A serviceable enough B-feature of the sort that could appropriately induce nightmares in adolescents and arachnophobes, modestly budgeted horror offering Spiders opts for action antics when a bit more creepy-crawly tension and mystery would have better suited its story.

Working from a script co-written with Joseph Farrugia, director Tibor Takacs baits an interesting hook (genetically-spliced mutant spiders crash land in New York City from an old Russian space station), and marshals a decent if eventually much-overused mix of practical and CGI effects. But while the screenplay tries for a bit of clever character inversion, the movie takes all sorts of annoying and stupid short cuts that quickly mark it as an essentially lazy take on a much more interesting concept.

Mainly, though, it’s peppered with all sorts of interesting avenues left totally unexplored, like the notion that by blocking security cameras and hiding the queen these space spiders are actually quite intelligent, and maybe even have some sort of plan. In general, given the movie’s PG-13 rating and its plot, more mystery and less action — which reaches a point of diminishing return in the third act, given the movie’s cramped, quarantined city block, where much mayhem takes place — would have given Spiders more of a chance at achieving something memorable. As is, with its square-jawed familial imperilment and frontal assault fetishism, wherein plenty of spindly legs smash through windows and get slammed in doors, Takacs’ movie is a throwback to enjoyable but forgettable VHS-era creature-feature entertainment. For the full, original review, from ShockYa, click here. In addition to its theatrical engagements, the movie is available on premium VOD beginning on February 8. (Millennium Entertainment, PG-13, 89 minutes)

A funky and fresh tale of adolescent self-doubt and blossoming young love funneled through the prism of post-apocalyptic zombiedom, Warm Bodies conjures a lovely, commingled tone of wistfulness and witticism. The best, most unique zombie movie since Shaun of the Dead, director Jonathan Levine‘s smart adaptation of Isaac Marion’s same-named novel delivers laughs as well as an unlikely, surprisingly affecting coming-of-age tale centered around the curative powers of passion and hope.



Unfolding in a post-apocalyptic wasteland, Warm Bodies takes as its narrator R (Nicholas Hoult, above), a soulful and self-aware zombie who nevertheless can’t remember his name or the specifics of what exactly happened to the world around him, or even really speak. His days are spent mostly trudging aimlessly around an airport, though he shares a few grunts of half-formed thought with his “friend,” fellow zombie M (Rob Corddry). When they cross paths with a band of scavenging survivors, R is so captivated by the fetching Julie (Teresa Palmer) that he instinctively saves her from being eaten.

He does, however, eat the brains of her boyfriend Perry (Dave Franco), which gives R insights into the memories, thoughts and feelings of his victim. Taking Julie back to the abandoned airliner he’s taken as his home and filled with knick-knacks, R nervously starts trying to communicate with her (sample inner monologue: “Dont’ be creepy, don’t be creepy…”), and again saves her when she makes an abortive escape attempt. A small gesture of appreciation on Julie’s part seems to further trigger some sort of awakening in R, and later some other zombies as well. This development stands in stark contrast to the bleak worldview of her militant father (John Malkovich), but things come to a head when a bunch of “boneys” — too-far-gone zombies who’ve eaten all of their own skin off — gather to attack both humans and the regular reanimated corpses.

Its conceit sounds rather outrageous, and it is, but Warm Bodies is pitched perfectly, in a manner that invests a certain seriousness in the world it’s presenting. Director Levine (The Wackness, 50/50) has previously shown a knack especially for sly and effective moodcraft, marrying image to brightly chosen pop songs in a fashion that neither hijacks nor sells short the narrative, and Warm Bodies further evidences this. Via R’s narration, Levine’s adaptation of Marion’s novel ports over the bumbling and wry self-loathing that any nominally reflective teenager can identify with, but he also creates a beautifully melancholic backdrop that’s punctured by the contrast of Julie’s beauty and vulnerability. Cinematographer Javier Aguirresarobe has worked in horror before, in The Others, The Road and, most recently, the remake of Fright Night, and has a smart, evocative sense of framing as well as superb sense of muted atmospheric lighting.

