Stephen Theaker's Blog, page 2

Dangerous Animals | review by Rafe McGregor

Dangerous Animals, by Sean Byrne(Independent Film Company)

 

Tucker’s shark experience!

 

Inmy birthday wishes to Jaws’ (1975) Bruce, Imentioned the host of terrible Sharksploitation movies I’ve watched since reviewingThe Meg (2018), listed the lowlights, andnoted two films of which I was sceptical in spite of the advance praise theyhad received. I’ve now watched both Fear Below(2025) and Dangerous Animals and can attest to the accuracy of my preconceptionsabout the former, which is indeed similar to Into the Deep (2025), withits well-deserved 27% on the Tomatometer. I won’t say much about it here, exceptthat I didn’t think the shark very realistic and that sharks in rivers just aren’tas frightening as sharks in the ocean, a pair of problems plaguing UnderParis (2024), entirely underserving of its 66%on the Tomatometer. My reservations about Dangerous Animals were basedon the trailer, which I summarised rather meanly (albeit, again, accurately) asan eye-rolling ‘shark plus serial killer’. My point being…surely one is enoughfor a ninety-eight-minute film? Whenever I watch what is essentially a monster movie, I’mreminded of The Ghost and The Darkness (1996), a fictionalised account of the‘Tsavo man-eaters’ in colonial Kenya in 1898. While the film is yet anotherexample of the tired old trope of (hu)man versus nature, director StephenHopkins is surprisingly successful in making two ‘normal’ lions a source ofsuspense and fear – as Sherlock Holmes might have said, ‘no dinosaurs needapply’ (the first two instalments of the JurassicPark franchise were released in 1993 and 1997 respectively).

The dangerous animal of this title is of course the serial killer, Tucker (played by Jai Courtney), not the shark(s) and what redeems it from being yet more chum to the maw (with apologies to Mark Bould) of Sharksploitation enthusiasts like me is that we don’t see sharks very often and when we do, they are all real (as far as I can tell, anyway) until the last ten minutes. When a CGI shark does appear, it is convincing rather than cartoonish, which may well be because of the speed with which it disappears. We don’t have to see sharks all the time to be scared and less is often more (as we know from M.R. James, among many other masters of the craft of horror fiction). So, yes, in its finest moments the film reminded me of Jaws, where the only flaw is when Bruce is revealed as a creature of fibreglass and steel rather than flesh and bone. Unlike Jaws, Dangerous Animals lacks sympathetic characters. Tucker himself is probably the most charismatic, but he does like to kidnap pairs of bikini-clad beauties and videotape one being fed to sharks in front of the other. (Actual VHS, not digital – no wonder he has issues!) It is also rather predictable. Very early on, I guessed that Tucker would be eaten by sharks and that the love interest, Moses (played by Josh Heuston), would not rescue the protagonist, Zephyr (Hassie Harrison), at least one of which came to pass. Notwithstanding, the film was much better than expected and one of the best Sharksploitation films I’ve seen. But if Zephyr thinks that Australia’s Gold Coast is ‘as far away from America as possible’ she really needs to install Google Maps or ChatGPT on her smartphone (it’s Mauritius or Madagascar, in case you’re wondering).***

Envy by Ash Ericmore | review by Stephen Theaker

Envy is a 45-page, eight-chapter novella, the first in a series of seven about the deadly sins, self-published by the author (with a nod to his Patreon supporters) over the summer of 2025. The Amazon blurb tells us each novella will focus on a different female lead. I don’t think we ever learn the name of this book’s lead character, and if it weren’t for the Amazon description I don’t think we would know her sex for certain either, but I’ll assume for the purposes of this review that the description doesn’t lead us astray.

She lives in a tall, lonely tower block, obsessed with the local drug dealer and his gym-built muscles. He’s called Tony, and she knows that because her neighbour Miriam shouts it several times a night, in the throes of passion. Our protagonist gets in the lift with him at one point, and hopes to be propositioned if not ravished, but he just asks if she wants to buy some drugs. She seems to assume that any man looking at her does so with sexual interest, and perhaps her sleazy anime fan boss is, but he’s not what she’s after.

The book is told in the first person in a hard-boiled style, which, paired with a female protagonist, reminded me a bit of Christa Faust’s excellent novel Money Shot. But whereas Money Shot wastes not a moment getting to the story – the first paragraph finds Angel Dare left for dead in a car boot! – for the first quarter of this book, it’s not at all clear what this story will be. We follow the narrator on her daily routine, and, though we gain some insight into her frame of mind, nothing of note actually happens.

