My Year in Books 2020: March

So... this post is a little late, and a little short. I probably don't need to explain why, do I? Looking at social media, it seems lots of people have been reading loads during the coronavirus lockdown, but I just haven't been able to. A combination of working-from-home stress and a struggle to concentrate has left me finding it very hard to just lose myself in a book. I'm hoping I can get my reading mojo back soon, but for now here are my reviews of the three novels I read in March.

In case you're interested, here's a catch-up on my other posts so far this year: January, February

Murder of a Lady by Anthony Wynne (1931)

As you may remember from previous posts, my mother-in-law has been keeping me well supplied with British Library Crime Classics over the years. I save the Christmas-themed ones for December (naturally), but this month I was in the mood for a couple of the less festive titles. Murder of a Lady is subtitled A Scottish Mystery, as it takes place in a gloomy old castle in the Highlands. Mary Gregor, sister of the laird of Duchlan Castle, has been found stabbed to death… in a locked room. Inspector Dundas is called in to investigate, and he’s soon joined by Wynne’s amateur detective Eustace Hailey. There’s a pervasive air of menace around Duchlan Castle, as well as references to local superstitions about evil fish creatures. More interestingly (for me, anyway), there are contradictory statements about the character of the deceased. Was Mary Gregor a paragon of selfless virtue who devoted her life to looking after others? Or was she more of a controlling puritan? Wynne’s novel is certainly carefully plotted, but it lacks the deeply immersive sense of place that characterizes many of the BL Crime Classics. There are a lot of comments on the character of ‘the Highlands’, but I didn’t get a really strong sense of Duchlan Castle. I found the character of Mary Gregor quite intriguing though, and I enjoyed the way the family’s past is slowly – and reluctantly – revealed. Fans of Golden Age crime might raise an eyebrow at the final explanation, however… you have been warned!

Antidote to Venom by Freeman Wills Croft (1938)

Another BL Crime Classic next, but this is quite a different type of novel to Murder of a Lady. As is explained in Martin Edwards’s excellent introduction, Freeman Wills Crofts wrote a number of ‘inverted’ crime novels in the Golden Age, where the focus is on the murderer and his motivations, rather than on the whodunnit puzzle. Antidote to Venom is along these lines. George Surridge, the director of Birmington Zoo, is a man who has rather lost his way in life. He has money worries, and his marriage is starting to fail. (The book’s blurb also states that he is concerned about an outbreak of disease at the zoo, but this is a tiny bit misleading, as it isn’t really a major plot point!) George starts to imagine rather questionable ways of getting out of his predicament, and the reader would be forgiven for thinking that they know the direction the story is going to take. However, Crofts plays a little game of bait-and-switch, and things take a rather different turn. I really enjoyed the unexpected nature of the narrative, and the fact that, despite us feeling like we know exactly what is being planned an executed, there is still a perplexing little puzzle to be solved. George Surridge is an engaging character as well, though he is utterly frustrating at times. I almost found myself shouting ‘Oh George, don’t do that!’ as various points in the book. Slightly unusual, but really compelling – and a definite recommendation from me.

The Woman in Blue by Elly Griffiths (2016)

I’m not sure how it’s happened, but I seem to be determined not to read Elly Griffiths’s Dr Ruth Galloway novels in any particular order. This doesn’t seem to be a problem for this series though, as each one only contains very minor references to the previous ones, and I’m not sure any of them would count as spoilers. I do keep losing track of where things are up to in the private lives of the detectives, but I can usually work things out based on the ages of the many many children they all keep having (seriously, has any detective team in fiction ever been this fertile?!). The Woman in Blue sees Griffiths’s archaeologist drawn into sinister events around the pilgrimage sites of Walsingham. An old friend – now a priest – gets in touch with Ruth to ask for help with anonymous letters from someone who clearly doesn’t like women priests; Cathbad thinks he had a vision of the Virgin Mary while house-sitting; DCI Nelson and team investigating the murder of a young woman, whose body was found in a graveyard. Are these things connected? When another woman is found murdered – a priest, this time – it seems very much like they are. In terms of the mystery plot, I think this one might be my favourite of the series so far (though I am aware that I’ve said that before). I loved the evocative details about Walsingham, and there were some neat clues too (some I spotted, others I didn’t!).

My Year in Books 2020: February

I'm a little bit late posting this one, as we're coming into the second week in March. Oops. But I'm trying to catch up with stuff as best I can! So, it's finally time for my round-up of the books I read for pleasure last month.

In case you're interested, here are my reviews of the books I read last month: January

And here are my reviews for February...

The Neighbour by Fiona Cummins (2019)

The first book I read this month was an impulse buy at the supermarket (which I seem to keep doing). Sadly, it was a bit of a disappointment. I really struggled with this one. The blurb promised a story about a family that buy a new house, only to discover that there’s a serial killer on the loose in the neighbourhood, and everyone’s got a secret to hide. That isn’t quite how the book pans out, although there is a family (the Lockwoods), who buy a house, and there is a serial killer (the Dollmaker), who operates almost exclusively in the neighbourhood around the new house. The main problem I had with The Neighbour (aside from the utter implausibility of a family deciding to buy a house on a street at the centre of a multiple murder investigation, with the intention of ‘bouncing’ it as quickly as possible) was that I found it really difficult to engage with any of the character. The chapters alternate between a bewildering array of viewpoints (one minute we’re following the family, the next a police officer involved in the investigation, the next a first-person narrator), and it’s not always clear who the narrator is or why we’re following their perspective. The story is really fragmented as a result, and I didn’t feel particularly immersed in it. Weirdly, I also guessed who the murderer was about two thirds of the way, which meant I was just frustrated for the final sections. Not a recommendation, unfortunately.

What You Did by Claire McGowan (2019)

The next book was included with an Amazon Prime membership, and I thought I’d give it a go. The book begins with a group of six university friends meeting up again after twenty years (although they have seen each other in various combinations since they graduated). Ali and her husband Mike are hosting the reunion party at their well-to-do house, and the guests include Karen (Ali’s long-time best friend), Callum and Jodi (who got together at uni) and the somewhat enigmatic Bill. Alongside the grown-ups are Mike and Ali’s kids Cassie and Benji, and Karen’s son Jake. The reunion begins with the expected snobbery and passive aggression – these are a group of social-climbing friends who met at Oxford, after all – but it turns into something much more horrible when Karen stumbles into the kitchen, visibly injured, claiming that Ali’s husband has raped her. The accusation sends shockwaves through the group, and also tears at Ali’s loyalties. It leads to further revelations as well, including some long-buried secrets. What You Did is a readable and engaging thriller. I found it to be a bit of page-turner. All of the characters are a bit unlikeable, but that’s not necessarily a bad thing! I’ve seen some reviews that say Ali’s behaviour is unconvincing, but I think McGowan does a good job of negotiating the character’s competing motivations. I wouldn’t say this is the best book I’ve read this year, but it’s a decent story that kept me entertained. What more can you ask?

