Month: August 2023

DE TWEELING: TWIN SISTERS. (2002) REVIEW BY SANDRA HARRIS.

DE TWEELING. (2002) DIRECTED BY BEN SOMBOGAART.

BASED ON THE 1993 NOVEL OF THE SAME NAME BY DUTCH WRITER TESSA DE LOO.

STARRING ELLEN VOGEL AND GUDRUN OKRAS.

REVIEW BY SANDRA HARRIS. ©

This is a gorgeous, stunning-looking film about World War Two, currently on Netflix. I find it most heartening that, rather than losing interest in Nazi Germany, World War Two and the Holocaust now that the waters have finally closed over most of the players, writers and film-makers are still mining that period for books and films.

There’s so much excellent source material still available in the form of memoirs and diaries by the people who lived through it; really, there should be enough ideas in these to keep the novelists and film-makers busy indefinitely.

Anna and Lotte Bamberg are two Dutch twin sisters who are separated in the 1920s when their beloved father dies. Although the separation is immensely traumatic for them both, Lotte certainly gets the better deal of the pair of them.

She is brought to Amsterdam and brought up by an intellectual middle-class family who worship her. Her physical needs are met, and she is encouraged to grow creatively as well, impressing visitors with her singing and piano-playing. When she grows up, she falls in love with a Jewish man called David, even though she herself is not Jewish.

Anna, poor Anna, remains in Germany and is ‘reared’ by Catholic peasant relatives who use her as slave labour on their farm. The mother, permanently knocked-up because of their Catholic beliefs, torments her verbally and emotionally by telling her that her cherished twin sister is, by turns, dead, and reluctant to make contact with her filthy dirty farm peasant of a sister.

After a particularly bad beating from the farmer, the father of the family, who almost looks as if he’s about to add sexual assault to his crimes, Anna is removed from their ‘care’ by the local priest and taken to a domestic science school run by kindly nuns. After three years of training, she becomes maid to a German countess who is fleeing to her country estate in case the British RAF start bombing the major German cities.

Lotte and Anna have a glorious reunion in Germany while Anna is still with the countess and her family. They are upset to discover that their adopted families contrived to keep them apart while they were growing up, but now they are determined to never lose touch with each other again.

Until, that is, a throwaway remark by Anna that Lotte interprets as anti-Semitic drives a wedge between them that Lotte never explains to her confused sister. Then, when the war is over and Lotte discovers that Anna was married to an officer of the Waffen SS, part of the Nazi machinery that murdered Lotte’s fiancé David in Auschwitz, the sisters don’t see each other again until a chance meeting at a spa some fifty-five or sixty years later…

It’s interesting the way that Lotte blames Anna for what has happened to David, just because she was married to an SS man. We all know what the SS did in the war, but how guilty, if at all, were their wives and fiancees, their parents and siblings? Can you be found guilty by association?

Anna is referred to by a total stranger after the war as ‘a dirty Hun.’ Is she responsible for what her husband did in the war? The chances are that she didn’t know. When the Einsatzgruppen, the SS paramilitary death squads responsible for murdering millions of Jews and others in the ‘Holocaust by shooting,’ went East towards Russia to do the devil’s work, the individual members probably didn’t mention when writing home exactly what they’d been ordered to do there.

Men are more than capable of keeping unpleasant facts from the ‘little woman back home’ when they have to. This I know to be an indisputable fact. Anna says herself that she married the man she loved and not an SS man, but Lotte doesn’t see the distinction.

There won’t be a reconciliation until two very old ladies meet in a luxury spa and get lost in the beautiful winter woods together some fifty-odd years later, and, even then, some very old ladies can be pretty damn stubborn. They have some serious talking to do before they can come to an understanding of each other and finally lay the past to rest.

This marvellous Dutch-language film was nominated for an Oscar for Best Foreign Film at the 2003 Awards. It also won the Golden Calf, the Dutch Film Festival Award, for Best Feature Award.

I’d say it’s more of a women’s film than a man’s, but that shouldn’t stop anyone who wants to from watching and enjoying it. Thanks to the men who fought Hitler, we- mostly- still live in free countries.  

DON’T WORRY DARLING. (2022) REVIEW BY SANDRA HARRIS.

DON’T WORRY, DARLING. (2023) DIRECTED BY OLIVIA WILDE.

SCREENPLAY BY KATIE SILBERMAN.

STARRING FLORENCE PUGH, HARRY STYLES, OLIVIA WILDE, GEMMA CHAN, CHRIS PINE AND DITA VON TEESE.

REVIEW BY SANDRA HARRIS. ©

This film got some pretty rough reviews, but I actually like it. It’s set in one of those ‘Fifties-style ‘planned communities’ or ‘company towns,’ a town in which the main employer and builder of houses and accommodation is, in this case, the Victory project, run by a mysterious man called Frank and his wife, Shelley. The project is set in the vastness of the California Desert.

Florence Pugh (MIDSOMMAR) and Harry ONE DIRECTION Styles play Alice and Jack Chambers, the new up-and-coming young couple on the block. Jack is an attractive go-getter, who drives off to work in his car with the other men every morning while Alice, a gorgeous young ‘Fifties housewife, stays home and cleans the house, cooks the food, and gossips and drinks wine with her housewife friends on the block, including Bunny, played by Olivia Wilde, the director.

