Film Review - Brooklyn

Today I talk about Brooklyn, John Crowley's adaptation of Colm Tóibín's novel of a young Irishwoman who emigrates to New York in the 1950s. While this isn't the sort of film I would normally seek out, I still thoroughly enjoyed it for the sheer quality in just about every respect: acting, writing, cinematography, music, etc. I haven't read Tóibín's book, so I can't judge it as an adaptation, but as a film, Brooklyn is well worth the ticket price.

Unsurprisingly, a lot of this comes down to its lead. Saoirse Ronan is brilliant in the lead role, showing her versatility in playing a character who starts off as timid and nervous of starting a life in the New World, and by the end has become a confident woman who suddenly finds herself stifled in her hometown of Enniscorthy, Co. Wexford. Ronan's down-to-earth charm makes Eilis very easy to root for, and she shows her knack for conveying sadness, fear and joy with the subtlest of expressions.

The rest of the cast are equally impressive. Emory Cohen plays Tony Fiorello, an Italian-American plumber who falls for Eilis. His bashful “aw-shucks” demeanour makes it impossible not to sympathise with him as he tries to woo her. Julie Walters makes a considerable impression, despite her scant screentime, as the most unashamedly stereotypical Irish mammy this side of Mrs Brown. Her no-nonsense attitude towards her female tenants not only makes for great comic relief, but also makes her softer moments with Eilis all the more effective. The whole cast is superb, but these three performances were my favourites.

It isn't just casting that makes the film, though. Special mention has to go to the cinematography, which is practically a character in itself. Yves Bélanger contrasts the Enniscorthy and New York environments, by making the former grey and dreary while the other becomes a riot of colour. While this can come across as a little blatant in terms of highlighting Eilis's dilemma (the familiar yet stifling, versus the grand and unexpected) it still makes for a more dynamic viewing experience.

The scenes on the boat also play into this. When Eilis first boards, we focus on her ordeal below decks. She has to put up with cramped quarters, unfriendly neighbours and seasickness. The film doesn't hold back on the latter, as Eilis is forced to defecate in a mop bucket after being locked out of the toilet. These scenes are contrasted with those up on deck: Eilis's roommate (Eva Birthistle) starts off cold when they meet below deck, but on deck she becomes more compassionate and teaches Eilis how to act when she comes to customs. The cinematography reflects this with wide open shots of the sea, representing the endless possibilities of the New World.

There is one part of the film that didn't work so well for me, however. This is the hinted-at love triangle between Eilis, Tony and Jim Farrell (Domhnall Gleeson) a rugby student from Enniscorthy. Maybe it's just my ignorance of the source material, but I found myself a bit confused as to what the story was alluding to at this point. Was there meant to be a spark between Eilis and Jim? Or was that just the parochial townspeople trying to lure Eilis to come back and settle down?

It's not that Ronan and Gleeson's performances were lacking, but this part of the film felt a little rushed and so, underdeveloped. If they were trying to hint at a romance, more time should have been dedicated to it.

The ending also left me a little confused. The film seemed to be hinting that Eilis was planning to break up with Tony, but the film ends with her going back to him and supposedly, the two live happily ever after from this point. This clashes with what we see earlier in the film: Eilis takes a while to return Tony's “I love you”, she needs to be persuaded to marry him, and most crucially of all, she holds off on reading his letters. She finally does read them, but if she were in love with him, wouldn't she have done so instantly, instead of keeping them in a drawer?

The impression I got from the ending was that Eilis went back to Tony to spite the village gossip (Brid Brennan), not necessarily because she loved him. That's why the closing scene between Eilis and Tony felt hollow, which is a shame as the film before this had felt much more genuine. Again, perhaps the novel explains this better. Perhaps it was the pacing that made this feel artificial – the third act of the film certainly feels more rushed than the first two, what with Eilis's rapidly developing relationship with Jim, and her even quicker reconciliation with Tony.

These niggles aside, I would still highly recommend Brooklyn. It's not the sort of film that will set the world on fire; it's just a nice, simple story told very, very well.

Book Review - Demon Road (Derek Landy)

(This review contains spoilers)

Demon Road is the latest book from Derek Landy, author of the bestselling Skulduggery Pleasant series. It follows a teenager named Amber Lamont, who learns that she and her parents are demons, and that her parents want to kill her so they can gain more power from an agent of the Devil known as the Shining Demon. In a bid to escape them, Amber flees across the American landscape with a mysterious driver named Milo, and an irritating hitchhiker named Glen who has his own supernatural business to take care of.

