The Substance

21/09/24

Cineworld, Edinburgh

Every once in a while, a film opens with a sequence so striking that the viewer becomes instantly aware that they are in the presence of a powerful new voice in cinema. The Substance is a perfect case in point. In close-up, an egg is injected with something that causes the yolk to spilt into two. Then we watch as a pair of workmen instal a new star on Hollywood’s Walk of Fame – and, in an ensuing time-lapse, we see that star deteriorating over the decades until it is a cracked, grubby version of its former self, suffering the final indignity of having a burger and fries spilled on it.

The star belongs to Elizabeth Sparkle (Demi Moore), once a bona-fide movie star, but now the leading light in the world of TV physical fitness shows. She’s fast approaching sixty and still looks great, working hard to keep her physique as she needs it to be. But her world is rocked when she overhears her toxic producer, Harvey (Dennis Quaid), talking on the phone, announcing that Elizabeth is now ‘too old’ for her role and that he wants a replacement as soon as possible – somebody younger.

Then, after a car crash (from which Elizabeth emerges unscathed), a handsome young hospital assistant slips her a note, alerting her to the existence of the titular drug, which promises to release a fresh new version of the user’s self. Like most Faustian deals, it comes with some very strict rules (bend them at your peril) but, in a shockingly visceral sequence, ‘Sue’ (Margaret Qualley) is born.

Now the two women must learn to co-exist, each one spending a week in the real world, while the other sleeps and regenerates. And of course, it’s all doomed to go horribly wrong…

This sophomore project from writer/director Coralie Fargeat – I have yet to see her debut film, Revenge – The Substance plays like a fable, a weird Grimms’ fairytale for the modern age. There are shades of The Picture of Dorian Gray here, allusions to Snow White and her stepmother’s ‘Mirror Mirror’ mantra, and several visual echoes of classic films like The Shining and Carrie. What’s more, the astounding practical makeup effects will remind many older film fans of early David Cronenberg and Brian Yuzna – though the eye-popping splatter sequences used here make movies like The Brood and Society look positively restrained by comparison.

But this is so much more than imitation. The Substance is an adept and powerful meditation on the subject of ageing and the ways in which women are constantly shackled and devalued by it – and how we all fall into the trap of enabling this sad state of affairs.

Moore is extraordinary in this film, delivering what might just be her finest screen performance (certainly her most unfettered), while Qualley makes the perfect foil. And Quaid, who I haven’t seen onscreen in quite a while, is gloriously, revoltingly odious here, making even the act of eating seafood a stomach-churning spectacle.

But it’s Fargeat who really deserves all the accolades. The Substance is surely one of the most provocative and affecting films of the year. I’m already excited to see where she will go next. But a word of warning: this won’t be for everyone. Those who shrink from body horror, blood and nudity are going to find plenty here to trigger them, particularly in the harrowing final stages, where Fargeat keeps pushing the gory imagery as far it can possibly go.

And then, she returns to that Hollywood star, and ties everything up in one delightful, blood-spattered package. If this sounds like your cup of haemoglobin, be sure to watch it on the big screen.

5 stars

Philip Caveney

The Last Cabaret on Earth

17/09/24

Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh

Almost before we know it, a new season of A Play, A Pie and A Pint is upon us for its – gasp! – 20th Anniversary run. This opening piece is part-play, part-cabaret and the title is not – as you might suppose – metaphorical, but quite literal. Due to a catastrophic solar event, the world is due to end in one hour (don’t panic!) and Sam (Marc Mackinnon) is stuck in a locked-down airport hotel, delivering his final show to a captive audience. That’s us, in case you were wondering.

He’s stranded hundreds of miles away from his longtime partner and co-creator, Mel, who can only contribute to the performance via a series of jumbled text messages. As the final hour ticks relentlessly away, Sam offers us some insight into his tortuous path into show-biz: the people who helped him on his way, the others who stood in his path.

One thing’s for sure: when the end finally comes, he’ll greet it with a song and a smile…

Mackinnon is an engaging actor and he delivers Brian James O’Sullivan’s script with considerable skill, performing a series of classic songs in a wonderfully distinctive style. Under Joe Douglas’s direction, Mackinnon lures the audience into his prematurely fading orbit. A sequence utilising an old glitter-ball and the torch from a mobile phone is particularly affecting.

I do have one reservation. Although the songs – ranging from Judy Garland to James Taylor – are beautifully sung and Mackinnon has a strong, plaintive voice, there isn’t much original material here. There is a charming little ditty about a man who lives in a house made of pasta (!) but I would like to hear more new compositions.

