Ginger Snaps - Cult Film Review

There are some films that just stick with you, even if you've only ever caught glimpses of them. For me, one such film has always been Ginger Snaps, now considered a bit of a Canadian cult horror gem. Released at the turn of the millennium, the film became a whispered legend among a couple of my friends. However, for years, my experience with it was frustratingly fragmented. Back in the late 90s, my friend Carlena had a knack for finding the most obscure and strange film, she was doing a Film Studies degree after all, so her house was our unofficial cinema, a place where we'd huddle around a flickering TV, armed with popcorn and a healthy dose of teenage bravado. Ginger Snaps was one of those VHS tapes that made the rounds. I remember catching unsettling scenes – a bloody nose, a tail transformation hand, the intense dynamic between the two sisters – but never the full narrative. Life, as it does, always seemed to interrupt. Now, nearly 25 years later, I've sought to rectify this oversight in my filmography. Armed with a proper streaming service (Amazon Prime) and an uninterrupted evening, I settled in to watch Ginger Snaps from start to finish. Now, let me tell you, it was every bit as good, if not better, than those fragmented memories suggested.

For the uninitiated (or those with fogged remembrances), Ginger Snaps follows the morbidly fascinated, death-obsessed sisters Brigitte (Emily Perkins) and Ginger (Katharine Isabelle). Their pact to die together before hitting sixteen is violently interrupted when Ginger is attacked by a werewolf on the night of her first period. What follows is a brilliant, bloody, and darkly humorous exploration of lycanthropy as a metaphor for the horrors of puberty, female adolescence, and the terrifying changes the body undergoes.

What truly elevates Ginger Snaps beyond a typical creature feature is its sharp, intelligent script. It doesn't shy away from the grotesque, but it uses the horror to amplify its themes. The bond between Brigitte and Ginger is the beating heart of the film, a complex tapestry of co-dependency, loyalty, and burgeoning resentment as Ginger's transformation pushes their relationship to its breaking point. Perkins and Isabelle deliver phenomenal performances, embodying their roles with a raw authenticity that makes their bizarre predicament feel eerily real.

The practical effects, a hallmark of horror from that era, hold up remarkably well, adding a visceral punch that modern green screen and CGI often misses. The transformation sequences are genuinely unsettling, a slow, painful unraveling of humanity that mirrors the awkward, often painful experience of growing up. But while it's undeniably a horror film, it's also laced with a biting wit and a surprising amount of heart.

Finally seeing Ginger Snaps in its entirety was like finding the missing pieces to a captivating, gruesome jigsaw puzzle. It's a film that was ahead of its time in many ways, tackling feminist themes within the horror genre long before it became a more common trend. Sure, it is of its time so some of the dialogue is a bit too edge lordy and clunky as was the style at the time ('On the rag' and 'He wants to get down your pants, stupid!') and the casual way a drug dealing dropout can attend a girl's PE lesson and talk to a student does not show the teaching profession in a good light, but it's smart, stylish, and genuinely unsettling, proving that horror doesn't need a massive budget to be impactful. In fact, many film genres, especially horror, can actively benefit from the economy of design due to budgetary constraints.

If, like me, you've only ever experienced Ginger Snaps in tantalizing fragments, or if you've never seen it at all, I implore you to give it a full watch. It's a cult classic for a reason, a howling good time that's as relevant today as it was when Ginger first started to shed her skin.

The Masterpiece Within: How Our Lives Paint the Games We Play

Every picture tells a story, and sometimes, those stories are crystal clear: the raw intensity of rage, the quiet ache of sadness, the profound warmth of love, or the heavy burden of grief. Yet, regardless of the emotion, a narrative always exists. It's not enough for these portraits to simply exist; they meticulously capture fleeting moments, immortalizing emotions and transforming transient lives into something permanent, whether public or intimately shared. In a world of constant change, these images stand as points where time truly stands still, offering a profound way to hold onto something that, in reality, can't last forever.

In a surprising parallel (for some), the same can be said for the digital canvases we call videogames. We often talk about the stories games tell us, the narratives meticulously crafted by developers. But what about the stories we tell, often without even realizing it? We bring so much of ourselves to the games we play – a rich tapestry of cultural background, personal experiences and emotional baggage. This isn't just about making choices within the game's given framework; it's about how we interpret, react, and ultimately, become an integral part of the narrative itself.

Think about it: even when two people play the exact same game, experiencing the identical code and graphics, their journeys are profoundly different. It’s a bit like that thought-provoking line from the musical Matilda, where she wonders if our individual perceptions of colors are truly the same. Do we all see "red" in the same way? Similarly, do we all feel a game in the same way?

When you navigate a desolate landscape in a survival game, your ingrained sense of hope or despair might shape your approach. A character's moral dilemma might resonate deeply with your own past experiences, influencing your decisions in ways a developer could never have predicted. The thrill of victory might be amplified by a personal struggle you're overcoming in your own life, or a moment of loss in-game might echo a real-world sadness, making the virtual experience surprisingly poignant.

In this sense, we, the players, are the artists, and the game is merely our canvas. With every decision, every interaction, every moment of triumph or setback, we are painting a unique picture – one that exists not just on the screen, but within the landscape of our own minds and emotions. Our individual interpretations, biases, and joys transform the static code into a dynamic, personalized piece of art. The game hasn't changed, but we have and through us, the game becomes a reflection of our own intricate, ever-evolving stories. There have been many games which have had me reflecting on them long after the credits have rolled including:

  • Brothers: A Tale of Two Sons - love and loss

  • The Walking Dead Season 1 - found family and grief

  • Ico - connection and resilience

  • Shadow of the Colossus - love, denial and self-sacrifice

  • Nier and Nier: Automata - philosophy and the human condition

  • Journey and Abzu - spirituality and humanism

  • What Remains of Edith Finch - the interconnectedness of us all

  • Everyone Has Gone to the Rapture - existential dread and cosmic bliss

  • Florence - love and nostalgia

  • Monument Valley II - parental love

  • Venba - family dynamics, code switching and identity

  • Decarnation - female bodily autonomy and the male gaze

Videogames are a beautiful, often unconscious collaboration: the developers build the world, and we, through the lens of our lived experiences, infuse it with meaning, making each playthrough a truly bespoke piece of art. And isn’t that wonderful!

LINK: Japan: My Journey to the East

LINK: Please Save My Earth - Cult Manga Review

LINK: Thomas Was Alone Video Game Vinyl Soundtrack Review

LINK: Akira Soundtrack Vinyl Review

LINK: The Power of Stories and How They Are Manipulated

LINK: The Message by Ta-Nahisi Coates - Book Review (and Some Thoughts)

LINK: The Anxious Generation: Book Review (and Some Thoughts)

LINK: Utopia for Realists- Book Review

LINK: Toxic: Women, Fame and the Noughties- Book Review (and Some Thoughts)

Devilman: The Birth and Demon Bird - Cult Manga Review

It’s funny how certain pieces of media stick with you, especially those you probably shouldn't have seen at a young age. Years ago, I was handed a couple of VHS tapes by my uncle, introducing me to the world of manga and anime. One was the legendary Akira, which blew my thirteen-year-old mind (and still perplexes me today!), and the other was Devilman. While Akira gets all the accolades, I recently decided to revisit the 1987 OVAs—The Birth and The Demon Bird—and found a fantastic, bloody blast from the past.

Created by the masterful Go Nagai in the 70s, the Devilman saga includes several manga series and a significantly sanitised 39-part TV series. My experience, however, was purely with those two OVAs.

The Birth sets the stage as high schooler Akira Fudo merges with the demon Amon, taking on the terrifying mantle of Devilman to fight the rising demonic tide threatening Earth. The core conflict, the struggle to maintain his humanity while possessing a demon’s power, is what drives the initial narrative, leading to a series of gruesome encounters.

The second OVA, The Demon Bird, sees Akira growing into his new reality. However, a horrifying descent into the sewers to confront a creature that traps its victims' souls in perpetual torment reminded me just how dark this series dared to be. When his home is invaded by demons and then he is confronted by Sirene, the eponymous Demon Bird, Akira's work seems to be cut out for him

Watching these OVAs again after more than three decades was pure, unadulterated nostalgia. What truly struck me was how well the animation holds up. While the character designs have that distinct, older manga aesthetic, the bestiary is where the animators truly unleashed their creativity—grotesque, bloodthirsty and utterly fantastic.

Speaking of the past, the English dub—the way I first experienced it—is wonderfully of its time. It’s definitely cheesy in spots, but it delivers with an earnest, fun abandon. The dialogue is home to one of the greatest (and most shocking) line deliveries in anime history: "I'll rip your head off and shit down your neck" and "Maybe you should let me soak your t**s for you!" These line alone are a chef’s kiss of 80s anime edginess.

Another element that had remained vividly in my memory was the music. The track playing in the club during Akira's initial, visceral transformation into Devilman has been embedded in my brain for decades. I found myself humming along as viscera sprayed across the screen.

The lore, too, was more layered than I remembered. Sure, the discussions of Dante’s Inferno and the Sabbath are ritualistic, edgelordy nonsense when you pull them apart, but they add a surprising layer of nuance to the world. It’s throwaway fun, yet it adds to the deeply enjoyable, over-the-top atmosphere.

The casual nudity is a minor caveat, typical of a lot of older anime. It's not overly gratuitous, especially given the permissive standards of the time, but it's a reminder of how times and sensibilities have thankfully changed.

In the end, revisiting Devilman was an amazing experience. It's a hyper-violent, deeply weird, and undeniably fun piece of anime history. If you appreciate the craziness of 80s and 90s animated classics, this is a must-watch that perfectly captures the spirit of an era.

