Medium publication Fictions recently published my sci-fi horror novella Infestation.
Set in the near-future, Infestation concerns the mysterious appearance of giant spider nests across the globe. Exactly where they came from is unknown, but despite the initial terror, life has settled down somewhat, especially in the UK, where humans have learned to keep away from cities lost to the spiders.
Against this backdrop, covert ops mercenary Jonah Seymour leads a dangerous and unpleasant mission of revenge into a large spider nest, at the behest of a wealthy, influential businessman. Jonah agrees to this potentially lethal assignment because his pay will ensure his wife gets the urgent medical treatment that will save her life. But the deadly ordeal that awaits is beyond anything Jonah could possibly have imagined.
All six parts are available for your reading pleasure on Medium:
I recently had a short story published in Fictions on Medium that I’m rather pleased with. It’s entitledApocalypse 1983and is inspired bythe real-life 1983 Soviet nuclear false alarm incident, which you can read about here. I won’t spoil my take on this alarming historic incident, but I will say my story was a response to a writing prompt from Fictions that specified the story be set in 1983 and feature a radio at some point.
Apocalypse 1983 is a good deal shorter than my usual short stories (just north of 2,000 words as opposed to the usual between 10,000 and 15,000 words), but it packs in quite a lot. I hope you find it interesting. You can read it in full on Medium here.
Copshop is a no-nonsense, stripped-down, pulpy thriller set mostly set in a Nevada police station. It echoes everything from Tarantino films like Reservoir Dogs and 70s cop pictures such as Magnum Force. Director Joe Carnahan delivers a fairly solid slab of genre thrills, though there’s nothing here you haven’t seen a dozen times before. It’s also far from Carnahan’s best (that would be The Grey, as far as I’m concerned). Nonetheless, it is worth a look.
When rookie cop Valerie Young (Alexis Louder) is deliberately assaulted by crooked Teddy Murretto (Frank Grillo), she quickly realises he’s done this on purpose to end up in the “safety” of a police cell. Who is he running from? The answer comes quick enough in the form of professional assassin Bob Viddick (Gerard Butler), who once beat a man to death with his own leg. Viddick also contrives to get himself arrested and taken to the same police station.
At this point, the plot thickens to include murderous conspiracy, crooked cops, crooked FBI agents, and psychopathic (as opposed to professional) assassin Anthony Lamb (Tony Huss), who is also after the bounty on Teddy Murretto. It all comes to a head as Valerie faces a crisis of who to trust to get them out of their Alamo-esque predicament. Viddick or Murretto? Bloody violence ensues, with double and triple crosses, back from the dead twists, and a smidgeon of amusing banter.
It all gets a bit much towards the end, and I found myself distracted by silly stunts and unconvincing CGI flames. But before that point, there’s fun to be had with the claustrophobia of the limited locations, and some of the more amusing character development. Frankly, there isn’t enough of the latter, particularly with Alexis Louder, who as the protagonist gets somewhat side-lined in her own film. It’s a shame, as she’s a great character.
As for the rest of the cast, Butler is amusing in a supporting role, as are Grillo and Huss. It’s directed with economy and flair, and screenwriter Kurt McCleod throws in a few witty zingers. (“What’s got you so curious?” “Curiosity.”) Is it a groundbreaking masterpiece? No, but it is efficient and entertaining enough as a diversion for the f-words, fisticuffs, and firearms brigade.
A terrific central performance from Jennifer Hudson forms the heart of Aretha Franklin biopic Respect. As Franklin, Hudson nails the poise, mannerisms, and musical prowess of the soul legend, singing a number of her greatest hits, and recreating a number of key performances. Hudson is no stranger to these kinds of roles, having previously starred in Supremes-inspired Dreamgirls. Sadly, her performance isn’t matched by the rest of the film, which plays it decidedly safe by ticking all the expected musical biopic boxes.
The plot romps through key moments in Franklin’s life, beginning in childhood with her close relationship with her mother (Audra McDonald). Her relationship with her preacher father CL Franklin (Forest Whitaker) is more complex. He loves and encourages his daughter, but is also controlling and somewhat exploitative of her extraordinary talents. So is Aretha’s domineering husband Ted White (Marlon Wayans), especially once fame beckons and Aretha is signed to producer Jerry Wexler (Marc Maron), after struggling for some time to find her own sound.
Lurking in the background are the shadows of sexual abuse, depression, and alcoholism. Aretha had a child at twelve and a second child shortly after that, and the film touches on this to a degree, but quickly moves on to other matters, without getting too dark (in contrast with, say Tina Turner biopic What’s Love Got to do With It). In fact, the film seems determined to cover so much ground that it ends up somewhat overlong and episodic. I would have preferred a more selective approach, focussing on one particular aspect. Her association and civil rights work with Martin Luther King alone could have supplied enough material for a standalone film, for instance.
