Screenplay by Walon Green – Based on The Wages of Fear (1950 novel) by Georges Arnaud
Produced by William Friedkin
Main cast: Roy Scheider, Bruno Cremer, Francisco Rabal, Amidou, Ramon Bieri, etc. Cinematography by John M. Stephens & Dick Bush
Music by Tangerine Dream
*** MAY CONTAIN SPOILERS ***
I love The Wages of Fear (1953). It is one of my favourite films of all time. I have reviewed it here. Yet, for years I had never seen William Friedkin’s adaptation of the same 1950 novel, titled, Sorcerer (1977), but thankfully it was screened on Film Four a few years ago, so finally caught up with it. Even better, during the first May Bank Holiday this year it was screened at the Prince Charles Cinema in central London. Amidst a packed crowd I marvelled in the crazed and majestic vision of Friedkin’s filmic adaptation.
Sorcerer (1977) represents one of the clearest examples of how a major studio film can become both a catastrophic commercial failure and, decades later, a revered cult masterpiece. Friedkin, who was at the height of his directorial power, unfortunately did not receive the deserved commercial or critical response during its release and the film disappeared from public view for years. A major reason for the film bombing is it ran directly into the release of Star Wars (1977).
Audiences suddenly wanted escapist fantasy, optimism, and spectacle. Sorcerer (1977) offered the exact opposite: bleak existentialism, sweaty paranoia, moral ambiguity, long stretches of tension and despair and no traditional heroes. Further, audiences were confused by the title, which sounded supernatural even though the film has nothing to do with magic. Many viewers assumed it was a horror or fantasy film and mixed initial reviews, a slow, demanding pace and the film’s nihilistic tone did not help.
The narrative is tension personified. Four desperate fugitives are handed what is essentially a suicide mission: drive two battered, barely functioning trucks 218 miles through a brutal Latin American jungle, carrying crates of decaying dynamite so unstable that every pothole, every jolt, every wrong move could ignite the sweating nitroglycerin inside and annihilate them instantly. The road is collapsing beneath them, the jungle is unforgiving, and death is riding in the back seat with every mile. This premise gave rise a series of double-crossing plot events and incredible action set-pieces, notably the crumbling bridge scene where you can virtually feel the stormy weather on your face while watching.
As such — the trucks crossing a collapsing rope bridge during a storm — became one of the hardest sequences ever filmed at the time. Friedkin refused miniatures or obvious effects work. The crew built a full suspension bridge over a real river in the Dominican Republic. Then the river dried up. They had to abandon the location, search for another river, rebuild portions of the bridge, and engineer artificial rain systems powerful enough to create a storm effect. Due to this and crew members falling ill in the tropical conditions, the production went over schedule and over budget.
The drama after release did not end. Sorcerer (1977) became trapped in rights issues and studio neglect where quality prints were difficult to find and television broadcasts were rare. Friedkin himself even left a comment on a DVD copy on sale on Amazon saying “DO NOT BUY THIS!” Thankfully a fully restored Blu Ray version was released in 2014 and The Criterion Collection released Sorcerer (1977) on Blu-ray and Ultra HD Blu-ray in June 2025. Thus, the story behind the film mirrors the narrative itself with obsessive men undertaking an impossible task, pushing beyond reasonable limits, suffering incredible stress and barely surviving the journey.
At the time, Hollywood treated Sorcerer (1977) as evidence that the auteur era had gone too far. In retrospect, many see it as one of the last uncompromising masterpieces before blockbuster logic transformed the industry permanently. Lastly, while the characters are all anti-heroic and difficult to root for in Sorcerer (1977), the sheer brilliance of the practical effects, epic Tangerine Dream soundtrack, nerve-shredding editing, stunning cinematography and insane effort make this one of the most suspenseful and incredible action films of all time.
Revenge is one of the oldest narrative engines in storytelling. Long before cinema, it powered myths and literature—from the blood-soaked cycles of Greek tragedy to the meticulous retribution of The Count of Monte Cristo. These stories hinge on a simple but potent question: what happens when justice fails, and an individual takes it upon themselves to restore balance? Cinema inherited this question and, over time, fractured it into multiple forms—some cathartic, others corrosive, and many deeply ambiguous.
A Brief History of Revenge on Screen
Early revenge narratives in cinema often mirrored their literary roots: structured, morally legible, and driven by transformation. A Woman Branded (1931) is sometimes cited as an early precursor of a woman seeking revenge. Films like Kind Hearts and Coronets (1949) or adaptations of The Count of Monte Cristo framed revenge as an almost intellectual exercise—precise, controlled, and, in the case of the Ealing classic, even darkly humorous.
