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Castle Rock: The Complete First Season

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The premise for Castle Rock could only go one of two ways: bloody great or bloody awful. The conceit is a drama thriller that takes place in the town of Castle Rock, the location of some of Stephen King’s most horrific tales. In lesser hands this could have rendered the series an inert collection of King fanservice, where every car is called Christine and every dog is a Saint Bernard. Happily, and surprisingly, the actual end result is a far more subtle and stranger proposition.

We’re slowly introduced to the weird world of Castle Rock through criminal attorney Henry Deaver (Andre Holland) who is drawn back into his hometown after getting an anonymous call to represent a strange young man called “The Kid” (Bill Skarsgard). Said character is a creepy amnesiac who had been kept at Shawshank Prison off the books, and seems to have a strange effect on those who he touches… Of course this is just the tip of the weird iceberg that Castle Rocks represents, and we soon meet possibly psychic Molly Strand (Melanie Lynskey), chirpy but quirky Jackie Torrence (Jane Levy) and Henry’s adopted mum, Ruth Deaver (Sissy Spacek).

In terms of Stephen King’s mythology, it’s Scott Glenn as Alan Pangborn who is the most direct reference point. Pangborn was the sheriff of Castle Rock for a decade, and in that time faced the sentient pseudonym, George Stark (The Dark Half) and owner of a store with an extremely dodgy returns policy, Leland Gaunt (Needful Things). In this series, Alan has a personal relationship with Henry and a very intimate relationship with his mum, Ruth. This leads to quality family drama and genuinely surprising twists and turns, with the viewer never entirely sure about who to trust.

In terms of performances the entire cast are stellar, with Holland, Lynskey and Skarsgard doing superb work; however it is Sissy Spacey (previously cast in Brian De Palma’s 1976 adaptation of Stephen King’s Carrie) who owns the show with a stunning turn as a woman beset by Alzheimer’s trying to hold onto the past for as long as possible. The seventh episode titled “The Queen” isn’t just the best of Castle Rock, it’s possibly the best hour of television from 2018.

Ultimately, Castle Rock is a risky genre experiment that pays off beyond all expectations. Certainly, there are questionable elements, the deliberate pace of the series left the final episode with too much to do and the ending hotly contested, but the journey to get there remains deeply satisfying. Plus this is the first series of (hopefully) many, so the lingering unresolved plot strands will no doubt be revisited at some point down the line.

The extra features are a tad scant here, with two featurettes that are essentially puff pieces, however the Inside the Episode mini-docos for each part are a great deeper dive into the more obscure elements of the story.

Castle Rock is stellar genre television and a loving homage to a master storyteller that can stand on its own. You don’t need to be a fan of Stephen King to appreciate it, but those who are even vaguely familiar with the work of Maine’s most famous son are in for a deliciously twisted treat.

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All the Devil’s Men

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Jack Collins (Milo Gibson) is an unstable, world-weary ex-Navy Seal who tracks US’s most-wanted and terrorist targets under the auspices of CIA outsourcing. His handler for the CIA, Leigh (Blade Runner 2049’s Sylvia Hoeks) offers him a job, despite the apparent PTSD Jack’s been suffering and the other mental issues that assail him.

He’s dispatched to London (on what sounds like the premise to a Mission: Impossible film) in order to take down a rogue CIA operative named McKnight (Elliot Cowan) before he procures a nuke from Russian gangsters.

Jack’s assigned a team, in the form of operatives-for-hire Brennan (William Fichtner) and Samuelson (Gbenga Akinnagbe). Once in London, the group meet CIA compatriot Deighton (Joseph Millson) and it’s Deighton’s wobbly morality and possible connection to McKnight and his ‘is-he-or-isn’t-he-about-to-cross-everyone’ persona that leads to more violent shenanigans across London, in pursuit of McKnight and the warheads he’s trying to snarf.

There are double (and triple) crosses aplenty as Jack and Deighton continually lock horns and tread the well-worn path of bromance turned sour grapes.

