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“The last Metroid is in captivity, the galaxy is at peace…”

Samus’ unearthly decent into the darkest nooks and crannies of Planet Zebus was one of the defining gaming memories of my childhood because it was the first game to scare me. Oh sure around the same time I was jumping and wincing my way through ID Software’s Doom, on edge at the bits where the lights inexplicably flicker on and off. But Super Metroid, oh man, this was a game that crawled under my skin and made a nest.

Everything about the title threw me off balance, the quiet opener: responding to a distress beacon before the heart-in-mouth encounter with Ripley and subsequent dash to escape the exploding station. Linear blasty action, I assumed, would abound. But then we land on Zebus and the nightmare begins. The eerie quiet atmosphere, lack of enemies (only the occasional fleeing insect) before the discovery of the morph ball and a sudden influx of monstrosities set the tale in motion.

What really got deep inside me was the lonely atmosphere. The isolation, captured effortlessly in minutiae (Samus’ mechanical breathing, fighting off malfunctioning robots on a ghost ship) Few environments in gaming have seemed so convincingly alien. It scared me because I was the only human being I saw for the entire game. I was scared because I had no idea where to go or what exactly I was doing in this nightmarish place. I was scared because of the music, a continuous, impossibly hummable death pulse that captured the unease and personality of every environment. At that age the lack of a super mushroom had me positively terrified.

I remember fondly now playing the game with my father, both of us equally unskilled in the language of gaming trying to wrap our head around the passageways and caverns of the planet. I remember silly things like when we finally learned pink doors could be opened with missiles, the elation of discovering somewhere new before the disappointment of hitting yet another dead end of bewilderment, an ensuing arguments inciting my wildly melodramatic cries of “we’re never going to play this game again!” before I stomp off in a sulk.

Despite months of play me and my dad never completed the game, it was too hard, too deep, too mammoth. It was epic and wonderful. It was the moment I learned gaming could be mature without being bloody and violent, the moment I got a taste of gaming the art form. I didn’t realize this at the time of course, I was young and stupid and any SNES game that wasn’t Super Mario related was clearly a waste of my time.

I repurchased Super Metroid a couple of years back. My brain sensitive to the ebbs and flows of pacing, level design and designer cues I plowed through it in 5 hours. I adored it. Unable to believe I couldn’t stand to play it all those years ago. I know now why its impact was so profound and distressing.  It was the notion that Nintendo, my favourite maker of shiny, happy (and exceptional) games, could focus their efforts into something so mysterious, bleak and quietly stunning.

Since then…

Many Metroid games have followed and tried to expand upon Super Metroid’s template with varying success. The series first foray into 3D Metroid Prime is the only one that can stand shoulder to shoulder with the legend. Since then recent games have diluted the original concept: Prime 2’s division of the game world into alternate realities resulted in some infuriating gameplay and the decision to spread Corruption across several smaller planets in an attempt to distil the core mechanics jettisoned the isolation aspect and robbed the series of its labyrinthine element, ultimately proving less memorable as a result.

This post is dedicated to my dad. A man who has completed all the Half Life games and never succumbed to the need for a strafe key. A man who will forever use both hands when attempting a first-person jump (with requisite lunging-forward-in-chair motion)

Dir. Hayao Miyazaki
Year: 2008 (jp) 2009 (us)
Cert: U

imdb Link

Animation master Hayao Miyazaki: Japan’s Walt Disney, Lasseter’s inspiration and all around nice chap narrows his focus from recent epic forays Princess Mononoke, Spirited Away and Howl’s Moving Castle to bring us a considerably more intimate tale of the sea with Ponyo (or ‘Ponyo on the Cliff by the Sea’ to use the more esoteric Japanese title)

A small girl-fish-thing escapes from her home on the ocean floor leaving behind hundreds of siblings and her father, a peculiar wizard type fellow who hates all humans (ironic as he is one) because we’re so dirty and are continually messing up the environment. Do not let this put you off my dear readers; the film doesn’t continually bash the audience over the head with a Green Peace message (unlike the indulgent Princess Mononoke) Ponyo instead plays out as pure child-like fairytale. Upon her escape girl-fish meets a 5 year old Sosuke who lives on a cliff near a seaside town. He names her ‘Ponyo’ and they quickly form a bond. When Ponyo’s father snatches her and returns her to the ocean she becomes determined to to be human and return to Sosuke, as she plots this her fathers plan to blanket the earth in ocean is prematurely set in motion causing much of the island to be hit by a tsunami.

