The underlying Game Of Thrones anxieties released by Beyond The Wall

SPOILER WARNING - The following article discusses key plot points in several Game Of Thrones episodes, including the latest: Season Seven: Episode Six - Beyond The Wall.


The first time the Game Of Thrones doubts were released was at the end of Season Five.

Jon Snow was dead. Originally a fairly minor character - behind at least Robb in the hero stakes - Snow had grown into the series' much-needed hero with 'stickability' and a skill at not getting stabbed. Then he was unceremoniously offed by tricky betrayers, in a death which called to mind countless other unexpected deaths in the series and therefore carried a level of plausibility.

The problem was that, as it appeared more likely that Jon could be gone for god, this one hurt and shouldn't have happened. As the season ended and we faced a winter-long wait to find out the true outcome, there was a creeping anxiety. Had the showrunners got this one wrong? Had they made the mistake in thinking that everyone in the show was disposable, instead of merely most of the cast save Jon, Daenerys and, at that point, Tyrion.

They hadn't, of course, but the Games Of Thrones anixety had been born. The showmakers could come perilously close to getting things wrong. For all of the key character deaths we had come to expect, at what point was one going to arrive that tipped the balance of the show over from 'bloodthirsty' to 'bloody stupid'? The idea that things could go wrong in this most thrilling and successfully complex of shows was suddenly very real.

Beyond The Wall, this week's episode and the penultimate of Season Seven, brought that anxiety back in a new form. Whilst previously the showrunners have excelled in managing a vast number of plots and subplots, characters and motivations, suddenly things were all wrong.

There was a very real sense of an ending, and not one that anyone was going to be satisfied with.

By the time the camera zoomed in on a dragon's eye about to turn blue, with inevitability as glum as an ice king, we had witnessed Gendry running a marathon distance in three or four shots, where previously forty-odd minutes of episode had been needed. Meanwhile, for our heroes stuck on an ice island, time passed. No-one really seems to know how much exactly. The tension, hardly there to begin with, evaporated like steam off a previously wet and cold, now flaming, sword.

The root cause of the situation is that Thrones has a stated aim to finish next year and a lot of threads to cover in the meantime. The showrunners seem to have inherited an anxiety of their own, rushing over events which previously would have merited episode-long examination to squeeze in what currently seems to be the periphery, presumably in order to give everything a neat conclusion.

It's just a few episodes ago, last season, that The Battle Of The Bastards gave over most of an episode-long runtime to a single skirmish. Here, the key finale gets barely twenty minutes, as time is given over to Sansa and Arya, apparently being torn asunder by the plotting of Little Finger, not to mention the quest of the band of seven, whose time together spanned just one episode.

Meanwhile, back on the ice, the desire to wrap things up neatly results in the aforementioned dragon shot which every man and his dire wolf saw coming.

The anxiety then is around what's to come. Thrones continues to be one of the most thrilling shows on television and Beyond The Wall was no exception. But being thrilling doesn't mean you excuse yourself from logic, structure and sound storytelling. Fans can forgive a lot of things, but many will struggle to forgive the show (which started out so complex) ending with a whimper of predictability, haste and slap-dash brashness.

There's a rumbling current in the series at the moment about two characters who are related, but who haven't quite worked that out yet. The longer the hints rumble on, the closer we get to having Basil Exposition (possibly in the form of Samwell Tarley and his newly acquired scrolls) pop up and reveal everything in roughly the most unsatisfying manner possible, just so the show can move to its next self-imposed phase of closure.

And that's just one of the plot threads Thrones has to wrap up. It's not hard to imagine one or two being closed in a similar way to sending Gendry off on a several hundred mile run.

And don't get me started on the second saving of Uncle Benjen.


By Sam Turner. Sam is editor of Film Intel, and can usually be found behind a keyboard with a cup of tea. He likes entertaining films and dislikes the other kind. He's on , Twitter and several places even he doesn't yet know about.

Another opinion on the seven Dunkirk 'things', about which everyone else has an opinion

'Look ma! It's Justin Timberlake!'

Harry Styles


No matter how good or how bad Harry Styles is, he is still Harry Styles. The idea of casting largely unknowns for the band of British squaddies works... until you stick an exceptionally recognisable pop star in the middle of them. Even your Grandad has a chance of pointing out 'that bloke off of TV. Not Simon Cowell. The other one'.