Six Four by Hideo Yokoyama (2012)

I feel like I don’t read many books by men, so I should probably vary things a bit. Six Four is Hideo Yokoyama’s sixth novel, but the first that was translated into English. It’s a police procedural, but one that offers an unconventional perspective on a cold case. The eponymous ‘Six Four’ case is an unsolved kidnapping and murder, which took place just before the death of Emperor Hirohito, at the end of the Showa period (which lasted until its sixty-fourth year). Yoshinobu Mikami has been transferred to Media Relations, and is tasked with orchestrating press coverage of a visit from the commissioner general. The police’s relationship with the press has broken down, the father of the victim has refused to take part, and Mikami begins to believe the commissioner’s visit might have a hidden agenda. As he starts to ask (mundane, at first) questions, he uncovers things about ‘Six Four’ that unsettle him – things that haven’t been spoken about in fourteen years. Six Four is a slow-burning, brooding book, with a lot of the focus being on Mikami’s response to the secrets he reveals. It also explores the complex machinations of Japanese police politics and the relationship with the press, which can feel rather alien to the non-Japanese reader. However, I didn’t feel lost at any point, as Yokoyama’s writing carries the reader through and keeps us fully engaged with the somewhat troubled protagonist. The plot is labyrinthine, but the denouement is a satisfying one. I enjoyed this one.

The Lake of Dead Languages by Carol Goodman (2002)

Next up, it’s another charity shop find. I picked up this one when we were in Truro before Christmas. The endorsements on the back cover promised something a bit ‘Gothic’, and also a meeting of The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie and Donna Tartt’s The Secret History. Both of those assessments are totally fair. We begin the story with Jane Hudson, a Latin teacher at Heart Lake School for Girls. Jane is an ‘old girl’: she was a pupil herself at Heart Lake. When three of Jane’s students (who are known by classical nicknames assigned by their teacher) begin acting strangely, ghosts from the past are conjured up. The second part of the book takes us back to that past – specifically, events that occurred between Jane and her two roommates during her time as a student. History is certainly repeating itself, but does that repetition have a supernatural cause? or is there a more human hand behind it. I liked this one – it’s slow-paced, and I occasionally wanted to give Jane a good shake, but the characters were far more endearing than those in The Secret History. Some of the revelations (including the ‘biggie’) I saw coming, but that’s not a bad thing, as The Lake of Dead Languages is more a character study than a straightforward mystery. The pleasure of this one lies in how immersed you become in Jane’s world, and how much Goodman’s writing leads you to seeing things through Jane’s eyes. I definitely enjoyed this one.

The Unauthorised Biography of Ezra Maas by Daniel James (2018)

I’ve had this one on my to-read pile for a while, as my alter ego interviewed the author for Hannah’s Bookshelf back in 2018. It’s a bit of a genre-bending one, and I’m not sure I can explain it in a short review, but here goes… Ezra Maas was the avant-garde darling of the art world, building a legion of devotees and creating a ‘Foundation’ that ruthlessly guards his legacy. He disappeared a number of years ago, prompting all sorts of speculation and conspiracy theories. Now Daniel James – something of an enfant terrible of the journalism world – has been commissioned to write a biography of the enigmatic artist, without the consent of the Ezra Maas Foundation. Or has he? Is that what’s happening here? Who is Ezra Maas? For that matter, who is Daniel James? Stitched together from fragments of partially destroyed manuscripts, interview transcripts and copious footnotes, there are shades of House of Leaves here, but this is blended with plenty of (sometimes heavily lamp-shaded) neo-noir stylings and compelling characterization. I was expecting the book to be cerebral, but I was very pleasantly surprised by how downright gripping it is. As a fan of unreliable narrators (and unreliable narration), I enjoyed the fragmentary and convoluted storytelling, and the meta-fictional quality that permeates throughout. But it has to be said, The Unauthorised Biography of Ezra Maas is a bit of a page-turner too, and I found that I didn’t want it to end. Which is lucky, really, because it doesn’t.

Review: The Strange Tale of Charlie Chaplin and Stan Laurel (Told by an Idiot)

Tuesday 4th February 2020
HOME, Manchester

I was at HOME, Manchester on Tuesday for the press night of The Strange Tale of Charlie Chaplin and Stan Laurel. As Hannah’s Bookshelf is currently on hiatus due to North Manchester FM moving studios, I won’t be doing a radio review, but here’s the blog review…

The Strange Tale of Charlie Chaplin and Stan Laurel is a production by Told by an Idiot, currently touring the UK and Luxembourg. It’s on at HOME, Manchester until Saturday 8th February.

Written and directed by Paul Hunter, The Strange Tale of Charlie Chaplin and Stan Laurel is – characteristically for Told by an Idiot – a riff on an idea, a ‘what if’ imagining provoked by a single, curious occurrence. In 1910 Fred Karno’s musical hall troupe sailed to New York to tour. Among the performers in the troupe were Charlie Chaplin and Stan Laurel (who was Chaplin’s understudy). Promising to play ‘fast and loose with the facts’, Told by an Idiot have created an energetic, exuberant, occasionally whimsical and entirely dialogue-free conception of what the boat voyage to America might have looked like. It is, as they say, an ‘unreliable tribute to two extraordinary artists’.

On a multi-level – and deceptively flexible – set designed by Ioana Curelea, Charlie (played by Amalia Vitale), Stan (Jerone Marsh-Reid) and Fred Karno (Nick Haverson) arrive to board a boat to New York. The ‘tribute’ element of the performance begins almost immediately, with silent cinema-style intertitles projected onto the stage, and a slapstick sequence involving suitcases of variable weights nostalgically evoking music hall comedy. Vitale deftly swings a case around to show the chalked legend ‘Charles Chaplin, esq.’, though her physical performance and appearance probably makes this identification somewhat redundant.

The ‘unreliable’ element of the performance comes shortly afterwards, as the storytelling quickly gives way to flights of fancy. The caption ‘Charlie bids a fond farewell to England’ signals a flashback sequence (‘A Victorian Childhood’) conjuring vignettes of Chaplin’s difficult early years, showing us a drunken father (a wonderfully funny turn by Haverson), a tragic mother (Hannah Chaplin is played by Sara Alexander), and unsympathetic landlord and doctor (both played by Marsh-Reid). Anyone familiar with Chaplin’s biography will recognize moments of accuracy in this flashback, but these are collapsed and truncated for storytelling purposes.

Less accurate (one assumes) is the arrival on stage of Stan Laurel – or ‘Stanley Jefferson, esq.’, as his suitcase proclaims – who appears to have missed the embarkation and swam through the sea to catch up with the boat. Wearing goggles and a snorkel, and plucking starfish out of his pockets, Stan arrives on stage all wide-eyed happiness, but is more like a caricature from a comedy film than a character on stage.

This opening sets the tone for the rest of the production, which jumps between set-pieces set on board the ship, flashbacks to Chaplin’s early life and flashforwards to a few key moments in Laurel’s later career. With impressive energy and a rather anarchic disregard for chronology, reality and logic, this is a performance that aims to capture the spirit and fantasy of its two eponymous comedy icons, rather than documenting the ‘facts’ of their relationships and careers. Thus, Laurel’s meeting with Hardy is reimagined as something like a scene from one of their films, and Chaplin’s later role as auteur-director is evoked (with the use of a gold megaphone) in the midst of a knockabout routine in which the two men attempt to conceal money stolen from Karno. Sequences merge into each other – props moved in a flashforward to the 1970s remain in the wrong place when we return to 1910 – and some bits of the story occur only in the imagination of the characters. There’s also unexpected audience participation, and the fourth wall is broken with ease and regularity.

