But viewer discretion is advised; Natali’s mostly solemn treatment of confronting moral themes makes Splice a film to be admired, not necessarily enjoyed.

Adrien Brody (Predators) and Sarah Polly (eXistenZ) star as Clive and Elsa, two brilliant genetic engineers working on a hybrid life form that has been spliced together using various samples of animal DNA. The two want to take their research to the next level by incorporating human DNA into the mix – the result of which could potentially cure numerous fatal diseases – but the company funding the research, N.E.R.D, intends to shut down the project once they’ve synthesised a marketable protein. Clive and Elsa, however, aren’t content with stopping just yet and continue their research in secret. Their ethical nightmare of an experiment is a remarkable success, resulting in the birth of a tailed, goat-legged human hybrid named Dren.

Due to her extremely short lifespan, Clive and Elsa recklessly decide to raise Dren in secret and learn from her behavioural traits before dissecting her for genetic research. Even on a tight independent production budget, baby Dren interacts seamlessly with the cast and environment by way of some tremendously good CG character animation. As an adult, she is played by French actress Delphine Chanéac in an intense and challenging role that requires her to undergo constant change without being able to verbalise.  She pulls it off wondrously; not only is Chanéac fascinating to watch, her character is also strangely attractive – similar, in a way, to the Na’vi species in Avatar. But unlike James Cameron’s big-budget crowd-pleaser, Splice is certainly not a film for everyone; Natali is not shy of taking his film down some dark and disturbing paths, and even if you’re not overly keen about the destination, you have to admire the nuance he displays in getting there.

Splice falls in the broad genre of horror, but does not resemble the brash, gory and histrionic slashers that have degraded the genre over the years. No, this is very much a throwback to the multilayered, slow-burning horrors of yesteryear – most prominently David Cronenberg’s The Fly — that frightens not because it jumps at you from the shadows, but because it reflects the deepest and darkest depths of the human experience. This is a film about science of people, not monsters; the characters here are smart yet fallible human beings, not botoxed pincushions waiting in line to be slaughtered.

Both Adrien Brody and Sarah Polly are well cast, successfully conveying their characters inner-conflict between morality and science while also dealing with a number of deeper issues that linger in the past. Their characters make plainly foolish decisions on numerous occasions, but it’s a testament to the genuineness of their performances and careful structuring of the drama that we aren’t lost to disbelief.

Regrettably, however, Splice does lose its way in the final act. The film basically ‘snaps’ with fifteen minutes to go, completely giving into all the generic and implausible horror conventions it cleverly managed to sidestep beforehand. It’s a disappointing end to an otherwise well-executed 21^st century take on Frankenstein that, if you’ve been keeping up with the news lately, is hardly the work of fiction it once was.

The film marks the second failed attempt to adapt the controversial yet acclaimed 1952 novel by American crime author Jim Thompson, proof that some great pieces of literature just don’t belong on the big screen. The story follows Lou Ford (Casey Affleck; Gone Baby Gone), a well-mannered and respected Deputy Sheriff in a small Texas township.  Or so he appears. Lou’s deep-rooted psychopathic tendencies take over while cheating on his loving girlfriend Amy (Kate Hudson; Bride Wars) with a prostitute named Joyce (Jessica Alba, reminding us she can do dramatic acting). What begins as sado-sexual affair turns deadly when Lou ‘snaps’ and commits a twin murder, arranging the bodies so that it appears as though the victims killed each other. He initially has the town fooled, but a hotshot city attorney (Simon Baker; TV’s The Mentalist) holds Lou in suspicion and is determined to find evidence that will bring him to justice.

The setup certainly holds intrigue – I usually lap up dark and confronting crime stories like this — but Winterbottom’s detached direction and Jim Curran’s patchy screenplay leaves the audience out in the cold. First off, it’s imperative in a film about getting away with murder that you actually believe they get away with murder. Obviously, this isn’t easy. Many films fall apart at a narrative level due to glaring plot holes, farfetched conveniences and silly character judgments. The Killer Inside Me has all three. For instance, when someone is gruesomely bashed to death, the perpetrator is sure to have some visible bruising and cuts on his hands — if not broken fingers — that would be an obvious giveaway.  Not according to this film. This might seem like a petty critique, but when the source material takes itself this earnestly, it needs to be convincing if it wants to be compelling.

Casey Affleck’s understated performance attempts to unnerve with subtle intimations of the monster within, yet he doesn’t quite capture that burning inner anger, nor possess enough charisma an antagonist needs to win us over. John Curran’s screenplay is also at fault, revealing frustratingly little about Lou’s thoughts and motivations for murder. Never underestimate the power of the personal pronoun ‘I’; without being placed in the first person like the reader is in Thompson’s novel, we never truly get to know the killer within.

The Killer Inside Me shares the brutality of No Country For Old Men, but lacks the suspense. It depicts a similar decent into madness as American Psycho, but is without the compelling characterisation of its criminal lead. It’s clear Winterbottom (Genova, 9 Songs) set out to make an unnerving and provocative crime drama, one he hoped would linger in the back of the mind after leaving the cinema. It’s provocative all right, but purely because of the lurid depictions of violence. Emotionally, the film doesn’t register. We care little for those onscreen, causing the rather baffling conclusion to arrive as a moment of relief, rather than a moment of contemplation.