Then she tells us how much she hates her neighbour, and the doorbell rings, and it’s Tony, and by the halfway point our protagonist has decided to kill her neighbour. To be fair, she doesn’t attack first, but the third quarter of the book is one long, brutal, lovingly-described fight between two women, with punching, gouging, scratching and stamping, the last described in particularly stomach-churning ways. This fight is clearly the book’s main attraction, but I can’t say I got much out of reading it. Despite the cover, there’s no supernatural or fantastical element, it’s just a long and nasty fight.

If this is a horror book, it’s only in the sense that any violent crime is horrific. It’s very bloody, but there’s not much of a story. No twists, no revelations, just senseless violence, and then a bit more senseless violence. Perhaps reading all seven novellas would see them build up to more, but I wasn’t quite impressed enough to read further. Quite a lot of errors and typos for such a short book didn’t help (e.g. disinterested for uninterested, stalagmite for stalactite, and more than one “lay” for “lie”, which is becoming so common that I’m beginning to doubt myself).

Maybe this is one of those times where I persuaded myself that something rather more interesting was going to happen and, because it didn’t, I felt that the book had let me down. Given the book’s reticence about its lead, I was expecting a Tyke Tiler twist, which would have made the envy of the title even more delusional than the reader originally thought. Of course it’s unfair to blame a book for not doing what you expected: the problem is, it didn’t do anything else instead. It just shows you a woman being killed in a very nasty way. **

The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar and Three More | review by Douglas J. Ogurek

Short film quartet relies on shifting views, restrained performances and subtle humour to encourage reflection and underscore the complexity of fiction writing. 

If you stare at something long enough and focus exclusively on that one thing, suggests Wes Anderson's Oscar-winning short film The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar, you can develop the skills of seeing with your eyes closed and seeing through things. These concepts of intense concentration and observation propel the viewer’s experience of The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar and Three More, a quartet of films not only based on but also infused by the writings of Roald Dahl. One would need to immerse oneself in these labyrinthine films (and by extension the stories) for years to unravel them. And yet, a single viewing is enough to entertain.

It is not difficult to follow what is happening in the films: a cheater finds fulfilment in altruism, a man relates a childhood bullying experience, a rat catcher comes to town to eliminate an infestation, and a bedridden man must remain motionless to avoid death. The challenge, rather, comes in unearthing the films’ extensive subtext and discerning the techniques Anderson calls upon to reinforce subject matter. 

What unites the works is a sense of playfulness and an admiration for the magic of storytelling. In each film, a composed character looks at the camera and recites Dahl’s stories (right down to the dialogue tags) but also partially participates in them. Initially, one might consider this an esoteric move no better than a one-act play at a community college theatre. Further viewings, however, prove these are brilliant contemporary works of art that sharply deviate from typical shallow films and force viewers to reconsider story and point of view. 

Originality suffuses the films: Opening credits fabricate their origins. Characters pretend to hold things (animals and guns, for example) that other characters pretend to see. Actors reappear as different characters among and within the four films. Stage crew members wearing coveralls enter the frame to assemble, disassemble and manipulate settings (and sometimes even pause to look at the camera). Dahl (Ralph Fiennes) also appears as a character who introduces and concludes each story. These techniques strip away the artifice, reveal the author’s presence in the story and draw attention to the mechanics of storytelling. 

Additionally, the camera’s constantly shifting viewpoint – level with the ground, straight up, straight down – underscores the films’ beckoning watchers to consider them from different angles. At one point, a character looks straight up at the camera and speaks to the viewer while he walks.

Although everything is presented soberly and perhaps even stiffly, humour permeates the films. In the main offering, an ultra-serious doctor/narrator and his colleague quickly walk down a corridor. The narrator explains to the viewer that his colleague’s face was rigid with disbelief. The other doctor then turns to show the viewer the rigidity of his face. Another example: for much of The Swan, the boy version of the narrator stands behind him and stares at the camera. Also, the narrator shows the viewer a photo of a boy, but it is too small and too far from the camera for the viewer to see. Now that’s funny. Throughout the films, when a narrator converses with another character, he will turn to the camera and say, “I said” – the viewer never forgets his role as consumer of story.

Multiple viewings are sure to elicit more questions. Why, for instance, does the narrator in The Swan keep looking at the camera and speaking to the viewer but stop moving his lips just before the camera cuts to a different view of the same character now moving his lips? Why are the backgrounds deliberately fake? Why do lights shine in characters’ eyes at certain points? 