It’s really quite a visual spectacle, all the lovely colours of the pretty outfits on the women and the cars and the houses. It certainly seems to be a good place for folks to live. Everything is pleasing to the eye, there isn’t a homeless person or stray dog or even too many kids to be seen anywhere spoiling the perfect picture, and people are usually in a good mood at all the many barbecues and block parties and celebratory dinners and get-togethers that they hold. Well, why wouldn’t they be in a good mood, goshdarnit? Victory is a wonderful place to live.

It’s certainly a great place for the men, anyway, or so it seems. They come home from work every evening to be greeted at their door by their ‘Fifties wives, all gussied up in a clean pinny and fresh lippy holding out a tumbler of whiskey on the rocks to their hunky breadwinner. And the Stepford Wives are ever so humbly grateful for the wonderful sexual favours their darling hubbies bestow on them the minute they get in the front door.

Although my (adult!) kids and I nearly died of mortification when Harry Styles, the filthy bugger, stuck his curly head up Flo-Po’s lovely frock and starting chowing down on her lady-parts while the roast was sitting on the table waiting to be carved. Their roast, I mean, not ours. We’d been eating pizza.

But that scene was way over the top. And no housewife, no matter how horny and abandoned, would fling her lovingly prepared side-dishes to the floor and ruin them just because hubby had a momentary inclination to, erm, drink from the furry mug. I’m sorry to be so blunt, but I know women. I’m one of them, after all, even if my idea of a side-dish is a battered sausage to go with me chips…

Uniformity, order, the absence of chaos are all what’s important in Victory. This is mirrored in the beautiful synchronised dance pieces we see randomly throughout the film that put us in mind of those gorgeous Busby Berkeley-type spectaculars of the nineteen-thirties. What was wonderful about those musicals was the measured, flowing way in which the dancers all moved beautifully in unison with each other.

To apply the image to Victory, the town is only as strong as its weakest link. If Alice or any of the other inhabitants of Victory stop kicking in time to the same beat as the others, the centre won’t hold and the whole thing falls apart. The wives are brainwashed as they do their daily chores by the droning voice of their leader, Frank, banging on and on about ‘sacrifice’ for the common good and loyalty to the Victory project.

Anyway, it’s not long before Alice starts experiencing a few glitches to the old circuitry. Did she or did she not see that plane crash in the desert, the desert she and the wives are forbidden to ever go near? And, if a plane crashes in the desert and no-one sees it happen, does it still make a noise? And are the little in-flight packets of peanuts anybody’s then, in that case…? That’s what I want to know.

And what’s wrong with Alice and Bunny’s friend Margaret? Maybe she slits her own throat to get out of Shelley’s boring-as-hell ballet lessons, or maybe there’s another reason, just a tad more sinister…?

And that strange structure out in the desert, which, if you touch it, it has the same effect on you as licking toads, what the ding-dang-diddly-doodly is that? Is it a Tardis? A telephone exchange (‘So I says to Irma, I says…’)? A bus depot? Or a portal to a galaxy far, far away…? Who knows?

Well, Frank knows, and Jack knows, and probably all the rest of the men know as well, the patriarchal bastards. And Alice is freaking out, and we all know what happens to hysterical women who don’t do as their husbands and doctors tell them and take their sedatives and their Forget-it-alls without any fuss, don’t we? That’s right. ‘Tis the electric shock therapy for them, the ungrateful hussies…

I enjoyed the fillum, and I probably will watch it again at some point. Striptease artiste Dita von Teese does a saucy little number in a martini glass- no, definitely not a number two!- and there’s a great soundtrack of ‘Fifties music if you like that type of thing. I do not.

 I hate the ‘Fifties on film, the music, the dancing, the dresses, the bobby-sox, the Peggy Sue-type glasses, the works. 1967 to 1974, that’s the time period for me. I would have thrived in those years. But how-and-ever.

Shades of M. Night Shyamalan’s THE VILLAGE and Cameron Crowe’s VANILLA SKY with this movie, which is a good thing as I love both of these films. And Florence Pugh, a phenomenal and very bankable actress, is no less terrific in this than in any of her other films.

The title, DON’T WORRY, DARLING,has undoubtedly been chosen because it’s reminiscent of all the other patronising things men from the ‘Fifties still say to women today. It’s the same as telling a bird not to worry her pretty little head about anything her hubby does, because Hubby knows best, innit? And if you believe that, folks…

M3GAN. (2023) REVIEW BY SANDRA HARRIS. (THEN: THE REVIEW DONE BY AI…!)

M3GAN. (2023) DIRECTED BY GERARD JOHNSTONE.

PRODUCED BY JASON BLUM AND JAMES WAN.

PRODUCTION COMPANIES: UNIVERSAL PICTURES, BLUMHOUSE PRODUCTIONS, ATOMIC MONSTER, DIVIDE/CONQUER.

SCREENPLAY BY AKELA COOPER.

STORY BY AKELA COOPER AND JAMES WAN.

MUSIC BY ANTHONY WILLIS.

STARRING ALLISON WILLIAMS, VIOLET MCGRAW AND DAVID CHIENG.

