different light.

Jason Tobin is pretty darned extraordinary as To, personifying twitchy, clammy pathos. He keeps us deeply unsettled, while closely guarding the film’s secrets. It is almost a one-man show, but Sarah Lian and Eugenia Yuan (daughter of the great Cheng Pei-pei and former U.S. Olympian) add considerable human depth and emotional heft to the film as Anna and Grace, respectively. Byron Mann has little to do except obliviously lead To through Hong Kong, but he has the perfect presence for the role, honed by a number prior villainous big screen turns. Grace Huang (star of producer Jennifer Thym’s dynamite short film Bloodtraffick) also briefly appears as Jasmine To, but you might miss it if you blink at an inopportune moment.

Jasmine is a dark, tightly disciplined thriller, occupying the space where film noir and existential angst overlap. Phelan pulls off some impressive misdirection, while cinematographer Guy Livneh gives the proceedings an eerily cool sheen. Recommended for fans of psychological suspense, Jasmine screens this Thursday (7/30) at the Village East, as part of this year’s AAIFF.

Tribeca ’15: Backtrack

There are two things that always worked in Hitchcock movies: trains and psychiatrists. It is therefore a rather shrewd strategy for screenwriter Michael Petroni to combine them in his feature directorial debut. Sometimes it makes sense, sometimes it doesn’t, but it is always stylish when head-shrinker Peter Bower tries to get his head around his traumatic past in Petroni’s Backtrack, which was recently acquired by Saban Films after successfully screening at the 2015 Tribeca Film Festival.

Still devastated by the accidental death of their pre-teen daughter, Bower and his wife Carol have moved back to Melbourne, hoping the change of scenery will do them good. For the time being, Bower’s practice consists of evaluation-cases referred by his former teacher, Dr. Duncan Steward. These patients seem to have a lot of issues, but they can hardly compare to the visibly disturbed teenager Elizabeth Valentine. She has all kinds of problems, starting with the fact her records say she died in 1987.

Evidently, one Elizabeth Valentine was a victim of a tragic train derailment accident that devastated Bowers’ provincial hometown of False Creek years ago. While Bowers investigates the circumstances surrounding the catastrophe, he starts to remember his own unfortunate involvement. As he stirs up a hornet’s nest of local resentment, the pushback of the living and the torments of the ghosts start to jog Bowers’ long suppressed memories.

Frankly, there are a lot of logical holes in Backtrack, but they are mostly concentrated in the first half hour. If you are willing to gloss over them, the film picks up considerable steam in the second and third acts. Throughout it all, Petroni demonstrates a mastery of atmosphere, building suspense through creepy ambiance and the restrained use of Grudge-like supernatural effects.

It is hard to imagine Adrien Brody saying “put another shrimp on the Barbie,” but his sad-eyed, hang-dog screen persona works quite well for Bowers. As usual, Sam Neill’s forceful bearing classes up the joint, even if his character, Dr. Steward, really doesn’t make a lot of sense. George Shevtsov also adds some grizzled seasoning as Bowers’ old man. However, Bruce Spence (whose mind-blowing credits include the Mad Max, Star Wars, Matrix, and Narnia franchises) arguably lands the best scene as Bowers’ jazz musician patient.

Part of the fun of Backtrack is identifying where the pieces fit seamlessly into each other and where they are just sort of jammed together. Cinematographer Stefan Duscio (who lensed the breathtaking Canopy) gives it all the perfect look of noir foreboding. Petroni rewards viewers who can overlook the narrative’s early ragged edges with a lot of clever bits down the stretch. Recommended for psychological thriller fans not inclined towards pedantry, Backtrack will eventually hit theaters following its successful world premiere at this year’s Tribeca Film Festival.

Berlin & Beyond ’15: Stereo

Film noir fans know when a tough motorcycle guy never talks about the past, there is usually a good reason. In truth, Erik is a little fuzzy on that score himself. Unfortunately, his past will catch up with him good and hard in Maximilian Erlenwein’s Stereo (trailer here), which screens during the 19^th Berlin & Beyond Film Festival in San Francisco.

Despite his “scoundrel” tattoo, Erik seems to have made a fresh start, opening a garage in a small, but welcoming provincial town. He has charmed his single mother girlfriend Julia and her adoring daughter Linda. Her cop father Wolfgang is considerably less impressed, but Erik can handle him. The man who will call himself Henry is another story.