While revenge is a foundational narrative theme dating back to early cinema, Ingmar Bergman’s The Virgin Spring (1960) is widely considered the earliest major film establishing the “rape-revenge” subgenre. It follows a father seeking brutal vengeance for his daughter’s murder, influenced by a 13th-century Swedish ballad and Japanese cinema.
During the late 1960s and 1970s, something shifted. Disillusionment seeped into cinema, and revenge stories grew harsher, more grounded. Neo-noir works like Point Blank (1967), Get Carter (1971), and the classic Western, Once Upon a Time in the West (1968), reframed revenge as something mythic yet emotionally compelling. Sergio Leone’s film in particular bridges classical and modern revenge—turning personal vengeance into operatic inevitability while still rooted in grief and loss. Further, the 1960 / 1970s “Spaghetti” and Clint Eastwood westerns were also heavily driven by vengeful characters, as well as brutal bounty hunters and mercenaries. Overall, the 1970s marked a surge in mainstream vigilante revenge films, with Last House on the Left (1972) and Death Wish (1974), to name a couple, are widely seen as cementing the genre’s popularity.
At the same time, exploitation cinema erupted with raw, confrontational narratives—I Spit on Your Grave (1978), Coffy (1973), Ms. 45 (1981), and Thriller: A Cruel Picture (1973)—often centring female vengeance in ways that were both provocative and controversial. Japanese cinema contributed key films like Lady Snowblood (1973), which would later echo through global cinema. Asian cinema embraced the brutality of the subgenre with revenge films like Vengeance is Mine (1979), Park Chan Wook’s The Vengeance Trilogy and the visceral I Saw the Devil (2010) which interrogated obsession and extreme violence in equal measures.
Thus, there are many faces to the revenge including: stage plays, classic literature, gangster, Western, arthouse, war, horror and even comedic ones such as 9 to 5 (1980). Each mode reflects a different cultural anxiety. Some seek catharsis; others deny it entirely. Some empower; others dismantle the very idea of empowerment. What remains is that revenge is a primal drive and offers clear motivation as to a characters’ wants. Above all else a good vengeance narrative offers high stakes satisfaction and entertainment when done right. Here are six filmic examples of this.
Six of the Best Revenge films
What unites the six chosen films is not just quality, but how distinctly each approaches revenge. The six films selected here demonstrate the breadth of what revenge can mean on screen: spectacle, despair, inevitability, and even self-annihilation.
I really wanted to include Revenge (2017), a film which revisits the roots of exploitation film but reclaims them with precision. Coralie Fargeat transforms the genre’s historically exploitative gaze into something confrontational, self-aware and sexual. Violence is stylised and glamorous, but never empty—it becomes a language through which the protagonist reasserts control over her own narrative. Alas, it does not make the list.
*** MAY CONTAIN SPOILERS ***
Dead Man’s Shoes (2004)
I’ve written about Dead Man’s Shoes (2004) before but for me it is one of the best British films ever. Shane Meadows classic low-budget revenger evolves a brother’s vengeance into something more intimate and tragic. Meadows reframes revenge as grief and guilt, culminating in a devastating reversal that questions whether vengeance can ever truly be directed outward. It is revenge turned inward, a psychological reckoning masquerading as retribution. Paddy Considine delivers one of the rawest and most angry performances ever put on screen.
Get Carter (1971)
Get Carter (1971) is cold, methodical, and stripped of glamour, like a Northern neo-noir. Michael Caine’s Jack Carter moves through a decaying Newcastle like an agent of inevitability. There is no triumph here—only the suggestion that violence begets nothing but itself. Caine’s performance delivers the dialogue with razor-sharp timing and dark wit. A violent gangster but relentless detective hunting down the thugs who killed his brother. The clever screenplay (based on a novel) ensures those Carter is after are even worse than him as ultimately Northern decay meets moral collapse.
Kill Bill: The Whole Bloody Affair (2025)
As revenge epics and Asian cinema homages go,Kill Bill: The Whole Bloody Affair (2025) is a staggering piece of synthesis from Quentin Tarantino. Beatrice Kiddo’s (Uma Thurman) quest isn’t just a trail of vengeance—it’s ritualised, almost sacred, each confrontation unfolding like a chapter in a blood-soaked myth. Tarantino fuses global influences—from Anime, samurai cinema like Lady Snowblood (1973) to grindhouse exploitation—into something heightened and unmistakably his own: a world of colour, blood, incredible choreography, and cutting precision. Violence here isn’t merely destructive; it becomes a form of expression, even purification. In this universe, revenge is not corrosive or self-defeating but clarifying, elevating Beatrice’s journey from victim to legend.
