TV series review: Daredevil, season 1 (2015)

Posted in TV Series reviews with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , on April 23, 2015 by Mistlake

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Created by Drew Goddard, based on the comic book created by Stan Lee and Bill Everett. Starring: Charlie Cox, Vincent D’Onofrio, Deborah Ann Woll, Elden Henson, Vondie Curtis-Hall, Toby Leonard Moore, Scott Glenn, Rosario Dawson, Bob Gunton, Ayelet Zürer, Royce Johnson.

A childhood accident leaves Matt Murdock (Cox) blind but endowed with superhuman senses. Mentored by badass ninja bastard Stick (Glenn), Matt attains extreme prowess in the honorable art of punching people in the face, and as an adult he uses his various abilities to beat criminals up at night and serve the innocent as a lawyer by day, all to help his beloved childhood borough of Hell’s Kitchen. But someone else also wants to save this part of New York, only he has a completely different and utterly ruthless plan for doing so: criminal boss Wilson Fisk (D’Onofrio), who doesn’t content himself with punching a face when he can remove an entire head … or city block.

Violent, gruesome and ferocious, Daredevil is unlike anything else in recent Marvel Comics live action adaptations. It’s set in the same universe as The Avengers, Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. etc, but has a level of darkness and bloody realism to it that it would send Captain America running from the scene, screaming shrilly. I personally like the lighter, fantasy tone of other Marvel properties, but it’s ever so nice seeing them trying out something new by going the more mature, adult route enabled by a Netflix TV series.

For a show about a blind ninja superhero, Daredevil possesses a truly surprising level of realism. In the action sequences, the characters involved are imbued with unrealistic talents, sure, but they bleed and they cry out and they grow exhausted and they need time to heal their broken bodies. The humour works as well and doesn’t sound too scripted. Likewise, the characterisation makes you feel that were dealing with real people here, and the scripts allow for long dramatic scenes, where a more typical hero show would have been itching to get on with the action. The characters all have believable flaws, and the conflicts between them – such as the one arising between Matt and his colleague and best friend Foggy (Henson) – are not brushed aside or treated in a pat way, but explored in full. Even Matt’s Catholicism, which could easily have annoyed me no end, is treated in such a way as to complicate his personality, his motives and ultimately his approach to the task of bringing down Wilson Fisk. The balancing of the two sides to Matt should also be pointed out: his alternating use of legal procedure and illegal head thumping get equal play and often complement each other elegantly.

Although Daredevil was created by Stan Lee and Bill Everett, the show is very much based on Frank Miller’s and Klaus Johnson’s 1980s run on the comic book, one which brought the character to an entirely new level of maturity, complexity and mythology. Apart from making Fisk, aka the Kingpin, Daredevil’s primary foe, Miller and Janson upped the grittiness, brought in ninja clan The Hand, turned journalist Ben Urich into a major character, and made Matt a deeper, darker and more conflicted protagonist. All of this, and more, has been adapted for the TV series, giving it an edge and richness second to none in the superhero stakes.

There is, however, one thing that makes Daredevil quite different from its comic book origins, and that is its take on Wilson Fisk. In the source material, the Kingpin is an interesting and powerful enemy, but to all intents and purposes he is what you would think he is: a big, brash, vaguely superhuman bad guy. The way he’s written in the show, and not least the way D’Onofrio plays him, at first had me concerned, before I warmed to it and saw its sheer brilliance. This Fisk is shy and socially awkward, traumatized by a horrible childhood, genuine in his affection for Hell’s Kitchen and his wish to save it (even if it means a lot of murders and bombings), and quite disconcertingly contradictory in his juvenile emotional life and outbursts of joyfully psychotic violence. Nothing like the assertive villain of the comic book, this Kingpin is someone you feel for and are drawn to, while he loses nothing of his ability to terrify. He’s a unique creation among larger-than-life bad guys, and a lovely answer to the common criticism that Marvel’s movies and TV series are bad at fleshing out their villains.