Daughters of Darkness - Cult Film Review

The dark and disturbing real-life account of Elisabeth Bathory, a Hungarian noblewoman who gained notoriety for the heinous deeds of murdering virgins in order to bathe in their blood to gain eternal youth, is well known. It is a dreadful tale of one of the earliest known serial killers and has been turned into several films, possibly most famously the Hammer Horror Ingrid Pitt vehicle Countess Dracula. However, I'd heard of another film version of the tale but a more controversial one: Daughters of Darkness. Suitably intrigued I tracked down a copy and, vegan sausage roll in hand (that's not a euphemism - I was just hungry) I settled down for a watch.

This big screen version introduces us to a modern incarnation of Bathory in form of the glacially glamorous Delphine Seyrig. Arriving at a desolate, off-season seaside hotel in Ostend, Belgium, with her beautiful and enigmatic young 'companion,' Ilona (a stunning turn by Andrea Rau), the Countess quickly sets her sights on the hotel's only other guests: a troubled pair of newlyweds, Valerie (Danielle Ouimet) and Stefan (John Karlen).

What follows is not a typical horror narrative, but a sophisticated, slow-burn seduction. The Countess, with her legendary legacy of perversion, senses the fragility and deep-seated dysfunctions within the young couple’s marriage. Seyrig, with her impossibly serene and seductive elegance, dominates every frame, her performance a masterclass in quiet menace and manipulation.

The two women subtly and deliberately insinuate themselves into the newlyweds' lives, unleashing a frenzy of suppressed violence, repressed sexuality and depraved desire. This version of the vampire myth is less about fangs and crosses and more about the seductive power of liberation and freedom from the shackles of convention.

Beyond the magnetic performances of its quartet of lead actors - the film’s visual artistry is paramount to its success; Daughters of Darkness is a glorious feast for the eyes. The deliberate pace allows the viewer to absorb the atmospheric set design of the grand, empty hotel, complemented by Eduard van der Enden's stunning, moody cinematography. With vibrant splashes of symbolic red, black, and ethereal blues, the film showcases elaborate sets and truly amazing costumes. Seyrig's wardrobe alone is a legendary aspect of the film’s decadent, timeless style.

Harry Kümel’s 1971 Belgian-French-West German co-produced film is one of the most exquisitely mesmerizing and transgressive films in the adult horror canon; it is a sumptuous, highly erotic psychosexual drama that moves artfully beyond simple titillation to create something truly intriguing and unsettling.

I did a little research after watching the film and found that its overt exploration of lesbianism, sadomasochism and dysfunctional sexuality made it a controversial sensation at the time - it was a picture that genuinely shocked both arthouse audiences and grindhouse crowds worldwide. However, in the decades since, this once-outrageous film has not only endured but grown in stature. Now viewed through a more appreciative modern lens, Daughters of Darkness is admired less for its sensationalism and more for its intelligence, style, and proto-feminist undercurrents, which posit the Countess as a potential liberator for Valerie from a deeply patriarchal and abusive relationship where she is being gaslit by her cad of a husband.

I can now see why this film is considered a true cult classic, revered today as a jewel of European Gothic horror whose style, sophistication, and psychological depth place it leagues beyond its contemporaries. It is a mesmerizing masterpiece.

Häxan - Cult Film Review

I've always been intensely interested in people's beliefs, cultures and the resulting social structures - it's what drove me to pursue a degree in Anthropology at UEL all those years ago. So, when I heard of a silent film from the 1920s that looked into witchcraft and the hysteria surrounding it I knew I needed a piece of that. On a cold October evening, with a cup of tea and a pack of digestives at hand, I settled down to watch director Benjamin Christensen’s Haxan.

The film is a quasi-documentary, exploring the history of witchcraft and superstition from the Middle Ages right up to the 1920s, but it's really a hybrid: part academic lecture, part lurid horror film and part social commentary.

The film opens with an extended sequence that acts just like a historical lecture, using close-ups on images of woodcuts, paintings, and texts to explain medieval cosmology and demonology.

Christensen then leans into a serious, chapter-based presentation, complete with illustrations and diagrams, with utterly terrifying and graphic dramatic re-enactments. These vignettes depict everything from Satanic Sabbaths (with the director himself gleefully playing the Devil) to the brutal torture and confessions of the poor women accused of witchcraft. It’s a shocking, grotesque and unflinching look at the persecution of women and the instruments of torture used to extract their false confessions. It is terribly horrific how these women were treated and living life - being in constant fear of being accused on being a witch - must have been an incredible hardship. Apparently, these scenes made the film so terrifying that it led to it being heavily censored or banned in many countries upon release.

The film's final section is particularly intriguing from an anthropological perspective. It attempts to re-contextualize the alleged 'witchcraft' of the past through the lens of early 20th-century psychology, suggesting that many of the supposed witches were simply victims of mental illness, particularly the diagnosis of hysteria. While this comparison feels dated now, I appreciate that the director was seriously attempting to use contemporary scientific thought to understand historical human suffering and belief system through an effort to contextualise the culture and paranoia.

For a film made over a century ago, one of the most remarkable things about Häxan is how surprisingly modern its technique feels. It’s incredibly prescient; the mix of archival imagery with a guiding, didactic narrative voice (conveyed through intertitles and the occasional wooden stick pointer on screen) is strikingly similar to the style of a contemporary video essay you’d find online today - just obviously more low-key due to the technology available at the time. There are a variety of visual tricks and techniques used including reversing film footage, stop motion and some early animation to convey the information in interesting ways so the 1 hour 45 minute runtime whizzed by.

Watching this, I am reminded of the works of Adam Curtis, in that both use a vast array of historical source material and dramatic re-enactment to construct a compelling, often unsettling, argument about how historical forces (like religious fear and misogyny) shape our present.

Häxan is an essential watch in my opinion as, it's not just showing you facts; it's weaving them into a visually arresting, polemical argument with a definite point of view.

Overall, Häxan is a shocking, brilliant, and still-relevant piece of cinema that has stood the test of time and shows how little has truly changed in the century since its creation.

Dark - Complete Season 1 to 3 Review

I'd often swiped past Dark when facing options overload on various streaming platforms. I'd heard of the show, mentioned in articles and online communities, but it was my brother's enthusiastic recommendation that finally convinced me. Given our shared appreciation for formative media—from The Mysterious Cities of Gold and Ulysses 31 to the works of David Lynch, Twin Peaks and classic video games on the Master System and Megadrive (we were Sega kids growing up) —I knew that if he liked it, I probably would too.

Dark, with its three seasons and 26 episodes, begins with a familiar premise: a child vanishes in the small, quiet German town of Winden. But the show quickly pulls the rug out from under you. When a second child disappears and the mystery becomes entangled with the local nuclear power plant and a similar case from 33 years ago, the narrative explodes into something far more complex and compelling.

The series lives by the tagline, ‘The beginning is the end, and the end is the beginning,' as it delves into 'wibbly wobbly, timey wimey' stuff. It demands your full attention, weaving a complex web of time travel, paradoxes, Nietzsche's Recurrence, the Lunar-Solar Cycle and profound family secrets. Yet, despite its intricate nature, the story remains remarkably coherent. The pacing is fantastic, moving at a great clip without ever feeling rushed. It's a gripping narrative that explores not just the mystery of the disappearances but the deep, generational impact they have on the town and its inhabitants.

The acting is phenomenal all round with all the generations of actors bringing their A-game. I can't pinpoint the standout actor but there is one scene in season 1 that sent shivers down my spine; it was Martha's (Lisa Vicari's) Ariadne dialogue delivered in a school play whilst Jonas, her love interest, enters a labyrinth inside the cave:

"The old world came to haunt her like a ghost that whispered to her in a dream how to erect the new world, stone by stone. From then on, I knew that nothing changes. That all things remain as before.

The spinning wheel turns, round and round in a circle. One fate tied to the next. The thread, red like blood, that cleaves together all our deeds. One cannot unravel the knots.

But they can be severed. He severed ours, with the sharpest blade. Yet something remains behind that cannot be severed. An invisible bond."

When she breaks down, the resolve over her missing brother crumbling, it is a truly heartrending moment delivered with a chef's kiss moment as Jonas finds a mysterious door after following a red string through the tunnels.

The story is complex and, as well as amazing dialogue, is enhanced by the show's incredible visual and auditory elements. The cinematography by Nikolaus Summerer is moody and atmospheric, with a palette dominated by dark, earthy tones that perfectly capture the feeling of a town burdened by its secrets throughout the different time periods. The constant rain and the dark, looming forest create a sense of claustrophobia and foreboding—the best I've seen since the moody Pacific Northwest of Twin Peaks or Louisiana's oppressively hot and steamy bayou in True Detective season one.

Equally impressive is the series’ soundtrack by Ben Frost which is not just background noise but a vital part of the storytelling. The music, featuring a haunting mix of ambient tracks and perfectly placed licensed songs, underscores the show’s tone. From the unnerving score that builds tension to the surprising needle drops (Fever Ray's Keep the Streets Empty For Me being a particular favourite of mine), every soundscape feels deliberate and impactful. It's a soundtrack that stays with you long after the credits roll, a quality that surely cemented the show's cult status.

Dark is a testament to the power of a well-crafted mystery. It’s a show that trusts its audience, rewarding careful observation with a richly layered story that unravels like a puzzle box. The series masterfully weaves together time travel, family secrets, Determinism vs. Free Will and cosmic fatalism, creating a complex narrative that demands and rewards attention.