It feels almost inappropriate to refer to ‘storytelling’ here, as the production conjures up something that defies straightforward ideas of ‘story’ and ‘narrative’. At the heart of this is Vitale’s performance as Chaplin. Her performance is more than simply mimicry – though her replication of Chaplin’s trademark mannerisms and walk is excellent – but rather a revealing embodiment of character. Her Chaplin is impatient and driven, with moments of arrogance (to the point of near megalomania at one point), and yet is utterly charming and touched with a little melancholy (on remembering Hannah Chaplin’s decline) and a wistful romanticism (when an audience member is brought on stage to ‘swim’ with Charlie). It’s a really incredible performance, and I could have happily watched Vitale-as-Chaplin for hours.

Sadly, I’m not sure the treatment of Stan Laurel was quite equal. This is very much a Strange Tale of Charlie Chaplin, with Stan Laurel as sidekick. Marsh-Reid reveals a real (and impressive) talent for physical comedy, but his performance always feels at one remove from Stan Laurel. His mimicry of Laurel’s mannerisms isn’t as accurate as Vitale’s, and the gentle naivety and innocence with which he imbues his character turns him into a foil for Chaplin (and for Oliver Hardy), rather than a more rounded character. It’s a strange contrast – Vitale plays a version of Chaplin very much informed by his off-screen persona, while Marsh-Reid plays Laurel as though he were a character in a Laurel and Hardy film. Nevertheless, Marsh-Reid’s performance is enjoyable and engaging, and there’s a (very) weird sort of chemistry between the two main characters that culminates in a clog dance that is really rather difficult to describe!

Vitale and Marsh-Reid are joined on stage by Nick Haverson, who plays a number of roles including Fred Karno and (after an audience-pleaser of a transformation scene) Oliver Hardy. Haverson is beautifully versatile in his performances, and I particularly enjoyed his turn as Chaplin’s father. The other performer is Sara Alexander, who not only performs as Chaplin’s mother, but accompanies (almost) all the action on a piano at the edge of the stage, playing an original score by Zoe Rahman. It is very hard to criticize anything about the performances in this production, as I was blown away by the energy and execution – effected by Hunter’s direction. The actors didn’t miss a single mark – and given the nature of the set design and the physicality of their performances, we would have known about it if they had!

Overall, this is indeed a strange tale, signifying... something. It certainly isn’t factual or believable or logical, but it has a curious truth to it that’s really compelling. For me, the highlight was Vitale’s mesmerizing performance as Chaplin, but the whole production exudes a spirited joy that is an awful lot of fun to watch. I’d recommend seeing this one if you can.

The Strange Tale of Charlie Chaplin and Stan Laurel is on at HOME, Manchester until Saturday 8th February. It’s is currently touring the UK and Luxembourg.

My Year in Books 2020: January

I've decided to carry on with my monthly book review posts (can you believe this is the third year now!). I'm finding it a good way of keeping track of the books I read for pleasure - much more useful than using an external site - so you're kind of stuck with these posts for now!

First post of the year, so it's my short reviews for January! Here's what I read...

Lethal White by Robert Galbraith (2018)

I’ve been looking forward to this one for a while, as I really like Robert Galbraith’s fiction. (Weirdly, I don’t like any J.K. Rowling books – a fact that baffles me.) Lethal White is the fourth book about private detective Cormoran Strike, and his secretary – then assistant – now partner – Robin Ellacott. The story opens with a prologue that follows on directly from Career of Evil, but then it jumps ahead to the following year. After the events of the earlier book, Strike’s detective agency has been thrust into the public eye (well, even more so, as the events of The Cuckoo’s Calling also brought it some notoriety). As well as juggling multiple cases, Strike is offered two intriguing puzzles to solve. Firstly, an apparently mentally ill man called Billy arrives at his office claiming to have witnessed a murder when he was a child. Secondly, an MP asks for Strike’s help, as he’s being blackmailed. Of course, it’s not long before there’s a hint that the two cases might be connected somehow. I will admit, I was dubious about the length of the book before I read it. The paperback is a bit of a doorstop, and way longer than is usual for the genre. However, as with the other Strike novels, it’s incredibly readable, and so it really didn’t feel overlong. Yes, perhaps, some of the sections about Strike and Robin’s relationships could have been cut down slightly, but there’s an excellent mystery (with well-placed clues) at the book’s heart.

Local Girl Missing by Claire Douglas (2016)

This next one is a book I picked up in a charity shop in Aberystwyth when we stayed there last November. I thought I’d read another book by the author, but I realized afterwards that I’d got confused about that. Still, the blurb was intriguing enough, even though I had a suspicion it might be a domestic noir-type thriller (and I’ve still got a strange relationship with that genre). Local Girl Missing is the story of Francesca (and it’s partly told from her perspective), who grew up in a small seaside town in the South-West. Twenty years ago, Francesca’s best friend Sophie fell off the old pier, in an incident that has haunted her ever since. Now Sophie’s brother has called Francesca to drop the bombshell that Sophie’s remains have finally been found, and he wants her to return to Oldcliffe to help him find out what happened. Francesca’s narration is interspersed with entries from Sophie’s diary in the run-up to her disappearance. As she and Daniel speak to Sophie’s old friends, Francesca feels increasingly (and almost tangibly) haunted by the past – is there something else going on here? I’ve got to admit, I did twig what was going on a bit before the end, but I still enjoyed Local Girl Missing. It’s a quick read, but it’s well-paced and Douglas builds the suspense effectively, plus I found some of the flashbacks to Francesca and Sophie’s relationship both nostalgic (as I’m roughly the same age as the characters) and convincing.

The Wych Elm by Tana French (2018)

I was looking forward to this next one, but ultimately it was a teeny bit of a disappointment. Don’t get me wrong, The Wych Elm is excellently written and has a compelling story. It’s just that I’m such a huge fan of Tana French’s Dublin Murder Squad novels that this one had a lot to live up to. The Wych Elm is a standalone –a mystery thriller rather than a detective novel. The central character is Toby, a privileged (and rather charming) man in his late twenties, looking forward to a happy future with his girlfriend Melissa. One night, everything changes, as Toby suffers a life-altering and traumatic assault. In recovery, he returns to his old family home (now his uncle’s), as his uncle has developed terminal cancer. Toby needs to heal, but he also needs to take care of his relative. However, a chance discovery in the garden upends Toby’s life even further – a skull is found in the eponymous wych elm tree. Perhaps Toby’s happy conception of his life – and his family – aren’t strictly accurate. As I say, the story is pretty compelling, but I found it didn’t grip me quite as much as the Dublin Murder Squad novels. Some of the revelations are a little far-fetched, though I did like the way in which Toby’s patchy memories become tangled and uncertain. The idea that a family history might be misremembered or experienced differently was definitely interesting, but there was something a little flat about this particular family.