The most striking thing about this book was its difference in tone to the Skulduggery Pleasant books. While that series was dark, the pacing was quick and punchy. Here, the pacing is slower and there was more of an emphasis on dread, with occasional bouts of action to break things up. This oppression makes itself known from the start when we see Amber's unhappy life; while her parents aren't outright abusive, their neglect and the effect this has on Amber's confidence leaves a lasting impression nonetheless.

The story opens with Amber being abused by two unpleasant customers at the diner where she works, and later getting attacked by them, which triggers her first demonic transformation. It's a nasty way to open the story, and sets the tone early on. Similarly, when Amber, Milo and Glen visit one town that's been traumatised by a serial killer, or another that's been infested by vampires, Landy spends some time describing the overall mood of the setting before he makes the actual cause of distress explicit.

However, these attempts at darkness are spoiled somewhat by Landy's injections of humour, which I don't think work as well here as they did in Skulduggery. Demon Road is clearly aiming to be more serious and adult, so to notice the same speech patterns and irreverant humour from before took me out of story. Glen Morrison, an Irish traveller, seems composed entirely of this sort of humour. Right from the beginning, his irritating of Amber and Milo is meant to make him funny and endearing, but only made him jar with the rest of the story. Glen could be compared to Vaurien Scapegrace from the previous series, another character who existed for comic relief. But whereas Scapegrace was a minor character, Glen is more prominent and his goofiness is more in-your-face as a result.

I didn't care too much for the other characters either, especially Milo. While I appreciate Landy paying homage to the Lone Gunman archeype, I didn't care too much for Milo's sullenness, as it seemed to be his only character trait. Amber felt a little more fleshed out, as we're given an insight into her thoughts throughout, but I still felt like more could have been done with her. She was a decent protagonist at best, but somehow she didn't stand out in my mind that much.

Amber's parents were also a disappointment. I find power for its own sake to be a weak motivation, unless the villain is dynamic and charismatic enough to carry the material. Neither Billy or Betty Lamont were strong enough to do so. Finally, there's a freelance journalist named Edgar Spurrier. I put a spoiler warning on this review just to be polite, but really, was anyone shocked when he turned out to be evil? I didn't find him sinister enough, nor funny enough to make any kind of impression on me. I hate to keep coming back to Skulduggery (but not really, because I love those books) but Landy has written some top-notch villains that you either loved or loved to hate – China Sorrows, Billy-Ray, the Torment, the Remnants, Kitana – and it's a crying shame that he couldn't do the same here.

The use of horror is the book's saving grace, but it's done very well, and there really seemed to be more creativity going on here than any other aspect. Dacre Shanks's dollhouse of terror was a fun moment (if a little derivative of Anathem Mire – I'm sorry, I'll stop), as was the fight in the Varga Hotel. Amber's fight with a hitman was a nice moment of gore, and the wood-witch reaches proper toe-curling levels of disturbing. The story does manage to save one of its characters from being a complete waste, although poor Glen ends up a little dead and forlorn as a result. Hopefully that will make him more interesting later, perhaps if he tries to fight his vampirism. I get the sense that Landy cared more for his horror set-pieces than fleshing out his characters. I hate to sound harsh, but that's how I truly felt reading this. I only say it because I care.

Can I recommend Demon Road? If you like horror, I say it's worth checking out. Its grim, slow-burning tone make for heavier going than Landy's previous works, but I'm sure some people will appreciate this more mature approach. I might check out the sequels in due course, though I won't be scrambling for them as much as I was for this. When I do, I hope to find more reason to love them than I did here.

Book Review - The Day of the Triffids (John Wyndham)

Today, I look at The Day of the Triffids, a science-fiction thriller from 1951. The story has many parallels with one of the great classics of British science-fiction, The War of the Worlds, so much so that it often feels like a homage to that work. The narrative form, the setting of the English countryside, the isolation of the protagonist, and even the form of the triffids themselves all seem to lend themselves to Wells's work.

The most striking resemblance is the use of an everyman character to convey a global disaster to the reader. Our narrator, Bill Masen, does not have much of a personality, and exists so the reader can imprint themselves upon him. This frees Wyndham to discuss greater issues, though he purposefully hampers this by limiting what Bill knows, and thus, what the reader knows.