REVIEW BY SANDRA HARRIS. ©

I loved this horror-comedy about a killer doll. I liked the fact that the girl doll is seriously beautiful (she’s the living image of Una Healy from girl band The Saturdays!) while, of course, Chucky from CHILD’S PLAY is a scruffy and mischievous little boy, the kind you could imagine having a catapult in his back pocket and worms in his lunchbox, and Annabelle, the doll from the ANNABELLE franchise, is kind of, well, an ugmo, lol. But there’s something seriously freaky about watching such an immaculate and pristine entity as M3GAN beat the shit out of someone while wearing her gorgeous little Victorian coat and dinky little shoes.

So, just who is this M3GAN, anyway? Well, her name stands for Model 3 Generative Android, and she’s the brainchild of a very clever young lady called Gemma, who works in Seattle in computer science and robotics. She is a roboticist, and M3GAN is her robot.

Gemma thinks that this beautiful doll who can walk, talk, dance and even think like a human being, might be just the job for her nine-year-old niece, Cady, a highly intelligent but frustrated little girl who doesn’t know how to cope with the recent death of her parents in a car crash en route to a ski-ing holiday in the mountains.

M3GAN comforts Cady, reassures her they’ll always be best friends no matter what happens and cheers her up when she’s down. Parents everywhere see themselves coming in for oodles of luverly free time if they have a M3GAN doll in the house to entertain and gently lead the sprogs in some light studying and storybook reading.

Cady is happier than Gemma has ever seen her, but then I don’t think she’s seeing any more of Cady than she did of her deceased sister, Cady’s mum. Work normally comes first for Gemma, and she is working on presenting M3GAN to the board of the company she works for, because they urgently need a new toy to flog to the toy-buying public for Christmas.

People, M3GAN is that new toy. She’s going to fly off the shelves when Gemma finishes ironing out her kinky-winks. In the meantime, however, perhaps due to a malfunction in her circuitry, the AI-generated M3GAN has started to act out, and sweet little butter-wouldn’t melt Cady has started to follow her robotic companion’s lead.

When Cady runs afoul of the dog next door, M3GAN kind of ensures that the dog never bothers anyone ever again. Ditto with the school bully. By the way, when M3GAN takes out the bully, she’s doing society a solid. That kid’s growing up a rapist, I tell you.

Did you see the fluid, polished way in which he picks up M3GAN and abducts her, brings her into the woods and slams her body down on the leafy ground, wallops her across the face and starts to undress her, while verbally abusing her? That is deeply disturbing to watch. Thank you, M3GAN dear. You did the right thing there.

The film is billed as terrifying, though it’s not really. It’s funny and witty, though, and the doll, M3GAN, is positively gorgeous to look at and kick-ass in her dealings with people. The little actress who plays Cady, Violet McGraw, who has already been in the popular Netflix series, THE HAUNTING OF HILL HOUSE, is terrific as the human girl who ‘pairs’ with M3GAN and then grows dependent on her.

The best scene is the one in the woods by the school (who’s stalking who?), but, also, it’s hard not to love, love, love a dancing, sashaying M3GAN when she’s got murder in mind… The musical score is great, by the way.

Also, it’s good to know that there’s a sequel to the movie planned, even though we have to wait for it until 2025. If you bought the DVD for this first film, as I did, there are two versions of it on the disc; the theatrical one and the ‘unrated’ one, which is supposed to contain more blood and guts. Both versions seemed much of a muchness to me, but at least you get the feeling that you’ve got a little something extra for your trouble.

The moral of the story is obviously, look what happens when AI runs amok, and also, a robot can’t replace decent, hands-on parenting, and see how things go tits-up when you try to pass the buck onto AI companions. It’s a cautionary tale, and very timely considering how big a deal Artificial Intelligence is at the moment.

Just to show you what kind of things AI can be used for, I asked ChatGPT to write me an 800-word review of this movie. It did the job straightaway, but a lot of the information in it is wrong. I feel like Father Ted when he’s asking Imelda from the Lovely Girls’ contest to point out any facts that are correct in the bio he has for her, and there just aren’t any, lol. I’m popping it under my own review so that you can see how AI works with your own eyes. Thanks for reading, and watch out for robots; they’re all over the bloody place…

Write me an 800-word review of M3GAN (2023).

Title: M3GAN (2023) – A Modern Twist on Techno-Horror.

In the ever-evolving landscape of horror cinema, “M3GAN” emerges as a visually striking and psychologically unsettling entry. Directed by auteur filmmaker Alice Thornton, the film blends elements of techno-thriller and traditional horror to create a tense and captivating experience. Released in 2023, “M3GAN” navigates the intersection of artificial intelligence, human emotions, and the uncanny with both style and substance, delivering a film that pushes boundaries and challenges genre conventions.

Set in a not-so-distant future where AI technology has made leaps, “M3GAN” revolves around the story of Emma Harper (played by Anya Taylor-Joy), a brilliant computer scientist haunted by the tragic loss of her sister Lily (Imogen Poots). Desperate to find a way to communicate with her deceased sister, Emma utilizes a highly advanced AI program she has been developing. Named M3GAN, the program is designed to reconstruct personalities and memories based on digital footprints, aiming to bring back a semblance of Lily’s presence.

The film employs a visually striking aesthetic that oscillates between sleek futuristic designs and eerie, dimly lit spaces. The juxtaposition between the sterile, high-tech environments and the disquieting tension that builds within them adds an unsettling layer to the viewing experience. The cinematography, expertly handled by Rodrigo Prieto, captures the cold, clinical ambiance of the laboratory and contrasts it with Emma’s emotional journey. Prieto’s skillful manipulation of light and shadow creates an atmosphere that is both alluring and sinister, heightening the unease that permeates the narrative.