The Guesthouse by Abbie Frost (2019)

I picked this one up (as usual) on a whim at the supermarket. The blurb looked like it might be a bit like And Then There Were None – seven guests check into a guesthouse, but it looks like they might not all survive. And… I was right. The Guesthouse begins like a millennial version of And Then There Were None. The central character, Hannah, is a twenty-five-year-old woman who is dealing with some stuff. She checks herself into the eponymous guesthouse for a week’s holiday to take her mind off things, and also to reconnect with her past. The guesthouse is in a remote location in Ireland, and the access is not as easy as the website promised. And there’s a storm coming too… I’m in two minds about this one. I loved the way Frost updated the central conceit of And Then There Were None for the twenty-first century, and the way the guests were brought to (and kept) in the guesthouse was definitely pretty cool. I also found Hannah – in the first half of the book – an engaging and relatable character. However, the plot isn’t quite as classy as Christie’s (and I shouldn’t keep comparing the two books, but it’s impossible not to). Rather than ramping up suspense and suspicion, The Guesthouse instead ramps up the backstory to the point of (almost) implausibility. I became less invested as the story went on, and the eventual reveal(s) really stretched my credulity. It’s a shame, because the book starts well.

The Family by Louise Jensen (2019)

I bought The Family in a charity shop in Truro at Christmas. I didn’t realize until part way through that I’d chosen to read a book with almost the exact same image on the cover as The Guesthouse – that was a complete coincidence. And, cover art aside, The Family is a bit different to The Guesthouse. Laura and her daughter Tilly are left grieving and in debt following the death of Gavan, Laura’s husband. A chance kindness from a woman called Saffron (someone Laura vaguely knows through her work) leads the women to a farm in Mid Wales that’s being run as a community/commune by a mysterious young man called Alex. As the book hints from its very first page, bad things are going to happen on the farm. And they do. I’ve got to admit, I didn’t really enjoy this one. I struggled to sympathize with the characters, mostly because they weren’t plausible for the ages they were meant to be – Laura doesn’t feel like a 34-year-old, and Alex isn’t believable as a 28-year-old. I also found I was drawn out of the story a lot by little anachronisms and inaccuracies, and by a timeframe that doesn’t quite make sense. No spoilers, but the ending was probably the best part of the plot, as it moved the story back into the realms of the believable. However, it was hard to get too enthused, as I really hadn’t engaged with the characters. Overall, this one probably needed much tighter editing.

She Lies in Wait by Gytha Lodge (2019)

The next book I read this month was one I picked up at the supermarket because the blurb looked intriguing (I probably have to stop doing that!). She Lies in Wait is a cold-case detective novel. Teenager Aurora Jackson disappeared thirty years ago, after going camping with her older sister and her friends. When a body is discovered in the woods, it quickly becomes apparent that Aurora has finally been found. A murder investigation is launched by DCI Jonah Sheens, and Aurora’s sister Topaz and her friends are the prime suspects. She Lies in Wait is a fairly standard cold-case story, with a bit of Secret History-esque conflict between the rather privileged bunch of suspects (in fact, one of the characters actually draws attention to the similarity in an explicit reference to Donna Tartt’s novel). It’s a very readable story, and there are some interesting interactions between the police team, but I found the actual mystery at the heart of the book to be a little disappointing. The problem is that there are clues implicating all of the suspects, and nothing that points to any particular one of them. By the time the reveal came, I felt like it could have been any of them, and I felt a bit cheated as a reader, as I could only guess the answer, not solve it. Nevertheless, Lodge is a good writer, and I did enjoy the way the story unfolded. Not the best mystery, but definitely not the worst one either!

My Year in Books 2019: December

And so I've come to the end of another year of writing reviews of the books I've read for pleasure. This month's books have a very festive feel, so this is definitely a very December-y post!

In case you're interested, here are the posts from the rest of the year: January, February, March, April, May, June, July, August, September, October, November

And here are my reviews of the novels I read in December...

Devil's Day by Andrew Michael Hurley (2017)

I should probably start this with a confession… I haven’t read The Loney (Hurley’s acclaimed debut novel), which makes me one of the only people I know who hasn’t. I included Devil’s Day on a list of books about autumn traditions last year, but didn’t actually get chance to read it until this winter. It’s a strange book – not because of the subject matter (I really don’t mind strange subject matter!) – but in terms of its inconsistency. It has moments of absolute brilliance, but also some sections that don’t really seem that well-written. The story unfolds in a non-linear fashion (great) with an unreliable first-person narration disguised at times as third-person (even better). John and his wife Kat have returned to his family’s farm at the Endlands for his grandfather’s funeral, intending to stay on for Devil’s Day and the Gathering (traditions on the farm that presage the start of winter). As the story of that year’s Devil’s Day unfolds, older stories are woven in – the Arncliffes who built the mill, the Dennings who once owned the land, events from John’s childhood, the presence of the Owd Feller himself. There is an incredible sense of place evoked in the book, and I particularly enjoyed the episodes involving the Far Lodge (a building one of the Dennings had constructed on the land). However, there is less clear sense of character created, and I struggled to engage much with any of them. Ultimately, perhaps the Endlands itself is the best-drawn character here.

A Midwinter Promise by Lulu Taylor (2019)

So… bit of a misstep, this one. In December, we went away for our annual holiday to Cornwall. The weather was wild, but we were cosy and warm in our cottage. All year, I’d been saving Christmas-themed books to read while we were there. However, on our first night away, I spotted A Midwinter Promise in the supermarket and decided that it would make perfect holiday reading. The blurb promised (a) winter, (b) secrets, and (c) Cornwall. I bumped it to the top of my list, casting aside all the festive books I’d been saving. And, sadly, I was very disappointed. Taylor’s book begins with a woman called Alex reminiscing about her childhood at Tawray, a rambling old house in Cornwall. When Alex’s dad has a stroke, she starts to wonder about her mother’s early death, and about the secrets that may have been kept by her family. The book then alternates this storyline with chapters set in the 70s, 80s and 90s, which tell the story of Julia (Alex’s mother) and her life at Tawray. The problem with the book is that (a) it’s only partly set in the winter, (b) although characters keep secrets from one another, Taylor doesn’t keep any secrets from the reader and so Julia’s story is crystal clear from the off, and (c) Tawray may nominally be located in Cornwall, but there’s very little sense of place, save a few mentions of how nice the sea looks. Really not impressed with my decision here.

The Darkest Place by Jo Spain (2018)

Back to the books I’d been saving for my holiday… as I’ve mentioned in previous months, my mum and I really like Jo Spain’s DCI Tom Reynolds novels. In fact, it was last December when I read the first in the series and passed it on to my mum. The Darkest Place is the fourth book in the series – though I’ve actually already read the fifth one (I read them out of order so that I could save this one for going away). The Darkest Place is set at Christmas (like With Our Blessing) and sees Reynolds called away from his family celebrations (as in With Our Blessing) to investigate a crime in a remote – and very creepy – location (as in…). The setting for The Darkest Place is a disused asylum on an island, which is accessible only by boat. A mass grave has been discovered, but there’s a body in it that shouldn’t be there. Psychiatrist Dr Conrad Howe disappeared at Christmas forty years earlier, and it now appears he was brutally murdered and left in the hospital grave pit. Reynolds is faced with opening up a cold case, which leads him into the dark heart of the asylum and its ‘treatments’. The Darkest Place treads familiar ground – Spain often returns to darker aspects of Ireland’s history in her books – and its lighter on the personal lives of the detectives than some of the others. Nevertheless, this is a satisfyingly creepy story with a clever puzzle at its centre.

