It's the rare horror film these days that comes attached with a point and allows room for contemplation. Greg McLean's Wolf Creek, his directorial debut, is the story (based on actual events) of three fit and adventuresome travellers on a road trip across the Australian outback who become ensnared in one of those missing persons stories you hear about every so often in the news but don't pay much mind to. This is a film that believes we should and tries to jolt us out of this complacent attitude that allows us to overlook such a thing. His aim with Wolf Creek is twofold: to pay tribute to their lives and to document the ghastly and horrific circumstances which enveloped them on their simple excursion, based on the testimony of the lone victim to have survived. Viewed in this light, Wolf Creek is less of a traditional horror film and more of a visceral connection between the audience and the victims, much in the same way Mel Gibson's The Passion Of The Christ sought to give viewers the most urgent and immediate link possible between them and Jesus Christ. However, whereas Christ's death carried religious and spiritual import, the pain and suffering inflicted upon this trio (and others similarly attacked) has served no purpose - a disconcerting thought which McLean wants to convey to those of us who feel far removed from such acts of violence. Wolf Creek is a howl of anguish and sorrow against the undeserved fates of its characters as anonymous victims.

McLean's approach to the story is inspired, taking the original events and finding in them a larger truth about our general tendency live life at a glance. Consider the location where everything transpired. Wolfe Creek, the actual name given to the site of an ancient crater in the desolate outback region of Western Australia, is the result of a meteor's impact less than a million years ago. It is a sizeable dent in the earth's surface, measuring almost a kilometer in diameter, and is deep enough that its outer ridges must be perilously scaled like the face of a mountain. How strange, as one of the characters remarks, that it went undetected by most of the world until 1947 when European explorers chanced upon it and heralded its discovery. Perhaps the best and only explanation for such a thing to escape detection for so long is that so much of the outback looks the same - endless stretches of mostly nothing. It is one of the few places such a crater could have remained hidden on the earth's surface, and as McLean is very aware, one of the bleakest environments for people to go missing. He heightens this dreadful sentiment throughout the film with his various use of broad and close-up shots, at one turn overwhelming his characters with the vast Australian landscape and at another pausing to examine a spider's web or the thrashing waves by the shore set against the placidity of the overall ocean. Already with his first feature film, McLean demonstrates a definite knack for establishing mood and atmosphere.

As a counterpoint to the cruelty in store for the road-bound trio, a significant portion of Wolf Creek is spent developing their individual personalities and outfitting them with feelings, beliefs, intelligence, and quirks all their own. They felt real, like actual people I went to university with. Ben (Nathan Phillips), a young man of boundless energy, is at once brazen and soulful; Liz (Cassandra Magrath) is courageous both in love and deathly situations; and Kristy (Kestie Morassi) is a loyal friend who is somewhat meek by nature but capable of cutting loose when goaded by the situation at hand. The problem, so far as I see it, with the usual crop of horror films is that they erroneously believe that by sacrificing characterization for cheap thrills and gore galore they are somehow amplifying the amount of payoff. They confuse quantity for quality and don't understand that true horror films are disturbing and unnerving experiences, and only so when we care about the characters. The best horror films provoke us to ask ourselves questions about why we are afraid, why we are disgusted, and what we can possibly do with those answers. Anything else offers nothing more than basic, safe entertainment.

That said, Wolf Creek disappointingly falters as soon as the actual carnage takes place, as if trying to pander to a safer brand of horror. Once everyone realizes they are being held captive by a serial killer, things unfold rather predictably. Cars don't start as quickly as we'd like them to - a requisite feature of vehicles appearing in horror films - while a bullet in the villain's neck barely immobilizes him or prevents him from positioning himself in precisely the right places to catch his prey. The tension this created rang quite false to me. Still, the terror remained quite palpable. Instead of a casual display of shocks and violence for the gore-fiends, which the misleading marketing campaign embarassingly advertises, the film's final act felt like an outright assault - unpleasant, unenjoyable, and relentless. This is not necessarily a criticism, though. While the acts of violence committed are deeply offensive and barbaric, Wolf Creek is neither of those things. To the extent that this story is about missing persons, the evil of the killer has indeed prevailed, yet there is hope to be found. The meteor crater at Wolfe Creek was revealed in time, after all, and with this film and the continued efforts of those who are resistent to letting the memory of the real-life victims die out, we may be optimistic that the concentrated evil that struck at the very same crater will one day make itself known publicly too. You may need to dig a little deep to find it, but this is a film about fostering compassion.

(Wolf Creek is currently playing at the Empire 8, Trinity Drive cinema, located at 125 Trinity Drive in Moncton.)

