Bleed With Me review – three’s a crowd in taut bloodsucking horror

Amelia Moses’ feature debut keeps us guessing as to who is the hunter and who is the prey as a holiday in the woods turns sour

Writer-director Amelia Moses makes her feature debut with this tautly constructed work of psychological horror which, although far from perfect, certainly suggests she’s a talent to watch out for. Like British film-maker Rose Glass’ outstanding horror-adjacent breakthrough Saint Maud, Moses’ story circumnavigates a relationship between two women, one that is charged with an intensity that’s more than platonic but less than erotic, and inflected by an unequal power distribution.

The story takes place in Canada. We largely we see it unfold through the eyes of Rowan (Lee Marshall, excellent), a young office drone who meets the more confident and glamorous Emily (Lauren Beatty) at work when Emily saves her from a sexually predatory co-worker. With the pair having become friends, Emily invites Rowan to come with her for a holiday stay in a secluded, snow-capped cabin in the woods along with Emily’s boyfriend Brendan (Aris Tyros).

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Nope: what on earth is Jordan Peele’s new film about?

The Oscar-winning creator of Get Out and Us has released a mysterious new poster for a film called Nope, causing mass speculation online

Yesterday, seemingly out of the blue, Jordan Peele announced the name and poster of his third movie. The film is called Nope and the poster is a picture of an ominous-looking storm cloud hovering above a mountain village. Do we know what it’s about? Nope. Do we have any sort of insight into the film whatsoever? Nope. Would it be a good idea for us to attempt to extrapolate the premise for the film using nothing but a one-word title and a picture of a cloud? Nope. Are we going to do it anyway? Sure, why not.

☁️ pic.twitter.com/iiDRwVLmbr

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Luz: The Flower of Evil review – arty horror strangely mutes its women

Colombian horror about a micro-cult is rather too fascinated by the barbarity of its leader, rather than the daughters he has hidden from the world

This bold and disturbing arthouse horror from first-time feature director Juan Diego Escobar Alzate feels like it could be set sometime in the 19th century. It’s about a tiny religious cult based in the wildly beautiful Colombian mountains: the group’s leader is El Señor (Conrado Osorio), a farmer who looks like a cowboy in the Clint Eastwood mould, with a macho growl; his trio of daughters wear frontier prairie dresses. But we must be closer to the present day: in an early scene the eldest, 23-year-old Laila (Andrea Esquivel), brings him a 1980s cassette player that she has found in the woods and she is spellbound by this unknown contraption. El Señor says the devil lurks inside.

It’s an intriguing set-up, and cinematographer Nicolás Caballero Arenas shoots the lush landscape through what looks like a trippy filter; blazing sunsets and garish rainbows give the film a quasi-fairytale, almost surreal feel. El Señor has raised his daughters in total ignorance of the world outside their community of a dozen or so. But the film is depressingly thin on the women; often it seems more interested in arranging them in arty tableaux than investigating the way that isolation has shaped their personalities and how they see the world. The wafty Terrence Malick-ish voiceover written for Laila doesn’t exactly fill in the psychological gaps.

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Army of the Dead review – Zack Snyder’s zombie splatterfest is a wit-free zone

A muscle-bound crew of mercenaries infiltrate a Las Vegas full of zombies in Snyder’s uninspired Netflix horror-thriller

Zombies. They grunt. They lurch inelegantly through dystopian ruined streets, sometimes breaking into an athletic sprint. They stare sightlessly ahead, often with irises that glitter in the post-apocalyptic sunset with some nameless infection. Sometimes they shriek through hideously distorted mouths from which the flesh has already been half-eaten away, as they are blasted with a shotgun. They provide metaphors for consumerism and conformism, and they also furnish a low-budget horror launching pad for ambitious young directors. But zombies are often just boring: yucky and indistinguishable horror-vermin whose gruesome killing, in each case, is a dramatically uninteresting non-moment, and all too often humourless (although an honourable exception is Edgar Wright’s Shaun of the Dead).

And so it proves in this very long, very violent, video-game type horror-thriller from Zack Snyder. The premise is that, in a future-world in which a zombie outbreak has been contained by herding the shambling undead into a wrecked Las Vegas and walling them in, a tough Dirty Dozen-type crew is hired by a shadowy Vegas hotel owner (Hiroyuki Sanada) to bust into the city and retrieve the billions of dollars languishing in his hotel safe. The zombie slayers are led by man-mountain Scott (Dave Bautista), who is quaintly yearning for a non-mercenary retirement selling lobster rolls in his food truck, and include Vanderohe (Omari Hardwick), Cruz (Ana De La Reguera), Lily (Nora Arnezeder) and Scott’s sensitive daughter Kate (Ella Purnell), who is still hurting from a tough decision that Scott had to make when Kate’s mum was bitten by a zombie.