It gets you thinking (at least in my head) about heady concepts such as Tatarology, sin, the immortality of the soul, reincarnation, Michael Huemer's theory of the plausability of reincarnation, eternal recurrence, Pascal's Wager, Nietzsche, Pythagoreans, divine punishment and contrapasso, the Golden Rule, Lord Yama/ Anubis/ St. Peter, impercievable divinity, redemption and the River Lethe.

When comparing Dark to other media, TV-wise, it shares the eerie, atmospheric dread of the original French series The Returned, as well as the intricate, character-driven puzzles of The OA. But, unlike Lost, which often introduced more mysteries than it resolved and spun its wheels for chunks at a time, Dark is a much leaner, more coherent experience. It's a show with a clear destination, where every detail, no matter how small, eventually finds its place within the grand, interconnected timeline.

The show’s strange, unsettling tone and its focus on a small, insular town grappling with bizarre events evoke the surreal vibes of the video game Deadly Premonition, itself a love letter to Twin Peaks. Meanwhile, specific scenes, like the hauntingly poignant school play, have the emotional resonance and sense of fated tragedy found in Life Is Strange: Before the Storm. Additionally, the alternate timeline narrative and the threads that connect everyone and everything felt distinctly Alan Wake 2. For readers, the series echoes the labyrinthine narratives of Jorge Luis Borges's The Garden of Forking Paths, where multiple timelines and possibilities collide. It also shares the unsettling, meta-textual dread of Mark Z. Danielewski’s House of Leaves, where the setting itself is a puzzle house.

So, if you're a fan of cerebral sci-fi, intricate storytelling, and shows that stick with you long after you've finished them, do yourself a favour and give it a watch—you won't regret it!

Folk Horror in Video Games

Folk horror is, at its core, the anxiety of modern life encountering deep, forgotten tradition. It thrives on the sense of isolation, the dread that comes from realizing the local rules - the "old ways" - are unknowable and dangerous to the outsider.

These principles translate seamlessly into gaming, forcing the player to confront entities and rituals born of the soil itself. The following titles stand as prime examples of how video games have mastered this unsettling, often ritualistic, strain of horror and dark fantasy.

The Ritual and the Outsider

The most direct interpretation of folk horror often places the player as a definite outsider entering a deeply self-contained system. Project Zero 2: Crimson Butterfly is a classic example. Set in the isolated, fictional Japanese village of Minakami, the game's horror is entirely derived from local tradition: the ritual of the twin sacrifice and the subsequent curse that creates a spiritual, inescapable darkness. The player must use the Camera Obscura to fight ghosts bound by this tragic, archaic folklore.

Similarly, Resident Evil 7 takes the familiar trope of the English pagan cult and transposes it onto the humid, isolated Louisiana bayou. While utilizing modern bio-weaponry, the horrifying Baker family and their estate function as a self-contained, rural cult built around a grotesque new "folk god" (the Mould). The player, Ethan, is the ultimate outsider, dragged into a world defined by the Bakers' horrific, self-made traditions.

We also have Deadly Premonition, in which FBI Agent Francis York Morgan is on the case when a young woman is ritually murdered The King in Yellow style.

In a more traditional British vein, The Excavation at Hob's Barrow grounds its folk dread in the English landscape, following an investigator drawn to a remote, windswept town where ancient burial mounds and local legends hint at an older, malevolent force tied to the soil, perfectly capturing that parochial, Wicker Man-esque dread.

Myth, Fable, and the Dark Forest

The genre expands to include games that actively explore and twist European folklore. These titles use the visual language of fairy tales to mask a core of darkness and ritualistic fear. In the Scandinavian-inspired world of Röki, the player navigates a frozen wilderness populated by creatures drawn from Norse mythology, turning classic fables into an environmental adventure where the line between myth and reality is dangerously blurred.

Echoing this Scandinavian focus is Year Walk, a deeply unsettling, cryptic horror adventure based entirely on the Swedish tradition of Årsgång—a dark ritual journey into the wilderness to glimpse the future. Its isolation and reliance on deep, regional superstition make it a masterpiece of interactive folk dread.

Bramble: The Mountain King takes the most visually arresting route, pulling Nordic fables—trolls, gnomes, and nature spirits—into a beautiful yet terrifying world. As a young boy, the player faces nightmarish, larger-than-life versions of familiar creatures, directly confronting the dark, sacrificial undertones present in much of Northern European folklore.

While not strictly horror, Brothers: A Tale of Two Sons serves as a vital adjacent title, beautifully demonstrating the environmental isolation and mythic quest structure inherent in true folklore, traveling through a stunning but dangerous world defined by local legends.

Modern Myths and Communal Isolation

Some of the most effective folk horror games craft their own local mythologies or rely on specific cultural anxieties and isolation. Detention, a Taiwanese title, uses the White Terror era and the suppressed history of its setting to create a potent blend of political and folk horror. It leverages local mythological elements, religious imagery, and ritual paper art, intertwining personal trauma with the ghosts of cultural oppression in a beautifully unsettling narrative.

Alan Wake finds its footing in the American Pacific Northwest, a landscape rich with modern legends and local secrets. The "Dark Presence" that haunts the small town of Bright Falls is a localized, landscape-specific evil that draws its power from the creative process itself, turning the natural, isolated environment into a source of existential threat.

Also, while often categorized as a teen slasher, Until Dawn is saved by its core antagonist: the Wendigo. By pivoting the horror toward this specific, deeply-rooted North American Indigenous folk legend of a monstrous, cannibalistic spirit, the game achieves a moment of pure, terrifying folk horror where the isolation of the mountains becomes tied to an ancient, starving evil.

The Quiet Decay of Community

The last group of games focuses less on jump scares and more on the decay of a small, isolated community—a hallmark of subtle folk horror. Oxenfree is centered on a secluded island where the core threat is a supernatural entity accessed through radio frequencies. The story relies on the location's specific history and a local ghost story, turning a seemingly benign place into a prison defined by unresolved, communal trauma.

Night in the Woods, though visually cartoony, is a poignant exploration of the decaying American town. Its underlying plot involves an actual cult practicing dark, sacrificial rituals to appease a local, ancient entity—a profound and sad take on how desperation leads back to archaic beliefs.

Lastly, Everyone Has Gone to the Rapture encapsulates the ultimate expression of English parochial isolation. The player wanders through a perfectly rendered, empty Shropshire village, piecing together the final moments of the community’s rapture. The entity involved is abstract, but the horror is fundamentally about the land absorbing the people, turning memory, and the physical location itself, into the main source of terror. The closed community has ceased to exist, having completed its final, terrifying transition.

Folk horror is alive and well in videogames and there are many different interpretations of the genre. Have I missed any games? Let me know in the comments.

Zoo by Otsuichi- Cult Film Review

Otsuichi is a celebrated Japanese writer who perfectly blends dark and unsettling themes with a style that appeals to both young adults and seasoned readers. After thoroughly enjoying his earlier books Summer, Fireworks, and My Corpse and Black Fairy Tales I thought I'd dive into my first film work of his. I had high expectations, but was Zoo, an anthology of five stories, any good?

Kazari and Yoko- The mother of twin sisters loves only one of her daughters and abuses the other. When the abused daughter does a good Samaritan deed, her fortunes seem to change but... can it last?

I enjoyed this story, even though it is one of neglect and abuse. The idea that 'a person can change' is a wonderful life-affirming thing but this Single White Female motiff is taken to a dramatic conclusion. The mother sure overeacts to her CDs being moved and her computer having a bit of water on them in an extreme way.

Seven Rooms- After being knocked out, a young boy and his older sister find themselves trapped in a small, concrete room. There are seven rooms in all, each containing a different young, female prisoner. The young boy is able to crawl through the sewage pipe but can't get out. What is the purpose of their incarceration? No-one knows but they do know that on the sixth day a body is chopped up.

The premise reminded me of Saw or the early 00s gore porn horror phase like My Little Eye in that there are few sets but the tension is cranked up high as heinous things are done to innocent people.

So Far- After a car accident, a young boy's life is turned upside down as his father is convinced that his mother is dead whilst the mother is convinced the father is dead. However, the boy can see both parents who cannot seem to see each other. What is going on? He becomes the go-between and it becomes a little too much.

This seems like The Sixth Sense in that you think it's going to be an 'I see dead people' kinda thing and it's pretty much that, untik it isn't... but with music by Satie, or is it Debussy? Either way, the soundtrack for this segment is pretty special as the boy's worlds start to drift apart, breaking the bridge between his parents.

When the Sun Shines- In this CGI animation, a scientist creates an automaton who he sets about learning about life and death in a world where most of humanity has already died out.

Compared to the other stories, this one stands out just because of the medium it uses to convey this post-apocalyptic story. It is a heartwarming story about the brevity and transience of life as the automaton has a kill switch date so she starts to appreciate all the small things: the sound of cicadas, the taste of coffee and the wonder of metal wind chimes. The animation here reminds me of the art style of the cult Nintendo DS videogame Another Code: Two Memories, which is no bad thing as I loved the sketchy painterly art style of that game by Taisuke Kanasaki.

Zoo- After wanting to break up, a man kills his girlfriend and dumps her body in an abandoned zoo. Weirdly, he continues to take pictures of her dead body everyday. However, when he goes back to take another picture the zoo suddenly vanishes yet new pictures are sent to him daily. Did he imagine it all? And what does the lonely zebra mean?

This is an offbeat story about toxic relationships, domestic violence against women and how our past can haunt us. It's a strange one alright but I still enjoyed it.

