The Color Out Of Space, d. Richard Stanley (2019)
Richard Stanley hasn't directed a feature film since he was unceremoniously dumped from 1996's famously appalling Island of Doctor Moreau (which he also wrote the screenplay for) and, for much of this eagerly awaited production (H.P Lovecraft + Nicolas Cage = yes, please) he seems to have forgotten the fundamentals, like narrative, characterisation and things being in focus. Ponderous, both arch and mundane, the film plods and pooters along, frittering away time on irrelevancies, like the main characters obsession with alpacas and a poorly performing broadband connection. Even star Nicolas Cage seems uncertain, his Cageometer swinging randomly between 30 and 150%.
When the supernatural, other worldy threat (delivered by a smelly purple meteorite) finally starts to make itself at home on Earth, however, things begin to pick up, and the last twenty five minutes or so is an unrelenting and slightly nerve shredding study in psychedelic hysteria, aided and abetted by striking visuals and a great deal of high volume screaming. It's good, but it's too much too late, only serving to highlight the deficiency of what has come before.
