The Wailing: Spanish and Argentine Horror

You could call Andrea the child of globalization. Her French birth mother was a French expat in Argentina, who gave Andrea up for adaption, stipulating a new home for her in Spain. However, the style and atmosphere of her resulting story is very much like what expect and appreciate from Spanish horror movies. Unfortunately, a mysterious evil force show no respect for borders in director-co-screenwriter Pedro Martin-Calero’s The Wailing, which releases today on VOD.

Like most teenagers, Andrea resents her parents. She also resents Marie Montand, the woman who gave birth to her, mostly for dying before she could find her. Awkwardly, her parents only revealed her origin recently, which turned out to be way too late. Yet, rather ominously, Montand did not just surrender her daughter. She also committed suicide, after doing time for murdering a teenaged girl roughly her age. That is a lot for Andrea to unpack.

Her exchange student boyfriend Pau suggests she take time off, so she can visit him in Australia. By the way, he also asks, who is the person standing behind you in the video she sent? What person? Yes, indeed, there is a strange old man standing behind her, off to the side and in the shadows, hidden in just about all her recent videos and selfies. Slowly, Andrea starts to suspect the mystery involves an eerie old building in Madrid that looks exactly like the one Montand once inhabited in Buenos Aires.

Rewinding twenty years, Martin-Calero switches his focus to Camile, a film student, who develops a borderline obsession with Montand, an expat party girl. Briefly, she manages to bridge the gap between stalker and potential lover (don’t try this in real-life kids). However, in the process, she generates a lot of film and photos, all of which reveal a sinister figure observing Montand in the background.

By horror standards, there is very little blood and gore in The Wailing. However, it is rich in foreboding and dread. Martin-Calero builds the tension slowly but steadily. While the bifurcated structure is initially jarring, it is ultimately quite effective.

Last Stop: Rocafort St.

It is like Barcelona’s version of Kisaragi Station, the supposedly haunted Japanese train station that has become the stuff of urban legend, even though it never really existed. Haunted or not, Rocafort Street has undeniably become a magnet for suicides. That would have been a good question to for Laura to have asked about during her interview. However, she needs this job as the station’s night attendant, so she stays long enough to witness a suicide. She then sees a lot more after that in Luis Prieto’s Last Stop: Rocafort St., which releases this Friday on VOD.

As we witness during the prologue, it wasn’t just suicides that happened in the Rocafort stop. It was there that notorious serial killer Elias Soro killed his final victims. The investigating detective, Roman Azpuru tried to stop him, but things turned out badly for everyone, including the disgraced Azpuru.

Nevertheless, Laura turns to Azpuru after witnessing a train engineer’s suicide. The distraught man told her not to look, but she did so anyway. Now she is seeing grotesque visions of the victim and perhaps the gory fates of others around her. There also seems to be a devil dog haunting the lower tracks, but when you see him, you’re really done for—because he is like Cerberus.

Initially, Prieto and co-screenwriters Ivan Ledesma and Angel Agudo follow the playbook of Asian horror films riffing on the Kisaragi mythos, like the Korean Ghost Station. However, they add elements of Aztec death cult mythology that probably appeals to Spain’s colonial guilt, but also distinguishes Rocafort from other haunted station films, like The Sound (which featured Toronto’s infamous Lower Bay subway stop).

Guitierrez’s The Wait

Jobs were hard to come by in 1970s Spain. Poor Eladio would have been better off working as a bellhop in a dysfunctional hotel in Torquay. Instead, he accepts a position as the gamekeeper on Don Francisco’s estate. They say the soil there is cursed and he might be too in director-screenwriter F. Javier Guitierrez’s The Wait, which is now available on VOD.

There was a time when Eladio was an avid hunter, but he is over it now. However, his young son Floren has a passion for shooting, but more so inanimate targets than animals. Regardless, the little boy takes to Eladio’s new gig much more readily than his mother, Marcia.

One day, Don Francisco’s crony, Don Carlos, offers Eladio a Faustian bargain. Don Francisco approved ten shooting stands for the big annual hunt, but Don Carlos, the hunt master, wants to sell thirteen. Eladio fears the potential crossfire could be dangerous. However, his increasingly embittered Marcia browbeats him into accepting Don Carlos’s bribe. Tragically, Eladio’s concerns are vindicated when Floren is killed by an errant shot.

Thus begins a Job-like succession of woes raining down on Eladio. They almost break him, but instead, he latches onto thoughts of vengeance, especially when he uncovers remnants of strange and possibly occult rituals.

The Wait is a powerful film, but it is not a heck of a lot of fun. It is [almost] darker than Putin’s soul and Guitierrez’s pacing is agonizingly deliberate. The film doesn’t just rub viewers’ noses in Eladio’s pain. It grinds their entire bodies into his misery. Yet, there is no denying its haunting potency.

Vampus Horror Tales

In anthology movies, the host is the most important part. In this case, Vampus is less macabre-looking than Tales from the Crypt’s Crypt Keeper (just barely), but the grave digger does similar work. Unlike most anthology framers, Vampus also ranks up a significant body-count of his own in Vampus Horror Tales, which releases Tuesday on VOD.

Vampus hates it when people call him Mr. Fettes, maybe because it is weird to be named after James Bond’s boarding school. Regardless, those like the obnoxious YouTuber touring his cemetery usually wind up dead. Vampus’s segments are the best parts of his film—by far—whereas the constituent tales are a rather mixed bag (but they all share consistently stylish black-and-white cinematography).