Mrs Film Intel made a solid point on this on the way out of the cinema. Yes, it had distracted her too, but Styles' acting seemed OK and Justin Timberlake eventually overcame this sort of objection didn't he? Yes, he did, arguably when he got to The Social Network in 2010, having started with a few cameos, a few straight-to-video offerings and Alpha Dog in 2006. Did Dunkirk really need to provide Styles' Alpha Dog moment? Would it not have been better for Nolan to provide his Social Network moment in a few years time? The film would lose nothing from losing him.

'It's a suspense film'


Nolan​ ​has​ ​talked​ ​at​ ​length​ ​about​ ​the​ ​fact​ ​that​ ​he​ ​approached​ ​Dunkirk​ ​as​ ​a​ ​suspense​ ​film,​ ​in the​ ​mould​ ​of​ ​Hitchcock,​ ​rather​ ​than​ ​a​ ​War​ ​movie.​ ​He​ ​is​ ​successful​ ​in​ ​one​ ​of​ ​the​ ​three sections.​ ​Tom​ ​Hardy’s​ ​fighter​ ​pilot,​ ​early​ ​on,​ ​clocks​ ​his​ ​fuel​ ​gauge​ ​and​ ​checks​ ​his​ ​levels against​ ​those​ ​of​ ​Jack​ ​Lowden.​ ​With​ ​the​ ​inevitability​ ​of​ ​a​ ​loud​ ​Hans​ ​Zimmer​ ​score​ ​(we’ll​ ​get​ ​to that)​ ​the​ ​fuel​ ​gauge​ ​is​ ​soon​ ​broken​ ​and​ ​Hardy’s​ ​pilot​ ​has​ ​to​ ​make​ ​decisions​ ​not​ ​only​ ​on destination​ ​but​ ​on​ ​how​ ​involved​ ​he​ ​can​ ​get​ ​in​ ​the​ ​skirmishes​ ​below.​ ​It’s​ ​a​ ​simple​ ​and effective​ ​bit​ ​of​ ​plotting.

The 'Nolaness' of everything


Nolan​ ​is​ ​now​ ​such​ ​a​ ​looming​ ​figure​ ​in​ ​cinema​ ​that​ ​he​ ​is​ ​a​ ​having​ ​an​ ​almost​ ​meta​ ​impact​ ​on how​ ​I​ ​perceive​ ​his​ ​films.​ ​His​ ​decision​ ​not​ ​to​ ​use​ ​digital​ ​enhancements,​ ​for​ ​example,​ ​made​ ​it difficult​ ​to​ ​fully​ ​suspend​ ​disbelief​ ​during​ ​Dunkirk;​ ​the​ ​opposite​ ​effect​ ​the​ ​director​ ​aims​ ​for. Instead​ ​of​ ​thinking​ ​‘oh​ ​look​ ​at​ ​those​ ​boats​ ​rescuing​ ​the​ ​sailors’,​ ​I​ ​found​ ​myself​ ​thinking​ ​‘wow, those​ ​boats​ ​were​ ​all​ ​really​ ​there’.​ ​Nolan​ ​shouts​ ​so​ ​loudly​ ​about​ ​his​ ​lack​ ​of​ ​artifice​ ​that​ ​he creates​ ​this​ ​second​ ​layer​ ​of​ ​in-camera​ ​artifice​ ​for​ ​himself.​ ​‘This​ ​is​ ​​so​​ ​real!’,​ ​you​ ​can​ ​almost hear​ ​him​ ​saying,​ ​as​ ​he​ ​presents​ ​something​ ​to​ ​you​ ​which​ ​is​ ​entirely​ ​fake.

One hour, one day, one week


The​ ​decision​ ​to​ ​split​ ​the​ ​timeline​ ​worked​ ​for​ ​me... ​apart​ ​from​ ​at​ ​the​ ​points​ ​where​ ​the​ ​three stories​ ​converged.​ ​Again,​ ​as​ ​with​ ​Nolan’s​ ​ardent​ ​claims​ ​of​ ​reality,​ ​these​ ​moments​ ​operated like​ ​Blofeld’s​ ​reveal​ ​in​ ​Spectre;​ ​tricks​ ​the​ ​film​ ​thinks​ ​are​ ​extremely​ ​clever,​ ​but​ ​in​ ​actuality​ ​are base​ ​expressions​ ​of​ ​coherence.​ ​Nolan​ ​is​ ​praised​ ​for​ ​treating​ ​his​ ​audience​ ​as​ ​intelligent beings,​ ​but​ ​these​ ​moments​ ​invite​ ​viewers​ ​to​ ​proclaim​ ​simple​ ​recognition​ ​and​ ​treat​ ​it​ ​as professorial​ ​revelation.​ ​They​ ​don’t​ ​recognise​ ​intelligence,​ ​or​ ​even​ ​require​ ​it;​ ​they’re​ ​cheap blockbuster​ ​tricks.