Mermaid Legend (1984)
Mermaid Legend (1984) stands as a startlingly powerful vengeance film, elevated by Mari Shirato’s ethereal, magnetic performance as Migiwa—at once woman, avenging angel, and elemental force. Her transformation drives the film into increasingly confrontational territory, where extreme violence and explicit sexuality feel less gratuitous than weaponised, forcing the viewer into a state of unease. What makes the revenge so compelling is its inevitability: this is not a quest but a metamorphosis, as Migiwa becomes something beyond human, guided as much by the sea and spirit as by rage. The film’s brilliance lies in how it fuses beauty and brutality into a singular vision. Lyrical underwater imagery and sacred, mournful music elevate the violence into something ritualistic, culminating in a final pier rampage that feels less like action than ceremony—hypnotic, relentless, and mythic. By the end, revenge is no longer just an act but a form of transcendence, pushing the film beyond exploitation into legend.
Old Boy (2003)
Oldboy (2003) is a film I can watch over and over and it still shocks me. The narrative feels like a perverse inversion of The Count of Monte Cristo. But, where Dumas offers revenge as a calculated, almost righteous act, Park Chan-wook and the source material it is based on presents it as something recursive and inescapable. The brilliance of Oldboy (2003) lies in its dual revenge structure: what begins as Oh Dae-su’s pursuit of answers gradually reveals itself to be the final movement in someone else’s long-orchestrated vengeance. Both protagonist and antagonist are locked into mirrored roles, each defined—and ultimately destroyed—by the same impulse. The film’s infamous twists don’t just shock; they reframe the entire narrative as a closed system of suffering, where revenge ceases to be cathartic and instead becomes a mechanism of obscene chaos. The antagonist’s revenge is meticulous, psychological, and total, while Dae-su’s reactive violence only tightens the trap. Both men are ultimately consumed, their identities hollowed out by the nihilistic revenge that defines them.
Once Upon a Time in the West (1968)
Once Upon a Time in the West (1968) is a great revenge film and classic Western. It precisely because it strips vengeance down to something elemental, patient, and almost mythic. Charles Bronson’s ‘Harmonica’ is not a conventional protagonist but a force moving through the landscape with quiet, relentless purpose. He speaks little, explains nothing, and yet every gesture feels loaded with intent. His pursuit of Henry Fonda’s Frank—a brutal mercenary introduced through shocking, child-murdering violence—is not driven by impulse but by memory, by something buried so deep it can only be expressed through action. What elevates the film is its methodical pacing and Leone’s operatic control. Violence is withheld, stretched out across long silences, close-ups, and Ennio Morricone’s mournful score, turning each encounter into ritual. When ‘Harmonica’ finally unleashes havoc, it is not chaotic but precise—measured, almost ceremonial. The eventual revelation of his motive reframes everything: this is not just revenge, but the completion of a trauma that has defined his entire existence.
Conclusion
To distil revenge cinema into six films is, inevitably, an incomplete task. The genre is too vast, too varied spanning everything from canonical works to obscure, difficult films that remain unseen or underexplored. There are countless other entries, including many lesser-known or unseen works, that could reshape or challenge this selection.
And yet, that is precisely why revenge endures. It is a universal impulse, endlessly adaptable to tone, culture, and form. Whether stylised, brutal, philosophical, or deeply personal, revenge remains one of cinema’s most powerful motivations—for characters and filmmakers alike.
Produced by Amy Pascal, Ryan Gosling, Phil Lord, Christopher Miller, Aditya Sood, Rachel O’Connor, Andy Weir, etc.
Main Cast: Ryan Gosling, Sandra Hüller, James Ortiz, Lionel Boyce, Ken Leung, Malachi Kirby, etc.
Cinematography by Greig Fraser
*** MAY CONTAIN SPOILERS ***
There’s a version of Project Hail Mary (2026) that could have been cold, clinical, and overly procedural—a hard sci-fi puzzle box drifting in the vacuum of its own cleverness. Instead, what Christopher Miller and Phil Lord deliver is something far more disarming: a big-hearted, funny, surprisingly emotional crowd-pleaser that turns the apocalypse into an oddly uplifting experience.
