​New Zealand’s place in the world of horror comedy is a mighty one. From the early gore-packed works of Peter Jackson to the wonderfully silly Black Sheep to perhaps the best vampire film ever made, What We Do in the Shadows, there are numerous examples of subgenres being given a successful Kiwi twist. So Hayden J. Weal’s Dead has some pretty big shoes to fill. And if it doesn’t quite match some of the best of its brethren it at least has some charming characters and some fabulous set pieces.

A recently deceased cop (Tagg) needs the help of a stoner (Marbles) who can see ghosts to find an increasingly prolific serial killer who was responsible for Tagg’s death. Together their investigation sees them digging into each other’s past and entangles them in an increasingly complicated situation.

There’s a breezy quality to Dead as the film ambles along with a pace that emulates Marbles’ disposition. Some of the stoner humour was lost on this reviewer but the film’s sweet nature meant it was a perfectly watchable affair. The film is at its best as it explores the grief that etches onto its character by tragic events in their past. With ghosts in this world a temporary fixture, the relief felt by their presence is short lived and leads the film to have a surprising melancholy particularly as the narrative darkens and complicates.

The partnership of Thomas Sainsbury and Hayden J. Weal as writers, leads (the former is Marbles, the latter Tagg) and, in the case of Weal, director, benefits the film an easy chemistry between the two, whilst meaning there is a creative consistency here. There is a lot to charm a viewer in Dead (particularly a scene stealing turn from Tomai Ilhaia as Tagg’s foster sister) that it’s a shame that the pieces don’t all fit together. The folklore at the centre of the film is perhaps a tad too complex, there are one too many plot strands at play and so Sainsbury and Weal’s film never quite hits the heights the material could lead to. This, nevertheless, has cult classic written all over it and I imagine a segment of horror fans will come to cherish its unique taste on the ghost story subgenre.

Living in an isolated Appalachian community, Lemon (Danielle Deadwyler) has to look after her son alone, due to her husband’s disappearance. Things get worse when she’s summoned to see the cold-hearted matriarch of the mountain’s oldest family. To pay off a debt, she gives Lemon a task which threatens a decade’s old truce. If the task isn’t carried out, her son’s life is forfeited.

Acting as writers and directors, Lane and Ruckus Skye have crafted a quiet tale about legacy, and the lengths we take for our family. This is exemplified in both of the on-screen mothers; whose actions showcase how far they’re willing to go. Take Lemon, our protagonist. She’s a resourceful figure who keeps an eye out, intent on finding a solution. She just wants her boy to be okay, so when his life is threatened, she goes to newfound lengths to ensure that happens. No matter where the story takes her, you believe in every action she makes, and that’s thanks to Danielle Deadwyler’s committed performance.

She wouldn’t need to resort to such lengths were it not for Tommy Runion. As the head of her family, Tommy is intent on elevating their name, through whatever methods she can. This brutal nature is masked with a cheery disposition, and a willingness to discuss baking techniques. Catherine Dyer does good work in the role, conveying the cruelty lurking beneath her inviting tone. A special mention is deserved for Adam Boyer, who acts chilling just with a quiet word in one’s ear.

Whether the characters issues stem from a personal or political nature, it’s captured in engaging ways. Although, it’s difficult to shake how we’ve seen this story done better elsewhere, or the lack of tension within. There’s also a significant portion which takes place in a cult compound, and just feels like a needless diversion. In spite of this, the Skye’s have marked their feature directorial debut with a decent little thriller.

‘’Dogs can be our best friends and faithful companions, with centuries of evolution building in the relationship we now have we them. But sometimes this goes wrong and you get a film like Ropes. The set-up is simple: a paralyzed girl moves into a new home, complete with helper dog. But one bat bite later and there is now a rabid canine on the loose, leading to a fight for survival.

Ropes is one expertly crafted thriller with more than a few Hitchcockian traits embedded in the film’s DNA. A single location and a protagonist restricted by their own body recall Rear Window whilst the natural world threat is the kind of thing you’d see in The Birds. This is also a fiercely engaging take on the marauding rabid dog narrative that is perhaps most famous thanks to Stephen Kings’ Cujo (which is not one of the great adaptations of the masters work), and it even reminds of another King work, Gerald’s Game, as night and dehydration leads to unwanted visitors. And there is even something very 2020 to proceedings, with the cause of all the ill being a diseased bat and our hero being trapped in their home, unable to escape.

All this is to say that debut director José Luis Montesinos marshals the film well, working from the script up (co-written by Yako Blesa) to create a visually inventive work that manages to sustain its slight premise with a tense atmosphere dripping with dread. If there is nothing in Ropes that feels particularly fresh this does not stop it from being an engaging, often unnerving thriller that may very well diminish your love for man’s best friend.