It’s hardly an original format: the battle-weary warrior, the ‘Ronin’ looking for an end to the pain of existence. We get it. Writer/Director Matthew Hope is a dab hand at directing low-budget action sequences and on that front, if shoot-outs are your bag then there’s a fair bit of that to enjoy here. Other than applauding the filmmakers for wringing every drop from an all-too-obviously small budget, there’s little else to recommend this, except the sharply acidic William Fichtner, a hardened veteran of Hollywood supporting roles; he’s incapable of being anything less than enjoyable. As the lead, Gibson is unabashedly riding his surname’s coat tails (and his physical similarity to his dad) but physically, he’s got the goods, it’s just the underwritten script that leaves him – and the rest of the cast – twisting in the wind.

Overall, the fight choreography and action sequences are deftly executed but the brutally ‘by-the-numbers’ scripting, coupled with a considerable lack of character depth or humour, just annihilates any joy that could be derived from the film.

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Billionaire Boys Club

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There’s a stinky pall of cruel fate hovering over this retooling of 1989’s based-on-a-true-story TV movie, Billionaire Boys Club (which served as a starring vehicle for “Brat Packer” Judd Nelson). The story is a classic one: ‘80s excess and coke-fuelled youthful promise corrupted by greed and the sweaty-palmed clutch for cash.

Joe Hunt (Ansel Elgort) lives with his father, Ryan (Judd Nelson), and spends his days on the make, struggling to sell his stock market skills and coax over-cashed, feckless trust-fund brats into investing the money that their parents worked so very hard for. Enter Dean Karny (Taron Edgerton), an old school buddy whose ambition-fuelled trajectory intersects with Joe’s, and the two form an unholy alliance, as they spruik their “paradox philosophy”, a masturbatory exercise in business ethics and moral equivalency, conveniently negating morality and ethics that might serve to hinder money-making opportunities.

Such lunk-headed wisdom soon converts brothers, Scott Biltmore (Ryan Rottman) and Kyle Biltmore (Jeremy Irvine), who sign on board the fledgling BBC, an investment company which allegedly took its enigmatic acronym from “The Bombay Bicycle Club”, though once all the crooked and shady events had unspooled, it was dubbed by the media, “Billionaire Boys Club.”

BBC’s partners soon meet Ron Levin (Kevin Spacey in Swimming with Sharks mode), and it’s with Levin’s promise of mountains of investment cash that the young men’s dreams of mammon begin to take shape, and pretty soon it’s cavernous marble and glass apartments, coke lines on glass coffee tables, and pastel polo shirts with popped collars.

Though all is not what it seems, and the hustlers soon become the hustled, which eventually spirals into murderous deeds, orchestrating kidnappings, fraudulent Ponzi schemes and wrestling to the death with crazed, opium-addicted Iranians.

Look, this isn’t a bad film; in fact, it’s a fairly enjoyable cautionary yarn. Taron Egerton is slightly miscast as the conniving “Mean Dean” but he shoulders the part; Elgort offers much the same problem as he did in the catastrophically overrated Baby Driver: he’s a charisma vacuum and presents something of an issue in a story that requires audience connection with the plight of the lead character. Spacey is pretty good as the dodgy Ron Levin, hamming things up and sleazing his way through scenes.

Director James Cox (who previously directed Val Kilmer as porn icon John Holmes in Wonderland) really just copped an unlucky roll of the dice, in that this was the final performance of Kevin Spacey, before his career was immolated by the revelations of his predilection for aggressive sexual harassment. As a result, the film was shelved, and then after the dust settled on Spacey’s behaviour, and kicked into a measly theatrical release in order to honour contractual obligations. The resulting box office gross of $618 had to have been a kick in the teeth for the filmmakers; for Spacey, it’s something of a death knell for his cinematic career.

Overall, the treatment is too tepid to rub shoulders with The Wolf Of Wall Street and too derivative (despite being a true story) to set itself apart from other “impressionable guys getting in over their heads” movies (Oliver Stone’s return to the Wall Street well Money Never Sleeps and Todd Phillips’ War Dogs spring to mind). Okay movie, wrong actor, wrong time.

