Stoker (2013). Review of the kooky horror starring Mia Wasikowska

Promotional image Stoker (2013). Kidman, Wasikowska, Matthew Goode.

Director: Chan-wook Park. Fox Searchlight/Indian Paintbrush/Scott Free. (18)


Producers: Michael Costigan, Ridley Scott, Tony Scott.
Writers: Wentworth Miller, Erin Cressida Wilson.
Camera: Chung-hoon Chung
Music: Clint Mansell.
Sets: Therese DePrez

Mia Wasikowska, Nicole Kidman, Matthew Goode, Jackie Weaver, Dermot Mulroney, Alden Ehrenreich, Phyllis Somerville, Ralph Brown, Lucas Till.


Shortly after the sudden death of her beloved father (Mulroney) on her 18th birthday, quiet and introverted India’s (Wasikowska) life is disrupted by the appearance of his creepy brother Charlie (Goode), a man whom she had never heard of. Her unstable, alcoholic mother (Kidman) is immediately attracted to him and, despite her initial revulsion, so is India, particularly when her suspicions about him killing their house-keeper and aunt are confirmed.


It isn’t often that something other than the visual imagery and performances in a movie form the backbone of my film review. I’m an ardent silent movie fan and will say a million times until everyone is bored of it, I’m with Alfred Hitchcock when he said “the visual is first, the oral supplementary”.

But it’s with the giddy delight of someone first discovering the magic of cinema that I report Stoker is an exception to this rule, containing some of the finest sound design and editing of any modern motion picture.

I don’t just mean the music, although Clint Mansell’s eerie, cold score, grand and operatic but with echoes of another bleak production (Silence of the Lambs, 1991) also hits the mark and complements the odd action perfectly. But it’s the background snap, crackle and pop, loaded with meaning, that impress the most and linger long after the closing credits have faded.

Wasikowska’s character is a quiet virgin whose sexual awakening is chronicled as the story progresses, but it’s the ingenious background noises that signal this more than Chung’s camera could ever reveal (though more of that later). Preparing food for her father’s wake, she rolls a hard-boiled egg around on a table, its shell breaking and crunching with deafening significance. Her first sip of wine sees her eyes open wide in delight, but drowned out by her slurps as she chugs the lot back heartily. After she and uncle Charlie have killed her would be rapist, she showers and masturbates with vigour thinking about him, the drops of water noisily splashing loudly around her.

It’s a difficult story to pull off on the big screen, especially when a mainstream American studio such as Fox is behind it and Park was a brave man to choose a story that encompasses fratricide, murder, consanguinity and incest. But then Park, the South Korean director noted internationally for his ultra-stylised violence in Oldboy and Sympathy for Lady Vengeance, is not your usual run of the mill director. He indulges his and cameraman Chung’s eye for painterly composition, eye-catching colour schemes (Kidman’s luscious strawberry blonde hair and key mood change outfits could have leapt straight out of old style Hollywood melodramas; Goode’s piercing blue eyes drain to a dull grey before changing back,  the reds and oranges of Kidman’s house) and titillating visual motifs (the spider, clearly used to represent the arachnid uncle Charlie, scuttles across the floor and over Wasikowsa’s body before disappearing between her legs). This is a modern day Grand Guignol horror in the style of a perversely sexualised Whatever Happened to Baby Jane.

Surprising to find Prison Break star Miller as the scribe behind this distinctive, wilfully bizarre coming of age romance. There are some juicy lines for his stars to get their teeth into and the characters are intriguing, though it may have more to do with the back room boys input that the film ends up as a stylish assault on the senses rather than a clever check-list of weirdness.

The performances are all commendably strange, possibly due to the fact no one seems to blink. You’ll find yourself hypnotised watching the wide-eyed and gorgeous Goode as the fox stalking this chicken coop. Wasikowska plays India as if she was a homicidal Wednesday Addams with a Daddy Complex but inebriate Kidman is the keenest of these players, managing to always appear slightly drunk, words vaguely slurred, bearing slouched, staggering a little. She’s pathetic but sympathetic at the same time.

The Five-Year Engagement (2012)


Director: Nicholas Stoller.



Producers: Judd Apatow, Rodney Rothman, Nicholas Stoller. Writers: Jason Segal, Nicholas Stoller. Camera: Javier Aguirresarobe. Music: Michael Andrews. Sets: Julie Berghoff.

Jason Segal, Emily Blunt, Chris Pratt, Alison Brie, Lauren Weedman, Mimi Kennedy, David Paymer, Jackie Weaver, Jim Piddock, Rhys Ifans, Mindy Kalin, Randall Park, Kevin Hart.


Chef Tom (Segal) pops the question to his sweetheart Violet (Blunt) after they have been going steady for a year and she accepts without question. But, following a series of comic complications, the engagement stretches longer than either anticipated and makes them question how much deep their devotion is.


Perhaps this will be something of a rant review, but I’m allowed one every now and then.

When exactly did cultural prejudice become the norm in Hollywood rom-coms?

Obviously, its been about for sometime in the action genre, never more noticeable than when European accented (mostly British accents from mostly British actors) propounded as the token psychotic baddie in blockbusters, from Alan Rickman in Die Hard to Patrick McGoohan as a flintily megalomaniacal Edward I in Braveheart, this has been discussed by countless other film theorists and commentators.

But on reflection, there has also been a creeping sense of subtle anti-Englishness in the humble romantic comedy from across the pond. You know the type, the genial (or geriatric), bumbling or mumbling, well-spoken, probably-a-cricket-playing-gent. Posh guys in the Princess Diaries movies. Ineffectual and emasculated Ralph Fiennes in Maid in Manhattan. Effortlessly polite and proper Colin Firth in What a Girl Wants. Seemingly imbecilic Hugh Grant in…all of the few things he did stateside.

One-man hilarity juggernaut Apatow (Knocked Up, Superbad et al) doesn’t buck this trend when he steers a chuckle-strewn course to his own full-blown rom com, an admittedly laugh-out loud funny product, starring co-writer Segal.

Blunt is the female Firth then, adding to this catalogue of vaguely offensive xenophobia. The addition of her character to this narrative is slightly clunky.  She has been specifically scripted as English, despite this causing awkward moments when relatives die and the action must therefore shift across the pond in a film that is otherwise entirely American.

The writers’ seem to gleefully show English people as whiny and hysterical (Australian Weaver, doing her best scratchy English voice) or neurotically unbalanced (Brie as Blunt’s very needy sister). All of this is played out in contrast to the relaxed, right-on, crude but level-headed American characters.

Even the Welsh don’t get off  Scot free (though there are no Scottish characters here). Ifans plays a lecherous but cool University  Professor out to nail Blunt, a supercilious and conceited man who gets hung up on Welsh pronunciations.

Now to totally about face with this review. Blunt is great casting in a role that allows her to be considerably funny and quite charming throughout, belying the straight-as-a-rule parts she usually inhabits. Segal is able to probe just that bit deeper to show how depressed a man can get when he sacrifices everything for his spouse’s career.

As you would expect from an Apatow product, the whole film is belt-bustingly amusing, slickly put together and geared wholly toward American viewers. Perhaps for the less cynical English, this will be the perfect romantic and funny movie.