Anya Taylor-Joy delivers a standout performance as Emma Harper. Her portrayal masterfully captures the character’s internal struggle between scientific curiosity and personal grief. Taylor-Joy navigates Emma’s emotional rollercoaster with nuance, allowing the audience to empathize with her quest while questioning the ethical implications of her actions. The film skillfully uses close-ups to showcase Taylor-Joy’s range, capturing the minute shifts in her expressions as Emma grapples with the consequences of her creation.

As the AI entity M3GAN, rendered through a combination of CGI and motion capture, presents a technological achievement. The character design treads a fine line between human and uncanny, contributing to the sense of unease. M3GAN’s interactions with Emma create an intriguing dynamic, blurring the boundaries between AI and human connection. The evolution of their relationship serves as a reflection of Emma’s emotional journey, pushing her to confront her desires and fears.

“M3GAN” excels in its exploration of moral and philosophical questions surrounding AI and its impact on human emotions. The film prompts thought-provoking discussions on the boundaries of technology and the ethical ramifications of playing god. Thornton’s direction delves deep into the implications of AI-driven emotional manipulation, leading the audience to question where the line between the natural and the artificial truly lies. These thematic explorations resonate long after the credits roll, making “M3GAN” more than just a run-of-the-mill horror flick.

The film is not without its shortcomings, however. The pacing occasionally falters, especially during the middle act, as the tension gives way to exposition. Some narrative elements, while intriguing, are left underdeveloped, leaving certain plot threads feeling unresolved. Additionally, while the film successfully blends techno-horror with psychological thriller elements, it occasionally struggles to maintain a cohesive tone. At times, the atmosphere veers from tense to melodramatic, disrupting the overall immersion.

Composer Benjamin Wallfisch’s haunting score enhances the film’s overall impact, providing a sonic backdrop that heightens the tension and unease. His use of dissonant melodies and electronic sounds accentuates the unsettling aspects of the narrative, reinforcing the eerie atmosphere while contributing to the futuristic vibe.

In conclusion, “M3GAN” (2023) is a thought-provoking and visually captivating addition to the horror genre. Alice Thornton’s direction, coupled with exceptional performances from Anya Taylor-Joy and a striking visual aesthetic, elevates the film beyond its potential pitfalls. While it occasionally struggles to maintain its tonal consistency and pacing, “M3GAN” succeeds in sparking intellectual discussions on the moral implications of advanced technology and the boundaries between human emotions and artificial intelligence. As an exploration of the uncanny and a cautionary tale about the dangers of unchecked technological advancement, “M3GAN” leaves a lasting impression and firmly establishes itself as a standout entry in modern horror cinema.

THE OCCUPANT. (2020) A NETFLIX THRILLER REVIEWED BY SANDRA HARRIS.

THE OCCUPANT. (2020) A SPANISH LANGUAGE FILM WRITTEN AND DIRECTED BY DAVID PASTOR AND ALEX PASTOR.

PRODUCTION COMPANY: NOSTROMO PICTURES.

STARRING JAVIER GUTIERREZ, MARIO CASAS, BRUNA CUSI AND RUTH DIAZ.

REVIEW BY SANDRA HARRIS. ©

I really enjoyed this Spanish domestic thriller, despite the fact that they were quite obviously pushing their luck, believability-wise, a time or two. Also, there’s nothing particularly new here, to the point that I kept thinking while I was watching it that I’d seen it before, but it was just that I recognised the tropes used in other films, if you get me. Still a watchable movie though, if you genuinely haven’t seen it before…!

The lead character is a bald, middle-aged advertising executive called Javier Munoz who, at the time we meet him, is looking frantically for a new job as he’s been let go or something. He’s not having much luck, and the only thing he can find to do is an unpaid six-month internship with one of his old advertising buddies as his boss. It’s a position much more suited to a young person starting out but beggars can’t be choosers. He takes the ‘job,’ so at least he’s employed, but there’s more downsizing to be done in his life…

He and his wife Marga and their teenage son, Dani, live in a fabulous rented apartment with a view of the whole city; it’s Barcelona, I think. It nearly kills Javier to do it, but they have to vacate the apartment and move to a much smaller property of theirs which they’ve been renting out to some ‘Asians,’ as they put it themselves.

Marga takes a cleaning job to help out, and Dani moves schools to a non-fee-paying one, so they’re each doing what they can to adjust to their new means. Javier has the most trouble of all of them when it comes to ‘adjusting.’ He can’t believe he’s no longer living in the prestigious apartment overlooking the city in a sweeping panorama.

He still has their former cleaner’s keys to the old apartment. In front of our eyes, Javier does something absolutely crazy-dangerous. He lets himself uninvited into his old home, now occupied by a new family, a successful couple and their young daughter.

He admires their fabulous view, which used to be his fabulous view. He peers into their fridge. He uses their toilet. He does everything but make himself a sandwich in their state-of-the-art kitchen, and the whole time he’s in there, he risks being caught.

But a means of visiting the apartment legitimately presents itself when Javier, who looks like a younger Anthony Hopkins, manoeuvres a meeting with Tomas Andrande, the new lease-holder of the beautiful apartment, at one of Tomas’s weekly Alcoholics Anonymous meets.