Daredevil is infused with Marvel Comics lore just like most of their projects. The Battle of New York (the climax of The Avengers) is cleverly used to explain why Hell’s Kitchen needs redevelopment, a need that facilitates Fisk’s plans. Thor, Iron Man and Captain America are mentioned, and the Hulk is seen in a newspaper clipping. Natasha Romanoff, the Black Widow, is not referred to, however, which is kind of funny since she’s the only Avengers character to have been close to Daredevil in the comics. Relatively obscure Marvel characters are either introduced with a wink, like the Gladiator, or hinted at as possible future appearances, like the Owl. And of course, there’s a subtle mention of Elektra, one of the most important Daredevil characters. It’s all fun and ties Daredevil in with the larger Marvel Cinematic Universe without damaging its highly individual tone.

The bad sides, then? There isn’t much I can criticize, really, since a lot of thought has clearly gone into this show. The budget limitations sometimes show through, not so much in what is shown as in what is not shown; for instance, certain flashback scenes involving Matt’s boxer father would have been more engaging if one of the matches had actually been shown. Other than that, the many scenes of Daredevil and an enemy punching it out in a dark locale grow repetitious early on (although the climactic fight in episode 2 is one of the best and most emotional combat scenes I’ve ever witnessed). Ben Urich, the dogged investigative journalist, also comes with a few issues. Curtis-Hall is great in the role, but a couple of pivotal parts of Urich’s story have been altered significantly in a way I can’t get behind. Finally, if you look at the very basics of the story construction, it does have a tinge of video game to it, with Fisk being the end boss and his various cronies (Russian, Chinese and Japanese crime organisations) being the level bosses on the way. Luckily, the writing is so good that this just barely registers.

Daredevil is innovative, confident and deeply engrossing television that bodes well for its second season and for its various upcoming companion shows.

Rating: 8 of 10.

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Film review: The Ape (1940)

Posted in Film reviews with tags , , , , , , , , on April 22, 2015 by Mistlake

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Director: William Nigh. Writers: Curt Siodmak, Richard Carroll, “suggested” by the play by Adam Hull Shirk. Starring: Boris Karloff, Maris Wrixon, Gene O’Donnell, Henry Hall, Selmer Jackson, Ray Corrigan.

Benevolent crazy person Dr. Adrian (Karloff) wants to cure neighbourhood girl Frances (Wrixon) of her paralysis, but he needs human spinal fluid to do so. When a murderous gorilla (Corrigan) escapes from the circus and goes rampaging around the countryside, Adrian has the stroke of genius (or just a stroke) to dress up as the beast and murder people for their precious bodily fluids.

The Ape is a funny film in its way. The script is competently written (Siodmak is a reliable writer) and has a logical sense of cause and effect as well as some tolerable characterisation. Someone even bothered to read a twenty-word encyclopedia entry about gorillas and actually gets a couple of facts about them right. On the other hand, there’s that idea: you have an entire posse of armed men searching for the gorilla, intending to shoot it on sight. Considering this, Adrian dressing up as the ape and wandering about in plain view is about as clever as walking up to a US military compound disguised as Osama bin Laden.

If one accepts that in this specific area of thinking Adrian has some kind of brain damage, The Ape is an ok film, but certainly no more than that. Most of the ape attacks, “real” and faked, are not shown, and the gorilla itself is of course one of those guy-in-a-bad-Halloween-costume affairs that became a standby (just like the magical spinal fluid) of 1940s horror films. Another funny thing in relation to this: it’s hardly Karloff in the furry getup, and the ending is shot in such a way that I suspect there was a clause in his contract stating that he would at no point have to wear that undignified thing.

Karloff is good in a rather interesting part. Unlike others of his mad scientists, Adrian remains well-meaning and caring throughout, but no man without a flaw – I expect the same blood clot preventing him from seeing the idiocy of the ape skin disguise also makes him unable to comprehend that killing people is a rather poor expression of his humanitarianism. Karloff has several fine acting moments, particularly when congratulated by an unsuspecting colleague on the progress of his work – the tentative happiness on Karloff’s face is absolutely beautiful.

A note: The Ape is not really based on the play of the same title, which is more of a regular old dark house mystery, filmed in 1934 (by Nigh) as – appropriately – House of Mystery.