Given that Aretha Franklin’s family was involved in this production, perhaps certain aspects were airbrushed at their insistence. Still, director Liesl Tommy and screenwriter Tracey Scott Wilson do a perfectly serviceable job, and the supporting cast, especially Forest Whitaker, is also very strong. But this is Jennifer Hudson’s film through and through. She isn’t the Queen of Soul, but she is an exceptional impersonation, enabling suspension of disbelief whilst watching this film. Respect perhaps isn’t destined to be remembered as a great musical biopic, but Hudson’s performance is undoubtedly great.
James Wan’s latest Malignant is a hugely enjoyable, lurid slab of gruesome pulpy horror hokum. Having previously helmed Saw, Insidious, and The Conjuring, here Wan tries his hand at a curious mash-up between retro-giallo Argento homage, with a side order of Cronenberg and De Palma. The result is deliriously nasty fun for genre fans, though I should emphasise this is a truly deranged piece of work, with the wince-inducing blood and violence levels set to eleventy-stupid (strong enough for an 18 certificate in the UK). Still interested? Read on.
When heavily pregnant Madison (Annabelle Wallace) and her abusive husband are attacked in their Seattle home by a mystery assailant, the police are baffled by the gruesome aftermath. Madison loses both baby and abusive husband. However, regarding the latter, as Madison’s sister Sydney (Maddie Hasson) observes, although he didn’t deserve to die so horribly, it’s a relief he’s now out of her sister’s life.
Unfortunately, the police — in the form of detectives Kekoa Shaw (George Young) and Regina Moss (Michole Briana White) — become increasingly suspicious of Madison, especially when other murders occur that appear to have links to her mysterious past. It transpires Madison was adopted, and she hasn’t even bothered to tell her sister (a convenient plot contrivance glossed over very quickly). Nor does she have any memories prior to her adoption, though her adoptive mother offers a few clues about creepy invisible childhood friends that perhaps weren’t so imaginary after all. With corpses piling up and Madison having inexplicable visions of the killings as they take place, the police bring in a hypnotherapist to regress Madison into her forgotten past. After that, it really gets demented.
Wan’s stylish direction has fun playing with points of view. One particularly impressive early flourish features an unbroken directly overhead shot as Madison moves from room to room within her home, trying to keep out the malevolent invader. The trademark dark corners, clever use of negative space, and jump scares are present and correct, but the latter are mercifully dialled down, allowing for a more immersive, atmospheric, gothic sense of creeping dread. Speaking of all things gothic, there are some wonderfully sinister locations, including an abandoned research facility at the edge of a cliff, and eerie catacombs beneath Seattle containing old streets that were later built over.
Malignant echoes everything from The Bird with the Crystal Plumage to Sisters, with a dash of Angel Heart, and a Cronenberg film I don’t want to specify for fear of spoiling the big twist. Actually, said twist also weirdly echoes a particular Harry Potter story, but again I won’t want to say which one. Performances are as melodramatic and over-the-top as you’d expect, but the film has a knowing sense of humour that nicely contrasts the grislier moments (for example, Sydney’s flirtation with Detective Shaw). The stabs of electronica in Joseph Bishara’s music score are also a knowing throwback to giallo soundtracks of the 1970s and early 1980s.
It doesn’t all work. Horror aficionados may well see the aforementioned big twist coming, and the sheer ludicrousness does undercut any feeling of genuine terror. The inevitable sequel set-up is a bit of an eye-roll too, considering that with the big reveal now out in the open, the mystery and intrigue will be lost. Still, never mind potential sequels. For now, Malignant is an enjoyably daft blast for the horror crowd, with plenty of nostalgic nods, as well as buckets of blood, especially in the utter insanity of the final reel.
This year marks the 10th anniversary of my debut novel Uncle Flynn. Well, sort of. Technically the first version appeared on 30th December 2010, but paperbacks followed in 2011, so it’s sort-of the 10th anniversary. Either way, this treasure hunt adventure for the young and young at heart still holds an important place in my heart.
Uncle Flynn was in fact the eighth novel I wrote, but the first I decided to self-publish. Having been turned down by agents and publishers, my brother-in-law suggested this thing called Kindle on Amazon, and I decided to give it a go. The book was a modest success, and received some very good reviews – although I’m sure the fact that it was free at that time helped.
Plot
The story concerns eleven-year-old Max, a boy who suffers from crippling phobias and anxiety. Estranged from his workaholic father, Max’s life gets interesting one day when his mysterious uncle Flynn – an archaeologist normally working in South America – comes to visit.