Murder in Advent by David Williams (1985)

I’m not having the best luck with my festive reading this year. This next one was another book I was saving till Christmas, as I thought it would be a good seasonal read. I actually bought it in a charity shop in Truro last Christmas, but I didn’t chance to read it then. I’ve saved it all year, only to discover… it’s not actually a Christmas book at all (despite the title). Murder in Advent is set in the small (fictional) cathedral city of Litchester. The cathedral owns a thirteenth-century exemplification of the Magna Carta, which they are considering selling to raise much-needed funds for the cathedral. Banker Mark Treasure (apparently Williams’s series character) arrives, as he has a deciding vote in the matter, but before anything else can happen, there’s a disturbance in the Old Library. The Dean’s verger is killed, and a fire destroys the valuable artefact. The problem I had with the book (aside from the fact that Advent and Christmas aren’t actually part of the story) is that I simply couldn’t follow who was who. The key characters are introduced in a dazzling chapter early on, and there are a lot of them. If you’re unfamiliar with church roles and titles – if you don’t know what a Dean’s verger is, for instance – it’s a bit of a tricky read. And it’s made harder by the fact that all the characters seem to speak in a similar voice. Sadly, this one just didn’t do it for me.

Mistletoe by Alison Littlewood (2019)

Now this is festive reading. Just what I wanted! Littlewood’s book has all the elements you want from a Christmas book… snow, an isolated farmhouse and ghosts. The book is the story of Leah, who is recently bereaved (she’s lost her husband and young son), and so decides – impulsively – to leave Manchester and buy an abandoned farmhouse in Yorkshire. At Christmas. Buying the farmhouse was Leah’s late husband Josh’s idea, and so she believes this is a way of honouring his memory by trying to bring his dream to reality. The farm – Maitland Farm – once belonged to Leah’s family, so it seems like fate might be playing a hand as well. But when Leah arrives at Maitland Farm, in the darkest depths of winter and heavy snowfall, she discovers that it may be harbouring some grief of its own. Mistletoe is a classic Christmas ghost story, and Littlewood is adept at conjuring an atmosphere that is equal parts tragedy and horror. Leah’s experience of the ghosts of Maitland Farm comes through visions, which take on a life of their own. The past and the present begin to blur, with the eponymous parasitic plant weaving its way through the stories. I’d be wary of calling this a ‘cosy’ story, as there are some disturbing elements, but it certainly belongs to a good old tradition. The ghost story (or the story of the ghosts), perhaps, holds few surprises. But the way that it’s told is just wonderful, and I thoroughly enjoyed it.

The Secret Santa by Trish Harnetiaux (2019)

I picked this one up in the supermarket on a whim (despite having collected more than enough festive books over the year). There were a couple of reasons why it caught my attention. A couple of years ago, I wrote a piece of flash fiction called ‘Secret Santa’, and since then I seem to keep getting drawn to writing weird versions justice-dispensing Father Christmases. Secondly – and more importantly – the blurb looked like it’d be a good old-fashioned ‘everyone’s locked in the house getting picked off one-by-one’ tale. Claudine and Henry Calhoun are high-flying real estate types in Aspen. Every year, they throw a fancy Christmas party, which involves a competitive Secret Santa game that’s the talk of the town. This year, Claudine’s been contacted by pop star Zara (who bears some slight similarity to a real-life pop star who shall remain nameless). Zara is interested in buying Montague House, the first property Claudine and Henry ever built, and so Claudine decides to move the party to the somewhat remote building. The snow starts to fall, the guests assemble, and there’s an additional gift on the Secret Santa pile… This book was a lot of fun – it’s a quick read, and not necessarily the story you might be expecting, but I really enjoyed it. The tension is well-paced, and Zara emerges as a rather engaging character. Plus, there’s a bit of intrigue, secrecy and rivalry as well. I’m glad I picked this one up – it was a very enjoyable festive read.

The Hunting Party by Lucy Foley (2018)

Managed to time my festive reading so I could end the year with a New Year-themed book! The Hunting Party takes place during a New Year’s Eve party, so it was the perfect way to end December. A group of old university friends meet up for their annual New Year’s Eve celebrations – this year, they’ve booked an exclusive (but isolated) hunting lodge in the Scottish Highlands. Over the course of the booze-fuelled party, old secrets and resentments surface… and someone’s not going to survive the party. The book is much marketed as an ‘Agatha Christie with menace’ (hmmm… I think Christie’s books had enough menace of their own!), but it’s also been compared to Tartt’s The Secret History (which I didn’t enjoy). However, the book actually does its own thing, and it’s not really fair to compare it to Christie or Tartt’s work. There was a lot that I really enjoyed about The Hunting Party. I loved the multiple narrators, and I was impressed with how easy it was to keep track of a large group of characters. Most of the characters are a bit unlikeable (as you’d expect), but they were very believable and Foley snuck in just the right amount of sympathy. I also enjoyed the way the landscape is used to create an additional sense of seasonal threat. Only downside… Foley’s not quite at Christie’s level when it comes to hiding clues, and so I did work it out very early on. Nevertheless, definitely enjoyed this one.

Happy New Year!

Game Review: Mystery Case Files: Moths to a Flame Collector’s Edition (first play)

Developer: Eipix Games
Publisher: Big Fish Games
Original Release Date: 23rd August 2019
Platform: PC

This is quite a delayed post. I actually played Mystery Case Files: Moths to a Flame back in the autumn, but I haven’t had chance to write a review until now. Sorry about that.

So, Moths to a Flame is the latest instalment of the Mystery Case Files series, which is currently in the hands of Eipix Games. I – like a lot of MCF fans – was a little less than enthused by the last game in the series, The Countess. It wasn’t a bad game as such, but it just couldn’t hold a candle to the early Ravenhearst games. Not much can, to be honest. Although I thought The Countess was okay, I pretty much came to the conclusion that I was done with Mystery Case Files. I’ve seen other people saying the same thing when new titles come out… this series is pretty much done now. No more Mystery Case Files games for me.

And then they release a new game, and we all fly to it like… ahhhhh.

Moths to a Flame is set up as one for the fans. In fact, the storyline would probably be a bit confusing for anyone who hasn’t played at least some of the earlier titles in the series. The Mystery Case Files unit – and the Master Detective himself (the player-character seems to be male in this instalment, though obviously that’s a controversial subject in the series) – are under attack. Some files have been stolen, and an ‘Archivist’ (with a grudge against the MCF agency) is holding a group of agents hostage in order to draw the Master Detective into a twisted game.

The game involves visiting recreations of the settings of some of the detective’s iconic cases (specifically, Ravenhearst, Madame Fate’s carnival and the boarding house from Broken Hour) to piece together the puzzle of why this is all happening. These recreations are housed in the Zenith Museum of Oddities, which is part prison and part tribute to the Master Detective. You have to navigate your way around the museum to solve the case and free the other agents.

The game design is very good here, with lovely attention to detail in the scenes. Obviously, a big draw for MCF fans is the recreations of settings from earlier games. These were well-done, and there was a definite attempt to capture the intricacy and style of those games. However, the problem with offering recreations of iconic scenes from earlier games is that you are openly encouraging comparison with those games. And, for those of us who love them, the new game will fall a little short.

