ON TENDER HOOKS Review

Samuel Taylor Coleridge- poet extraordinaire, aesthetic philosopher and all round hero- in 1817 or thereabouts coined the phrase ‘A suspension of disbelief’, suggesting insofar that if a  writer could infuse a human interest in a fantastical tale, the reader would suspend all judgement and flow with the piece, not matter what was thrown at them- however fantastical or horrific.

Little did old Sam know, not only could his handy phrase make the leap from page to screen, from reader to viewer (who didn’t get emotionally cavalcaded by the infusion of human interest to an abandoned cowgirl doll in Toy Story 2?!); but that its phraseology would be so apropos with the act of forcing a steel hook through your kneecaps and suspending from it. Or rather, be so apropos to Kate Shenton’s feature directorial debut, the touching expose documentary on said act: ON TENDER HOOKS.

Yes, the white elephant in the room is that this film is about a select community of folk who voluntarily pierce their flesh with less-than-tender hooks and hang their entire bodily weight from these piercings. To the majority it’s shudder inducing material; and sadly to most of those majority it’s also enough of a white elephant to have them reaching for the remote. Case and point: in a scene set at a Body Modification convention, a man who looks remarkably like Charles Bronson with 85% tattoo coverage & 50+ piercings watches members of the team suspend and responds, when asked what he thinks of it, with: ‘that’s too extreme for me’. Suffice to say, it’s gnarly stuff.

But to reduce ON TENDER HOOKS to merely this shock act alone would be tantamount to reducing GONE WITH THE WIND to Nazis. For a feature whose runtime is 85% actual footage of piercing & suspension, none of it feels gratuitous; nothing is played for wanton gore glory. Rather, the documentary is an earnest and, appropriately, tender window into a world unseen; and one I’d readily encourage any of that aforementioned majority to see – white elephant be damned. What we are watching here is not a film about suspension, but a film about people that suspend. Not to say it’s a deep psychological case study into the existential reasons behind suspension, for that would be far too clinical, far too judging: ON TENDER HOOKS is simply a love letter to the diverse family of suspendees.

To briefly digress it’s glowing intentions & touch on the films visuals. Shot for a near minus budget, with a crew of one, shot on a camera and edited on a computer that is advertised on ITV, ON TENDER HOOKS is understandably unpolished and rough around the edges. Such, though both adds to the film’s charm and provides a sense of intimacy to the act that would otherwise be ruined with a large crew of multi-camera coverage and cologne-commercial editing.

Kate Shenton- director, cameramiss, interviewer, interviewee & editor – enters into the scene a suspending virgin, and as such the audience very much takes the journey with her. Aid to this empathy is the films remarkably verite fly-on-the-wall aesthetic. When Kate winces is when we really wince. And to not ruin the films transcendental climax, but wince she does.

Shenton has previously shown with fictional shorts BON APPETITE & GIMP (check them out, they’re boss) that she has a great knack for comedy and cinema. Here, she shows she’s also a dab hand at personal documentary; a good thing considering her next outing is a similar fly-on-the-wall portrait on a character from ON TENDER HOOKS adventures in full body modification, entitled MODIFY ME. Miss Shenton is certainly one to watch from all filmic angles, fictional & non.

Human suspension is actually an act not entirely new to film, seen in varying iterations in from Michael Crichton’s 1978 COMA to last year’s body mod’ sensation AMERICAN MARY and more closely in the documentary MODIFY, but none quite portray the human aspect of the act. None quite manage to make the audience do as Coleridge proposed and suspend their disbelief and become as totally involved in the characters they’re watching. ON TENDER HOOKS does.

7 torn Achilles heels / 10 drunk hot poker brandings

And that’s my two cents.

 

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THE SEASONING HOUSE Review

 

Opening this years Film4 FrightFest, The Seasoning House is the directorial debut of grand-guignol genius and seasoned FrightFest alumni Paul Hyett; and If there’s one thing Hyett knows how to do, it’s make some nasty. He’s burnt Mikey Fassbender at the stake, Salem style. He’s given us *those* damn nightmare-pervading subterranean Crawlers. He’s even made Scotland look more post-apocalyptic than Glasgow High Street circa 2012. Now, after over 10 years behind the behind-the-lens that itch to step up and hold the megaphone just got to much. Thank God for itches.

 And thank god for knowing how to make some nasty. The Balkan brothel set THE SEASONING HOUSE is just as dark a nightmare as anything Hyett’s gore team has previously thrown together, but that’s not just to say it’s just some special effects guys having a glory-wank (I’m looking at you, Laid To Rest). In short, it’s stunning.

The Seasoning House is essentially a coming-of-age piece; that is, when one has to come of age in war torn Eastern Europe, prepare other girls to be good raping material & fight off the pitiless soldiers responsible for slaughtering your entirely family. Its coming-of-age drama for sure, but Diary of Adrien Mole this is not. We rather follow young Angel’s semblance at forming a new life in the wake of devastation & her veracity to survive in spite of the horrors she has seen. And horror is an understatement; The Seasoning House is just about as dark as they come. When the first 2 acts aren’t being viciously bleak, they’re being bleakly vicious. We see backchat throat slits (an incredible piece of practical effects), heroin stupors, pelvis breaking rape & some amazingly timed character offings. Be it his massive amount of experience within the genre, Paul Hyett has an amazing grasp of how, even in the midst of unrelenting nastiness, to consistently evoke gasps from the audience. Some of the kills in this are so blunt, off paced & happenstance (all compliments) that they hit you with all the surprise of a shark attack in the Sahara.

It’s not just the kills though; Hyett handles the whole step up to the director’s chair with a deft, confident hand, and an eye for both brutal realism and beautiful surrealism. Press comparisons to Pans Labyrinth are, if a tad grandiose a statement, not entirely unjustified. Hyett’s dreamlike soft focus- and frankly stunning- cinematography are perfect accompaniments to Angel’s forced dissociation from a brutal reality. Yet when it gets bleak, and boy does it, all veneer of dreaminess is masterly ethered away and we are left cringing at a ruthlessly stark picture of human atrocity.

Yet it’s when the atrocities get too much for young Angel, and she decides to break for freedom that the film really kicks up a gear. Angel’s escape [attempts?] are realistic, heart pounding and cathartically fist pumping, due in most part because of how much we care for the girl by this point in the picture. An innocent but determined girl, with an on par ruthlessness as the soldiers, Angel is the only person the audience cares for- and as such- we care for her a lot. Again, due in most part, to a show stealing, future-career-making performance from Rosie Day, who not only imbues Angel with all the qualities discussed above but also manages to do so while playing her deaf & mute. No short feat considering this is Day’s film debut. If any praise can be siphoned away from Hyett, it should be directed at Rosie Day; for she is, if not already, going to be a shining star in British cinema.

And to round out the entire movie comes, following despair, exasperation, triumph, fall, fight & just-deserts… an ending so ubiquitously unsettling it would be a travesty to divulge.

I give The Seasoning House:

8 too-broad-shoulders / 10 too-tight-airducts

An even more tantalizing prospect for you to consider once having seen The Seasoning House; Paul plans for it to be the first in his ‘War’ Trilogy, followed up by films he assures will be tenfold darker & more vicious than Seasoning House… Promises, promises, Mr Hyett.

And that’s my two cents.