It starts with a pretty good one, “La Boda,” directed by Manuel Martinez Velasco, in which a bride and one of the groomsmen find themselves stuck in a nightmarish time-loop. It is still a horror story, rather than science fiction, as you can tell from the blood on their clothes.

Perhaps the best self-contained tale is Erika Elizalde’s “Cumpleanos,” essentially a mini slasher film evocatively set in a carnival funhouse, whose various attractions pay homage to classic horror films. Montse Pla and Dunia Rodriguez are surprisingly fierce as the two women on the not-so romantic ride.

“Segunda Cita” starts as a promising riff on Wait Until Dark, wherein the blind Margot realizes her new boyfriend is a psycho, who isn’t wearing pants. Unwisely, she agreed to join him for a weekend at his remote summer house, where he intends to kill her. Director Isaac Berrocal sets it up nicely, but turns out disappointingly conventional.

Shudder: 32 Malasana Street

This Madrid address is the Spanish equivalent of 112 Ocean Avenue (the Amityville Horror house). At least that is what the “based on a true story” tag line would have us believe. It certainly looks like a sinister building, but the location is choice. That could lead to a dilemma New Yorkers could appreciate. Unfortunately, for this family, there were no notorious history disclosure requirements during the mid-1970s in Spain. Consequently, they are in for some sleepless nights in Albert Pinto’s 32 Malasana Street, which premieres tomorrow on Shudder.

Candela and her common-law husband Manolo were having a hard time in their stifling rural village, so they sold-out lock, stock, and barrel to afford their new Madrid flat, but it is still highly mortgaged. Her daughter Amparo his ambitions to work as a flight attendant, but she must care for her bratty five-year-old brother Rafael and her somewhat dementia-addled grandfather. Yet, he seems to be the first to pick up on the sinister nature of their new home.

In fact, he sort of precipitates the first crisis (or really the start of their sustained nightmare), when Amparo is forced to chase after him, leaving Rafael alone. After he vanishes, the middle brother Pepe starts getting mysterious notes regarding his whereabout, while Amparo receives phantom calls on the phone line they have not had time to activate. Soon, even stubborn Manolo must admit there is something very wrong about the flat.

The family’s apartment and the supposedly empty bordering unit represent some wonderfully creepy art and set design work. However, horror fans better see it while they can, because the way the film wrings scares out of protected groups (starting with the elderly and the disabled, but eventually including even greater sacred cows) is likely to get it cancelled by some professionally offended interest group.

Regardless, it is pretty scary stuff. Superficially, it follows a typical haunted movie beat-sheet, but Pinto’s execution is creepily effective and screenwriters Ramon Campos and Gema R. Neira constantly find ways to freshen up familiar elements. The way the climatic exorcism attempt plunges into utter chaos is a perfect example.

Buñuel in the Labyrinth of the Turtles, from GKIDS

Luis Buñuel is easily the most important surrealist in cinema history. You could also say he was one of the early pioneers of the true-in-spirit hybrid-documentary. Just like his previous films, the 27-minute Las Hurdes: Tierra Sin Pan or Land Without Bread immediately stirred controversy and was duly banned for years. Truth and artistic license jostle each other while witnessing the depths of Spanish poverty in Salvador Simo Busom’s animated making-of feature, Buñuel in the Labyrinth of the Turtles, which opens today in New York, courtesy of GKIDS.

When Buñuel started developing the documentary that would become Land Without Bread, his reputation as a filmmaker essentially rested on two films, Un Chien Andalou, the short film that commenced his collaboration with Salvador Dali and L’Age d’Or, the hour-long satire that pointedly ended it. Both works generated explosive outrage as well as reverence within avant-garde circles. There are frequent references to Buñuel’s frosty relationship with Dali throughout the film, but the psychological influence of his distant and domineering father will be more significant.

Despite his baggage, Buñuel can be charming, at least at this early stage of his career, but also maddening. Just ask his anarchist friend, Ramón Acín Aquilué, who jokingly promised to fund Buñuel’s proposed documentary exposing the desperate living conditions in the Las Hurdes region—and kept his word when it came to pass. However, Acín was most definitely not made of money, which inevitably led to conflict with the not-so practical auteur.

Although most of the film is animated, Simo periodically inserts archival footage from Land Without Bread, cutting back and forth to show us what was happening on both sides of the camera. The way he and editor Jose Manuel Jimenez marry the two styles of footage together is enormously clever and visually striking.

Clearly, Simo has a great deal of sympathy for Buñuel, but the film is not a starry-eyed exercise in hagiography. Instead, he provides a complete portrait of the artist, including his tendencies to be a bit of a user and a flake. Even though Simo takes us pretty extensively into Buñuel’s head, it is still hard to decide what to make of him. Look, geniuses are complicated.

Regardless, Labyrinth of the Turtles (a reference to Las Hurdes’ tortoise shell-like roofs) is an entertaining and erudite primer on Buñuel’s early development as an artist. Simo’s animation is quite elegant, in a style befitting the 1930s, but he mixes in some wild, Freudian flights of fancy that are quite in keeping with the Buñuelian spirit.

In fact, Simo and co-screenwriter Eligio R. Montero will probably motivate a lot of intrigued viewers to take a deep dive into the Buñuel filmography. Yet, they avoid getting bogged down in problematic politics of the era. Altogether, it is probably the most fitting big-screen treatment of the larger-than-life auteur you could ever hope for. Highly recommended for fans of sophisticated animation, Buñuel in the Labyrinth of the Turtles opens today (8/16) in New York, at the Quad.