While the end credits roll, Fiennes-as-Dahl comments on the gruelling process of writing fiction, clearly a parallel to the meditation practice in the opening episode and an attempt to give a taste of what it feels like to be in his shoes. Kudos to Anderson for challenging the viewer to be still… to interpret… to imagine… to THINK. Douglas J. Ogurek*****

The Blood-Drenched Honeycomb by Leo X. Robertson (Close to the Bone) | reviewed by Stephen Theaker

Liam Munhoz is an insanely attractive young man, twenty years old, from Maywood, the third smallest city in LA County. Reserved in some ways, only showing his real self to people he considers authentic, he is expansive in others, having participated in bisexual college orgies to the very best of his ability. He was brought from LA to Palo Alto in a bullet train, an entire business class carriage hired out for him.

The man waiting for him is Ryan Hobbes, an extremely rich and extremely weird older guy, obsessed with his health, who sleeps all day and stays up all night, to avoid the sun’s harmful rays. He’s also extremely famous, to the point that you can buy Halloween costumes spoofing him, labelled “non-binary vampire tech billionaire with an eating disorder”. He’s a riff on Bryan Johnson, Elon Musk, and chaps like that.

Liam was a college friend of Ryan’s jock son, Exodus, and that connection led to this job opportunity. He has to sign an NDA before Julia, the house AI, lets him inside Ryan’s Honeydose Manse. The name alone would send most people running for the hills, and that Liam presses on despite all the red flags is our first hint that he has his own reasons for being here.

Turns out the job involves IV bags, tubing and large white consoles. Liam is to be Ryan’s latest “blood boy”, providing transfusions to keep the billionaire young. (That might sound like a huge spoiler, but it’s in the book’s description on Amazon.) After Liam admits he wouldn’t usually be allowed to donate blood because of his sexual history, Ryan is provoked – and aroused.

This novella held my interest well, as chapter by chapter it revealed and explored the motivations of the two men. The most effective element for me was how it charted Liam’s shifting and complicated feelings about the situation, the curious intermingling of hatred and attraction, and his recognition of their commonalities: both are manipulators, both are competitive, both can be cruel and selfish.

There were a few bits that shouldn’t have got past the editor, e.g. "Despite how vulnerable and new to him that Liam is, why doesn't it occur to Ryan to leave?", and the mood in some erotic moments is rather broken by mistakes like “lay” for “lie” and “whole” for “hole”. But errors aside, the writing tends to be very good: clear, direct, concrete. The final sequence was especially compelling.

The science fiction elements – like an atheist AI president on its fifth term, mentioned in passing – intrigued me more than the mean-spirited sexual exploits of the two men, though those may find an audience too. It’s essentially an erotic thriller with science fiction trappings; it’s not really interested in exploring them. The author’s next book, Barhopping for Astronauts, may be more to my taste. ***

Human Capital, by Moro Rogers (Nakra Press) | reviewed by Stephen Theaker

In the early 21st century, automation went into high gear and robots took over the menial jobs. Then they took over all the other jobs as well, and almost everyone became unemployed: this was known as the “indescribable allusion disaster”. Universal basic income and free housing softened the blow, but if people don’t find a way to make themselves useful the robots encourage them to exist a little bit less. The three most popular options for the survivors are to become artists, swamis or heirs.

Nttl was born a few years after the disaster, and chose the life of an artist. He used to be part of the Poisonous Plant Collective (hence his name, pronounced “nettle”). Since they disbanded, Nttl has struggled on with his painting, Manchineel is extremely successful, Jessamine is part of the Meconium Group, entrusted by the robots with the power to decide the human race’s future, and Upas became an art terrorist: he just blew himself up in an aquarium with a William Morris-patterned artisanal bomb, killing several fish and two humans besides himself.

Nttl is more concerned with the uninspired paintings he can’t sell on Listy. But after a successful streetfight versus the Nenuphar Rouges gang, he visits their leader’s home to find him dead with an exploded head. Nttl steals something weird and blue from the house, and it comes with instructions: rehydrate and put on head. The psychedelic experience that follows inspires a painting that sells instantly to a new patron, but everyone now wants what he has: other artists, former colleagues, and the Ethiopian order that previously guarded it for centuries.

I’ve read about 75 graphic novels, manga books and bandes dessinées so far this year, and this was by far the best of them, so it was astonishing if not an actual art crime to see it had zero readers on Goodreads. In an afterword the writer/artist says she began the book in 2016, after having a baby, and worked on it for thirty-five minutes a day while the baby had his naps. She didn't know when she began the book how soon it would be that "machines would be able to produce vast quantities of mediocre art", and yet it feels extremely topical. How do we find meaning in a world where computers can do almost everything better than us?

The book explores this in the course of an old-fashioned thrilling adventure, with intriguing mysteries, oodles of imagination, and plenty of humour – the various art gangs are hilarious (e.g. the Brutalists, wearing concrete blocks), and both Nttl’s pet screen and his long-suffering friend Robbie made me chuckle. When it gets serious it hits hard, such as the heartbreaking scene when we meet Nttl’s grandmother, in the attic of his family’s home, drugged to the edge of existence by the robots, remaining merely to consume the work of others, since she can no longer create her own.