However, this apocalypse is weirdly captivating and a strangely delightful way to spend your last hour – even if the tragic conclusion seems horribly prophetic.

3.8 stars

Philip Caveney

The Critic

15/09/24

Cineworld, Edinburgh

A film about a theatre critic? Well, that’s irresistible for a start, despite a series of rather sniffy advance reviews that have – much like this film’s protagonist might – damned the endeavour with faint praise. So I’m both surprised and delighted that I enjoy this as much as I do.

Written by Patrick Marber and loosely based on Anthony Quinn’s novel, Curtain Call, this is set in London in 1935, a time when the titular critic, Jimmy Erskine (Ian McKellen), the long-established theatre reviewer at ‘The Chronicle,’ really does have the clout to sink a production with a few well-aimed barbs. Jimmy is quick to point out that he has a genuine love of the theatre and will always dispense praise when he feels it’s been earned. Lately, most of his ridicule is directed at actress Nina Land (Gemma Arterton), who Jimmy believes has no business being on the stage. It doesn’t help that she holds him in high esteem – indeed, it was reading his reviews as a little girl that lured her into becoming an actor in the first place.

Jimmy is covertly gay – a crime punishable by imprisonment in the 1930s – and when one night he is caught in a compromising position with his live-in assistant, Tom (Alfred Enoch), he is called in to the office of The Chronicle’s new proprietor, David Brooke (Mark Stong), and handed a month’s notice. But Jimmy isn’t going to take it lying down. He has too much to lose, not least the opportunity for fine dining and lashings of booze to go with it.

And it has come to his attention that Brooke is an avid fan of Nina Land…

What’s particularly enjoyable about The Critic is the fact that all of the characters we encounter are nuanced enough that, despite a stereotypical set-up, none of them ever feels like a caricature. McKellen is clearly having a whale of a time as the venal and calculating Jimmy, a man who – because of his sexuality – has had to learn to be adaptable in order to survive, yet is bold enough to coyly ask a follower of Oswald Mosley if he has ironed his black shirt all by himself. There’s the delicious paradox of Arterton playing an allegedly bad actress, giving quite the best performance I’ve seen from her, by turns vengeful and vulnerable. There’s a lovely cameo from Lesley Manville (who seems to be popping up in just about everything lately) as Nina’s mother, Annabel – and Strong too invests his character with just the right touch of pathos.

The 30s setting is nicely evoked and, as The Critic moves ever deeper into the realms of tragedy, I find myself wondering what compelled others to be so er… critical of it. For my money, this is an assured film, nicely directed by Arnand Tucker and hauntingly photographed by David Higgs. It would, of course, have been great fun to lay into this with a hatchet (oh, the irony!) but, annoyingly, I find myself completely unable to do so. The Critic is, in my humble opinion, an absolute delight.

4.5 stars

Philip Caveney

Lee

14/09/24

Cineworld, Edinburgh

This biopic is as much a tribute to photojournalism as it is to its protagonist, Lee Miller. In an age where AI-trickery can make us doubt our own eyes, it is a timely reminder of why we need to document what’s really happening in the world. In the 1940s, no one wanted to believe in concentration camps or desperate, scapegoated women being hanged for collaboration. War photographers forced people to confront the grim realities, to understand the scale of the horrors that had been unleashed.

Miller trod a lot of paths in her life, but Lee, directed by Ellen Kuras, focuses on her work during the second world war. There’s a framing device: wannabe journalist Antony (Josh O’Connor) is interviewing the now elderly photographer, his questions evoking stories told in flashback. Her previous work as a fashion model and artists’ muse is acknowledged in a brief but revelatory early scene, where she wonders what on earth she’s going to do with her life now that she’s aged out of – and is bored by – all that. When she meets Roland (Alexander Skarsgård), marriage beckons but it’s not enough. Miller is a formidable woman and she needs to forge her own path.

Kate Winslet is marvellous as Lee, shimmering with pent-up energy and drive. Her Miller is motivated by righteousness as well as ambition: she’s a woman and, what’s more, she knows the camera from the other side; she can tell a different story from her male counterparts. If that means barging her way in and ignoring ‘no women’ regulations, then so be it. Her work is important. Not that she’s a loner: she’s sociable and enjoys working alongside her male colleague and friend, David Scherman (Andy Samberg).

