Praise for Twisted Tales Events

'In the past few years Twisted Tales has become a major force in the promotion and appreciation of horror fiction. As well as putting on author readings and signings at bookshops it has expanded into organising larger events, bringing authors and critics together for discussions of the field. I've been involved in quite a few of both and have found them hugely enjoyable and stimulating - I believe the audiences did as well. May Twisted Tales continue to grow and prosper! If you love the field, support them! I do.' - Ramsey Campbell

‘Twisted Tales consistently produce well-organised events for writers and readers of horror. What really distinguishes Twisted Tales for me is the intelligent themes and investigations they pursue, and the high quality of the discussions they always stimulate. As an author I've been invited to three of their events and have been pleasantly startled, to near shocked, by the attendance levels - two out of three were even sold out. I salute anyone who contributes so much to the literary and cultural life of horror fiction.’- Adam Nevill

'Twisted Tales events are wonderful... a great way of promoting 21st century horror fiction. Supported by Waterstone's Liverpool One and really well organised, Twisted Tales brings together established names in the genre as well as new voices and of course readers. Looking forward to much more to come...' - Alison J. Littlewood

Monday 25 April 2011

Dead Space reviewed by Tim Franklin

Developed by EA Redwood Shores
Published by EA
Released in 2008
Available for Xbox 360, Playstation 3, Microsoft Windows
Certificate: 18

Dead Space is now a flourishing videogame franchise, with entries on the Xbox 360, PS3, Wii, iPhone, PC, tie-in movies and comic books, but when it was released in 2008 it came out of leftfield. A product of massive publisher EA’s skunkworks EA Redwood Shores (now Visceral Games), it was an original title in a genre that had for years been dominated by the seemingly untouchable Resident Evil franchise. Although Redwood Shores had big aspirations for the game and the fictional universe surrounding it, a sequel was far from certain - in a risk averse industry most series only have one title to prove their financial clout, or face an ignominious burial. The stellar growth of the Dead Space franchise is a tribute to the strength of that first game, an entry which is imaginative, brutal, terrifying, and far greater than the sum of its parts.

First, we must admit that some of those parts are salvage. The plot in particular has had several previous owners: responding to a distress call from the mining spaceship Ishimura, Issac Clarke is part of an engineering team that attempt to save the scuppered vessel. Within seconds Things Go Wrong in a big way and the mainstay of the team are torn apart by the game’s resident nasties, The Necromorphs (a name which sounds as though it has been taken from a 1980s Clive Barker title), leaving Isaac and a few other survivors to keep the floundering ship from crashing into the nearby planet. It is not worth stating how many films, books and games this setup could have been taken from. Isaac meanwhile is personally motivated by a search for his lost wife, a member of the Ishimura’s crew. The Ishimura has more than a hint of the Nostromo (Ridley Scott’s Alien, 1979) about it, all industrial functionality and claustrophobic space-efficiency. A trail of audiologs unravels the grim backstory to the game with reasonable charm, but these could have been re-used from id Software’s Doom 3 (2004) with only the minimum of editing. The series script writer Antony Johnston has provided snappy writing, though, and although the delivery method for the plot is old hat, the payload is explosive. 

If the design of the Ishimura channels Ridley Scott, the Necromorphs come from John Carpenter and Barker.  Reconfigured human corpses, their body parts are repurposed for novel and violent ends. Shoulder-blades become scythes, intestines become tentacles. Personal features are displaced to ugly points about the body, deformed, mutated and very reminiscent of the iconic William Birkin from Capcom’s Resident Evil 2 (1998). In a neat inversion of game and horror tradition, aiming for a Necromorph’s head (or comparable facsimile) is the slow route to a kill. It is better to prune monsters limb by limb, stripping away their offensive and locomotive capabilities until they finally collapse. A couple of larger monster designs have traditional sign-posted weakpoints hidden on their armourless undersides and nether parts, which are not exactly disappointing, but still don’t compare to the horror and pleasure of ripping out a standard ’morph’s legs only to have it drag itself towards you on its foreclaws. 