The book’s wonderful artwork, a mix of black and white, two-colour and full colour art, is expressive, dynamic, surprising and full of life, especially during the brawls and visions, but even when showing something as simple as Jessamine scooping goop up into a jar. It had the feel of storyboards and animatics, and it would barely have been a surprise to see it literally start moving on the page. Full colour is mostly saved for the big reveals and big moments, such as when Nttl and Robbie find a fortune teller, adding immensely to their impact.

The book is currently included in Kindle Unlimited, so there’s no excuse for not reading it, and it is also available in print from the author’s website, https://nakrapress.bigcartel.com/. My only criticisms would be that the Kindle version isn't set up with panel by panel reading (though to be fair the same is true of nearly all manga), and that most of the ebook pages have huge white margins, which squashes the artwork into a needlessly small space, even on a Kindle Scribe. But no rational person would let that stop them reading such a marvellous graphic novel. *****

Jurassic World: Rebirth | review by Rafe McGregor

JurassicWorld: Rebirth, by Gareth Edwards (Universal Pictures)

Three timesthree?

Jurassic World Rebirth is the seventhinstalment in the Jurassic Park/World franchise that was launched bySteven Spielberg twenty-two years ago (excluding animated and short films). Theprevious instalments can be divided into two trilogies, with the second being acontinuation of the first and the fictional chronology following the years inwhich each film was released (as far as I can tell). I shall recap the eventsof the franchise so far as Jurassic World: Rebirth plunges us directlyinto them and may well be the first of a third trilogy that is a furthercontinuation (rather than remake, reboot, or retcon), though it is (of course)advertised as a “standalone” story.

The premise of Jurassic Park (1993) is thatdinosaurs have been de-extincted by means of cloning and a theme park (“safaripark” would be more accurate for UK readers) established on a fictional islandcalled Isla Nublar, off the coast of Costa Rica. What could possibly go wrong?Lots… and everything that could go wrong does, in consequence of which theisland is abandoned by its human visitors. In The Lost World: Jurassic Park(1997) dinosaurs are discovered on the neighbouring island of Isla Sorna, whichwas where the original cloning was done before it was abandoned following ahurricane. (We now have two abandoned islands full of dinosaurs.) Anill-considered plan to transport a Tyrannosaurus rex to a zoo in SanDiego goes wrong (who would’ve guessed) and after rampaging around the city itis returned to the island, which is declared a protected nature reserve. JurassicPark III (2001) is essentially a rescue mission: ignoring national and international law (as they do), some rich folk undertake an illegal air safari of Isla Sorna, crash, and get bailed out by mum, dad, and some hired hands.

Jurassic World (2015) has exactly the sameplot as Jurassic Park: a new multinational corporation acquires therights to build a safari park on Isla Nublar, but have “improved” on theoriginal by creating a new and very nasty dinosaur called an Indominus rexby means of transgenesis. What could possibly go wrong? Everything that did inthe first film and this one ends in the same way, with humanity abandoning the sameisland for the second time. In between Jurassic World and JurassicWorld: Fallen Kingdom (2018), a mercenary unit arrives on the island andsucceeds in collecting an Indominus rex DNA sample (I wonder where thisis going). The fifth film begins with the island about to be destroyed by avolcanic eruption and the protagonists are hired by the antagonist to launch aprivate rescue attempt, not realising that the relocated dinosaurs are going tobe sold at an auction (those rich folk don’t get that rich by being nice). Therescued dinosaurs escape from their cages, enter the Northern Californiawilderness, and usher in a new era in which humans, animals, and dinosaurs areall going to have to coexist. Jurassic World: Dominion (2022) has abroadly similar plot to Jurassic Park III, being in essence a rescuemission, this time rescuing the first and only cloned human child from another multinationalcorporation and the dinosaurs it keeps in the Dolomite Mountains. As far as thefictional world of the franchise goes, little has changed as dinosaurs arestill roaming, swimming and flying around the place like any other animal,fish, or bird.