When it comes to the human element so far so Little Mermaid but Miyazaki is an auteur and his mastery of traditional, CG-less animation adds a unique timelessness to the fable. This is a film as much about growing up in the peculiar isolation of a shipping town as it is about fish people. Above ground the animation is subtle, effective and heartwarming. Below the waves Miyazaki cranks it up to 11 with a gorgeous kaleidoscopic dreamworld of colour and excitement. Hundreds of species of fish (many prehistoric) dance around the screen and the depth and splendour of the ocean is wonderfully represented. The sea of Ponyo is a powerful presence; abstract, mysterious, stylish and forceful. Often all at once. Nobody working in animation today uses lines and traditional techniques so effectively.

It is clear Ponyo’s target audience is considerably lower than some of the directors other works, its brand of childlike wonder and imagination shares the tone of Totoro and Kiki’s Delivery Service, this will prevent the picture gaining the same kind of attention as Miyazaki’s last three. Among other things, the very Japanese eccentricities of the plot, the lack of a villain and the meandering nature of the story all serve the picture in my eyes but are also likely to put many a casual viewer off. For fans of Japanese animation Ponyo a very pleasant, if slight ode to the big blue that is a must see for younger viewers. Hell, I enjoyed it and I’m probably 4 times the target audience…

3 and a half stars (out of 5)

Note: This review is based on the subtitled version with the original Japanese audio. Due to the high quality of Disney’s dub on other Miyazaki works this review should still be accurate for the western version.

“Shit, shit and fuck.” will not go down in history as one of my most profound utterances but sometimes the situation merits it.  I had a 500 word draft post all ready to complete today. Being the first piece I had written post final year University and therefore the product of a mind now free from all kinds of stresses and distractions the final product would have been a piece of substantial personal significance.

Unfortunately, as I sat down today, tea at my side and tired brain stirred into some kind of motivational stupor I booted up my browser and (with a hint of glee) clicked the  ’Edit Posts’ button. My baby was gone … I don’t have the heart to start it all over again yet what I WILL attempt to do is sum it up in a manner that doesn’t sadden me as to what could have been:

If you own or have access to Half Life 2 for the PC (you really don’t have any excuse) I urge you to download a copy of the ‘Dear Esther‘ Mod, a wonderfully esoteric sojourn around a mysterious foggy island backed by a haunting soundtrack of strings and piano. The experience is devoid of action or puzzle, its substance involving a walk along the coast, a trot through some caves and night time ascent to a glittering beacon at the island peak, all the while listening to a series of monologues intoned by a gravelly Englishman. As a conceptual exercise in computer game narrative its exceptional: meandering, ambiguous, memorable and unsettling in a way that only the greatest Ghost stories can attain to.

The rest was about the current state of narrative in computer games but frankly I can’t be bothered with it any more. For a wide range of styles (gaming staples and recent innovations) see: Metal Gear Solid 4 (the extreme way of doing things), Braid, World of Goo, Plants versus Zombies, any Final Fantasy game, World of Warcraft, this link, Little Big Planet, Half Life/Portal, Left 4 Dead (situation-based conversational collaborative narrative creation.) and if you want to go a bit old-school hit Monkey Island.

