Prevenge: Movie Review. The best pregnant, slasher, comedy, horror movie…ever.


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The three  Greek Furies that feature prominently in the 1934 Noirish movie, Crime Without Passion, are the central metaphor in Alice Lowe’s extraordinarily dark Prevenge, billed as the world’s  first pregnant, slasher, comedy, horror movie.

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In it, Alice Lowe’s character, Ruth, embarks on a revenge murder spree goaded on by her helium-voiced, gestating baby.

It takes her to Wales and, in one breathtaking scene, the streets of Cardiff on Halloween night where she claims she almost needed protection from the boozed-up locals in a sequence reminiscent of Scarlett Johnassonn’s Under The Skin street walk in Glasgow.

The reason for her bloody revenge spree is only revealed in drips (so I won’t spoil it – like a preview I read before the screening did for me) which adds greatly to the narrative tension.

The making of this low budget Film Four offering is remarkable.  Lowe was offered development money and finding herself pregnant used her condition to inspire this blackest of black script.  She then wrote, produced, cast and filmed (in 11 days) the whole affair before her baby arrived.

Seeing an actor perform whilst heavily pregnant, and genuinely playing a pregnant character, is a rarity (my only recollection is Frances McDormand in Fargo) and Lowe certainly makes the most of the opportunity.  Shooting took place in her late third Trimester.

The Furies are the ultimate avenging angels and she uses the extraordinary scenes from Crime Without Passion to symbolise her quest for justice, viewing the movie from the comfort of her hotel room where she takes respite, despite noisily bonking near neighbours, from her exhausting killings.

The killings themselves are simple but bloody affairs and each has hilarious set ups.  Can she complete her task before the long arm of the law catches up on her careful forensic clean ups?  You’ll have to see it to find out.

This is classic British black comedy at its best.  Using its low budget as a virtue but still making some moments of genuinely great cinematography, most notably in an exotic pet shop and a beautiful full facial dream sequence in a yoga class.

It has echoes of Mike Leigh’s early work and Ben Wheatley’s Sightseers is an obvious reference point.  Obvious because Lowe is its co-star and it too shares a murderous plotline.

But, comparisons aside, this is an entirely original take on several genres that does its damnedest to create a genre of its own.

Whether there’s room for thousands of pregnant, slasher, comedy, horror movies is debatable.

So we’ll just have to agree on one thing.  The original and best.

 

 

Recent listening. Hotel Shampoo by Gruff Rhys.


The title reflects Gruff Rhys' hobby of collecting hotel shampoo bottles. A laudable occupation.

Gruff Rhys is the lead singer in Super Furry Animals.  Wales’ finest band by some considerable margin over the last ten years in my humble opinion.  So, what to make of a solo outing?

Total control of the qualkity control button is my conclusion.

More super soft arrangements, quality harmonies, particularly when guest singer El Perro Del Mar (great name by the way) pops up on track 9; Space Dust  number 2.

This is a great pop record with no pretentions to be any more than that.  Wholly recommended.

 

Ryder cup weekend


Having missed most of the four ball play I’m now looking forward to a lazy weekend of viewing the biennial orgy of continentalism. The very loud “oggie oggie, oggie” from the Welsh stands certainly got things going this morning.

It is, of course a strange decision to play such a weather dependent event in the short days of October in one of the wettest countries in the world, but looks like they’ve gotten away with it.

Monty’s early rhetoric (winding up Woods and claiming Europe was already one up after the 4 ball draw) showed what an arrogant fanny he can be – Woods won and Europe are one down!

Harrington should not be here. He looks out of sorts and down on himself. I’d certainly have picked Casey or even Sergio. But ho hum, that’s the way it is.

My prediction is a very narrow European victory.

By the way, you might enjoy the comments just posted by an anonymous contributor on my previous post.

Cheerio then


I am not, and never have been, a fan of George Burley.  The performance by Scotland against Wales on Saturday defied description in the first half.  At 3-0 down we gave away a stone wall penalty that wasn’t given and Marshall, the goalie, should have been sent off.  So that would have been 4-0 with ten men.  We’d no doubt have shut up shop at that point and sloped off with a four goal defeat.  As it was we lost to a bunch of schoolboys by three.

He had to go.  And go he has.

Our game is a mess.  I mean, let’s face it, Hibs are within a win of topping the league despite a makeshift team in parts and having sold 11 internationalists in five years.  How is that possible?  I’lll tell you how.  Because everyone else is dreadful.  And if you want proof of that look at Rangers’ and Celtic’s positions in their European groups.  Both bottom, neither with a pot washed.

Investment in Scottish football’s youth (outside of Easter Road) is lamentable and that’s why that old saying “There’s no easy games in international football” is true once again.  Scotland is an easy game.  Falkirk went out of Europe to a team from Leichtenstien.

Lichstentsien!

In the past, had a Scottish team drawn a team from Lichstentsien we’d have needed a calculator to work out the aggregate score.

So back to Burley.  Cheerio and good riddance I say.  We’ve had two clowns in charge (Burley and Vogts).  It seems remarkable that the rose between those two thorns was dour old Walter Smith who got the team playing again, reaching unheard of heights.

He leaves?  Splash, right back in the poo.
Smith is sitting in the Ibrox ejector seat so I suspect the SFA will make the predictable decision to send him a parachute.  Indeed this may all be part of a “plan”.

By the way.  Check out 60 Watt’s topical Scotsman.com ad in  The Scotsman.

I’ll tell you what’s occurin’


Gavin and Stacey.  That’s what’s ocurrin’.

We watched the last episode of  series two through tears of mirth and melancholy in almost equal part last night, only seconds after watching the show win two BAFTAs.

Like James Corden I was puzzled by the fact that it was nominated for most things that had a suggestion of funnines about the category, but not best sitcom, but, hey, that’s the BAFTAs for you.

After all, Coronation Street didn’t get a nomination for best Soap.  That’s a joke is it not.

Anyway back to the Gavster. This is a magnificent TV series and it all stems from the writing – in this case of James Corden and Ruth Jones. I don’t think the series has reached the critical mass it should have ,  But it will.  Oh yes it will. British comedy at its very, very best.

One further observation on the awards…C4 stuck it right up them.  Good on ya C4.  We luv ya!