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The Bombing (aka Air Strike)

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This Chinese-produced, big-budget action drama was devised as a salute to the Allied victory of fascism in World War II, however, it became a casualty of the tax evasion scandal that embroiled star actress Fan Bingbing, who was convicted, jailed (and subsequently released) for financial fraud. From a PR perspective, the film was damaged-goods and for various reasons, it was ultimately shelved (it was shot in 2015) and its Chinese release cancelled. Now, it’s undergone a name change, coupled with a re-jigged release in the US.

As it stands, the story features a crumpled and thoroughly disengaged Bruce Willis as U.S. Military advisor Colonel Jack Johnson, ‘training’ a squadron of Chinese pilots who are battling an onslaught of Japanese air attacks. At the same time, ex-pilot Xue Gangtou (Ye Liu) drives a military truck with a top-secret cargo through dangerous territory, along the way rescuing a schoolteacher (Ma Su) and some of her students who’ve survived an air attack. All this is capped off by a mahjong tournament that takes place in the capital during the bombing raids, presumably meant to give some sort of human-focused climax to the proceedings.

What was clearly intended to be a lavish, Hollywood style epic with multiple plot threads, numerous characters (both Chinese and American) and an epic scope, has been mercilessly re-edited into a frenzy of action sequences interspersed with discombobulated dramatic scenes and squeezed into a running time of just over 90 minutes.

According to the credits, Mel Gibson was a ‘consultant’, though it’s hard to see how any such creative input has been applied to the characters or story, or for that matter any overall logic applied to the tonal flow of the film.

The plotting and pacing have been so bizarrely clipped, there’s been zero effort in editing the film to create an emotional through-line on which to hang the character moments. The resulting experience amounts to a montage of segments from scenes where the scripting and performances weren’t that great to start with, where Chinese actors deliver over-dubbed lines like “Sir! Please allow us to go kick some ass!” This punctuates the gossamer-thin story thread with a leaden thud.

To make things worse, what are clearly, half-finished effects shots and sloppily composited CG action sequences that wouldn’t feel believable on a PlayStation 2 only serve to undermine any semblance of drama.

Tonally weird character histrionics take Hollywood style combat jeopardy clichés to a laughable extreme (the pilot with a picture of his sweetheart and child next to his altimeter is fundamentally going to die, that was established quite clearly in Hot Shots and even then, the character was called ‘Dead Meat’).

A great deal of money was spent here, though it seems to have been utterly derailed by the problematic production woes. There have been a number of slickly executed, western-aimed Chinese productions that managed to effectively cross the cultural and lingual barrier, however, it seems that this one exploded on the launch pad.=

The rapid-fire hack and slash editing that skips through dramatic beats like a trailer montage, is testament to the fact that there was at least an intent to tell a sprawling story on an epic canvas, but that crucial balance of story, tone and character is reliant on the wax and wane of the financial and creative forces at play during production. If these elements were interfered with, then the whole damn thing can unravel – and how.

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In Darkness

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No stranger to the small screen, Natalie Dormer (Game of Throne, The Tudors) co-writes this gritty crime thriller alongside Director Anthony Byrne (Ripper Street, Peaky Blinders). The first half of the film plays like a “Hitchcockian” thriller, accompanied by a nice suspenseful film score by Niall Byrne.

Set in London’s busy streets, the film follows strong female protagonist Sofia, a blind pianist who finds herself entangled in a world of murder and crime when she hears her upstairs neighbour Veronique (Emily Ratajkowski) fall to her death. Soon discovering that Veronique’s father Radic is a ruthless criminal accused of horrific Serbian war crimes, Sofia is embroiled in a cat-and-mouse game between a dishevelled detective and the criminal underground festering with Radic’s henchmen.

Throughout the first half of the film, Sofia’s motives are at times questionable and she is not initially who she seems, as her own path of revenge is revealed. Mysterious thug Marc (Ed Skrein) seems to play Sofia’s knight-in-shining-armour, which at times feels unnecessary simply because of the fact that Dormer kicks-ass as a one-woman wrecking machine. But the connection both characters have developed makes for a nice twisted romantic part to the story.

The storyline is at times generic, yet it does have redeeming qualities. Anthony Byrne constructs a very simple, yet effective scene where a fight breaks out, but all you can see are fighting shadows on a wall; plus, tight pacing, slick sound design, plus Dormer’s strong blind person, who outshines all the other characters in the film.