I have to say that I thoroughly enjoyed this anthology movie as the five stories were all pretty different and quirky with a unusual atmosphere. The budget was obviously very tight but a lot has been done with little financial backing, showing that, as ever story is king. 

A Nightmare on Elm Street Boxset- Cult Movie Review

Freddy Krueger is a proper pop culture icon, appearing in video games, cartoons (as Scary Terry in Rick and Morty, the classic The Shinning episode of The Simpsons and many others) and been turned into a Funko Pop figure... the final insult. However, I didn't know that much about this pop culture icon, to be honest.

I knew of Freddy Krueger, as I was born in 1981 and his presence was everywhere like Swarzenegger, Stallone, Mr. T, Michael Jackson, Princess Di and Prince Charles so you couldn't escape his stripey junpered presence. However, I had only seen a short clip of a Nightmare on Elm Street film at a friend's house wayyy too young. It was a scene when Freddy turns into a worm in a doll's house and begins to eats a young woman. The scene scarred me, as I was only about 8 year old at the time, and gave me nightmares for years after. When I plucked up the courage to watch the first film it was when I was in my late teens and it seemed hokey and jokey not terrifying. I watched the third film, The Dream Warriors, several years ago and enjoyed it but, once again, never got around to watching the rest. It remained a blind spot in my filmography so, when I saw the 7 disc boxset at the local Oxfam I picked it up and decided to watch them all in order.

Here are brief synopsis of the films and my thoughts on each.

A Nightmare On Elm Street
Nancy and her friends live on the same street, Elm Street, and are all having the same nightmare featuring the same mysterious figure. Who is he and what does he want? As Nancy, her boyfriend and others get closer to the truth the body count rises. Nancy is the last girl standing and confronts the figure in the shadowy dream realm.

This is a great premise for a movie and Heather Langenkamp plays the lead character extremely well. She is a relatable and likable teen, quite a feat for a 19 year old at the time, and is fearless in taking the fight to Freddy. Her boyfriend Glen, played by a young Johnny Depp, is a great audience surrogate who doesn't understand what is going on but does let her down by falling asleep a couple of times when she needs him most. His death is spectacularly memorable and the whole film is a pretty enjoyable affair with lots of flair shown in the set design and special effects department. The film has stood the test of time and is still worth a look today.

A Nightmare on Elm Street 2: Freddy's Revenge
Five years after the events of the first film, a new family moves into the Thompson house. The teen son starts to have nightmares of Freddy and learns of the murders, which his father ignored as he 'got a great price on the house.' However, as the boy starts to feel possessed he tried to resist the rising blood lust which would bring Freddy back from the beyond.

This is apparently not a well like sequel and I can see why - the main character Jesse, played quite wooden by Mark Patton, is not an interesting or sympathetic character. The love interest girlfriend Lisa, played by Kim Myers, looks like the mix of James Spader and Meryl Streep. She seems to really be into Jessie but I don't know why as he's an annoying muppet. She is the final girl in this film and does okay but is no Nancy. The final showdown in the factory is a bit of a let down and Freddy flails a lot in this. Overall, this film was pretty bad and I can imagine that, at the time, people being disappointed to have this clunky sophomore slump after the unique first film. In all fairness, Freddy's Revenge is not alone in being the weirdo outlier that tried something different after an impressive original, just look at Zelda 2, Super Mario Bros. 2, Halloween 3: Season of the Witch. I admire that they tried something different but boy was this a piss poor followup.

A Nightmare On Elm Street 3: Dream Warriors
After the horrific events of the last two films, the traumatised Elm Street teens are placed into a psychiatric ward. However, when Freddy returns to haunts their dreams the OG final girl and now hotshot Nightmare Researcher Nancy Thompson (Heather Langenkamp) returns to help these Dream Warriors fight him at his own game.
I remember thinking when I saw this about 10 years ago that the kids chose shitty weapons to go against Freddie. That one girl who brings flick knives to a big knife fight is a muppet as I would have gone for a bazooka or uzi. Simples!
Watching this again I really appreciated it and do think that it has stood the test of time well. Patricia Arquette and Larry (Lawrence) Fishburn are in this and show their acting chops even if Arquette's papier-mâché making skills are naff at the beginning of the film. Her hand-crafted doll's house is proper creepy and a suitably spooky spot for Freddy to come through.
I also loved the various special effects like the claymation Freddy that strings up a boy using his arteries and veins- a very creative killing indeed.
A nice surprise was seeing Angelo Badalamenti's name come up in the opening credits as I didn't remember that he'd created the soundtrack. This scary soundtrack early on in his Hollywood career before finding it big alongside David Lynch is great, not 'I'm gonna buy the soundtrack on vinyl' great but wonderful when placed alongside the cinematography of the film.
Overall, this is one of the best regarded Elm Street films and it's easy to see why; the iconic "Welcome to prime time, bitch!" is dropped here but also it's just a solid tale of teens coming together to battle a common evil and we can all get behind that.

A Nightmare On Elm Street 4: The Dream Master

The dead and consecrated body of Freddy Krueger rises again and Kristen (played ably by Tuesday Knight and not the then pregnant Rosanna Arquette) reunite with Kincaid and Joey to fight him. It's all thanks to Jason, Kincaid's weird dog and his flaming hot wee ritual. 

On a quest for revenge, Freddy seeks out those who killed him in the last film and it's up to final girl Kristen after the other two are wiped out pretty early on. It's no real spoiler to say that she doesn't survive for very long and so ends the line of the Elm Street parents' kids but not before passing on the torch to Alice, her best friend with a special power. 

This is a pretty solid sequel with some creative deaths, especially Joey's waterbed death. The new character of Alice (ably played with wide eyed terror by Lisa Wilcox), who has the power to manipulate dreams, is a good addition as she adds another wrinkle into the tried and tested formula as she gains the powers of her fallen friends. However, compared to the previous film the acting is slightly more stilted and overwritten in places. It's not bad by any means but it isn't up to par as the broad comedic strokes get wider and the series becomes more of a spoof with Jaws and The Karate Kid skits with Robert Englund enjoying himself immensely. Having said that, I do like the lore of the two gates of dreams and nightmares with Freddy being the gatekeeper of the latter. It reminds me of how the lore of the Joker in a recent Batman comic, where he is an agent of chaos that has always existed in different incarnations, makes the work more existential and powerful as it hints at something bigger than just an annoying bogeyman. 

A Nightmare On Elm Street 5: The Dream Child

Seeking revenge on Dream Master Alice, who defeated him in Elm Street 4, Freddy manages to return through the dreams of her unborn child. Through this loophole, he returns to his murderous ways and continues to kill Alice's friends. 

This film is a solid continuation of the series and continues to tell Alice's tale. The deaths are suitably creative but I want to mention the matt painting of the gothic church as it is incredibly impressive and the looong dimly lit corridors are eerie. I also like that another bit of lore is dropped with Melicertes, the King who kills kids because they ruined the way his kingdom is run even it wasn't elaborated on but thrown in... not for foreshadowing either. Overall, this is an okay film and, even though it is the 4th sequel, still pretty good for what it is. 

A Nightmare On Elm Street 6: Freddy's Dead - The Final Nightmare

Freddy latches on to the soul of some poor 'Littlest Hobo' type amnesiac sap who ends up in Springwood, a random town well away from Elm Street. He ends up in a shelter where he meets other youths who all have complex backgrounds with trauma. Needless to say, Freddy gets into the dreams of the youths and starts to mess with them. 

This is a poor film as it is too light and modern feeling, lacking the colour palette and mood of its predecessors. There isn't a charismatic or strong lead and it all feels pretty darn disappointing. The deaths themselves lack the creativity of earlier installments and seems very cheesy, especially the videogame death that has awful graphics. Overall, this film can be swerved as it is awful. 

A Nightmare On Elm Street 7: Wes Craven's New Nightmare

In a surprisingly meta twist, the Dream Stalker comes back from the dead to haunt the stars of the original film and director Wes Craven. As fiction and reality blur, Heather Langenkamp worries that she is losing her mind but is Freddy really back? 

It was great to see Heather Langenkamp back in a meta role and the story is clever enough to keep you intrigued throughout. 

Overall, I've really enjoyed working my way through these films and filling in that pop culture knowledge gap I've had. I think the films are pretty good for what they are, for the most part. Sure, part 2 and 6 are pretty awful but 1, 3, 4 and 5 tell a cohesive and coherent story with good character arcs what New Nightmare tries something a bit out there and mostly succeeds.

Horror has always been a good testing ground for creativity and inventiveness when it comes to special effects and this series is no different. Across the films we see the use of matte paintings, early CGI, stop-motion, animation and practical effects which are all uniformly impressive and, whilst they show their age now, they must have been impressive for the time considering the tight budgets they were under. Give the series a watch if you haven't before as it is definitely with your time. 

LINK- Pure Invention: How Japan's Pop Culture Conquered the World- Book Review (and Personal Reflections)

LINK- The Rise of Retro Gaming During Covid

LINK: Japan: My Journey to the East

LINK- Blood, Sweat and Pixels- Book Review

LINK- Utopia for Realists- Book Review

LINK- On And On And Colston ( Or, How We Kinda Sort of Learned to Talk About the Legacy of Colonialism and the British Empire)

LINK- ‘Natives: Race and Class in the Ruins of Empire’ LINK: Elden Ring- Videogames As Art

Midori Shoujo Tsubaki (Midori: The Girl in the Freakshow) - Cult Manga Review

When the name Midori Shoujo Tsubaki, also known as Midori: The Girl in the Freakshow or Mr. Arashi's Amazing Freak Show, comes up in anime discussions, it's almost invariably accompanied by hushed tones, warnings, and the word 'disturbing.'