It’s hard to say exactly what’s missing from these facsimiles of Ravenhearst and Fate’s Carnival, but something is missing. I think the game – like most of the later MCF series – lacks the darkness of the earlier instalments. I don’t mean it’s too bright and colourful, but rather that it’s just a bit… harmless, when compared with the disturbed malevolence that rippled under the surface of the other games. So, although there’s a good attempt to capture the visual feel of previous chapters, Moths to a Flame doesn’t quite capture their soul. (Also, I missed the theme music. It really felt like it should be there for this one, and it sort of was at times, but, again, the soundtrack lacked something when compared with, say, Escape from Ravenhearst or Fate’s Carnival.)

Gameplay in this one, as expected, is pretty slick and has all the bells and whistles we’ve come to expect. It’s standard point-and-click on the whole, with movement between scenes (without too much distracting back-and-forth). There’s a Custom difficulty level (yay!), collectibles and morphing objects. The puzzles are a mix of HOGs and mini-games, which you can replay afterwards on the CE. Some of the reviews I’ve read have commented on the welcome return of the Rube Goldberg puzzles, which were a characteristic feature of some of the earlier MCF games (most notably Fate’s Carnival). I was happy to see these but, like much of the game, the Rube Goldberg puzzles were a shadow of their earlier counterparts. They just lacked the intricacy and weirdness of some of the early instalments.

However, Moths to a Flame does have a very classy (and unexpected) element to its gameplay. I’m loath to say much about this, as it’s a spoiler for anyone who hasn’t played or who has only played the demo. All I’ll say is that something I thought was going to be a bit of annoying feature has a brilliant twist to it that I very much enjoyed!

As this is a first-person, single-player game, all eyes are on the player-character – in this case the Master Detective. There’s very little detail given, as is usual for the MCF games, though the motive behind the antagonist’s actions does suggest that the character’s reputation precedes them. This isn’t the first time someone has become obsessed with the Master Detective, so the success in the previous games has certainly brought the detective to people’s attention. Not, sadly, to the Queen’s attention this time, as Moths to a Flame eschews the once familiar phone call from Her Majesty to kick the adventure off.

Of the NPCs, the most interesting one is the antagonist. The others (the agents who have been taken captive) are, at least, a bit more well-rounded and a bit less whiny than the NPCs in some other games. They can’t complete the adventure for you, but at least they don’t just sit and demand that you perform tasks for them. The Archivist is the one who gets a bit more attention, as it’s his obsession that has resulted in the storyline happening at all. Unfortunately, once again, the game hampers itself with its own continued reference to older games. The Archivist was fine, as antagonists in HOPAs go, but by encouraging a comparison to the Ravenhearst arc, the game was drawing attention to the fact that he’s a far cry from Charles Dalimar (he’s not even Alister Dalimar). There was a moment, part way through, where I thought there might be a twist ending in which it turned out the Archivist was a Dalimar, but sadly that was not to be.

I played the Collector’s Edition, so there was a bit of bonus content. The main feature of this is the bonus chapter, which in this case is a sequel chapter (more a sort of coda to the main adventure). This didn’t add a lot for me, as it all felt a bit arbitrary – as though the developers knew they had to extend the gameplay for a little longer, but couldn’t think of any more storyline. Outside of this, I enjoyed being able to replay HOGs and mini-games, and to have another chance at getting Achievements. The bonus content also includes a Souvenir Room (popular with some) and the usual wallpapers and extras. It’s all as you would expect from a HOPA Collector’s Edition.

So… has Moths to a Flame redeemed the Mystery Case Files series? The jury’s out on that one. It was a better instalment than I was expecting, but those early games just set the bar too high. I suspect I’ll play the next game (which is already out, since it took me so long to write this review!), but my heart hasn’t been torn away from Ravenhearst yet.

Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!

Review: Abertoir: The International Horror Festival of Wales 2019 (Saturday and Sunday)

19th-24th November 2019
Aberystwyth Arts Centre, Wales

And so here's the final part of my three-part review of this year's Abertoir horror film festival, with reviews of the films we saw on Saturday and Sunday.

You can read the other two parts of my review here: Part 1 (Tuesday and Wednesday), Part 2 (Thursday and Friday)

Saturday 23rd November

The Four of the Apocalypse (Lucio Fulci, 1975)

The first screening on Saturday was a 1975 film by Lucio Fulci – in anticipation of the new documentary coming up later in the day. The Four of the Apocalypse is Fulci’s slow-paced and lyrical (and admittedly also rather grim) Spaghetti Western. The central character is Stubby Preston, introduced as a vaguely amoral lone-wolf gambler, who arrives in Salt Flats in Utah to win a bit of cash in the casino. Stubby is intercepted by the sheriff on arrival and thrown into jail, which turns out to be a lucky break when the town suffers a violent attack by a band of vigilantes. As he’s locked up, Stubby survives the attack along with three other prisoners: town drunk Clem, pregnant prostitute Bunny and a black man named Bud. The four set out from Salt Flats the next day with optimism. Spoiler alert: their optimism is soon tempered by the harsh world of the western. As they travel, Stubby, Bunny, Clem and Bud run into almost every genre staple you can imagine: pioneers, bandits, zealous evangelists, ghost towns, mining towns, and dangerous gunslingers. It’s this last element that introduces the grimness that punctuates the earlier positivity of the four travellers’ journey. The Four of the Apocalypse is an unusual (revisionist) western in a lot of ways. Perhaps the most striking deviation from the standard template is that this is an ensemble piece. Although Stubby is the protagonist, the secondary characters share focus with him for much of the film. This results in some interesting moral growth for Stubby’s character, who develops (or reveals) his values as the group faces their various challenges. Fulci’s film might not appeal to genre purists, but it offers a really interesting and thought-provoking take on the template. Not always an easy watch, but certainly an impressive one.

Silent Shorts Vol V

The next event was a regular feature of the Abertoir programme. Silent Shorts is a collection of short films selected by Paul Shallcross, who accompanies them with live piano scores specially composed. Shallcross also introduces the films with fascinating bits of information about the films’ creation and production. Given the theme this year, it was only to be expected that the Silent Shorts selection reflected some science fiction tropes, but it was an eclectic mix this year. There was The X-Ray Fiend from 1897 (directed by G.A. Smith), which was notable both for its age and for its brevity. At only 45 seconds, this is the shortest film Shallcross has ever included in his Silent Shorts events. And there was Lucius Henderson’s 1912 Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde, which is the earliest surviving film adaptation of Stevenson’s novel (and also notable for the fact that James Cruze, who plays both Jekyll and Hyde, is sometimes substituted for a supporting actor!). Gaston Velle’s 1906 film Voyage Autour à l’Etoile in a ‘trick film’ that uses the cutting-edge technology of the day to create a fantastical journey. This film is a little deceptive, as it starts out light-hearted and charming before taking more of a ‘horror’ turn. Also in the selection were The ? Motorist, a 1906 film by W.R. Booth that draws its horror from contemporary concerns about the advent of the motor car, and Slippery Jim (Ferdinand Zecca, 1910), a French film supposedly based on the performances of Harry Houdini. By far my favourite film that Shallcross included, though, was Maurice Tourneur’s Figures de Cire from 1914. Unusually, this film is notable not for its survival, but for its deterioration. By serendipity, a patch of nitrate decomposition of the film stock perfectly coincides with the deterioration of the protagonist’s mind!