The film provides a few too many twists and turns, which makes for a convoluted narrative and an unconvincing ending, however, you can also easily look past this to appreciate it for the impressively directed, clever thriller that it is. All-in-all a nice addition to the small screen.

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Take no prisoners thriller Braven is directed by stunt veteran Lin Oeding. More significantly, it stars Jason Momoa, the 6’3″ Hawaiian-American who came to prominence in Stargate: Atlantis and  Game of Thrones before emerging in the DC Universe as Aquaman.

Here, Momoa plays loyal family man, Joe Braven, devoted son and husband forced to defend his home and family, demonstrating that he’s the wrong man to mess around with.

His propensity for violence is waiting to be triggered, so we’re to believe; a fuse not helped by his difficult father (Stephen Lang), suffering from PTSD and a drinking problem.

The old school Road House style violence is illustrated in one singular sequence, where without any talk, Braven steps in and beats four men half to death after they bash Papa Braven to a pulp for mistaking a girl at a bar for his wife.

Following that, Momoa, his daughter Charlotte (Sasha Rossof)  and his now, suddenly mentally stable father find themselves battling a home invasion by a drug cartel, led by top character actor Garrett Dillahunt as Kassen.

The film proceeds as a largely by-the-numbers thriller, as the goons come after Momoa and his father while the two slowly, violently and unbelievably pick them off one by one.

While showcasing Momoa’s well known tough guy skills, logic is often absent in Braven. But if you’re after cheap thrills and arbitrary close-ups of violence such as an arrow shot into a face, then you’ve found your fix.

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The Post

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Steven Spielberg’s none-more-timely real life political drama The Post posits Tom Hanks’ Ben Bradlee as the dogged avatar of a principled free press, the Nixon Administration as, well, the Nixon Administration, and puts Meryl Streep’s Katharine Graham, socialite-turned-publisher of the eponymous Washington Post, in the hot seat as an untested woman who must balance the ethics of journalism against the more pragmatic requirements of running a news organ that is both beholden to risk-adverse stakeholders and liable for legal prosecution if it does what we the audience all know to be The Right Thing.

Of course, Streep and Hanks do end up doing The Right Thing, as history tells us, but in this case it’s the journey, not the destination, plus the resonance with contemporary issues in this current dark age of “fake news”, “bias”, Fox & Friends, military adventurism, and so on. The distance between The Post‘s 1972 setting and the current year does not seem particularly large at times.

Except, perhaps, when you look at the gender politics of the time, which are an eye-opener. The Post takes place at a point when men still withdrew to the drawing room for some post-dinner-party real talk while their wives gossiped and swapped recipes and make up tips. It’s a milieu that Streep’s Washington society matron is effortlessly comfortable in. She’s less confident when it comes to making her mark as the big dog at the newspaper following her husband’s suicide – especially when she and her editor, Hanks’ Bradlee, must decide what to do with The Pentagon Papers, a damning Department of Defence report on the rolling disaster that was the US’s involvement in the Vietnam War. Publishing is clearly in the public interest and could put the Post – then a relatively small paper – in the big leagues. However, a court injunction against the New York Times over their prior publication of the material, and the nervousness of the Post‘s board in the lead-up to a stock market float, make the decision less straight forward.

The Post‘s obvious precedent is Alan J. Pakula’s 1976 film All the President’s Men and, indeed, Spielberg’s effort serves as a kind of prequel thereof (Tom Hanks is playing the same real life character that Jason Robards played, if you’re keeping score). The Berg’s classical, restrained Serious Movie style is even a decent match for Pakula’s, although when All the President’s Men was made it was a contemporary drama, while The Post has the burnished patina of a historical drama (compare Spielberg’s recent Bridge of Spies).

However, what really rings as nostalgic is the film’s faith in a robust and forthright fourth estate. While much is made of how the paper is beholden to its board of directors and their economic concerns, it essentially functions as rousing tribute to clear-eyed, ethical journalism – quite the jarring anomaly in a time when even the most irreproachable reporting is frequently and publicly dismissed as corrupt, biased, and broken. Spielberg’s film is clearly meant to be a paean to the free press, but seen through the cynical lens of the current age, it occasionally feels simplistic, even naive.