In terms of accuracy and realism, the film to its credit is one of those rare movies dealing with spies and espionage that actually portrays the shadowy business as it really is. Unfortunately, the problem is that this makes for a terribly dull movie experience– because espionage in reality is a tedious, mundane and largely boring exercise, only punctuated by sudden and brief suspense if an operative happens to mess up or be caught out. There is a reason why most spy films – even the more ‘realistic’ ones – have little resemblance to how espionage really functions. It’s just not very exciting material.

In the case of Farewell, the situation is not helped by a leisurely and all too pleasant first half of the film, where 1980s Moscow is depicted with all the stunning dramatic flair of a laid back, sun-drenched suburbia. The movie attempts to concentrate the film on the characters and their personal lives, yet this is bogged down in unnecessary and uninteresting side-stories. Gregoriev has nostalgic childhood memories of France. He has an affair with a woman at work. His son is brooding and listens to ‘decadent Western music’. Froment struggles with lying to his wife (Alexandra Maria Lara) about his ongoing spy work.

Amidst all this are sudden jarring breaks where a poorly stereotyped President Reagan and his staff are trying to deal with the intelligence revelations Gregoriev is supplying them with. This was a rich and tumultuous moment historically, yet the film too often works in clichés and fails to get across the momentous consequences of Gregoriev’s story. Director Carion can’t seem to decide if Farewell is an intimate character portrayal, or a grand historical espionage story, and ends up failing at both.

When in the second half of the film, the danger and suspense finally begin to rise, the characters have not been developed enough to be cared about, and the stakes are too abstract to seem to matter unless one already has a good grounding in Cold War history. A gimmick appearance by Willem Dafoe for an unnecessary and crude epilogue only heightens this feeling.

Despite this, there are a couple of scenes in the climax which are powerfully done – a tense getaway attempt at the Finnish border, and a scene in which agents for Russian intelligence throughout the West are finally rounded up as a result of Gregoriev’s betrayal. The latter is especially compelling and beautifully acted, as you watch the horror and despair of the spies at the very moment they realise they’ve been found out. It is ironic that the best and most genuinely human moment of the film comes with nameless characters that appear for barely a few minutes, while the film’s stars struggle to connect and remain engaging. The other highlight of the film is undoubtedly its music, composed by Clint Mansell, which was haunting, tense and beautiful – almost embodying everything the film should have evoked.

Ultimately, Farewell isn’t a particularly engaging film, nor is  it overtly bad. Instead, it loiters somewhere within the void of movie limbo, destined to be lost amongst all the other films where an interesting idea failed in its translation onto the big screen.

Their lavish lifestyles are still very much intact two years after the events of the first Sex and the City film, but with a cost. Carrie (Sarah Jessica Parker) and John’s (Chris Noth – he’s not Mr. Big anymore) marriage is entering its ‘terrible twos’, with arguments about going out versus becoming homebodies; Charlotte’s (Kristin Davis) expanding brood are literally the terrible two, while Miranda (Cynthia Nixon) and Samantha (Kim Cattrall) busy themselves with work. It’s the chance for an all-expenses-paid trip to Abu Dhabi, the ‘future of the Middle East’, that lets the girls kick – well, carefully take – off their heels and relax from their oh-so-hard lives. The misconception director/writer/producer Michael Patrick King creates of the perks that come with living and working in glamorous New York is enough to make you sick – but insanely jealous all the same. What we’ve seen from these girls throughout the TV series and then on the big screen is an unrealistic ideal, but presented in a way that is ultimately so fairytale – yet believable because we want it to be. Sex and the City 2 is different in showing us that not all of the real-life problems presented are fixable with a simple ‘I forgive you’. The past will always come back to you in one way or another and the issues that women face in their workplace and society can’t be addressed over a simple cup of coffee.

Controversy surrounded scenes shot in Morocco, which replaced Abu Dhabi due to permission restraints, where the ladies are faced with women who don’t have complete freedom and men who resist from breaking with tradition. Sex and the City has never shied from creating debate, and the same applies for this film, where there are run-ins with the ladies amidst the mix of Western and Muslim cultures. A lot has to do with their dress; it’s ludicrous seeing them walk out in $5000 outfits in between the sea of hijabs in a dinghy market. But in a nutshell, that’s what this film really is. Because as much as any fan of the four will tell you, while the web of entanglement that surrounds their lives still holds some appeal, at this point it’s all about the fashion. A bit of product placement too of course, with Rolex a lucky chosen one… but primarily, it falls on the clothes. And most of the outfits are breathtaking; it’s a visual delight seeing them carry off some absolutely crazy designs and combinations.

While times have changed and the four have grown, their wit hasn’t changed a bit. King has done well to maintain the wry comedy Sex and the City is so well known for, considering the over-stretched 146-minute running time. Cattrall as Samantha is so cringe-worthy it’s fantastic, while Parker isn’t as confident with some of her one-liners. However, the cast know their characters so well that any fault seems picky. It’s easy to be just that about the film in general because making it wasn’t integral to their story, but in retrospect Sex and the City has never exactly painted itself to be groundbreaking in its drama. Fans will appreciate the film regardless.

Verdict

A pointless but fun ride to what hopefully concludes the Sex for good.