The real Miller was indomitable, and Winslet absolutely does her justice. This is a powerful performance, harnessing the grit and determination that allowed Miller to capture such provocative and controversial images, many of which are recreated here.

Perhaps the biggest surprise for me is the realisation that Miller’s war correspondence work was done for Vogue magazine, then edited by Audrey Withers (Andrea Riseborough). I’ve never read Vogue; I thought it was all fashion and frivolity. Its serious side is a revelation, much like Miller’s shocking photos must have been for those who previously knew her only as a model.

The cinematography – by Pawel Edelman – captures the brutality of war: the scarred landscapes, chaos and traumatised faces. We also see how, ninety years ago, fascism trumpeted its arrival but still caught people by surprise. There’s a lesson here, and it’s not a subtle one.

Focus. Flash. Snap.

See.

4.3 stars

Susan Singfield

Speak No Evil

12/09/24

Cineworld, Edinburgh

A cut above the usual Blumhouse productions, Speak No Evil is a multi-faceted psychological thriller. Directed by James Watkins, this is an adaptation of a 2022 Danish movie of the same name (which I confess I haven’t seen). It’s also the title of my thriller novel from 1993, but I’m going to be gracious and overlook that fact. Suffice to say that if the aim of the film is to put viewers on the edge of their seats and keep them there for an hour and fifty minutes, then it succeeds in spades.

American couple, Ben (Scoot McNairy) and Louise (Mackenzie Davis), take their needy daughter, Agnes (Alix West Lefler), on holiday to Italy. Ben and Louise are currently going through a rough patch in their relationship and are looking to heal some wounds, so when they fall into company with irrepressibly confident British couple, Paddy (James McAvoy) and Ciara (Aisling Franciosi), they find themselves irresistibly pulled into their orbit. Paddy and Ciara also have a child in tow, the sullen and uncommunicative Ant (Dan Hough), who Paddy – a doctor no less – asserts is suffering from a rare condition that makes him virtually unable to speak.

The six holidaymakers get along surprisingly well. In a reversal of the usual national stereotypes, it’s the Americans who are all prim and repressed and the Brits who take delight in being loud, swaggering and generally unfettered. Then Paddy invites his new acquaintances to leave the pressures of their lives in London to enjoy a post-holiday visit to his lovely home in the West Country. Ben and Louise are at first somewhat unsure, but eventually decide to give it a go. After all, what can possibly go wrong?

Um, plenty as it turns out – but the clever thing about the screenplay (co-written by Watkins with Christian and Mads Tafdrup) is that the ensuing shenanigans at Paddy and Ciara’s suspiciously-palatial homestead are always kept just the right side of believability. This script takes its time to fully establish the American characters, so that we really care when things inevitably begin to go haywire for them. There’s a gradual evolution from edgy confrontation into the realms of full-blown horror. At first, it’s just Paddy and Ciara’s lack of propriety that’s the issue – but, as more and more boundaries are crossed, so the suspense rises to almost unbearable levels.

McAvoy’s Paddy is a wonderfully nuanced creation, by turns warm, emotive, sly and ultimately terrifying – but all the characters are nicely played and Davis in particular excels as she is increasingly compelled to compromise her beliefs. If the film’s latter stages are reminiscent of Sam Peckinpah’s Straw Dogs, well that was a very long time ago (1971 to be precise). Suffice to say that, as the narrative approaches its final furlongs, I find myself having to restrain myself from shouting advice at the screen. You know the kind of thing.

‘Don’t go back in there!’ ‘Look behind you!’ And that perennial favourite, ‘Forget about the cuddly toy!’ (You’ll need to see it to fully understand.)

One thing’s for sure. I’m never going to hear The Bangles performing Eternal Flame again without thinking of this nail-biter. Those of a nervous disposition will probably want to give this a miss, but cinematic thrill-seekers like me are going to enjoy it right down to the final frame, when they may – as I did – realise they’ve been holding their breath for a bit too long…

5 stars

Philip Caveney

La Chimera

11/09/24

Amazon Prime

We’re in Tuscany, some time in the 1980s. Dishevelled Englishman Arthur (Josh O’Connor) is sensitive, clever, sweet and engaging. He’s also a grave robber, recently released from an Italian prison and about to head right back to his life of crime.

First though, he has an important visit to make – to the grand but crumbling estate that is home to the aged Flora (Isabella Rossellini). Despite her gaggle of adult daughters’ cacophonous protestations, Flora is Arthur’s biggest champion. Years back, when he was a respectable archaeologist, he was in love with her other daughter, Beniamina (Yile Yara Vianello), now deceased. The bereaved duo cling to their mutual connection.