Private Ryan's guts


The​ ​cries​ ​of​ ​‘where’s​ ​the​ ​blood’​ ​are​ ​the​ ​Dunkirk​ ​criticism​ ​I​ ​understand​ ​the​ ​least.​ ​If​ ​you​ ​saw the​ ​soldiers​ ​drowning​ ​in​ ​upturned​ ​boats,​ ​those​ ​on​ ​the​ ​beach​ ​being​ ​thrown​ ​into​ ​the​ ​air​ ​by​ ​the neatly​ ​plotted​ ​line​ ​of​ ​bombs,​ ​the​ ​soldier​ ​walking​ ​into​ ​the​ ​sea​ ​to​ ​attempt​ ​to​ ​swim​ ​the​ ​channel and​ ​thought​ ​‘this​ ​needs​ ​more​ ​blood!’ then my feeling is that the film isn't the main problem here. Yes, it eschews gore where others have pursued it and yes, I'm sure part of that was to earn a 12A rating. Is that a problem? Not one bit.

Zimmer's toy set


Shiny-headed music maestro Moby once said that as the music got faster and louder the quiet bits got more important. Apparently Moby and Hans Zimmer don't hang out much, to the surprise of nobody and disappointment of me. Zimmer's score, like a comedy tumbling dumpster that won't stop falling, occasionally finds a moment of music in a soundscape of drones, whines and tinkles. It's as much sound design as score and it does work in part. But it also relentlessly preaches at you to a degree that's distracting. Like the 'Nolaness' of the film, the 'Zimmerness' takes that incessant Inception drone and ups the ante. In Nolan's next, Zimmer is reportedly just going to shout at you for two hours.

Rylance and Hardy


Back to the youngsters on the beach. Whether it's Harry Styles or the 'unknowns', none of them are as good as Mark Rylance or Tom Hardy. Any time on the beach, particularly after a few people prove themselves to be a little unsavoury, is time away from the stiff upper lip of the more experienced hands, around which I would have liked to have seen this film built even more.



By Sam Turner. Sam is editor of Film Intel, and can usually be found behind a keyboard with a cup of tea. He likes entertaining films and dislikes the other kind. He's on , Twitter and several places even he doesn't yet know about.

Doing David Grann justice: The Lost City Of Z, 2017's best film so far


Though you might not have heard of him, David Grann will soon be a film-making titan.

A New Yorker 'reporter at large', Grann writes non-fiction for the weekly publication with a panache and style you might expect from a fiction writer. His reportage typically focuses on thrilling (though never salacious) exposes; stories that leave you wondering why you have not heard of them previously. It's not far off the style of Capote; narrative non-fiction or the non-fiction novel, whichever way you like.

His published collection of stories, The Devil And Sherlock Holmes, was followed by two feature-length non-fictions; The Lost City Of Z and, earlier this year, Killers Of The Flower Moon. The latter is in pre-production with Martin Scorsese and Leonardo DiCaprio. Several of his New Yorker stories are at various stages of adaptation; True Crimes, a US/Polish production, is due later this year. Old Man And The Gun, starring Robert Redford and Casey Affleck, will arrive next year. A Foreigner, based on a Grann highlight (A Murder Foretold), has bumped around various homes and currently sits with Oscar Isaac and Alfonso Gomez-Rejon.

The Lost City Of Z, the first of Grann's works to make it to the screen, holds not only promise but the title of the best film of 2017 so far.

Adapting Grann should in theory be simple, because he writes 'scenes', as a fiction writer predisposed to screenwriting might. But the nuance of why Grann's stories are so successful is in the detail. The above could be terrible, a fundamentally bankrupted version of events, told with a great degree of entertainment and perhaps little dedication to accuracy. But that's not how Grann reads. Instead, his prose makes the culprits more vivid, the heroes more flawed, the spot-on reportage more reliant on facts.