Basically the ideas and methods of telling a story within a computer game have begun to be heavily redefined over the past 5 years with even greater emphasis on narrative being placed on games today. Excitingly, the majority of mainstream games are no longer restricted by the cinematic template. The recent trailer for Modern Warface 2 owes a huge debt to the 90s action film, but if we learnt anything from the first installment these scenarios will be heavily tweaked to make them the most fun possible when the player interacts with them, the game will define the set pieces as opposed to the crippling vice-versa. A happy payoff when your current medium is now bigger business than the one you’re trying to emulate.

Games as an art form are still finding their feet and I do believe Miyamoto’s comments about how Mario games ‘aren’t suited’ to having a storyline are very potent, the same can be said with Valve’s ‘player-created story’ efforts in Left 4 Dead and soon Left 4 Dead 2. Baby steps are still being made but if the developments of the last 2 years continue, adolescence may just be round the corner…

I leave you now with a article aptly showcasing the kind of experience gaming (and gaming alone) can provide.

“Bow Nigger”

Dir. Frank Darabont
Year: 2007
Cert: 15

imdb Link

Frank Darabont doesn’t need scripts. Only books by Stephen King. There’s a huge quantity of the latter, and thankfully, considerable talent in the former.

If other film-makers, especially of the modern, hip and knowingly geekish JJ Abrahms variety were to create a triumvirate of films based on the literary works of the indisputable master of mainstream horror and escalating page counts then The Mist would be a great starting point. Its a low budget, high concept Twilight Zone style lark that spends the majority of its time dealing with a small group of characters trapped isolated within supermarket fending off rarely seen fog-dwelling monsters whilst dealing with the hysteria of their fellow survivors.

Darabont went in the opposite direction. First adapting King’s novella ‘Rita Heyworth and the Shawshank Redemption’ into a sprawling, supremely confident prison epic that became a genre classic. He attempted the same with the Green Mile to diminishing returns. Here, he lowers his ambition and narrows his focus.

Its a straightforward, fish-bowl scenario, the likes of which proliferated some of the 80s and 90s most esoteric spooky television. After their property and vehicles are damaged in the recent storm, local painter David Drayton (Thomas Jane: strong in an every-man role), takes his argumentative neighbour to the local supermarket to stock up on supplies for repairs while his young son tags along (he’s not overly annoying, shock). While there an air-raid siren is heard and a fog begins to descend outside. A man is seen running through the car-park towards the store, his eyes wide with panic and blood on his face: “Something in the Mist!” he yells as he crosses the threshold… Its the kind of disorientatingly great start that makes you sit up and take notice. 

It sets in a tension and intrigue that, especially after an encounter with a tentacled monster, (the weakest part of the film effects-wise) rarely lets up. The creature designs continually impress. Creating the fantastic idea that within the Mist itself there lies a whole world, an entire eco-system of monstrosities. From giant spiders (with evil little faces) to hulking titans, its reminiscent of Del Toro’s eclectic creature work on Pan’s Labyrinth and Hellboy. The special effects quality in general is remarkable for such a low budget effort.

Down-time between creature encounters gives focus to the building friction between the survivors. We get arguments about class, religion and politics with the majority of supporting characters shallow archetypes. Its all a bit obvious at times (along with the Mist as ‘fear itself’ angle) and you’ll certainly see a couple of plot points coming, not to mention that everybody goes nuts a bit too quick. But Darabont understands the pulpy nature of the material and ensures group interactions are dynamic thanks to a strong cast of unknowns and TV actors that successfully lend freshness to the multitude of cliché. Even small comedic moments work well without destroying atmosphere and big props to Marcia Gay Harden’s delightfully unhinged portrayal of religious zealot Mrs Carmondy, gobbling up all the scripts best lines on her evolution from local nut to psychotic messiah.

Unhappy with the ambiguity of King’s original coda Darabont’s cinematic rethink is elegiac and devastating, managing to net King’s approval as the definitive finish. If Shawshank was a parable about the power of hope The Mist gives a stern warning about the perils of giving up on it.