In fact, Arthur’s yearning for Beniamina is so intense that it allows him to transcend the barriers between past and present. With a dowsing rod, he can pinpoint the long-lost tombs of the Estruscan dead with unerring accuracy. He’s the natural leader of this band of thieves.

The moral questions raised are unsettling. Stealing trinkets from corpses seems inherently wrong, but Arthur and his troubadour friends are homeless, living in poverty. What good are treasures lying in the ground? What’s wrong with living people using them to earn a crust? The rich buyers – whom we glimpse at an exclusive auction – will never go to jail, but they’re the ones profiteering from the poor men’s crimes, turning a blind eye to the items’ provenance. After all, in his old profession, Arthur’s findings were deemed legitimate and sold to museums. Is there really any difference?

But then Arthur begins to fall for Italia (Carol Duarte), Flora’s singing-student-slash-maid. The future is beckoning. Can he stop looking back?

Alice Rohrwacher’s film is a panoply of oxymorons: a firmly realistic supernatural tale; bleakly comic; slow and exciting. Driven entirely by its own logic, there are surprises at every turn, but they all make sense within the story. The Tuscan landscape is beautifully evoked by cinematographer Hélène Louvart, and there’s an unnerving folksy element, caught in the songs and celebrations of the tomb raiders.

But it’s O’Connor’s fine central performance that really makes La Chimera. He embodies the quiet desperation the title connotes, faithful to his impossible quest.

4.1 stars

Susan Singfield

Oban Seafood Hut (The Green Shack)

08/09/24

Calmac Pier, Oban

We’ve hired a motor home for a few days. Yesterday, once we’d collected the all-mod-cons Fiat Ducato from Roadsurfer’s depot, we made our way to Tyndrum and enjoyed a tranquil sunny evening, walking in the woods and relaxing outside the van with our (alcohol-free) wine and beer.

Today, we’ve come to Oban. It’s not quite as warm as yesterday, but the sun is still shining and we’re determined to spend some time on the beach at Ganavan Sands. We take a long walk and paddle in the sea – and so of course work up an appetite.

No worries: one of the main reasons we’ve come here is to sample the shellfish from the famous Oban Seafood Hut, more commonly known as The Green Shack – a favourite of the Hairy Bikers, apparently. A woman at our gym waxed lyrical about this little place, and we’re keen to try it for ourselves.

The shack is busy: customers are milling about and mussels are cooking on a gas stove at the front. We’re more than ready for this. But we have to hold our horses because there’s a ‘cash only’ sign and we don’t have any. Off we go to find an ATM…

On our return, we order the ‘Grand Platter for Two’ – which costs £45 – take a ticket and wait for it to be brought to us. Most punters seem to be eating their food from trays, standing or sitting under the adjacent awning. But we’ve got a little home on wheels, so we’re going to eat ours in comfort. We get it wrapped, pop it in the van’s fridge and then drive to tonight’s campsite – a loch-side spot at Creagan Station.

Sadly, there are too many midges for us to eat outside, but no matter: the van has a dinette. We prepare some salad, cut some olive bread and open up our fishy feast.

It’s vast. There’s a whole lobster, already opened and dressed, so there’s no need to crack that tricky carapace. There are crab claws (again pre-prepared), scallops, squid rings, langoustines, prawns, crab-sticks, a smoked salmon fillet, some pieces of sweet herring and lots and lots of mussels. There are also two sauces: a Marie Rose and a sweet chilli.

Everything is delicious – top-quality produce, perfectly prepared. The scallops and crab claws are probably my favourites, but I can’t fault any of it. And it’s such a generous portion! Neither of us has a small appetite, but we can’t eat more than half of this tonight.

It’s not an issue. Did I mention we’re in a camper van and we’ve got a fridge?

Tomorrow, we’ll have a prawn and mussel salad for lunch (with a few spicy crisps on the side); for dinner, we’ll have couscous in a tomato and vegetable sauce with a piece of smoked salmon on top. Not a morsel will go to waste.

Owner John Ogden and his staff clearly deserve their accolades. This simple food is simply wonderful.

5 stars

Susan Singfield

Beetlejuice Beetlejuice

06/09/24

Cineworld, Edinburgh

The juice is loose!

