SKELETONS (UK/2010/NICK WHITFIELD)

Davis and Bennett are agents for a company known as Veridical, whose business it is to remove skeletons from people’s closets, performing a new age ritual before embarking upon a time-travelling fact-finding mission. One such assignment puts the boys to work at the countryside house of Jane Baron, a presumed widow who has resorted to digging up the grounds to find her missing husband. Jane’s taciturn daughter Rebecca, upset by the men’s presence, tries to disrupt the procedure to preserve the memory of her father, while Davis’ prickly disposition and preoccupation with a snapshot of his own past keep him from doing the job properly. When the investigation comes to a head, both men realise how much of themselves they sacrifice by exploring other people’s pasts.

Developed from a ten-minute short, Skeletons is a surprisingly successful mix of uniquely British humour and sincere existentialism, fostered by a team of people who clearly cared for their creation. First-time director Nick Whitfield is cautiously subtle with the set-up and the eventual pay-off, and the motif of Davis’ treasured memory is a sentimental touch, rather than the fairground attraction it would have been in Inception. Comic duo Ed Gaughan and Andrew Buckley, in the roles of Veridical’s metaphorical ghostbusters, work brilliantly off each other, both rotund (in conflict with the film’s title) but vastly contrasting in personality. There are points in the film where one wishes the edits would slow down, but ultimately the film affords enough room for every type of moviegoer.

A DAY AT THE BEACH (UK/1970/SIMON HESERA)

Often referred to as the missing Roman Polański film (he wrote it but gave directing rights to Simon Hesera), A Day At The Beach portrays the story of Bernie, a mouthy alcoholic who is given the task of taking his young, disabled niece Winnie out for the day. The plan is to visit the seaside, but the day begins with torrential rain. With an uncertain degree of determination, Bernie takes Winnie there all the same, settling in various cafés and bars to get some Dutch courage. As he grows drunker, he quickly forgets his obligations to Winnie, and before long he is attending bars alone, while Winnie puts herself in great danger playing hide and seek outdoors.

Though ostensibly not an uplifting film in any capacity, A Day At The Beach does have its virtues. Bernie is a three-dimensional character, his aggression and world-weariness clearly derived from a sense of loss (it is implied more than once that ‘Uncle’ Bernie is in fact Winnie’s biological father). Despite Bernie’s lack of avuncular charm and complete irresponsibility, Winnie appears to have a soft spot for him throughout, even jumping to his defence when he is beaten up by a creditor, and there are brief glimpses of heartwarming humanity amidst the doom and gloom of the day’s events. Occasionally the film loses its raison d’être, and one wonders what Polański’s direction might have done, but overall it’s an intriguingly sinister slice of life. Look out for Peter Sellers as a camp-as-hell stall owner.

DEATH LINE (UK/1972/GARY SHERMAN)

In one of the most wonderfully demented horror plotlines, a mysterious murder case involving a politician unearths a family of cannibals who have been living in a disused part of the London Underground. The family has evidently been in the Tube for some time (it is suggested that they are descendants of Victorian labourers), and have had little exposure to the outside world beyond the tannoy call of “Mind the doors!”, which has become the only phrase they are able to say. It is up to hardened detective Calhoun (Donald Pleasence), as well as young, transatlantic couple Alex and Patricia, to solve the mystery and save London from these dangerous beings.

There is very little in this film for those who like their horror stone-faced and without a trace of kitsch, but for everyone else, there is plenty. As with many of the Hammer horrors at the time, Death Line has surprisingly high production values, the underground setting used to its absolute full potential. An impressive tracking shot travels throughout the cannibals’ lair, serving merely to set the scene but also showing off the set design. Even more striking is the film’s unrelenting gore – no body part or impromptu weapon is spared as the family work their way through various passengers. There are the expected troubles with acting and realism, but anyone wanting to take this ludicrous story seriously should probably wait for the inevitable remake. Wrong Turn, eat your heart out (literally) – this is the original twisted cannibal family.

Gotta love these opening credits – I salute you, Wil Malone.

THE MIDNIGHT DRIVES (UK/2007/MARK JENKIN)

Andy, a downtrodden man estranged from his ex-wife, gets custody of his children for a week, and decides to take them on holiday to a remote Cornish resort he had frequented as a child. Casey, the younger of Andy’s kids, shows clear resentment for him and even calls his mother to bring them back home, while Gabby seems more concerned with the word ‘holiday’ than the word ‘Dad’. Despite his continual efforts to ignite the kids’ enthusiasm, Andy soon learns that childhood pursuits have evolved quicker than expected. As he struggles to regain his sense of fatherhood, the holiday looks to be turning into a disaster, but when night falls, the family suddenly grows closer as Andy takes the kids on a series of spontaneous drives through the nocturnal landscape.

Wonderfully shot with a palette of reserved colours, The Midnight Drives has much more in common with European film trends than with British kitchen-sink realism. Director Mark Jenkin reveals little about his characters beyond their activities during the holiday, but the film is stronger for it – through revisiting a childhood haunt with his own children, Andy is seen as a man trying to start things again, and it seems only right that this is the version of events we should see. At times the film is a little too subtle to make a big impact, but for the most part it appeals to its audience’s sensitivities. Gently dramatic and full of intrigue, The Midnight Drives is a trip worth taking.

