Horror
The Conjuring: Last Rites (15)
Review: Terror comes full circle in the final, spine-chilling instalment of the horror franchise directed by Michael Chaves, which is a sequel to The Conjuring: The Devil Made Me Do It. In 1986 Pennsylvania, mother Janet Smurl (Rebecca Calder) courts news headlines around the world by claiming there is an evil presence in her family home. Other members of her terrified brood have witnessed this malevolence in action, dispelling suspicions that the Smurl matriarch is perpetrating a hoax.
Paranormal investigators Lorraine and Ed Warren (Vera Farmiga, Patrick Wilson) investigate the chilling claims and the wife deduces there is a dark force inside the Smurl house. This insidious force is something Lorraine has encountered before – the first demon the Warrens faced when they were young and inexperienced. Older, wiser but still terrified, Lorraine and Ed brace for an epic battle with a manifestation of evil that has been waiting patiently for them.
Reviews of The Conjuring: Last Rites are embargoed until Wednesday evening. Check back later in the week for our full review.
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Thriller
Honey Don't! (15)
Review: Superstition suggests that bad luck comes in threes. If that’s true, it doesn’t bode well for next year’s Go, Beavers!, the concluding chapter of director Ethan Coen’s lesbian B-movie trilogy, which began with the lacklustre Drive-Away Dolls and continues to underwhelm with the loopy detective drama, Honey Don’t! All three instalments showcase the versatility of actor Margaret Qualley, seen recently as Demi Moore’s youthful foil in Oscar-nominated body horror The Substance. She is far better than this gruesome tale of a private detective blundering her way through an investigation into the suspicion death of a prospective client.
Coen’s script co-written with Tricia Cooke certainly has its diverting pleasures including a titillating bar room seduction that leaves nothing to the imagination and a playful performance from Chris Evans as a sex-obsessed reverend, who uses his questionable sermons (“We do not serve the temple by sittin’ there like macaroni!”) to groom female members of the congregation into showing their devotion to the Lord by submitting to him in the bedroom.
Evans is repeatedly naked in service of his character’s carnal desires and his blushes are spared in one amusing interlude by positioning the camera behind a co-star, blocking a clear sight line of the preacher’s stiffened resolve. Blackly humorous thriller elements venture into the same narrative territory as Coen’s work with brother Joel, including Blood Simple and Fargo, but the writing and its impact are duller. A sprightly running time limits the disappointment.
Private detective Honey O’Donahue (Qualley) works the beat in Bakersfield, California, repeatedly refusing the romantic overtures of homicide cop Marty Metakawich (Charlie Day) by plainly telling him that she likes girls. “You always say that,” he cheerfully responds, ever the optimist. Their paths cross at the scene of a fatal car accident. Honey recognises the driver as Mia Novotny (Kara Petersen), a potential client who never disclosed why she might require the help of a gumshoe.
Exploiting her police contact, MG Falcone (Aubrey Plaza), Honey tracks down Mia’s parents and learns about their daughter’s recent activities, including her willing admission to the flock of the Four-Way Temple led by charismatic reverend Drew Devlin (Evans). As Honey digs deeper into the unsavoury affair, she enjoys sexually charged encounters with MG and learns about the church’s clandestine operations, which defy teachings from The Bible.
Honey Don’t! takes a pleasant but forgettable drive through genre tropes that have served Coen well in the past. The haphazard journey and the picture’s ultimate destination are all familiar, enlivened by Qualley’s exuberant embodiment of an opportunist with a persistently high libido. Limited character development restricts the number of potential suspects for Honey to finger before she unwittingly cracks the case with a flurry of violence. Bloody and simple.
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Romance
On Swift Horses (15)
Review: Daisy Edgar-Jones, Jacob Elordi and Will Poulter headline a slow-burning romantic drama set in the immediate aftermath of the Korean War, when same sex relationships were conducted behind closed doors to avoid violent repercussions and damning moral judgment. “We’re all just a hair’s breadth away from losing everything, all the time,” whispers one affected character as she sits motionless in a bar surrounded by other patrons holding their breaths, listening intently to the sound of a police raid hammering on the establishment’s front door, angrily demanding entry.
Secrets and lies breed like rabbits in On Swift Horses, a sensitively handled portrait of conflicted morality and repressed desires, adapted by screenwriter Bryce Kass from Shannon Pufahl’s novel. Cinematographer Luc Montpellier repeatedly ravishes the eyes and makes the heart swoon with breathtaking tableaux, roaming from the crisp sparkle of snow-laden landscapes in rural Kansas to the retina-searing light show of Las Vegas. Director Daniel Minahan choreographs electrically charged sex scenes between lead cast, contrasting their unabashed joy and naivete in private with the tightly coiled anxiety of their public facades. One wrong move could bring their worlds tumbling down.
Mild-mannered war veteran Lee Walker (Poulter) plans a life of quiet domesticity in California with his wife Muriel (Edgar-Jones) and younger brother Julius (Elordi). Restless after an early discharge from the US Army, Julius steals money from Lee to seek his fortune in Nevada, where he lands a job in security at a casino and sparks forbidden desire with co-worker Henry (Diego Calva), which is consummated away from prying eyes. Back in their hotel room, Julius and Henry fantasise about using the same underhand tactics as card sharps to line their pockets.
Meanwhile, Muriel neglects to tell Lee about her run of good fortune at the horse-racing track, where she places bets based on the insider tips she overhears while working as a diner waitress. A particularly good day of accumulator bets returns life-changing winnings and Muriel quits while she is ahead. “If you think too much about luck, it starts to own you,” she warns another punter (Kat Cunning). There is a spark of mutual attraction between the women and Muriel contemplates an affair.
On Swift Horses canters leisurely through the pages of Pufahl’s book, riding high on compelling performances from the central trio. The final act’s quiet devastation feels somehow anticlimactic after the sustained build-up of dramatic tension, and the angst of one romantic pairing resolves with a convenient serendipity that only seems to exist on a big screen. Elordi cements his status as a modern-day matinee idol while Edgar-Jones and Poulter unpick their on-screen marriage at the seams and let messy raw emotions tumble out.
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