I'm an old anime and manga head so have seen my fair share of controversial manga and anime in my time (Urotsokijodi, Genocyber, Kite etc) so I thought I'd see what all the fuss was about. I found the censored version online so, one cold and wet evening, I decided to give it a watch.

Midori is relentlessly bleak and doesn’t really let up.

The story follows young Midori, an orphaned girl forced into a traveling freak show after her mother's death. Here, she endures relentless abuse, neglect, and psychological torment at the hands of the show's bizarre and cruel performers. However, her life seems to change when a magician shows up and falls for her. But, can it last?

This 1992 animated film, based on Suehiro Maruo's manga, struggled to be funded due to its harsh content but, beyond the initial shock value and the undeniable disturbing imagery, one could argue that Midori Shoujo Tsubaki is, at its core, a profoundly sad narrative about trauma and surviving abuse. While the film certainly doesn't shy away from depicting grotesque violence, exploitation, and abject cruelty, these elements often serve to amplify the tragic plight of its protagonist rather than serving as torture porn for the viewer.

The 'disturbing' aspects – the physical deformities, the explicit violence, the dehumanization – are undeniably present and impactful but are designed to make the viewer uncomfortable to reflect the horrific reality Midori inhabits rather than to titillate. Yet, as the narrative progresses, the pervasive sense of despair and hopelessness that envelops Midori becomes the dominant emotion. Her desperate attempts to find kindness, her fleeting moments of hope quickly crushed, and her ultimate resignation to her grim fate are what truly resonate. In many ways, the film is a stark portrayal of the loss of innocence, the resilience of the human spirit under unimaginable duress, and the devastating impact of unchecked cruelty. It forces viewers to confront uncomfortable truths about exploitation and the darker corners of human nature.

I wouldn’t say that I’m glad to have watched Midori as, like Gaspar Noé's Irreversible, it's a difficult watch, to be sure, but it is one that leaves a lasting impression and not just for its disturbing visuals, but for the sheer weight of its protagonist's sorrow. Fair warning, this is not for the faint of heart or the easily triggered.

LINK- Pure Invention: How Japan's Pop Culture Conquered the World- Book Review (and Personal Reflections)

LINK- The Rise of Retro Gaming During Covid

LINK: Japan: My Journey to the East

LINK- Blood, Sweat and Pixels- Book Review

LINK- Utopia for Realists- Book Review

LINK- On And On And Colston ( Or, How We Kinda Sort of Learned to Talk About the Legacy of Colonialism and the British Empire)

LINK- ‘Natives: Race and Class in the Ruins of Empire’ LINK: Elden Ring- Videogames As Art

The Power of Stories and How They Are Manipulated

The oral storytelling tradition was once an integral part of human life, containing essential morals and shared truths. Yet, these traditional tales, with their elements of the supernatural and fantastic, soon came under attack. The Church sought to suppress them, and the Industrial Revolution further accelerated their decline by raising the Condition of England Question. These seismic changes obliterated the oral tradition in rural areas, as the massive movement of people to urban centers created a society of strangers with no connected hearth. Tales that had once been the common property of all became the preserve of the Nanny, who sanitized or removed the more seemingly seditious or salacious elements to make them moralizing; or of scholars, who understood the words but often missed the context and the frequently hidden subtext.

Our minds are intrinsically wired to perceive the world through narratives. We naturally transform complex, chaotic reality into a coherent sequence of events, allowing us to make sense of our surroundings and predict future outcomes. This natural inclination to narrate is what makes stories so profoundly influential. They highlight specific details as significant, giving meaning to otherwise random occurrences and providing a framework for understanding our place in the world. Crucially, this innate human need for narrative extends beyond personal comprehension and into the realm of shared beliefs and societal structures.

A national narrative is the story a country tells itself about its past, present, and future. It is a collection of shared myths, historical events, and cultural values that bind a diverse population together. This narrative is not static; it is a dynamic, evolving construct shaped by those in positions of influence.

Political leaders, historians, and media outlets play key roles in curating which stories are told, how they are framed, and what they signify. By emphasizing certain historical victories, heroic figures, or foundational myths—think of the narratives of American pioneers, the French Revolution, or the British Empire—they create a sense of shared identity and purpose, instilling national character and a sense of destiny.

The power of a story to forge a national identity can, however, be easily exploited. When a national narrative is shaped for manipulative purposes, it often involves the sanitization of history, the glorification of a chosen group, and the demonization of others. This manipulation leads to a selective memory, where inconvenient truths are erased or reframed, and historical wrongs are downplayed. For example, a government might promote a narrative of national exceptionalism by highlighting only its triumphs while ignoring instances of conflict, oppression, or economic exploitation. This kind of selective storytelling is a powerful tool for maintaining social control and justifying political agendas, from engaging in war to implementing specific domestic policies. In the digital age, this manipulation has become even more insidious, with social media and the rapid spread of "fake news" allowing for the near-instantaneous dissemination of curated and often false narratives.

Ultimately, while stories are essential for human connection and understanding, we must remain vigilant. We need to recognize that not all stories are told with our best interests at heart and be prepared to deconstruct the narratives presented to us, especially those that seek to define who we are as a people or things done in our name.

We are a multitude, and so must our stories be.

LINK - The Message by Ta-Nahisi Coates - Book Review (and Some Thoughts)

LINK- The Anxious Generation: Book Review (and Some Thoughts)

LINK- Utopia for Realists- Book Review

LINK- Toxic: Women, Fame and the Noughties- Book Review (and Some Thoughts)

LINK- On And On And Colston ( Or, How We Kinda Sort of Learned to Talk About the Legacy of Colonialism and the British Empire)

LINK- ‘Natives: Race and Class in the Ruins of Empire’ LINK: Elden Ring- Videogames As Art

Dolls (1987) - Cult Film Review

Every spooky season, I have a tradition which is to revisit the classics of horror - Halloween, The Nightmare on Elm Street - you know the drill. But occasionally, I stumble upon a lesser-known cult film that punches well above its weight and this year, my happy accident was Dolls. This is my review of that film.

The premise is pure, unadulterated '80s horror camp: A deadbeat father, his sweet young daughter and the new evil stepmother find themselves stranded during a sudden storm and so are forced to take shelter in a massive, remote English mansion. Inside, they find elderly dollmaker Gabriel Hartwick and his wife, Hilary, along with a spectacular collection of meticulously crafted, antique dolls. It doesn't take long for the visitors to realize that these aren't just display pieces; they come alive with lethal, tiny intent.

Premise set, the film moves with brisk efficiency clocking in at a tight 77 minutes. Director Stuart Gordon (fresh off his success with Re-Animator) wastes no time setting up the isolation and dread, making sure that every minute serves the narrative or delivers a jolt of creature-feature fun. What elevates Dolls beyond a simple B-movie premise is the sheer commitment of the cast and crew. The film is beautifully framed by the toxic father and new girlfriend, whose ascerbic and darkly comedic relationship is played with entertaining, biting banter and clever wordplay. However, the standout performance is undeniably from Guy Rolfe as Gabriel Hartwick. Rolfe masterfully pivots from a seemingly kind, grandfatherly figure to the chilling, proprietary dollmaker, providing the perfect grounded menace that the film needs to sell its fantastical horror.

The entire cast is uniformly solid, ensuring that you're invested in the fate of everyone trapped inside. The two punk girls, who are actually British, have the most dodgy 'Cockerny' accents this side of Dick Van Dyke's but that only adds to the earnest cheesiness of it all.

No great cult film is complete without a memorable soundtrack, and Fuzzbee Morse's score is absolutely pitch-perfect. It carries a distinctive, creepy lullaby tone—playful enough to match the tiny toy killers, yet underscored by a deep, reverberating strings section that signals genuine threat.This music, paired with the opening credit roll of those unblinking, horrifying doll heads staring out at you, instantly cements the film's reputation for great, campy fun.

Gordon clearly knows his onions, orchestrating a truly delightful piece of macabre cinema on a shoestring budget that feels like a dark fairy tale come to life. So, if you’re looking for a low-stakes, high-fun piece of horror with practical effects, genuine atmosphere, and a great central conceit, Dolls is an absolute must-watch. It’s earned its cult status, and now it’s earned a permanent spot on my spooky season re-watch list.

Death: The High Cost of Living - TV Episode Review

I finished the entire Netflix run of The Sandman and the final episode was Death: The High Cost of Living. I was very excited to watch the episode that was alluded to in The Sandman #21, was released as a three part comic series and collected as a graphic novel where:

'... one day in every century Death takes on mortal flesh, better to comprehend what the lives she takes must feel like, to taste the bitter tang of mortality that is the price she must pay for being the divider of the living from all that has gone before, all that must come after.'

I read this specific comic book about 20 or so years ago and remembered that it was about Death getting to walk the Earth to understand people better. It was a deeply humanist work and I had loved it at the time. This adaptation uses that template as a springboard and successfully modernizes the narrative, crafting a bittersweet tale that is both a faithful tribute to its source material and a resonant reflection on contemporary anxieties.

The episode's emotional core lies in the unlikely pairing of Death (played with warmth by Kirby Howell-Baptiste) and Sexton Furnival (an excellent Colin Morgan aka BBC’s Merlin) a depressed journalist teetering on the brink of suicide after feeling an overwhelming sense of despair at the state of the world.