THE FIRST MOVIE (UK/2009/MARK COUSINS)

In 2009, filmmaker and critic Mark Cousins travelled to Goptapa, a tiny village in Iraqi Kurdistan which is sat at the crux of one of the twentieth century’s best-known conflicts. His role here was not only to record the beauty of the area through his own lens, but to give voice to the previously voiceless by donating high-definition cameras to the children in the area. Cousins invites his subjects to film whatever they wish, arranging projections of diverse films (Chakmeh, The Singing Ringing Tree, E.T.) to inspire them in their projects. The results are endearing, comical, even surprising – some of the children choose to film their parents or local elders, interviewing them about the horrific chemical attack on Goptapa in 1988. One boy, Mohammed, chooses to film his best friend, narrating his thoughts while he plays in the mud.

Cousins, born and raised in war-torn Belfast, is clearly speaking to his own background with this experiment, but The First Movie is above all about the children of the village. Rather than narrating over them, Cousins lets the films speak for themselves, only lending his voice to the sequences he shot himself to contextualise the documentary. In the film, Cousins notes David Lynch as an inspiration, and some of his sequences show an unacknowledged disquiet, particularly one showing a cow wandering through the streets at night. His love of cinema also percolates through the film, and it’s such a rush of emotion to see children so enraptured by The Red Balloon.

ANTI-CLOCK (UK/1979/JANE ARDEN, JACK BOND)

Joseph Sapha is a non-descript young man who is somehow roped into a terrifying programme of constant scrutiny. CCTV cameras watch his every move; tannoyed voices shout instructions over the radio. Joseph is repeatedly put through brief experiments which ask him to watch videos of himself engaging in different activities, and is informed of his emotions at the time. As aspects of his psyche are exposed, we learn that Joseph is here by dint of his ability to see into the future. A group of parapsychologists presents their findings to nobody in particular, the boundaries of this experiment imperceptible to the audience. The project’s leader, Professor Zanov, is unrelentingly intrusive in his examination techniques, and his determination to essentially map out his subject’s brain soon pushes Joseph over the edge.

Both nightmarish and enchanting, Anti-Clock is a brave work, one of few films to actually explore the very concept of the future as part of the plot. Directors Jane Arden and Jack Bond appear to have had some prescience about the potential of surveillance – although CCTV was almost unheard of at the time of the film’s production, their prediction of a world where identity is under frequent risk of exposure seems to harmonise with most modern-day meditations on the same subject. Sadly, the film is largely inaccessible, employing parapsychological rhetoric and theatrically impassive performances to create a deliberately cold, uncaring feel. Anti-Clock should without a doubt be seen by more people, but perhaps mass exposure would violate the film’s message.

ENDLESS NIGHT (UK/1972/SIDNEY GILLIAT)

Mike is a young chauffeur with a passion for “all things beautiful”. At the start of the film, we see him lose out on a Renoir painting during an auction at Christie’s, an outcome he has had to accept so many times before. While out on a job in Milan, he meets an architect with whom he discusses Gypsy’s Acre, a Victorian mansion back in England which he longs to own. While taking pictures of the house to send back, Mike unexpectedly meets Ellie, an American heiress who catches his eye. Before long, the two are married, and Ellie uses her financial power to have Gypsy’s Acre designed to Mike’s specifications. But in spite of the state-of-the-art renovation, the house is constantly plagued by various interferences, particularly from Ellie’s good friend Greta, and an eccentric local named Mrs. Townsend.

Taken from the Agatha Christie story of the same name, Endless Night does not hold anything remarkable for the casual viewer beyond fancy set design and the presence of Britt Ekland. An interesting premise is set up with the working-class driver suddenly being given power beyond his wildest dreams, but this is quickly lost in obtuse twists and Hitchcockian revelations. The film does possess some charming idiosyncrasies, such as the hovering image of a gigantic eye at the end, but they would perhaps belong in a more psychedelic story. Mention must also be made of the uneven acting, perhaps the biggest factor in claiming this film is ‘forgotten for a reason’.

CROSS OF IRON (UK/1977/SAM PECKINPAH)

Based on Willi Heinrich’s chilling novel The Willing Flesh, Sam Peckinpah’s World War II epic opens as a Wehrmacht platoon takes charge of a bewildered child soldier on the Russian Front. The group’s new commander, the ruthless Captain Stransky, orders for the boy to be shot without question, and continues to upset the balance in the group as he reveals he is only interested in earning himself the Iron Cross. Stransky takes liberties with his authority, often jeopardising the other soldiers’ lives, but soon meets a challenge with the embittered Sergeant Steiner, whom he had effectively usurped. Steiner puts Stransky in a vulnerable position by refusing to take instruction and, more importantly, threatening to expose his lies about leading the counter-offensive which would win him the coveted Iron Cross. Soon the conflict is reduced to the two men, their original roles all but forgotten.

The film is preceded by a montage credit sequence depicting events which contributed to the fall of Nazi Germany, reiterating the futility of the soldiers’ efforts, but Peckinpah shows compassion for the source material and kudos must go to him for portraying the war without glamorising it. However, despite some visually outstanding battle scenes, the film is robbed of emotional potential by the sheer theatricality of it all. The German soldiers’ accents, ranging from British to Slavic, are unconvincing enough to be distracting, and a scene where one soldier’s homosexuality is exposed is so overacted that it could be inferred that the entire battalion had tendencies.