Given the massive zombie fad in 2008-2010, it is a little surprising that the Necromorphs stand as the benchmark “undead in space” - the Doom series being the notable videogame exception, and Event Horizon (1997) holding the corner for film. And in spite of the game’s hard sci-fi setting, the Dead Space alt-zombies derive from a supernatural source, a religious cult artifact known as The Marker. Uncovering the scrivenings and journals of cult members aboard the Ishimura reveals the tortured events that lead the crew into their zombified state, without indulging in too much mad-scientist scene chewing (perhaps a response to 2007’s excellent Bioshock, which also uses audio logs to develop backstory, and introduced the first mad sociologist into the world of videogames).

Your tools of dismemberment are refreshing. The best among them are literal tools, engineering implements pressed into service as ad hoc weaponry. There are one or two videogame staples in the mix - the welding torch behaves rather like a flame-thrower, and the marine rifle does what it says on the tin. Your staple weapon is a plasma bolt cutter, which pumps out limb-splintering shots with a satisfying bark, and telekinetic buzz-saws, a man-portable mining laser and short-range sonic rock drill are among your other improvised armoury. Rather than grenades, you have limited access to a stasis field and a telekinesis glove. Weapons, widgets and your armour can all be upgraded in exchange for power nodes. These important items are fiercely rationed and usually hidden behind a wall of teeth and pullulating flesh.

Putting your toys into play is great fun. Dead Space is one of the few successful descendants of Resident Evil 4 (2005); a third-person horror game that gives you control of an empowered but vulnerable lead character. Isaac has strong offensive capabilities and considerably better range than the Necromorphs. But he is a glass cannon: it only takes a few hits to reduce him to a bloody stain; Isaac’s clunky pace and poor maneuverability, matched with the very restricted field of view, are vastly outclassed by his sprinting, wall-crawling, leaping antagonists. It is a gameplay formula that turns every conflict into a series of hasty, life-or-death decisions - which of the many targets do you shoot first? Is the gun in hand the right one for the job? Is now the time to use your precious stasis attack? Make your stand here, or blast a path to higher ground?- by which point, if you haven’t acted already, something will be wearing Isaac’s face like a hat. 

Occasionally, particularly in the closing act of the game, the balance between power and threat tips. Too many foes or too little fire-power turn tension into grind as death after death stack up on top of you and you are forced to repeat the same sections over and over. Even these will provide some stomach-turning anxiety as you gird your loins to repeat the onslaught of alien brutality.

The core rhythm of your adventure, familiar to protagonists of horror in all media - explore a bit, something jumps out on you, you beat it into a paste or you die - is not innovative, but it is well-executed. The disintegrating Ishimura supplies a very neat sequence of maguffins to motivate your exploration, as you fix poisoned oxygen supplies, refuel the ship, and (horror of all videogame horrors), recover key cards. Each section of the ship; landing bay, engineering, accommodation, hydroponics and other more esoteric locations, provides a neat parcel of objectives divided into discreet subsections. The levels are characterful, hitting a sweet spot at which exciting combat arenas pass off as credible environments, believable places where people lived, ate, or (more likely) performed nefarious scientific experiments. Occasionally you will need to trek through a previously visited location, but these at least get a makeover from the Ishimura’s continued explosive decay.

Beyond the writhing meat and alien potatoes of the game is a spread of appetising diversions. Artificial gravity has failed in some areas of the damaged Ishimura, unhitching your playing arena from the perceived “floor” and sending threats at you from all directions. Others are open to vacuum, adding a slowly failing oxygen supply to your resource-management worries. These also nod in the direction of realism by muffling aural cues about approaching gribblies; in Dead Space’s vacuum sections, no-one can hear you scream.

Dead Space packs in a lot more than this: high quality voice-acting, set-piece boss-fights, a brief dalliance with zero-gravity basketball, and a string of third act twists that, although not revolutionary, are carried through well. It has panache, polish, and enough individuality that its debts to its forebears: Doom 3, System Shock (1994), the whole Resident Evil series (1996- ), The Thing (1982), Virus (1999), Alien, Aliens (1986), Alien 3 (1992), Alien Resurrection (1997), are easily overlooked. Most importantly, it is so scary that even hardened horror cases (Twisted Tales co-founder David McWilliam included) have been known to turn off their games consoles rather than press on once the shit hits the fan. With the release of the sequel this year, the series’ first entry is available pre-owned for pennies. If you have not tried a horror video game before, whether you are a gamer or a horror buff, start here.