Their journey begins as a reluctant chase, with Sexton fleeing the very figure he sought. However, it quickly evolves into a transformative quest as Death, in her guise as a mortal woman, gently nudges Sexton to confront the very reason for his despair: the world's irreparable brokenness.

Through their interactions, the narrative artfully suggests that even amidst horror, life's small, beautiful moments—a shared conversation, a simple act of kindness, a fleeting taste of happiness—are what make the experience worthwhile. This relationship is the vehicle for the episode's core message: that connection, even in a world filled with suffering, is the antidote to despair.

Howell-Baptiste brings a fresh, vibrant and profoundly empathetic energy to the character of Death. Her portrayal perfectly captures the character's paradoxical nature: she is both an ancient, all-powerful cosmic entity and a genuinely kind-hearted young woman who sees the beauty in every life, no matter how short or unremarkable. This warmth is crucial to the episode's tone, which, despite its heavy themes, never feels preachy or overly sentimental.

The show's direction and writing embraces a style that makes the mundane moments of the day feel special and significant, like the joy of a veggie wrap near a canal on a sunny day, or the throbbing lights from a nightclub.

Ultimately, Death: The High Cost of Living is a timely meditation on finding meaning in a world that often feels meaningless. It serves as a gentle reminder that the bitter tang of mortality, as the price for being alive, is inextricably linked to the sweet joys of existence. It challenges the viewer to embrace the fleeting nature of life, not as a cause for fear, but as a reason to cherish every moment and every connection. It challenges assumptions that there are just good and bad people; life is not binary and people are more complex and nuanced. As Death contemplates her immortal existence, she says, "You're human... you forget what it's like to not have free will." To be human is to suffer but also to have great joy, wonder and awe.

This episode provided a much-needed balm for the soul, offering a message of hope and resilience that resonated deeply with me during these increasingly troubled times.

The Evolving Fears of a Horror Gamer

In this most spooky of months, I've been thinking about the horror genre in gaming. I remember a time when horror in videogames was a simple affair. Jump scares, grotesque monsters and oppressive environments were the tools of the trade. I'd jump when zombie dogs burst through a window in Resident Evil, and the creaks and groans of a foggy town were enough to keep me on edge in Silent Hill. But as I've gotten older, my relationship with fear has changed. The horror that truly gets under my skin now is more subtle, more cerebral. It's less about what's lurking in the shadows and more about the unsettling ideas that burrow into my mind and trouble my sleep.

Cosmic Horror and Existential Dread

Gone are the days when I'm solely afraid of the big bad or boss monster. The idea of being utterly insignificant specks in a cruel and pitiless universe ruled by indifferent elder gods doesn't scare me much now but it did back in the day. Games like Eternal Darkness on the Gamecube nailed this feeling though by making you feel completely alone against forces beyond human comprehension. More recently, The Call of Cthulhu game on PS4 that I played and completed also perfectly captured the idea of a terrifying cosmic mythos with devout followers. However, games like Alan Wake and Control, the Remedy-verse if you will, played with the idea of cryptids, blending them with the everyday to make the world feel less stable. Another, more recent example, was in the game Still Wakes the Deep, where the protagonist tries to escape a malevolent creature that is accidentally disturbed as the seabed is dug by an oil rig. While trying to escape the inevitability of his fate, the protagonist finally decides to sacrifice himself to save the world by ensuring the creature never makes landfall. The last action is 'Let Go' which was a bold thing to ask in a videogame where agency is the medium's main draw.

Surprisingly, one of the most potent applications of cosmic horror was in Night in the Woods. The game started off as an introspective look at a returning figure who left under a cloud and turned from a simple story about ‘finding your people’ and evolved into a poignant cosmic horror about the slow death of small-town America and its effect on the soul of the people that remained. Wow! It made me look at my leaving my old town of Barking differently - not that I've seen sights of any cosmic horror, just gentrification which I’ve been told is not the same thing.

The close cousin to cosmic horror is existential dread which often asks the biggest, most terrifying questions about our existence. Soma was a masterclass in this, forcing you to grapple with what it truly meant to be human and whether consciousness was tied to the body or something else entirely when it is revealed very early that you were a mind inside a robot body and your consciousness had been uploaded.

As a gruff, but less buff, older dad, The Last of Us and God of War (2017) tapped into the parental fear of loss of a child and the weight of past decisions. For a similar reason, The Walking Dead Season 1 was so impactful as it was about the fear of dying and leaving a (surrogate) child unprotected in a cruel, uncaring world. Even seemingly whimsical games like Zelda: Majora's Mask were built on the foundation of existential dread, as the moon was constantly about to crash and end all life. Finally, Nier Automata took this to a whole new level with its philosophical, suicidal robots, forcing you to question your purpose in a machine-driven world.

Non-Euclidian Spaces and Strange Liminal Places

There is something deeply unnerving about a space that defies logic. The mind rebels against a world that doesn't follow the rules it knows, and this is where Non-Euclidian Spaces and strange liminal spaces come in. In the videogame Kairo, I wandered through cyclopean buildings with bizarre geometry, which created a sense of being lost and disoriented. The repetition and alterations of the same space was effectively mined by Mark Z. Danielewski in his masterful book House of Leaves and Guillermo Del Toro and Hideo Kojima effectively looked at this concept further with PT, where the corridors around you changed in an unsettling way. More recently and importantly, more accessibly, Control used the uncanny nature of the Oldest House to great effect, linking strange, unsettling spaces to our everyday world. Even older games like Zelda: A Link to the Past's Forest of Time or the Haunted Mansion in Super Mario World played with this concept on a more basic but subtly unsettling way.

Corporate Indifference

As an older statesman, I’ve found a new fear in the cold, uncaring nature of large corporations, oligarchs and tech bros. It’s the idea that your life, your very existence, is a mere byproduct of a grand machine that doesn’t care about you at all. Amnesia: A Machine for Pigs and Alien: Isolation captured this perfectly, treating you as a mere cog in the mechanization of labor, all in first person. Meanwhile, Bioshock was a cautionary tale about a fallen utopia built on a foundation of corporate greed and indifference. Finally, the much underrated Tacoma told the chilling story of astronauts who are simply given up for dead by corporate bigwigs. It was a subtle but deeply unsettling horror of realising that you would die and that no-one above you in management cared or ever did. 

Body Horror, Gore Porn and Real World Violence

Some fears are just primal. The gut-wrenching feeling of being trapped in a confined space with something horrifying, as in Dead Space, is timeless but that eyeball scene in Dead Space 2 was a masterclass in making you squirm in your seat. The horrifying transformation in Inside, where you become an amorphous blob, tapped into our deep-seated fear of losing control over our own bodies in hideous Tetsuo-ness. However, the greatest use of real world violence was when a knife was thrust into my right hand in VR in Resident Evil 7. My friends and I were grossed out and the effect was terrifying as it happened within the first 30 minutes of the game which gradually escalated the violence.

However, as I get older, I find myself more afraid of other people than I am of external, existential terrors that most probably don't exist. The  monsters exist, and they are often human-shaped, wear suits and hold positions of responsibility and respectability. Games like Decarnation, Haunting Ground, Clock Tower and Silent Hill 2 explored the horrors of violence against women and entrapment. Deadly Premonition and Year Walk delved into the ritualistic and folk horror that can be rooted in very real, very human traditions and doctrines.

Confronting individuals or groups who are so utterly convinced of their own righteousness and destiny when they cannot be reasoned with is terrifying. They believe that their path, often involving self-destruction, violence, or the annihilation of others, will lead to a higher state of being—a 'cosmic bliss' reserved only for the select few.

Elden Ring had an example in Dominula, the Windmill Village, where the people were dancing around maypoles covered in beautiful pink flowers and there are crosses scattered around. I remember being really scared of this area as it felt creepy and otherworldly, like Summerisle in The Wicker Man or other folk horror films; I was a trespasser and did not belong in this land.

The horror of the eschaton - the belief in the end of the world as a necessary prelude to a new, perfect one - is more common that we might think. Real world examples of those who sought cosmic bliss are available and easy to find through the myriad cults and extreme belief systems that still persist. When people actively seek out the end times, they are no longer passively afraid of a coming apocalypse but they become active participants in bringing it about through whatever means possible.

We live in interesting times but those who are actively seeking the end-times are the scariest creatures of all; these are not fearful, unknowable cosmic creatures but Man. Man’s evil against his fellow man are reflections of the darkness that can exist within us.

How do you reason with a belief system that sees the world and the people in it as mere obstacles to be removed or sacrifices to be made on the road to utopia? Now there’s a conundrum…anyways, I’m off to play Pacman. Wish me luck against the Inky, Blinky and Clyde. Nite!

LINK: Decarnation: Videogames As Art

LINK- Toxic: Women, Fame and the Noughties- Book Review (and Some Thoughts)

LINK- Pure Invention: How Japan's Pop Culture Conquered the World- Book Review (and Personal Reflections)

LINK- The Rise of Retro Gaming During Covid

LINK: Japan: My Journey to the East

LINK- Blood, Sweat and Pixels- Book Review

LINK- Utopia for Realists- Book Review

LINK- On And On And Colston ( Or, How We Kinda Sort of Learned to Talk About the Legacy of Colonialism and the British Empire)

LINK- ‘Natives: Race and Class in the Ruins of Empire’ LINK: Elden Ring- Videogames As Art

True Detective Season 1 - Cult TV Review

It's funny how some of the best discoveries happen when you least expect them. Just recently, whilst handing in some donations at the local Oxfam, my eye caught something unexpected: the True Detective Season 1 DVD set, priced at a mere £3.99. I'd never actually seen the show, despite knowing of it and having heard a lot of praise showered upon it over the years. It felt like a sign, a little nudge from the universe to finally see what all the fuss was about.

