Three Ways to Dine Well chronicles the contentious history of female filmmakers throughout horror and the significance and traumatic instigation that is bonded to cinematic expressions of eating.
Horror film specialist and all around expert Alison Peirse created this video essay to reignite the spark that many genre fans have for classic films, but under a reviewed, contemporary perspective that shows the true creators behind these cinematic feats. In showing and recognising the cavernous underground that many viewers may not have been aware of, Three Ways to Dine Well opens up a door for itself as a monumentally important piece of creative research that deserves study, acclaim, and a form of remembrance for assisting in the progress of representation for aspiring filmmakers and similar personnel.
Throughout the curation of events, Peirse tours a wide berth of films to use as subjects, with Three Ways to Dine Well probing into the background of atypical slashers, obscure Japanese cinema, feisty monstrous feminine numbers, classic exploitation flicks, and boisterous vampire feats, all within the context of the crucial gravity that eating has always demanded in horror.
This bold and impassioned expression of an already vexed subject of on screen dining from women paired with the readdressed crediting makes Three Ways to Dine Well wholly prodigious and a feast for all senses.
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On a bright sunny day a young man (Håvard Sveberg) goes on a walk through the rural countryside, however, out of the blue various unsuspecting neighbours start rapidly chasing after him. On the Inside chronicles the quiet truths that lurk beneath the surface, no matter the serenity of the situation. The breezy openness of the setting combined with the ferocious score that amplifies the heart rate, valiantly delivers a visual and audio feast for the senses; particularly when the tense fight or flight scenes are composed in such a way that they harmoniously juxtapose against one another to create a frightfully memorable experience.
Incubus (Directed by Tito Fernandes)
Trapped inside the confines of a houseboat, a woman (Malou Coindreau) becomes terrified and haunted by fear itself. Incubus unfolds the gradual progression of terrors that manifest within the self. The inspiration for Tito Fernandes’s short film derives from the increasing levels of violence towards women in a modern day society that boasts a falsified safety. Incubus works its way around a purposefully perplexing narrative that dives into inner traumas and the battle with the most devilish person of all, our own mind, to ensure that the ghastly horrors pack a punchy fright, which is all emphasised by the unique setting and incredible performance by Coindreau.
The Sound (Directed by Jason-Christopher Mayer)
After Lily (Sabrina Stull) suddenly loses her hearing, sinister occurrences begin creeping out from the dark, traumatising and unearthing a menacing experience. The Sound utilises the classic storytelling device of two friends enjoying each other’s company one night before a strange sound makes itself known, leading to dire consequences. The familiar basis purposefully lures the viewer in, only to violently disrupt any sense of knowing, leaving you shaking with fear. Conjuring The Sound’s cruel execution that will even send a shiver up the most stern audience’s spine is the ominous and ubiquitous dread that plays on our most inner fears. Evil will find you, no matter what…
Unheimlich (Directed by Fabio Colonna)
During a stormy night, Joven (Helena Puig) wakes to find her house has mysteriously transformed into a surrealistic myriad, with a foreboding unknown creature lurking amidst the chaos. Unheimlich pronounces its stern replication of a nightmare from the very beginning, with the utterly bewildering maze-like environment fashioning itself as a sinister underworld where gruesome creatures are no stranger to such schemes. The expressionist goals set by Fabio Colonna are truly met thanks to the thrilling story that will leave you guessing your own reality long after watching.
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Joshua (Oliver Powell) finally gets to meet Eric, the seemingly adorable dog of the girl he’s been recently seeing (Jemma Moore). However, as the evening continues, he gets the sneaking suspicion that Eric is not the normal house pet. The world of modern dating can be a proverbial war zone, battling through strange encounters and even stranger people, or in this case, peculiar pets. Eric takes advantage of the innate dark and satirical humour that comes from a clever and mischievous creature feature.
