Movie Nation

“Spiral” is a cleverly-conceived riff on familiar horror themes, an attempt to make a gay “Get Out.” A same-sex couple moves to suburban Illinois with one partner’s teen daughter, and weird, scary things begin to happen.

But this film, not to be confused with the “Spiral” movie from “The Book of Saw,” starring Chris Rock and Samuel L. Jackson and due out next year, doesn’t quite come off. It traffics in too many false frights, leans heavily on lapses in logic and loses its way when super-naturalism kicks in.

Aaron (Ari Cohen) and Malik (Jeffrey Bowyer-Chapman) figure this fresh start — a move to boost Aaron’s career — is just what they need, the peace and quiet of small town life.

Kayla (Jennifer Laporte), Aaron’s daughter from his just-ended marriage, is an eye-rolling teen who doesn’t judge her dad’s new love. Malik, a younger man who came out early and grew up to be a writer, appreciates that.

“Choosing to live your life loud and proud is about the bravest thing you can do in this world.”

But “this world” is ready to put that to the test. Vintage cars and an ancient, homophobic Patrick Buchanan red meat “values” speech on the radio tell us this is the mid-90s. The first neighbor (Paul McGaffey) they meet is elderly and seemingly hostile to this same-sex/different races couple.

Aaron may head off to work each day, and Kayla takes her shot at being the exotic ” new girl in school,” but Malik is at home — tapping away on a PC, “ghost writing” the biography of some academic shaker and mover.

And Malik hears and sees things. He comes back from a job and finds a slur painted on the living room wall. He notices the starchy looks, even from neighbors (Chandra West, Lochlyn Munroe) who make an effort to seem ‘friendly.'”

“We don’t have any of you in town.”

Malik is, as we say these days, “triggered.” He has flashbacks to a hate crime of his youth. He gets more “warnings” and…he doesn’t tell Aaron any of this. He simply confides to an old friend from his “single” days, and has an alarm system installed.

Director Kurtis David Harder (“Kody Fitz”) struggles to make this story an “Is it real or is this all in his head?” thriller, and have it all make sense. Apparitions, a glimpse through a window at a strange ritual, a “clue” that prompts a search through the archives, it all fits together but doesn’t do so gracefully.

Bowyer-Chapman, of the Lifetime series “Unreal,” and Cohen (of the “It” movies) bring a warmth and familiarity to their couple, with hints of a “swinging” period in the relationship. With such intimacy, though, the lack of a reasonable explanation for Malik’s keeping his growing fears a secret is jarring.

The villains are mild-mannered archetypes, and thus never fool us for a second.

Bowyer-Chapman has to carry the film, and he does — believably depicting Malik’s loosening grip on reality, not seeing what the viewer has leapt ahead to conclude.

But for all the unraveling psyche and worst-fears-realized stakes, there’s not much suspense here, and little to grip the viewer and draw us in.

As the film crawls toward its conclusion, there’s a sense that the “Spiral” here is going straight down the drain.

MPAA Rating: unrated, violence, sexual situations

Cast: Jeffrey Bowyer-Chapman, Ari Cohen, Jennifer Laporte, Chandra West, Lochlyn Munroe and Paul McGaffey

Credits: Directed by Kurtis David Harder, script by Colin Minihan, John Poliquin. A Shudder release.

Running time: 1:30

Here’s a sadistic Spanish thriller that begins dark, turns darker and ends darkest of all, with unhealthy servings of paranoia and claustrophobia along the way.

Mario Casas (“The 33”) is Angel, “The Paramedic” (“El practicante”). And Angel first gives us a hint that he’s not an “angel of mercy” in this odd peccadillo he’s picked-up on the job.

He keeps souvenirs from car crashes he responds to — women’s sunglasses. Locks them in a cabinet in the apartment he shares with leggy, blonde and French Vane (Vanessa), played by Déborah François of the indie Western “Never Grow Old.”

Angel is a sullen type, barely tolerating his too-chatty driver/partner (Guillermo Pfening).

But “souvenirs” aren’t the only sketchy thing he does on the job. He robs the dead and sells their jewelry to a fence.

The loving relationship he thinks he has with Vane is tested by their attempts to have a baby. She is gorgeous, keeping odd hours, taking veterinary school classes and getting texts she makes it a point not to respond to when he’s around.