I approached The Family Stone, as I suspect many others will, with an air of nostalgia for television's "Sex & The City," curious to see how Sarah Jessica Parker would fare in her first major role since the show's end early last year. More to the point, I was hoping to catch a glimpse, however brief, of Carrie Bradshaw, especially since this would be the closest I would likely ever come to seeing her on the big screen now that the possibility of a "Sex & The City" feature film is dead in the water. Of course, my sentimentality and heartfelt affection for the show were naive and misplaced here, as this is a stand-alone film about a woman (Parker) who visits with her boyfriend's rather large family over Christmas and the mayhem that ensues. It would be unfair to judge the film based on any loose association with this defunct television show, so why bother make mention of it? I do this because The Family Stone, on its own, is a dud, and I am mindful of the show's fans who stand to be doubly disappointed when they go to see this film. Do not expect "Sex & The City," and do not expect a good film either.

The Family Stone is a film about major life events that happen to a family of characters we really have no reason to care about. Things begin innocently enough when eldest son Everett (Dermot Mulroney) brings his girlfriend, Meredith, to his parents' country house for her first Christmas with his family. Once there, however, the film's screwloose dementia is set in motion by his mother, Sybil (Diane Keaton), a preposterous woman whose progressiveness is challenged when she meets Meredith and instantly disapproves. Oh, she's careful to say Meredith's not a bad person; instead, it appears that her rigid and reserved demeanour (which some people could verily label respect) clearly indicates that she's not the right type for him. However, making such a statement does not take the edge off of her brusque and childish behaviour, which we are given to believe is confounded by the fact that - wait for it - she's dying, and she hasn't told any of her children yet.

Sybil's contribution to this boho tessellation creates an undue amount of friction, which is only exacerbated by her wimpy husband Kelly (Craig T. Nelson), her vindictive daughter Amy (Rachel McAcadms, who is still a pleasure to watch even in a terminally ill flop), her pot-friendly do-gooder son Ben (Luke Wilson), and the bystander passivity of her other two children, Amy and Thad (an incredulous triple-whammy: gay, deaf, and married to an African-American partner - director/writer Thomas Bezucha lays on the liberal mayonnaise rather thick as if eager to be fashionable rather than sincere). When an exasperated Meredith's laid-back sister Julie (Claire Danes) comes to her rescue, that's when the film inexplicably veers into romantic mix-up territory. I did learn something new though: no matter who you plan on proposing to, if another woman tries on the ring first and it fits then she's the one you're destined to be with - especially if she likes the look of it on her finger. Consequently, if your boyfriend is a somnambulent starched shirt and you haven't let your hair down in a really long time, the first guy to get you plastered at a bar is the guy you're destined to be with. That's a fact.

Pulling off a funny yet touching film about a family is tricky because the audience needs to connect with and care about the characters and identify with their situations. The holiday gathering subtype is an easy one since so many people are experienced with them and can share in the delight and anguish of the influx of relatives, the weather and travel glitches, the food preparation, and the pursuit of the perfect gift. Somehow, Bezucha gets it all wrong, failing to develop the characters beyond the scope of their respective shticks. There are innumerable other films of this genre that are better, but the one I think The Family Stone aspires to be is Woody Allen's Hannah And Her Sisters, which takes place during Thanksgiving instead of Christmas and follows an extended family over a span of two years. Allen's film is keenly observant of human nature and treats its characters' romantic dalliances with dignity and humour rather than exploiting their flaws for cheap laughs or tacky melodrama. Where The Family Stone merely pretends to be sophisticated and tries awfully hard to convince us, Hannah And Her Sisters truly is without announcing itself to be so. Carrie Bradshaw would have fit right in.

(The Family Stone is currently playing at the Crystal Palace 8 Cinemas, located at 499 Paul St. in Dieppe.)

For all my years as a lover of films, I've never fully appreciated the lasting appeal of the King Kong legacy. I've long felt that had the original not been the trailblazing special effects showcase it was back in 1933, it would have been just another of the countless b-grade monster movies to have spilled onto screens throughout the early and middle parts of the last century. Maybe, if not for one enduring attribute - perhaps the singlemost crucial aspect of the King Kong mythos - which at once stands apart from its otherwise typical monster movie fare yet remains obscured by it. Kong was always meant to be a sympathetic character and not simply a straw man villain designed for defeat; his relationship to the waifish Ann Darrow afforded him shades of personality and humanity as, indeed, 'twas her beauty which tamed the beast. As such, his persecution left room for the filmmakers to hold a mirror up to our own specious attitudes and heroism. This much I've understood and admired, but instead of capitalizing on this sentiment or even striking a balance, it seemed as though any emotional connection and behavioural observations were traded off for the blockbuster adventure and eye-popping special effects - a spurious trend which has pervaded so many Hollywood productions since then, even when accomplished particularly well.

Now comes director Peter Jackson's interpretation, which is less of a "remake" than a revision, this time actualizing its full potential. Having stated that the 1933 original was the film that inspired him to make movies himself, his is now the definitive version, after which I daresay it need never be retold again. Immediately, we notice that Jackson's King Kong giddily amplifies the action and thrills of the original and its 1976 remake. Each sequence is fraught with awe and tension even though we know the general outcome of the story and the characters. Consider how tricky and taxing this must have been to make a familiar story exciting all over again and you begin to appreciate Jackson's gifts as a filmmaker (and realize that his Lord Of The Rings trilogy was no accident).