I didn’t come to Jurassic World Rebirthwith any great expectations. As I mentioned in mybirthday wishes to Jaws’ (1975) Bruce, the sheer number of animalsslaughtered onscreen in my lifetime is wearing me down and Scarlett Johanssen’soffscreen persona hasn’t exactly endeared itself to me (as Hollywood’shighest-grossing star my news feed is unfortunately full of her). I was alsosurprised to see that none of the previous casts were reappearing. Theprotagonists of the first trilogy were palaeontologist Alan Grant (played bySam Neill) and mathematician Ian Malcolm (played by Jeff Goldblum), who appearedin five of the first six films between them. The second trilogy introduced theon-and-off couple Owen Grady (played by Chris Pratt), an ethologist (aka Velociraptor-wrangler), and Claire Dearing (played by Bryce Dallas Howard), acorporate slavedriver turned dinosaur activist. The protagonists of JurassicWorld Rebirth are Zora Bennett (played by Johansson), a mercenary actionhero, and… well, just Zora Bennett (because you don’t get to be Hollywood’sbest-paid star by sharing the limelight).

Following a prelude where another mutated dinosaur(Distortus rex) wreaks havoc on another fictional island (ÎleSaint-Hubert, in the Atlantic Ocean) that (also) has to be abandoned, thenarrative opens with the Earth’s climate threatening to return the dinosaurs toextinction, in consequence of which they have all migrated to the equatorialregions of the globe. For once, somebody has done something sensible anddesignated these no-travel areas. The antagonist, Martin Krebs (played by RupertFriend) hires Bennett and her team to take DNA samples from the three largestliving dinosaurs – Mosasaurus (sea), Titanosaurus (land) and Quetzalcoatlus(air) – for the purposes of making trillions of dollars from a cure for heartdisease. The first indication that the film might be a pleasant surprise wasthat the DNA has to be retrieved from live dinosaurs and, indeed, the mercenaryteam very quickly loses all of its weapons, making most of the blood spilled inthe story human. At the same time as Bennett, Krebs and their entourage begin their mission, an idiotic father of two, Reuben Delgado (playedby Manuel Garcia-Rulfo, Netflix’s Lincoln Lawyer), is sailing his daughters and one of theirboyfriends across the Atlantic in his yacht (an Atlantic swarming with literalsea monsters, I should add)… and everyone ends up on Île Saint-Hubert.

In addition to limiting the lizard slaughter, the three-partmission to acquire DNA over sea, land and air works very well, providing thenarrative with a neat structure, broad scope, and organic signposting. The storyalso pays homage to the original Jurassic Park in at least two scenes, aTyrannosaurus rex river chase and the final climatic battle at the abandonedlaboratory complex, one of which works well and the other of which doesn’t. Segue to my only two criticisms, the opening and that climactic battle. In theformer, the entire complex’s security system is destroyed by an empty Snickers wrapper. A complex that is not only containing dinosaurs, but creating nastierones for human entertainment… I hope somebody somewhere got sued. The other let down is the Distortusrex itself. It inspires pity rather than fear and is so stupid and so slowthat its survival on the island before the arrival of Bennett, Delgado and therest seems highly unlikely. Having said that, while Jurassic Park: Rebirth may not reach the heights of the original film – perhaps even the first two films – it’s definitely as good or better than the rest. It’s also already well on the way to grossing a billion dollars so I guess we might just see Bennett back for two more instalments. ***

Jurassic World Rebirth | review by Rafe McGregor

JurassicWorld Rebirth, by Gareth Edwards (Universal Pictures)

 

Three timesthree?

Jurassic World Rebirth is the seventhinstalment in the Jurassic Park/World franchise that was launched bySteven Spielberg twenty-two years ago (excluding animated and short films). Theprevious instalments can be divided into two trilogies, with the second being acontinuation of the first and the fictional chronology following the years inwhich each film was released (as far as I can tell). I shall recap the eventsof the franchise so far as Jurassic World Rebirth plunges us directlyinto them and may well be the first of a third trilogy that is a furthercontinuation (rather than remake, reboot, or retcon), though it is (of course)advertised as a ‘standalone’ story.

The premise of Jurassic Park (1993) is thatdinosaurs have been de-extincted by means of cloning and a theme park (‘safaripark’ would be more accurate for UK readers) established on a fictional islandcalled Isla Nublar, off the coast of Costa Rica. What could possibly go wrong?Lots…and everything that could go wrong does, in consequence of which theisland is abandoned by its human visitors. In The Lost World: Jurassic Park(1997) dinosaurs are discovered on the neighbouring island of Isla Sorna, whichwas where the original cloning was done before it was abandoned following ahurricane. (We now have two abandoned islands full of dinosaurs). Anill-considered plan to transport a Tyrannosaurus rex to a zoo in SanDiego goes wrong (who would’ve guessed) and after rampaging around the city itis returned to the island, which is declared a protected nature reserve. JurassicPark III (2001) is essentially a rescue mission: ignoring national and international law (as they do), some rich folk undertake an illegal air safari of Isla Sorna, crash, and get bailed out by mum, dad, and some hired hands.