Adapted by Drew Goddard from Andy Weir’s novel, the film follows Ryland Grace (a perfectly cast Ryan Gosling), who awakens alone aboard a spacecraft with no memory of who he is or why he’s there. The early stretches lean into disorientation—Gosling playing confusion with a twitchy, almost comic anxiety—but as Grace pieces together his past, the film cleverly shifts into a dual-track narrative: one part interstellar survival story, one part Earthbound scientific scramble to stop a cosmic catastrophe.
Gosling is the film’s main weapon. He plays Grace not as a conventional hero, but as a reluctant participant—anxious, self-deprecating, and often hilariously out of his depth. His charm keeps the exposition buoyant, especially as the film dives into dense scientific concepts. Where the story could feel heavy, Gosling makes it breezy and Project Hail Mary (2026) is certainly more emotionally stimulating than the dreadful action thriller The Gray Man (2022) and the weak remake, The Fall Guy (2024).
But the film’s most unexpected triumph is its central relationship: a deeply entertaining and genuinely moving “bromance” between Grace and an alien Xeonite – christened Rocky – he encounters in deep space. What begins as cautious interaction evolves into one of the most delightful interspecies friendships in recent sci-fi. Their communication—built from math, sound, and trial-and-error—becomes a source of both comedy and emotional resonance. It’s rare to see a blockbuster hinge so successfully on companionship rather than conflict, and the film is all the better for it.
Visually, Project Hail Mary (2026) is spectacular without being overwhelming. Lord and Miller balance scale with clarity; the vastness of space never drowns the intimacy of the story. The alien design is inventive, the astrophysical phenomena are rendered with awe-inspiring detail, and yet the film always remains grounded in character. It’s science-forward filmmaking that never forgets to entertain. Back on Earth, Sandra Hüller provides the film’s emotional anchor. Her performance carries a quiet intensity, grounding the global stakes in something human and immediate. Where the space sequences soar, her scenes remind us what’s at risk—and why it matters.
Goddard’s script is sharp, witty, and structurally satisfactory. It juggles timelines, scientific jargon, and character development with impressive ease, finding humour in the bleakest situations without undercutting the stakes. There’s a rhythmic confidence to the storytelling that keeps the film propulsive even as it pauses for introspection. What ultimately makes Project Hail Mary (2026) stand out, though, is its tone. This is, unmistakably, a feel-good end-of-the-world movie. It finds optimism not in denying catastrophe, but in confronting it with curiosity, cooperation, and friendship. By the time the credits roll, what lingers isn’t just the spectacle or the science—it’s the warmth. A book and film about extinction becomes, improbably, a story about connection.
Based on Frankenstein; or, The Modern Prometheus by Mary Shelley
Produced by: Maggie Gyllenhaal, Emma Tillinger Koskoff, Talia Kleinhendler, Osnat Handelsman-Keren, etc.
Main cast: Jessie Buckley, Christian Bale, Peter Sarsgaard, Annette Bening, Penelope Cruz, Jake Gyllenhaal, etc.
Cinematography by Lawrence Sher
** May Contain Spoilers **
Maggie Gyllenhaal’s THE BRIDE! (2026) is a film bursting with ideas—sometimes thrillingly so, sometimes to its own detriment. Drawing inspiration from Bride of Frankenstein (1935) and ultimately Mary Shelley’s seminal novel, Frankenstein, Gyllenhaal transplants the myth into a Gothic vision of 1930s Depression-era America, filtered through the anarchic spirit of outlaw cinema like Bonnie and Clyde (1967) and Natural Born Killers (1994). The result is frequently intoxicating. The film opens with an inspired flourish—Mary Shelley herself narrating from beyond the grave—immediately signalling the director’s playful ambition. Visually, the film is extraordinary: lavish period design, smoky Gothic textures, and a lurid romanticism that feels both classic Hollywood and defiantly post-modern.
At the centre of the mayhem is Jessie Buckley, delivering yet another unforgettable performance. Her ‘Bride’ is feral, seductive, and volatile—an electrifying feminist creature of impulses and contradictions. Buckley plays her with a kind of joyous unpredictability, veering between danger, sexuality, and sudden jolts of manic dialogue that feel almost Tourette-like in their intensity. Opposite her, Christian Bale lends gravitas as her monstrous partner, and together they rampage across a mythicised America in a lovers-on-the-run narrative that often feels gleefully unhinged.