Fantasia ’19: The Incredible Shrinking WKND

In most time-loop movies, the looper gets to start fresh with each reset, but Alba will carry her cuts and stains with her. Fortunately, she is in okay health, despite drinking like a fish, unlike the easily winded Bill Murray. However, her relationship with Pablo is in a sad state. Alba must heal their bond to get back to forward-moving regular life, but she is running out of time and chances in screenwriter-director Jon Mikel Caballero’s The Incredible Shrinking WKND, which had its North American premiere at the 2019 Fantasia International Film Festival.

Lately, Alba has exhibited behavior typically observed in aging frat boys with Peter Pan syndrome. For Pablo, it just isn’t cute anymore. Yet, it is really her insensitivity to his needs that finally prompts him to break-up with her. This catches her completely off guard, largely spoiling the weekend trip to her childhood vacation cabin she had planned with their friends. Suddenly in a ruminative mood, she wanders past the mysterious old abandoned weapons factory that is presumably the cause of the time-loop she finds herself in.

Of course, Alba is utterly baffled by the situation. She then responds by preemptively dumping Pablo. However, as she resolves to prevent the breakup and heal their relationship (presuming that will break her out of the repeating cycle), Alba figures out each loop lasts exactly one hour less than the one before. Tick-tock.

The glut of time-loop movies could give a science fiction fan Groundhog’s Day Deja vu, but Caballero makes it fresh again, starting with the gender reversal of his hard-partying, irresponsible protagonist. He dexterously reveals more and more revelations regarding Alba’s relationships with Pablo and their friends in each loop, springing new complications that make each successive go-round even trickier for her to navigate. It really is quite a clever script and he stage-manages all of Alba’s rushing about quite effectively.

Iria del Rio is compulsively watchable as Alba, going all in, in a hot mess kind of way. Viewers will get annoyed with her, but remain sympathetic to her predicament. In fact, she shows tremendous range, showing a flair for almost farcical comedy, but also dialing it down for a few surprisingly poignant moments. Frankly, Adam Quintero is mostly underwhelming as Pablo, but Jimmy Castro and Adrian Exposito definitely stir up the pot as two of their noisy, discontented friends.

“Clever” really is the right word to describe WKND, because in addition to all the new twists and tweaks Caballero gives the time loop movie, it also engages in some wickedly droll visual gamesmanship that will sneak up on you if you are not alerted to it beforehand. Probably the best loop movie since the Korean film, A Day (granted, that was just from 2017, but there have been a lot of them since then), The Incredible Shrinking WKND is highly recommended for time-themed science fiction fans, after its North American debut at this year’s Fantasia.

NOLA Horror ’18: Framed

A group of friends think they are gathering for a going away party. Boy, is that the truth. Thanks to the internet, the goodbyes will be permanent in Marc Martínez’s Framed (trailer here), which screens during the 2018 NOLA Horror Film Fest.

In Spain, they are just starting to realize the internet can host of lot of twisted, dangerous stuff. Our latest luddite morality lesson revolves around the live-streaming platform “Framed.” It started out with cooking lessons and the like, but quickly gained infamy for the more extreme videos streamed there. However, nothing tops the violence instigated by the three nameless killers seen in the prologue driving a wronged wife to bludgeon her faithless husband. This time, they plan to get their hands dirty crashing the party thrown for poor, luckless Álex. He was hoping he would finally get somewhere with Bea, but that obviously will not be happening when she shows up with her NGO do-gooder boyfriend Maurice. Then the live-casting killers start to strike.

Frankly, it really feels like this film is late to the demonize-the-internet party. We have been down this road with the Unfriended movies before. By now, we understand our voyeurism is part of the problem. The whole live-casting angle really isn’t new. It’s even happened in real life, horrifyingly. So, that just leaves Framed as a rather routine slasher film, albeit with somewhat above average brutality.

Still, it has to be stipulated, Framed has considerably higher production values than most exploitative slashers. Cinematographer Yuse Riera really gives it a polished but ominous look. Joe Manjón and Claudia Pons are quite competent as Álex and his platonic roommate, the two primary rooting interests, but their characters are quite thinly sketched. Álex Maruny is also undeniably creepy as the lead home invader, but his two accomplices are such problematic stereotypes, it really gives you an icky feeling watching the film.

At least, Framed has the merit of brevity, clocking in at eighty minutes. Martínez does not dawdle with the gore either. It is a well-made film, but it is not nearly as edgy or topical as it thinks it is. Considering the strength of Spanish horror in general, Framed is rather a disappointment. It screens this Sunday night (9/23), as part of the NOLA Horror Film Fest.

Night of the Virgin: Ringing in the Occult New Year

In the American slasher movies of the 1980s, virginity was considered a key to survival. Unfortunately for Nico, this is a Spanish film. He is totally screwed and not in the way he had in mind throughout Roberto San Sebastián’s Night of the Virgin (trailer here), which releases today on VOD.

It is New Year’s Eve, but Nico can’t get the time of day from any of the women in the bar where his friends are partying. Suddenly, he locks eyes with a cougar and they are off like a prom dress. When he gets to her apartment, he realizes Medea isn’t exactly what he thought, but desperate times, etc., etc. However, her apartment is just kind of gross. There are cockroaches scurrying everywhere and for some reason she keeps a jar of her menstrual blood in the bathroom. She also has a thing for Nepalese artifacts. That might sound classy, but we immediately suspect they are part of something more nefarious.

There is probably something off about Medea, but there is no question her ex-boyfriend violently pounding on the front door is a jealous nutcase. Nico would prefer to slip out quietly, but neither will let him get away so easily. Then things get bloody.

