Director: Paul Campion

Reviewed by Paul Woodward

The film is set in World War 2 where allied commandos are sent to destroy enemy gun emplacements in the channel islands.

The advert on the cover of the DVD box, ‘Saw with swastikas’ is a bit misleading.  The floor of the German bunker is strewn with dead and decaying bodies that have met horrific ends but I would need more than that to draw any correlation between this film and Saw.

The film starts with grainy pale colours as the two commandos arrive on the beach below the German bunker. This is a war film with a difference. The tension and suspense is all from Supernatural roots, unlike Saw. The demon, when she appears, is a delightful red colour. There is a chalk circle and candles and a faded medieval book of Grimoires.

If you like occult horror then this is certainly a film for you. There is also a particularly grisly scene where the viewer sees a bullet being pulled out from a man’s stomach (oh and without morphine too). The wounded man’s cry competes with the shriek of the demon. This must have been deliberate on the part of the filmmakers and it makes a good contrast.

The visuals inside the bunker where all the action is contained, are well realised, and puts great strength into this film. The blood splattered white shirt of the German officer is of particular note. Also a decaying body with the ribcage showing through deserves a mention too.

I enjoyed it, and I didn’t feel there was anything left out or unexplained. If I were to award points it would be a good 4 out of 5.

Director, John Carpenter

Review by Paul Woodward

The film opens with the atmosphere and suspense you would expect from a John Carpenter film. The setting is a mental health institution in theUSAsometime in the 1960s. The camera pans from somewhere close to the floor, doors open and close mysterious lights flash on and off. And this is just to start with.

There are plenty of look who is behind you scenes, so if you’re drinking wine make sure you rest it on the table inbetween sips or it will end up in your lap or down your best jumper.

A group of young teenage girls who all have been institutionalised are oppressed by more than the staff and the doctors and the lock down routine. They think there is a ghost of a dead girl out to get them. But its not so straightforward as that. Escape attempts are made, peering through tiny windows and scuttling along service shafts inches away from the wardens.

The suspense becomes more and more psychological as the film progresses. And the ending will indeed make you jump.

The early cinematography in the film  is reminiscent of Carpenter’s masterpieces such as Prince of Darkness, it is quite a low-key affair. Not much happens but what does happen means something to the characters. There are scenes of torture and they are done quite well. The horror is personalised, it is not emblematic of impending world doom as is often seen in carpenter’s films.

Overall its a good film and well worth watching

The Imitation

“That is so not funny – I’m just going to have to have another drink!” Canning opened another bottle of beer and passed it absent-mindedly from one hand to the other.

“Well I’ll tell you another one then!” Willhelm slapped his thigh, “My jokes can last for days and days yes – you get used to it in Norway.”

The team had been snowbound for two days. All of them in and out of the Rec room. The place was a mess of beer alcohol and fast food, hot sandwiches and toast and the menu was getting more and more like beer and more beer. If it weren’t for the relentless high spirits of Willhelm Canning wouldn’t really have minded.

At least the Christmas carols had stopped, and the karaoke box was broken.

Canning still wasn’t getting used to it and went out to feed the dogs, zipping inbetween the snow mobiles to lessen the brunt of the wind and stopped short. The alpha dog Tom, was out of the pen and crouched on top of the snow mobile’s bonnet growling at him lips quivering in a snarl. This was not good, these dogs can do some damage. It stood about twelve feet away with a four foot elevation on Canning. If Tom leapt it would knock him out at least. These dogs were bred and conditioned, the Arctic a training ground to toughen them up.

“Now boy.” He tried his best unconcerned voice, “Come come – away. No fear boy…no fear.” He knew the dog could hear him despite the blizzard. It was looking for reassurance, that’s all they ever want.

It leapt and Canning ducked.

#                                                                #                                              #

“It wasn’t going for me, I tell you. I’d have been a goner.”

Some sobriety had returned to the Rec room.

“We have to find the dog. That’s the first thing.” The other Norwegian Janker, spoke. “We cannot have a spooked alpha dog on the loose. I will prepare the bait, yes.” The bait would be raw scented meat with plenty of sedative. And he would watch over it to see no wildlife took it instead.

Canning remained behind to warm up. But it was really tiredness. The cold made him tired he thought. Almost like a migraine. And it was getting dark again. The days don’t last, if at all. Maybe it hadn’t been light. Had he imagined the light when he saw Tom? Did he have a torch – is that what shone? But where was it? Was it still out there where he dropped between the snow mobiles?

Marcel the Frenchman stopped Canning before he had his coat back on,

“Rest now, they’re just getting hold of the dog. Don’t go outside.” Marcel blocked his passage, holding both arms wide to usher him backwards, “John my friend…”

Canning tried to edge past him nonetheless, “I’ve lost my torch – I dropped it out there by the snowmobiles – I’ve gotta go an’ get my torch – I’ll be lost without my torch – you know I’ll be lost without my torch…”

Marcel smiled, “You’re new to the arctic, you’re not used to this yet. Just trust us my friend we will get the dog  – you will see.” Canning stumbled, “The air, you are tired my friend.” Marcel helped him back to his seat. Canning did feel breathless and silently agreed with him.

