When I finished watching Monsters (2010) and was about to turn off the television at the credits, I noticed that its director, Gareth Edwards, was also responsible for the film's photography and visual effects. I was impressed as I thought that these two qualities were the film's strongest. I also thought that the two lead performances by Whitney Able and Scoot McNairy were very good, and the two are clearly talented actors who I would not mind seeing again in another film. Beyond these aspects, Monsters is not wholly satisfying: I wanted more from what was there and wanted less of what was actually shown.
Simple premise: The presence of alien life has been discovered in space, and a satellite was launched to collect data. The satellite made an unsuccessful re-entry, and the collected data scattered as debris on the earth's surface. Alien life has appeared in this area; and it has been designated an "infected zone" and it is located in Mexico, south of the U.S. border. A photojournalist, Andrew, working for an American magazine is south of the zone in Mexico, hoping to get some photos of the dramatic action caused by the upheaval at the local level in Mexico, the presence of the U.S. military, and of course, the alien life. Andrew's publisher (more of a mogul) has a daughter, Samantha, located in the same area as Andrew. He quietly commands Andrew to escort his daughter back to the U.S., safely.
One of the benefits of the modern visual style of filmmaking, taking its cues from documentary and news media, is to invoke a sense of an objective style of capturing footage; so the viewer is free to form his/her own opinion while watching. This is of course a fiction and still requires a "suspension of belief" on behalf of the viewer. Alternatively, however, one can say this style really calls attention to itself with its handheld-style camera work, with a specific emphasis on "handheld." There's always at least a lingering sense that someone is holding a camera, capturing footage, and making a movie. It's a brilliant style, always at risk of appearing either organic or contrived. Both results, organic or contrived, can also be brilliant. Edwards captures some fantastic imagery with some striking compositions, such as when Monsters visits the small villages in Mexico; the "post-apocalyptic" imagery, such as downed plane or a vehicle stuck in a tree; or genuine location captures, such as when Andrew and Sam visit a pyramid near the U.S. border.
One of the aspects that really aids this modern visual style of filmmaking, in terms of making it seem organic, is the absence of dramatic music accompanying the action. Edwards has chosen to include dramatic music within Monsters. This is inherently not a flaw, as the only potential result is the film seems, with its inclusion, more contrived. It does, however, become a strong flaw within Monsters. As the film progresses and Andrew and Sam make an arduous journey to the U.S. border and beyond, the viewer gets a sampling of accompanying music during scenes. There is music invoking a sad feeling when Sam is looking at memorials of dead children; there is music invoking a contemplative or ponderous sense as Sam and Andrew are walking an empty street with no signs of life around; and there is music invoking an ominous sense when the aliens and humans have an encounter. There is actually a scene when the ominous music begins and the viewer is the first to realize that the aliens are about to appear. The characters are initially unaware. Odd. Monsters certainly could have benefited from the absence of dramatic music.
Computer-generated visual effects receive the harshest criticism from viewers and critics alike when they are done poorly. In other words, nearly everyone finds its grating when imagery created by a computer looks exactly like imagery created from a computer. Edwards in creative fashion attempts to hide his computer-generated imagery in the shadows. I believe nearly all of the alien and human encounters occur at night, and the frame is often very dark. The aliens are put in a corner of the composition. Like shadows, the alien imagery is vague and unformed. Edwards does, however, have at least one scene where an alien tentacle is shown in the light; and my cinematically-trained mind immediately had flashbacks of Anaconda (1997). It seems as if the entirety of Monsters wants to avoid these types of viewer flashbacks, and Edwards almost makes it to the end. I ended up questioning this scene's inclusion, as I don't understand it. Also, when the screen went almost completely dark, as the film progressed, I was ready for an alien encounter.