Even though there are only three noteworthy characters, Virgin is spectacularly gory, with all kinds of bodily fluids getting splattered about. They haven’t invented enough trigger warnings for this film, so hyper-sensitive viewers should just stay the Hell away. Even experienced cult movie fans should gird themselves before walking into this lunacy. Yet, you have to respect San Sebastián for having the guts and mischievous defiance to let loose this much chaos. To quote Cannonball Adderley: “Mercy, Mercy, Mercy.”

Javier Bódalo also deserves credit for being rubber-faced, rubber-boned, and having a superhuman tolerance for humiliation as poor Nico. Likewise, Miriam Martín chews all kinds of scenery as the increasingly deranged Medea. Just like Bódalo, she does all of her work in the third act buried under layers of gunky makeup and practical effects.

Damn dudes, for real. If Night of the Virgin is not a notorious cult movie by tomorrow than we just don’t know what else San Sebastián and his crack makeup and effects team could have done. There is no holding back here, so when its over, you know you saw something. If this sounds like something you’re still interested in than you’d better watch Night of the Virgin when it releases today (6/12) on VOD platforms, including iTunes.

PSIFF ’18: Veronica

Supposedly, this was the first reported case in Spain when a cop or government authority figure of any stripe admitted to witnessing paranormal phenomenon. Sure it was, just like the Amityville and Conjuring movies are based on true stories. In any event, Det. Romero is in for an eyeful when he responds to a fateful 9-1-1 call. However, before the audience takes in the crime scene, we will watch, in media res, how things got so bad for the title character in Paco Plaza’s Verónica (trailer here), which screens again during the 2018 Palm Springs International Film Festival.

Verónica (Vero) and her friends are about to try contacting the dead with a Ouija board, so that is pretty much all the explanation we need. To further raise the stakes, they are going to do it during an eclipse. Vero wants to speak to her somewhat recently deceased father, but something else crosses over instead. Of course, her fair-weather friends totally freak out, botching the ritual and thereby leaving the evil entity free to stalk Vero. Unfortunately, she is not the only one at risk. Her younger sisters Lucía and Irene, as well as their baby brother Antoñito are also very much in its crosshairs.

Frankly, Vero was already under a lot of stress. Her hardworking barkeep mother basically relies on her to look after her younger siblings. It is not really fair to her, but she accepts the situation out of love and a sense of responsibility. However, protecting them from this uncanny force will be a different proposition entirely.

Not to be confused with the Mexica identity-bending psychological thriller Veronica, Plaza’s Verónica recycles some well-worn horror tropes, but Plaza’s execution is tight and tense. The [REC] franchise co-helmer milks our general fear of the unseen and the specific innate Catholic dread of the demonic for deeply unsettling chills.

Sandra Escacena is a dead-ringer for Shailene Woodley, but she is probably a considerably better thesp. She is terrific working with the young supporting ensemble: Bruna González, Claudia Placer, and Iván Chavero. They really seem like a believably real and dysfunctionally grieving family. Consuelo Trujillo is also spooky as heck as the blind but all-seeing Sister Narcisa, a.k.a. “Sister Death,” while Chema Adeva adds plenty of genre-appropriate rumpled world-weariness in his wrap-around appearances as Romero.

Verónica follows an established arc, but Plaza and co-screenwriter Fernando Navarro come up with some creepy original details that deepen and intensify the atmosphere of mounting anxiety. Supernatural horror is always scarier in Spanish horror films, because the Devil remains a very real presence there—and is probably still ticked off about Franco. Recommended as some meat-and-potatoes for horror fans, Verónica screens again this Saturday (1/13), as part of this year’s PSIFF.

Birdboy: The Forgotten Children, Another GKIDS Contender

Everything is cuter with talking animals, right? This film will test that theory with drug addiction, schizophrenia, police brutality, and industrial disasters. It is no wonder three alienated animal youths are determined to escape their dysfunctional and dystopian island home, but leaving is not such a simple proposition for the late Birdman’s son. He is seemingly tied to the island by bonds of psychological and emotional pain in Pedro Rivero & Alberto Vázquez’s Birdboy: The Forgotten Children (trailer here), an officially qualified Oscar contender, which opens this Friday in New York.

Not so long ago, a nuclear meltdown wiped out the island’s industrial sector, leaving a vast dumping ground in its wake. Residents of the island’s supposedly civilized quarter avoid it as best they can, but a tribe of scavengers known as “the Forgotten Children” constantly picks over the trash heaps in search of salvageable copper. Dinky, a recently orphaned mouse, pines for Birdboy, her sort of boyfriend, but it is unclear whether he can commit to her on any level. Tragically, he is still tormented by the death of his father, Birdman, who was murdered by the island’s shoot-first police dog, on the suspicion he was dealing drugs.

Dinky and her friends, Sandra the schizophrenic rabbit and Little Fox the little fox, plan to purchase a light boat in the [post-]industrial zone, so they can make a Cuban-style getaway, but the sensitive mouse hopes she can convince Birdboy to leave with them. However, he has his own ghosts and mental demons to exercise. Plus, the police dogs are hot on his trail.

GKIDS deserves all kinds of credit for giving ambitious animated films like this a chance. Make no mistake, Birdboy is absolutely not for kids—not one little bit, even though the characters look deceptively youngster-friendly. Based on Vázquez’s graphic novel, it is a dark and sophisticated film that is almost relentlessly pessimistic about human nature, or rather anthropomorphic animal nature. Yet, it is singularly macabre and richly inventive accomplishment in world-building. There is just so much that is bizarre and frightening about their island environment, it would be a shame to miss out on it.

