‘Companion’
The less you know about Drew Hancock’s sharply witty thriller-comedy, the harder its ominous twists will hit.
Iris and Josh (Sophie Thatcher and Jack Quaid) appear to be a picture-perfect pair. But Iris is more than just Josh’s girlfriend; she’s also his emotional support companion robot (and sex partner), designed to experience rage, remorse, grief, and suffering — “an imitation of a life,” as Josh puts it. Iris discovers her condition after Josh frames her in a murder plot at a weekend trip with a group of friends, setting her on a torturous quest to understand what it means to feel and kill.
Hancock enjoys pulling from previous horror-science fiction films about humans in emotionally complex interactions with machines. This film is similar to “M3gan” with a heart, “Ex Machina” with a sense of humor, and “Westworld” with female robots that are fed up with terrible males. I wish the film’s satire, which mostly revolves around a couple (Harvey Guillén and Lukas Gage) who become involved in Josh’s scam, had been crisper. Nonetheless, as a study on desire, codependency, and survival in a society dominated by artificial intelligence, the picture is a wild journey.
Rick (Vas Eli), a private detective, wakes up on a train one night in an unsettling metropolis that resembles New York. Rick, a former investigator, meets Frank (Isaach De Bankolé), a mystery individual who asks him to investigate whether Tony perished in an explosion or committed insurance fraud. Tony’s sister, Dana (Susannah Perkins), is aware of what transpired but remains silent.
From there, Tore Knos’s neo-noir thriller — not to be confused with the fantastic Lorenzo Lamas action film “Snake Eater” (1989) — takes on the shapes of a dime store detective book set in a Kafka-esque other reality where individuals are either living or dead or both.
The real star here is Tim S. Kang’s eerily gritty cinematography. A decrepit hotel room, darkened city alleys, an empty morgue: In Kang’s world they exist but don’t, and watching how he unsettles these spaces is a spooky treat.
‘Haunted by Her Name’
What this slow-burning indie thriller lacks in finance and polish, it makes up for in uniqueness.
Jaron and Olivia Lanier direct the film, which follows Jaron (Lanier) as he travels following his ex-girlfriend’s burial. He develops a connection with Judah (Judah Relly), a kindred spirit and fellow musician who assists Jaron in repairing his broken-down vehicle. The film’s peak is a bravura, 23-minute conversation between two guys over a campfire, with passages shot shamelessly and nearly totally in darkness, isolating sounds and performers. It’s enthralling, and Relly’s slowcore soundtrack adds to the mystery of why these two guys meet.
A surprise at the end, shot in found footage manner, does not really add together. But who cares when what comes before is so strikingly unusual? It’s wonderful to watch a picture that trusts its performers and the viewer to understand what it’s trying to do with a nasty coming-of-age narrative, especially in a year that has provided few new horror concepts.
‘Bloody Axe Wound’
This gross-out yet sweet slasher film about a protective father and his identity-seeking daughter, written and directed by Matthew John Lawrence, incorporates humorous queer and feminist twists on horror comedy.
The setup is meta and innovative. Roger (Billy Burke) is a deformed killer whose gory cinematic killings have made him popular among horror fans, who seek out his flicks at the local video store. He’s proud of his infamy, but he’s concerned that his adolescent daughter, Abbie (Sari Arambulo), wants to follow in his butcherous footsteps, even if it means murdering her friends. (This makes more sense on-screen than it does here.)
Throw in a relationship between Abbie and Sam (Molly Brown), a victim who becomes a crush, and the picture reminded me of a gay slasher thriller by John Hughes. Only about half of the comedy works, but Arambulo and Burke are such likable leaders that the flat gags are overlooked.
‘The Visitor’
I first found queer Canadian director Bruce LaBruce in 1991, when his debut feature film “No Skin Off My Ass” startled the indie film festival circuit with its low-fi drama about a homosexual hairdresser’s fascination with a skinhead.
Since then, LaBruce has continued to create renegade films about lawless interests. His newest agitprop is a dystopian, techno-grindhouse porn picture that also serves as a radical manifesto for the abolition of borders between countries, sexualities, and genders.
It begins with a monster with a trademark LaBruce appearance — buff, bald, and naked, except for a dash of blue eye shadow — emerging from a suitcase on a beach somewhere in the United Kingdom. (The entity is portrayed by British actor Bishop Black.) The potential extraterrestrial makes his way to an estate, where he seduces a family and engages in weird wants and blasphemous depravity, including various types of penetrative sex and one of the most stomach-churning banquets you’ve ever seen. That is the movie.
For those of us who have admired LaBruce’s daring career, this sloppy yet mannered, immature but adult-only, pompous but self-effacing film is both welcome and revolting entertainment.
