Monday, January 23, 2012

angels, septicemia, more terrifying things and another broom handle.

Still recovering from the eyeball enema that was Kill List I decided to try and reignite my love of British horror with this wee gem.

What went wrong this time?

A Lonely Place To Die (2011).
Dir: Julian Gilbey
Cast: Melissa George, Alec Newman, Eamonn Walker, Ed Speleers, Gary Sweeney, Holly Boyd, Karel Roden, Kate Magowan, Stephen McCole and Sean Harris.

Top climbing babe Alison (Home and Away's septicaemia spouting sex kitten George) is enjoying a mountain mounting weekend in the Scottish highlands alongside her hunky yet horrifyingly high headed buddie Rob (teevee's Paul Atreides and David Baddiel's ex partner Newman) and their geeky wee pal Ed (Eragon's Speleers).

After an exciting cliff face incident involving Ed's shoe, some rope, a golden eagle and a camera the trio decide to call it a day and head off to meet their friends Alex and Jenny (former cop show Sweeney and John Simm's missis Magowan) at the cottage they've rented for the weekend.

Melissa George spots the only person in Scotland with a job.

It's not all happy jolly tricks tho' as grown up Alex and baby Ed start the evening by rubbing each other up the wrong way (and not in the sexual sense), Jenny has taken to sitting on the sofa whining about missing her new baby and to make matters worse the kitchen stinks of egg.

Luckily Rob has got a couple of bottles of Scotland's national drink in his bag and after a few sniffs of Buckfast and a good nights rest our by now friendly five-some are ready to run up that hill as Kate Bush would say.

However, this being Scotland it's not long before they (quite literally) stumble across a wee Serbian lassie called Anna (newcomer Boyd looking like a younger Emily Perkins) buried under a pile of dog shite and damp porn mags and trapped inside a wooden Aldi's crate.

Kate: Bush not shown.

Cold, stinking of piss and unable to speak English (which is more common than you think in Scotland) Anna instinctively latches on to new mum Jenny who sensible decides that they should head right back to the cottage and attempt to contact the police.

Surprisingly everyone agrees, tho' Rob and Alison decide to do it via a scary cliff-face.

And without the proper equipment.

Don't worry tho' they're both experienced climbers.

Just not experienced at climbing whilst dodging bullets.

Which is a wee bit of a shame seeing as bad boy kidnappers cum child murdering bastards Mr Kidd (the always fantastic psycho for hire Harris) and Mr Mcrae (Single Father's McCole) are holed up on a hilltop watching Anna thru' a fairly expensive telescopic sight.

One that's attached to a very expensive rifle.

You see if she gets rescued before the exchange they'll never get their grubby sausage fingers on the ransom money.

"Cover yer Papist ears's an orange band!"

It's at this point that I turned it off.

I mean it had a genuinely taunt post-credit sequence, pretty solid acting and was nicely shot but that celluloid cesspool that was Kill List seemed to have destroyed any ability I had to watch anything with a British accent.

It's as if deep down I knew who'd live and I knew who'd die and frankly I didn't want to be dissapointed.

Plus I was suffering horrendous hallucinations of Neil Maskell dancing saucily over me, gently cupping his mantits as I meekly popped used fivers into his union jack codpiece.

Which goes along way to explaining why my kiddies found me visibly shaking and retching.

For fucks sake Ben Wheatley what have you done to me?

"Keep hold of the twins Kate I think she's still moving!"

Feeling like I should at least give it a chance I took a shift swig of absinthe and gingerly stabbed the chapter button.

And again.

And again.

Trees...check, waterproofs...check, gun...check, desperate feeling of oppression...check, recycled plot...check...must be a British thriller then.

What can I say?

Everyone gets offed in the order you imagine, the stalking scenes are fairly well done and there's even a sly nod to The Wicker Man (which seems to be a must if you fancy any chance of getting Lottery funding at the moment), there's just nothing that hasn't been seen a dozen times before and usually a wee bit better.

I was going to say 'Meh' but I thought I'd better be a bit more professional (and polite) and just say workman-like.

Which thinking about it is the worse crime a movie can commit.

I mean you don't see me having visions of Melissa George's tits do you?

Or does that just say something about me?

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