Yet for all its invention, THE BRIDE! (2026) often collapses under the sheer weight of its ambitions. Gyllenhaal’s screenplay seems determined to juggle too many ideas at once—meta-narration, Gothic tragedy, outlaw romance, and genre pastiche—without giving any one of them the structural discipline they require. The direction follows suit, veering between tones so abruptly that the film begins to feel atonal rather than daring. Key twists arrive with little groundwork, leaving major emotional beats feeling strangely hollow.
By the final act, the film’s wild energy begins to resemble narrative confusion. Plot holes emerge, character motivations blur, and revelations arrive as pure payoff without the careful setup that might have made them land. It leaves an odd lingering question: was this an $80 million piece of audacious cinematic art, or an extravagant misfire? Perhaps it is a little of both—a fascinating, chaotic vision whose brilliance flashes intermittently through the fog of its own excess.
Produced by Sophia Gibber, Myles Payne, Philip Barantini & Samantha Beddoe
Main cast: David Jonsson, Tom Blyth, Corin Silva, Alex Hassell, Paul Hilton, etc.
Cinematography by Lorenzo Levrini
Edited by James A. Demetriou
*** MAY CONTAIN SPOILERS ***
Wasteman (2026) presents another opportunity for David Jonsson to showcase his ample acting abilities. He first stole hearts with under-stated charm in low-budget rom-com,Rye Lane (2023), then proved he could spar at a higher-budgeted level in, Alien: Romulus (2024). He then delivered another strong performance in, The Long Walk (2025), further cementing his instinct for emotionally grounded genre work. Across romance, horror, drama and dystopian thriller, Jonsson doesn’t just adapt — he deepens.
In Wasteman (2026) his character. Taylor, is an inmate close to getting out having served a lengthy sentence. He must keep out of trouble in order to get a successful release. However, that proves difficult when a new cellmate, Dee (Tom Blyth) muscles his way into his four-walled existence. The narrative conflict and tension is built on a stark clash of personalities. Taylor is quiet, cautious, and emotionally guarded — a man who keeps his head down in prison, desperate to survive. He avoids confrontation and moves through the system almost invisibly, shaped by drug addiction, guilt and the need for redemption.
Dee, on the other hand, is the complete opposite: loud, aggressive, and unmistakably alpha. He walks into the prison with dominance in his bones, quickly asserting control through intimidation, charisma, and violence. Where Taylor retreats, Dee advances desiring to take over the prison wing. Where Taylor stays silent, Dee provokes the other drug dealers on their floor stealing their trade. Their dynamic becomes the film’s central pressure point — a volatile relationship between a man trying to disappear and another who refuses to be anything but the most powerful person in the room.
Prison dramas are always enthralling as the characters are trapped like caged animals. Further, where there is masculinity, ego and mental fragility, violence is likely to follow. There are a number of fearful scenes and harsh encounters that raise the heart rate, especially between Dee and his prison rivals. Taylor tries to navigate the war but unfortunately gets dragged into a series of highly brutal battles. Dee also strives to manipulate Taylor too with a carrot and stick approach. How Taylor extricates himself from this dangerous situation proves very suspenseful.
Overall, Wasteman (2026) is not for the faint-hearted. Director, Cal McMau and his cinematographer, Lorenzo Levrini, make the most of the crammed jails, using big-close-ups to get in the face of the characters and audience with searing intensity. Moreover, the interspersing of vertical phone 9:16 aspect ratio shots also heightens the verisimilitude, giving it a raw documentary style. Finally, the end pivot of Taylor and Dee’s power struggle provides a subtle narrative conclusion rewarding David Jonsson and Tom Blyth tour-de-force performances with a cathartic and memorable denouement.
Romford Horror Film Festival & The Cannibal Man (1972) review
From 19th–22nd February 2026, Romford, Essex emerged not just as a venue, but as a creative crucible for genre storytelling as the Romford Horror International Film Festival — affectionately dubbed HorRHIFFic — returned to the Lumiere Cinema with its most ambitious programme yet – details can be found here: https://www.romfordhorrorfestival.com
This four-day celebration of horror cinema is rooted in the independent filmmaking spirit: championing works from emerging voices around the world, blending them alongside classic cult favourites, and generating an atmosphere of passion, community, and shared reverence for the genre. What makes this festival truly special isn’t just the size of its programme — though over 130 films certainly made for a thrilling schedule — but its wholehearted dedication to independent filmmakers who bring new ideas, daring vision, and personal passion to every frame.
Across its programme, the festival showcased a thrilling mix of guests and films that honour horror’s breadth including: Classic Retro Treats, Special Guests and Actors from Horror, New Independent Features & Shorts from countries such as South Korea, Canada, Spain, USA, and Italy, plus Creative Diversity — with screenings that embraced psychological depth, gory slashers, ghost stories, off-beat genre hybrids, and boundary-pushing work from both early-career filmmakers and seasoned indie pros.
