The Secret of Marrowbone (2018)

The Secret of Marrowbone has some atmospheric moments, but too many boring stretches, predictable plot twists, haunted house clichés and jump scares make for an underwhelming film.

In late 60s rural America, Rose moves herself and four children from England to Marrowbone House, her childhood farmhouse, to escape her violent husband. Unfortunately, Rose's poor health catches up with her, and she dies leaving 20-year-old Jack in charge, who decides to keep her death a secret until he turns 21 so that the family can stay together. Jack falls in love with the local librarian Allie (Anya Taylor-Joy) but has a rival in the shape of a creepy lawyer, who thinks something isn’t quite right at Marrowbone House. And, he may have a point, given the creepy noises coming from the attic.

The chief problem lies with the script by Sergio Sánchez, which gives us a potentially intriguing premise but never really delivers a satisfying payoff. When the plot twists come, they are often telegraphed in advance, and too often ludicrous. In addition, it never properly establishes the characters or gives us chance to feel any emotion towards them.

Sanchez also directs, so the blame lies with him for the shrill overacting from the main characters, and the reliance on jump scares and other stale hackneyed elements (spooky mirrors, bricked up rooms etc).

On the plus side the locations look wonderful, with the lush countryside and the Grey Gardens style dilapidated farmhouse contrasting with the white picket fence suburban world that Jack and the others have cut themselves off from.

The Pink Angels (1971)

A unique entry amongst the biker films of the late 60s and early 70s, The Pink Angels feels like a zany send up of the genre. The stereotypes may seem a little jarring to twenty-first century eyes, but there is a good-natured feel to the film and a sly humour undercutting the standard machismo, all of which is ruined by the revolting final scene.

The meandering plot involves half a dozen bikers heading across California, accompanied by endless time-padding montages of them riding their choppers, a la Easy Rider (with a sub Easy Rider twee folk-rock soundtrack). 

At first, they seem like a standard bunch, with long greasy hair, denim jackets and Nazi memorabilia. However, these have more in common with Priscilla Queen of the Desert than Easy Rider as, rather than a drug-fuelled orgy, they're all on the way to a drag convention in Los Angeles. They much prefer food fights to fist fights, and when women throw themselves at them, our heroes are more interested in the dresses they are wearing. 

The gang may be little more than limp-wristed stereotypes, but they are also by far the most likable characters in the film. In addition, they do not seem in the slightest bit phased or intimidated by the cops or fellow bikers who try to harass them. Indeed, much of the humour comes from the pranks the Angels pull on them, pranks designed to undercut and mock their machismo.

Sadly, the film is ruined by a sub plot involving a man dressed in a General's military uniform who seems to be heading up a shadowy militia organisation, unhappy with the sort of degenerate sixties scum who they think are taking over the country. His scenes seem disconnected from the rest of the film and suggest they were shot at a different time, possibly as an afterthought. This sub-plot leads up to the genuinely distressing ending, jarring and tasteless, given the light generally light-hearted tone of the rest of the film.

Drunken Wu Tang (1984)

Relentlessly kinetic, largely incomprehensible, and great fun, Drunken Wu Tang feels like fifty different films edited together at random.

There is a plot buried in there somewhere, something about a lecherous old drunk Kung-Fu master trying to find an adolescent boy who is a virgin (or "Cherry Boy") for a religious ceremony, probably best not to dwell too much on it.

Instead, focus on the insane stream-of-consciousness that assaults your senses for ninety-odd minutes, with the drunk Kung-Fu master tearing around on a buck toothed Go-Kart, the same actor in drag playing the "Cherry Boy's" pipe smoking Grandmother, and the infamous Watermelon monster, a giant black ball with big red lips, sharp teeth and a nipple fetish

The tone is relentlessly shrill and the comedy very broad indeed, but this is not a film where the entertainment comes from sneering at the incompetence behind the camera. The well choreographed fight scenes and breakneck speed editing sets belie any such claims. So many shots involve people leaping into or out of the frame, which help underlie the feeling of perpetual motion, even if you have no idea where this is leading. Don't go in looking for plot, characters or logic, instead just enjoy the energy and adrenaline rush of a truly original piece of unhinged cinema.

8 1/2 (1963)

Films about films is a long established genre, going back at least as far as Buster Keaton. 8 1/2 is Federico Fellini's attempt to explore the difficulties of the creative process. Unfortunately, for me, the film is uninvolving and self indulgent, with inventive and surreal situations overwhelmed by stodgy pretentious dialogue and dull characters.

Guido Anselmi (Marcello Mastroianni), is a famous Italian film director (based on Fellini), suffering from writers block while working on a science fiction film. Struggling for ideas and with a messy private life involving his wife and mistress, he retreats into fantasies involving things like being hounded to death by the press or using a whip to keep his imaginary harem at bay.

There is little plot beyond that, which is fine in itself as strong narrative isn't the only way to tell a story. However, there is very little else to go with it. It's a character study of someone who seems to have little character, certainly little to engage the audience with. It's a film about film making, but by the end I felt I knew nothing about his creative process or struggles. Some of the surrealism is funny and surprising, but some feels forced and torpid.

Perhaps I'm missing something, as 8 1/2 has been praised repeatedly and regularly crops up as a favourite of both directors and critics, so it might be worth a second chance, but my main memory is the feeling of joy as the end credits appeared.