Vázquez’s characters are also unusually complex and deeply damaged. This is one neurotic animated feature, but we really feel compassion for Dinky, Sandra, Little Fox, and Birdboy. They are way more human than anything you will see in The Boss Baby or the latest Despicable movie. (However, parents should again be cautioned, our cuddly cast of characters is headed for a bittersweet conclusion that is more bitter than sweet.)

As if Birdboy were not sufficiently challenging on its own, it will be paired with Vázquez’s Goya Award-winning short film Decorado during its New York engagement. Featuring dreams-within-dreams and worlds-within-proscenium stage sets, Decorado will confuse most Millennials. It also features sexual references and a vicious parody of Donald Duck. It is trippy and unsettling, but it is also dazzling, in a postmodern kind of way. It certainly is not out of place proceeding Birdboy, but it does not have anything like its emotional payoff.

Alas, Birdboy has no chance for best animated feature, because there is no way the Academy can handle it, but if you want to see what animation can be, it will duly impress (along with Decorado). These are haunting visions, whose very existence makes our world a stranger and more mysterious place. Highly recommended for animation connoisseurs, Birdboy: The Forgotten Children opens this Friday (12/15) in New York, at the Quad Cinema.

Morbido ’17: Dhogs

Forget about Mars and Venus, Red and Blue, or any other social dichotomies. According to this film, humanity is really made up of dogs and hogs. The former are loyal and obedient, whereas the latter are dirty, self-indulgent, and perverse. Either way, man remains inherently animalistic. Andrés Goteira invites us to take a good hard look at human nature and then shows us up for being voyeuristic in Dhogs (trailer here), which screens during the 2017 Morbido Film Fest, in CDMX.

Essentially, Dhogs is a Galician language serial killer movie (explaining its presence at Morbido), except it actually gets worse than that for one prospective victim. The narrative is sort of a triptych, but the interconnecting links are especially random for this sort of post-Tarantino movie. Perhaps the weirdest thing going on is Goteira’s explicit homages to Léos Carax’s Holy Motors, of all films.

The unnamed cabbie is sort of Monsieur Oscar figure, but before proceeding with his head-scratching business, he will drop off a middle-aged businessman, who will subsequently pick up a younger woman in the bar of his hotel. Their illicit courtship will be closely watched by the bartender, another patron, and what appears to be a theater audience, in a recurring bit of meta fourth wall-breaking gamesmanship.

Unfortunately, “Álex” as she calls herself, will be abducted by a serial killer during her walk-of-shame from the hotel. From here on out, the film gets drastically darker and dramatically more violent. Frankly, her initial abductor will not even be the worst of her problems, but he is still pretty damn bad.

The second and third acts have some tough stuff that is truly punishing to watch. To cap it all off, the big concluding revelation manages to be both disappointing and disturbing. It is true Goteira is trying to say something the dehumanizing influences of our hedonistic contemporary culture, but he really flogs the viewer with his depictions of man’s bestial treatment of his fellow man.

Still, Melania Cruz is utterly riveting and absolutely harrowing as the horribly unfortunate Álex. It is a great performance, but it is still just as hard to watch as everything else in the film. Respected for the ensemble work, but not recommended for mortal human consumption, Dhogs screens tomorrow (10/28) as part of this year’s Morbido in Mexico City. Those in attendance should definitely make a higher priority of 78/52, Trench 11, Sequence Break, and The Endless.

PFF ’17: The Bar

It is like the Cheers from Hell. The regulars at this downtown Madrid tavern know each other’s names, but that does not mean they like each other It is a far from ideal spot to be trapped during a catastrophe, but its not like anyone had a choice. Elena just came in to charge her phone, but she will struggle to survive with a group of strangers in Álex de la Iglesia’s The Bar (trailer here), which screens during the 2017 Philadelphia Film Festival.

Elena was on her way to meet her internet date, but alas for him, she will stand him up. It is not her fault. Blame the sniper picking off every customer leaving that crummy bar. The mysterious agency at work also disposes of the bodies with ruthless efficiency. Whatever is going on, the Spanish government does not want citizens to know about it. An airtight media blackout is in effect and the bar is soon physically sealed from the outside.

To survive they will have to work together, but that will be harder than it sounds. Both the working-class bartender Sátur and Nacho, the hipster advertising designer would be happy to work closely with Elena, but not so much the shrewish proprietor or the anti-social pensioner who regular comes to feed the slot machines. The retired cop and the lingerie salesman are both rather standoffish, but Israel, the unstable, Bible-quoting homeless maniac will talk to anyone.

Clearly, the Spanish government has improved significantly at perpetrating cover-ups since the release of [REC] 2. It helps that nobody out there really wants to know the truth, or so de la Iglesia clearly suggests. Like My Big Night and Witching & Bitching, The Bar features a colorful cast of characters, driven by an incredible set of circumstances to act like lunatics. However, as the initial sense of mystery wears off, it becomes a rather conventional exercise in lifeboat paranoia. The unhinged Book of Revelations-obsessed ravings of the increasingly violent “Israel” also quickly become wearisome. Still, we can see why de la Iglesia is one of the top genre directors on the international festival scene from the way he generates tension from the contrivances forcing the survivors to squeeze through a narrow drainage hole into the sewers below.

Blanca Suárez truly gives a fearless performance as Elena, especially when de la Iglesia is lathering her in baking oil and forcing her through said apertures. Even apart from all that, she elevates the film with her smart, sophisticated presence. Mario Casas effectively plays against type as the shy, slightly creepy Nacho. However, Jaime Ordóñez’s abrasively eye-rolling, transparently on-the-nose Israel goes beyond the cartoonish lunacy we expect and enjoy in de la Iglesia’s films.