During his stay, Max and Flynn discover clues pertaining to a local legend – a treasure buried on Dartmoor by monks, during the sacking of Buckfast Abbey at the time of Henry VIII. Following these clues lead to the discovery of a map. Max begins to put aside his many fears and hang-ups due to his obsession with finding the treasure. Flynn is equally obsessed, despite the dangerous presence of rival treasure hunters.
Complicating matters even further, once they set off across Dartmoor, Max discovers the police are on their trail. What has his uncle done to put himself at odds with the law? Flynn urges Max to help him evade his pursuers. Because he is so desperate to beat their rivals to the treasure, Max agrees, despite his uncle’s refusal to tell him why he is on the run.
As well as following in the tradition of well-known titles like Swallows and Amazons, Treasure Island, and adventure films like The Goonies, the novel was initially inspired by the many walks I had taken with my eldest son on Dartmoor (to whom the novel is dedicated). We had visited several memorable locations, including Cater’s Beam, Sherberton Stone Circle, the “Crock of Gold” Bronze Age tomb, and Wistman’s Wood. These all turn up in the novel, even if I am somewhat liberal with the geography.
Some of the dangers faced on Dartmoor by the characters are not entirely fictional. There are deadly mires, especially the notorious Fox Tor mire and Raybarrow Pool. In addition, there are wild boar in the west (now documented fact). There have also been several panther sightings, though most of these were on Exmoor rather than Dartmoor. The sheer number of these (and a few dubious photographs) raise eyebrows on a regular basis, although how they got there is a mystery. Some suggest that the UK Dangerous Pets Act in the 1970s caused eccentrics who owned big cats to turn them loose, and that they somehow bred in the wild. And yes – you can see adders on the moors at warmer times of year, though they typically slither away if you get anywhere near them.
Buckfast Abbey was another key location used in the book. Much of the history of the abbey works its way into the novel, especially regarding how Henry VIII burned priceless Catholic books, closed the abbey, and had its gold and other treasures transferred to London. William Petre, who is mentioned in the novel, oversaw this process. He later retired in the south-west, purchasing a couple of manors. Uncle Flynn moves beyond these facts to suggest William Petre had other motives for returning, namely that he had become obsessed with tracking down the treasure hidden by a few clever monks that had slipped through his fingers.
I suppose the novel is mainly about overcoming fear and the dangers of mollycoddling. My protagonist Max suffers severe anxiety and panic attacks. He has many phobias, and there are satirical suggestions that an increasingly risk-averse society is at least partly to blame. For instance, one sequence early in the novel has Max being initiated into a secret club in school – a club that dares to play conkers without “protective head gear”. Max and the other children are caught and punished for their dangerous behaviour. This may sound absurd, but my late father (who was a teacher) informed me this kind of nonsense has been introduced in some UK schools.
Such satire is largely peripheral, and the novel implies throughout that Max’s difficult, estranged relationship with his father is what really lies at the heart of his problems. In attempting to impress his father, Max – along with his mysterious, genuinely dangerous uncle – takes increasingly reckless action in his quest to find the treasure. The irony is mollycoddling actually leads Max to take greater and greater risks.
Of course, this makes the novel sound terribly heavy and worthy, and I can assure you it isn’t. It is, first and foremost, a children’s adventure story. I didn’t write it to deliver any kind of “message”. However, I noticed these themes and ironies after the fact. What is important to any author will always be inherent in the text of their work, and in this case, I can see these themes in retrospect.
Uncle Flynn is available on Kindle and in paperback here (in the UK) and here (in the US).
To say Leos Carax’s latest film Annette is not for everyone would be a hilarious understatement. His wilfully abstract, theatrical, musical fantasy drama is an extraordinarily singular work; by turns surreal, sprawling, self-indulgent, and yet in its own way magnificent and moving. I suspect it will divide audiences right down the middle into those who love it and those who loathe it.
I’m in the former camp, partly due to the strength of the leads. Adam Driver and Marion Cotillard are two of my favourite actors, and here they eat up the screen with delirious scenery-chewing aplomb, singing their hearts out to the tremendous score by Sparks, with lyrics by Ron Mael, Russell Mael, and LC (Leos Carax). Driver plays Henry McHenry, a narcissistic provocateur stand-up comedian who falls in love with opera soprano Ann Defrasnoux (Cotillard). They have a baby together, but the baby turns out to be a wooden puppet. From there, things get really strange, as Simon Helberg’s character “The Accompanist” is drawn into the story (look out for a superb directorial flourish as Carax’s camera circles Helberg whilst he delivers plot exposition amid conducting an orchestra). I’m also giving a special mention to child actor Devyn McDowell, who gives an absolutely heartrending performance in the low-key final scene that strips away every iota of artifice and irony. Alas, I cannot get into details for fear of spoilers.