The Ape is aided by its rural setting and a brisk running time, not to mention the presence of an at least partially enthusiastic Karloff, but looked at soberly it’s a ridiculous movie with a stupid premise, of which the screenwriters have tried to make a silk purse, as it were.

Rating: 4 of 10. 5 of 10 if you subscribe to the idea of Adrian suffering from localized stupid of the head.

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Film review: Invasion of Astro-Monster (Kaijû daisensô; 1965)

Posted in Film reviews with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , on April 19, 2015 by Mistlake

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Director: Ishiro Honda. Writer:  Shin’ichi Sekizawa. Starring: Nick Adams, Akira Takarada, Jun Tazaki, Akira Kubo, Kumi Mizuno, Keiko Sawai, Yoshio Tsuchiya.


Sixth film in the series beginning with Godzilla 1954. Also known as Monster Zero.

A space expedition encounters an alien civilization on a newly discovered moon orbiting Jupiter. The aliens are being plagued by attacks from three-headed dragon Ghidorah and wish to “borrow” Godzilla and Rodan to defeat him. In exchange they offer humanity the cure for cancer, but are they too good to be true?

While Godzilla, Ghidorah and Rodan serve as an important plot point, they barely register in terms of screen time, having a brief (and inordinately silly) tiff in the middle of the film and a somewhat bigger one at the end. The rest of the time is given over to the aliens, and to the inventor and two astronauts who end up combating their evil scheme.

The non-monster side of a Godzilla film is usually quite dull, but here it is a little more engaging than usual: the characters are cardboard stereotypes as always, but they’re surrounded by so many rockets, flying saucers, space vistas and energy weapons that there’s always something fun to watch.

It’s a handsomely mounted production too, with much better optical effects than one might expect, lovely cinematography and some interesting, textured design, notably on “Planet X”, the aliens’ home world. The traditional creature suits are of course less convincing, particularly when you take a look at Godzilla, who is here in the process of transforming from the craggy terror of the first few films into the Kermit the Frog-like do-gooder of the later ones. Ghidorah comes off looking the best, with his detailed look and rather advanced puppetry/suit acting.

For all its plot complexity, Invasion of Astro-Monster is inevitably facile and childishly jokey, but there’s still a strain of sincerity to parts of the story, and more than a few hints of a message running underneath the antics, with the aliens unquestioningly obeying everything their computers tell them to do. I get the impression that Sekisawa had an unusually good week when writing this script, because it’s better structured than most of his other ones, and it delivers a lot of entertainment despite the fact that he must have been told to cut back on the expensive monster scenes; evidently Mothra was dropped for budgetary reasons, and is conspicuous by her absence, given the events of Ghidorah, the Three-headed Monster.

A good choice if you enjoy young-skewing 1960s Japanese sci-fi, but not if you want a hefty helping of Godzilla Co.

Followed by Godzilla vs. the Sea Monster/Ebirah, Horror of the Deep 1966.

Rating: 5 of 10.

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Book review: Mario Vargas Llosa – Aunt Julia and the Scriptwriter

Posted in Book reviews with tags , , , , , , , , , , on April 18, 2015 by Mistlake

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In 1950s Lima, eighteen-year-old radio news editor Mario suddenly finds himself in double trouble. He falls in love with his relative, the divorced Aunt Julia, who is thirteen years his senior, while his boss charges him with handling the radio station’s latest acquisition, the wildly popular but asocial and troublesome Pedro Camacho, who writes soap serials followed by all of Peru.

Much of this lively tale is autobiographical (the real Julia eventually published her own version), although one assumes much colour and rambunctiousness have been added. It’s compelling reading, a novel of “literary value” that’s still a proper page turner.

One of the reasons Aunt Julia and the Scriptwriter never lags is the way it’s constructed: in alternating chapters we follow Mario’s tribulations, and get condensed versions of Camacho’s melodramatic serials. Each Camacho segment is a new story that ends in good old serial tradition with a cliffhanger, to which we never get to see the resolution. Frustrating? I don’t think so, for with most such suspenseful endings, the solution is never as exciting as the setup. These stories about obsessive rat catchers, tough police sergeants, serial killers and troubadours never fail to engage, but they also serve a completely different purpose in the overall narrative. Through them, and their increasingly baroque turns and gradually intermingled elements, we can trace the deterioration of Camacho’s mind under the influence of overwork and monomania.