De la Iglesia has a knack for bedlam and spectacle, but he also has a tendency to get bogged down in didactic indulgences (As Luck Would Have It being an unfortunate example). Viewers can see full well the merits of the former inclination and the frustrating implications of the latter during the course of The Bar. It is a film that ultimately undermines itself, but it still earns mega-style points for using Duke Ellington’s “Portrait of Wellman Braud” during the opening and closing credits. Not nearly as much fun as Big Night or Witching, The Bar is best left to the auteur’s most ardent fans when it screens Friday (10/27) and Saturday (10/28) as part of this year’s PFF.

PFF ’17: The Invisible Guest

Cell phones and the internet have undercut some of the traditional elements of mysteries and thrillers, but a locked room is still a locked room. Adrián Doria would know. He came to while locked in a hotel room with the dead body of his former mistress. That was super awkward. Nevertheless, the former rising star of Spanish industry might beat the wrap with the help of his expert trial consultant. However, he will have to tell her the full ugly truth in Oriol Paulo’s The Invisible Guest (trailer here), which screens during the 2017 Philadelphia Film Festival.

Apparently, Doria and his former lover Laura Vidal were lured to the hotel, by someone blackmailing them with evidence of the first killing. Okay, Doria will have to back-up a little for the benefit of his witness prepper, Virginia Goodman and the audience. Most likely, all his troubles started on the drive back from his final assignation with Vidal. Swerving to avoid a deer, they fatally run another motorist off the road instead. Since, he was dead anyway, they just disposed of the car and body.

Oh, but of course, it couldn’t be so simple. There was maybe, possibly a witness or two. Plus, as a supreme irony, Vidal found herself face-to-face with the young soon-to-be-missing-under-mysterious-circumstances man’s parents, when his retired engineer father volunteered to fix her stalled auto.

Paulo clearly enjoys springing surprises and dropping shoes on the audience. Yet, in this case he starts with a pretty twisty premise, in that the exculpatory circumstances of Doria’s prospective testimony might be just as damning. Presumably, that is why he needs a good trial consultant.

The first half-hour of Guest is rather glum, but once it has all its pieces set up, it is jolly entertaining to watch Paulo gleefully knock them over. He has a lot of tricks of his sleeve, some of which will make guffaw with disbelief, but it is still great fun watching him try to pull them off. You just have to go with it and enjoy getting played.

Anna Wagener is just terrific as Goodman. Smart and righteous in a good way, she makes her a trial consultant worthy of Agatha Christie. Likewise, José Coronado seethes with quiet power and dignity as the outraged father, Tomás Garrido. Bárbara Lennie is also quite remarkable giving Vidal, the presumptive femme fatale, subtly different shadings with each successive flashback. Mario Casas is a bit of a blank slate as Doria, but anyone would be passive while getting the lectury third degree from Goodman.

Yes, the truth is indeed slippery in Guest, but human nature is a rock-solid constant. Paulo cranks up the tension and generally aims to please genre fans. The result is a film that should be a prime candidate for an English language remake, but it just wouldn’t be as good with over-exposed Hollywood thesps in the lead roles. Enthusiastically recommended, The Invisible Guest screens tomorrow (10/23) and Thursday (10/26) during this year’s Philadelphia Film Festival.

Recent Spanish Cinema ’17: The Invisible Guardian

The Basajaun is sort of like a Basque Bigfoot, but it has more positive connotations, as a fabled protector of the forests. Naming a serial killer after it is culturally insensitive, like a “Kokopelli Killer” would be in the American Southwest, but what does the media care? Maybe, just maybe, there is a Basajaun tangentially involved in Amaia Salazar’s case, but it is her own family who will really complicate the investigation in Fernando González Molina’s The Invisible Guardian (trailer here), which screens during the Recent Spanish Cinema series in Los Angeles.

Salazar is from Navarre, but she has been gone so long many now consider her an outsider. She had her reasons for leaving, including profiling training with the FBI in Quantico. That is why she has returned. As the lead investigator on a serial killer case, Salazar quickly determines their suspect may have been active over seven years earlier. For some reason, the killer temporarily went dormant, but the monster has re-awakened and refined its M.O. The “Basajaun Killer” now strategically places a local pastry on the victims’ bodies. Rather awkwardly, the txantxigorras are very much like the ones baked in Salazar’s family bakery, now managed by her estranged sister Flora.

The case really hits close to home when Salazar’s ineffectual, anti-social brother-in-law through her other sister attempts suicide, under dubious conditions. She manages to clear him of formal suspicion, but in doing so, she sticks her neck out. Weird things bordering on the uncanny seem to be afoot and her flashbacks to the abuse she suffered as a child unnerve her even further. At least she can count on back-up from Johan Etxaide, an honest local copper and the wise counsel of her fortune telling grandmother and her FBI mentor now assigned to New Orleans.

Guardian is probably best classified as a thriller, but at times it knocks on horror’s door. This is a massively moody and atmospheric film that makes the most of Navarre’s narrow, ancient streets and the dark and murky surrounding forests. Molina keeps the tension cranked up, periodically flirting with supernatural elements to kick it up even higher. A midnight tarot reading? Sock it to us.

As the emotionally scarred but assertive and proactive Salazar, Marta Etura makes a rock-solid, sympathetic and believable sleuth-protagonist. Itziar Aizpuru is also terrific as her granny, Tía Engrasi, especially in their slightly spooky scenes together. Colin McFarlane adds some coolness in his all-too-brief scenes as the sage FBI instructor. However, Guardian is really distinguished by intangibles, like vibe, tactile “feel,” and general mise-en-scene.