This a film that brings back a vitality and old-fashioned inventiveness long missing from mainstream horror. Its of a time when scary films were about stories, not exploitation, grisly effects or half-naked teens. It may lack the claustrophobic terror of The Descent and the visceral impact of Rec. But Darabont and his cast bring their A game to a highly recommended B movie.

4 stars (out of 5)

Note: Darabont shot the film for black and white but was forced to release in colour. I hear from several sources this black and white version is the superior film. I’d love to hear from anybody who has seen both editions.

Taken from HMV’s website. Never under-estimate the idiocy of the general public.

Dir. Shane Carruth
Year: 2004
Cert: 12

imdb link

Four young scientists make a living working for an unnamed large corporation. By night they collaborate on personal projects and side-businesses in a garage. Two of them: Aaron and Abe, accidentally produce a primitive form of time travel and get lost in an increasingly complex realm of murky ethics, duplicity and splintering time lines.

Shane Carruth put multi-tasking director Rodriguez to shame when he wrote, directed, produced, edited, scored, photographed (you get the idea) Primer for $7000. The most pleasant surprise? It doesn’t show. Not bad for a film that spends an unhealthy chunk of its running time showing nerdy men arguing physics.

Primer doesn’t care about exposition and character development, it runs head first into its world and dares the audience to keep up. On first viewing, the disorienting opening scenes filled with bewildering scientific jargon make it practically unfathomable to the average viewer to decipher what the heck they’re actually inventing in the first place.

Then time travel comes into play. This is probably the films best part, with plot and character both largely in focus as we learn how the duo can travel back in time for as long as they are in the machine allowing them to relive the same day multiple times. As we enter the third act Carruth’s direction struggles to keep up with the ambition of his script and potentially major revelations are quickly swept aside or left infuriatingly unexplored, clearly the directors intention was to demonstrate the way the men keep going back and preventing events before they can register any significant effects but some plot points crop up (before being ignored) threaten to give the picture the emotional core it sorely needs. For example, the pair use their new-found ability to play the stock market but we never see any evidence of their wealth, after one trip Aaron begins to bleed from the ear but this is never mentioned again. But in another sense you have to wonder if this is the point. Carruth uses his cinematic canvas to talk about a dizzying array of ideas and potential, by only spending small amounts of time on each concept he allows the viewers imagination to run riot with the possibilities. There’s enough here for 5 two hour films.

Budgetary considerations aside, Primer has a sharp and convincing palette, shot only in a small number of locations: a garage, an office, a storage facility, a field. The unassuming hand-made aesthetic enhances the experience, a convincing portrayal of the way earth changing discoveries really happen, not a grand scale heroic unveiling but rather an unexpected side-effect of a sociopath tinkering with machinery in the workspace of his mother’s basement.

It is worth noting that Carruth is a mathematician. And that’s what Primer feels like, not a film in the conventional sense but a cold-hearted numerical equation explored via cinema. Many, many people will not get on with the film and this I totally understand. It never became a Donnie Darko sized hit because there was no chance a wide audience could identify with it. The film is more puzzle-box than story and for every moment I enjoyed there is another that makes me realize the importance of narrative legibility and how this film would be improved if it took a more relaxed pace with its plot (this is a lot for 70 minutes to handle)

I know this review has been largely negative, but I liked Primer. I admired its bravery, the way it strives to do its own thing and be different. Its purity, a curse, is also a thing of rare beauty in modern film. Its an intriguingly complex piece of work. A brave equation on a black board waiting to be solved. We can’t all be the janitor with the bold mathematical mind that fills in the blanks but I for one am happy to sit back and admire the conundrum.

4 stars (out of 5)

Dir. Robert Wyatt
Cert: 15
Year: 2008

imdb link

The ‘prison-escape’ film has not been well serviced of late. The triumphs of Darabont’s King adaptations, films that explored the nature of institutionalization via themes of hope and redemption seem to be a thing of the past with majority earnings from either juvenile comedies (ill advised The Longest Yard remake) or brain dead football ‘hard man’ films ala Green Street 2.