The hooded mystery man appears alongside Gaspar, a suspicious looking type who seems to know Erik and some dangerous gangsters they supposedly did wrong. Gaspar has some sort of plan to finish them off, but Erik sends him packing. However, Henry refuses to leave, ever. It turns out he and Gaspar were not together. In fact, nobody can see him except the increasingly alarmed Erik. Eventually, the mechanic will seek non-traditional treatment, but he cannot shake off the antagonistic presence. As the underworld power struggle roughly invades Erik’s new life, Henry will reveal their secret connection. It will not be pretty.

Stereo is sort of a big twist movie, but the 800 pound shoe drops early in the third act, driving some bizarre dramatic dilemmas for Erik. It is fiendishly cleverly constructed by Erlenwein, who pulls off some brazen narrative sleight of hand right before our eyes. Yet, he is also patient enough to set the scene and establish his cast of sinister and straight characters. Erlenwein also gets a huge assist from Ngo The Chau’s carefully framed, visually hypnotic cinematography.

As Erik, Jürgen Vogel’s bald, beading head looks suitably intense through Ngo’s lens and he masterfully sells his wild ride of character development arc. Moritz Bleibtrau is more restrained as the ominous Henry, but he seems to relish the taunting and totally pulls the rug out from under the audience down the stretch. There are plenty of minor players orbiting them (Fabian Hinrichs as a young, not as dumb as he looks doctor scores considerable points in limited screen time), but it is the oppositional chemistry between Vogel and Bleibtrau that really makes the film tick.

It is hard to understand why a genre specialist like Magnet has not scooped up Stereo for distribution yet. It oozes noir style, while Erlenwein skillfully builds the tension organically, going from slow burn to fiery combustion. Highly recommended for fans of dark psychological thrillers, Stereo screens this Thursday (1/29) at the Castro Theatre in San Francisco, as part of this year’s Berlin & Beyond.

The Scribbler: Do-It-Yourself Shock Treatment

Known as “Jumper’s Tower” to residents, Juniper Tower is the Arkham of mental health halfway houses. If you move in, you are unlikely to get much better or live much longer. However, Suki has an advantage over her new neighbors. One of her multiple personalities happens to be uncannily resourceful in John Suits’ The Scribbler (trailer here), which opens this Friday in select markets.

Considering Suki is undergoing radical therapy to “burn off” her excess personalities, she would presumably be an unlikely candidate for out-patient treatment. Nevertheless, she has been issued a portable burn unit and a room in the friendly tower. Upon arrival, she is met by the grisly spectacle of jumper. It will not be the last one.

Juniper is entirely populated by female patients, except for Hogan, who takes pride and pleasure in being “the rooster in the hen house.” One of Suki’s multiples had a thing for him when they were formally institutionalized together, so they naturally pick up where they left off. Frankly, he is somewhat saddened by her burn-off regimen, lamenting some of her multiples were his friends. Nevertheless, the treatment seems to work, even though it causes temporary blackouts and states of altered perception. Whenever Suki comes to, it seems like another resident has committed suicide and the so-called Scribbler persona has been busy modifying her décor and the burn unit.

Adapted by Dan Schaffer from his graphic novel, The Scribbler incorporates elements from several genres (science fiction, horror, dark fantasy) and generates some clever disbelief-suspending psychological double-talk. Until the third act collapses into a maelstrom of mumbo jumbo, it is a surprisingly effective noir psycho-thriller.

Arguably, the best thing Suits has going for him is the massively creepy Juniper Tower. Production designer Kathrin Eder and art director Melisa Jusufi truly make this film come together, while cinematography Mark Putnam makes it all look suitably ominous, in the tradition of its source material and Grant Morrison’s Arkham Asylum graphic novel.

The cast is generally pretty good as well, particularly Katie Cassidy and Garret Dillahunt as Suki and Hogan, respectively. Their screen chemistry is appropriately weird, but undeniably charged-up. Gina Gershon, Ashlynn Yennie, and Michelle Trachtenberg all chew the scenery with glee as various eccentrically macabre residents of the Tower, but Eliza Dushku and Michael Imperioli seem visibly confused to be playing their scenes as the cops interrogating Suki within the film’s framing device. Fans of Sasha Grey should also take note, her character quickly disappears after her entrance (its almost as much of a tease as her prominently-billed cameo in The Girl from the Naked Eye).

Granted, the ending makes little sense, but that is almost always the case in genre cinema. What is more important is how smart and stylishly sinister the film is as it works its way there. Recommended with surprising enthusiasm, The Scribbler opens this Friday (9/19) in limited release.