Guardian is the kind of film that grabs viewers immediately and pulls them through quickly. It might not do much to boost Navarre tourism, even though Molina makes the most of the regional locales. It also makes us curious to see what he might do if he went all in on a proper horror movie. Enthusiastically recommended for fans of serial killer thrillers, The Invisible Guardian screens this Friday (10/20) as part of Recent Spanish Cinema at the Egyptian Theatre in LA.

Brooklyn Horror ’17: Salvation

According to rumor, patients of this crummy metropolitan hospital know when their vitals take a turn for the worse when they are paid a visit by a certain doctor in his clown costume. He is like the Patch Adams of death, but at least he keeps busy. The outlook is not great for thirteen-year-old Cris, but she has been offered a rather unconventional cure from a fellow patient in Denise Castro’s Salvation (trailer here), which screens tonight during the 2017Brooklyn Horror Film Festival.

Cris is at the age when she wants to rebel against her mother and authority figures, which is natural enough, but does not make her a model patient. Walking the halls one night, she slips into a sequestered wing with only one occupant. That would be Victor, who is even less cooperative than she is. He also claims there are medical reasons for his isolation. He is not contagious, he is a vampire. Any day now, he will regain enough strength to slip away into the night. He might be willing to turn Cris and take her with him, if she shows sufficient commitment to the undead way of whatever.

This film is just dying for you to compare it to Let the Right One In—and there is a stylistic and thematic kinship. However, it is a stretch to call it a horror movie. It is more aptly described as a darkly fantastical coming of age story—unless you have a phobia of hospitals, in which case Salvation will scare the pants off you.

Marina Boti and Ricard Balada brood with fierce, anti-social intensity as Cris and Victor, but weirdly enough, the four or five-year age difference between them feels more awkward then the protective relationship Eli the little girl vampire shares with her parent-like familiar in Right One. However, Laura Yuste is absolutely terrific as Cris’s long-suffering mother, who still has to put up with her crap during some of the darkest days a parent can know.

There is no question, the art and design team created a massively creepy environment to putter around. José Luis Pulido’s cinematography also reinforces the darkly, moody vibe. Yet, Castro and co-screenwriters Lluís Segura and Laia Soler often undercut the potential suspense with frequent attempts to “de-mystify” the vampire elements. At times, Salvation feels like it believes it is better than a crass plebeian horror movie (and that attitude is always a bummer). Earning a decidedly mixed recommendation for some fine performances and its accomplished technical craftsmanship, Salvation screens this afternoon (10/14) at the Spectacle Theater and tomorrow (10/15) at Video Revival, as part of this year’s Brooklyn Horror Film Festival.

Underworld: Toro

According to in-film news reports, tourism in Andalusia is at an all-time high, but so are unemployment claims. How very Spain. Romano the mob kingpin can relate to both stories. Business is way down at the restaurants he controls, because his former protégé Toro is steering tourists away from the restaurants he controls during his work-release as a cab driver. Toro’s brother López is still part of Romano’s syndicate, but he has been skimming more than a few paella customers. When López’s luck runs out, his brother will reluctantly risk his early parole to help him in Kike Maíllo’s Toro (trailer here), which screens during the AFI Silver Theatre’s Underworld retrospective of crime films from around the world.

There was something fishy about the night Toro was busted and his partner was shot dead by the cops. López was also with them, but he walked away clean. Five years later, Toro has turned his back on crime, driving tourists (away from Romano’s establishments) and seriously dating an understanding school teacher, until the midnight hour.

As usual, López messes up everything. Toro probably would not have gotten involved had Romano not abducted his niece, Diana. He hardly knows her, but he knows she is a good kid. What begins as a rescue mission evolves into an exercise in payback when Toro learns that bullet from five years ago was really meant for him. He is so well acquainted with Romano (and vice versa), his vendetta will inevitably get very ugly.

The fundamental structure of screenwriters Rafael Cobos & Fernando Navarro’s narrative is in keeping with long-established gangster movie conventions, but it gets vicious on a personal level in ways Hollywood would not be comfortable with. However, if you can handle a spot of violence, it sure is slick and pacey. Toro might not do much for tourism, but Maíllo capitalizes on the region’s distinctive modernist architecture, particularly the long, circular internal and external staircases that seem to be a hallmark of Andalusian Brutalism.

As Toro, Mario Casas is a bit vanilla in the first act, but he seethes like a champ when his character gets riled up. Even diehard fans of Spanish cinema have probably never seen Luis Tosar as sleazy as he is playing López. Teenage Claudia Canal shows future movie star potential as the tomboyish Diana, while the veteran thesp José Sacristán chews the scenery like he owns it as the despicable Romano.

Next time you are in Andalusia, you might wonder about the power struggles that put the shrimp on your plate. Don’t let that stop you, because its surely delicious. This film also has a fair amount of spice to it too (yet, the very best films in the Underworld series hail from Asia, such as A Hard Day, I am not Madame Bovary, The Handmaiden, and Black Coal, Thin Ice). Recommended for fans of gangster revenge thrillers, Toro screens this Tuesday (8/8) at the AFI Silver Theatre, just south of the Beltway.

RIFF ’17: Wolves (short)

An RAF pilot loses his sidearm after his plane is shot down behind enemy lines. That sounds bad, but it gets worse when we realize this might not be a war movie. It might fall into the horror genre instead. Or maybe not. Call it whatever you like, but Álvaro Rodriguez Areny’s Wolves (trailer here) is a heck of an intense short film that screens during the 2017 Ridgefield Independent Film Festival.