Dispensary of Death (Directed by Simon O’Neill)
After being bitten by one of those snappy creatures that seem to be everywhere, Kevin (Keith Singleton) takes a trip to the pharmacy to see if they can be of any assistance. Dispensary of Death is a hilarious take on the classic undead movie monster that tackles the lack of humanity amidst tragedies all whilst throwing in laugh-out-loud gags and devilishly gory practical effects.
Caregiver (Directed by Rafael De Leon Jr.)
A graduate student (Leo DeFriend) interviews a young caregiver (Tara Rose Schreiber) for a class project, however, something just isn’t right. With the micro time frame, the eerie performance of an unhinged woman, and the closely bound setting keeping the set confined and inescapable, Rafael De Leon Jr. devises an incredibly unnerving short horror that forces the audience to sit and wait in terror for the frightening conclusion.
Bug Bites (Directed by Daniel DelPurgatorio)
Sandra (Julia Atkin) discovers that her skin is covered in unknown bug bites, leading her to uncover a terrifying secret lurking right beneath her. Body horror and creature features are a match made in horror hell, with the repulsive factor and creepy-crawly frights working together to deliver shocking scares that will make your skin crawl. Bug Bites sheds impactful practical effects that would make Tom Savini proud, as well as delivering a punchy ending that both startles and deliberately bewilders.
Sucker (Directed by Alix Austin)
Sam (Sophia Capasso) returns home one day to find that her sister Caitlin (Annie Knox) has developed a strange illness. Sucker maximises the fear that stems from body modifications and the sickly texturisations within horror. The direction from Alix Austin is rooted within the contortionist structure of the film, with the threat of something alien taking over your own being without any hesitancy creating a generalised and strong sense of fear.
All You Can Eat (Directed by Kieran Reed)
A young waitress working at a diner has a gut feeling that something menacing is going on behind the scenes, however, before she has the chance to break the secret unseen evil forces get in her way making a bloody mess. From the outskirts All You Can Eat thrives in the traditionalist diner aesthetic brimming with neon glows and shiny surfaces, making the film a visual success. But the glory doesn’t stop short as Kieran Reed creates a rhythmic spectacle using an insanely impressive mix of practical effects and a rip-roaring narrative that has the pedal to the metal the entire time.
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Beth (Kelly Lamor Wilson), like many twenty-somethings, has become obsessed with the capabilities of filters, however, the insidious truth lurking behind one particular filter leaves her to question what true beauty really is. Body dysmorphia on its own can be a horrifying experience, yet Nathan Crooker manages to even further flesh out the degrading internal policies that social media have created, exemplifying the alarming relationship between the digital era and perishing humanity. #Nofilter digs deep within its own message to question the beauty barriers whilst also conveying a keen sense of panic through the personal confines of desktop horror.
Woodland Cemetery (Niels Bourgonje)
A photographer (Josefin Asplund) takes on an assignment to shoot a cemetery situated in the forests of Stockholm. Whilst capturing the beauty of the landscape, she sees an elderly woman (Karin Bertling) placing a lantern on a grave. To capture the moment she takes a picture, but she soon discovers that this one action will unleash a world of horror. Nature at heart can be both blissful and haunting. Niels Bourgonje understands the emotional balance that comes from rooting a narrative within the deadly sins of the unknown. Amongst the haunting story is the stunning cinematography that makes use of the natural setting, along with the melancholic score that compliments the intense themes and challenges the viewer.
Ask Me a Question (Directed by Mr. Valents)
In a dystopian future ruled by the power of social media, a pair of users are placed on trial via live stream to investigate their breaking of online guidelines. If they fail to convince the online jury of their innocence, their profiles will be horrifically deleted. The Black Mirror-esque setting is becoming more and more prevalent in modern society, ruling the online structure to be almost god-like. Mr. Valents toys with the worrisome power that socials hold, by escalating the diminishing sense of humanity and exposing the trivialities of online profiles. Ask Me a Question plays out as both a wickedly harsh warning tale and a satirical ploy that taps into looming fears.