Jurassic World (2015) has exactly the sameplot as Jurassic Park: a new multinational corporation acquires therights to build a safari park on Isla Nublar, but have ‘improved’ on theoriginal by creating a new and very nasty dinosaur called an Indominus rexby means of transgenesis. What could possibly go wrong? Everything that did inthe first film and this one ends in the same way, with humanity abandoning the sameisland for the second time. In between Jurassic World and JurassicWorld: Fallen Kingdom (2018), a mercenary unit arrives on the island andsucceeds in collecting an Indominus rex DNA sample (I wonder where thisis going). The fifth film begins with the island about to be destroyed by avolcanic eruption and the protagonists are hired by the antagonist to launch aprivate rescue attempt, not realising that the relocated dinosaurs are going tobe sold at an auction (those rich folk don’t get that rich by being nice). Therescued dinosaurs escape from their cages, enter the Northern Californiawilderness, and usher in a new era in which humans, animals, and dinosaurs areall going to have to coexist. Jurassic World Dominion (2022) has abroadly similar plot to Jurassic Park III, being in essence a rescuemission, this time rescuing the first and only cloned human child from another multinationalcorporation and the dinosaurs it keeps in the Dolomite Mountains. As far as thefictional world of the franchise goes, little has changed as dinosaurs arestill roaming, swimming, and flying around the place like any other animal,fish, or bird.

I didn’t come to Jurassic World Rebirthwith any great expectations. As I mentioned in mybirthday wishes to Jaws’ (1975) Bruce, the sheer number of animalsslaughtered onscreen in my lifetime is wearing me down and Scarlett Johanssen’soffscreen persona hasn’t exactly endeared itself to me (as Hollywood’shighest-grossing star my news feed is unfortunately full of her). I was alsosurprised to see that none of the previous casts were reappearing. Theprotagonists of the first trilogy were palaeontologist Alan Grant (played bySam Neill) and mathematician Ian Malcolm (played by Jeff Goldblum), who appearedin five of the first six films between them. The second trilogy introduced theon-and-off couple Owen Grady (played by Chris Pratt), an ethologist (AKAVelociraptor-wrangler), and Claire Dearing (played by Bryce Dallas Howard), acorporate slavedriver turned dinosaur activist. The protagonists of JurassicWorld Rebirth are Zora Bennett (played by Johansson), a mercenary actionhero, and…well, just Zora Bennett (because you don’t get to be Hollywood’sbest-paid star by sharing the limelight).

Following a prelude where another mutated dinosaur(Distortus rex) wreaks havoc on another fictional island (ÎleSaint-Hubert, in the Atlantic Ocean) that (also) has to be abandoned, thenarrative opens with the Earth’s climate threatening to return the dinosaurs toextinction, in consequence of which they have all migrated to the equatorialregions of the globe. For once, somebody has done something sensible anddesignated these no-travel areas. The antagonist, Martin Krebs (played by RupertFriend) hires Bennett and her team to take DNA samples from the three largestliving dinosaurs – Mosasaurus (sea), Titanosaurus (land), and Quetzalcoatlus(air) – for the purposes of making trillions of dollars from a cure for heartdisease. The first indication that the film might be a pleasant surprise wasthat the DNA has to be retrieved from live dinosaurs and, indeed, the mercenaryteam very quickly loses all of its weapons, making most of the blood spilled inthe story human. At the same time as Bennett, Krebs, and their entourage begin their mission, an idiotic father of two, Reuben Delgado (playedby Manuel Garcia-Rulfo), is sailing his daughters and one of theirboyfriends across the Atlantic in his yacht (an Atlantic swarming with literalsea monsters, I should add)…and everyone ends up on Île Saint-Hubert.

In addition to limiting the lizard slaughter, the three-partmission to acquire DNA over sea, land, and air works very well, providing thenarrative with a neat structure, broad scope, and organic signposting. The storyalso pays homage to the original Jurassic Park in at least two scenes, aTyrannosaurus rex river chase and the final climatic battle at the abandonedlaboratory complex, one of which works well and the other of which doesn’t. Segue to my only two criticisms, the opening and that climactic battle. In theformer, the entire complex’s security system is destroyed by an empty Snickers wrapper. A complex that is not only containing dinosaurs, but creating nastierones for human entertainment…I hope somebody somewhere got sued. The other let down is the Distortusrex itself. It inspires pity rather than fear and is so stupid and so slowthat its survival on the island before the arrival of Bennett, Delgado, and therest seems highly unlikely. Having said that, while Jurassic Park Rebirth may not reach the heights of the original film – perhaps even the first two films – it’s definitely as good or better than the rest. It’s also already well on the way to grossing a billion dollars so I guess we might just see Bennett back for two more instalments.***

The Hamlet by Joanna Corrance (NewCon Press) | review by Stephen Theaker

The Hamlet is a fairly good mosaic novella, telling a series of stories about the people in a small rural community in Scotland, close to a stony beach but not too far away from a city. It used to be quite a nice place to live, but then things got “strange” – that’s the word everyone uses to describe it. There are various theories – the end of the world, a passing comet, a great unravelling – but no one is quite sure what happened.