I suppose the film's philosophical and socio-critical themes deserve mention. Monsters doesn't hide them: they are almost completely delivered via dialogue. When characters, for example, sit around a traditional setting, like a campfire, and begin to have a philosophical conversation, it appears exactly like it is. The words become focal, and the viewer is watching a conversation but primarily listening. There is such a didactic quality to these scenes in Monsters that it is off-putting. Interestingly, the simple character-driven themes, such as Andrew's abandonment of his own commercial gains to learn some humanity and Samantha's quest to discover what she wants out of life, are the film's most interesting. Able and McNairy really imbue these qualities with their performances. In fact, if Monsters had completely focused on these two characters and their personal, spiritual journeys, then Monsters would have been a much more affecting emotional film; and Edwards still would be able to include his philosophical themes and social criticism. Alfonso Cuaron executed this style brilliantly with his film Y Tu Mama Tambien.
As an alternative to blockbuster, big-bang explosion, Hollywood cinema, I can see how some viewers will find Monsters refreshing and creative. Monsters is refreshing and creative in that respect. I suppose I'm still looking for something different from cinema, and I didn't find it here.
The director described is Scott Spiegel whose film Intruder was also co-written and produced by Lawrence Bender (whose collaborations with Quentin Tarantino must have led to these three eventually working together on From Dusk Till Dawn 2: Texas Blood Money (1999)). Intruder is about a crew working in a grocery store after closing who get picked off, one by one, by a killer. It's a film with a single location, few characters, and a simple plot. While Spiegel admits in the Gorezone article that after working on Thou Shalt Not Kill...Except, low-budget films, like Evil Dead, should be kept to a single location for organizational and budgetary reasons (Gorezone, p.9), his decision to do so with Intruder is as much a creative one: like Evil Dead and the film that he co-wrote previously, Evil Dead 2, when the setting, plot, and characters are simple, the complexity and creativity can come with the details. The opportunity for interesting and bloody practical effects; off-kilter photography, lighting, and editing; and dark comedy are ripe. Does Intruder succeed? Yes, kind of, sort of, no. However, Spiegel and crew had some hurdles to clear in 1989 even before the cameras started rolling.
However, this is my opinion in 2011. If Intruder were made today, not only would I have never seen it, then I probably would have never had known about it. Intruder does have a wonderfully dated quality that really defines it. The grocery store setting appears genuine and also appears dated even in 1988. To see products that are no longer around because they have lost their utility or their companies have gone under, print magazines no longer published, and technology seriously outdated is surreal. 
It's a load of shit to say it, but it's true: a film's heart can never be measured with any logical or mathematical approach. It is conveyed really to the viewer, and the level to which it reaches you is dependent on the viewer. Intruder conveys a tremendous amount of heart. The enthusiasm with which Balun writes his Gorezone article and the geeky-horror-movie-fan enthusiasm so very present in Spiegel radiates throughout Intruder. The shadowy compositions are really effective. Spiegel is able to make his shadows powerful enough to compete with the other props and gore effects in the frame, and often the shadows win out in creepy factor. Often a lot of the comedy, while it may be out of place, is quite endearing. For example, virtually everyone who works in the store is constantly snacking on something. Raimi's Randy is totally focused on some menial task. In the foreground of the composition, a jar of olives stands out from which Randy is mindlessly taking out olives. He pops them in his mouth without looking. The camera goes into close-up of the jar, and Randy reaches into the jar. The killer has placed an eyeball among the olives. Randy's fingers graze the eyeball but at the last second, he grabs an olive. It's a cute, "ewww" gore effect, and one that only a real lover of horror films would even think to include.
Any Raimi fan will recognize Dan Hicks in Intruder and he gives a wonderful performance. He tells a story midway into the film that is totally creative and incredulous, yet Hicks's rendition is genuine. While all of the performances in Intruder waver in quality, none are lacking in enthusiasm. The final film appears as if everyone, from cast and crew, want Intruder to be a roller-coaster scarefest. This one quality, its heart, is ultimately Intruder's redeeming quality. This is why it made fans in 1989 and still has fans, like me, today. Intruder is old-school predictable horror but it's old-school horror. They just don't make them like this anymore. Okay, I'm fucking around. Yes, they do. However, not quite like this. See it and understand.
