What with one thing and another lately (mainly it being the end of the school year, which results in a hectic time for me), I realized today I’ve been letting some of my recent reads pile up without having been reviewed. So, today, let me go over four books I’ve read in the past week or so – three copies provided for review, and one for class purposes.
The Halloween Children, a collaboration between Brian James Freeman and Norman Prentiss due out in June, boasts a pretty great structure, and for about 90% of its length, that structure and the unfolding dread of the book will keep you hooked. It’s the story of what happened one Halloween at a suburban apartment complex, with the tale told by two different narrators: a husband and wife duo, writing at two different times. The husband seems to be writing after all of this happened; meanwhile, the wife’s narration is as everything unfolds, in the form of monologues to a marriage counselor. To say the marriage is dysfunctional would be an understatement; there are power games between the two of them, distrust, and favorites between the children (split along gender lines). But through it all, Freeman and Prentiss keep the tension raising, leaving us wondering how these parents are unable to see how wrong and strange things are getting with their children – and in the complex as a whole. And all of it is intriguing and weird, playing like a horror variation on Gone Girl, where we’re not sure which, if either, of our narrators is reliable – that is, until the ending, when everything comes apart. Without getting into spoilers, The Halloween Children ends up throwing both of our narrators under the bus, leaving us unsure whether much of anything happened, before bluntly spelling out a ham-fisted moral and lecturing the reader. It’s a fizzle of an ending, which is a shame, because it’s an engaging, fast read up until that point. Rating: ***
Dean F. Wilson has become a reliable presence in my review book rotation, and a welcome one; over the past couple of years, I devoured his Great Iron War, finding myself swept up in the rich world that he created. 
So when Wilson offered me a chance to check out his fantasy series, it wasn’t much of a choice for me – I knew I was on board. Nonetheless, I think I was surprised and deeply impressed by The Call of Agon, which is the first entry in Wilson’s Children of Telm trilogy. This is high fantasy in a Tolkien vein, make no mistake about it; there are epic poems, old legends, numerous races, and dialogue – and narration – that can feel stilted, even archaic, until you get into the rhythms. And yet, once again, Wilson mixes well his world-building and his character work, populating an astonishingly complex and rich fantasy world with interesting characters who veer from their archetypal nature slowly but inexorably. The Call of Agon can feel slow and dense at times, and I can’t say that there weren’t a couple of times that I felt a little overwhelmed with the world-building, the history, and some of the speechifying going on with some of the characters. And yet, the story hooked me in, giving me interesting, flawed characters that I found intriguing, and letting its fantastical epic play out in unexpected, interesting ways that broke from convention appealingly. The Call of Agon may be almost too high fantasy for its own good, but none of that detracts from the incredible world-building, the great character work, and the compelling story that draws you in. And once again, Dean F. Wilson has hooked me in. Rating: ****
Sometimes, a gamble on a review copy pays off. Such is the case with Ray Else’s 
Our Only Chance: An A.I. Chronicle, a book whose description intrigued me enough to check it out. It’s the story of the first true A.I., an entity named Einna. Programmed by a brilliant young woman named Manaka, Einna is a technological breakthrough, but her creation raises any number of questions, ranging from the practical (is there a difference in Einnas if we duplicate the program?) to the metaphysical (does Einna have a soul?). Else’s novel navigates these questions ably and adroitly, tying them into the plot, which involves not only Einna’s evolution as a thinking creation, but the shady Yakuza ties that give the business the money it needed to get started. When I requested Our Only Chance, that Yakuza element made me think that I was getting something more cyberpunk than I got; nonetheless, Our Only Chance won me over surprisingly quickly, letting its story develop and raising fascinating questions without ever becoming preachy or didactic. Instead, Else follows Einna’s quest for self-actualization and lets it dictate the novel’s ideas and thoughts, letting the questions feel organic but no less thoughtfully approached. Indeed, that Yakuza element ends up being the one distracting element of the book, turning the ending into something a little more disappointing than it otherwise would be (without getting into spoiler territory, it turns the book’s final philosophical question into a moral one; moreover, it weighs the scales so heavily that it becomes not even a debate). Still, it’s rich fare, and if it feels like it could use a little more fleshing out, well, that’s to the book’s credit – not enough books leave you feeling like there’s more to say. Rating: ****
Finally, thanks to my recent class curriculum, I’ve been covering Aldous Huxley’s Brave New World, and it led me to be curious about Huxley’s follow-up, Brave New World Revisited (available for free at huxley.net). 