Whatever it was, it happened in early spring. Everyone was told to get inside their homes and stay there for the indefinite future, very much like the Covid lockdowns. Supermarkets and local shops still deliver food, but in armoured vans, and sometimes the drivers go missing, the vans abandoned. The bins aren’t being collected, the police don’t answer calls, and there are roadblocks everywhere.

There’s still electricity and running water, because at least some essential workers still go out to work, but it’s risky out there. And as we learn in this set of stories, it’s risky indoors too. After a very brief introductory chapter about the day of the lockdown, we move from house to house, to see what strangeness is happening in each.

The stories overlap, with hints in each followed up in others, which was satisfying in some ways, in that mysteries are being solved, but it also meant that by the time we encountered some things first-hand, from the point of view of those directly involved, the shock of the weird had often been dulled by prior exposure.

That might be why the first proper story (or second chapter, if you like) “Down the Drain” was the most effective for me, because after its protagonist Beth leaves her filthy house by way of a newly broken (and strangely expansive) pipe, she dips her head into other houses, giving us a dose of concentrated weirdness. One could easily imagine a Junji Ito adaptation.

After that we learn about Polly, a neglected little girl with a big imagination; wannabe influencer Helen, whose uploads get ever more barmy; Eve, who becomes a lodger in the house she rents out to creepy Matthew; Robyn, a frustrated artist who gets way too into dollhouses; and Jeanie, whose charmed life seems to have run out of luck.

A short final chapter, set much later than the rest, bookends the novella, answers some questions, and provides a final twist or two. By that point, it felt like a good place to stop. Not because it’s a bad book, but because it had played all its cards, some of them too soon. And maybe it was all a bit too random for me: if anything at all can happen at any time, the characters’ decisions count for little. ***

Finding Pulp Fiction – Rafe McGregor

Last week I reviewed (and recommended) two of MarkValentine’s essay collections, Borderlands& Otherworlds and Sphinxes & Obelisks. Several of the essays in theformer, which was published by Tartarus Press in June, began as posts for Wormwoodiana, a fantasy,supernatural, and decadent literature blog he runs with Douglas A. Anderson (alsohighly recommended). A few of Mark’s recent posts have been about the changinglandscape of the second-hand book market, focusing on the perceived decline ofthe brick-and-mortar bookshop and the role of charity shops in eitheraccelerating or ameliorating that decline. In TheGolden Age of Second-Hand Bookshops (11 April), he argues that there hasbeen no such decline and that we are in fact in the middle of a Golden Age of second-handbook shopping, even if one discounts (no pun intended) charity shops that havesizable book sections. I should say straightaway that Mark has a great deal ofexpertise in the subject, the product of not only decades of finding books inunusual places, writing about forgotten books that deserve to be remembered,and writing about forgotten books found in unusual places, but also contributingto The Book Guide, whichis (I believe) the UK’s most reliable and most up to date directory ofbrick-and-mortar second-hand bookshops. I also agree with Mark’s claim that therise of charityshop bookselling has neither caused nor contributed to the perceiveddecline of the second-hand bookshop. What I am not so sure about is whether this is a Golden Age for book collectors – that has certainly not been my experience.Let me explain.

For a decade and a half one of my great pleasureswas browsing the shelves of chain, independent, and second-hand bookshops…then oneday I realised I’d stopped and had no desire to return to the pastime, in spiteof highlights such as: Waterstones (Glasgow), Leakey’s (Inverness), Murder One(London), what I think might have been Alan Moore’s basement (Northampton), StMary’s (Stamford), Foyles (London), Blackwell’s (Oxford), Richard Booth’s(Hay-on-Wye), Bookbarn (Midsomer Norton, in Somerset), Borders (York), BarterBooks (Alnwick), and Broadhurst (Southport). The reason I stopped frequenting bookshopswas no doubt a combination of multiple factors, some of which were: a belatedcompetence with both Amazon and ABE; an increased amount of reading and writingat my day job, which was wonderful but meant that I shifted most of reading forpleasure to audiobooks; and perhaps just being spoilt for choice – my wife andI lived in York for much of this time, which had the highest concentration ofbookshops in England outside of London (or at least the highest within easywalking distance of one another). After a hiatus of about another decade, forreasons that were probably also related to life changes, I slowly picked upwhere I’d left off, beginning with Hay-on-Wye and moving on to London and then backto York.

