"Silent Night, Deadly Night" - 3rd Time's a Charm

A drifter by the name of Billy Chapman (Rohan Campbell) rolls into the snowy town of Hackett, and procures a job at a Christmas shop alongisde eccentric perky Pam (Ruby Modine). But he harbours a dark secret: an imaginary friend named Charlie (Mark Acheson) and a need to fill his homemade advent calendar with the blood of those who have been "naughty"...

(Photo Credit: Rotten Tomatoes)
In what appears to be a newfound Christmas tradition, we've got a Christmas themed slasher/horror movie ("Krampus", "Violent Night", that fucking God-awful "Black Christmas" remake, "Rare Exports" which was pretty good, "Terrifier 3", "It's a Wonderful Knife", "Christmas Bloody Christmas" which, fun story there...) this time the 3rd crack at the rather atrocious "Silent Night, Deadly Night" from decades ago and after the rather fun breezy bloodbath of 2012 with Malcom McDowell (fuck yes) and Jaime King. Where the first was a rather sloppy slasher film with the then-unique gimmick of "what if the killer dressed as Santa?" and is best remembered (rightfully) for the absolute classic meme "Garbage Day" in its somehow-worse sequel, and the remake of 2012 went for a knowing irony of the time; this (helmed by, of all people, Mike Nelson from the "Wrong Turn" reboot) aims for a slightly more cerebral blend of commentary about mental illness and psychological stigma, and a slightly more satirical take on the violence.
It's actually pretty fun and relatively tight, for what that's worth, particularly when compared to the previous efforts and a lot better than what the material deserves. Rohan Campbell is good as Billy, and Mark Acheson fantastic fun as the psychotic murderous yet oddly supportive voice in his head; and the much-needed and underused Ruby Modine is the film's highlight as the first real flesh and blood friend Billy gets, who has issues of her own (and a fun bit at an ice hockey rink); she's very good when her ex-boyfriend returns. It gets kind of real actuall, kudos there Modine.
The thrills pile on later as we get murders of people who very much deserve it (the centrepiece is a rather Republican Santa Claus convention), it never really overstays its welcome and becomes more of a character piece between 2 (well, technically 3) people. I like the characters and their arcs, they're well done, and it's all competent fare with good blood effects. It never soars to the goofy heights one would expect from the premise and ultimately reigns it in a little bit - how much you enjoy that is going to be up to the individual reviewer. I appreciated the rather darkly Christmas ending of real friendships and the journey on the way, that was more on theme than either of the previous efforts.
I enjoyed it more than I thought I would, it's fun.

Top Albums of 2025

End of Year Albums Fuck it, we're close enough to the end of the year, I've had a couple of beers, so here are my favourite albums of the year: Let's go!
5. "West End Girl" - Lily Allen
I'm fucking delighted we got a return to form from Lily Allen, but it's tragic that it had to be through the catastrophic slow-motion "monkey swallowing a hand grenade" spectacle of a disintigrating marriage. Frank, confessional, and a mish-mash of genres (foreshadowing is a literary device...) which should not work: it's the sort of raw, pure art I admire. Highlights are "Dallas Major" (a truly miserable, "what the fuck am I doing here?" track framed as upbeat, one hundred percent my jam) and "Relapse" (she brought back trip-hop! I want to kill myself over this, but you know progress!)
4. "Parasites and Butterflies" - The Nova Twins
A late entry. What a band. They're great. The Nova Twins are unapologetic about their mishmash of genres and weird shit (callbacks are a literary device...) but crucially have that ear for hooks, tunes and heavy pounding shit I kind of love. They do my main benchmark of a good album: just make a shitload of good tracks individually and parcel them in. Highlights are "Drip" (the horny track they've taken 3 albums to make... well worth it), "N.O.V.A", "Parallel Universe" and "Hide and Seek".
3. "That's Showbiz Baby" - Jade
Absolutely unhinged. Jade is the best member of the excellent Little Mix, and came out fucking swinging with this album: the lead single switched tempo and genre 5 times whilst sampling "Puppet on a String" by Sandy Shore, and only got weirder from there. Feeling like a simultaneous primal scream (hah, I actually kind of want a Primal Scream influenced Jade album now, she'd suit it) against the predatory sexist industry of commodification and "product", and a celebration of all things queer: she just made the equivalent of a riot in a gay bar circa 2008. I love this. Absolutely bananas. Highlights are "Midnight Cowboy" (horny and a bonkers 2000s Euro Club track), "IT Girl" (fucking abso-fucking-lutely fuck yes fuck) and obviously "Angel of My Dreams".
2. "Mad!" - Sparks
Sparks are the best band on the planet. Name a band you love, and chances are their favourite band is Sparks. There is no band like them. At the ages of 78 and 80, brothers Russel and Ron Mael (who fathered half of Europe and do this for love of the game) still find ways to sound fresh, unique, interesting and ahead of the curve despite nobody having caught up to them even now. With their usual glib, coy "are we in on the joke or is this just what it seems?" energy (which, at this point, could just be the joke...) they scamper and dance through the highest octaves of vocals the spectrums of human emotion, making something so quintessentially them and yet something new; no mean feat after their 3rd comeback (!) in the public zeitgeist with their last chart-topper "The Girl is Crying in her Latte". I saw them tour this album, and once again Sparks changed my life but more importantly: I took 2 friends of mine to the gig and they are changed people now, Sparks superfans after going in blind. Highlights are "I-405 Rules" (a love letter to their favourite motorway), "Drowned in a Sea of Tears" (I got emotional seeing it live), "Do Things My Own Way" (their thumping, heavy, thesis statement of 5 decades, and an absolute fucking belter) and "Running Up a Tab at the Hotel for a Fab" (pure Sparks, nothing else to say)
Before I get to number 1, some honourable mentions:

"Sleepless Empire" - Lacuna Coil
I knew "Swamped", and got this for my partner who is a massive fan. I fucking love these Goth-rock icons. Unironic, unabashed, incredible live. Highlights: "Sleep Paralysis", "Gravity", "Hosting the Shadow"
"Closer" - Kim Wilde
It's a Kim Wilde album in 2025! And it's fucking great! She's fucking great guys, why did we let her go away? It's a master of the craft doing what she does best. Highlights: "Midnight Train", "Hourglass Human", "Trail of Destruction".
"Princess of Power" - Marina
Continuing the momentum of "Ancient Dreams in a Modern Land" (a future classic in her canon, not even an underrated one) with the eclectic madness of her early works, the introspection of "Froot" and the feminism and coherent point missing from that piece of shit "Love and Fear". Highlights: "Cuntissimo" (obviously), "Princess of Power" (openers are never a problem for her), "Final Boss" (I got to hear Marina scream "FINISH HIM"), and "Hello Kitty"

"Let All that We Imagine Be the Light" - Garbage
It was never not going to be this. The darkest parts of the soul for every outcast, reject and person just fucking furious at the world have put out their "optimism" album, in their 60s. And unlike many of that era they've not lost their minds: the album calls for trans rights, black power, and crushing the madness which consumes us. They used to embrace the misery and darkness, because they were cool outsiders, but now that same darkness consumes the bright and subsumes decency: and they are unleashing that roar of disapproval in the way only they can. It's furious, sad, happy, melancholic and bright in equal measure. From songs about the lead singer adoring tramadol after an operation, to the extent that it caused her to reconnect with her lapsed Catholicism (the real shit, the Scottish shit) in a near-death experience, to aforementioned political songs, whilst never once losing their git for hook after hook after riff after jam. Every song is layered with enough to make this shit look easy, and they keep piling them on not out of ego but to advance the project. This shit was what I needed. We can all be good people: Garbage are a bunch of aging rockers still furious at the injustice of the world, and doing their part, in their lane, mastering it. Highlights: "Get Out of My Face (AKA Bad Kitty"(funky, dark, quintessential Garbage), "Sisyphus" (we're ancient but if we can one piece of good with our tired and fragile bodies, we are content), "Hold" (even the simplest love songs sound urgent and terrifying in their hands), "Have We Met (The Void)" (Jesus Christ... age will come for us all, we die. How you confront that? That's on you. These legends can at least maintain dignity and the illusion of happiness in its face), "Chinese Firehorse" (sexism and ageism in the music industry needs to be burnt out like the cancer it fucking it. Based as fuck), and "R U Happy Now" (probably my track of the year: a nightmare Goth rave held by a girl 800 leagues out of yours. ""We have an idea, no one can take part. We sew a seam but then they pick it apart. It's picture perfect, so white, so clean... They kill books, they break rules, they kill dreams")

"Wake Up Dead Man" - Review

At the parish of "Our Lady of Perpetual Fortitude", young and once hot-headed Reverand Jud Duplenticy (Josh O'Connor) finds himself caught up in a murder amongst the eclectic shitheads of his congregation. Surrounded by bastards, with their suspicion and bastardry closing in, he calls upon famous debonair detective Benoit Blanc (Daniel Craig) to solve the murder.