A series of essays written over 25 years after the initial publication of Brave New World, Revisited finds Huxley looking at his novel and assessing how accurate he was. His basic thesis? If anything, Brave New World was optimistic in thinking it would take us a few hundred years to get to that point; to the Huxley of Revisited, we’ll be there within decades. Revisited isn’t a novel, and it isn’t interested in being easily accessible; this is political theory, biological discussion, historical analysis, and more, all filtered through Huxley’s unique perspective. Revisited finds Huxley comparing his novel to Orwell’s 1984, discussing how Hitler and Stalin both change – and fail to change – some of his original ideas, noting the growth in advertising and television jingles, and just generally realizing that time has only made Brave New World more and more relevant. Sadly, the same applies to a modern reader, who will find some pain in Huxley’s comments about the perils of democracy being open to manipulation by sound bites and emotional bias, the willingness of people to be distracted by fleeting entertainments while real problems go unaddressed, and the unease of a society to ever be questioned. Yes, some of Huxley’s issues are out of date – he remains preoccupied with subliminal and hypnopaedic teachings, neither of which ever proved successful or worth continuing. But that goes for surprisingly little of this book, which instead draws out much of what makes Brave New World so uncomfortably relevant, allows Huxley’s brilliant and odd mind to shine through, and leaves you uncomfortable and disquieted about the state of the world. A compelling, powerful companion piece to a depressingly relevant novel. Rating: *****
Luckily, City of the Living Dead (originally titled The Gates of Hell) is worth seeing twice. No, the plot still doesn’t make sense, except on some primal, archetypal level, on which the idea that a priest’s suicide could open the gates of Hell somehow works. (It feels, especially given the nod to Lovecraft in the town name, that Fulci was going for something of that nature; that being said, old Lucio was never one to spend more time than he had to on little things like exposition or story.)
Fulci movie…and since the kid is a big part here, that’s an issue. Nor does it help that the plot is bewildering even by Fulci’s loose standards; there’s an undeniable sense that there’s at least twenty minutes of explanation cut out of this that might help to make sense of a mystifying clean-up scene, or a comment by our hero during the climax that otherwise comes out of nowhere. But the biggest issue comes from the fact that Fulci has restricted himself to one environment, and a repetitive structure, which denies him the freedom to go for broke and just throw things at the wall to see what sticks.
A few months ago, I stumbled across 
I’m a big fan of the Chattanooga Film Festival, which has been going now for four years, and has yet to really let me down. Maybe it’s just a case where I’m in line with the tastes of the festival runners; maybe it’s just that their love of cinema in every form, from music videos to trashy exploitation, shines through in the festival programming. But whatever the case, the Chattanooga Film Festival has quickly become something I always look forward to, giving me the chance to see a lot of great films that I might never otherwise get the chance to see, to say nothing of exposing me to things that I’d never heard of. And while this year only found me able to attend for two days (really, one and a half), I still managed to fill my time with a lot of great movies – a couple of knockouts, a bunch that were all mostly good, and only one that sort of missed the mark – and even that one wasn’t without its moments. Not a bad streak at all.