UK Premiere: Achoura (dir. Talal Selhami, 2018)

Next up was the UK premiere of Talal Selhami’s Achoura, which was followed by a Q&A with the director. The film is a dark fairy tale-esque story about a group of four childhood friends, who’ve grown apart in adulthood but are forced back together when a terrifying creature from their past returns. Sadly, it’s impossible to talk about Achoura without mentioning IT: Chapter One (or even offering some comparison of the two), and this was something that came up in the Q&A. Selhami explained that Achoura wrapped in 2015, but that in the time it took to get it out onto screens, Muschetti’s adaptation of King’s novel had sprung into being. It’s unfortunate timing, and a real shame, as Achoura really should have had the opportunity to stand on its own two feet, outside the later film’s shadow. In many ways, it’s a darker film than Muschetti’s IT, and its creature draws on an insidious, almost existential, type of fear, making Pennywise seem almost garish in contrast. The film’s group of friends are unsettled by having to face their childhood monster again, but Selhami balances this with a gnawing sense of dread that it is adulthood itself that has taken the biggest toll on them. Achoura draws on Moroccan folktales to conjure its monster, and one of the film’s early chills comes with a scene in which the children play out a game-like ritual around a bonfire, leading to a nightmare becoming flesh. My main criticism of the film – and it’s a bit of a horror bugbear of mine – is that Achoura shows its monster a little bit too much. This is particularly disappointing as the film makes brilliant use of atmosphere and apprehension, making the CGI monster a little bit jarring! But otherwise, I very much enjoyed this one.

UK Premiere: Fulci for Fake (dir. Simone Scafidi, 2019)

And then on to another documentary… but sadly this one didn’t impress quite as much as yesterday’s Blood and Flesh. Fulci for Fake is described as a ‘biopic’ on the life of the ‘Godfather of Gore’. However, I’m not sure ‘biopic’ is quite the right word here. The film is mostly talking head commentary, framed by the narrative device of an actor preparing to play Lucio Fulci in an upcoming (fictional) film. As he speaks with Fulci’s colleagues and collaborators, family and friends, he attempts to gain an insight into the man and his work. Scafidi has assembled quite a cast of interviewees, and the film includes both previously unseen footage and surprisingly candid anecdotes from its subjects. For Fulci fans – even those who consider themselves fairly well-versed in the man’s career – there is a lot here that will appeal. For me, though, who is something of a ‘casual Fulci viewer’, it fell a little flat. I think the main problem is that Fulci for Fake assumes (maybe even requires) a fair amount of prior knowledge. Unlike Blood and Flesh, which vividly conjured the world of Al Adamson in a way that would entertain and inform even if you’d never heard of the man or any of his films, Fulci for Fake is very much a film for those in the know. Of course, film fans may argue that one should be more familiar with Lucio Fulci than with Al Adamson, but I found this a bit of a barrier to enjoying the film. Admittedly, I did learn a lot about Fulci and his working practices, but I would’ve appreciated a little more contextualizing of this (and the film is notable for containing very little actual footage from Fulci’s films). All in all, this one unfortunately didn’t really grab me.

Death Line (dir. Gary Sherman, 1972)

Next up was another one of the classic films on this year’s festival programme – and I think this one can rightly be called a ‘cult classic’. This one was a bit of a treat, because not only did it continue the celebration of Donald Pleasance’s work, but the writer-director Gary Sherman was one of the festival guests (we’d already had a great talk on practical special effects from him the previous day). And so this screening was followed by a Q&A with Sherman. Death Line (aka Raw Meat) is a quintessentially British horror film (despite its American writer-director, of course), and it has a pretty strong fan following. The film follows a young couple, Patricia and Alex, who discover an unconscious man on the steps of Russell Square tube station. They report the incident, but when the police attend the scene the body has disappeared. Something sinister is going on under the underground. Of course, Patricia (played by Sharon Gurney) and Alex (played by David Ladd) are soon overshadowed by Pleasance’s brilliant turn as Inspector Calhoun and, later, by Christopher Lee at MI5 supremo Straton-Villiers. Much of the joy of this film comes from the scenes in which Pleasance and Lee interact, particularly where they discuss matters relating to the British class system. Another bit of the fun (if you can call it fun… it’s also been described as ‘harrowing bleakness’) comes from the fact that – despite the film’s reputation for being violent and horrifying – the ‘baddie’ is ultimately a figure of pity, if not of sympathy. The stars of the film are undoubtedly Pleasance, Lee and the London Underground, but it’s that plaintive cry from the bad guy that we all remember (and that we kept quoting after the screening had finished!): ‘Mind the doors!’ Really enjoyed this one!

Blood Machines (plus Turbo Killer) (dir. Seth Ickerman, 2019)

Saturday’s final screening began with Turbo Killer, a trippy assault-on-the-senses short film that was originally made by Seth Ickerman (aka Raphael Hernandez and Savitri Joly-Gonfard) as a music video for Carpenter Brut (aka Franck Hueso)’s track of the same name. As such, it substitutes plot and characterization for style and visual impact, as Ickerman creates something more like a ‘vibe’ than a narrative to illustrate Carpenter Brut’s synthwave music. It’s an onslaught of neon colours, busty women and high-octane cars, with Carpenter Brut’s inverted crucifix logo burning bright throughout. The stylistic influences of sci-fi B-movies (of the highest pitch) are also discernible in the overall character of the piece. Turbo Killer is – as a music video – only a short piece, but this was followed immediately by Blood Machines, a longer-form (50 minutes) film that develops both the tone and the ‘story’ of Turbo Killer further. Here, the creative collaboration is inverted. Ickerman created the film, and then Carpenter Brut wrote the soundtrack. Blood Machines is structured as a kind of three-act space opera, with a bit more sense of an overall plot. That said, it is still a stylistic and impressionistic piece, despite having some minimal dialogue and characterization. There are AI spaceships, epic (and somewhat scantily clad) priestesses, brutish and threatening men. Blood Machines throws a big handful of the clichéd tropes of SFF in your face, but it does this with an energetic abandon and visual intensity that is actually quite mesmerizing. Unlike in Turbo Killer, there is some nod to the idea of female empowerment in Blood Machines, but it still feels like a bit of a masculine piece – the gaze is most definitely male here, though it might be a male who wants to see the females triumphant. Bit of a full-on end to the day!

Sunday 24th November

Planet of the Vampires (dir. Mario Bava, 1965)

As I said in my earlier post, the science fiction theme this year was in honour of the fortieth anniversary of Alien. Sunday was the day for the ‘main event’ – a screening of Alien with a special introduction (more on that below), but we kicked off the day with Planet of the Vampires (aka Terrore nello Spazio), an Italian sci-fi horror made in the mid-60s. And there was a good reason for this. Bava’s film is widely held to have been an influence on Scott’s Alien, both in terms of story and of design. Two ships on an exploration mission receive a distress call from a planet and approach to respond. When one ship, the Argos, enters the planet’s atmosphere, something very bad happens, and the crew turn violently against each other. Only Captain Markary is able to resist the very bad thing and is able to drag his crew out of their murderous rage. The Argos then travels to the planet’s surface, partly to find the source of the distress call, and partly to find the Galliott, the first ship that went down to the planet. The film’s visual style is very much pulp sci-fi cinema, with much of the action happening on what is undeniably a studio set. The colours are garish and the gore is exuberant. But this is all tempered by a somewhat Gothic-inflected element – as signalled by the English title of the film – in which the very bad thing the explorers encounter possesses the bodies of the dead, filling the Argos with the walking corpses of fallen crew members. While the ship’s interior is a rather uninspiring studio, the hostile exterior is an empty and atmospheric soundstage, all mists and skewed visuals (created using miniatures, mirrors and forced perspective). The effect created is… well… alien.