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Timothy Franklin works for Lancashire's literary development agency, Litfest. He's nearing the end of a course in playwriting at the Liverpool Everyman Theatre, and a collection of reviews and mad railings at the government can be found at his blog, Unsuitable for Adults. He's a gamer, and that's where his interest in horror is most keenly focused.

Monday 18 April 2011

NEW EVENT: Twisted Tales Hosts China Miéville's Embassytown Book Launch

On Friday 13th Twisted Tales will be turning to the weird as we are proud to be able to announce that we will be hosting a launch evening for China Miéville's latest novel Embassytown.

Miéville is one of the greatest talents working in speculative fiction today. If you doubt his horror credentials for a Twisted Tales event we can only insist you pay attention not simply to his debut novel, King Rat, and its nominations for both the International Horror Award and Bram Stoker Award, but also to the horrific slake-moths, twisted "Remade", and otherworldly Weaver, in the essential read Perdido Street Station, plus the squid worshipping apocalyptic cultists in his most recent paperback Kraken.

The new novel, Embassytown, is being billed as a science fiction novel, however given Miéville's reputation for adding a unique, and usually weird, twist to more familiar ideas, it's bound to be compulsive reading for any fans of the unusual.

Indeed at least one review has referred to it as being written with "disturbing and stylistic flair" remarking that it "combines planetary science-fiction with colonial novel, lingual exploration with zombie apocalypse." If that's not worth clearing your diary for, what is?!

Tickets for the event will be £2, this will be redeemable off any of his books bought on the night. Over the course of the evening he'll be reading from his work, answering questions, and signing books.

To book tickets, or for more information, call 0151 709 98 20.

You can read the first few pages of Embassytown and learn more about the author on his publisher's website where you can also see the brilliant new covers for all of his back catalogue which are being re-released to coincide with this launch, as well as find a simply superb A to Z of Miéville.


Embassytown Book Launch
Waterstone’s Liverpool One
6-8pm, Friday May 13th
Tickets £2
Official Facebook event here.

Pan’s Labyrinth reviewed by Enrique Ajuria Ibarra

Pan’s Labyrinth
Directed by Guillermo del Toro
Released in 2006
Certificate: 15

There are very few times when a film has a significant, lasting impact on its audience. Whether it makes the spectator leave with a feeling of contempt, happiness or sadness, it is the remarkable quality of its production values and its originality that leave their trace on the viewer. Guillermo del Toro’s Pan’s Labyrinth is one such film. With full liberty to explore his magical, wild and dark imagination, del Toro was able to present one of the most enchanting and harrowing stories ever seen on screen. Pan’s Labyrinth is not just considered the Mexican director’s masterpiece so far; it is also regarded as a highly successful piece of cinematic work that has pleased audiences worldwide. It is a contemporary fairy tale that reflects on how the Spanish nation has culturally appropriated Franco’s historical regime: with horror and dread dressed with fantasy and the supernatural in order to make sense of events that have been rarely addressed openly for various reasons. Pan’s Labyrinth is not just the journey of a girl looking to find meaning for herself whilst confronting her cruel, fascist stepfather. It is also an exploration of how fairy tales speak of social fears and anxieties. Del Toro has once again created a story where he is able to combine all the themes that fascinate him. He recovers the darker side of the fairy world as it mediates the horror of an actual and traumatic military regime.

Set at the end of the Civil War, the film tells the story of Ofelia, a young girl who is obsessed with reading fairy tales, and her life alongside her mother and her new husband in an isolated forest region in the north of Spain. Ofelia’s stepfather, Captain Vidal, commands a group of soldiers set to destroy any traces of Republican insurgency in the area.  Vidal is a cold and very precise man, a prime example of fascist militarism, and Ofelia soon takes a dislike to him. Whilst her mother is bedridden because of a risky pregnancy, Ofelia lets her imagination run freely and she soon discovers a labyrinth next to the mill where they are staying. Inside, she wakes up a faun who reveals to her that she is the lost princess of the King of the Underworld. If she successfully accomplishes a series of three tasks, Ofelia will be able to prove herself as the rightful princess and return to her real father’s realm. Thus, she begins an adventure that takes her to strange and mysterious places filled with fantastic and dangerous monsters. But when her real life starts suffering from devastating personal blows, the supernatural and mundane worlds start to bleed together. In her very final test, Ofelia must stand up to the challenge of facing the greatest and most horrifying monster of all and make a vital decision that will determine the success of her quest.