Romford Horror Festival is also renowned for the community it builds. Horror fans come together not just to watch films, but to share experiences, meet creators, and feel at home in an environment that values innovation over commercialism. The Lumiere Cinema, itself a community-saved venue, became a home for filmmakers and fans alike — proving that in Romford, horror isn’t just screened… it’s commemorated. I for one am so grateful they screened my short horror film The Suicide Shift (2026).
As well as the short film showcases I watched a few retro classics including The Cannibal Man (1972) – (original title: La semana del asesino), directed by Eloy de la Iglesia. It is less a horror film than a slow, suffocating moral collapse. What begins as an unfortunate act of violence spirals into a weeklong descent into hell for Marcos, played with haunted fragility by Vicente Parra. Each subsequent killing feels less like cruelty and more like inevitability — the grinding machinery of fate closing in on a man already spiritually trapped.
Set against the decaying outskirts of Madrid in the final years of the Franco regime, The Cannibal Man (1972) doubles as a bleak portrait of a society rotting from repression. The slaughterhouse where Marcos works becomes an unsubtle but potent metaphor: under Francoism, bodies are processed, identities erased, dissent quietly carved up and discarded.
What makes the film especially daring is its undercurrent of homoerotic tension. Marcos’ wealthy, enigmatic neighbour Néstor hovers at the edges of the carnage, offering protection and silent understanding. Their charged glances and coded conversations suggest a longing that cannot safely speak its name under Franco’s moral authoritarianism. In this reading, Marcos’ spiral is not only about guilt but about internalized repression — desire twisted inward until it manifests as self-destruction. The horror is as much psychological as physical.
And yes, the gore is blunt and ugly. Bodies are dismembered with the same cold pragmatism as livestock. But de la Iglesia never lets the blood eclipse the tragedy. Marcos is not a monster in the conventional sense; he is a man cornered by circumstance, class stagnation, and a society that offers no mercy to the weak. By the end, his descent feels preordained — less a fall from grace than a revelation that grace was never available to him.
So, if you love horror films do check out indie film festivals such as – HorRHIFFic– whether it’s the electrifying surprises in the indie showcases or the nostalgic thrill of classic screenings, the Romford Horror Film Festival 2026 made it clear: independent horror cinema is alive, vibrant, and boldly inventive. This festival is a testament to the creativity and ingenuity of filmmakers who refuse to be confined by convention — and to the audiences who cheer them on.
Main cast: Rachel McAdams, Dylan O’Brien, Edyll Ismail, Xavier Samuel, Chris Pang, Dennis Haysbert, etc.
Cinematography by Bill Pope
** MAY CONTAIN SPOILERS **
Having watched the trailer for survivalist horror-comedy, Send Help (2025), starring Rachel McAdams and Dylan O’Brien, I thought the blend of bloody chaos and desert island class warfare was right up my street, well, beach. But when I knew one of my favourite directors, Sam Raimi, and film composers, Danny Elfman, were involved, I realized it was not just a recommendation but a personal summons to the cinema.
Send Help (2025), takes inspiration and feels spiritually indebted to the extended final act island meltdown of Triangle of Sadness (2022). But this is an all the more riotous, funny and gory battle of survival. Overlooked for promotion by new-CEO-son-of-deceased-boss, Bradley Preston (O’Brien), Linda Liddle – a fantastic McAdams – is full of downtrodden and bubbling rage. Preston, an arrogant, apparent-alpha wants to sack her, but the business needs her prodigious work ethic for an upcoming business summit to Bangkok. Following an exhilarating plane crash set-piece, that Raimi rinses brilliantly for suspense and surprises, the two become the only survivors. With Linda armed with survival knowledge, and Preston’s leg smashed, the tables, in terms of power, are turned, resulting in all manner of twisted, mental and bodily torture.
What starts as survival thriller territory quickly mutates into full-blown horror farce, complete with makeshift weapons, crustacean poison, tropical storms, shifting power dynamics, and the kind of escalating insanity that feels one chainsaw away from Evil Dead 2 (1987) territory. Not only do the horror beats land, but the tit-for-tat power struggle and verbal sparring between Linda and Preston also heighten the the conflict and dramatic stakes. Indeed, Linda inhabits the alpha-hunter role on the island, culminating in a bloodening and sacrificial slaying of a wild boar. Preston, once he is on his feet, is keen to even up the power balance and challenges Linda’s authority in a desperate attempt to get off the island.