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The Howling at 40: a horror movie that gave us something to chew on

Joe Dante’s sly and smart breakout, about a reporter uncovering a colony of werewolves, was a fun ride that had space for satire

“I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked …”

So begins Allen Ginsberg’s radical poem Howl, which upon close study has absolutely nothing to do with werewolves. And yet it appears on a reporter’s desk in Joe Dante’s horror classic The Howling, one among many blink-or-you’ll-miss it visual jokes that Dante tucks into the movie, like a small-town sheriff scarfing down a can of Wolf-brand chili or an old Little Boy Blue cartoon featuring the Big Bad Wolf that’s airing on TV. His best films are loaded with such peripheral delights, which have the feel of inside jokes, but mostly point to the movie-crazy spirit of a Dante production. The more movies you’ve seen, the more you tend to love Joe Dante.

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Nest of Vampires review – a bloodless bid for the title of worst film ever

This horror story about an MI5 agent and a gang supplying girls for ritual sacrifice is on a par with the monumentally terrible Plan 9 from Outer Space

There are bad movies, the kind of third-rate film-making we see all the time, and then there are transcendentally bad movies that can only result from deep, fanatical attachment to the material. Director, writer and producer Chris Sanders here achieves something on a par with Ed Wood’s Plan 9 from Outer Space or Tommy Wiseau’s The Room. His Nest of Vampires is a little-England horror-thriller with a plot as over-larded as an Elvis sandwich, uniformly appalling acting, and the same almost beatific earnestness as those two legendary films.

MI5 agent Kit Valentine (Tom Fairfoot) leaves his London stamping ground to shake down some unnamed English town for a human trafficking ring that – after his wife is murdered – has abducted his daughter. He needs to get a move on, because the network sells off the girls to moneyed clients to butcher in satanic rituals. Not racy enough? Some of the criminals are also vampires who like a “nibble” on the customers. And Valentine is further up against it when his bosses reveal they are in cahoots. Tied to a chair, though, he has news for them: “You’re not the only secret society that operates within MI5.” Then his own canines turn extra-pointy.

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Come True review – blow-out imagery in visionary sleep disorder thriller

An insomniac student is haunted by a demonic figure in this flamboyant and stylised waking dream of a film

There is something visionary about this near-nonsensical, kitsch but atmospheric techno-thriller from Canadian director Anthony Scott Burns. Drawn along on dark somnambulic rhythms, it incorporates elements of fantasy, horror and 80s synthwave aesthetics without giving itself over completely to any of them.

A wordless first 10 minutes introduces us to Sarah (Julia Sarah Stone), a runaway student apparently unwelcome or unwilling to return home, waking in spectrally lit parks and falling asleep in coffee shops. Dropping suddenly into surrealistic CGI dreams that track inexorably towards a demonic figure who, if approached too closely, wakes her with a start. Sarah decides to try and climb out of this insomniac bath by enrolling in a university sleep study. It is overseen by Dr Meyer, a Cronenbergian academic in big glasses, but run by a trio of researchers who, like the memory technicians in Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, have a loose relationship with scientific protocol. Becoming close to Jeremy (Landon Liboiron), she learns that they are using pioneering technology to observe the subjects’ dreams – and that the same shadowy presence manifests in all of them.

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The 20 best Frankenstein films – ranked!

With Emma Stone lined up to play a female version of the monster in Poor Things, we rate a century’s worth of cinema inspired by Shelley’s novel

Doctor Stein injects “DNA solution” into an African American multiple amputee (he is a Vietnam veteran), but there is an “RNA problem” and things go horribly wrong. This Blaxploitation attempt to do for Frankenstein what Blacula did for Dracula edges into this list only because its sheer ineptitude entertained me more than competently filmed snoozefests such as Victor Frankenstein and I, Frankenstein.

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How we made: Jane Asher and Roger Corman on The Masque of the Red Death

‘I hated the bath scene. They stuck awful little modesty circles on my nipples and they kept floating off’

My Edgar Allan Poe adaptations began in 1960 with The Fall of the House of Usher. I held off doing The Masque of the Red Death, because I felt it had some similarities to Ingmar Bergman’s The Seventh Seal, with its hooded figures, and I might be accused of copying. But it got to the point where it was the best unadapted one left, so I thought I’d go ahead and worry about it later.