Where Jackson's film is markedly different from the previous two incarnations is in its emotional heft and moral exposition, which is reflected in its inflated running time (just over three hours long). Jackson generously spends about an hour more than the other films exploring not only the relationship between Kong and Darrow, as well as between each of the characters, but the hosility of civilized society versus the hostility of Skull Island and how beauty comes with a price. Of course, it is the relationship between Kong and Darrow upon which the topic of hostility and beauty relies, and where this was muddled in the first two versions (I had always been left with the impression that their relationship was little more than a perverse example of the Stockholm Syndrome whereby the captive begins to identify with the captor), it is given room to grow here. Kong, whose untold history implies cruel solitude behind the imposed walls of his island, has likely never experienced the sort of attention which Darrow at last feels appreciated for giving, and the two develop an affinity and affection for one another that's direct and pure. This is the heart of the story that was somehow always missing.

On its own as a strict action picture, King Kong could have functioned as a decent feature film and still sold millions of dollars worth of tickets. That Jackson aimed for more, and succeeded, is evidence that epic marriages of this sort are viable, if not profitable, and still have a place today. In the hands of another director the tendency might have been to excise that extra hour's worth of emotion and observation in order to serve the basic story (which, ironically, was my singular beef with his Lord Of The Rings trilogy), but thankfully its integrity was preserved. It takes someone who loves the job thoroughly to get it right, and one can only wonder what great films lovers of this one may be inspired to make one day.

(King Kong is currently playing at the Empire 8, Trinity Drive cinema, located at 125 Trinity Drive in Moncton.)

03. (Dec. 3) THX 1138 (1971, George Lucas) 5 / 10

Sci-Fi, Drama / USA / 88 minutes / Rated R

Synopsis: Watching THX 1138 is like looking at a blank canvas in an art gallery and having a clever 8-year-old tell you it's a picture of a cow in a snowstorm. This is a film that says little and means less, whose nearly every scene requires a concentrated effort on the part of the viewer to imbue it with substance. You would scarcely know it to watch the film, but it is set in the 25th century in a strictly enclosed underground compound where a solitary man decides to rebel against his oppressors and liberate himself. Now, while one may rightfully wonder how the blank canvas found itself in the art gallery, it is readily apparent how venerable sci-fi pioneer George Lucas's directorial debut earned its regard over the years. THX 1138, in spite of its pallid story and stock sci-fi totalitarian hooey, boasts arresting visual techniques and avant-garde special effects. Lucas achieves a polished and convincing sci-fi look and feel in a very austere and minimalist manner which was remarkable for its time and remains impressive by virtue of its sheer movie-making innovation. So sad, then, that the flashy visuals function as little more than a decorative frame for the blank canvas. Only adventurous Lucas hobbyists and those interested in seeing what it would look like to have Daft Punk beat up Moby will want to check this one out.

THX 1138 is available on DVD and may be rented from Spit It Video located at 15 Lewis St., Moncton.

02. (Dec. 3) The Game (1997, David Fincher) 8 / 10

Mystery, Thriller, Adventure / USA / 128 minutes / Rated R

Synopsis: Like a nihilistic Frank Capra film, The Game is about a cold-hearted and soulless financier named Nicholas Van Orton who is treated to a "profound life experience" on his 48th birthday, a milestone which he finds particularly disturbing as it was at the same age that his father unexpectedly killed himself. His experience comes in the form of a gift from his estranged younger brother. This gift is an invitation to an unheard-of game - one of those expensive "rich people only" curios reserved for those who have nothing more charitable to do with their time or money. It's the perfect present for Van Orton, who is skeptical at first but admits he's intrigued and signs up, unprepared for the wild ride ahead. What happens next is a vicious comeuppance of almost cosmic proportions; indeed, it is as if the hand of an all-powerful being is forcing him to confront his present misanthropy and pay for it. Director David Fincher's version of this typical morality fable is distinctly edgier and more terrifying than similar stories, allowing Van Orton to earn his soul through an enlightening process that's more punitive than corrective. Filmgoers are participants in the process too; like Van Orton, we are never quite sure what the mechanics and the ultimate purpose of the game are, which makes for a thrilling cinematic experience. Where it suffers is in the enormous implausibilities that become apparent only after watching the final few moments, which themselves conclude the story rather too quickly and unconvincingly. Like other last-act shockers, this one loses some of its appeal after the first viewing, but it's still a deftly engaging film the first time around.

The Game is available on DVD and may be rented from Spit It Video located at 15 Lewis St., Moncton.

01. (Dec. 2) Harry Potter And The Goblet Of Fire (2005, Mike Newell) 8.5 / 10

Adventure, Fantasy, Mystery, Thriller / UK, USA / 157 minutes / Rated PG-13