Mostly, though, Warm Bodies affirms its talented young leads. Palmer’s rangy performance further confirms what her tough-gal turn in I Am Number Four did — that she’s a star of the future. Hoult, meanwhile, may or may not be a star (he does have a couple big studio films on tap), but he is terrifically talented. I was a bit lukewarm on his performance in A Single Man, but his turn here is whole-hearted and so smartly modulated — carefully revealing new layers and levels of thought and engagement as he becomes more and more human.

Twenty years ago, a warped little movie called Groundhog Day released in February — an antidote to the saccharine, a sort of twisted Valentine for the rest of us. An inspired genre mash-up with allegorical underpinnings that’s also just a lot of fun, Warm Bodies is different from that ace comedy in just about every way, shape and form, except for the two most crucial — heart and brains. It has them both. For the full, original review, from ShockYa, click here. (Summit Entertainment, PG-13, 97 minutes)

Writer-director Don Coscarelli remains best known for his Phantasm films, but the sum of his filmography is probably even more deliciously weird. Because Coscarelli labors in the genre margins, though, and makes relatively few films, he doesn’t really get the credit he deserves as one of the most idiosyncratic yet interesting indie filmmakers working today. His latest movie, the forthrightly titled John Dies at the End, is sort of like if Franz Kafka drunk a bunch of absinthe and then wrote an homage to Sam Raimi, Donnie Darko and Bill & Ted’s Excellent Adventure. And that’s a good thing.

Adapted liberally by Coscarelli from David Wong’s genre-spanning, time-traveling horror novel of the same name, the movie has a plot about which the less said the better for would-be viewers. But, basically, it’s about a drug, called the soy sauce, which delivers an out-of-body experience that’s also pegged to an otherworldy invasion. The story’s framed around the experiences of a college dropout, David (Chase Williamson), who shares with journalist Arnie Blondestone (Paul Giamatti, also an executive producer on the project) the outlandish tale of the escape of he and infected best friend John (Rob Mayes) from a cop (Glynn Turman) who’s seemingly more interested in covering up the deaths of a bunch of fellow teenagers than getting to the bottom of things. Of course, there’s also a girl — in this case a one-handed lass named Amy (Fabianne Therese), plus a mysterious figure, Dr. Albert Marconi (Clancy Brown), whom the guys can call on for advice. Marauding bugs and a giant meat creature ensue, among many other amusing surprises.

The best of Coscarelli’s work, encompassing both his “Masters of Horror” anthology series kick-off and 2002’s wild Bubba Ho-Tep, starring Bruce Campbell as an aged Elvis Presley and Ossie Davis as a man claiming to be John F. Kennedy, has always placed a premium on narrative dexterity and surprise, and John Dies at the End is in this regard no different. The movie surfs along on a cheery, what-the-fuck vibe, and yet nothing about its myriad twists and turns rings phony or contrived.

Coscarelli does a solid job of pulling off the movie’s many special effects on a modest budget, blending practical work with CGI, but the performances are quite good, too. Giamatti, who worked with the director on Bubba Ho-Tep, is great as the sardonic, skeptical Arnie (it’s a role right in his schlubby wheelhouse), but relative newcomers Williamson and Mayes also make strong impressions. Fans of the aforementioned Donnie Darko and last year’s Detention (which didn’t really work for me) will in particular spark to John, which has nouveau cult hit written all over it. True indie fans who may be less familiar with the filmmaker’s brand would do well to take a flier on this wild little flick too, however. (Magnet Releasing, R, 100 minutes)

A whimsical, half-formed paean to criminal fraternity, Stand Up Guys brings together Al Pacino, Christopher Walken and Alan Arkin as retired gangsters who, against the backdrop of an impending assassination, reunite for a wild night of drugs, booze and women, with a sprinkle of reflection on aging and loyalty. Its synopsis may summon contemplations of a gangland Grumpy Old Men, but the first produced screenplay of playwright Noah Haidle, unfolding over the course of one night, cycles through too many haphazard and improbable set-ups to amount to anything more than a collection of signed offer sheets in search of a movie. This is the shaggy, cinematic equivalent of a greatest-shtick collection, dragged into watchability only through the lively interplay and accrued goodwill of its leads. For the full, original review, from Screen International, click here. (Lionsgate, R, 95 minutes)