Still, The Post remains a rock solid, gripping drama, thanks to Spielberg’s steady hand on the tiller and strong performances both from the principals (although Hanks occasionally drifts towards pantomime) and an excellent supporting cast that includes  Sarah Paulson, Bob Odenkirk, Tracy Letts, Bradley Whitford, David Cross, Bruce Greenwood, Carrie Coon, and Matthew Rhys. When we look back on Spielberg’s career this will probably be considered a minor work, but minor ‘Berg is still worth your time.

Special Features on the Blu-ray release include a number of insightful featurettes:

LAYOUT: Katharine Graham, Ben Bradlee & The Washington Post
EDITORIAL: The Cast and Characters of The Post
THE STYLE SECTION: Recreating an Era
ARTS & ENTERTAINMENT: Music for The Post

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Chasing the Dragon

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Structurally a riff on Scarface set in the Hong Kong of the 1960s and 1970s, Chasing the Dragon is a slick crime thriller that sees Chinese superstar Donnie Yen, currently enjoying newfound prominence in the West thanks to his turn in Rogue One, as Crippled Ho, a refugee from mainland (that is: Communist) China who battles his way to the top of the rackets.

For fans of Hong Kong action cinema, Chasing the Dragon has a pretty fine pedigree. It’s a remake of 1991’s well-regarded To Be the Best for one thing; for another, it boasts Andy Lau in a major supporting role as ambitious and genially corrupt cop Lee Rock, a figure he previously played in the eponymous duology directed by Lawrence Ah Mon. And for a third, co-director Wong Jing is pretty much Hong Kong’s answer to Roger Corman, a gleefully B grade peddler of exploitation and genre fare from way back, whose works as actor, writer, producer, and director span everything from action comedy Twinkle Twinkle Lucky Stars, to sexploitation flick Naked Killer, to the Chow Yun Fat-starring God of Gamblers, to notorious Triad series Young and Dangerous.

Chasing the Dragon is never so transgressive as some of Wong’s wilder work, but it’s a good time nonetheless. It’s actually surprisingly light for the most part, for all that it deals with drug-dealing, corruption, ruthless ambition, and so on. The film never really interrogates the actions of Ho and his patron, Rock, instead framing them as modern day folk heroes helping the Chinese hold their own against outside influences – chief among them the corrupt and arrogant British officers of the Royal Hong Kong Police Force. Ho and his cronies, a fiercely loyal squad of efficient thugs, might be down for a spot of brutal violence at a moment’s notice, but at least they’re not the long arm of British Imperialism – a common theme in Hong Kong cinema that’s become all the more prominent in recent years.

And fair enough – colonialism is there to be fought in any case, and Wong and his co-director, Jason Kwan, get points for smuggling in a bit of regime criticism simply by dint of having Ho be a refugee – he has to be running away from something fairly awful, right? That subtle stab aside, the film’s critical eye remains firmly outward focused, and these are the nicest and most honourable heroin dealers and murderers you’re likely to meet.

It’s a fun ride, though, slickly produced and punctuated with superb action sequences – there’s a mid-point chase/fight sequence through Kowloon’s famous Walled City slum that is one for the books – a bit of business that would serve well as the climax for most action films. The recreation of late ’70s HK is pretty great, definitely leaning towards the more excessive elements of costuming and design to sell the vibe, but effective nonetheless. The performances are solid, as you’d expect for veterans like Yen and Lau; the former in particular is convincing as Ho, who goes from gregarious low level grinder to first among brothers to ruthless – but still heroic! – kingpin over the course of the film. Of the supporting cast, veteran character actor Kent Cheng deserves a shout out for his turn as Rock’s sly police partner, Piggy, equally open to corruption but happy to take a 2IC position enforcing Rock’s will.

Chasing the Dragon is no instant classic, but it’s a solidly entertaining, dependably violent run through the usual “rise-of-a-bad-guy” tropes delivered with some tasty Cantonese seasoning. Anyone only familiar with Yen’s work in the West is especially encouraged to track this one down.