For the set-up the film relies upon to properly work you need a compelling lead performance. And in this regard Ropes is lucky in that Paula del Rio gives one of the best turns in a genre film this year. A prickly, complicated figure, she nonetheless carries our sympathies through the extensive length of time where she is the only person on screen. The film asks a lot of her, putting del Rio through the ringer both physically and when it explores some of the more complicated aspects of the character’s backstory, and the actor does a tremendous job here. 

There has been a steady stream of narratives in recent years that pits characters against vicious animals (Crawl, Burning Bright, The Pool, 47 Metres Down to name four from the past decade). Ropes is one of the better entries thanks to a convincingly constructed narrative and lead performance that carries even the most challenging of moments. This one might not be for dog lovers, but it is sure to sustain genre fans who prefer their films to be almost unbearably tense.

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Blackfoot Territory, 1869. After putting their wounded guide of out his misery, a group of Confederate soldiers find themselves lost in the wintery terrain. Without any horses, food, or supplies, they raid an isolated home, and murder its inhabitants, unaware they’ve missed a young girl. Intent on delivering hell, she follows their trail armed with her father’s guns, with a resurrected soldier for a companion.

Over 59 minutes, writer, director, and cast-member John Adams delivers a contemplative tale, where the setting is key. The harsh tone mirrors the frosty and unforgiving landscape, which reveals the darkness in people’s hearts. Honour and mercy are lost in favour of self-interest, be it for greed, self-preservation, or a thirst for vengeance. Here, revenge is literally a dish best served cold.

Framing the story is a voiceover from our lead, reciting the films events to a Confederate soldier intent on answers. It’s an interesting tactic which verbalises the inner struggles of our lead, portrayed by an exemplary Zelda Adams. By largely following her narration, we’re told key events rather than being shown them, which feels like the less impactful approach. This also means some characters aren’t able to speak, so feel more like plot conveniences than people.

This doesn’t take away from how tense things can get, with the distorted soundtrack proving unnerving. As the Confederates numbers lessen, we see the all-consuming nature of wrath, which hungers more with each offering. What Adams has made brings to mind The Crow, mixed with Antonia Bird’s Ravenous, for a tremendous mash-up of genres.

There is a limited sub-genre of serial killer films that focus on murder as something banal and even ordinary. While the likes of The Silence of the Lambs, Seven and Saw aestheticise and could be accused of glamorising murder, films such as A Short Film About Killing and Henry: Portrait of a Serial Killer take a straightforward and unflinching portrayal of terrible events. Cold Light of Day falls into this category, with the added chill factor of being based on the true crimes of Dennis Nilsen, a Scottish man who murdered multiple young men and boys in London in the late 1970s and early 80s.

The true story of Nilsen is horrific enough, but even if Cold Light of Day were pure fiction, it would be scarily believable. Writer-director Fhiona-Louise follows the button-down and unassuming civil servant Jordan March (Bob Flag) as he goes about his day, helps one elderly neighbour, looks after another neighbour’s cat, drinks in his local pub. He meets men at this pub as well as a local café, and they have some good times together. And he kills them. The film is quite extraordinary in its ordinariness, presenting a picture of London (or any city) that is perfectly recognisable. Long takes and largely fixed cameras, as well as a limited number of quite drab sets, rather discordant sound and natural lighting all combine to create something that draws on British social realism. The term ‘kitchen sink drama’ would apply well to this film, especially during the scenes in March’s flat that are largely captured from static positions, with little in the way of close-ups or anything beyond the location of an uninvolved observer. This observation just happens to include serial murder.

The film offers nothing overtly stylised; perhaps it’s what Seven might look like with a smaller budget and realist aesthetic. Louise also skilfully cuts between different events, including March’s memories of childhood as well as his crimes informing the present-day action as the police interview him. Flag’s central performance is the epitome of rumpled: even when he gets angry, he seems downtrodden and browbeaten. Other performances are similarly low key and always believable, from the arrogant Joe (Martin Byrne-Quinn) who comes to live with March to Inspector Simmons (Geoffrey Greenhill) who interrogates him. The low-key approach is maintained throughout, giving the film an especially crawly feeling.

Cold Light of Day could be accused of homophobia due to the film’s focus on homosexual associations. However, no perversity is attached to March’s sexuality. The evil that he inflicts is something specific to him and shown to be sickening to everyone involved. The murder sequences are especially distressing as March keens and moans as he does so, and his subsequent moments of nausea, grief and sorrow ensure that we view a murderer as a person, subject to the same responses as anyone even after he has done something appalling. That is perhaps the most terrifying thing about Cold Light of Day: not only could this be anyone, but we can have sympathy and perhaps similarity with this serial killer. Therefore, are such impulses as alien as we might like to think, or could they arise in ourselves as well?