Baby Monitor (Directed by Stefan Parker)
A father (Tom Slatter) finally gets to sit down for the night, however, that all changes when the baby monitor starts picking up an unknown presence. Baby Monitor precisely envelops every aspect that makes a short horror film momentous, gripping, and most importantly terrifying. The minimalist approach that doesn’t go overboard on one-trick scares is what allows Stefan Parker’s entry to stand out, he refuses to reveal the ominous force straight away, instead, the film marinates in a complex certainty of terror that reaches a nerve-racking peak just when you’re not expecting it.
Overwrite (Directed by Alia Sheikh)
Just when a security guard (Edward Linard) thought his night couldn’t get any worse, an unexpected thief that looks exactly like him begins robbing his bank. Alia Sheikh delivers an action-packed tale of duplicity, sharp moral examinations, and what it means to doubt your own instincts. Overwrite cleverly examines the spiraling mind by positioning the viewer in a place of constant doubt where they remain anxiously waiting in the dark for the truth, whilst being emotionally and physically conflicted at every point due to the claustrophobic inducing score and the dynamic performance by Linard.
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After finding an abandoned mannequin, a young man soon realises that something isn’t quite right. Mannequins by nature are entirely eerie, with their intimidating stature and blank expression mimicking the familiar human form, thus embodying a sinister emptiness, unlike any other being. Lee Francis uses the inanimate form to showcase an inventive take on haunted horrors, along with refreshingly sharp editing that knows when to cut quickly and when to let the tension slowly brew.
The Lacuna Virus (Directed by Jude Brownhill)
Clover and its citizens have been invaded by a strange virus, forcing reality to become abandoned. The Lacuna Virus rises above the capacities of human comprehension, slowly unveiling the viewer’s awareness of the situation thanks to the hypnotic-like aura composed of deliberately miserable sounds and terror-filled visuals that force an inescapable sense of unease. Jude Brownhill mitigates dystopian sensibilities that replicate strong emotions of loss all within the short time frame to create a film steeped in a horrifically memorable atmosphere.
No Place Like Home (Directed by Louisa Bablin)
When Jane’s (Louise Millington) over-controlling father suddenly arrives home whilst her boyfriend is visiting, she makes the ultimate decision between confronting her abusive father or keeping her secret. No Place Like Home radiates such high levels of professional production value that Louisa Bablin’s could turn this short into a full feature with ease. The grand setting allows for staggering lighting and cinematography to shine, encapsulating the velocity of the narrative whilst still remaining appropriately and effectively claustrophobic during the intense peaks of the film.
La Boîte (Directed by Tosca Branca)
In a clinical white room, a large box delivers a baby where its eternity is spent within its confinements. La Boîte is possibly one of the most purposefully discombobulating, yet spellbindingly entrancing short films that absorb the audience’s full attention for the entire film. The sheer abandonment of the real world throughout intensifies the horror and hostility. Accompanying the antagonistic landscape is the stop motion technique that serves to increase the surrealist vibe.
Dark Red (Directed by Django Watkins)
The ghost of Sam’s (Beathan Gurr) mother comes back to haunt her. Dark Red retells the tragedies that come with losing a parent, but more importantly, Django Watkins illustrates the horror that dramatically takes over when grief rises to the surface. The essence of Sam’s trauma cathartically fleshes out the film’s unique portrayal of haunted souls, alive or dead, through positioning the terror within an enclosed setting, a focus on close-up cinematography, and unbelievably impressive effects.
Janus (Directed by Priscila Carvalho Vailones)
Janis (Jane Lu) has been hiding a monstrous secret, but it’s not long until it comes back to haunt her. Janus merges a creature-based narrative with a dramatically refined psychological horror essence to exude a tale that flourishes within its own pageant of variety. Priscila Carvalho Vailones exercises the freedoms of independent cinema through the lack of easy jumpscares, instead Janus gradually climbs the ladder of terror, resulting in an impossibly tense climax that will certainly take the viewer on a rollercoaster of emotions.