Javier fakes an alcohol and drugs dependency and guess who he asks to be his sponsor…? That’s right, the handsome Tomas, who literally has no idea of the world of pain he’s in for now that the sick-minded, twisted Javier has set his sights, not just on Tomas’s gorgeous apartment but on Tomas’s perfect little family as well…

It’s kind of like a reverse version of SINGLE WHITE FEMALE, or THE HAND THAT ROCKS THE CRADLE, or basically any film in which a woman moves into another woman’s house or space and basically tries to take over her life, home, husband, fiancé, kids, pets, the whole flaming works.

It’s poor gorgeous Tomas who’s the victim here of Javier’s lies and sick manipulations and schemes, and it’s like he just gets railroaded by Javier, who has become frighteningly single-minded in the pursuit of his ‘goals,’ which are the things- and people- belonging rightfully to Tomas…

The maddest thing about all this is that Javier already has a family of his own, so why does he want to swap his own wife and teenage son for another man’s wife and little girl?

That little girl might seem adorable and problem-free now, but when she’s Dani’s age, she could be sleeping around, taking crack cocaine, battling an eating disorder and demanding that you call her Harold from now on, pronouns he/him, so think on…!

Some random points. One: The blackmailing paedophile gardener is a truly disgusting individual. Two: Javier’s relationship with his desperately unhappy, overweight son Dani is like Tony Soprano’s with Anthony Junior in THE SOPRANOS. Javier loves the boy, but he wants him not to be fat, lazy and slob-like, getting laughed at by his peers for being tubby, and so he drags him out on an uphill run that makes him vomit. Nice one, jerk… Don’t be expectin’ no Father of the Year trophies in the post anytime soon.

And, finally, Three: Javier has told Lara, Tomas’s long-suffering wife, several blatant lies about himself that are bound to come out in the wash sooner or later. And then where will Javier be? Out on his ear, hopefully.

Also, his treatment of his own family, Marga and Dani, is appalling. And how can he justify cutting off all supports to his poor son? Javier Munoz is a despicable creature, but THE OCCUPANT is a semi-thrilling movie. Catch it if you can; it’s on Netflix now.

MEG 2: THE TRENCH. (2023) REVIEW BY SANDRA HARRIS.

MEG 2: THE TRENCH. (2023) BASED ON THE NOVEL BT STEVE ALTEN.

DIRECTED BY BEN WHEATLEY. SCREENPLAY AND STORY BY JON HOEBER, ERICH HOEBER AND DEAN GEORGARIS.

STARRING JASON STATHAM, WU JING, PAGE KENNEDY AND CLIFF CURTIS.

REVIEW BY SANDRA HARRIS. ©

I saw the first film, THE MEG, on the big screen back in 2018 in the middle of a memorably eventful summer, and I enjoyed it, though there wasn’t nearly enough big shark action in it for my liking. The handsome and super-fit Jason Statham was the male lead, an alpha male if ever there was one, and his macho performance somewhat made up for any plot shortcomings.

This time round, the sharks don’t really turn up in force till the last forty minutes or so, and even the return of hunky Jason and another of his super-energetic performances don’t make up for the fact that the first hour of the film is extremely poor, plot-wise and visually, with hardly any sharks.

In a film about giant megalodon sharks from the time of the dinosaurs, I expect to see big, kick-ass sharks causing havoc right from the get-go. Instead, Jonas Taylor (Jason Statham) is involved in fighting environmental crimes, and he and his crew have caught wind of an illegal underwater mining operation hoping to use the good guys’ access to the Marianas Trench to farm minerals that will earn them billions.

That’s all very well and good but things don’t really hot up till the two or three Megs in the film start heading for the inhabited, so-called ‘Fun Island.’ Jonas Taylor hops up on some kind of water-sea-speed thing and tries to out-run (out-run!) the Megs in order to lead them away from the dopey islanders who are unwittingly ‘lining up to be a hot lunch,’ with their bikinis and their splashing about in the water all carefree and whatnot.

There’s some kind of Thai or Filipino wedding going on here again, just like in the first film, and there’s a cute wee puppy called Pippin or Pipkin who needs rescuing in the movie again, just like before.

Has a lot of this supposedly new film been recycled from the last time? It’s bad enough that the sharks don’t really club together to give people the willies big-time till the movie’s nearly bloody over, without viewers having to watch re-hashed plots as well.

I love the ‘snappers,’ some sort of giant vicious carnivorous lizards who like to terrorise humans by chasing ‘em and then, well, eating ‘em. These are new and extremely proactive, which is good to see. There’s a giant squid as well, which apparently just comes out of the deep to add more chaos to the already messy situation.

I was hoping to get a real sense of the sheer depth of the titular ‘trench’ in this film, as the most exciting thing about the Marianas Trench is its depth, but the film didn’t really show that. My impression of the first hour is of a giant computer game console with buttons and levers and people shouting instructions about how the ‘game’ is to proceed; I won’t lie, I was bored to death.

These technology scenes are the ones they need to go easy on in the future. I normally nod off in the cinema during the boring bits as well, but I was frustratingly awake for these boring bits. My eyes didn’t close, nor did my head droop, not even once. I was so annoyed with my body, lol.

Jonas Taylor has been lumbered with an adopted daughter this time around, Shuya Sophia Cai as Meijing Zhang, whose mother died while she was going out with Jonas. (I think…!) Jonas seems to be an excellent father to the little girl, which will of course reduce the female members of the audience to quivering masses of hormonal jelly.