Guillermo del Toro has often claimed that both his previous Spanish production, The Devil’s Backbone (2001), and Pan’s Labyrinth share a strong bond; the two films address the continuing cultural effect of the Spanish Civil War by means of fantastic or supernatural devices, and they both feature children as their main characters. Whilst The Devil’s Backbone contains a male or masculine perspective of such historical event, Pan’s Labyrinth presents itself as the female or feminine counterpart. The two films are brother and sister to one another; each portrays the horrifying struggle of war and military political imposition in its own particular way. In the case of Pan’s Labyrinth, the film engages with symbols of femininity alongside very evident gender and social issues. Particularly seen from a girl’s point of view, the film’s supernatural settings are all presented as enclosed womb-like spaces where Ofelia descends to and crawls into. It is in these domains that the richest and most fantastic scenes take place: the underground world is thriving with a sense of safety and well-being that is clearly opposed to the patriarchal military rule of Captain Vidal in the real world.  It is through the character of Vidal that the film exposes the cruel, relentless and strict, male-oriented politics of the Francoist regime. Women are subdued, silenced and overlooked. They are mainly portrayed as passive characters, marginalised with domestic tasks, often considered to be incapable of action, reflecting Vidal’s prejudices. In the midst of this evident gender stratification, Ofelia is portrayed as a girl who is capable of acting independently and of taking responsibility for her own decisions. In the same way, another prominent female character in the film, Mercedes, the housekeeper at the mill, utilises Vidal’s presumptions about feminine passivity to plot and work against him in order to help the Republicans hiding in the forest bring him down. Del Toro not only attempts to bring a feminine point of view to the Francoist regime in the film, but also draws attention to the subject’s ability to choose, a trait that was suppressed in Spanish society during Franco’s dictatorship. Thus, political imposition merges with issues of masculinity and femininity, exploding and colliding in an encounter that is inevitably drenched with blood.

Del Toro’s films are particularly characterised by their close attention to bodily injury and the infliction of pain; either accidentally or on purpose, his previous Spanish language films all feature copious amounts of blood, cuts and wounds. Pan’s Labyrinth follows this same style with Vidal’s methods of punishing disobedient loyalists and rebels. Even though his cold personality is discernible from his very first appearance in the plot, it is when he decides to punish some rabbit poachers that his true monstrosity unfolds.  In a series of quick, yet effective close-up shots, Vidal slowly crushes a young man’s nose and mouth with a bottle of wine. The precision and the severity of the wound are made all the worse by the casualness with which Vidal inflicts it. His determination, paired with his strict military upbringing, make him a man to be afraid of. Throughout the film he single-mindedly executes anybody who strays from the ideological premise of a “clean, new Spain”, whether they are Republican rebels, wayward poachers or his stepdaughter Ofelia. Vidal is the horrific representative of a military regime that exercised its power through fear, obedience and enforced silence. When someone does not follow the rules, they are in danger of being crushed by the extreme and officially endorsed force of Vidal.

The audience is encouraged to empathize with Ofelia’s desire to escape from this horrific existence. Del Toro’s film makes good use of the structural elements of the classic fairy tale to tell her story. Pan’s Labyrinth is a cornucopia of supernatural settings that aptly demonstrate del Toro’s rich and prolific imagination. From the tree-like figure of the faun, to giant toads and an evil and terrifying child-eating Pale Man, the film explores Ofelia’s imaginative capabilities and her knowledge of classic fairy tales. Firmly believing that she is a magic princess herself, she dutifully performs the tasks she has been assigned in order to return to the underworld kingdom. With the aid of fairies and magical instruments, she is able to face all adversities and escape from life-threatening situations to prove she is a member of supernatural royalty. Despite everything, what Ofelia demonstrates at the end of the film is her worth as a human being: it is her ability to choose that eventually defines her destiny and ends this magical, yet terrifying, fairy tale.

What makes Pan’s Labyrinth such a remarkable film is that it always keeps the horror separate from the supernatural. There are frightening elements in the fairy tale world that Ofelia interacts with, but if one pays close attention, none of those terrifying creatures actually physically harm her. Horror is driven away from the magical world and it is clearly nailed down in the mundane world. Del Toro has masterfully crafted a film full of enchantment and sadness, where any rebellion can be easily crushed by a political regime that is represented as cruel and relentless. Pan’s Labyrinth explores the historical fears and traumas of a national community and mediates their horrors by means of supernatural creatures, settings and situations. With its successful combination of fairy tale, historical realism and horror, del Toro has created one of the most memorable films of recent times. 