(Credit: Netflix. Also fuck them)
I got to see this in the cinema, chomping at the bit for this.
Screw Bond: this is Daniel Craig's legacy, and will forever be Rian Johnson's.
Much like the first and second, it's a slippery, tricksy, whimsically naughty and playful beast: dishing out a delectably cromulent locked room murder, a mysterious treasure, and a gallery of weasels with their own dastardly bastardry, overseen by a detective so fun to follow you can sense Daniel Craig's need for seasoning for all of the scenery, and relishing the mad twists and turns, and chewing the dialogue like he's Rob Halford. It's a fun mystery, yes, but there's also (much like the previous entries) things Johnson is saying, this time turning his ire onto a church which has lost its way: here he skewers, rather effectively, the wealthy elites who use their churches as places to shun and despise others, and fall under the thrall of charismatic hate mongers, calcifying congregations and leaving societies and communities unable to open up, change and evolve. The cast are, as is now par for the course, relishing these parts: Josh Brolin plays a bombastic, furious, vile priest and pillar of the community whose actions are rotting it from within; Josh O'Connor's excellent as the audience surrogate and sympathetic, admirable priest in the footsteps of Martha Cabrera and Andi Brand from previous adventures (his buddy cop shenanigans with Blanc are highlights) and he has a fantastic little bit in a graveyard in the rain; Glenn Close is the iron-clad bitch right-hand woman who rules this congregation like a witch; Andrew Scott is a fading sci-fi author starting to lose his mind and become paranoid from too long in the weird world around him; Thomas Haden Church is playing his character from "Easy A" if he smoked enough hash to put Cheech and Chong in a coma, and living in a shed (I love Thomas Haden Church); Jeremy Renner goes somewhat against type as a spineless local doctor wallowing in alcohol and post-divorce misery with none of the self-reflection; and Caelee Spaeny is a disabled musician with a funny line delivered to Glenn Close. As I hoped, good old Johnson collaborator Noah Segan is back, this time as "Nikolai" the bar owner whose place is central to the case (That sequence is fucking brilliant payoff, trust me). The characters are fun to follow, and whilst some are clearly red herrings there for flavour, the taste of the dish is still a sumptuous one.
Yet it's not a simple side-swipe either: the film goes to lengths to show that these are not simple charicatures but people. Fading science fiction author Lee Ross (Andrew Scott) is aware that he's starting to attract kooks, and is self-aware enough to know that he needs to change, but the allure is too powerful (and he ends on a pretty funny "Big Lebowski" joke); for example. Craven little bitch boy Cy Draven (Daryl McCormack, here NOT attempting to have sex with an older woman, thus playing against type wonderfully) is a standout as the failed Republican candidate and streamer seeking any strand or moment of fame and prestige, yet still a victim of tragedy and able to turn away if he really wants but lacking the spine and gumption to do so: because being a grifter and shithead is easier and even encouraged by this world and the vast multitudes of bastards populating it and encouraging it.. The central message of the film is that we can do better, but many choose not to.
It's excellent fun.
Highly recommend this outing of the marvellous Mr Blanc.

"Blue Moon" - Review

Once adored, famous composer Lorenz Hart (Ethan Hawke. I kept writing "Larenz" at first, maybe I'm thinking about "Dead Presidents" too much) sits in a bar on the opening night of "Oklahoma!", composed by his old partner Richard Rodgers. He reminisces on the glory days, seethes about Rodgers' newfound success with a talentless hack Hammerstein, and esposes hagigraphic overtures to the muse and love of his life, Elizabeth (Margaret Qualley) to the bartender Eddie (Bobby Cannavale), pianist Morty (Jonah Rees) and anyone else who will listen or merely be in the vacinity.