The Science Fact in Science Fiction - a talk by Professor Andrew Evans

Continuing with the science fiction theme, the next event on today’s schedule was a talk by Andrew Evans, a professor of Material Physics at Aberystwyth University. As expected from the title, Evans’s talk covered some of the background to key tropes in science fiction, with some explanation of how/if/why these tropes align with current scientific thinking. As the festival’s specific bent this year was specifically space-travel sci-fi, a lot of Evans’s talk covered the science related to space travel (including a few theories about how interplanetary/interstellar travel might be achieved). There was also a bit on time travel to balance things out. Evans’s is an engaging speaker, who’s able to translate very complex ideas into terms the layman can understand (thank goodness!). But what I really liked about this talk was that there was no snark or sneering about the genre, even though it sometimes tends towards the… slightly unscientific.

The Magnificent Obsession of Michael Reeves (dir. Dima Ballin, 2019)

Next up, it was another documentary, which served to complete a sort of triptych with Blood and Flesh and Fulci for Fake. Here, the subject was Michael Reeves, the director of Revenge of the Blood Beast (aka The She Creature), The Sorcerers and Witchfinder General (aka The Conqueror Worm), who died tragically at just twenty-five years old. Reeves’s work on these films secured him a place in horror history (and, particularly, in the curious history of ‘folk horror’), but his early death meant that we never saw him fulfil his potential (or, indeed, turn away from the genre in favour of other projects). Ballin’s new documentary explores Reeves’s early life and family, his rather arrogant foray into the notoriously ‘closed off’ film industry, and the creation of his three feature films. It’s a well-made film with some enthusiastic and interesting talking heads, and which offers some insight (but also some speculation) as to what the director might have gone on to do after Witchfinder General. The problem with the documentary is the tragic circumstances of its subject matter. Sadly, Michael Reeves’s life and career were very short, and his childhood and upbringing, while not dull as such, held few surprises. Even Reeves’s entry into the film world – something that the documentary makes a lot of – is more a case of self-assured persistence, rather than anything more dramatic. The most interesting bit of the film are undoubtedly the sections relating to Witchfinder General, though there is little here (including the director’s fractious relationship with Vincent Price) that’s not already known in horror circles. Price does not emerge particularly sympathetically from Ballin’s film, but he is, as always, a somewhat larger-than-life figure with a tendency to steal the limelight. This new documentary wasn’t bad, but it fell a little flat for me.

Nicko and Joe’s Bad Film Club

And next on the programme was something I was definitely looking forward to. We first experienced Nicko and Joe’s Bad Film Club at Abertoir last year, and we both really enjoyed it. The pair were back this time, albeit with a slightly different offering to last year’s The Demons of Ludlow. This year, they were bringing us Spiders, the 2000 Nu Image creature feature (from the studio that brought you Raging Sharks, Killer Rats and Tobe Hooper’s Crocodile. Spiders is a very late-90s/early-00s B-movie (which I’m pretty sure must have been a direct-to-video). Nicko and Joe had selected this one to fit with the festival’s sci-fi theme, and I must say I commend their choice. Spiders has plenty of the tropes we love: space shuttles, genetic experiments, secret government facilities, conspiracies, a MASSIVE spider on a rampage. It’s a silly film – not the silliest, though, by a long stretch – but it also offered great opportunities for Nicko and Joe’s particular sense of humour. Like last time, I really liked the way they zoomed in on minutiae and drew our attention to it ad absurdum (not that this took long… some of these details really are quite absurd). I think another reason why it’s a good choice of film for an event like this is that Spiders doesn’t take itself completely seriously, and there’s a lot of it (particularly the ending) that’s intended to be OTT, high-spirited fun. Although Nicko and Joe mercilessly mocked and derided it, there were quite a few points where it felt like we were laughing with the film, rather than laughing at it. And this was a nice atmosphere to have for an event like this, as it made it feel much more like we were all in on the joke together. Plus… there were sweets.

Alien (introduced by Ron Shusett... from space) (dir. Ridley Scott, 1979)

And so to the big event… and I have no idea what to say about this one. What can I possibly write about Alien that hasn’t already been said? As I said earlier in the post (and previous ones), this year’s festival had a sci-fi theme in honour of Alien’s fortieth birthday, so it was only fitting that we got a screening of the film itself. The screening was introduced by Ron Shusett, co-author of the original story, and it was… well… given from space. Now, Abertoir weren’t able to actually send Shusett into orbit (though that would definitely have been something of a coup for them), but rather sent a device up and out of the earth’s atmosphere to ‘beam back’ a message to the big screen. It was a fun way to start the screening, though I suspect we were all so busy watching the weird mechanics of the message that we might’ve missed a little bit of what Shusett was saying! Still, it’s not like any of us didn’t know what to expect from the film! I’m not sure how many times I’ve seen Alien, but this was the first time I’d seen it on the big screen. I always enjoy being able to see films I love on the cinema screen, as this is almost always how they were intended to be shown. Big-screen Alien did not disappoint as an experience. I’m not saying that I noticed anything new or looked at the film in a different way, but it was much more immersive and gripping than watching it on the telly at home. I don’t really have a lot more to say – Alien is a classic for a reason, or rather for many reasons, and it was good to just sit back and enjoy it.

Color Out of Space (dir. Richard Stanley, 2019)

So, sadly, we came to the final film of this year’s festival. The last screening was one that I know a lot of other festival-goers were looking forward to, but it wasn’t one I knew much about beforehand. Color Out of Space is a – shock! horror! – Lovecraft adaptation, starring Nicolas Cage and Joely Richardson. I’m not a Lovecraft fan at all, but I know that his work is widely considered difficult, if not impossible, to translate to the screen. I think I’ve only ever seen three adaptation of his stories: Re-Animator, Dagon and the Masters of Horror episode ‘Dreams in the Witch-House’ (all directed by Stuart Gordon, as it happens). But, I like Nicolas Cage films (who doesn’t?), so I was quite happy to give this one a go. The film is an adaptation of Lovecraft’s story ‘The Colour Out of Space’, which is about a surveyor visited a site in Boston that is said to have been the location of a meteorite crash that did bad things to the inhabitants. Stanley’s film adaptation follows this aspect of the plot, but it is told mostly from the perspective of the inhabitants themselves (particularly Nathan Gardner, played by Cage). Unlike in the original story, we see the meteorite land, and then we watch the Gardner family unravel in its wake. (The ‘surveyor’ character is still present, in the form of Elliot Knight’s hydrologist character Ward Phillips.) I wouldn’t say this was my favourite film of the festival, but it was enjoyable to watch. Cage is absolutely in his element as the increasing unhinged Gardner, and the film’s look is stylish and compelling. I liked the slow-burn weirdness of the film’s first half more than the big reveals, but it was a fun way to end the evening and – indeed – the festival.

And so our second year at Abertoir came to an end. Once again, we thoroughly enjoyed our week in Aberystwyth, and we're really hoping work commitments will allow us to return next year for Abertoir 15.