Percy Fawcett (Charlie Hunnam), the 'hero' of The Lost City Of Z is a case in point. As Grann tells it, Fawcett was not a fantastic family man, may well have been more interested in chasing fame and fortune than anything else and was, by the conclusion of things, quite possibly driven to some form of mania or madness.

Director James Gray tones Fawcett down a touch. He is, without a doubt, a heroic figure here. But Gray and star Charlie Hunnam stick the landing. There is more than a suggestion that Fawcett is at fault for some of the events of the history, even more than that that Fawcett does not do right by his family, as his father did not do right by him. Crucially, the finale of Fawcett's story, as told by Grann, is maintained by Gray. It might be the reason the film was not a large hit with audiences.

Gray is growing a reputation as an auteur director who can get more than expected out of actors, sometimes with mixed-quality material. He does his reputation no harm here. There's no doubt that this is Hunnam's best work and there's a very solid argument that The Lost City Of Z is the same for Robert Pattinson and Sienna Miller. Miller gets great writing from Gray, who refuses to allow her character to just be the 'stay at home wife'. Hunnam and Pattinson are occasionally unrecognisable; Pattinson - in beard, spectacles and drooping hat - literally so. Hunnam's 'gentleman's accent' is wonderful; the right level of false to make you question Fawcett, rather than Hunnam's performance.

He too is in-tune with Grann's narrative style; present the facts, thrillingly, and the reader can draw their own conclusions of character fortitude.



By Sam Turner. Sam is editor of Film Intel, and can usually be found behind a keyboard with a cup of tea. He likes entertaining films and dislikes the other kind. He's on , Twitter and several places even he doesn't yet know about.

Half-cocked 'epicness' and unfulfilled ambition in Free State Of Jones


At one-hundred and thirty-nine minutes there is no danger of Free State Of Jones being called 'slight'. Gary Ross' film is on the 'long and weighty' side of things, conceived, perhaps, for Oscar contention.

It wasn't to be. The civil war Drama took just $20 million at the US box office ($25 million worldwide), against a production budget of $50 million. It joined a legion of films which, despite a popular historical subject and major star (Matthew McConaughey), failed to capture the imagination of cinemagoers.

The length of the film speaks to one of the reasons why, one of the many internal conflicts at the film's heart, which mean that it almost defies standard review logic. Good luck attempting to give Free State Of Jones a star rating. Some elements are superb. Others are borderline amateur. One-hundred and thirty-nine minutes, for example, speaks to a underlying commitment anxiety. This is an epic. The film's narrative spreads several years of the civil war and jumps forwards to the 1940s (by implication, the themes the film explicitly deal with go further than that). One-hundred and thirty-nine minutes isn't long enough to do that. Characters get completely lost. Many points of the narrative receive insubstantial examination.

There's no greater representation of the film's problems than Keri Russell's Serena, wife to McConaughey's Newton Knight. Russell is a recognisable face and, early on, a focus, personifying the problems faced by many of the film's female characters as their men are rounded up by the Confederates. There's what seems to be a key sequence for Newton and Serena, where their child falls ill, and then that's it; Serena disappears from the narrative and, in time, it becomes clear that the whole affair was a setup for Rachel (Gugu Mbatha-Raw), who heals the child.

Until... Serena returns, completely out of the blue late on, with limited explanation of why she left to begin with, what she has been doing for, apparently, several years and why she is now back. If the film had committed to its own scope then perhaps we could have spent time with Serena's narrative as well and seen the period from her point of view. As it is, she is lost.

The film also occupies the uncomfortable sub-genre of liberal narratives which display their liberality by having a white protagonist recount to us what is largely African-American history. Whilst Newton Knight is undoubtedly an important character in his own time, he is important because he is documented and covered in the annals. Many others are not. Ross attempts to address this with a smattering of supporting characters who are again ill-served by the editing of the script (whether in pre or post production). In another world Mahershala Ali wins his Oscar for this film and not Moonlight. In fact, in another world Ali is the lead character, the story told from his perspective. Again, it wasn't to be and the balance is off.

The 1940s scenes will bear the brunt of most people's ire towards the film. They are odd. The syntax of how they are interwoven into the narrative is jarring, the lead in this section is not Matthew McConaughey and their real reason for existence isn't offered until the mid-way point, at best, and that's only for viewers who 'spot' where the court case on show is going.