The dogfight ends badly for Arthur, but the bailing out and crashing-and-burning effects are pretty impressive for a short film. Injured and unarmed, he makes his way to an apparently abandoned country estate. Unfortunately, the National Socialists are following close on his heels—and they might be even more sinister than we thought.

Very subtly, Areny drops hints that there might be something supernaturally evil afoot here. He gives flashes that are almost subliminal, but undeniably creepy. Regardless, he clearly uses a visual vocabulary much more in keeping with the horror genre than an Alastair MacLean-style manhunt thriller. Yet, it still has more action packed into it than many feature-length war movies. It might be a tease for a prospective feature, but it is certainly effective.

Andorran TV star Isak Férriz goes all in with an impressively physical performance. He genuinely looks like the fear of death is in him. Areny and cinematographer Marc Gallifa give it all a darkly stylish look that keeps us off balance and in some instances uncertain whether we just saw what we thought we saw. It is quite an accomplished twelve-minute film. Very highly recommended, it screens this Friday (5/19) during the Ridgefield Independent Film Festival, in Connecticut.

MFF ’17: Sex. Maracas & Chihuahuas

He was one of the first to record Frank Sinatra, married Charo, and from time to time had dinner with Al Capone. Xavier Cugat led a ridiculously full life, but he also helped introduce Cuban rhythms to America, paving the way for Afro-Cuban jazz. The music of the “Rumba King” was hipper than you thought according to Chucho Valdés, one the many admirers who pays tribute to Cugat in Diego Mas Trelles’s Sex, Maracas & Chihuahuas (trailer here), which screens during the 2017 Miami Film Festival.

Cugat’s life was a Horatio Alger story that took a very Hollywood turn. His family emigrated from Catalonia first to Cuba when he was five-year-old and then again to America ten-years later. Eventually, Cugat would marry and divorce five times, plus he would be romantically linked to dozens of band singers and Hollywood starlets. He started out accompanying silent films, but his band became the featured attraction in many classic Hollywood musicals. Yet, his music was totally hip and legit. In fact, composers and songwriters like Cole Porter and Ernesto Lecuona wrote tunes expressly with his band in mind.

SM&C is a dishy doc, but it is almost always Cugat doing the dishing. Late in life, he returned to his native Catalonia, but he was never shy when prompted to reminisce about his golden years, especially when it was an attractive reporter asking. The archival footage always catches Cugat in a playful spirit, which Mas Trelles matches with some sly editing and graphics.

Minute-for-minute, cell-for-cell, SM&C might just be the most rollickingly entertaining documentary of the last five years. You have the glamour of Cugat’s vocalist-lovers (such as Lina Romay) and his wives, most notably including Abbe Lane. Then there is the intrigue that comes from playing the clubs and casinos owned by the likes of Bugsy Siegel and Scarface Al. There are even dogs, thanks to Cugat’s investment in a Chihuahua breeding concern. Plus, we get to hear Valdés play a little Cugat with his combo.

Man, what a life. SM&C is just overflowing with anecdotes and marriages, but we get the feeling Mas Trelles is only scratching the surface. Nevertheless, he keeps it snappy and consistently refocuses our attention on Cugat’s music, which is impressively dexterous of him. Very highly recommended for anyone who appreciates Latin music or old school Hollywood, Sex, Maracas & Chihuahuas screens this Friday (3/10), as part of the Miami Film Festival.

ADIFF ’16: Gurumbe. Afro-Andalusian Memories

Spain had slaves. This is not exactly front page news to anyone who knows a thimble full of Cuba’s colonial history. However, it has been conveniently forgotten on the Iberian Peninsula, where there was also plenty of slave-holding on European soil. In that context, amateur musicologists will not be surprised to learn African music forms helped shape the development of flamenco. Academics and musicians examine the legacy of Spain’s deliberately forgotten slave trade and its resulting cultural impact in M. Angel Rosales’ Gurumbé. Afro-Andalusian Memories (trailer here), which screens during the 2016 African Diaspora International Film Festival.

When historian Aurelia Martín Casares started researching slavery in Spain, she was told it never existed, but she unearthed over 2,500 slave deeds of sale just during the time she was working on her thesis. It turns out there was an extensive slave trade conducted within Spain proper, largely localized within the port cities of Seville and Cadiz, which of course, were major centers of Andalusian society. According to one on-screen expert, Spanish slavery even pre-dates the African trade, trafficking slaves from Caucasia (as in Southeast Europe into Eurasia)—a provocative historical episode that remains under-examined in culture and academia.

Of course, it is easy to hear the influence of African poly-rhythms in flamenco, if you listen for it. Viol da gamba virtuoso Fahmi Alqhai takes the discussion a step further, illustrating how traditional African musical forms also inspired the syncopation of baroque music through his catchy arrangement of Gaspar Sanz’s “Canarios.”

There are a number of musical performances in Gurumbé, but the tone of the film is surprisingly measured, authoritative, and at times something close to academic. As a result, it is highly credible and convincing. Rosales and his experts certainly make the case Spain remains in denial with respect to its national history as a slave owning and trading country. Indeed, some commentators parenthetically note with irony how Spain is only too willing to revisit the crimes of the Franco era, yet it refuses to face up to earlier national controversies.

There is some lovely singing and dancing in Gurumbé and a whole lot of awkward truth. Frankly, Rosales is pitching the material at a higher level than causal viewers might expect, but it is a good thing that he refuses to under-estimate his audience. Recommended for those with a serious interest in Andalusian culture and music, Gurumbé. Afro-Andalusian Memories screens this Thursday (12/1) and Sunday (12/11), as part of this year’s African Diaspora Film Festival.