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God of War

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In the year 1557, Japanese pirates have taken control of the Chinese coast. With the Chinese General Yu Dayou (Sammo Hung) failing to successfully repel the invaders, fellow General Qi Jiguang (Vincent Zhao) is offered command and sets about training his own local army to achieve the task that China’s general infantry cannot.

God of War is another in China’s long and growing list of medieval war films, replete with rival armies, sword fights, patriotic exclamations and an impressive quantity of impassioned shouting. It feels very much like its own genre with its own conventions and stereotypes, and to a large degree God of War fits very comfortably into that niche. While it does tend to drag a little in its first half, it more than makes up for it in its second before wrapping everything up into an excellent action-packed climax. Fans of genre have a lot to enjoy here. Indeed, the promise of a Sammo Hung pole fight and a soldier-versus-samurai finale should prove irresistible.

Fair warning: Sammo Hung, a popular veteran of Hong Kong action cinema, only appears during the film’s opening act. He does make a strong impression, however, and gets a couple of opportunities to showcase his immense martial arts talent. As the relatively ineffective General Yu, he is soon replaced by the innovative but awkward General Qi: an inspiration to those with whom he fights, but a relative embarrassment in the high-level environment of court politics. Vincent Zhao is likeable and earnest as Qi, but the screenplay does not afford him much depth or complexity. He is simply required to be inspiring and heroic, two qualities he ably displays.

Much more nuanced and interesting is Yasuaki Kurata as the Japanese commander Kumasawa. He is a samurai, appointed by a lord back in Japan, and commands a mixed army of samurai, ronin and straight-forward pirates. He cuts a supremely dignified figure, carefully planning strategy to defeat the Chinese forces and recognising their change under Qi’s inventive leadership. Where the script fails to illuminate his character, he subtly implies depth through stillness and a steely gaze. Kurata is more than fifty years into his screen career; his experience and presence make him God of War’s strongest asset by far.

As Qi finds, trains and leads his new army, and as Kumasawa begins to understand the renewed threat facing his pirate forces, the film moves closer and closer towards a fantastic one-on-one showdown. While that is absolutely the best sequence of the entire film, the lead-up is almost as great. The action splits between a desperate back-and-forth battle through the streets of a Chinese city, with Qi hunting down Kumasawa’s lead retinue, and a desperate siege of Qi’s own headquarters, which affords his wife (played excellently by Regina Wan) a chance to show off some martial arts skills of her own.

God of War takes a while to start moving, and stereotypes abound through its two hours, but once it picks up it runs with its China-versus-Japan premise to a fabulous conclusion. Genre fans will be in for a treat; other viewers might need a little patience to get to the good stuff.

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A woman’s face is wreathed in flame.

In a charred and desolate room, a man (Javier Bardem) places a rough-cut white jewel on a golden stand. Magically, the room begins to heal itself, spreading out from the stone – smoke damage fades, cracked and peeling paint runs smooth, broken furniture becomes whole.

Alone on a double bed, a woman (Jennifer Lawrence) awakens. “Baby?” she calls.

How telling. So too is the next thing we hear her say, when her husband (Bardem) surprises her on the porch of their rambling and beautiful country home: “You frightened me.”

mother! (small m, exclamation point) begins enigmatically, as you might expect from the little we’ve been able to glean from the marketing materials thus far. It’s a mystery, we’ve been told. Allusions have been made to classic horror – Rosemary’s Baby in particular. The promotional posters are cryptic, bloody, and disturbing.

The grainy film stock and handheld camera work employed by cinematographer Matthew Libatique reinforce the notion that we might be looking at writer and director Darren Aronofsky’s ode to the highbrow horrors of the ’60s and ’70s, and our introduction to the scenario is infused with a subtle sense of menace and foreboding. Bardem’s character – no names are ever given –  is a poet, struggling with writer’s block. His much younger wife (Lawrence) is devoted to him and determined to fix up the beautiful but somewhat dilapidated house they share. Their relative contentment is broken by the appearance of a traveler (Ed Harris) and his wife (Michelle Pfeiffer). The poet invites the pair to stay, but the woman is disturbed by the intrusion.