Despite the name, the triffids do not feature that heavily in the story. The first half of the book deals more with a meteor shower that turns everyone who sees it blind. Bill escapes as he was having his eyes operated on at the time – ironically, after being stung in the eyes by a triffid. The triffids' role in this is obscured throughout the story. We never find out if they directly caused this meteor shower, or if it could've been a result of human error. Bill suggests the latter towards the end of the book, but we only have his word for it. His theories are rooted in recognisable issues, but Wyndham never explicitly says if he's right. In this way, Wyndham provokes the reader to think about these broad issues, while leaving the floor open to other possibilities.

Wyndham creates fear and dread through holding back and letting the reader's mind fill the gaps. The ambiguity makes the story stick out more and keeps the focus more on the consequences of these disasters, rather than the causes. Like many works of this time, The Day of the Triffids challenges humankind's assumption of supremacy by not only striking them with a deadly threat, but keeping them in the dark about its true nature. It reminds the reader that our role in the world is limited, and underlines this by showing how nature reclaims the cities and monuments that symbolize humanity's dominance.

These general moral lessons feed into more contemporary social issues. The book opens with a lengthy diatribe against Cold War tensions by suggesting that the triffids were created as a foodsource by the Soviets. When a defector steals triffid seeds to sell to a Western conglomerate, he inadvertantly scatters them over the Pacific, allowing the menacing plants to take root all over the world. The implications here are that the race for supremacy between East and West contribute to the spread of the triffids.

Bill suggests that this tension also caused the meteor shower; perhaps the “meteors” were a satellite-weapon meant to blind smaller communities, which then malfunctioned and radiated the whole world.

Throughout the story, several characters voice the hope that the Americans will come and save them all, a belief which slowly gives way to despair. Wyndham's attack on blind faith in Western imperialism may be on-the-nose, but is no less relevant today.

The story does not concern itself solely with international relations. When Bill meets his love interest, Josella, he learns that she once wrote a lurid book (Sex is my Adventure) which caused something of a scandal. At first, this felt like a pointless interlude and made me feel like Wyndham was making a clumsy attempt at character development. But later on, we see this prudery of an earlier age contrasted with the attitudes of the post-triffid world. An elderly scientist – Dr Vorless – calls for a breeding programme to create a new generation to survive in the new world – an arrangement Bill finds shocking, but hard to disagree with. These changing attitudes towards sex show how old beliefs must be swept aside in the face of disaster, if a people are to survive, reflecting the change in attitudes to gender following WWII.

One scene from the book spells this out for the reader in rather striking way. Bill meets an activist named Coker, who loves to find causes to get worked-up about. The two stumble on a community which sees the blindness epidemic as punishment from God and have reverted to a puritanical way of life. Coker argues with one of these women about feminism, explaining how women should fight for gender equality in such a condescending tone that she finally storms off. I wasn't sure if we were meant to sympathise more with Coker for his progressive stance, or with the woman for having to put up with his moralising. Coker is another character who doesn't have much of a personality (indeed, his ability to blend in with different demographics is highlighted more than any attempt to be his own person) and who spouts rhetoric at other people until they get sick of him. Perhaps the message of this scene is that either side of an argument becomes problematic if taken too far.

This also comes up in the portrayal of compassion versus utilitarianism which recurs throughout the book. When we first meet Coker, he's part of a group that kidnaps people who can see and forces them into aiding groups of blind people. The intentions are good, but the strategy ultimately proves impractical as it only keeps the blind in a state of dependency while preventing those who can see from trying to build a society that can endure for future generations. Furthermore, Coker and his gang fervently believe in the myth of America coming to the rescue, which further damages them in Bill's eyes.

Bill is reluctantly forced to accept the utilitarian stance and abandon the blind to their fate. This is where the focus on a human protagonist instead of an omniscient narrator becomes important to the text. The issues raised are obviously controversial and readers will disagree over what would be the best option in such a disaster. By limiting the narration to a mere man, Wyndham leaves the reader free to disagree if they wish.