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On my radar: Jason Williamson’s cultural highlights

The Sleaford Mods frontman on a favourite singer-songwriter, a hellish horror film and why he spends seven hours a day on Twitter

Jason Williamson, lead vocalist of English electronic punk music duo Sleaford Mods, was born in Grantham, Lincolnshire in 1970. He moved to Nottingham in 1995, where he began working with rock band Spiritualized and electronic duo Bent. In 2009, he met Andrew Fearn and they released the first Sleaford Mods album, Divide and Exit, in 2014. They have since been called “the voice of Britain” by their fans and “the world’s greatest rock’n’roll band” by Iggy Pop. Their latest album, Spare Ribs, is out now on Rough Trade Records. The band will tour the UK in late 2021.

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Brandon Cronenberg on gougings, knifings and pokerings: ‘CGI is too floaty and unreal’

The horror director is back with a sci-fi shocker about mind-robbing assassins going on violent killing sprees. He tells our writer why digital effects just don’t cut the eyeball

Brandon Cronenberg has the sniffles. This would not be worthy of note, but for the fact that the 40-year-old Canadian film-maker, son of horror pioneer David, made his directorial debut in 2012 with Antiviral, about a clinic that harvests diseases from celebrities. For the right price, patients can be infected with Hollywood herpes, or catch the exact strain of flu that caused their favourite singer to cancel a tour. So whose cold is he wearing? “Nothing so interesting,” says Cronenberg through a bunged-up nose. “It’s just sinus trouble. Sorry, I didn’t mean to be disgusting.”

It’s a bit late for that, as anyone who has seen his films will attest. In Antiviral, restaurants serve steaks cultivated from A-list muscle tissue – while his new psychological horror, Possessor, features assassins who inhabit people’s bodies via neural implants, then use them as puppets to carry out hits. One such operative, played by Andrea Riseborough, is having difficulty negotiating the work-life balance. Although equipped with a gun, she takes it upon herself to sever her victim’s jugular instead. The stabbing felt “in character”, she says during her debriefing, to which her boss, played by Jennifer Jason Leigh, asks: “Whose character?” Decanted into another patsy, Riseborough goes wild, driving a poker into her target’s mouth and breaking his teeth like biscuits, before gouging out an eyeball for good measure.

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Murder Me, Monster review – a grisly mystery that stays boldly unsolvable

This convention-defying horror has Guillermo del Toro’s vision and David Lynch’s dreamlike logic. But what does it all mean?

Internal affairs takes on new meaning in this distinctively involuted Argentine thriller about a spate of gruesome decapitations in an Andes backwater. Police officer Cruz (Victor Lopez) is already on the case when his lover Francisca (Tania Casciani) becomes the next to have her head apparently chewed off, a mysterious green goo smeared on the stump. Her hollow-eyed husband David (Esteban Bigliardi) is suspect numero uno: he is found naked in the vicinity of the victims and, after later being carted off to an asylum, testifies to a strange voice in his head that whispers: “Murder me, monster.”

Related: My streaming gem: why you should watch The Distinguished Citizen

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Anything for Jackson review – grieving grandparents do a deal with the devil

In a riotously gory inversion of the Christmas story, an older couple plan to channel the ghost of their dead grandson into an unborn child

There’s something deliciously subversive about the backstory to this offbeat horror film, which was made in Canada. Director Justin G Dyck and screenwriter Keith Cooper have collaborated on a long list of treacly, holiday-themed, made-for-TV movies with titles such as A Very Country Christmas, Christmas With a View and A Christmas Village. Anything for Jackson, however, is a riotously gory, impish inversion of all things yuletide, in that it stars sweet-featured elderly character actors Sheila McCarthy and Julian Richings as grieving grandparents Audrey and Henry Walsh, who kidnap pregnant Shannon Becker (Konstantina Mantelos) in order to perform a satanic ritual on her. It’s as if Ruth Gordon and Sidney Blackmer, the little old couple who lived next door in Rosemary’s Baby, got to be the stars of their own movie.

Audrey and Henry’s goal is to channel the ghost of their dead grandson, Jackson, into Becker’s unborn child; but, wouldn’t you know it, deals with the devil have a way of going wrong – or having nasty consequences in the fine print, such as bringing forth demons and ghosts with murderous instincts of their own. Plus, their main adviser on matters demonological is a bitter “incel”-type (Josh Cruddas) who lives with his mother and is prone to bitching about the leadership at their satanic church, an outfit quietly run out of the local community centre where members bring home-baked goods for breaktime.

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Jennifer Ehle: ‘They had to reshoot Contagion because I injected my tights’

The actor who saved humankind in pandemic hit Contagion is set to terrify viewers in Saint Maud. She talks about loving horror, quitting Game of Thrones – and turning into a bowl of porridge

Early on in Saint Maud, Jennifer Ehle’s wonderful, terrifying new film, a nurse describes her character Amanda rather succinctly: “Bit of a cunt.” Ehle laughs. “Amanda’s quite quicksilver,” she says, displaying slightly more tact. “She’s going through a lot. She’s on a lot of drugs, she’s bored, and she has an enormous amount of charisma and intelligence and ambition.”