Again though, you can see why they are there. Free State Of Jones, representative of its time though it is, is also out of time. It is our time and its own and the 1940s; representing and representative of civil liberties which still do not exist in anywhere near an adequate enough form. Unfortunately that straddling of time zones, that universal message, is too much for this film to bear. Frustratingly however, it does come close to taking the weight.



By Sam Turner. Sam is editor of Film Intel, and can usually be found behind a keyboard with a cup of tea. He likes entertaining films and dislikes the other kind. He's on , Twitter and several places even he doesn't yet know about.

The role of doubt in My Cousin Rachel


The central question in My Cousin Rachel, which is less gothically intense than its promotional material would have you believe, is whether the titular character (Rachel Weisz) has killed her husband Ambrose and is in the process of murdering Philip (Sam Claflin), or whether happenstance is at play.

In recent episodes of Kermode and Mayo's film review podcast, the hosts have detailed how Weisz made a decision early in the creative process on whether or not Rachel was guilty and stuck with that assumption throughout filming. The actor did not tell the director, Roger Michell, which side she had come down on.

This suggests a fascinating dichotomy. Michell, unaware of whether his star thought her character evil or not, must have made his own decisions. Claflin his own also. And the rest of the cast. All the way back to Daphne Du Maurier, whose work this adaptation is based upon.

Where does that leave us, the audience, left to interpret a maelstrom of competing agendas, some of which were likely conceived at odds with others?

At first, it is tempting to conclude that the mixed messages of Michell's narrative have gotten the better of him. There seems very little actual doubt in My Cousin Rachel. A plant that may be poisonous and which Rachel may have had access to in both Ambrose and Philip's cases. The scribbled letters of Ambrose, clearly wracked by some illness. It's hardly a weight of evidence and you wonder whether there's really enough there to drive the doubt on offer, which in turn drives the narrative.

But maybe that's the point. We're offered scant little during the film and yet, at points, we must find ourselves siding with Philip and his suspicions. After all, we see things from his perspective. Rachel does not even get the right of reply until perhaps a third of the way into the film.

The doubt on offer, really, is towards Philip's muddled and ill-evidenced interpretation of events. The perspective though confuses this. We're invited to believe Philip, drawn into his assertions and growing abuse of Rachel. A scene of love-making in the wood near to Philip's house is a tough watch.

And so it should be. Philip is not, in any discernible way, a character to be liked or trusted, believed or followed. But Michell shows us what perspective can do. The discomfort come the conclusion of My Cousin Rachel is not because sufficient doubt has not been offered. It's internal doubt. Doubt around how we ever could have sympathised with Philip in the first place.


By Sam Turner. Sam is editor of Film Intel, and can usually be found behind a keyboard with a cup of tea. He likes entertaining films and dislikes the other kind. He's on , Twitter and several places even he doesn't yet know about.

The Autopsy Of Jane Doe - Blu-ray Review

'All the proof anyone might need that it's still possible to make a successful horror film using the tried and tested tropes of the genre'.

For a considerable chunk of its running time, The Autopsy Of Jane Doe is all the proof anyone might need that it's still possible to make a successful horror film using the tried and tested tropes of the genre. Apart from a brief opening scene, the entirety of André Øvredal's film takes place in a single location: the morgue run by Tommy Tilden (Brian Cox) and his son Austin (Emile Hirsch). The director patiently unfolds the mystery surrounding the titular cadaver through Tommy and Austin's post-mortem examination, gradually building up both the tension and the suggestion that supernatural forces may or may not be at play.

As such, The Autopsy Of Jane Doe essentially offers a fresh and intriguing twist on the haunted house set-up for much of its first half. It's a genuine shame then that Øvredal can't keep that momentum going as his film heads towards the closing act. It's possible to pinpoint the moment at which the director moves away from the palpable levels of suspense and intrigue he's created and shifts towards far more schlocky and unsubtle means of unnerving the audience. The chilling understatement and restraint used so well during the first forty five minutes or so are replaced by jump scares and occasional CGI elements which, whilst never terrible, lack the highly effective simplicity, precision and emotional care taken over what's come before.

Whilst he does manage to regain some of the earlier intrigue during the coda, what Øvredal delivers is ultimately a film of two halves, the second section being markedly less interesting and well executed than the first. What the director does have on his side throughout, however, is the central pairing of Cox and Hirsch, both of whom commit fully to the tone of both halves and who share a satisfying and believable subtly fractured relationship. Credit also deserves to go to Olwen Catherine Kelly who plays the Jane Doe of the title, making the task of being both genuinely menacing and a convincing corpse look remarkably easy all the way through. 