That sounds like it’s setting you up for a grim experience, but Zucchini nicely walks a difficult, narrow line, managing to make a warm, joyous experience that simultaneously deals with the awful circumstances that brought each of these children to this house. My Life as a Zucchini isn’t a film about foster care reform; indeed, the house here is a good one, and the children thrive under the loving care they receive. More to the point, the film generally avoids easy characterizations, letting even its bully character evolve into something funnier and more interesting very quickly. At its core, this is a film about finding a family, like so many other children’s films; for all of that, there’s a warmth and kindness here, and a willingness to face up not only to the darker sides of childhood, but also of the weird edges (lots of conversations between young boys trying to figure out sex) that give it a rich, honest feel. Not a film for young kids, but a charming film nonetheless, and one that won me over quickly. Rating: ****
ll, is literally sinking into the sea. In theory, this allows the film to trade on the sort of apocalyptic adolescent imagery that made Donnie Darko or The Age of Miracles so effective, turning a coming of age into a literal end of the world. In practice, though, My Entire High School is a bit of a mess, with low-tech animation that doesn’t add much to the story, a decent voice cast that doesn’t get to do much, and a jumbled plot that feels sort of cobbled together. For all of that, it’s still often very funny – Shaw has a knack for absurdity, and brings out some great details, including a Lord of the Flies riff where the senior athletes set up their own society, or the weird backstory of a hardcore cafeteria worker. The absurdity works better than the film, though, resulting in something that feels like it wouldn’t be out of place as an Adult Swim series, but doesn’t have enough meat to work as a film. Rating: ** ½
horror film more concerned with psychological dread and unease than it is with scares, though it more than provides those. It’s the story of a woman who has decided to engage in a dark ritual, one that can last up to eight months, and once started, forbids the participants from leaving the salt circle which sets the boundaries of the ritual. What that means is that, for the vast majority of its running time, this is a film about two people, in a closed-off house, and the stresses of their occult ritual. Catherine Walker and Steve Oram, both unknown to me before this, play their parts incredibly, with Walker slowly revealing the trauma that led her to request this dark rite, and Oram playing the part of an expert whose experiences have helped him to understand what he calls the “architecture” of this world. Davis, not content to let A Dark Song simply be a horror film, lets his characters breathe and converse freely, becoming more than just archetypes, and grappling with questions ranging from grief and coping with loss to metaphysical, religious questions raised by the nature of the rites they’re engaging in. And if that’s not enough, it’s also beautifully shot, whether in our brief glances at the Welsh environs or the shadowy interiors of the house. But at its core, this is a horror film, even if it’s one with more on its mind than simple scares. And it builds to one of the most memorable images I’ve ever seen in a horror film, one that elevates A Dark Song to nearly a whole different genre in its final moments, and creating an instantly iconic moment. I truly loved this film; it’s not like much else out there (the closest thing I could compare it to would be The Witch, with its lived-in feel and low-key approach to its horrors, as well as its fascination with ritual and religion; nonetheless, this is too modern and minimalistic to make a perfect comparison there), has some of the most beautiful shots I’ve seen in a long time, and tells a wholly unique, strange story that I loved. Rating: *****
Fortunately, Lake Bodom couldn’t be more different from A Dark Song, preferring gore, violence, and old-fashioned slasher atmosphere over A Dark Song‘s headier fare. But don’t hold that against Lake Bodom, because it does all of that stuff incredibly well, delivering a stylish, fun movie that wears its influences on its sleeve (a bit of Carrie here, a bit of High Tension there, a lot of Friday the 13th throughout) and just encourages you to have a darkly violent time. Based on 
is to tell you to imagine that Terry Gilliam, Jean-Pierre Jeunet, and Michel Gondry got together to watch Labyrinth and thought, “I bet we could do something even more fun than this.” Because how else can I describe a movie in which a struggling artist builds a cardboard labyrinth in his house, only to find that it’s much bigger on the inside, and he may have gotten lost…oh, and there may be traps that are killing people. If that sounds dark, it shouldn’t; Dave Made a Maze is an absolute joy, delivering laugh-out-loud dialogue, boundless imagination, and even staging the deaths with a burst of inspired lunacy. Director Bill Watterson, who makes his debut here (and that is insane, given how inspired this film is), stages the action wonderfully, never missing the chance to go both for a joke and a bit of incredible imagination, and using cardboard and household craft supplies to incredible effect. It doesn’t hurt that the cast is uniformly great (or that I will never not enjoy James Urbaniak in things, and letting him play a documentary filmmaker who’s directing all of the action around him only gives him more to do), but more than anything, this is just pure fun, with enough emotional heft to keep you invested, and more than enough imagination, style, and joy to keep you smiling throughout. It’s maybe my favorite movie from the whole festival, and I can’t wait for it to open wide so it can become the cult hit it’s destined to be. Rating: *****
