thewritingshed

David Earl, best known for playing the somehow loveable sex pest in Derek (2012-2014), stars in this off-beat comedy as Brian Gittins, a lonely inventor living in rural Wales. Brian's haphazard creations aren't anywhere near worthy enough to earn him fame and fortune anytime soon, but his ambition to keep inventing helps him avoid the loneliness that has engulfed his existence. One day, he decides to build a robot to keep him company. Using a washing machine as a body, a dummy's head and other bits and bobs found in scrap heaps, Brian builds Charles, a somehow operational AI companion. Brian and Charles began life as a short film made by the same creative team back in 2017, and this feature length adaptation is one of the most heartfelt indie films to come out of the British film scene. David Earl is immediately likeable as Brian; in many ways, he's not quite all there, but his simplistic view of the world, his endearing nature and his off-kilter imagination forge an unconventional leading man who you can't help but gravitate towards. Chris Hayward, co-writer and co-star, provides the voice of Charles. He is an awkward and fumbling android (his construction defies logic and his sentience is borderline impossible) and his childlike fascination with cabbages never fails to provoke a chuckle. It is the oddball nature of the titular leads that makes them such a strong duo and their friendship is, in a strange way, more human and honest than you might initially expect. Though never explicitly defined as such, Brian and Charles comes across as a mediation on parenthood. Charles begins life as an excitable child before gradually morphing into an argumentative adolescent, which forces Brian to adopt a fatherly role as he attempts to guide Charles through his peculiar existence. The film has a great sense of humour (truly, it's one of those comedies that only Brits could appreciate) and although it's light on actual gags, the comedy can be found in the mundanity of the barebones narrative. This is a very endearing film about friendship and loneliness, and David Earl continues to showcase his underrated talents in the realms of comedy. It may not appeal to everyone's humour, but Brian and Charles is worth seeking out if you enjoy British comedies that are a little more unconventional. Simple and heartwarming, Brian and Charles is a great watch.

More so than any other filmmaker, David Cronenberg knows how to make effective body horror pictures. From the surreal nastiness of Videodrome (1983) to the emotionally charged transformation of Jeff Goldblum in The Fly (1986), Cronenberg has cemented himself as a Master of sci-fi/body horror shockers. However, not since eXistenz (1999) has he explored this realm in cinema, and for years has shown the proficiency of his craft by helming thrillers in a more grounded reality, including A History of Violence (2005), Eastern Promises (2007), and when we last saw him, Maps to the Stars (2014). His latest effort, Crimes of the Future, is another collaboration with Viggo Mortensen and bears the same name of one of his earliest black-and-white student films, which can be checked out along with his other short films courtesy of Arrow Video's David Cronenberg's Early Works Blu-Ray. It's not the best showcase of Cronenberg's talent, but it's an interesting insight into the filmmaker's artistic beginnings.

In Crimes of the Future, we follow performance artist Saul Tenser (Mortensen) who is one of the few to be blessed (or cursed?) with Accelerated Evolution Syndrome, a phenomenon that causes the growth of entirely new organs within an individual's body. Saul utilises his condition for the purposes of performance art along with his creative companion/carer/love interest, Caprice (Seydoux). His daring performances lead him to the National Organ Registry: a hush-hush business that logs the discovery of new organs. There, he meets Timlin (Stewart), a jittery young woman who swiftly becomes infatuated with him. Crimes of the Future sees Cronenberg return to his roots, and the end result is a film that is all parts fascinating, haunting, and conceptually rich.

Towards the end of the first act, Timlin utters the words, "surgery is the new sex", a sentiment that harkens back to the "long live the new flesh" motif echoed throughout Videodrome. It's an intriguing statement and one that perfectly encapsulates the central theme of the film. Pain and disease have become obsolete thanks to progressive evolutionary developments in human nature, and the old ways (sex, masturbation and other means of traditional pleasure) have become overshadowed by mankinds inherent desire to replace them with surgical procedures and sensual acts of self-mutilation. Tenser's performance art is displayed before a live audience and sees Caprice operating machinery to slice him open and remove the 'neo-organs' that have grown inside him. On a surface level, it is indeed a gruesome sight, but for Tenser, it is nothing short of a pleasurable experience very few can experience in the way he can. It's a fantastic sequence that highlights the perverted nature of 'the new sex' along with the undeniable intimacy woven within the threads of Tenser and Caprice's relationship. Though both characters are match-made in their philosophies and attitudes towards the performances they conduct together, the key thing that differentiates them is the very thing that brought them together in the first place. Caprice doesn't find herself cursed with the same evolutionary development that has borderline crippled Tenser's ability to integrate into society, thus she is free to revel in her strictly human way of life. It's in the little things: she can eat meals without issue and sleep comfortably at night, but for Tenser, the simple act of eating is rewritten entirely. Early on, we see him struggling to eat a meal in a Giger-esque chair built to contort and rotate in ways that aid his crippling discomfort. After a particularly bleak opening sequence, Cronenberg shows Tenser sleeping in a biomechanical bed built specifically for his needs. Tenser is a broken man; his only companion is Caprice, he lives in near solitude and keeps to the shadows with his identity largely cloaked beneath black clothing. Curiously, Tenser feels most alive whenever he's lying cut open in a machine. It's a striking example of wordless character work that highlights just how far removed he's become from his own humanity. Mortesen delivers a subtly-nuanced performance that feels completely different to his previous roles in Cronenberg's works, and although there isn't a whole lot to emotionally connect to, Tenser serves more as a vessel to guide the audience through the high-concept stuff, rather than a two-dimensional character with an arc and goals outside of his performance art. Lea Seydoux does a great job as Caprice and her role in the story serves as a perfect foil to Mortesen's Tenser. Whereas Tenser is considered by one character to be nothing more than a 'glorified organ donor', Caprice is undeniably the true artist here. Tenser essentially serves as her canvas whenever he's encased in his biomechanical tomb, and the machinery itself serves as her artistic materials. Kristen Stewart turns in a solid performance too, though her role in the film isn't as prominent as her poster presence would suggest.