Rupert Wyatt’s debut then is one of those most wonderful of films, defiantly modern without shirking its genre’s classic roots. It tells the tale of Frank Perry, a man who’s come to terms with the fact he will not see release. We know not why he was imprisoned, only that he is quietly intelligent, and stays out of trouble. When he receives news of his estranged daughter’s near-fatal overdose it galvanizes him into forming an intricate escape plot. That Frank lead is played by supporting actor du jour Brian Cox is the films biggest boon. The man is one of England’s most valuable and overlooked talents and you’ll recognize his wizened face and empowering yet fragile demeanor from any number of blockbusters. Its wonderful to see him excel in a starring role written with him in mind.

As Frank plots and builds his team, facing obstacles of both the physical kind (“We need something that can cut steel!”) and the suspicions of not only the guards but the sadistic prison don Rizza, footage is inter cut with the escape itself. Of course such chronological tinkerings are nothing new and often part and parcel of some of the best feature debuts. Wyatt uses his contorted time line sensitively and effectively, such foreshadowing of the triumphs and pitfalls ahead laces the film with a quiet poignancy, enhanced by Cox’s emotional core: gripping with his mixture of steely determination and fatherly concern.

The supporting cast are also excellent with some nicely against-type casting in the form of Damian Lewis’ soft spoken murderous kingpin and Joseph Fiennes barely recognizable from his young Shakespeare gig as he sheds his pretty boy looks for a hard man boxer.

Cinematography is also impressively claustrophobic and the minimal dialogue leaves a space for a striking sound scape of clanging metal and disconcerting echoes. The films twist (and yes it has a twist) is the only point of consternation, some people will love it, others will feel shortchanged. On its own terms it makes narrative sense and is certainly pulled off admirably but it doesn’t pull the rug from under us the way the best can. Perhaps viewing with this in mind will be more satisfying. Also, some characterization is thin: the supporting cast not well serviced by a script that is happy to let them orbit Cox’s central gravitas. Even so Wyatt is a talent to watch. The film is efficient in its 90 minute run time and proves itself  a stylish and effective little Brit thriller.

4 stars (out of 5)

Snyder’s adaptation, like the comic,  begins with the murder of controversial vigilante The Comedian. A scene only a couple of panels long in the book extrapolated to a full on action frenzy to start the plot with a bang. Its more The Matrix than the Hitchcock evoked in the original. This probably wasn’t a wise move, getting uninitiated audience members psyched for an action film. In reality its more a kind of kitch, cyber-punk superhero sci-fi whodunnit, with lots of heavy dialogue punctuated by bouts of nasty violence. More encouraging is the title sequence, a wonderful piece of work that vies for the films high-point. The montage, sound tracked to Bob Dylan, elegantly establishes Moore’s then contemporary America of costumed vigilantes, imminent nuclear war and the long shadow cast by Dr Manhattan; a near-omnipotent big, blue and impressively naked super being who’s involvement turned the tide of the Vietnam war in favour of Uncle Sam.

The cast is generally strong, with show stealer’s in the forms of Wilson’s likeable over-the-hill Night Owl and Haley’s growling night terror Rorschach. Crudup’s Dr Manhatten is also a success, underpinning the characters coldly analytical introspection with a thread of humane melancholy.

Snyder’s problem is in the way he frames scenes, the self-concious direction and overt stylization saps atmosphere and obliterates forward momentum (an aside: the scenes in the political bunker are the films nadir, in a very po-faced film Nixon and his ridiculous prosthetic nose evoke a farce that makes Kubrick’s Strangelove feel historical record). That was Nolan’s triumph with his Batman films, they felt real, every scene felt part of an established universe, Gotham’s political and economical troubles bubbling below the surface of every scene. Here, such constant turmoil is rarely realised.