The other extreme is personified in a red-haired looter named Torrence, who Bill first sees  executing several blind people. This is when the plague has hit London, and Torrence takes measures to stop the spread. The two meet again later, when Torrence has become the commander-in-chief of a militarised state based in Brighton. Torrence also tries to force Bill into an arrangement where he will oversee a group of blind people, who will function as a workforce on a farm. Torrence doesn't listen to Bill's protestations that his patch of land can't support that many people, especially one under constant attack from triffids, but instead tries to cajole him with offers of power and authority over his tenants. He also shows a disregard for the fact that the blind will have to live off pulpified remains of triffids, the only consistent supply of food.

Wyndham uses Torrence to criticize the Darwinist view that can arise during a crisis, one that sees disaster as an opportunity to exploit the weak. While at the opposite end of the spectrum from Coker's deluded optimism, it's shown to be equally detrimental to society.

The book comes to a not altogether satisfying conclusion (though that was probably Wyndham's point) where Bill and his new family retreat to an island community who hope, one day, to reclaim the land from the triffids. In a true rebuttal to the Americanised belief in clean endings, the story ends ambiguously with the hope of the future placed on the next generation. Due to the nature of a one-person narrative, we never find out if this campaign is successful, or if humanity is finally hounded to extinction. There's certainly nothing to suggest that another blinding meteor shower won't incapacitate them again.

While The Day of the Triffids's final note is not completely hopeless, it's still far from a happy one. It seems that the lesson Wyndham wanted to leave with readers is, while disaster can be survived, it can take a long time, and ultimately it is better to be prepared for it in the first place.

TV Review - The Walking Dead Season 1

Last week, I watched The Walking Dead for the first time. I'd heard a lot mixed things about it, and the negatives seemed to stick in my mind more. I've heard people say the characters were annoying or unpleasant, that the quality of the show fluctuates constantly, and the pacing slows down, sometimes to a stop. All this I'm sure I'll get to as I continue to watch.

To date, I've only seen the first season, and I've enjoyed what I've seen so far. The show opens with Georgia Deputy Rick Grimes (Andrew Lincoln), who's shot and coma-bound within the first ten minutes of the pilot. Rick awakens after some time to find the hospital and town disturbingly empty. Then Rick realises he's not alone, and soon learns the world has been overtaken by some unexplained phenomenon that reanimates the dead, turning them into ravenous zombies.

The balance between action and drama is always a fine one, but I feel like season 1 of The Walking Dead strikes it very well. My favourite parts of the season had to be the Atlanta segments. They give the programme a great sense of scale and underline the extent of the catastrophe by showing how a former metropolis can become a silent, claustrophobic hellhole.

Atlanta also gave the season its best set-pieces, such as Rick hiding out in a tank, Merle Dixon (Michael Rooker) trying to escape his handcuffs, and Glen (Steven Yeun) shooting down the motorway in a Challenger. The Atlanta segments were the most dynamic and memorable, giving every character something to do while showing the zombie hoarde at its most powerful.

This part of the show also excels on a technical level. I felt the erratic Georgian weather added a lot to the atmosphere. The sunny sky makes the city look bleached and rotting, instead of vibrant. The use of thunder also works in this respect; not only does it obviously make the show feel more apocalyptic, it jars with the sunshine and creates a dissonance, making it seem like this isn't happening on Earth, but in some sort of limbo. This nicely parallels the contradiction of the dead rising and walking.

Backing all this up is Bear McCready's eerie score. The highlight for me was the accompaniment to Rick and Glen lurching through a hoarde of zombies, covered in rotting corpse-matter, to reach a construction site and their getaway vehicle.

The Atlanta segments contrast with the scenes at the group's camp. Isolated from the rest of the world, it's almost easy to forget that civilization is falling apart. These scenes obviously serve to flesh out the characters more, which I felt worked as a whole. Rick clashes with Daryl Dixon (Norman Reedus), a hard-bitten redneck who feels the zombies should be killed indiscriminately, along with anyone else who might be infected. I felt the dynamic between these two characters was very well-handled and I'm keen to see how it progresses from here.

Rick is also at odds with his friend, Shane(Jon Bernthal), the designated “best-friend-turned-asshole”. As such, the show goes to some lengths to make Shane unlikeable, such as nearly shooting Rick, and drunkenly trying to rape his wife, Lori (Sarah Wayne Callies). I didn't warm too much to the three-way tension between Rick, Shane and Lori, but I didn't hate it. I just felt there were more interesting things going on.

Another pair I felt had a good relationship were Dale (Jeffrey DeMunn), the “heart” of the group, and Andrea (Laurie Holden), who sinks into a depression after her sister is killed. I felt theirs' was the most genuine relationship, and it was nice to have one based on something positive, rather than secrecy and lies.