Mario’s story is more grounded, but no less interesting for it. The Peruvian setting is, for me as a European, exotic and exciting, and it’s fascinating to see how love, family and work function in a society so different from my own. Human basics, however, are of course the same all over the world, and it’s easy to put oneself in Mario’s clothes as he and Julia sneak around behind their family’s back, trying to find a way to make ends meet and get married despite the fact that he’s still a minor. Weird as it all is (relatives, underage – that sort of thing), one does feel affection for Mario and, ultimately, Julia (although she’s difficult to make complete sense of). Their hopes are terribly naïve, a fact of which Llosa makes the reader abundantly aware, without being on the nose about it.

Llosa is known as a realistic writer, but in Aunt Julia and the Scriptwriter Camacho’s eccentric serials give him an alibi for going entertainingly overboard whenever he feels like it, and the result is one of the most ruddily rosy-cheeked novels I’ve read in a great long while. Even better, all the outré elements aren’t just there for their own sake, but serve to delineate and comment upon character.

This goes, as already mentioned, especially for Pedro Camacho, who is so bizarre that I doubt you could just make him up. I’m sure he’s based on a real person, however hard that might be to believe. This tiny, perfectly spoken actor-director-writer is kooky in the extreme, typing away for upwards o sixteen hours a day, sipping herbal tea, hating Argentineans, caring nothing for fame, and having the urge to dress up in beards and dresses to “feel” his characters. Yet somehow you believe he’s real, and as the story wears on, you get a number of subtle clues to the reasons behind some of his behaviours. He’s a most engrossing enigma.

I didn’t read Aunt Julia and the Scriptwriter in the original Spanish, so I can’t make a confident statement as to its linguistic merits, but the translation I’ve read is clear, beautiful and juicy, driving the reader effortlessly along the path.

There certainly isn’t much to nitpick about here, where cleverness and invention feel like an uncontainable flood of inspiration. The ending is perhaps a little abrupt, but things at least reach a conclusion, unlike Camacho’s eventually insane serials.

Aunt Julia and the Scriptwriter is an amazing novel, which on its own makes Llosa quite worthy of his Nobel Prize.

Rating: 9 of 10.

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Film review: The Man Who Changed His Mind (1936)

Posted in Film reviews with tags , , , , , , , , , , , on April 14, 2015 by Mistlake

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Director: Robert Stevenson. Writers: L. du Garde Peach, Sidney Gilliat, John L. Balderston. Starring: Boris Karloff, Frank Cellier, Anna Lee, John Loder, Donald Calthrop.


Also known as The Man Who Lived Again. This review contains spoilers.

Brain specialist Dr. Laurience (Karloff) has developed a method for transferring minds between the brains of animals. When his lecture on the subject is laughed out of the auditorium, he vows to conduct human experiments, which is when things start to go really weird.

Despite this being one of those pictures where Karloff goes battier by the minute, it isn’t really a horror film. There is some violence and some hints of horror towards the end, but I’d rather call The Man Who Changed His Mind a bit of science fiction fantasy. I’d also call it a movie that creates a number of great opportunities for drama and then proceeds to squander them one by one.

Take a look at this, for instance: Laurience’s crippled assistant Clayton (Calthrop) freely admits to having a “perverted mind” and is rather a disagreeable fellow in general, it’s just that he’s too handicapped to act on his impulses. When Laurience gives his mind a new home in the body of Lord Haslewood (Cellier), however, we don’t get to see Clayton doing any of the things one assumes he would have liked to do while in his wheelchair. He is only given some light comedy to play, and while Cellier is absolutely smashing in the role, the opportunity is missed to have Clayton causing some real trouble.

Similarly, when Karloff transfers his own mind at the end of the film (not really a spoiler, since the title gives it away), he and the other actor concerned aren’t given the chance to play each other, which I find anticlimactic. To me it would have been amazing seeing another actor impersonating Karloff in a Karloff film.