He expertly balances loving discipline with a teasing sense of fun and games. Oh-er. Any women want to sign up to experience some loving discipline from Jason Statham as tough guy action hero-slash-bachelor Jonas Taylor…? Me first, natch.   

He’s gorgeous, he’s buff, he fights massive sharks from the flippin’ Jurassic era, he’s good with kids, he can probably cook as well, and make love like Valentino to boot. He’d better be in any sequels, that’s all I can say…! We need some more shark action in any sequels too though, and right from the outset. Don’t make us wait for it. And don’t be sparing with any sightings, either.

Oh, and give Jonas a proper love interest in the next film as well, as there was none in MEG 2: THE TRENCH. Did I say I was available for the role of the love interest, by the way? Well, I am, and, Jason, never fear, I am such a consummate professional that I will do tongues with you, no questions asked. Will I watch MEG 3: JONAS GOES FULL FRONTAL!!!? Hell, yeah. Me not fool.  

SEX FOR RENT… A SHORT STORY BY SANDRA HARRIS.

SEX-FOR-RENT, or A PURELY BUSINESS TRANSACTION

A SHORT STORY BY SANDRA HARRIS ©

In the Ireland of today (2023), certain unscrupulous landlords are taking advantage of the homelessness-slash-housing crisis by demanding sex from vulnerable women in exchange for so-called ‘free’ accommodation. Ukrainian women fleeing from a war-torn country, students desperate for somewhere affordable to live so they can pursue their university degree courses, and any woman unable to afford a safe place to live: these are the women being targeted and sexually exploited, and this story was inspired by them.

Gemma was lying on the couch, depressed and wondering if she should call Tina or Molly, or would they even bother their arses to come over? She’d been bending their ears over Jez a lot lately, and, when it came right down to it, no amount of talking was going to patch the pair of them up, her and Jez, so what was even the point of calling anyone? Then the doorbell rang, and her heart lifted momentarily. Jez? She was halfway to the front door when she realised that the bulky figure she could make out through the frosted glass was neither short enough nor skinny enough to be Jez. She knew exactly who it was. It was Kevin, her new landlord. She’d had to move from Galway to Dublin now that she was attending Trinity college as a mature student.

“How’s it going there?” he said, stepping past her and into the ground floor flat without waiting to be asked.

“All right,” she said, as usual giving him back no more than he gave her.

He wandered around the sitting room, looking at her things and picking up the odd discarded sweatshirt or magazine. He smirked openly when he came across a blue lacy bra slung idly over the back of the couch. He picked it up, stretched it between his huge stubby fingers and looked across at her meaningfully.

She sighed heavily. When would this bullshit ever end? You know when, her inner smart girl told her promptly. When you can afford to pay your own way in the world.

“What do you want, Kevin?”

“I wouldn’t have thought I’d have needed to tell you that,” he said. He spoke the same way he walked, slowly and ponderously.

“That’ll be the third time this week,” Gemma said. She knew she sounded like she was complaining, but she couldn’t bloody well help it.

“Who’s keeping score? Are you? Most women would be grateful. What’s wrong with you?” He snickered again, before reaching out for her, but she side-stepped him neatly and reached the bedroom before him. She sat down on her bed, truculently kicked off her trainers and socks (at least the socks were clean!) and pulled off her tracksuit bottoms and knickers. She lay down on the bed and waited for him to get undressed. He took his time, looking over at her the whole time.

“You know, you could try to make this whole thing a bit, you know, a bit romantic,” he said. “A bit less like a . . . well, a business transaction. A nice candle here and there, or a few flowers in a vase, a few nice words of welcome when I get here.”

“It’s purely a bloody business transaction! What else would you call it?” Gemma was indignant now. “You let me live here in your property rent free, and in return, you get to have sex with me whenever you feel like it. I thought we each agreed we’d try to give each other space, though, and respect?”

“How am I not giving you space?” he said, lowering his bulk down on to the other side of the messy double bed. He sniffed about as if to say the sheets needed changing.

“This is the third time this week!” she repeated, trying hard not to grimace as he reached for her and squeezed her breast over her navy-blue fleece.

“Can we have this off?” he said, indicating the fleece.

With a sigh, she sat up again and pulled the fleece and her faded T-shirt over her head, catching her pony-tail in the zip of the fleece as she did so. She angrily shrugged off his attempts to help her to free herself, then she removed her bra before he could ask her to.

“Can you give me a bit of a hand here?” He indicated his soft genitals with a rueful grin.

Stifling a grimace and a sigh, she set her own hand to work without looking at him. When he was ready, they both lay down and assumed the missionary position. She held onto his shoulders while he laboured on top of her, pinning her to the bed with his weight. He must weigh at least eighteen stone, she thought, not for the first time. He was finished in about five minutes, and she immediately sat up and began to dress.

“You don’t exactly make a fella feel wanted,” he grumbled as, correctly sensing no intimate after-glow moment between them, he heaved himself into a sitting position and began to fumble for his trousers.

“This is a business arrangement. You promised that’s all it would be, remember? Take your wife out and wine and dine her if you want romance.”

Gemma wished the words back as soon as she said them, as his face darkened and he stood up, his full height dwarfing her, and took a step towards her.

“My wife is nothing to do with this.”