Merle Dixon was another character I was fascinated by, even though the show makes him as repellent as possible. Despite his violence and racism, it was hard not to sympathise with him as he struggled to escape his cuffs on the roof. It's also hard not to admire his toughness when he not only saws off his arm, but kills a few zombies on the way before finally cauterizing his stump. Doubtless he'll catch up with the group in the future to mete out some vengeance.

A final character I want to mention is Dr Edwin Jenner (Noah Emmerich). Like Andrea, he's become a shell after months of isolation in a bunker. He finally loses all hope when a valuable tray of samples is incinerated, and lets the group in, not to save them, but so he doesn't have to die alone. Emmerich does a fine job of making his character both compassionate and chilling. His calm monotone when explaining the decontamination, and confusion at the group's horror, underscore how the apocalypse has truly broken his humanity.

The finale also works well on a technical level, providing a third environment to contrast with Atlanta or the woods. The cold clinicalness of the environment reflect Jenner's own temperament. It's an unexpected turn for a show which has until now focused on the filth and chaos of the apocalypse outside. The final shot of the CDC laboratory going up in flames symbolizes how the remnant's of humanity's control of the world are being destroyed one by one, just like how Atlanta is slowly falling apart.

So that was season 1 of The Walking Dead. It's a solidly made run of episodes with occasional sparks of genuine ingenuity. However the rest of the show pans out, this right here was a fine piece of television.

Short Story Review - Sandkings (George R. R. Martin)

Before his epic A Song of Ice and Fire series, George R. R. Martin was best known for writing short stories, either science-fiction, fantasy, horror or a blend of these genres. “Sandkings” is the first of these that I've read, and what a story it is to start with.

Simon Kress is a rich snob who lives in a fancy mansion in the desert of the planet Baldur. Kress has no real job to speak of, and his favourite hobby is buying obscure and ferocious pets to watch them tear each other apart. Bored one day, Kress discovers a quaint petshop which offers him a remarkable new attraction: sandkings. These ant-like creatures live in vast colonies overseen by an ever-ravenous maw, and maintained by an army of mobiles. Kress buys four colonies to put on elaborate war set-pieces for himself and his equally voyeuristic friends.

To the shock of absolutely no one, Kress's playtime comes to a halt when his minions start to act quite strangely ...

“Sandkings” is a wonderful blend of genres. It has all the trappings of a Gothic classic – the vain and sadistic aristocrat, the slave rebelling against its master, the corrupted mirror image of the protagonist (in this case, the hideous likenesses of Kress's face the sandkings carve on the walls of their domains). By situating it on another planet however, Martin gives the concept a twist that makes the story feel fresh.

Kress is a suitably vile character for this type of story, and it gives the story a satisfactory bite as his power fantasy is eaten away by his former pets. Another character of note is the mysterious Jala Wo, the shopowner who supplies Kress with the sandkings. While Kress's fate is clear from the outset, Martin keeps the reader guessing about Wo's own motivations right until the end. In this way, he hints at a universe with more depth than just a setting for his macabre story.

The story revels in the violence and destruction of the sandkings. Spiders, snakes, puppies and eventually people are all dispatched with little remorse. And, not content there, Martin ends on a chilling note that suggests the sandkings' march is not finished yet.

If you're burning with anticipation for the next ASOIAF entry, or just want a dalliance into the dark nether-regions of science-fiction, I cannot recommend “Sandkings” enough.

Book Review - Wolf Hall (Hilary Mantel)

This isn't really a review as such, due to both the book's complex style and my general ignorance of the period. The best I can do is sum up by experience reading it.

For three years, my copy of Wolf Hall sat on my shelf having only been opened once. The story of a lowborn man rising through the ranks through his own cunning was a fascinating one, but I was daunted by both the length of the book, and its present tense prose, of which I'm not a huge fan. I was also largely ignorant of Tudor England (and still am) so this was another factor that put me off reading for quite some time.

Having read the book, it's clear that you'd have to read it several times to really pick up on the nuances of the text and its characters. Unsurprisingly, you also need an indepth understanding of the period, not just the events, but the people and their personalities. I admit, it got quite frustrating trying to remember which Thomas or Mary was which, or who was related to whom. This obscurity made it hard at times to engage with the text and made reading it feel more like a chore than a pleasure.