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Enrique Ajuria Ibarra is a doctoral candidate at Lancaster University.  His thesis project analyses the social and political criticism found in fantasy and horror films from Mexico and Spain, and he has particularly done extensive research on the films of Guillermo del Toro.  He has participated in several conferences both in the UK and abroad and has published book and film reviews for The Gothic Imagination and Re/Action Magazine websites.  His main interests lie in the use of fantasy, horror and gothic theories to explore particular examples from film and literature, both in Spanish and English.

Thursday 14 April 2011

NEW EVENT: "The Killer Inside You" Crime and Horror Fiction

Event date: Thursday 19th May, 6-8pm

We've now got a date and a poster for a new event. Dubbed "The Killer Inside You", a play on the title of Jim Thompson's iconic dark and twisted 1952 crime novel The Killer Inside Me. This is the first of several planned events showcasing the best of 21st Century Horror where its boundaries meet with the best of 21st Century Crime Fiction. For this event we're proud to be able to announce the following authors:

John Connolly
Bestselling author of the Charlie Parker series of detective novels, John also has strong horror credentials. His debut, Every Dead Thing, was nominated for the Bram Stoker Best First Novel award, and his collection of supernatural short stories, Nocturnes, was written partly for BBC 4 and has received strong reviews. John's latest book is The Gates, volume two in the Samuel Johnson vs. The Devil series aimed at young adult readers but highly enjoyable for all ages.

Steve Mosby
Author of five novels, the latest of which is Black Flowers which has been said to have "an ending as chilling as anything Stephen King has written".

Charlie Williams
Author of the Mangel series featuring unstable brothel doorman Royston Blake. His novel Stairway to Hell was described by none other than Peter Tennant in Black Static magazine as "a subversive text in which tropes of the genre are added on to a comic novel dealing with aspects of modern life, such as the lust for fame, reality TV and the superficiality of the media, all of which get the piss taken out of them."

This event has been organised and publicised in association with Crimewave, another arm of TTA Press, and Crimeculture, the leading website for the study of crime fiction in the world. 

The event is on Thursday 19th May and will run from 6pm until 8pm. As usual it will feature readings from all of the authors, a Q+A, and a signing session.

Tickets to the event cost £2 and are available from Waterstone's Liverpool One. To book a ticket pop into the shop or call 0151 709 9820.

The price of your ticket is redeemable against any crime or horror fiction bought on the night.

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Official Facebook event here.

Tuesday 12 April 2011

Photos from Twisted Tales meets [Roald Dahl's] Twisted Tales event

Earlier this morning our review of Roald Dahl's Twisted Tales went online. Before going to the show on opening night we played host to a special Twisted Tales event with our greatest supporter Ramsey Campbell and his friend, and screen and stage-writer extraordinary: Jeremy Dyson.

Jeremy is, of course, best know for being one of the creators of the infamous TV series The League of Gentlemen. He was also the writer for our favourite horror experience on the stage: Ghost Stories. Alongside these achievements he's also penned two collections of short stories and a novel (with a new book forthcoming, he informed us).

The event was organised with the help of Liverpool's Playhouse Theatre who added their publicity might to make sure we got a brilliant turnout despite only having 9 days between confirming the details of the event and hosting it. Below are some photos from the event and some links to brilliant video footage taken by Liverpool's Daily Post, enjoy!

Jeremy and Ramsey pre-event

Ramsey reading one of Jeremy's favourite stories, "The Companion"

Ramsey reading to an awed crowd

Jeremy takes to the stand

Jeremy reading a story from The Cranes That Build Cranes

Ramsey and Jeremy with their newest releases (photo courtesy of The Echo)
And here are the links to the videos - well worth a watch:

This was a great event, if you were there we'd love to hear your opinion in the comments box below. A big thanks to everyone who came to watch, to our two brilliant writers, and to the Playhouse for approaching us. To make sure you're at future events keep checking this blog, our facebook, and our twitter.