The soundtrack is routinely superb. The most memorable scenes are when Snyder simply lets the visuals and the music do the talking. It is only at these times that Watchmen seems to find its identity and the whole thing begins to gel. The same cannot be said for the action; Moore and Gibbon’s violence felt raw, necessary and uncompromising. In the film, as arms snap and heads are cleaved, (often in cgi-aided slow motion) the tone is stylized and exploitative, it regularly detracts from the reality of the piece.

This film then is also a product of contradiction. A very visual adaptation of an extremely literary work. It adheres tentatively to the source material and Snyder never seems entirely comfortable directing scenes that don’t involve a lot of CG and people maiming each other in slow motion. The result is pacing that is clunky and unfocussed, yet visually often exhilarating and the way Gibbon’s (who also contributed to the production) artwork is recreated on screen produces many moments that will delight hardcore fans. In other areas the script needlessly fiddles with key scenes from the book, often to unsubtle and reductive effect. The film soars when screenwriters Hayter and Tse dare to forge their own path, both in the aforementioned title sequence and the manufacturing of a new ending that cleverly repositions Manhattan as the plots central strand and wraps things up in a rather satisfying way.

At over 160 minutes the film feels flabby and the story clunkily abridged, like a greatest hits album with perhaps a few too many duff covers. That said its a miracle it got made at all, unwieldy but often impressively so and some of its set pieces capture a certain sparkle, a tingle of Moore and Gibbons genius.

There’s true craft here and the kind of daring rarely seen in mainstream cinema. But then that feeling of contradiction is back. The film doesn’t progress, it lumbers. For every moment a success there is another that under closer inspection crumbles tragically. Such boldness deserves reward and as an experience I’m temped to award a higher mark. But this is a film review and a brief scan along the list of failed attempts to bring it to screen by other visionaries that fell along the way (big love, Mr Greengrass) its difficult to shake the impression that with Snyder we had to make do with a regrettably middle of the road end product.

I don’t have the heart to call it a failure, nor the optimism to label it a triumph. Thankfully a story as timeless as this bears retelling. Until then I leave you with a very solid and well earned…

3 stars (out of 5)

Dir. David Hackl
Year: 2008
Cert. 18

“You won’t believe how it ends” barked the ad campaign with its deliciously grisly image of jigsaws face stretched onto the body of a new criminal protagonist. The only thing I couldn’t believe, frankly, was the sheer lameness and predictability of it all. And I still can’t believe this shit has yet to run out of steam.

I can’t stand the Saw franchise. There are worse films out there: films with more embarrassing acting and more cringe-worthy scripts. Even films with shoddier direction (possibly). But the thing that gets me riled, that really gets me down, is they pretend they’re good. Each chapter trundles along with a self righteous sense of importance that everyone seems to buy into.

The first arrived with no fanfare and impressively simplistic advertising. All my friends in 6th form quickly declared it the best serial killer film since sliced bread. ‘Even better than Se7en?’ I ventured (foolishly). ‘Definitely’ came the enthusiastic reply. What I got was way off the mark. I hated it because everybody else seemed to love it. I thought the acting sucked, I wished the direction would stop flashing about like an ADD addled MTV fan and found the whole plot and twist simply too ridiculous to take seriously. With expectations re-aligned we’re left with a low budget and low-class but inventive piece of pulp entertainment, with impressive gore effects and a goofy ‘what’s gonna happen next?’ plot. It was no masterpiece but an effective guilty pleasure. As the sequels appeared on a yearly basis the gore effects have improved but the plot and acting nosedived as each twist favored obscure coincidence over plot logic.

The biggest, most unforgivable problem with Saw V is that it even manages to fail in the gore department. At least previous entries (which I have always ended up being forced to watch due to peer pressure) had it where it counts in the ‘eww’ factor. But Saw part 5 is simply, crushingly, boring, with uninspired shocks and little opportunity for memorable gory effects. We have Tobin Bell (an effective character actor now heavily on autopilot) back in flashbacks as Jigsaw. We have a group of people forced to endure his traps in a manner so unrelated to the overall plot one has to wonder if studio interference shoe-horned the whole thing in. The plot centers around Jigsaws police-detective prodigy revealed at the climax of the last film and the ‘true-blue’ detective who escaped last time who’s after him. “Which one is which?” implored my girlfriend. Its hard to tell because both characters are so generic, so utterly contrived and bland that you struggle to distinguish them by their similarly B-movie acting.