Marcel made some coffee and started tidying the rec room. The party was over now one of the dogs had got loose, “John, the air is very thin and cold up here. It takes some adjustment. Acclimatisation. It can take weeks or months with some men. You have only been here a few days now. Rest. Rest is the best policy. When you have been here a long time you will rest as much as possible. Conserve energy – you understand? The cold will drain and sap your strength it is only natural. It is nothing to be alarmed about – but it will be alarmed if you do too much. Don’t go out to the dogs on your own again eh? It is best believe me to go at least in two’s. Cover the back you see?”

A terrific whumo whump sound interrupted Marcel’s speech, Canning twitched, “John mon ami – its only the wind. It gusts.” He paused until it died down, “It’s not so bad as it sounds.”

“The wind? It sounded like it was tearing us to shreds?”

“Yes John, it would if we were outside.

“These buildings can stretch and strain without breaking up. You know that.”

The sound of rapid barking caused them both to look up and exchange glances,

“The dogs..”

“I know – they don’t bark. Or they shouldn’t bark.”

#                                        #                                              #

Georg had been bitten, and Wilhelm was carrying him in, supporting under his shoulder when Marcel and Canning got outside. The blizzard had died down and dawn cracked the sky which would last for a few hours before darkness fell again. A slither of brightness jagged the top of the hill which sheltered the encampment from most of the weather.

“His thigh is ripped to pieces, come inside gentlemen, help me get a table ready – we need sterilization!

Wilhelm quickly cauterised the wound and cut off very loose flesh leaving a bandage to keep the rest in place until help could arrive. Although the storm had left, the nearest base with medical support was now snowbound. Nothing would be travelling for two days at least. But Georg was stable and sedated.

Wilhelm wouldn’t talk immediately about the incident but muttered about keeping Georg clean.

And when he did speak it wasn’t good, “Janker has gone after the dog. The dog is wounded. He will kill the dog. But the dog didn’t do this to Georg. He has to kill the dog. We are to set up watch. Do you understand?”

“The dog didn’t…?”

“No the dog was also attacked. The dog was already hurt.

“There are three of us, not including Georg. One will rest and the other two will keep watch.” Wilhelm was already into the gun cabinet as he spoke.

Banana Stop  and  Guitar in To The Edge of the Page 1988  isbn 0946096102

the sky turns an elfin blue

at dusk – and they are with us again

You can see it through a glass window

of a clear sky over the sea

as the blue radiates and deepens its shine

its in the eyes, momentarily, of a young woman

in the flicker of an eyelid she’ll hide and forget her quiver of arrows

In the fort at the chine mouth what they held off is lost now in time

- maybe the palest of copper dragons

come screeching round the cliffs and through the willows

                                                            at a moments notice

But who now knows?

All you hear is Radio Gaga

                           Radio Googoo

You had the time, you had the power 

Pay peanuts and you’ll get monkeys

complains the taxi controller with a rant on Cameron’s big society

interrupting the song on the way to the station

In the inn, once a fort

there are stirrings of a well-oiled machine

seawalls and defences and inlets structured on a superb scale

Eddies and ripples timed, just so

by elfin partners who don’t speak

as uninterrupted waves sound as they break

I heard it on my radio

Smudged and obscure

remnants lost in the soundtrack

fluttering in the breeze

twisting and moulding me as you fire clay
sip coffee – steam your brow you know
a twinkle could be a fancy or you could be at rest
legs crossed in the chair and not observing
these trees twisting slowly to the ground
weep weep back to the earth
the purple brown orange green and burnt brown leaves
but you haven’t seen the cacophony
or if you have you haven’t said nor added to

but fuzzy ginger bob you can shape my heart

It would be if lover were true
and not mixed by magic into the wind that blows the leaves
as the spell blows my mind like a paper lantern
fluttering and trying
to hold on

Little boats in the distance on the old lake some tired and sagging
but difficult to see now
and they were danced sometime
some traces are definitely left

Lipstick painted onto the mirror
to tell me you were here
has long been rubbed out
all I can remember it was there

a hand pressed onto the misty glass
could tell the story of a diagram or a map
or maybe a phone number or even a don’t forget me you
and in my wildest dreams a simple: I love you?

the only tidal pattern I can talk about for sure

is the tidal pattern of traffic in the rush hour

the familiar surge backwards and forwards

never quite exactly the same or at exactly the same time

foam spitting out its bubbles

the little eyes of cars in the dark could be fish

bobbing along for air

the pent up pressure unbuttoned

in a far off car crash the dark matter everybody thinks they can see

or the pent up pressure, a ladies blouse unbuttoned at the neck

in the steamy bus

for air

the tidal force of the moon is drawing you to town for work and then back home

for tea

or the arms of a lover

wispy oven smell rinsed out by the kitchen fan

it’ll never be quite what you expect

ten hot dogs matched with a packet of eight rolls

it’ll never be quite right

you know

opening the bank statement standing at the top of the beach above high water

where the stones are sharp underneath your feet

which makes you totter precariously from one foot to the other

in normal times

and the credit crunch is a huge ship wreck bladdered across the beach

bursting through your stomach and heart and home

all the fine goods from the bowels of the ship

are carried off by the usual suspects to be re-sold again to each other

the golden boy beachcombers in Armani suits,

or whatever the label is this week

to loop back round on a sickening journey

The circle will square in sidereal time

when stars blink the truth across the new winter sky

As my feet become godlike and massive

taking root in the earth