McAdams and O’Brien’s combative chemistry on-screen adds to the enjoyment and at one point I even wondered if Raimi and the screenwriters were going to redeem their battle with a potential romance. Instead they double and triple down on the twisted violence in the final act to much eye-gouging hilarity. Lastly, like Triangle of Sadness (2022), the film weaponizes the underdog’s survival against privilege, flips hierarchies and skewers toxic masculinity in the process. The final act becomes particularly frantic, pushing the horror genre framework, and the class satire into a brilliant pay-off of Linda’s ascendant arc. This ensures Send Help (2026) launches a flare into the sky as an early contender for one of my favourite films of the year.
Cult Film Review: Thriller – A Cruel Picture (1974)
Directed by Alex Fridolinski
Screenplay by Alex Fridolinski
Produced by Bo Arne Vibenius
Main cast: Christina Lindberg, Heinz Hopf, Despina Tomazani, etc.
Cinematography by Andreas Bellis
Edited by Brian Wikström
**Viewer discretion is advised – this film contains scenes that many will find disturbing**
Thriller – A Cruel Picture (1973) (Swedish: Thriller – en grym film) is a 1973 Swedish exploitation film from writer-director Bo Arne Vibenius, working under the pseudonym Alex Fridolinski, starring Christina Lindberg and Heinz Hopf. Infamous for its unflinching depictions of sexual violence, drug abuse, and degradation, the film charts the ordeal of a mute young woman who is coerced into heroin addiction and forced into prostitution before embarking on a brutal campaign of revenge against her tormentors.
Released in the United States in a heavily cut version by American International Pictures—under lurid alternate titles such as They Call Her One Eye, Hooker’s Revenge, and The Swedish Vice-Girl—the film has earned a reputation as a deeply disturbing and confrontational work. Its graphic content and relentless tone make it a challenging and potentially distressing viewing experience, best avoided by those sensitive to extreme subject matter.
Unsurprisingly, due to the violent scenes, on-screen drug use, nudity and also inclusion of hardcore pornography, Thriller – A Cruel Picture (1973) was either banned outright or heavily censored on release. I had heard so much about this film on various YouTube videos expounding the shocking nature of the themes and scenes. Allied to this, Quentin Tarantino has also “championed” the movie and it’s star, Christina Lindberg. With this in mind the film I got tempted and purchased the recent Blu Ray version released in the UK. This version DOES NOT, thankfully, include the pornographic scenes which were filmed by the director with a Swedish couple who did live sex shows.
So, is Thriller – A Cruel Picture (1973) actually any good? Well, it is safe to say that it is a relentlessly harsh watch. That said, it would be unfair to dismiss the film outright as mere grindhouse provocation. Vibenius employs striking stylistic flourishes that elevate certain sequences into something oddly hypnotic. Most famously, the extended slow-motion shotgun reprisals—henchmen blasted backwards in balletic, almost operatic fashion—are staged with a visual patience that borders on the surreal. These, as well as the lengthy final act car pursuit sequence, are technically memorable, even as their brutality remains confronting.
Where the film becomes almost nightmarish is in its internal logic. Once Madeline (Christina Lindberg) is captured and brutalized by the sadistic drug dealer Tony (Heinz Hopf), the narrative takes on a dreamlike, disjointed quality. Despite being forcibly addicted to heroin, she somehow manages to train herself in hand-to-hand combat, driving, and sharpshooting—preparing an elaborate revenge while still under the grip of addiction. The plotting feels less realistic than hallucinatory, as though the film operates on the logic of trauma and fantasy rather than grounded cause and effect.
A great deal of the film’s lasting impact rests on the striking screen presence of Christina Lindberg, as well as her character’s grim journey.Already known internationally in the late 1960s and early 1970s for her work as an erotic actress and glamour model, Lindberg brings an arresting, almost statuesque quality to the role. Her icy stare—especially once framed by the now-iconic eyepatch—gives the character a mythic, comic-book intensity. At the same time, the creative decision to render her character mute inevitably shapes how that performance is perceived. Silence becomes a stylistic device, amplifying the film’s cold and detached tone. The director’s choice to sidestep the demands of more dialogue-heavy dramatic scenes actually works in the film’s favour.
Overall, Thriller – A Cruel Picture (1973) is a film that oscillates between exploitation rawness and stark, almost avant-garde stylization. For hardened genre enthusiasts, it may be a grim curiosity with undeniable visual audacity. For many others, however, its graphic content and relentless tone will make it a deeply uncomfortable, even distressing experience. Proceed carefully.