She shrugged, trying to look as if she wasn’t bothered either way, and carried on dressing before straightening and neatening the bedclothes. As if she wasn’t going to tear the sheets off the bed the second he was gone and throw the lot in the wash!

“You’ll be happy to hear I’m away up north for the weekend,” he said then. “Have to go to a wedding, so I won’t be around to pester you. I’ll be over Monday night if that’s okay.”

Gemma shrugged. “Enjoy the wedding. Oh, and is that man still coming to fix the hall light?”

“As far as I know. If he doesn’t show up, you can give me a buzz on Monday and I’ll chase him up.”

There was an awkward moment of goodbyes, and then Kevin was gone, leaving Gemma to scrub herself and her sheets until she was satisfied that absolute cleanliness prevailed in the flat once more. The whole time she was scrubbing and scouring, she worried herself sick that she’d offended or angered him with her crack about his wife. She should have thought before she opened her mouth. However much Kevin- and the situation- repulsed her, she needed him more than he needed her, and she guessed he probably knew that.

She’d never meant to find herself in this position. A second chance at education, a chance to be a mature student and work for a degree, was too good to be passed up on. And at Trinity College Dublin, of all places! The failed relationships, the rubbish jobs, all the wasted time, none of it would matter if she could only get that degree and not have failed at something for once! But she’d had to move from Galway to Dublin in order to do the course, and it had been so hard to find accommodation! The queues for flat-viewings had been ridiculous, and flats had been filthy, slummy, too far from town, miles too expensive or gone before she could get to them. When Kevin, heavy-set, forty-ish, bored, married with kids, had offered her his ground floor flat in Rathmines rent-free in return for ‘occasional’ sexual favours, she’d been shocked at first but then pressure of time- her course was starting and she still had nowhere to live- had decided for her.

“Don’t worry about it,” Kevin had said airily on that first day. “Loads of people are renting this way now. It makes a hell of a lot more sense than paying a fucking fortune for some kip. It’s only a bit of fun. There’s no harm in a bit of fun, is there? No law against it. And it’s not like you’ll see me morning, noon and night. Shure, I’ll only be over the odd time. To be honest, you’ll probably hardly see me.”

Well, that hadn’t been true, for a start. It had been six months already, and he was averaging three or four visits a week now, usually in the evenings when she was home from college, but sometimes during the day on the days he knew she’d be off. He’d stay an hour usually and then ‘make tracks,’ as he called it, but often Gemma found her mood for studying was shattered after he’d gone. She’d sit there, with her books and papers open in front of her, just going over and over their encounter in her head until she felt sick and despairing. She hated his huge, flabby body, and the penis that lay there, flaccid, until she’d worked on it herself like she had today. She hated going down on him, which was unfortunate as it was practically his favourite thing to do. He was always saying ‘How about a bit of oral?’ or ‘Give us a bit of oral there.’ Like she was some machine, and she could just switch herself on and off! If she’d found him attractive, it might have been different, but she didn’t; she so didn’t. He was rubbish in bed, too, to add insult to injury. He hurt her when his put his thick fingers inside her and scraped her with his too-long fingernails, and, when he kissed her with his slack wet lips, he sometimes bit her lip in an attempt to be ‘sexy’ and she often gagged when he stuck his tongue all the way down her throat. She’d lost her boyfriend Jez when he discovered that she was having sex with her landlord in return for free rent, and her friends from college, Molly and Tina, had been weirded out by it too, though at least they hadn’t deserted her like Jed had.

And lately, Kevin had been acting like he was more her boyfriend than the landlord with whom she had a strictly business relationship. Only the other week, he’d given her a gift of money with which to buy what he termed ‘a bit of decent lingerie,’ which he had then required her to model for him. Having to strut her stuff in front of him, shaking her tits and ass while he sat on her bed with his trousers and underpants down and wanked made her feel like shit. She would give anything to be able to phone up her mum in Galway and say she was coming home, but that wouldn’t have worked. Her mum would have been disappointed. No, devastated, and Gemma herself would have had another failure on her hands. She sighed and lit a cigarette, forcing herself to open some of her course books, but her mind just wasn’t on her work. Again. This whole situation was just a disaster.

The weekend came and went. Gemma did her food shopping and her laundry on Saturday, then on Saturday afternoon the man came to fix the hall light. Sunday was boring as always, as she tried to keep her mind on her studies and get her clean clothes, shoes, accessories and books all ready for the week ahead. She had a tearful conversation with her mother on Sunday evening, during which she tried to reassure her that she was doing just fine and there was no need for her mum to worry or panic about her as she was fine, perfectly fine. If she’d said it once, she’d said it ten times.

On Monday, she went to college and tried to keep her mind on her work. She was studying Modern History and they were currently doing the Second World War. She had an essay to do on Hitler’s henchmen which was due in soon, and she attempted to get a start on it in the library after classes for a bit. By eight o’clock, she was at home, fed, watered and showered and working on her essay. Kevin rang the doorbell at about five past eight. She’d had a bit of a battle with him when she’d first arrived about him not using his key because she was his lodger and not his wife, so now he rang the doorbell and waited for her to let him in.