The Autopsy Of Jane Doe is available on UK Blu-ray, DVD and digital download now.

By Ben Broadribb. Ben is a contributing editor at Film Intel. He is normally seen in the wild wearing t-shirts containing obscure film references. When he's not writing about films here, Ben is usually writing about films - mostly Shakespeare adaptations - for his PhD. He's also on and Twitter.

"I understood that reference": Passengers, Kong: Skull Island, and the pitfalls of paying homage to cinema's past


On the surface, recent Hollywood offerings Passengers and Kong: Skull Island appear to have little in common other than being mainstream blockbusters; the former being a sci-fi vehicle for current hot properties Chris Pratt and Jennifer Lawrence, whilst the latter offers the latest reboot for the titular giant ape. But they share a curious trait, one which you might not expect to see in such standard Hollywood fare: both contain a number of prominent allusions to past cinema, ranging from the unmistakeably iconic to uncompromisingly cult.

Passengers' most obvious reference point is The Shining - the bar on the starship Avalon may as well have been taken straight out of the Overlook Hotel, complete with Michael Sheen's android barman Arthur replicating Joe Turkel's Lloyd in appearance if never in creepiness. Perhaps less surprising for a film set in space are references to both 2001: A Space Odyssey and Silent Running; but there are also definite links to a less immediately obvious bedfellow in Cast Away at points throughout Morten Tyldum's film.

Whilst Kong: Skull Island by definition draws on past Kong films - John Guillermin's 1976 remake feels like the strongest influence - it arguably more often evokes Apocalypse Now both visually and narratively, a connection reflected just as strongly in the film's promotional materials. Other Vietnam war movies of the '70s and '80s are inherently referenced, partly thanks to the fact that Kong: Skull Island is set in the period immediately following America's involvement in the conflict. But Jordan Vogt-Roberts also includes some more obscure and surprising references: Mark Kermode was particularly delighted to find that a reference to notorious Italian horror flick Cannibal Holocaust was entirely intentional, and the director himself has confirmed that Kong chowing down on a giant octopus is a deliberate nod to Park Chan-wook's Oldboy.


With their film geek credentials established, however, both Tyldum and Vogt-Roberts do precisely nothing with them. After an intriguing opening half, Passengers opts for 'Fishburne ex machina' at the end of its second act, followed by a race against time to avert disaster as derivative as it's possible to create. Kong: Skull Island meanwhile proceeds to both figuratively and literally waste a talented cast in favour of railroading the establishment of the MonsterVerse, the latest attempt at a cinematic universe which will eventually lead to Kong squaring off against the newly rebooted version of Godzilla.

The homages are therefore rendered empty, their apparent foreshadowing of some intertextuality with cinema gone by ultimately amounting to nothing. The iconography on display essentially becomes a meaningless checklist for those who appreciate it, reducing their viewing experience to something akin to Steve Rogers in the first Avengers film enthusiastically acknowledging his understanding Nick Fury's allusion to The Wizard Of Oz. Sure, you recognise the references, but what's the point if they're just there for you to let others know you spotted them?

In fact, including such bold references to iconic cinema with no thematic or narrative payoff actually damages these films more than if they hadn't included at all. If Tyldum hadn't taken so many visual cues directly from The Shining, it might not feel like such a disappointment when Passengers eventually pitches its tent so firmly in such woefully generic action sci-fi territory. If Vogt-Roberts (and the marketing team) hadn't pushed Apocalypse Now so blatantly in front of us, the blow of finding out that the film is ultimately yet another rushed franchise starter made with several sequels already in mind may have been a little easier to take.

Perhaps most disappointing, in Kong: Skull Island's case at least, is the thought of the film that we could have had. Are the brief flashes of such cult offerings as Oldboy and Cannibal Holocaust remnants of a far more interesting film that Vogt-Roberts really wanted to make? Unless the director chooses to confirm or deny this, we'll probably never know. Sometimes, however, it seems fair to say that the ignorance of not being able to say "I understood that reference" might indeed be bliss.


By Ben Broadribb. Ben is a contributing editor at Film Intel. He is normally seen in the wild wearing t-shirts containing obscure film references. When he's not writing about films here, Ben is usually writing about films - mostly Shakespeare adaptations - for his PhD. He's also on and Twitter.