The first scene is typical grisly Saw as we have a hapless fellow chopped up slowly so we see his entrails all over the place. We then plummet into on the chin exposition, lots of furrowed brows and plenty of over-excited flashbacks (made more ‘intense’ with big ‘thuds’) to other franchise entries as the whole manufactured uninspired piece of garbage scrabbles around looking for a plot. The ending, the ‘twist’, so stupid and sudden (also the worst of the series, ironic huh?) predictably paving the way for part 6. Every single set lit like its the middle of the night. (why does the police station constantly look like its in the middle of a blackout) the supporting characters so lame in their roles and idiotic in their actions. When the clown thing trundles in and growls “ I want to play a game” the audience is supposed to be excited by the familiarity of the series staple, to build their anticipation, to create that little spark that all the most memorable franchise moments do. I wanted to shoot him in the face before turning the gun on myself.

The whole series is replete with superficial values, keeping its sights firmly on its target audience. Admittedly there’s nothing here to rival number 4’s good looking, toned guy (goodie) turning up the heat on the big fat grimy looking (baddie) child-molester but it comes close. Without the violent set-pieces its been neutered. When the series runs out of interesting ideas for people dying its pretty much run out of ideas altogether. Its 24 without Jack Bauer, its Playboy with just the articles, the whole reason people pay to see these films is diminishing but they still cling on to the plot as the main interest. Such people are kidding themselves. Admit you watch it for the nasty deaths, Lionsgate should really be admitting the same. The whole thing is tired, there’s potential here if the film-makers decided to try something different but while the money still pours in we’re looking at the adult equivalent of High School Musical 3.

Maybe this will be the last one I am forced to watch. I doubt it.

See you next Halloween.

1 star (out of 5)

Dir. Takeshi Miiki
Year: 2001
Cert: 18

Imdb link

Takeshi Miike is not a man to play it safe. Ichi (based on the Manga of the same name) is a peculiar fusion of Japanese pop-cultural touchstones; pop-music, stylised (and in this case immensely gratuitous) violence, Yakuza revenge flicks, sexual deviation, awkward pitch black comedy, Manga-esque anti-heroics, ridiculous hair and flamboyant costumes…

And it almost works. We are introduced to Kakihara, a sadomasochistic (with emphasis on the masochistic) Yakuza enforcer (with slit up face and a dis-locatable jaw accessories) and his search to track down Ichi, a soft spoken psychotic killer who cries after his murders and is known as an ‘ultimate sadist’. Initial motives of revenge due to the disappearance of Kakihara’s gang boss segue into a bizarre longing. Maybe Ichi can deliver the pain (read: pleasure) he desires and is so often denied. Unfortunately Ichi the Killer struggles to find its tone, at once overtly serious and jarringly ridiculous (a characters head is superimposed upon a body-builder’s), scenes veer between dull furrow-browed exposition and exploitative (and regularly misogynistic) horror and sexual perversion; after the first lingering torture sequence the tone is set and rarely lets up.

If extremist cinema is your game then indeed Ichi represents an important step in pushing the limits of the genre. The film is not without it’s share of memorable images and imaginative shocks (most involving cut-up body parts) and in rare moments it seems to find its groove; a nightmarish cartoon come to life with grimy film stock emulating the feel of snuff cinema. But eventually all potent elements crumble as scenes degenerate into obscure plot developments, ridiculous overacting and sub-par visual effects. Understandably cult-viewing and there’s strong evidence for a true auteur at work. But those wishing to sample Miike at his most searing may want to start with Audition.

2 stars (out of 5)