That said, I can understand why Mantel wrote this way. The intricacies of the “plot” work to entice the reader, but she holds things back to entice the reader into studying the period more. While I didn't instantly start reading up on Tudor history after I'd finished reading, I can see myself returning to this book repeatedly to try and make sense of it. While not the easiest read, it certainly poses a fascinating challenge. Before returning though, I see I will have to study the period more to gain more from the text.

Mantel's ambiguous approach to history can be seen especially in her treatment of Cromwell himself. Although the whole book is from his perspective, he remains a shadowy figure throughout. There are hints of his ruthlessness (like when he imagines pushing George Cavendish into the Thames), his humanity (when he remembers his lost family) and his beliefs (when he raves against the idolatry of the Catholic Church). These moments of clarity struck me all the more because for the most part, Cromwell was hard for me to figure out.

Perhaps Mantel was trying to hook the reader as I described earlier. Or perhaps she wanted to pay homage to Cromwell's cunning by making him an enigma to the reader. One novel touch was that for the most part, Cromwell isn't referred to by name, but as “he”. This is just one more way to make him seem more like an element instead of a person. In this regard, I can't really say that this book humanizes Cromwell as such, but it still leaves a strong impression all the same.

I can't speak for Tudor experts, but if you're a fan of history or courtly intrigue, I would still say Wolf Hall is worth a look.

Film Review - Night of the Hunter

Night of the Hunter opens with Harry Powell (Robert Mitchum), a preacher from the Deep South who does the Lord's will by murdering women he finds promiscuous. When Harry ends up sharing a cell with a condemned man (Peter Graves) who's stolen and hidden a considerable sum of money, he hatches a plan to marry his widow (Shelley Winters) and take the money for himself. But his stepson John Harper (Billy Chapin) cottons on to him, and flees with his sister and the money.

Night of the Hunter feels more like two ok films instead of one great one. The second half focuses more on John than Harry, and feels more like a children's drama than a thriller. The movie has a clear angel/devil dichotomy, with Harry as the murderous parental figure contrasted with Miss Cooper (Lillian Gish), the stern but good-natured Christian woman who adopts the Harper orphans.

The strongest link between the two halves (more so than the plot) is the portrayal of Christianity. The first half not only focuses on the psychotic Harry, but also shows him corrupting Mrs Palmer, turning her into a bible-thumping zealot who fails to protect her children. Christianity is represented by Miss Cooper in the second half, showing it in its more idealistic form. Whereas Harry teaches that we are all sinners and must be punished, Miss Cooper teaches about Exodus and overcoming adversity. Both figures have a profound impact on John – at first he's frightened off by Christianity in the form of Harry, but eventually embraces it in the form of Miss Cooper.

The acting is on the whole very good. Mitchum has a ball playing the insincere preacher, and I felt it was a bit of a shame that we saw less of him in the film's second half. Gish gives Miss Cooper a good mix of authority and compassion. Chapin does a decent job as John, portraying a stubborn child without veering into sentimentality. One interesting character who I felt should have been expanded more was Icey Spoon, a shameless gossip who sings Harry's praises at the start, only to lead the mob when he's convicted of murder. I felt the movie could have better explored the hypocrisy and bigotry that can bring out the worst in people's religion, to parallel with Harry's own bigotry.

Harry's motivation is one of the film's weaker points. It opens strongly with Harry targeting women for the way their promiscuity, introducing him as a megalomaniac. This is also done very well when he admonishes Mrs Palmer for trying to get in bed with him on their wedding night, showing he's a predator of women, but not the type we usually think of. However, Harry's greed is his main drive for the rest of the film – if not for that, he wouldn't have an excuse to pursue the kids. I felt this was a much weaker motivation and cancelled out Harry's earlier characterisation. Harry's puritan crusade at him start made him seem like a more powerful threat, especially as it speaks to centuries of religious violence which is still around today. By the end of the film, this has been replaced by his greed, which makes him seem less of a monster and more of a pathetic sleazebag.

As I said before, the film changes so drastically in the middle that it feels like two shorter films. The Christian motif transcends the two halves well, but the tone and characterisation suffers. Night of the Hunter is worth seeing for its handling of the theme of faith, and the performances also make it worthwhile. But the film doesn't tie together as well as it should, and for that it's merely good but not great.