(Photo credit: IMDB)
Magnificent.
I watched this the same day as "The Running Man". That movie has a budget of $110,000,000 and left me feeling an empty nothingness I will forget about in 6 hours; this one cost £2,000,000 (which probably wouldn't cover that movie's catering budget) and was a witty, thoughtful, funny, pensive little tour-de-force showcase for one of the best to do it, and sticks in my memory days later.
Whilst something of a meme between my partner and myself, we forget that Ethan Hawke is actually really bloody good, and this is his most magnetic, compelling, hypnotic performance outside of the "Before" trilogy. It feels like a stage play, from author Robert Kaplow, and whilst verbose, is still fiercely intelligently written: Hart is eloquent and fun to be around (par for the course with an Ethan Hawke character), bouncing off of the simpler Eddie in a class play, but we see him push and pull against his own takes on art (so confidently thrown out early on out of earshot of their targets) when actually defending their success and appeal against Rodgers (a rather good Andrew Scott) or a clearly disinterested writer by the name of E.B White (Patrick Kennedy): it's not necessarily a case of all crown and no filling, however. The film has discussions about the accessibility of art, purity of art, the "real America" Versus an America which never exists (illustrated with his Hart sees his own works, from a quaint and already nostalgia-infused time, something he is oblivious to on the surface, but maybe simply avoiding); all with a subtle self-loathing and deflection and self-awareness. It's really a wonderful character for Hawke to sink his teeth into, especially when the creepier, more possessive and ambiguously obsessive sexual (maybe?) angle comes in with Elizabeth (an excellent Qualley), culminating in the 3rd act in a conversation between the two littered with history and subtext and different wants and needs. Unlike some lesser central works focusing on a single performance in the centre where every other part is in service of the central actor, this one has room for actors to breathe and explore: Andrew Scott's awkwardness at being cornered by an old friend clinging to the past; Patrick Kennedy trying to be polite and droll, matching him intellectually but finding him a tad odd or dull; and Qualley is fantastic in the last act, a much-welcome relief from that festering piece of shit "Honey, Don't!" (her accent slips through her and it's fun), and the writing features callbacks and long-term gags paying off later (Bobby Cannavale, always excellent and usually underused, gets one of the best).
The film is funny too, very funny in fact.
And not to underplay the directing: it's not flashy but doesn't have to be, it's a 2 location piece, and Linklater (oh yeah, of course Richard Linklater directed this) works wonderfully with his actors and keeps it from feeling staid or claustrophobic.
I loved this. I absolutely loved this.

"The Running Man" - Reaction

In the not-too-distant future, a once promising filmmaker burnt out by the studio process tackles his greatest challenge yet...

(Credit: Abbeygate Cinema)
It's been a good year for King adaptations, with "Life of Chuck" and "The Long Walk" (a short story and arguably his weakest Bachman novel respectively) being nothing short of a miracle, considering the history of most King adaptations. This could have been a slam dunk (not to tip my hand too early): a filmmaker known for his unique takes, adapting a dystopian satire of showbusiness and updating it for the modern day, with Glen Powell as the lead and the backing and approval of King himself.
Edgar Wright has not been exciting in a long time. His Sparks documentary remains my favourite of his works and the last time he made a great movie: "Baby Driver" left me cold and "Last Night In Soho" was confused right up until its ending utterly shat the bed. This adaptation of the book apparently is an attempt to skew closer to its grittier roots, but the colourful, memorably campy Arnold Schwarzenegger version rears its head frequently whenever the movie thinks we're getting bored and tries to be "fun". The mish mash of tones is the worst of both worlds: none of the pop, or the fun, well edited works of early Wright (in fact there is an atrociously choppy fight sequence in the cockpit of a plane) - and all of the basic story points of the book with none of the grit and way of King's writing. The tonal shifts are not the problem (well, not the main problem) though they are best exemplified by Michael Cera appearing to give a rather good performance as a rebel whose father was slain by the state, then to be "oh-so-wacky" with a water gun as the same goons invade his house and he sips from Monster Energy whilst giving exposition. It would be satirical in more interested hands.
The entire affair is soulless, empty and left me feeling cold and bored. As dumb as the Arnie movie it, it's at least consistent and kind of bonkers in its casting and characters, and knew what it was. Here the film just limps along, committing to neither bit and feeling anonymous in its direction, yo-yoing between tones.
The book has suffered from a "John Carter of Mars" syndrome in that many of its best ideas and themes and images have been pilfered by other works, and "showbiz murder" satire has been done better and more consistently in things such as "Series 7: The Contenders", "The Hunger Games" (alright, I'm not a fan of that one) and the exemplary "Battle Royale" to name a few; but this defence falls away like cardboard when you try to admire the movie on its own merits. Staid, by the numbers and anonymous.
They even pussy out of the book's ending.
I watched "Pool Party Massacre" on DVD after this, having picked it up for 3 quid. That was a far better time: it knew what it was, there was a coherent vision, the characters were more fun, and the movie was never confused about what it was trying to be.