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When a lazy student (Alexander Moriarty) refuses to take recycling seriously, the ‘rubbish’ comes back to haunt him. Bin Man both reminisces and reclaims the classic irreverent movie monster; reinventing the b-movie ingenuity that creates cult classics. Jack Berry ignites a fresh satirical flame for the short cinema paradigm, whilst still keeping Bin Man comical and thrilling.
665 (Directed by Juan de Dios Garduño)
Two evil forces battle over a woman’s (Adriana Torrebejano) unborn child, threatening all of mankind. 665 plays god with the audience, continuously shifting sides between the antagonistic forces. Throughout the bloody battle of mind games, fervent visuals, and graphic performances Juan de Dios Garduño’s talent for producing sheer ferocity is clear; not at one point does the terror bar lower, establishing 665’s positioning as a model short horror film.
Odessa’s Riddle (Directed by Gus Fink, Lumo Aim, Laura Pendl, Elby Rogers)
After a strange and dark night, a witness to a bloody ritual begins to slowly lose their sense of reality. Gus Fink is known for his distinctive art that is in a class of its own, with the animations as seen in Odessa’s Riddle being both haunting and impossible not to admire. From the very beginning, the atmosphere is eerie and abnormal, paving the way for horror to ensue. However, just when you thought the freaky events have reached a peak another blood-curdling mountain is waiting ahead, leading to one of the most unsettling and certainly grisly endings that would give the devil himself nightmares.
Colonie (Directed by Romaine Daudet-Jahan)
Léo (Andrea Maggiulli) is reluctant to attend summer camp. When the time to go looms, an imitating sinister presence makes itself known. Colonie laments the fears that everyone subconsciously has. The mirroring of your identity represents your darkest self, where your most sordid opinions can arise to a reality that’s no longer hidden. Colonie tackles this heavy subtext with an air of ease, with the operatic score tiptoeing the edge of surrealism and the cinematography constructing a richness that embodies the complexities of a full-length feature.
To Raise Her Spirits (Directed by Joe Dearman)
One night a widowed man visits a medium to get down to the bottom of his disturbances, however, what they uncover is more than they had bargained for. Stop motion animation can be a home for atypical horror to thrive, with Joe Deadman’s take on a dreamlike seance being a pioneer within alternative filmmaking. The tangible essence of To Raise Her Spirits, particularly due to the supernatural aura, entrances due to the uncanny quality, whilst also keeping the entertainment factor high with the off-kilter humour moulding an outlandish experience that is impossible to forget.
Bad Penny (Directed by Tony Hipwell)
When an antique dealer (Andrew Dunn) comes across a cursed penny, he ends up haunted by a hellish force that refuses to take no for an answer. With films such as Standing Woman (2021) and Zomblogalypse (2022) being just some of Tony Hipwell’s credits, it’s of no surprise that Bad Penny is the full ticket. The film gradually brews a lingering horror that refuses to give up, making the viewer wait in anticipation for a terrifying scare to be unleashed.
Retribution (Directed by David Duke)
After years of abuse from her toxic partner, Marina (Eleanor Nolan) finally gets her revenge. Retribution takes its time in fleshing out a backstory to expound the treacherous territory behind Marina’s actions, before delivering a hardcore, harsh, and grungy climax that unveils an impactful soundscape and gnarly practical effects.
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Jen (Liliana de la Rosa), is suffering with the aftermath of losing her mother, made worse by her damaged relationship with the only parent left in her life, her father John (Paul Talbot). With her social circle progressing past the humdrum of small town life, Jen is now more alone than ever. However, when John introduces his new girlfriend Florence (Vanessa Madrid), Jen senses that something just isn’t right and her isolation rises to a whole other level.