Monday 11 April 2011

Roald Dahl's Twisted Tales reviewed by Glyn Morgan

Roald Dahl's Twisted Tales
Adapted by Jeremy Dyson, directed by Polly Findlay
Liverpool Playhouse
Running until Saturday 23rd April

‘A striking debut, his stories nestle in the little vacant chink between Roald Dahl and Borges’ declared The Observer’s Adam Mars-Jones of Jeremy Dyson’s collection of short fiction, Never Trust a Rabbit (2000). Given such early comparisons, it is fitting that Dyson’s latest project is a stage adaptation of Roald Dahl’s Tales of the Unexpected (1979). There have been previous adaptations of these dark and often sinister short stories, most notably in the early seasons of the TV series Tales of the Unexpected which ran for nine years from 1979 until 1988, but this is their first rendering on the stage.

Whilst answering questions at our reading event before the show, Jeremy Dyson pointed out the weight of expectation that was upon the play with many people hoping for Ghost Stories 2. Ghost Stories was Dyson’s last play, and having also seen it at the Liverpool Everyman in 2010 I can say it was a genuinely frightening, atmospheric, tour-de-force, which drew screams from the audience on multiple occasions. Dyson’s anxiety about people’s expectations of “more of the same” is well placed because Roald Dahl’s Twisted Tales definitely doesn’t fit that bill; it’s something completely different, fresh, and stands up on its own terms.

Nevertheless, there are some similarities between the two plays. The format, for example, will be familiar to anyone who saw Ghost Stories with its framing narrative for short, seemingly self-contained, stories. A detailed examination could even find some similarities in the manner of both plays’ final twists but, not wanting to spoil either, I won’t reveal their endings here. The stories Dyson has adapted include ‘The Landlady’, ‘Mrs. Bixby and the Colonel’s Coat’, ‘Man from the South’, ‘William and Mary’, and ‘Galloping Foxley’, though I should disclose that I haven’t read any of the original stories, nor seen the TV adaptations, and so my opinions and judgements are based on the play alone.


There are elements of humour in all of the tales, often blended with moments of high tension and/or unease. The first, ‘The Landlady’, with its dirty-looking, dishevelled eponymous B&B owner who has a fondness for taxidermy, is light-hearted but also extremely dark. Indeed, it is highly reminiscent of The League of Gentlemen (1999-2002), which Dyson co-created alongside Mark Gatiss, Steve Pemberton and Reece Shearsmith. ‘Mrs. Bixby and the Colonel’s Coat’, about a woman having an affair behind her husband's back, is the weakest of the stories with no real horror in a scenario which most members of the audience will have figured out from the beginning. In contrast, ‘Man from the South’ was possibly my favourite, partly due to the eccentric and over-the-top character of Mr. Palacios, played by Nick Fletcher, but also because of the manner in which tension is built up, the director, Polly Findlay, carefully managing audience expectations to  construct a heart-in-mouth moment which never materialises. ‘William and Mary’ is constructed around an unexpected science fictional idea: a Philosophy professor dying of cancer is tempted to continue his existence as a brain in a jar. The set design and mood evoked the classic American B-movies of the mid-twentieth century, whilst the dark humour of the previous stories was certainly present and correct. The final short story, ‘Galloping Foxley’, contains more of the wonderful tension building seen in ‘Man from the South’; however, it is also the most uncomfortable story to watch. Detailing the terrors inflicted on a young boy by a senior pupil at a boarding school, there are no laughs to be had in this story, a sinister and suitably twisted tale that, unfortunately, was the most feasible of all.

If the play had ended with ‘Galloping Foxley’ the dampening effect on the audience's mood would have destroyed all of the black humour and sly enjoyment of the preceding majority. Fortunately, both Dyson and  director, Findlay, know their craft, and the framing narrative brings the audience out of its reverie with a bang. The final act is quick and effective, in complete contrast to the tension-building moments of the preceding stories, which are ultimately diffused before they can reach their terrifying conclusion.

Having seen the play on its opening night at the Playhouse in Liverpool, there were one or two minor set malfunctions, but on the whole the directing and design was superb. As with Ghost Stories, the evocation of place and time through clever set design and lighting were flawless; you could easily believe you were watching the action unfold on a 1950s train, in a cluttered pawnshop, or in an outdoor lavatory on a winter’s morning. A combination of a rotating set and rising and falling foregrounds gives depth to the stage and allows the rapid creation of self-contained spaces within the confines of the boards, a credit to set and costume designer Naomi Wilkinson. All of this adds to the immersion that comes with Dyson’s excellent writing, and the engaging performances of the six cast members, particularly Matthew Kennedy, who was playing the young boy (on other nights in Liverpool you may see Sam Rees Bayliss instead, as they share the role).