True Detective Season 1 DVD Review

Not bad for £3.99 eh?

Beyond the general acclaim, what truly piqued my interest were the whispers I'd heard about its thematic depth and atmospheric qualities. I'd heard comparisons to The King in Yellow, the unsettling cosmic dread of Robert W. Chambers' work, which immediately resonated with my love for the uncanny.

Then there were the mentions of Twin Peaks, a show that masterfully blends surrealism with small-town mystery, Alan Wake, with its dark, psychological horror wrapped in a literary narrative and Deadly Premonition 2 with its wizened old main character flashbacking to the case that broke him. The recurring theme of Southern Gothic also tickled my fancy, promising a rich tapestry of decay, dark secrets, and a unique sense of place. All these elements are firmly in my wheelhouse, so the decision was made. For less than the price of a fancy but ultimately disappointing coffee, I was ready to dive into what promised to be a journey into the heart of darkness, Louisiana style.

The anticipation of seeing how these influences might manifest, how the show would weave together a compelling narrative with such rich thematic undertones, was palpable. So, with the DVDs in hand and expectations set high by a confluence of critical acclaim and personal genre preferences, I plonked myself down for my first viewing of True Detective Season 1. So, how was it?

The story stars Matthew McConaughey, playing Detective Rust Cohle, and Woody Harrelson, playing his partner Detective Martin Hart, who are investigating a series of disturbing, ritualistic murders in Louisiana. This quickly spirals into a much larger and darker narrative involving occult practices and a deeply unsettling meta-psychotic killer. The show is a police procedural but with unreliable narrators abound, it is a show that demands attention.

Over the course of 8 episodes, the show masterfully weaves together different timelines and perspectives as they pursue a killer tied to the unsettling concept of The King in Yellow, Carcosa and The Green Man. This all leads them down a rabbit hole of existential dread and profound psychological instability. Cohle's nihilistic and philosophical outlook is a defining characteristic, contrasting sharply with Hart's more grounded, family-oriented perspective (until his penchant for affairs that is). As both men delve deeper into the dark heart of man they find themselves forever changed.

I has always heard that the show was known for its complex themes, atmospheric storytelling, and powerful performances but boy, was I blown away by the beautiful cinematography and sense of place. It's always a hoary old thing to say that 'the setting is a character' but in this case, Louisiana sets the sweaty, uncomfortable mood perfectly. It's uncomfortable conditions, with its portrayal of different lifestyles and wealth, are evocative portrayed by the character actors with deep, meditative silences adding to the palpable terror of what will be found at journey's end. The make-up team does an outstanding job of aging and de-aging up the protagonists, especially McConaughey who looks all haggard and wrinkly, but Woody Harrison's wig, which he wears for his youthful flashbacks, are hilarious as his de-aging process just seems to involve him whipping the rug off.

Over the course of a few nights, I watched the entire season and loved it. I can see why the series is so well regarded and put forward as a keystone in the Golden Age of Television that many believe started with The Sopranos.

The McConaissance hype is real as it was amazing to see McConaughey show his acting chops after spending the best part of a decade leaning against stuff and looking cheekily at the young starlet over his shoulder. I will now look at watching the other series to see if they can live up to the very high benchmark set here but, from what I gather, this was the zenith that has yet to be surpassed.

LINK: The King in Yellow- Book Review

LINK: Japan: My Journey to the East

LINK: Blood, Sweat and Pixels- Book Review

LINK: The Offworld Collection- Book Review

LINK: Shadow of the Colossus- Book Review

LINK: Manga Exhibition at the British Museum

LINK: The Midnight Library and the Idea That You Can’t Go Home Again

LINK: The Transportive Nature of Objects (And the Power of Mini Consoles)

LINK: My One True Gaming Constant in Life- Nintendo

The Sandman I to III - Audiobook Review

Neil Gaiman's The Sandman comic series is a monumental work, having garnered 26 Eisner Awards and frequently hailed as the “Shakespeare of comics." Fans have long clamored for an adaptation that could do it justice and, while the Netflix series has recently successfully brought the world of the Dreaming to the small screen, Audible took a different approach, transforming the iconic comic series into an immersive, full-cast audio drama over the course of a couple of years. As a long-time fan, I was intrigued to see how a graphic novel would translate to an audio-only format. Having now listened to all the available installments, I can confidently say that this adaptation is a magnificent achievement that captures the essence of Gaiman's epic tale.

Gaiman himself is the narrator and, along with an all-star cast, the production elevates the text with lush soundscapes, cinematic music, and a meticulously crafted sound design. The dialogue remains almost verbatim from the comics, with a few descriptive additions to help listeners navigate the visual-heavy world of the Dreaming. This faithful approach, combined with the late 1980s setting, gives the adaptation a timeless quality that feels both classic and groundbreaking.

The first Act of the audiobook adapts the initial three volumes of the graphic novels: Preludes & Nocturnes, The Doll's House and Dream Country. It introduces us to Dream of the Endless, also known as Morpheus, who is captured and imprisoned for decades by a cult on Earth. After his escape, he embarks on a quest to reclaim his lost tools of power and restore his kingdom, the Dreaming. This first act establishes the world and lore with a wonderful mix of foreshadowing and compelling storytelling. The voice performances are largely excellent. James McAvoy is a standout as the brooding and enigmatic Morpheus, while Michael Sheen's Lucifer and Taron Egerton's John Constantine are pitch-perfect. However, a word of caution: the audio version of the ‘24 Hours’ storyline is particularly intense and more disturbing than the TV series, staying true to the often graphic nature of the original comic.

The second Act weaves together pivotal arcs including Season of Mists, A Game of You and Distant Mirrors. Morpheus's search for a new ruler of Hell after Lucifer abdicates their responsibilities and Barbie's heroic quest to save the Dreaming are highlights, brought to life by a host of new and returning talent. The episode Thermidor, which adapts issue 29, is a rare instance where the audio version might even surpass the comic. This is down to the performance of Orpheus by Regé-Jean Page, which, when combined with director Dirk Maggs' vision and James Hannigan's score, makes his song a truly must-experience moment. The rest of the new cast is equally impressive, with John Lithgow and Brian Cox as Emperor Norton and Augustus, and Bill Nighy and David Tennant as Odin and Loki, delivering dynamic and entertaining performances. Kristen Schaal is also a fantastic fit for Delirium, capturing the character's erratic charm perfectly. When I heard she was cast I knew she would blow it out of the water as her vocal work in Bob's Burgers and, my favourite, Gravity Falls has been outstanding. But while the casting has been largely brilliant, one performance stands out as a personal disappointment and that is Kat Dennings' Death. Although Dennings is a good actress, her portrayal feels flat and devoid of the warmth and compassion that Kirby Howell-Baptiste brought to the role in the television series (and it's not just because I've had a crush of her ever since I saw her wearing a cheese hat in The Good Place). In the audio version, Death often sounds bored or annoyed. Iconic and heartbreaking scenes, like the death of an old violinist or a baby with Sudden Death Syndrome, lack the emotional weight they carry in the comics and TV show. In these moments, her performance falls short, leaving a noticeable void where empathy should be. Maybe that's me but that was how I felt when I first heard the audiobook and after I have seen the TV adaptation.

The Good Place is amazing and was the first time I came across Kirby Howell-Baptiste.

The third and final installment (so far) covers the graphic novels Brief Lives and The World's End. It begins with the masterful prelude, The Song of Orpheus, which serves as a powerful setup for this Act's themes of love, loss, and consequence. This season delves into the tragic relationship between Morpheus and his son, Orpheus, as Dream embarks on a journey of redemption. It's a compelling and fitting prelude which foreshadows the finale. This season ends with Morpheus accepting his coming fate at the hands of the Kindly Ones after spilling family blood for the greater good. It is a powerful and tragic tale of toxic family structures and how they affect life going forward but also, in the case of Morpheus, it is possible to break the cycle of abuse- but it often comes at a great personal cost.

Overall, the Audible adaptation of The Sandman is a remarkable achievement as it honors the source material with its faithful dialogue and rich production, offering a compelling experience for both long-time fans and newcomers who are prepared for the darker elements. The overall production quality and the strength of most of the performances make this an essential listen for anyone captivated by Gaiman's extraordinary universe. Despite a few minor quibbles, the casting is spot on, and the series offers a phenomenal new way to experience this classic saga. We can only hope that we get the final act that this incredible series deserves, as The Sandman truly deserves the sleep of the just.

However, with the allegations against Neil Gaiman ongoing, I think it unlikely that we will get the closure we would like as he is the narrator of the audiobook and that is problematic to say the least.

Oh well- that is right and just do we'll have to wait and see but, in the meantime, we have the excellent TV series, phenomenal comics and most of the excellent audio books versions to appreciate.

Levelling Up Your Look- Clothing in Games

Clothes, in both the real and virtual worlds, are far more than just fabric and pixels. They are a powerful tool for self-expression, a way to enhance a narrative and a means to deepen player engagement. Just as many people find joy in experimenting with their real-world wardrobe, a deep satisfaction comes from tailoring an in-game appearance.

In an era where personal branding extends even to our digital footprints, the ability to customize an avatar's attire becomes increasingly significant. Why settle for bland when you can craft a character that truly reflects your personality, your mood or even an aspirational version of yourself? This freedom is particularly potent in games where you'll be spending tens, if not hundreds of hours with your virtual counterpart. Your avatar becomes an extension of you, and their clothing is a primary means of communicating their—and your—identity within the game world. 