Yet there are several things coming to the rescue of The Man Who Changed His Mind. I’ve already mentioned Cellier’s brilliant performance, and Karloff is equally good. Not long after this film, he started phoning it in more often than not, and almost as often he would be doing impressions of his own previous and better characterisations. Who can blame him? He was asked to do the same thing over and over again – no wonder he got tired of it. But in 1936 he was still at the top of his game, and his Dr. Laurience is aggressive, energetic, boorish and intense, a memorable character who grabs and holds every scene he’s in.

This is also one 1930s British genre picture that doesn’t look like a “quota quickie”. It has handsome production values and lovely cinematography. While the script doesn’t follow through on many of its best notions, it still ticks along nicely and helps deliver an entertaining experience.

I should note that The Man Who Changed His Mind was likely the inspiration for the later Hammer Films mind switching bonanzas Frankenstein Created Woman and Frankenstein Must Be Destroyed, whose core concepts are much more similar to this film than to the Universal Frankenstein movies.

The Man Who Changed His Mind is an all right fantasy flick which, even though it’s not all it could have been, showcases Karloff at his best.

Rating: 5 of 10.

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Film review: The Haunted Strangler (Grip of the Strangler; 1958)

Posted in Film reviews with tags , , , , , , , , on April 13, 2015 by Mistlake

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Director: Robert Day. Writers: John Croydon, Jan Read. Starring: Boris Karloff, Anthony Dawson, Jean Kent, Elizabeth Allan, Vera Day, Tim Turner, Diane Aubrey, Max Brimmel.

This review contains minor spoilers.

In 1860, a man is hanged as serial killer the Haymarket Strangler, but twenty years later novelist and humanitarian James Rankin (Karloff) is convinced that the man was innocent and that the insane murderer is still at large. Rankin’s investigations lead him into dark corners of London and his own mind.

There isn’t much to complain about here, so let’s get what little there is out of the way. The film is set in 1880, yet we see a case file inscribed “Jack the Ripper”; the Ripper didn’t commit his crimes until 1888. There are a couple of prolonged instances of bad can can dancing. And then … well, that’s about it, really.

Having been under the impression that The Haunted Strangler (its original British title is Grip of the Strangler, but it’s more familiar under its American title) was just a cheap knockoff of Karloff’s earlier mad doctor movies, I was very happy to find my impression being entirely wrong. Well, it’s certainly not an expensive picture, but the British have always done period pieces well on a budget, and this one looks fine and does everything it needs to do on the production side: clothes, sets, locations and cinematography all look splendid and properly atmospheric.

I’ve heard that Boris Karloff liked this film, but I didn’t need to be told – it’s obvious right there on the screen. When Karloff dislikes the material, he is often bland and resorts to one of his stock characterisations. Not so in The Haunted Strangler. He plays Rankin as if he’s going for an Oscar, giving a profoundly human performance spanning a range and depth of emotion which I sometimes – when I’ve been watching a few too many of his not-so-good movies – forget he’s capable of. His physically energetic portrayal and the realistic way he shows us Rankin’s nerves falling apart belie Karloff’s age at the time (he was 71), and make us sweat along with him. It’s interesting to note how he seems to have had no problem at all moving from the less brutal horror of his earlier films into the nascent rawness of late 1950s horror cinema – both his performance and the violence of some scenes approach harsh realism, and he pulls it off as if he were a young method actor. It’s a side of Karloff that is rarely seen in other pictures, and perhaps it shows us what trajectory his career would have taken if he hadn’t become “King of the Monsters”.

Although Karloff is the blinding sun of The Haunted Strangler, we mustn’t forget that with or without him, it is blessed with an excellent script. One way or the other I knew the ending before I saw it (I think I read an article years ago), and while watching I was sort of puzzled as to how it was going to reach that ending the way the story was going. It turns out it does so by means of a clever basic idea and sophisticated writing, which brings Rankin from concerned reformist to drooling lunatic while missing nary a beat of storytelling logic. When you begin to understand the connection between Rankin and the real murderer, you go “oh yes, of course”, and that, my friends, is an excellent example of good writing, where the rationale of a mystery comes so naturally that you don’t question it.