Look, there’s no getting around the fact that Beetlejuice Beetlejuice isn’t a very good film. That’s not to say I don’t enjoy it. I do; I’m not immune to nostalgia. I was seventeen when the original movie was released and I loved Winona. “I myself am strange and unusual,” was every teenage goth girl’s clarion call and Lydia Deetz was my style icon for the next decade. So of course I’m watching Tim Burton’s long-awaited sequel on the day of its release.

It’s been thirty-six years but Ryder has barely changed. Nor has Michael Keaton: his Beetlejuice is as repellant as ever. Still, at least his lust for Lydia is a bit less creepy now that she’s an adult.

Adult Lydia is a celebrated medium. This makes me laugh: it’s gloriously obvious. She’s in the middle of recording her TV show when her stepmum, Delia (Catherine O’Hara) calls with bad news: Lydia’s dad, Charles, has died. It’s time to head back to the haunted house in Winter River, with dodgy boyfriend Rory (Justin Theroux) and angry daughter Astrid (Jenna Ortega) in tow. It’ll be fine. All she has to do is stay away from the model village in the attic and make sure no one says “Beetlejuice” three times.

Beetlejuice. Beetlejuice. Beetle… Oops.

Sadly, from hereon in, the plot veers out of control, as wild and unpredictable as its eponymous antihero. In the underworld, a brilliant sequence where Beetlejuice’s ex-wife, Delores (Monica Bellucci), declares vengeance on him even as she’s stapling her dismembered body parts back together peters out into nothing, squandering a fun idea and a strong performance. Willem Dafoe is similarly under-used as Wolf Jackson, a dead actor struggling to differentiate between himself and the long-running character he played. It’s a neat set-up with nowhere to go. Meanwhile, in the land of the living, Rory is pressuring Lydia to marry him, Delia is turning Charles’ death into an art installation, and Astrid – still mourning her own dad, Richard (Santiago Cabrera) – has met a cute boy (Arthur Conti), who likes reading almost as much as she does… It’s scattershot to say the least.

Of course, when you throw this much at something, some of it sticks – but there’s a lot of wastage. The animated sequence showing Charles’ death is nicely done, but it feels like a segment from a different film. Even more out of place is the black-and-white Italian flashback, the nod to horror pioneer Mario Bava an easter egg for the wrong audience.

It’s much more of a kids’ film than I remember. In fact, Beetlejuice Beetlejuice reminds me of Alice in Wonderland (Lewis Carroll’s original, not Burton’s dismal remake). The imagery is remarkable, there are a lot of memorable characters and some gorgeous set pieces – but the rambling story doesn’t make much sense. Still, I guess there are worse insults. Alice isn’t exactly a failure, and maybe Beetlejuice X 2 will prove similarly popular. At tonight’s screening, the prevalence of gleeful tweenagers in stripy costumes suggests it well might.

So why not go see it and judge for yourself? If you’re happy to sit back for a couple of undemanding hours of gothic silliness, buy your ticket now. You get a free demon possession with every exorcism…

3 stars

Susan Singfield

The Count of Monte-Cristo

05/09/24

Cineworld, Edinburgh

This assured adaptation of Alexandre Dumas’ classic tale feels like something of a throwback – a great big swaggering epic, set over decades, featuring lush locations, a selection of fascinating characters and enough action set-pieces to make its nearly three-hour running time positively flash by. Co-directed by Alexandre de La Patilliére and Mattieu Delaporte, who recently delivered an acclaimed version of Dumas’ The Three Musketeers (which I have yet to catch up with), The Count of Monte-Cristo is an unqualified delight from start to finish.

The plot is complex. The chaotic opening has humble sailor, Edmond Dantès (Pierre Niney), rescuing a woman from a sinking ship, much to the chagrin of his Captain, Danglars (Patrick Mille), who has ordered him not to dive in. But Edmond’s valour is rewarded when he finally gets back to port. Danglars is summarily sacked by the ship’s owner and Edmond is offered the post of Captain, which means he is finally able to propose to the woman he loves. Mercedes (Anaïs Demoustier) comes from an affluent family and her parents would never countenance her marrying a lowly seaman. But a Captain? That’s another matter.

On the couple’s wedding day, Danglars has his revenge, claiming that he has evidence that Edmond is a Napoleonic spy. He conspires with Edmond’s “friend” Fernand de Morcef (Bastien Boullion) and Gérard de Lafitte (Laurent Lafitte), a crooked magistrate, to ensure that the accusation sticks.On what should be the happiest day of his life, Edmond is flung into jail, where he has the prospect of spending the rest of his days.