Words can’t possibly do justice to the insanity of this movie, which is – naturally, as you’ve assumed by now – a super loose retelling of The Little Mermaid, which follows two young mermaids as they make a name for themselves into a disco nightclub, find romance, and struggle to figure out their place in the world. How this results in bizarre surgeries, full-on musical numbers, massively uncomfortable sexual imagery, and more – well, it should really be experienced, rather than explained, because there’s no way I can convey what it’s like to watch this movie. (I feel like critic David Ehrlich saying that he watched the movie on Ambien, and had to go and rewatch it to confirm that he didn’t hallucinate some of it, makes good sense.) The Lure doesn’t always work; its weirdness can be a bit much at times, and you’ll start to see that, underneath it all, it’s a story you kind of know already, and it’s going about like you think it will. That doesn’t mean that it’s not worth seeing, though; whatever else you may think of The Lure, it’s astonishing to watch, with some absolutely incredible sequences that hold their own against the numbers of La La Land, some surreal comedy that never failed to crack me up, and just the sheer insanity of it. Just, you know. Brace yourself. Rating: **** ½
a piece of cosmic horror that gave me some incredible images and moments, but falls apart in its weak final act. Set almost entirely in a rural hospital that’s only a few days away from shutting down completely, The Void follows a small group of survivors – some medical personnel, a local sheriff, a few assorted patients, and a couple of others – as they find themselves under siege by a strange, cloak-wearing cult that seems to have surrounded the hospital out there in the darkness. With some fantastic creature design, and glimpses of a nightmarish cosmology, it doesn’t take The Void long to show its true colors – this is horror in the vein of Lovecraft and Barker, and its dark themes are pretty gripping and interesting ones. However, the film feels about thirty minutes longer than it is, and that’s before the never-ending “bad guy monologue” that starts to close out of the film. I liked The Void more than most of the people I saw it with, but I’m not going to deny that it’s got some big problems with regard to pacing and storytelling. (There are two characters whose involvement in the story never ends up making much sense, once you learn why they’re there.) Still, if you can give yourself over to its style, there’s a lot there to love, with some fantastic images and some truly disturbing moments. But it feels like the first work of a directorial team whose best work is still ahead of them. Rating: *** ½
he goes from “a director of interest” to “man, this guy is fantastic.” Co-written by Macon Blair (who’s worked with Jeremy Saulnier on his films), Small Crimes follows a convict named Joe Denton (played by Game of Thrones’ Nikolaj Coster-Waldau) as he’s released from prison and tries to figure out what to do next. Small Crimes feels like a 70’s noir in many ways, complete with a dark antihero who uses just about anyone in his path, lies constantly, and is capable of horrifying actions; more than that, though, it’s also a story about the way we struggle to redeem ourselves, and to escape our pasts. How that escalates into an increasingly violent series of events should be seen rather than told; suffice to say, there’s a noir-like sensibility to the film that I loved, with bad men doing bad things in a bad time. It doesn’t hurt, of course, that the film has a knockout cast, with supporting roles by Blair, Gary Cole, Molly Parker, Jacki Weaver, and best of all, Robert Forster as Denton’s father, trying to understand how his son came out this way. Small Crimes is gritty stuff, with a rich, lived-in feel, a complicated take on morality, and a nicely complex plot that keeps you gripped throughout (though there’s one big exception in the end, with a single plot thread that feels a bit arbitrarily ended). It’s great stuff, and I hope it picks up an audience; it’s fantastic work, and even better than Cheap Thrills. Rating: **** ½
“Life. It’s literally all we have. But is it any good?”
Noah Hawley has a truly unique niche at this point in TV: taking projects that have no reason to be even good, and turning them into something great. There was no reason, for example, that there needed to be an anthology series based off of the Coen brothers’ superb masterpiece Fargo. And when it came out that the show was more of a spiritual successor than a true tie-in, I wondered what the point was. And yet, Fargo the series turned out to be a masterpiece, a twisty, idiosyncratic, amazing exploration of morality, violence, and goodness in a universe that defies easy categorization.
Umney's Alley 