It’s the 80’s in South Armagh, and we’re in the height of the Troubles. The IRA is a vocation, and paramilitaries make house calls, but they’re not exactly interested in cups of tea. It’s said that time heals all wounds, but in Crocodile Fever the only way to put the past to bed is to get legless with a strong spirit and a dose of black humour.
You are about to enter a world of hatchbacks, tracksuits, graffiti, and bad hairstyles, because the year is 1994 and the city is Glasgow, where the only good system is a sound system, and ecstasy is more than just a feeling. This coming of age story marches to the beat of its own drum machine, and even though it may follow a familiar rhythm, it still takes enough deviations to make it fresh for jaded ears.
Turo (Johannes Holopainen), a shy and taciturn fellow, resides in the same picturesque Finnish town that he grew up in. He rides his cost effective bike to work at the local asylum everyday. He has a crush on the girl-next-door florist. And he is the lead singer of Impaled Rektum.
With such a strongly characterising title as Satan’s Slaves you would be forgiven for assuming that Joko Anwar’s film is just another generic horror at the bottom of the bargain bin, but instead it possesses both subtle and effective scares more in line with the likes of It Follows, and House of the Devil, than any Rob Zombie gore-fest.
Embodying traditional detective drama with existential reflection, Carol Morley’s Out Of Blue truly is a combination of contrasts, red and blue, right and wrong, sober and drunk, because what may be perceived to be reality might not actually be the case in this multiverse.
In a time when there is a strong desire to erect partitions, Ali Abbasi’s adaptation of John Ajvide Lindqvist’s (Let the Right One In) Border is a bizarre but necessary tonic. Abbasi employs a disparate combination of themes, but they conjoin to demand the audience to reflect upon what it means to be human, as well as the interweaving issues of racism and discrimination in this dark fairytale, yet Border is as much a romance as it is a grim version of an Aesop’s fable.
It’s difficult to think of a country more entrenched in history, magic, and legends, than Ireland. Add to that a population with more than it’s fair share of literary horror talent, and it is frankly amazing that we don’t have more of a horror film lineage. So with the impending release of Irish horror; The Hole in the Ground, I waited with baited, but cynical breath.
The Assassination of Gianni Versace is American Crime Story’s follow up to their successful first season; The People vs. OJ Simpson. Season Two was perhaps destined to pale in comparison to the world-renowned sensationalism that was Season One, but it progresses through the stranger-than-fiction true events with gripping aplomb, dissecting the facets of Andrew Cunanan’s demise to provide a well-timed and dispersed storyline. Prior to watching this, I knew little about the murder of Gianni Versace, except for the fact that he was famously gunned down on the steps of his Miami Beach mansion. Granted, many of the finer details of the story are speculation due to circumstances, but the writers claim to have stuck as closely to the facts as possible.
After the sensory explosion of December, I found myself, without the appropriate mental preparation, in January. The month of Mondays. I could no longer face round the clock eating and drinking sessions, and over the Christmas season I exhausted most of the viable avenues of watchable entertainment. And so, cue the January blues. Then, like a savior of my sanity, Facebook announced the impending arrival of a new Netflix Original series; Sex Education.