Carax borrows elements of A Star is Born, Ken Russell’s Tommy, Martin Scorsese’s Raging Bull, Jean Cocteau’s La Belle et la Bete, King Vidor silent pictures such as The Big Parade, Busby-Berkeley musicals, Stephen Sondheim musicals, and even Andrew Lloyd Webber musicals, blending them with his own trademark surrealism from films such as Holy Motors. The result is absolutely bonkers, but it’s also brilliant. Or it’s terrible, depending on your point of view.
From a purely technical standpoint, Carax stages some visually stunning set pieces reflecting the theme of fantasy versus reality that inhabits the narrative. An early montage set to “We love each other so much” – a knowingly on-the-nose and ironic song – features swooningly romantic imagery such as Driver and Cotillard on an exhilarating motorcycle ride, taking a walk through a countryside idyll, and so on, but it also features a darker undercurrent. Shots are framed with deliberate metaphorical foreshadowing – for instance, Driver’s hands menacingly entering the frame from the left behind Cotillard, as though he were about to strangle her. There’s a particularly clever match cut between a sex scene, with Cotillard’s head dangling over the end of the bed in orgasmic ecstasy, and Cotillard in a similar position, in agonised childbirth.
A memorably fantastical sequence involving a storm at sea cuts afterwards to a more mundane police station. Again, this clever blurring of fantasy and reality consistently wrong-foots the audience, as do the words and actions of the leads. At one point, Driver confesses to murdering Cotillard by “tickling her to death” at one of his stand-up gigs. But she’s not dead. She’s being driven to LA, where she appears to fantasise about six women making #MeToo accusations against Driver (in another very cleverly devised set piece). At least, I think it’s a fantasy, as that aspect of the story is never referred to again. But why is she having such fantasies at all?
Fantasies involving death are indulged in by both Driver and Cotillard, given Cotillard’s penchant for operatic characters who meet tragic ends, and Driver’s self-loathing tendency to “look into the abyss”. Annette seems to be a film about the destructive nature of male rage, particularly when fuelled by booze. It’s also sort-of about exploiting talented children, though not in a particularly profound way.
All of this is punctuated by a Greek chorus of TMZ-style showbiz news reports on the rising and falling fortunes of the lead characters. In addition, this phantasmagorical film is not just smothered in the delirious melodrama of doomed romance, but also framed by a deliberately meta, self-consciously theatrical opening; wherein the curtains part, and the entire cast, musicians, director, and so on welcome the audience by launching into a light-hearted musical number on the streets of Santa Monica, before getting into character and beginning the story. A similar sequence plays out over the closing credits.
Ultimately, it is difficult to recommend this to anyone outside the serious-interest-in-cinema crowd. Those with strictly mainstream tastes would be better off sticking to more conventional musicals. Yes, I suppose it is arguably flawed by Driver having more prominence than Cotillard, and pretentious in the odd abstraction too far, but it certainly isn’t dull. Moreover, it is an uncompromised, innovative, playful, heartfelt, possibly even self-questioning work by a visionary director operating at the peak of his powers. That’s before reiterating the diverse, dramatic Sparks music score; by turns classical, rock-operatic, and minimal, rendered in beautiful images courtesy of Carax’s regular cinematographer Caroline Champetier.
Even you wind up hating Annette, you’ll certainly never forget it. Personally, I loved it.
I confess I thought Shang-Chi and the Legend of the Ten Rings looked rather bland and uninspiring based on the trailer. Nonetheless, this is a Marvel film, so it couldn’t be missed. With low expectations, I entered the cinema, hoping I’d be pleasantly surprised. My hope was not in vain. Shang-Chi and the Legend of the Ten Rings is a terrific fantasy adventure with wit, heart, and action to spare.
The plot concerns San Francisco-based best friends Shaun (Simu Liu) and Katy (Awkwafina) who both work as hotel parking attendants with a penchant for karaoke and joyriding guest’s expensive vehicles. One day they are ambushed by a gang of martial arts experts, and Shaun is forced to reveal his hitherto secret combat expertise. Afterwards, Katy discovers her friend has a mysterious past involving a dangerous father (Tony Chiu-Wai Leung) in possession of ten mystical rings, and that his sister could be in danger. Cue a flight to Macau, where the action really heats up.