Amanda is a famous dancer and choreographer, holed up in a creepy, rattling seaside mansion, where she is slowly dying of cancer. Morfydd Clark plays Maud, her carer and a recent religious convert. The pair end up at a kind of odds. In Ehle’s hands, Amanda is camp and wild. “She was so much fun to play, just a fabulous box of Quality Street.”

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Tony Todd on Candyman, Black Lives Matter and seeing stars cry on the set of Platoon

The actor who terrified a generation in the 90s horror classic returns to the role for the sequel – and for a documentary looking back at the gruelling shoot on Oliver Stone’s iconic 1986 war movie

Tony Todd chuckles heartily. “Why in the fuck would I go to a mirror, with me in the mirror – the actor who played the role – and call out my own damn name five times?” I have just asked the dumb – but obligatory – question of whether he has ever dared utter Candyman’s fatal invocation. Todd played Daniel Robitaille, AKA the Candyman, the hook-handed, bee-spouting yet swoonsome spectre from the 1992 horror classic. “I have never waded in that water. I don’t even listen to people when they come to me and say that. I cut them off. They try it; they want to me stop them or something.”

Todd is probably getting quite a bit of this right now. Candyman was already enjoying a critical revival in the last few years as Black Lives Matter and other social movements gathered headway; despite, or perhaps because of, its white director (the Englishman Bernard Rose), it was able to smuggle in a theme that was exceptional for a 90s horror film: the psychic cost of centuries of oppression of African Americans. Now, after the George Floyd protests and with a Jordan Peele-produced sequel imminent, interest in this unusually sensitive piece of Hollywood product is white-hot.

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Good Manners review – superbly strange nanny horror

São Paulo is transformed into a spooky fairytale landscape in this elegant, unsettling tale of a pregnant woman and her prospective employee

There’s an enjoyably inscrutable performance at the heart of this Brazilian fairytale for grownups. Clara (Isabél Zuaa), an unsmiling mystery women, arrives at the luxurious São Paulo apartment of pregnant Ana (Marjorie Estiano), to be interviewed for the position of nanny. But is that really the role on offer? And is Clara an entirely honest applicant?

The first third of this two-hour-plus film keeps us wondering. It’s clear that something is off between the women, but impossible to determine where the balance of power lies. Is this a Rosemary’s Baby-style horror about satanic foetus worship? A Parasite-like study of the subversive intimacy between domestic servant and employer? Or some unholy combination of the two? Then, with all the sprightly mischief of one of Ana’s country-music workout videos, the plot dances off again, in an entirely different direction.

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Influential composer Krzysztof Penderecki dies aged 86

Polish musician won numerous awards, scored The Exorcist, and was admired by rock stars

Leading composer and conductor Krzysztof Penderecki has died at the age of 86 after a long illness, his family announced this morning.

The Polish-born Penderecki was a major figure in contemporary music whose compositions reached millions through celebrated film scores, which included for William Friedkin’s The Exorcist, Stanley Kubrick’s The Shining and David Lynch’s Wild at Heart.

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To Tokyo review – thrilling, chilling horror in the wilderness

Caspar Seale Jones’s drama about a young woman afraid of her past is a masterclass in engrossing, show-don’t-tell film-making

Here’s one of those rare lowish-budget, entirely off-radar British debuts that feels like a discovery. Adventurous writer-director Caspar Seale Jones has relocated a stock horror starting point – fraught young woman fleeing something abominable in her past – to Japan, which instantly gifts his frames more distinctive vistas than all those potboilers pursuing teenagers through the streets of Peterborough or Stroud. More intriguingly, To Tokyo is in that Japanese folk-horror tradition that yielded Onibaba and Kwaidan, making merry-macabre use of a still relatively unfamiliar set of demons and ghouls.

To Tokyo scores high on dreamy-bordering-on-nightmarish atmosphere. On learning her mother is gravely ill, Alice (Florence Kosky) passes into either a fugue state or an actual wilderness that encompasses forests, deserts and a mountainside hut where she slaps on warpaint and receives offerings of fruit and entrails from whatever dragged her there. For half its running time, To Tokyo is just Kosky, some spectacular landscapes (cinematographer Ralph Messer apparently taking notes from that visual whizz Tarsem Singh) and a properly creepy spectre. Seale Jones makes the bold, rewarding decision not to explain a damn thing. The result is a masterclass in show-don’t-tell cinema.

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