Jack Dignan wrote, directed, and co-produced After She Died, one of 2022’s most spirited indie features that refuses to quit until you’ve questioned everything you thought you knew about horror. As with many film buffs, Dignan has been infatuated with cinema for nearly the entirety of his life, signing up for every film course he could during the school holidays, before eventually enrolling at the Academy of Information Technology where he received a diploma in interactive media and film. Since then, Digan’s extensive credits has ranged from directing the acclaimed short It Feels Like Spring (2019) to working behind the scenes in the visual effects department for blockbusters such as Thor: Love and Thunder (2022) and Elvis (2022).
Australian horror infamously blossoms in the hardcore sub genres of film, with eco terrors and exploitation flicks making the most out of the classic landscape. However, rather than go with the flow, After She Died dares to go bold with the film’s utterly nerve shredding, yet touching tale of remorse, grief, and the almost out of body experience that comes with severe unfamiliarity. The film’s yearning for a closely knit story that yields to the most fragile elements of adulthood, including the modern tragedy of the coming-of-age narrative is what bonds the viewer so tightly to the script, knowing that at one point the unease of broken down fellowships will become a reality.
The keen expressionism is gripping from the very first frame, but this fruitful execution would not be the same without the visceral visuals and dramatic soundscape that ensure the animated lighting, suspenseful setting, and pronounced character dynamics all remain as significant as Dignan overtly meant them to be. The direction behind After She Died was openly inspired by the unsettling nature of Asian horror classics such as Audition (1999) and Ju On: The Grudge (2002), where the fleshiness of the film equally derives from the ubiquitous plot points and the sinister cinematography. As Jen’s sense of reality succumbs to the horrors that lie ahead, the screen also becomes almost tainted, making use of the entire frame that slowly begins to fill with increasingly ominous symbolism.
Over the years there has been an stern interest in matriarchal horrors diving into the terror within parental relationships, particularly with the likes of Goodnight Mommy (2014) and Hereditary (2018), however, rather than exaggerate upon already released works, After She Died thrives in its originality and exclusive pathos, warranting it to be both highly regarded in its field and as an important contribution to the entire process of independent cinema.
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Searching for Veslemøy chronicles the greedy attempt to bring in fame and fortune by a self absorbed reporter through bringing a cold case back to life in a trick to desperately launch his career. However, when the dice begins to roll and eccentricity takes the stage, events soon turn south.
This upcoming found footage riptide comes from the creative mind of Leo X. Robertson. Robertson has been making an impact in all things media within recent years, with his work ranging from authoring novellas to founding the Stavanger Filmmakers Club all spelling an exciting future for the Scottish native. His previous feature Burnt Portraits (2021) surveyed harsh truths that unearth when the psyche is truly at its most vulnerable, leaving the viewer both unwinding the labyrinth of deep meaning behind the narrative whilst also being mystified over the naturalistic, gritty tone.
Searching for Veslemøy doesn’t fall into the trap of being a spiritual carbon copy of the directors previous work, instead, the innately authentic and perplexing journey that the film takes us on is entirely unique and very much unlike any feature currently on the market. Straight off the bat the film creates a warm welcome, thanks to the faux documentary element, with Robertson fully understanding and using the familiarity of home video style to lull us into a false sense of security. However, a horror is a horror; and like a Jack in the box, we sit sheepishly waiting for the mystery to untangle. As that tightly wound cord of tension that Robertson so carefully forms unravels, the narrative direction both deliberately bewilders and eerily reaches an unprecedented peak.
Permeating the film’s bleak, yet witty tonal complexities is the mockumentary format that by nature performs as if the events were captured as they happened, not only intensely involving the viewer, but also integrating a cold, harsh sense of realism that is bonded even further by Robertson’s off-kiltered script brimming with dark humour. In accompaniment of the bona fide expressionism are the performances that capture the curious and prying capabilities that come to the surface when a small town mystery arises. The range of talents from the likes of Tom Montgomery, Berit Rødsås, Rebekka Irene Skjæveland, Khonia Koushan, Raphaël Meurice, and Filip Haaland all excel in delivering that rarely reached level of legitimacy that sells the entire premise of a true story.