There are no screams in Roald Dahl’s Twisted Tales and there aren’t any hide-under-your-seat-scares; equally, there are no roll-in-the-aisle laughs. What we have instead is a finely honed balance of amusement and unease which works perfectly for the play’s slender 80 minute running time, but would probably be difficult to sustain for much longer. This is certainly a horror production, but it’s a much more subtle beast than Ghost Stories. Twisted Tales is the species of horror that anyone who has ever lain in bed at night wondering about the noise they can hear downstairs knows, those people know that the scenarios we construct in our minds are the most affecting; and everyone involved in this play knows it too.

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Glyn Morgan is one of the co-founders of Twisted Tales. He is currently studying for his Ph.D at the University of Liverpool, his thesis looks at non-mimetic fictions of the Second World War. He maintains a blog about his studies (all to infrequently updated) here, as well as runs a popular Science Fiction and Fantasy Book Club, and a Graphic Novel Reading Group.

Monday 4 April 2011

Martyrs reviewed by Stephen Curtis

Martyrs
Directed by Pascal Laugier
Released in 2008
Certificate: 18

Generally taken to be part of the French New Wave of Horror, alongside Haute Tension (Switchblade Romance, 2003), Frontier(s) (Frontiers, 2007), and À l’intérieur (Inside, 2007), Martyrs is a darkly meditative and religiously tinged slice of Gallic nihilism. Although initially acclaimed at festival screenings, subsequent reviews have been less favourable, with many notable critics viewing it as exploitative torture porn. Far be it for me to disagree with such luminaries, but I do believe that these eminent figures have completely misunderstood the film, which should instead be considered alongside Michael Haneke’s Funny Games (1997) as a savage indictment of the audience’s complicity in the abuse depicted on the screen.

The cover photo of the DVD perhaps contributes to the charges of ‘lesbian chic’ directed at the film, suggesting as it does a French take on Bound (the Wachowski’s 1996 debut) with its strikingly feminised – albeit bloodied – lead actors looking up at an elevated camera. Their flowing brunette locks provide a clear contrast with the platinum blonde of many Hollywood horror heroines. There is an undercurrent of lesbian attraction between the two central characters but this is more to do with psychological motivation than mere titillation.

One of the problems with horror reviews is the need to avoid spoiling the shocks; something this review will attempt to do. As such, I will avoid discussion of the plot specifics and focus on the general themes and feel of the film. It is important to highlight, however, that in many ways Martyrs can be split into three distinct segments: revenge, Asian cinema influenced ghost/creature, torture porn. These categories are deliberately gross oversimplifications but go some way to identifying the eclectic and tricksy nature of Laugier’s picture.

The film opens – ironically – with an escape. A child is shown running into the light screaming, clearly after a prolonged period of captivity and abuse. The subsequent archive footage provides a quasi-documentary realism to her mistreatment, whilst also serving to introduce her friendship with Anna. We then cut to 15 years later, as the now adult Lucie and Anna attempt to track down the shadowy figures who originally imprisoned her. It is typical of Laugier’s approach that the revenge plot that audiences may initially expect to be its central consideration is rapidly (and savagely) resolved – a brilliantly premature catharsis that wrongfoots the unsuspecting viewer. The second section of the film takes us into the mind of a victim/killer, as we see the physical manifestation of the guilt and trauma that motivates Lucie’s murderous behaviour. It is following this that Martyrs really becomes interesting – appropriately it is also at this point that many viewers are alienated (at least judging by IMDB comments and reviews).