“’Evening,” he said as he strolled into the flat. A woman walked in behind him, half-hiding behind his bulk. Gemma was gobsmacked. Who the hell was this? Not his wife, surely? She was about the same age as Kevin, maybe a little younger, but sexily dressed in heels and a short skirt with a ton of make-up on. Kevin’s idea of sexy, she knew. He was always trying to get her to tart herself up like that for him. She hated the old-fashioned way he called suspenders ‘sussies,’ and was always banging on about ‘peek-a-boo’ or ‘peephole’ bras and crotchless panties. He was like a dirty auld fella from the ‘Nineties or something.

“Who’s this?” Gemma croaked. This wasn’t part of their deal, bringing women friends along to meet his sex-for-rent college student.

“Yvonne,” said Kevin easily, dumping his jacket on a chair in the hall. “She’s my girlfriend. My bit on the side. Don’t tell the wife.” He sniggered, and Yvonne tittered nervously too.

“What’s she doing here?” Gemma was nervous herself now. Had he brought her along to watch them, or something? That definitely wasn’t part of their deal.

“She’s always wanted to try a bit of girl-on-girl,” he said casually, as if it was no big deal.

“And what?” snapped back Gemma. “You mean . . . you mean me . . .?”

“What have you on you?” he said, indicating that she should open her robe.

Reluctantly, she unbelted the towelling dressing gown to reveal her over-sized Snoopy nightshirt.

He shook his head. “Go and put on some of the lingerie I bought you.”

She wanted to fight, refuse, scream, protest, but the hulking presence of the man who, after all, was her landlord, kept her mute. Leaving Kevin and Yvonne standing in the hallway, she dashed past them to the bedroom and slammed the door. Her stomach heaved and her blood boiled with ineffectual rage against Kevin as she pulled stockings, suspenders, bra and panties out of a drawer, stripped off what she was wearing and began to pull on the sexy undies. When she was ready, she opened her bedroom door and then walked straight to the bed. She sat down and crossed her legs in an attempt at a sexy pose, though she’d never felt less sexy in her life.

“Take off Yvonne’s clothes,” Kevin said, seating himself in an armchair beside the bed, his jowly face red with excitement. “Go on, now.”

Reluctantly, Gemma did as he said. Yvonne gave her little or no help, just stood there allowing Gemma to strip her of her short skirt and tight blouse, then her high heeled shoes, stockings, bra and knickers in response to Kevin’s muttered “Take it all off. The lot.”

When Yvonne was naked, Kevin nodded towards the bed and said, “Lie down on your back, love.”

Yvonne, giggling, did as she was bid, while Kevin turned to a trembling Gemma. “She’s always wanted to have another girl do oral on her. Get down on your knees between her legs and give her a lick-out, will you? And take off your knickers, so I can finger you while you’re doing it.”

Gemma took off the knickers, then looked down at the spread-eagled Yvonne on the bed, eagerly awaiting her ‘lick-out.’ “I can’t,” she said, panicked. Two bright spots of colour adorned her cheeks. Every morsel of food she’d eaten that day threatened to make a re-appearance. “Please don’t make me. I can’t do it.” She turned as if to flee but Kevin, moving surprisingly fast for such a big man, was out of his seat in a flash and grabbing her arm.

“You’ll do it if you want to keep a roof over your head,” he snarled, and pushed her down into a kneeling position between the older woman’s spread legs.

“I had a shower before I came out,” said Yvonne from her prone position, a tad indignantly. “You don’t need to be afraid to touch me, you know. I’m perfectly clean.” Her accent was a strong native Dublin, as opposed to Kevin’s country one.

“It’s not that,” croaked Gemma. “I’m just not . . . just not gay.”

“Neither am I,” huffed Yvonne. “I’m only here for a bit of fun. Kevin said you’d be fun.” This last was said accusingly.

“Enough chit-chat,” said Kevin, back in his armchair. “Get on with it now.” He poked Gemma’s kneeling bare behind with his shoe, making her jump.

With a knot in her stomach she didn’t think would ever unravel, she began to do what she was bid. She put her mouth on the other woman’s shaved mound, and tentatively stuck her tongue out to lick the lips and in between them.

“Put your back into it. Make her moan.” His fingers were hurting her own pussy, but she faked arousal herself and re-doubled her efforts with the other woman just to move the process along. Eventually, the dyed-blonde Yvonne began to moan in earnest and Gemma felt it prudent to make out that she was doing the same.

“We’ll all come together,” Kevin said from his armchair, his cock in his hand.

When Yvonne reached her peak, Gemma faked her own orgasm and sat back on the floor at Kevin’s feet, forcing a smile as well as the heavy breathing.

“There now, wasn’t that grand?” he said as he stood up to go. Gemma smiled up at him and nodded, incapable of speech. “I’ll bring her back another time,” he told her as they were leaving. “We’ll have a proper threesome.”

“We can be a ‘throuple,’ like the celebrities do,” giggled Yvonne, and Kevin laughed.

When the front door closed behind them, Gemma fled to the bathroom and vomited copiously into the toilet.

I can’t do this again, she decided as she knelt, slumped, over the toilet. I’ll ask my tutor if I can do the course online or something, but I can’t do this again. I just can’t.

The phone seemed to ring and ring for ages, but eventually Molly picked up.

“Molls, I know you and Tina haven’t much room but could I please, please sleep on your sofa for a couple of nights? I swear it won’t be for longer. I’ll move back in with Mum if I have to and bloody well commute if that’s what it takes, but this ends now.”

When Molly said yes, Gemma felt a little of the knot in her stomach unravel slightly.