Robertson proves that he is not a one trick pony at all, with his filmography including Burnt Portraits and Searching for Veslemøy all dabbling in alternative themes and filmmaking methods, whilst keeping the dialogue uniquely exciting and the atmosphere tense and engrossing.
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Steeped in righteous social commentary and deeply rooted ordeals is The Lies of Our Confines. Enlisting the alarming fundamentals of horror, along with the genre’s innate platform for distinctive allegories to thrive is Leon Oldstrong’s latest film, merging epic supernatural components, with eye-catching cinematography and a witty narrative that will always leave the viewer guessing what’s going to happen next.
Oldstrong’s filmmaking methods, whether that be the exterior of sound, vision, and setting, or whether that be the interior basking in the film’s moral alignments and narrative compass, he belongs in the canon of the most exciting, indie filmmakers out there. The Lies of Our Confines is a refreshing take on creating authentic stories, made by black people that go against the grain, and oppose the need for creating cyclical urban narratives with contentious negative stereotypes. Films such as The Ritual (2017) and Midsommar (2019) are of course outstanding feats in their own rights, but a key development missing from the ever rising popularity of nature based horror is representation.
Continuously filling the screen with monotonous assemblies only weakens the potential for undiscovered talent to arise. The Lies of Our Confines breathes new life into neo-folk horror through re-envisioning filmic barriers and creating a form of escapism for an audience who are denied an identity within heavy genre cinema.
Oldstrong himself states that “I’ve had enough of watching content told by the same voices and always seeing the same type of people on screen”.
Additionally within the discourse of refreshing cinema is the film’s enigmatic scenery, enthusiastic visuals and polished cinematic value that goes above and beyond and proves that indie horror can be just as enriched and masterful as any widely funded blockbuster. The film understands the power within the woodland-based ambience to both highlight the intrepid advances that the natural earth holds; enhanced by the magnifying performances from the likes of Tobi King Bakare, Chadrack Mbuini, Braulio Chimbembe, Abdul Jaloh, and Enrique Borico. Even in accompaniment of contemporary discourses, the sheer stillness yet eeriness that rural auras hold is truly one of the many components that make The Lies of Our Confines so memorable and a must watch through to the core.
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The brutal Australian outback may be dreamy to the eye, but underneath the sunny skies the elements are beyond deadly. Throw in a brutish, savage, hungry, ginormous pig hellbent on becoming a mean killing machine into the mix and you have Boar (2017), one of the best indie horrors in recent years.
Creator of Boar, Chris Sun has become a staple within the Aussie horror scene, thanks to his features including the gnarly Charlie’s Farm (2014) and the nerve trembling Daddy’s Little Girl (2014), and of course Boar, which single handedly lays a contentious path for copious bloodshed to pour, whilst also remaining a fastidious eco-terror that pushes the battle of man vs beast to whole new level.
As with many features, a finished product has to go through its fair share of twists and turns, with Boar being no exception. Phoebe Hart, expert in all things cinema, first met Sun at a panel in Brisbane, where Hart was immediately drawn to his ambitious pitch of creating an Ozploitation flick following a giant pig. From that moment on, Hart extensively captured the entire journey, from the early days of production through to the very end credits, shaping a documentary that was made for filmmaking newcomers and full on aficionados to fully capture the strenuous, but rewarding efforts that go behind independent cinema.
At times it seems with the encyclopaedic wide web at everyone’s hands that every topic, subject, figure, or question has been covered, yet Bloody Sun unveils a whole new faction of moviedom that interprets areas such as the tragedy facing modern practical effects and how Sun actively combats that through keeping handcrafted elements at large, ensuring that the creature itself remains the focus amidst all the big screen cameos (including Bill Moseley, Steve Bisley, and Chris Haywood) and the tribulations of financing, and just how much self dedication goes into a final product.
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