Saying much more would spoil the plot, suffice to say the fight, chase, and battle set-pieces are directed with considerable flair, courtesy of Short Term 12 director Destin Daniel Cretton and some stunning visual effects. The aforementioned ambush takes place on a bus hurtling through the streets of San Francisco, and proves breathlessly entertaining. Equally entertaining is a vertiginous fight sequence on the scaffolding outside a high-rise building which really does need to be seen on the biggest screen possible to be fully appreciated. Bits and pieces of backstory are filled in via deftly deployed flashback, for instance in one scene of revenge in which mirror images are Cretton’s wisely chosen directorial weapon of choice.
There are a few delightful surprises for fans of earlier Marvel films, including a couple of returning characters (one of them particularly unexpected). As the film progresses, the narrative takes a more fantastical turn, adding a magical parallel dimension with peculiar creatures and monsters, building to a memorable clash of father and son that echoes Return of the Jedi. The film also pays significant homage to the wushu fight scenes of Ang Lee’s Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon and Zhang Yimou’s Hero and House of Flying Daggers, particularly during one flashback forest glade confrontation that makes striking use of opulent colour.
Performances are strong, especially from the two leads. Their friendship and often hilarious banter immediately won me over. The backstory is a little more predictable, and perhaps it all gets a little too overblown in the finale, as is often the case with Marvel. On the other hand, no one will come out of this feeling short-changed, especially when the traditional mid and post-credits sequences seem to be setting this up for something bigger, possibly tying in with the upcoming Spider-Man: No Way Home. In short, Shang-Chi and the Legend of the Ten Rings is a tremendously exciting, playful movie in the best traditions of Marvel.
Nia DaCosta’s new version of 1992 horror classic Candyman is technically a direct sequel that expands the “Candyverse” backwards and forwards. However, in terms of narrative, it feels more like a loose remake. It is also a maddeningly mixed bag featuring some stylish direction and a few good scares, but well-intended messages about racism become so on-the-nose that the fear factor is rather diluted.
Bernard Rose’s excellent original film featured a variation on the Bloody Mary myth, adapting a short story by Clive Barker entitled The Forbidden, and transplanting it from a London council estate to a Chicago housing project. Many of the plot beats of that original are repeated, though this time a black man rather than a white woman investigates the Candyman legend. The man in question is Anthony (Yahya Abdul-Mateen II), an artist intrigued by Helen Lyle’s experiences in the first film. Her descent into murderous insanity has become more talked about than Candyman, due to it taking place within recent memory. However, Anthony also learns the greater backstory of the now-gentrified project, regarding the hook-handed killer who can be summoned by saying his name five times in front of a mirror.
After being stung by a bee, Anthony begins to undergo a Candyman-esque transformation. His art also takes a disturbing new direction, much to the concern of his exhibitor girlfriend Brianna (Teyonah Parris). When displayed, his art installation pieces spell out the details of how to summon the Candyman. As a result, a number of people start foolishly saying his name in front of mirrors.
The new Candyman wants to be a truly subversive socio-political horror like the original Night of the Living Dead, His House, or even Get Out (incidentally, Jordan Peele is involved here, co-credited on the screenplay). However, unlike the original, this one is about as subtle as a brick in its messaging, even including an end credit encouraging viewers to go online to engage with a social impact initiative. Does it matter? Perhaps in view of recent events, the filmmakers are done with “subtle” and want to make it loud and clear for all us dimwits sitting in the dark.
I don’t necessarily have a problem with Candyman being rewritten as a vengeful supernatural force targeting pretentious white art critics, white teenage girls with a penchant for racist bullying, or trigger-happy white cops. However, making it a direct sequel rather than a reimagining with its own rules causes the film to rather tie itself in knots. For example, in this version, any black man killed ultimately becomes a mirror-dwelling Candyman spirit. This feeds back into themes of gentrification, police brutality, and the fact that America is still an institutionally racist nation, but bringing all this so much to the foreground makes it a bit of a blunt instrument polemic and undermines the supernatural scariness.
On the plus side, there are some strong, visually stylish moments, courtesy of DaCosta’s directorial prowess. Cleverly designed opening titles play over unsettling shots looking up into mist-covered high-rise buildings. A death scene in an art gallery early in the film proves agreeably gnarly. In another highlight, the gruesome demise of the aforementioned bullying teenage girls is innovatively directed from under toilet stall doors and into bloody discarded make-up mirrors. A wide shot outside an apartment building during another Candyman attack is also superb.
In final analysis, this new Candyman is by no means a bad film. It is well-acted and directed, and delivers just enough of the genre goods to keep horror fans entertained. But as a scary film, it ends up somewhat muted by its nobler intentions.
Simon Dillon Books 