As it transpires, the interlopers have arrived under false pretenses – the man is a fan of the poet and, dying, wished to meet him before the end. His wife, a sensuous creature, blunt and fond of drink, inserts herself into the household as though she owns it. The poet is glad of the attention and determined to be a good host, but the woman grows more discomfited. Who are these people? Why is her husband so enamoured of their attention? Why are they so familiar with each other? Why does she feel so alienated?

When the penny drops will vary from viewer to viewer. For us, it’s when Harris’ character’s bickering sons (Brian and Domhnall Gleeson) turn up, arguing over their inheritance, and one murders the other before fleeing. mother! is not a return to the psychological horrors of Black Swan, folks, but to the metaphysical ruminations of Noah! Aronofsky’s latest is nothing less than an allegorical retelling of all the better bits of the Old and New Testaments. And not the familiar, watered down King James version, but the crazy, apocrypha-riddled proto-Judaic stuff – how else could we get away with having Asherah, Yahweh’s consort, as our point of view character? The titular mother goddess, shoved aside by the patriarchal Abrahamic religions, is finally getting her due on the big screen. That’s sure to play well in the red states.

Yes, Aronofsky has cast Lawrence, his real-life girlfriend as the wife of God – which is an incredible and strangely admirable act of hubris, when you think about it. It’s a short leap to consider Bardem’s god-figure as a stand in for Aronofsky himself, obsessed with the act of creation, hopelessly susceptible to flattery and fawning, and more than a little dismissive of his husbandly duties. How could he not be? His house is soon thronging with people, friends and family of Adam and Eve (again never named, but we’re through the looking glass here) who have come for Abel’s wake, and who are all singing the poet’s praises, each in their own way.

A demand for passion ensues and is answered, and the woman is now pregnant. Her calling realised, her belly swells – surely this new life will heal the growing rift between them. Meanwhile, all this attention has gotten the poet’s creative juices flowing, and he’s begun to write again. Soon, more fans are arriving at the house, petitioning him for attention.

“I’ll get started on the apocalypse,” Lawrence’s character intones.

It all spins queasily, crazily out of control (and let us not forget that Aronofsky alluded to the possibility of early Middle Eastern monotheism being a mushroom cult in Noah) quite quickly, as the film stops pretending to pay lip service to narrative and psychological realism and cleaves only to its own systems of allegory and metaphor. Before long Stephen McHattie crops up as a raving zealot, and Kristen Wiig is – the Pharisees? The Catholic Church? At one point she’s executing people in the kitchen with a pistol, and by that stage we’re so steeped in spectacle, symbol, and oblique event after confounding, naggingly intriguing event, that it all becomes difficult to parse, at least on first taste. We do know where we’re going, though, as the gyre widens and mere anarchy is loosed upon the house. But are we pursuing an end or a new beginning?

It’s great.

It really is, and it’s great in a way that you know will divide audiences and send them barreling towards opposite ends of the opinion spectrum – it’s not a work that invites middling responses. Some will be angered by the irreducibly religious elements. Some will be scornful of Aronofsky’s pretension at mounting such a work (and make no mistake, art like this requires a certain level of pretension). Some will be annoyed at the seemingly countless unfathomable visual and narrative symbols and motifs (what’s the tonic that Lawrence’s character keeps taking for her pains? What’s with the toad? Is there a satan?). Some will claim they saw it all coming, and it’s not nearly as clever as it thinks it is (and frankly, screw those guys).

But some will love it. We certainly do. It’s a dense, delirious, playful and serious work of capital A art, and easily the most ambitious film to come out of a major studio since… well, let’s just say it: since Kubrick died. It’s the most interesting and intellectually rigorous religious film since The Last Temptation of Christ, and easily the best film of Aronofsky’s career. The closest analogues that come to mind are Jodorowsky’s earlier works, especially The Holy Mountain, but it’s going to take time and several viewings to figure out if that’s a worthy comparison – that it comes to mind at all speaks volumes, though.

No matter what you think, or think you might think, about mother!, it certainly demands and deserves your attention. Go and see it. You haven’t seen anything like it since… well, you just haven’t seen anything like it.

mother! is out on Blu-Ray, DVD, and digital now.