This resonates deeply with my own journey; after years of ‘milquetoast’ choices for my in-game characters, I've recently embraced creating unique and exciting avatars, recognizing that if I'm going to spend hours with them, they might as well be fun. While some games, like Expedition 33, offer purely cosmetic customization, others demonstrate how clothing can be intrinsically linked to gameplay and progression. Take the Princess Peach Showtime! example; each costume change not only looks adorable but also directly alters Peach's abilities, adding an exciting layer to the gameplay that my daughters and I eagerly anticipate. Similarly, games like the Soulsbourne series show how new outfits can serve as: rewards for achievements (unlocking exclusive attire for completing challenges), storytelling devices (denoting allegiance, class or foreshadowing events), player expression of lore (deepening immersion through authentic choices) and social signifiers (indicating dedication, wealth or participation in events in multiplayer games). 

The act of ‘dressing up’ an avatar taps into several psychological desires. It's a low-stakes environment to experiment with identity, much like my university days marked a significant shift in my real-world fashion. 

In my formative years, I prioritized fitting in, but a friend's observation that my clothes (Farah trousers before they were cool again and Bill Cosby jumpers before they became problematic by proxy) didn't represent me spurred a more experimental approach. This continued into my university and teaching career, where I embraced curated, louder pieces from T. K. Maxx combined with fewer but better quality everyday pieces, so much so that my wife-to-be jokingly called me Malvolio, after Shakespeare's famously flamboyant character.

Virtual spaces offer a liberating canvas for sartorial expression without the fear of judgment that can accompany real-life fashion choices. It allows for a playful breaking of inhibitions which seems to have come to the fore post-pandemic. However, embracing your ‘true’ self in an increasingly always-online world, dressing in a way that truly marks you out, can feel like a seditious act, especially when an unwillingly filmed clip or photo can go viral and publicly shame you. However, within games, it's safe to be Malvolio, if you so choose, without that risk. 

I bought these books in my late teens and the fearless Harajuku fashion blew me away and made me want to be brave with my dress sense.

It's truly great to witness people embrace dressing how they want online, not harming anyone but simply expressing themselves. The continued evolution of gaming will undoubtedly see even more sophisticated and integrated systems for clothing and customization, enhancing the already rich tapestry of digital self-expression and I’m all in!

LINK- Japan: My Journey to the East

LINK: Harajuku Fashion

LINK- The Future Starts Here: An Optimistic Guide to What Comes Next- Book Review

LINK- On And On And Colston ( Or, How We Kinda Sort of Learned to Talk About the Legacy of Colonialism and the British Empire)

LINK- Nintendo: My One True Gaming Constant

LINK- Let’s All Create a ‘New Normal’.

LINK- An English Geek in Saudi

Fireworks - Cult Manga Review

For fans of Shunji Iwai's distinctive cinematic style, the 2017 anime adaptation of his 1993 television special, Fireworks: Should We See It from the Side or the Bottom? feels like a beautiful and unexpected gift. As a long-time admirer of his work, which I first discovered through the cult classic Picnic, I was delighted to find this animated reimagining. I hoped it would capture the earnest spirit of his original vision while expanding it into something new.

The film, now titled simply Fireworks, is from Shaft Studios and Director Akiyuki Shinbo. This adaptation takes a 30-year-old story and turns it into something new yet familiar. It's a time-loop romance centered on two teenagers: the carefree Norimichi and the emotionally burdened Nazuna, who is grappling with her mother's impending remarriage and a forced move away from her friends. The story cleverly uses a magical, glowing orb to explore "what if" scenarios, allowing Norimichi to repeatedly alter events in a bid to change Nazuna's fate. This narrative device, reminiscent of films like Sliding Doors or Mr. Nobody, delves into the complexities of choice and the longing for a different outcome.

What truly elevated this film for me was its breathtaking animation. The vibrant colors and fluid character designs create a dreamlike atmosphere that perfectly complements the story's fantastical elements. Each scene is a work of art, from the sun-drenched coastal town to the mesmerizing spectacle of the fireworks themselves. This visual feast is expertly paired with an emotive and memorable soundtrack that enhances the film's poignant moments, pulling the viewer deeper into the characters' emotional journeys. The main protagonists are simply characterized and, aside from a few juvenile moments from the male students, are quite innocent and endearing.

Fireworks is a poignant meditation on first love, regret, and the paths not taken. The film's earnestness and stunning artistry make it a compelling watch that will resonate with anyone who has pondered the choices that shape their lives. While it might not reach the epic emotional heights of modern classics like Your Name or The Girl Who Leapt Through Time, Fireworks should be judged on its own merits. It doesn't need to be a masterpiece to be worth your time.

Ultimately, this animated version is a testament to Shunji Iwai's enduring talent for crafting stories that are both deeply personal and universally relatable. For that, it stands as a worthy addition to his body of work.

LINK: For the Love of Shunji Iwai

LINK- The Anxious Generation: Book Review (and Some Thoughts)

LINK: Japan: My Journey to the East

LINK- Utopia for Realists- Book Review

LINK- On And On And Colston ( Or, How We Kinda Sort of Learned to Talk About the Legacy of Colonialism and the British Empire)

LINK- ‘Natives: Race and Class in the Ruins of Empire’ LINK: Elden Ring- Videogames As Art

LINK- Toxic: Women, Fame and the Noughties- Book Review (and Some Thoughts)

LINK- Pure Invention: How Japan's Pop Culture Conquered the World- Book Review (and Personal Reflections)

Juniper Mae: Knight of Tykotech City - Graphic Novel Review

Juniper Mae: Knight of Tykotech City is a beautifully written and illustrated graphic novel from Sarah Soh that has quickly become a favorite in our school's graphic novel club. As the club leader for Year 4 and 5 pupils, I've found that comics and graphic novels are a fantastic way to engage reluctant readers, and this book is a perfect example of why.

The story introduces us to the whimsical world of Tykotech City and brilliant young inventor, Juniper Mae. Her passion for building gadgets and her dream of advancing the city are instantly captivating. The plot kicks into high gear when the city's power is mysteriously stolen, pulling Juniper into a thrilling investigation to find the culprit.

Although the book is aimed at children, the compelling story and endearing characters make it an enjoyable escape for readers of all ages. The artwork is a major highlight, masterfully combining the edgy cyan blues of the techno-city with the warm, autumnal hues of the forest. The Cal Arts-style illustrations, with their anime influences, create a cohesive and visually stunning world.

One of the novel's greatest strengths is its heartfelt message, delivered through sweet and relatable characters. Juniper, an empathetic and resourceful heroine, leads the reader on a brilliant adventure. The story concludes with a gripping cliffhanger, leaving all of us eagerly awaiting the next installment.

Overall, Juniper Mae is the perfect gateway for reluctant readers, bridging the gap between comics and more traditional novels. It's a highly recommended adventure that you won't want to miss.

The Wonky Heart of Emulation: A Nostalgic Look at Gaming's Folk Movement

For many of us approaching middle age, the mid-1990s was a time of discovery. It was a period when the vast, previously inaccessible landscapes of videogaming were opened up not by corporations, but by a folk movement of unbelievable cultural generosity. The catalyst? Emulation.

Back in the day, it felt like having the whole of retro gaming in your hand.

Previously, gaining access to all of gaming across the numerous systems and consoles would have required considerable financial investment but, with the rise of Frankenstein PCs, which became popular in the mid-90s, one machine could now do it all! Thanks to a galaxy of distinct emulators—each with its own strengths, weaknesses and weird quirks—we were able to explore the rich history and back catalogue of gaming. This wasn't a slick, polished experience; it was a grassroots movement with a certain hacker-like identity. 

I remember the thrill of each new emulator version, the incremental improvements, the bug fixes that turned a graphical glitch into a moment of pure gaming nirvana on my AMD Athlon something something. At university, this was the backbone of hundreds of hours of entertainment, all run from a memory stick onto a cobbled-together PC using some ropey third-party controller (I’m looking at you Logitech exploding submarine controller). It was a community forged in the shared experience of this DIY bodging and puerile names for the emulators, my personal faves being NESticles and Handy.

We weren't just playing games; we were participants in a collective act of preservation and technical appreciation, although we wouldn't know it at the time. We were just cheap poor students living for the moment and reflecting on the nostalgia of our youth in the cheapest way possible.

Today, the scene is undoubtedly better, in many respects. Slicker UIs, out-of-the-box retro consoles (like the Pandora or mini consoles), and Raspberry Pi emulation have made retro gaming more accessible than ever. But as we enjoy these seamless, curated experiences on our flatscreen TVs, it's worth a moment to remember what was lost. We traded the incremental victories and the charming, wonky heart of the early emulation scene for convenience. And while that's not a bad thing, there's a part of me that will always be nostalgic for the days when getting a game to run on an emulator was an achievement in itself and the strange glitches that would happen a unique surprise.

LINK- Vintage Arcade Machines in the Wild

LINK- The Golden Voyage of Sinbad- Cult Movie Review

LINK- The 7th Voyage of Sinbad- Cult Movie Review

LINK- Into the Unknown Exhibition Shines Bright at the Barbican

LINK- Ray Harryhausen: Titan of Cinema Virtual Exhibition Experience- Review

LINK- Children of the Stones: Cult TV Series Review

LINK- Tom’s Midnight Garden: Cult TV Review

LINK- On And On And Colston ( Or, How We Kinda Sort of Learned to Talk About the Legacy of Colonialism and the British Empire)

LINK: Japan: My Journey to the East