FRIGHTFEST 2001 FESTIVAL REPORT
DAY THREE

One of the more intriguing aspects of FrightFest 2001 had been the chance to assess the current state of British horror, and although the opening night's The Bunker had impressed, Revelation had been entirely awful. Today we were going to get the chance to see if The Bunker had been a one-off fluke as FrighFest presented an afternoon of British horror.

The day kicked off with a Beta SP presentation of Alex Chandon's Cradle of Fear, a film that very nearly didn't make it - a list of films being shown during the festival had to be submitted to Westminster Council under whose jurisdiction the Prince Charles falls [these were the same people who made such a fuss of refusing David Cronenberg's Crash any space on screens in their area] and the only one they wanted to see a copy of was this. It was suggested that Alan Jones' blurb for the film, in which he enthusiastically but with tongue very much in cheek, hailed it as "the ultimate blood-spattered snuff reality" had rattled the council's cages, hence their inexplicable interest in the film - given the reputation that precedes two of the closing day's offerings Trouble Every Day [now, sadly, not being shown] and The Isle, it's just lucky that they didn't get their hands on those!

Less luckily, they did allow Cradle of Fear to be shown - little more than an amateur film given some dignity by being shown here, this horribly overlong fiasco marked the 'acting' debut of Cradle of Filth lead singer Dani Filth, though his performance amounts to little more than wandering about in a variety of stupid contact lenses [oohh, scary...] and deadpanning a few lines of dialogue. Structured like an anthology film [the link between the stories is a mad hypnotist serial killer and his demonic son murdering the relatives of the people who put the father in a psychiatric hospital] all it really has going for it are the endless gore effects, which certainly kept the crowd happy - sadly, anyone expecting decent acting, good music or even a script that makes sense was to be disappointed.

In the decade since his first film, Bad Karma, Chandon has shown no desire - or even the required talent - to break away from his roots in 80s British horror fandom and Cradle of Fear is just another shot-on-video fan effort to be dropped into the same drawer as similar films films by Olaf Ittenbach and Andreas Schnaas, a drawer that certainly won't be opened too often.

To its credit, one of the stories, about a young man's obsession with a website offering visitors the chance to direct live, interactive snuff movies, was very good and should have been expanded, and Chandon's direction has certainly improved since his last effort [the appalling Pervirella [1997]]. But this is still strictly amateur hour, with the cast apparently chosen at random from the least talented people they could find and burdened with an embarrassing script that probably should win some sort of award for the most gratuitous and childish overuse of the word 'fuck' ever.

Before the screening, Chandon himself took to the stage to enquire if there was anyone present from the British film industry and promptly muttered "I hate you." On the strength of this and his other work, I don't suppose anyone from the industry is going to be losing any sleep over it...

Next up came an episode from the second series of the British TV anthology Urban Gothic and it went some way to restoring my faith in home-grown horror. Introduced by the show's creators, Steve Matthews and Tom De Ville, The Sandman is a lightweight but very effective piece about the contestants in a TV endurance game show [they have to stay awake and in contact with a car in order to win] being stalked by the titular monster. Some nice tricks with time and continuity kept us on our toes and it bodes well for the new series that's due for UK broadcast in October.

But it was straight back down to earth again with the second of the day's British features and easily the worst film of the  festival so far. Dust was introduced by star, producer and director's wife Nadja Brand [who claimed it was the best film she'd ever seen - she needs to get out more...] and 'star', Jodie Shaw, a British tabloid topless model making her acting debut here. Given the reaction the film got here, it could be the end of her career too.

Described in advance as "Straw Dogs on acid," hopes were high for Dust. But what we got was a muddled, incomprehensible piece of junk that prompted the most walkouts of any film shown so far - I counted at least a dozen and was told of more, including those some who bought tickets just to see this film! It's a sobering thought that more people were willing to sit through Revelation, Cubbyhouse and Cradle of Fear than this trash. It may not have been so bad it we could actually work out what was supposed to be happening - the sound is so badly mixed that it's impossible to understand anything anyone's saying and director Adam Mason's insistence on using a strange burst of white light every few seconds for no good reason results in a film that gave me nothing more than a blinding headache. Add to that the unlikable characters and poor acting and you've got the final nail in the coffin for British horror. Hopes that had been so high before the festival had started were cruelly dashed by this unwatchable rubbish - certainly I couldn't find anyone, even those who, like me, gamely struggled through to the end, who could find a good word to say for it.

Fighting the urge to give up and go home for some much needed sleep, I joined the rest of the FrighFesters for the Universal Shorts, four 100 second long vignettes that didn't sound too appealing but which proved surprisingly effective. There's not a lot you can do in 100 seconds, but the Universal Shorts capably showed that with some imagination you can achieve more in that time than Dust managed in 82 tedious minutes. Best of the bunch was Kim Newman's hilarious Missing Girl.

And then it was on to the first real treat of the day. The stunning Le pacte des loups [Brotherhood of the Wolf] more than made up for the disappointments of the first two films. A sprawling epic that has already become France's highest-grossing  genre film, Christophe Gans' magnificent fantasy was the most beautifully photographed film we'd seen so far. Clearly inspired by Sleepy Hollow [but so much more interesting than Tim Burton's film], it follows the attempts of a progressive 18th century naturalist and his Iroquois blood brother to track down the Beast of Gevaudan, a wolf like creature that has been slaughtering the natives. Part historical epic, part political conspiracy thriller and part full blown horror movies [with plenty of martial arts mayhem thrown in for good measure], Le pacte des loups is an unclassifiable movie that perhaps runs a little long [at 143 minutes it's the longest film on offer over the weekend] but which nonetheless never fails to impress. Along with last night's Devil's Backbone, this has been the highlight of the festival so far.

For me, another of the highlights of the weekend was always going to be the chance to catch up with Kinji Fukusaku's Battle Royale [2000], the controversial Japanese thriller that takes Survivor-like TV shows to ludicrous extremes. Stranding a group of teenage kids on a remote island, the film follows their misfortunes as they play Battle Royale, the government sanctioned death sport in which the the winner is the last one standing after three days.

Unlikely to be given a proper release in the States in the wake of real life classroom violence and shoot-outs, Battle Royale also caused a major furore in its native Japan and one can certainly understand why - hysterically funny, it's also one of the most disquieting films I've seen in a long time. The bloody [very bloody!] murders of the teenagers by their one-time friends are often deeply shocking even while we're guffawing at their over-the-top violence.

The film was, I'm glad to be able to report, completely sold-out and the crowd was noisy and appreciative throughout. It's the kind of film that works well with an audience, as their reactions [some seemed utterly bewildered by it all, others lapped it up] add to the fun. The enthusiastic - if premature - round of applause that accompanied the closing scenes was well deserved.

Day Three of FrightFest had got off to the most disappointing start imaginable with Cradle of Fear and Dust and, from comments overheard in the lobby, I suspect that some of the organising team - if not all of them - hadn't actually seen these films before booking them. Given the alarming number of walkouts during Dust, they might be well advised to brush up their quality control for next year. Thankfully, Le pacte des loups and Battle Royale more than made up for the first two films and everyone at least went home happy.

One more day to go and there's still plenty to look forward to - I'm particularly keen on The Isle, the Resident Evil promo, Jeepers Creepers [described by Alan Jones as the best horror film of the year] and the chance to see Ginger Snaps again now that it's replaced Trouble Every Day.
KEVIN LYONS