In York, the magnificent (and labyrinthine) Borders on ParliamentStreet was long gone (having closed several years before we left) and so wereat least two each in Walmgate and Micklegate. Thisproved to be a repeat of my experience in Hay-on-Wye, which had thirty-three bookshopswhen I last visited (the interval was about two decades) and now has twenty-five.The same is also true of Charing Cross Road and Stamford (in Lincolnshire),which both have significantly less bookshops (of all varieties) now than theydid a decade or more ago. From my list of favourites, Murder One, Bookbarn, andBroadhursts have all closed. It may not be book Armageddon, but every place I’veassociated with a plethora of bookshops seems to have fewer than before. Markattributes the widespread failure to acknowledge the present as a Golden Age tonostalgia, to mostly middle-aged people remembering their early book browsingdays with a fondness that has more to do with its circumstances (typically,being at university or exploring new places with friends instead of family forthe first time) than the actual number of bookshops. I take his point, but itdoesn’t apply in my case as my book browsing only began in earnest in my latetwenties, a period for which I have no nostalgia whatsoever. Which is why I haveyet to be completely convinced.

Perhaps neither Mark nor I are in error and it’s acase of more second-hand bookshops overall, but more widely spread with fewer and/orsmaller clusters like those I mentioned. Mark also draws attention to the widervariety of book vendors – beyond second-hand and charity shops – as part ofthe Golden Age, which brought my local train station to mind. For the last fewyears (since the end of the pandemic, if I remember correctly), the ticketoffice has boasted a mini-library of about two hundred and fifty books(pictured top). They aren’t sold, but the idea is that you bring one and takeone and you’re free to keep the one you took as long as you replace it withsomething else…which makes it a source for the book collector as much as any of theothers Mark lists. I recently picked up a copy of Jim Butcher’s StormFront (2000), the first of his Dresden Files, which I’d been meaningto read for years. (I replaced it with another occult detective title, freshfrom Theaker’s Paperback Library.) Now this is a nostalgic experience becauseit reminds me of the first second-hand bookshop I ever patronised. The place wastiny and the science fiction titles so popular that the owner wouldn’t allowyou to buy one unless you brought one in to sell to her first. (And no, I’m notmaking that up.) The idea of a railway library seems to be relatively newbecause when I searched online, the only related result was in Hartlepool, wherea local author donated books to the station in February. In America,I’m reliably informed, some people have taken to doing the same in their gardens(pictured above). If that trend is ever imported, I might have to revisemy opinion on the Golden Age…

The Creator by Aliya Whiteley (NewCon Press) | review by Stephen Theaker

Phillip Corbus is an artist, a profession which suits him because post-war headaches make it difficult for him to work in a sustained way in other jobs. His father Thomas was a famous adventurer and inventor, and his brother Reynolds became an inventor too. He created the ThinkBulb, which can be built into the structure of rooms – such as his basement laboratory – and supposedly helps people to think better. He’s now working on a new project, Ceredex.

Phillip is very fond of his lonely sister-in-law, Patricia – he tells us that this is her story. She dotes on her husband Reynolds, but he emerges from the lab infrequently, leaving her to raise their son Buckingham (Bucky for short) mostly on her own. In the summer of 1958, when Bucky is just seven years old, Patricia phones Phillip to say that Reynolds has committed suicide. But there’s rather more to the story than that, as the lack of a body suggests.

I think this is essentially a novella about envy, and the grass looking greener through a jaundiced eye. Phillip quietly envies his brother’s marriage, and is frustrated to see it so neglected. Reynolds, despite his own achievements, envies his brother’s artistic creativity, and seeks to artificially unlock similar talents within himself. He lets his frustration at being unable to create great art ruin his life, never understanding the joy of creating a work of art, even if it’s bad.

This novella is the third book I’ve read by Aliya Whiteley, after The Beauty and Three One Eight, and although it couldn’t be more different from them in plot and setting and tone, it’s of a similarly high quality, thoughtful and thematically rich. Cyril Connolly described the pram in the hall as the enemy of good art; The Creator reminds us that there’s a person in the pram, and asks if art is worth sacrificing his or her happiness.

The book is part of the 2025 NP Novella series, and so it is available in paperback and in a signed and numbered hardback direct from the publisher, while the ebook is available to buy on Kindle, and Kindle Unlimited subscribers can read it for free. I recommend that they do. The reader may be unhappy that it leads to such a strange, dark place, but it’s an ending that sticks with you long afterwards, and feels inevitable when you look back. ****