The first half hour is incredibly tense, as we struggle to second-guess The Man’s intentions and motivations, watching through half-closed eyes as he decides between psychological or physical torture. Without that huge “who are they?” question hanging over us, this would threaten to be just another torture porn knock-off (though if you prefer your horrors more torture than porn, rest assured everyone is too bandaged up to strip off). Harpoon is a film that has a lot of fun with questions of cannibalism (mainly could you eat someone in a crisis), and expertly leverages the way distrust grows during a disaster – how well do you really know someone? Most importantly Grant maintains its sense of detached amusement right to the end.Īlive doesn’t quite succeed at that, though it seems to be aiming in that direction mainly because the big reveal, which comes at the very end, dominates the previous 90 minutes to such a degree.
Rob Grant, who directed and edited Alive, later wrote and directed the excellent Harpoon, a bleakly hilarious tale of three quite unpleasant people stuck on a drifting boat with no food, water, or way of getting back to shore. Attempts at killing The Man are repeated too – but like nits on a primary schooler, he keeps coming back just when they think they’ve done enough. Repeated escape attempts by the pair are soundtracked with mocking warnings via the intercom system, though it does give them an opportunity to investigate endless rooms and broom cupboards stacked with torture instruments and sticky with blood. He’s creepy and unpredictable, a terrifying mixture. Sometimes he seems paternal (though his male victim is always the least favoured child) at other times like a jealous lover. He potters about his grotesque, twisted version of a hospital recovery room with a vase of pretty white flowers for the young woman and “rehabilitation exercises” so harsh the young man is nearly killed. “Pain means you’re alive” he tells them, like a ’70s mum who refuses to buy brand-name Calpol (okay, me). You can’t fault his soothing yet slightly infantilising bedside manner, apart from when he’s sticking needles into gaping wounds and cranking arms beyond the point of discomfort into agony. Their scrubs-wearing captor, known only as The Man (Angus Macfadyen), is a terrifying mix of avuncular NHS doctor and sadistic butcher. You won’t get confirmation until the last few scenes, but trust me when it comes it’ll feel sweeter than Alan Partridge getting one over on Des Lynam, Steve Rider and Clare Balding, all in one go. It turns out I was right (middle-aged women like me live to say that) so I can only say if you’re flummoxed by Alive, just spend your day trying to homeschool a recalcitrant 8 year old on the hottest day of the year and just when your brain is spinning it’ll come to you in a flash. I’m not great at guessing twists, and when I thought, a few minutes into squelchy horror Alive, that I’d worked out the shocking explanation, it sounded so crazy I assumed I’d been out in the sun too long after several weeks in gloomy Lockdown. Large parts of their bodies are swathed in dressings and pressure bandages, blood soaking through onto skin, clothes, and sheets. They have no memories of themselves or each other, and no understanding of why they’re there. The premise is simple, the cast small: a young man (Thomas Cocquerel) and young woman (Camille Stopps), both nameless, wake up next to each other on hospital gurneys in an abandoned facility. A severely injured man and woman awake in an abandoned sanitarium only to discover that a sadistic caretaker holds the keys to their freedom and the horrific answers as to their real identity.
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