Una ondata di piacere (1975) marks a return to cinema after an absence of years for its director, Ruggero Deodato. In his own words, Deodato speaks of its genesis, taken from his interview included as a part of a featurette of the Raro 
In Cannibal Holocaust and The Savage Cinema of Ruggero Deodato, Deodato relates this version of the film's genesis: 
Una ondata di piacere benefits from its tight and almost primary setting, Giorgio’s yacht, four characters, with each actor giving an effective performance, and a willingness to be provocative, leaving the conservative perhaps back at shore. It is a film about power and its perversity, its ridiculousness, and its attraction. 
John Steiner’s Giorgio is the most overt character with the most stereotypical rendition of power. Giorgio’s wealthy, competitive, and possessive; and perhaps as a result of these traits, he is cruel. He enjoys berating and abusing his wife, Silvia. Giorgio refuses a business deal with a down-on-his-luck colleague, and it is intimated in a later scene that this colleague committed suicide because of this refusal. Giorgio could have helped, exclaims Silvia, but he didn’t want to, intimating that Giorgio took some pleasure in rebuffing his colleague. In another sequence on the yacht, Irem overhears Giorgio tells his lawyer via phone to close a deal with its end result being the unemployment of six hundred workers. Giorgio doesn’t care in the least, and this irks Irem. Dionisio’s Barbara immediately realizes Giorgio’s nature, and as the film progresses, it becomes clear that Barbara’s plan is to seduce Giorgio. However, she is never going to complete the seduction: the ultimate punishment is to deny Giorgio what he wants the most. For someone so driven and possessive and cruel like Giorgio, to be denied anything could kill him. Barbara’s plan does not work as conceived. 
The perversity of Una ondata di piacere reveals itself during the second act. Elizabeth Turner’s Silvia reveals herself as not a victim but as very complacent in her position. In their cabin, Barbara and Irem stare incredulously as they hear Giorgio and Silvia have sex in their cabin. Barbara remarks, humorously, from the noises that they are making now, one would never think that they tried to kill each other earlier that day. Irem remarks that they seem like a master and happy slave. Barbara still attempts to exact her plan but she is never able to make any effective headway. Meanwhile, Irem develops a blossoming obsession towards Silvia. Like Barbara, Silvia seems to enjoy seducing Irem yet keeping him effectively at bay. Silvia’s character takes a perverse turn, as does Barbara‘s--when the third act begins, Barbara changes her plan, and when the credits roll, the viewer will certainly be questioning her cruelty. 
Ruggero Deodato has always been a court jester of cinema, enjoying being willful and provocative for the sake of being so. I admire this tremendously. The thriller plot of Una ondata di piacere is tired; and the real interest of the film is in watching these characters reveal their different layers with totally unexpected results. In fact, as much as Una ondata di piacere is touted as an erotic film, Deodato shoots the film as if it weren’t: the film has an organic style, none of the nudity or the sex is particularly treated with flourish. When Turner and Dionisio disrobe in front of each other, Deodato’s composition doesn’t change. Like a conversation, the inclusion of any skin into the frame just continues. When Irem attempts to fuck Silvia, Deodato shoots them on the small staircase leading from the cabin to the upper deck. There’s nothing special about the setting nor the atmosphere: there’s only Irem’s obsession and Silvia’s seduction. Any eroticism from the film is generated from the actors: gorgeous Dionisio is as seductive in her jeans and hooded sweatshirt walking the streets of Cefalù as she is sunbathing topless on the deck of the yacht. Deodato’s primary composition of Dionisio is a facial close-up. Cliver and Turner generate heat in their few sequences, and Steiner, perhaps intentionally with his performance, looks buffoonish in his sexual scenes. 