The final act of Martyrs is characterised by a telling change of pace. Unlike the frenzied action of what precedes it, the narrative is deliberately stalled; Laugier thus delivers a deathblow to the inflamed desires of a conventional revenge-horror audience. The pejorative term ‘torture porn’ does not really accurately describe this part of the film however. Unlike Saw (2004) or Hostel (2005) where the focus appears to always be the mechanics of dismantling the body – most obviously through Jigsaw’s elaborate traps, the most affecting passage in Martyrs offers a denial of sensationalism and its resultant visceral release. The unrelenting brutality of a prolonged passage of attritional beating is intended to break down the spirit of its target and the audience. It is at this point that the film’s kinship with Funny Games (although without its postmodernist playfulness) becomes apparent. The audience is inevitably associated with the perpetrators of the violence who seek some kind of mysterious enlightenment. Whilst I accept that in horror generally the thrill stems from our psychological association with the stalked and not the stalker (although, as with all general theories there are notable exceptions to this), Laugier here uses the fact that the violence is deployed in the hope of discovering something about the human condition as an indictment of the impulse towards torture in all its forms. The result of this sustained brutality – simultaneously transcendental and nihilistic – reveals the emptiness that resides in the heart of torture porn. That you have to sit through such horror to be shown this gaping abyss only makes the message more powerful. But, as abysses are inclined to do, this one looks back into you – and its gaze lingers long in the memory.

Martyrs’ critique of bloody spectacle aims at a broader target than torture porn, however, and can – indeed, should – be understood as exposing the voyeuristic tendencies of modern society. The vigilante justice at the heart of traditional revenge narratives is reminiscent of the frequent media campaigns against whichever group has been selected for demonization, and the clinical atmosphere of the final act can be interpreted as a metaphor for any attempt at revelation through violence. There are telling echoes of vivisection, invasive medical procedures, and the dehumanising torture practices that occupied the seamy underside of the ‘war against terror’. Through his portrayal of individuals driven to commit horrific acts through their desire to contribute to a greater good for the group of which they are a part, Laugier forces us all to examine our complicity with evil carried out in our name. The fact that so many horror fans seem to be ‘turned off’ by this approach is confirmation of the validity of its purpose.

The film is stark visually, and appropriately claustrophobic. There is a contrast between the brightly lit clinical environments and the dark dungeon-like settings but there is no attempt made to ally one side with any kind of relief. Torture occurs in both dark and light, with the only difference being the methods employed. This cinematographic decision contributes to the enclosed feel of the film. Although there are external scenes, it is always inevitable that the characters will be compelled to go deeper inside the literal and metaphorical abyss of the seemingly innocuous house. This journey into the dark recesses of suburbia is another way in which Laugier implicates society in what transpires. This is not some faraway nightmare place; such atrocities can happen everywhere. The uncanny links to later real life events, such as the infamous case of Josef Fritzl, only serve to confirm the unsettling truth of this notion.

Martyrs is not without fault, though. The ending (with its somewhat clichéd secret society) does not entirely hang together, although the ambiguity of the dénouement is an effective conclusion. A far from scientific analysis of responses to this ending (interested readers should check out the various threads on Imdb devoted to this issue) indicates a clear divide between religious and atheist viewers – not in itself surprising but particularly pertinent given the way in which the film’s final scenes explore the very nature of life at its point of most extreme suffering and the ways in which we attempt to understand such a condition. As an atheist, I found the ending fittingly nihilistic but have read convincing alternative responses.

Upon undertaking this review, I doubted whether Martyrs would be as profoundly unsettling on a second viewing. However, if anything it was more thought-provoking knowing what was going to happen. This does not override the power of the initial experience; one that I hope this review does not erode for readers who have yet to subject themselves to Laugier’s vision. Although not a film for everyone, and certainly not an easy or enjoyable watch, Martyrs is a fascinating meditation on the nature of horror in the 21st century and should definitely be experienced by devotees of the genre. There is an American remake apparently in the works, with Daniel Stamm (The Last Exorcism, 2010) lined up to direct but his claim that his version will sanitise the ending is as depressing as it is predictable:  "Martyrs is very nihilistic," he told 24 Frames. "The American approach [that I'm looking at] would go through all that darkness but then give a glimmer of hope. You don't have to shoot yourself when it's over". That glimmer is more than I hold for its viability as a remake. Indeed, at the time of writing, nothing had been announced since November 2010. We’ll have to wait and see whether this reflects a wise decision to take some time to carry out revisions or the project hitting the rocks.

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Stephen Curtis is currently writing up his Phd on Blood and Early Modern Revenge Tragedy at Lancaster University. He has a long standing interest in horror fiction and film although his young daughter regularly insists he puts away his ‘scary DVDs’ so is unable to watch as many as he used to.