For four years, he has no contact with another human, but one day befriends another prisoner, Abbé Faria (Pierrefrancesco Favino), who claims to be the heir to a fantastic treasure. He explains that all the the two men need to do is dig their way out of the prison and they will share a fortune. But when – ten years later – Edmond finally makes his escape, the treasure is all his for the taking – and he is free to plan his elaborate revenge on Danglars and his co-conspirators…

If that sounds convoluted, fear not, because this beautifully-mounted production never leaves me in any doubt as to who is who and how they all relate to one another. There are some fabulous performances here, not least from Niney, who manages to convey the awful longing for vengeance which he has nurtured for so long – and I fully sympathise with his determination to make his revenge as protracted and heartless as possible. Nicolas Bolduc’s sumptuous cinematography and Jérôme Rebotier’s magnificent score make the whole undertaking even more impressive. I love too that, for once, a story of revenge is so much more nuanced than the usual shoot ’em up nonsense.

The only element here that requires me to suspend my sense of disbelief is when Edmond uses a series of Mission Impossible-style masks to disguise himself as a variety of different characters. It seems unlikely that – in that era – prosthetics could have been brought to quite such a fine art, but it’s a detail I’m happy to accept when every other element is so faultlessly achieved.

The sad truth is that an adaptation of a French classic (with those dreaded subtitles) is probably not going to put an awful lot of bums on cinema seats – a tragic state of affairs, considering how generally brilliant this is. Anyone longing for a slice of old-fashioned adventure will appreciate this wonderful, multilayered saga.

4.8 stars

Philip Caveney

Blink Twice

01/09/24

Cineworld, Edinburgh

Actor Zoë Kravitz’s directorial debut comes with a trigger warning. ‘This story features sexual violence.’ It’s a tale of toxic masculinity and wealth and the ways in which both things can go hand-in-hand. It’s impossible to watch this and not think about certain high-profile sex scandals from recent history. But Blink Twice is also an assured and intriguing thriller with a labyrinthine plot that makes a lot more sense in retrospect than it seems to as it unfolds.

Frida (Naomi Ackie) and her flat mate, Jess (Alia Shawkat), live a hard-scrabble life in New York, working as cocktail waitresses to make ends meet. But a rare ray of sunshine comes with a yearly charity event where they have the opportunity to mingle with the rich and famous, hosted by the reclusive tech billionaire, Slater King (Channing Tatum). After a scandal, a year ago, Slater disappeared from public view and even stepped down as CEO of his own company, but he’s recently been in the news apologising for his bad behaviour. He now lives on his own private island, where he claims to be living a quiet and blameless life.

When Naomi unexpectedly hits it off with the Slater at the event, she and Jess find themselves invited on a trip to his island and, almost before they know it, they – and a bunch of other young women – are living the high life, nights of unfettered hedonism where champagne and drugs flow like water. Naomi seems to be developing a genuine relationship with Slater, much to the annoyance of another female guest, Sarah (Adria Ajona), the star of a survivalist game show. Slater’s male friends, Vic (Christian Slater) and Tom (Haley Joel Osment), seem like nice guys and his private chef, Cody (Simon Rex), creates wonderful feasts for them to enjoy every night. It’s all brilliant… isn’t it?

But it gradually begins to dawn on Naomi that something here is wrong. Why do none of the women know what day of the week it is? Why are her dreams so weird? And, in a rare moment of clarity, an even more troubling question emerges: what’s happened to Jess?

It would be criminal to reveal any more about the plot of this assured psychological thriller, other than to say that, as the tale unfolds, it moves inexorably deeper into the realms of horror. Frida is terrific in the central role and Arjona (who made such a good impression in Hit Man) is clearly destined for stardom. Geena Davis has a small but pivotal role as Stacy, Slater’s right hand woman, generally too stoned to stop and think about what she is complicit in. (Remind you of anyone, Ghislaine?)

The script, by Kravitz and E T Feigenbaum, is cleverly put together, liberally sprinkled with clues that only fully add up in the final scenes. The story takes some wild swings in its latter stages but they are all subtly signalled along the way. Adam Newport-Berra’s dazzling cinematography and Kathryn J Schubert’s slick editing ensure that the film always looks sumptuous, even when what’s happening onscreen is rotten to the core.

As the story sprints into its nerve-shredding conclusion, I find myself holding my breath as the tension steadily mounts – and how you will feel about a late-stage revelation will really depend on your faith in human nature, or your lack of it.

Either way, this signals Kravitz as a director of great promise.

4.4 stars

Philip Caveney