Una ondata di piacere is unexpected in Deodato style and is worth seeing if not just for Silvia Dionisio’s precious performance. She captures every frame and is the very definition of charismatic. While Steiner’s character is the most overt and Turner’s character the most subverted, Dionisio’s character is the most unexpected and holds the most mystery. Una ondata di piacere is a rare film in Deodato’s filmography, rarely spoken of, but like most of his cinema, very provocative and compelling and certainly worthy of seeking out.
"When I see this film," says Rollin, "I feel a sense of unease. As if the film contains the seed of a great film that was never actually realized." (from Virgins and Vampires, edited by Peter Blumenstock, Essays by Jean Rollin, Crippled Publishing, Germany, 1997, p.93)
Natalie Perry, "in a very moving scene that gave the film its true meaning," (Virgins, p. 93) appears in the hallway of the Black Tower in front of Elisabeth and her roommate, portrayed by Catherine Greiner. Perry's character knows that she has a child and does not know where her child is. She cannot remember the sex of her child nor its name. She only has this innate connection, beyond her memory, that she has had a child and that her child is somewhere, alone. Elisabeth and Catherine are speechless and are overcome with the awkwardness of being so moved so suddenly by such emotion. Catherine tells Perry's character that her child's name is Alice, and this statement brings comfort to Perry's character. Its comfort is not lasting, as Perry's character only takes five or ten steps away, and asks again what her child's name is. Catherine tells Elisabeth that we can make memories for each other--making memories as temporary comfort for a debilitating condition that is consuming them. 
Grenier's character, in addition to suffering the memory loss, has also lost the ability of her fine motor skills, like undoing her buttons or unfastening her belt. "Cathy Grenier was a real actress. She dreamed about playing and worked for a long time on the scene where Brigitte feeds her with a spoon. This scene is a great moment, very moving and she is excellent in it," says Rollin. "I resisted to the bitter end facing André Samarcq [the producer] who insisted on me cutting it out at the editing." (from the supplemental booklet included in the Encore DVD set, p. 19) The scene which Rollin is describing is during a sequence where Elisabeth and Catherine are having dinner. Elisabeth watches as Catherine cannot bring the spoon of soup to her lips without spilling it. Without words, Elisabeth sits next to her friend and feeds her. Like Perry's sole scene, this sequence is especially tender and moving. So much so, after viewing, one can see why Rollin put up a fight to keep it in La nuit. 
Nonetheless, Samarcq’s demands upon Rollin show its influence in La nuit des traquées and alter its outcome. The lengthy sex scene between Lahaie and Duclos goes on way too long for most viewers. In addition, the scene is way too much for most viewers. To be totally frank, Brigitte Lahaie is too much for most viewers. Lahaie is one of the most sensuous actresses to ever grace the screen. She possesses an overwhelming and powerful sexuality. She also plays all of her roles with a true vulnerability and genuineness. Few possess these traits. However, to encounter a scene like this early in the film, many might determine the film for something it is not--a pure sex film. The subsequent sex scenes in La nuit might be borne from Rollin’s rebelliousness against Samarcq: one is a scene of violence, a rape scene shot in the same manner as a consensual sex scene; and the other is a sex scene ending in violence, performed by two ancillary characters (to be fair, ancillary characters pop up in and around Rollin’s films so often, they can hardly be called ancillary as their quantity removes their ancillary nature). The sex scenes are there, but they’re not titillating, save Lahaie and Duclos’s scene. These exploitive scenes punctuate La nuit loudly, making it unique in that respect. I’ve never valued tonal consistency (or any consistency, for that matter) in film, as I believe an artist is completely free to do as he/she wishes with the art. However, the tender scenes don’t play well with the exploitative scenes--they stand together like bullies and victims forced uncomfortably together for a school photo. 
Finally, I would be remiss not to mention the music by Philippe Bréjean: it’s simple and haunting. He really captured the melancholy mood of the film. It has to be heard rather than described with words. 
La nuit des traquées is an obscure film in an obscure film maker’s filmography. There are no castles, no Castel twins, and no beach scenes. It’s a beautiful and sad film full of fragments, where perhaps, all its beauty and sadness reside.