At the same time, The Haunted Strangler doesn’t pretend to be anything other than melodrama at its heart: dens of vice, women of little virtue, stab-happy killers (the Haymarket Strangler just does a little bit of strangling before going for the knife), huge emotions and a mood-dripping setting don’t exactly make for kitchen sink realism, but the more or less naturalistic approach to these hoary elements make the movie appear simultaneously fantastic and close to believable. No mean feat, and one that makes for riveting viewing.

The Haunted Strangler is smart, confidently made and quite unsettling in parts, and it’s adorned by one of the top three performances of Karloff’s entire career. A must-see for aficionados of older horror cinema, and there’s even a fine-looking Criterion Collection edition for purchase.

Rating: 8 of 10.

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Film reviews: The Uninvited (1944)

Posted in Film reviews with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , on April 12, 2015 by Mistlake

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Director: Lewis Allen. Writers: Dodie Smith, Frank Partos, based on the novel Uneasy Freehold by Dorothy Macardle. Starring: Ray Milland, Ruth Hussey, Donald Crisp, Gail Russell, Cornelia Otis Skinner, Alan Napier, Barbara Everest, Holmes Herbert.


Brother and sister Roderick and Pamela Fitzgerald (Milland and Hussey) fall in love with an abandoned old mansion by the English coast, and find that they can buy it for a pittance from its owner, Commander Beech (Crisp). He reluctantly admits that there are stories about the place being haunted, and when the Fitzgeralds move in, there seems to be much truth to the tales. The ghost or ghosts seem particularly preoccupied with the Commander’s granddaughter Stella (Russell), whose mother died at the house.

As horror classics go, this one is awfully light on the horror. We are hit by a number of creepy moments, but for the most part, The Uninvited plays like a Thin Man movie where Nick and Nora Charles investigate a supernatural mystery as a change of pace. Lots of screwball comedy moments, then, and we even have one of those “cute” little 1940s dogs thrown in our faces.

I like screwball almost as much as I like horror, but the humour and general lightness of tone can’t help but erode the unease which this unsettling story could so easily have generated. Milland looks and acts a lot like James Stewart at his kookiest, but luckily he knows when to cut the comedy act and project genuine fear, which helps save the more serious parts of the movie.

For The Uninvited is very far from being a bad film. It is in fact excellent, not least in the construction of the narrative, through which we’re unobtrusively fed one clue after the other as to what happened in the house seventeen years ago and what exactly the haunting is all about. It’s an intriguing jigsaw that manages to surprise time after time, and if the film plays more like a detective yarn than a ghost thriller, it is definitely a succulent riddle to watch unravel.

The supernatural occurrences are relatively subtle, based more on sound, scents, temperature and the alteration of people’s mood than on any ostentatious special effects fiestas. There are a couple of more or less physical apparitions shown, but the horror elements of this film are uniformly handled in an expert less-is-more style which, if allowed to take centre stage, would have made for a great deal of viewer unease.

The actors are great at what they do. Young Russell (who had a tragic life) is pitch perfect as innocent but traumatized Stella (the evergreen “Stella by Starlight” was composed for this film), Milland channels Jimmy Stewart superbly, and trusty Crisp and Napier both have fine parts as the Commander and the local doctor, underplaying their roles and accumulating much sympathy. The Commander may be a stern man, but he has every reason to be, as becomes more and more evident with each clue the Fitzgeralds unearth, and the doctor is a warm, caring human being who wants to do whatever he can to help. Skinner should also be mentioned. She was primarily a writer, but delivers an elegant performance as the unnerving Miss Holloway, who has a no doubt lesbian obsession with Stella’s dead mother, and who holds the key to the entire enigma at the mansion.

Looking for a classicist ghost movie with plenty of fright? The Uninvited is all wrong. On the other hand, as a splendid evening’s entertainment with a little bit of horror, lots of humour, some truly jaw dropping landscapes and a deeply fascinating mystery, it couldn’t be more right.

Rating: 8 of 10.

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