Crimes of the Future is a deeply absorbing film, both visually and conceptually speaking. In many ways it is a celebration of Cronenberg's best works and an exploration of his most recognisable themes that he has explored throughout his diverse filmography. It's charming to see Cronenberg reflecting on the thematics of his past work whilst also looking ahead towards his bleak, dystopian vision of humanity's future. It should be noted that Crimes of the Future isn't a narrative driven film. It's a slow burner that doesn't hit you with the same level of urgency as say, A History of Violence or The Fly, but it feels to me that this was a conscious choice by Cronenberg. Though there is a functional storyline present, it sometimes struggles to breathe beneath the gargantuan ambition of the film. Because of this, the film very much feels like a mood piece that is more preoccupied with exploring its ideas through conversation as opposed to action, and due to the strength of the performances, the film succeeds in maintaining your intrigue and attention, though I must confess that sometimes the filmmaking feels somewhat restrained as not every idea is developed equally. Every ounce of this film is moody and bleak with an underlying edge of unease that is encapsulated perfectly through Cronenberg's confident direction and complemented beautifully by Howard Shore's ominous score. Crimes of the Future is a film that only Cronenberg could accomplish (though there are moments that would fit right in with Clive Barker's dark sensibilities), and in many ways it feels like a swansong to his career. Like many of his best films, it won't appeal to everybody, but it's sure to find appreciation amongst a niche crowd, within which I belong myself. If this is indeed his final film, it's a fitting film to end on.

One of the most underrated horror films of the 2000s is Orphan (2009). Many horror fans will probably agree that the 2000s wasn't exactly the best decade for the genre, but there were some brilliant exceptions here and there (The Descent (2005) and REC (2007) always stand out, for example). It surprises me that Orphan has been mostly forgotten by the masses, because it really is an exceptional piece of work. It's tense, the performances are all solid, and the twist is so fantastic that it boggles the mind that it isn't talked about more often. Nevertheless, Orphan: First Kill, a prequel film that nobody asked for, is here to reintroduce Esther (Fuhrman) into the public consciousness. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't sceptical when I read that this film would be a prequel. Considering how Esther's true nature was revealed in the original's masterful third-act twist (I won't spoil it here), a great deal of tension has already been eliminated from any future storylines involving this antagonist. To my surprise, however, David Coggeshall manages to throw a few curveballs into the film's narrative to keep us on our toes, but regardless of a pretty ludicrous plot twist and some decent splatter, Orphan: First Kill doesn't measure up to the strengths of the original.

On the plus side, Isabelle Fuhrman slips back into the role of Esther effortlessly, and the filmmakers utilise some neat film trickery to withhold the illusion that she is supposed to be a thirteen-year-old girl. Fuhrman is twenty-five now, so it was always going to be a challenge to trick the audience into believing her portrayal of Esther as we once did back when she was the same age as the character. Arguably, this was one of the most important aspects of the film to get right, and I'm glad to say the filmmakers succeeded. The performances are decent enough and Julia Stiles works well alongside Fuhrman to create a unique dynamic that I wasn't anticipating. Where the film falters is a lack of genuine suspense, and the key twist here is, whilst intriguing, quite far-fetched. It doesn't pack the same punch as the original and the script changes gears so fast and so often that it never gives its ideas time to breathe. It's almost as if the filmmakers were uncomfortably conscious of the fact that the film's best trick has already been played in the original. In the end, Orphan: First Kill is a perfectly fine yet unnecessary horror film. A prequel to the original film was never going to hit in the same way, but for what it is, it's alright. Isabelle Fuhrman is once again a strong screen presence and there are some fun kills, but ultimately the film left me wondering if it really needed to exist in the first place.