carmelolia

Every so often, a film arrives that doesn't just entertain but stitches itself into your childhood memories. 'The Princess Diaries' is one of those films for me, and I am sure it stitched itself into the memories of many others with its emotionally grounded coming-of-age story that resonates far beyond its target demographic.

Director Garry Marshall, always a reliable architect of comfort cinema, layers the familiar "ugly duckling" formula with a rare level of kindness. This isn't a cynical transformation tale. The film never suggests Mia needs to become someone else; it shows her learning to see the strength she already possessed. Anne Hathaway is, simply put, a perfect fit for this role. Her comedic timing, physical clumsiness, and genuine vulnerability make Mia instantly relatable. There's an authenticity about her performance like the quiet self-doubt, the embarrassment, the flashes of determination that made many young viewers see themselves reflected on screen. Meanwhile, Julie Andrews brings a regal warmth to the Queen, Clarisse Renaldi, avoiding the frosty grandmother archetype and instead portraying a queen who is softly surprised to rediscover affection, patience, and joy. Their chemistry elevates the film well beyond its genre roots.

What truly makes 'The Princess Diaries' endure, however, are the little touches: Fat Louie (who is actually played by four different cats); Clarisse's subtle expressions as she warms to Mia; the unforced humour; the understated soundtrack; the "knighting" of those two officer; the unpretentious emotional beats that never descend into syrup. Even the oft-parodied makeover scene works because it understands its own theatricality. The film plays with clichés but never sneers at them.

Emotionally, it's surprisingly affecting. The dinner scene with the broken glass. The letter from her father (that always makes me so emotional). The moment Mia realises she can be both ordinary and extraordinary. All of these strike chords that remain resonant into adulthood. And yes, it's unabashedly earnest, but that sincerity is part of its magic. It's a story about growing up without losing yourself, about the possibility that something wonderful could be waiting around a corner you never thought to look down.

For many, this film is a nostalgic comfort blanket. For others, a quietly empowering tale. And for some, like myself, it's simply a film that entered your life at the right moment and stayed, and there's something rather special about that. 'The Princess Diaries' may wear a tiara, but it's the film's heart, not its sparkle, that gives it its lasting charm.

'Hex', one of the more mesmerising entries in Hong Kong's wave of early 80s supernatural cinema, is a film that thrives on mood with incense thick atmosphere and a genuinely unsettling sense of cultural mystique. It begins as a classic Chinese ghost tale, complete with ritual, familial tension, and whispered suspicions, but gradually morphs into something more ambiguous, more psychological, and, depending on your tastes, more daring or more frustrating.

Much of the film's effectiveness comes from its commitment to serious, almost theatrical horror, delivered through strong performances and carefully controlled pacing. Those early scenes of spiritual unease feel authentic to the traditions the film draws from, and the direction leans heavily on colour, shadow, and rhythm in a way that recalls the visual elegance of Shaw Brothers productions from the same era. It's a film that wants to be felt as much as understood.

The ending (no spoilers here) is where audiences tend to divide, including my girlfriend and I. Some prefer a clean supernatural conclusion like my partner, while others appreciate the film's pivot into a more rational (or at least less mystical) explanation. I found the shift intriguing; it reframes earlier scenes in a way that rewards attention, even if the logic isn't airtight. But I understand the alternative preference: the film builds such strong folkloric energy that stepping away from the supernatural can feel slightly at odds with the tone it created.

The nude dancing sequence near the finale is perhaps the film's most perplexing flourish. It's shot with the same elegance as the rest of the film, yet stylistically it sticks out, a sudden dip into exploitation aesthetics reminiscent of chaotic, sensationalist touches seen in other Asian horror films of the period. It's not poorly executed, but it does feel drawn-out, and its placement somewhat blunts the solemnity the film had been cultivating. One could argue it represents a moment of symbolic abandon before the final revelation, but even so, its length and tone shift make it hard to justify fully.

Despite these digressions, 'Hex' remains a well-crafted, distinctive foreign horror film, one that blends cultural texture, suspense, and melodrama into something memorable. It isn't flawless, but its strong visual identity and atmospheric storytelling make it stand out. Even with the ending's polarising nature, the experience feels cohesive, committed, and intriguing.

'Humanoids from the Deep' is the sort of film that, by its very title, tells you exactly what you're walking into. It's a creature feature of the purest drive-in vintage: loud, lewd, and devoid of any substance. As a piece of horror cinema, it's undeniably brain-dead entertainment, but hardly unwatchable.

The premise is simple enough: monstrous sea creatures crawl ashore to wreak havoc on a small fishing town, and chaos ensues. What's less simple is the tug-of-war behind the camera. Director Barbara Peeters reportedly intended a more traditional, atmospheric creature film, only for producer Roger Corman to order additional scenes full of nudity and graphic violence. Those scenes were shot by another director after Peeters refused to film them, leading to the tonal whiplash that defines the finished product. If the film feels like two different visions welded together, it's because it is.

The exploitation elements, including gratuitous nudity that serves no narrative purpose whatsoever, sit uneasily with the more grounded moments of small town paranoia. It's easy to see why many viewers bristle at these additions; they were, quite literally, tacked on for commercial value, and the film's lowest instincts tend to overshadow its stronger ones.

And yet, when you look past the sleaze, there's a quirky creature feature beating underneath. Future effects wizard Rob Bottin designed the humanoid suits, an early stepping-stone before his genre-defining work on one of my favourite horror films of all time, 'The Thing' (1982). The rubber suits may wobble, but they're endearing in that late 70s B-Film way. The infamous ending, another Corman add-on, is a shocking scene that has become cult-legend material and was inspired by 'Alien' (1979).

In the end, 'Humanoids from the Deep' is unmistakably dumb, cheap, and exploitative, but also oddly sincere in its desire to deliver creature mayhem. If you can stomach the sleazier studio-mandated content, there's a scrappy, slightly charming monster film lurking beneath the froth.