Produced by Andrew Macdonald, Peter Rice, Bernie Bellew, Danny Boyle, Alex Garland, etc.
Main cast: Ralph Fiennes, Jack O’Connell, Alfie Williams, Erin Kellyman, Chi Lewis-Parry, etc.
Cinematography by Sean Bobbitt
28 Years Later: Bone Temple (2025) is not a film that eases you in. It grabs you by the throat and refuses to let go, piling atrocity upon atrocity until meaning begins to seep through the blood. This is apocalyptic cinema as ritual punishment, and under Nia DaCosta’s direction, it becomes something ferociously alive.
At the calm, moral centre of the chaos standsRalph Fiennes, delivering a performance of astonishing gravitas and unexpected tenderness as Dr. Ian Kelson. In a world rotted by infection and cruelty, Kelson represents something almost radical: goodness without irony. Fiennes plays him not as a saint, but as a weary human being who still believes care, cure and compassion matter, even when the world insists otherwise. His presence anchors the film, giving its excess a conscience.
Opposing him is Jack O’Connell’s Jimmy Crystal, a vicious cult leader whose charisma curdles into something genuinely frightening. Crystal preaches violent “charity” in the name of Satan, offering salvation through brutality, and O’Connell leans hard into the performance’s ugliness. Leading his young, droogy, Savile-esque followers, he wages war not just on human survivors, but on the infected as well, collapsing any moral distinction between mercy and massacre. It’s a performance that feels designed to make your skin crawl—and it succeeds. Alas, Spike (Alfie Williams) gets caught up in Jimmy’s insanity and the sense of fear for him reigns throughout.
DaCosta directs with visceral energy, staging sequences that are frequently jaw-dropping in their gore and sadism. This is not a film particularly interested in an actual plot, clean narrative arcs or deep psychological excavation. Instead, Bone Temple unfolds as a succession of brutal set-pieces, each more punishing than the last. Some viewers will undoubtedly find it too much—too loud, too violent, too relentless.
But that relentlessness is also the point. What makes 28 Years Later: Bone Templeso compelling is how it mashes thematic power with B-movie exploitation ultra-violence. Beneath the spray of blood and bone is a furious meditation on false charity, moral absolutism, and the terrifying ease with which cruelty dresses itself up as righteousness. It’s ugly, abrasive, and often overwhelming—but it’s never empty. Indeed, if there is a more stylish and powerful scene in cinema all year than the ‘Number of the Beast’- Iron Maiden-soundtracked-fiery-ritual-sequence then I can’t wait to see it.
Ultimately, this is apocalypse horror as endurance test and sermon, and while it won’t be for everyone, I found it exhilarating. In its refusal to soften its blows, 28 Years Later: Bone Temple (2025)earns its place as one the most savage entries in the franchise, so far.
The Cinema Fix presents: 12 Favourite Films of 2025!
Happy 2026! I feel like I have watched even more films last year at the cinema and the many streaming platforms.
My instinct is it’s been a decent year overall of quality films, especially from independent or what one would class as indie-minded filmmakers. The bigger budgeted films or traditional blockbusters have been mainly not great or I just didn’t enjoy them. Aside from perhaps the entertaining Mission: Impossible finale.
Of all the genres, horror has really risen to the top in terms of overall quality the last few years, doing big box office and being recognised at awards ceremonies too. Having said that, and this could be my age and is nostalgia-driven, I find myself enjoying older, cult and more obscure film releases than the today’s modern film releases.
Anyway, here my my 12 FAVOURITE films of 2025. Not the BEST films, but the ones I enjoyed the most. There’s a few high quality, critically acclaimed films which do not make the list including Train Dreams (2025), Sorry, Baby (2025), Eddington (2025), Warfare (2025), Good Boy (2025), The Brutalist (2024) andI’m Still Here (2024), but remember these are my FAVOURITE films of the year.
For reference my favourite films of 2024 are below and here.
ALL OF US STRANGERS (2023) AMERICAN FICTION (2023) HERETIC (2024) THE HOLDOVERS (2023) THE IRON CLAW (2023) LATE NIGHT WITH THE DEVIL (2023) MONSTER (2023) POOR THINGS (2023) THE QUIET GIRL (2023) SPEAK NO EVIL (2024) THE SUBSTANCE (2024) THE ZONE OF INTEREST (2023)
The Cinema Fix presents 