“El guapo Roberto,” Angel hisses (in Spanish, with English subtitles). “The one you dress up for to ‘go study’ with!”

So Angel does what any loving partner would do when faced with this suspicion about the woman who wants to have a baby with him. He acquires spyware that allows him to listen in and watch her through her phone, check her texts, the works.

And then he has a wreck in the ambulance, putting him in a wheelchair. This doesn’t improve his temperament or paper over the huge flaws in his personality. How will their lives change? Will he adjust? And what about the baby plans?

Director and co-writer Carles Torras (“Open 24h” was his) keeps the foreboding in the foreground, and only dangles the occasional moments of hope that all will be well and that everybody here will find some measure of contentment.

The second act post-accident turns in the tale aren’t that far-fetched, but the third-act twists are. We aren’t properly set up for the war-of-wills “The Paramedic” evolves into.

Casas wears Angel’s bitterness like a Halloween mask. We “get” that this guy’s a dark, unsavory sort from the start. And yet Vane does not. His “No Losers in Heaven” Jesus t-shirt, post-accident, is the closest the movie comes to telling a joke — an ironic/acidic one, but there you go.

I like the ending probably more than I should. And the milieu — this world of after-hours accidents, emergency rooms and calls for the old and dying — is thinly developed, and only grappled with in the opening act.

But regardless of preliminaries, “The Paramedic” builds up to a fine, furious finale that atones for some of its first and second-act sins. It’s a mixed bag of a thriller, but short enough that one doesn’t have a lot of filler to shake off to appreciate how bleak and appropriate that conclusion feels and plays.

MPAA Rating: TV-MA, violence, sex, drugs

Cast: Mario Casas, Déborah François, Guillermo Pfening

Credits: Directed by Carles Torras, script by David Desola, Hèctor Hernández Vicens and Carles Torras. A Netflix release.

Running time: 1:34

Call it “Adult erotica” fiction, or adult erotic romances, but chances are, you hadn’t heard this literary genre mentioned in polite company. Then “Fifty Shades of Grey” blew up the best seller lists and the motion picture box office.

And that opened the floodgates, not just on wider cultural exposure, but on the literary dreams of scores of would-be authors — women, mostly. All of a sudden, their ambitions to join the gold rush and culture shift that turned fiction of the Harlequin Romance variety into “rape fantasy” erotica were within reach.

Thanks to self-publishing and the playing-catch-up publishing industry, “Mommy Porn” became all the rage. And thanks to the Internet, women from all walks of life could get their work published and let the online marketplace decide if they deserved careers.

No middle “men,” no publishers-as-gatekeepers, no limits.

That’s the story that sweeps through “Naughty Books,” the playful feature documentary directing debut of Austin Rachlis. She got access to authors, famous and/or notorious, publicists and publishers, agents, booksellers, bloggers and academics and has them tell the story of this literary moment — “wish fulfillment fantasies” meet “feminism.”

Writers like Laurelin Paige, CJ Roberts and others playfully bicker about whether or not they’re writing “porn.”

“Well, it is a LITTLE porn,” one laughs. They can joke about being “the girl that writes dirty books” and whether or not any member of “my Catholic family” or any other relative should be reading their tales of “really good sex” and “the magic, the healing power of a billionaire’s orgasm.”

Oh my.

Writers of real ambition — Jamie Blair had a home in Young Adult fiction before taking on the name Kelli Maine and trying her hand at erotica — struggle with being dismissed for writing in this genre, even as readings (set to animation) from their works show flashes of genuine writing talent.

“Nobody wants a lot of plot with their sex.”

Rachlis takes us to a Vegas convention where erotic romance writers and sex toys and male strippers are on display, and we get a generous sample of how they’re a lot like their fans — “curvy,” salty (f-bombs), often rural and looking for a little escape.

But Rachlis gets into not just the industry that they’ve upended, but the fickle tastes of the public (Fame here can be like “youtube celebrity,” short-lived.), the “freedom” of self-publishing vs. the demands of major publisher book contracts to the flipping of gender roles in their often traditional, suburban marriages.

Some of those marriages end. A husband recalls the depression he felt upon realizing “We no longer needed my income.” One of the divorced authors allows that “The more successful I got, the less successful he got.”

One writer tears up over what she gave up to be a success, another takes a hard take-stock look — with friends — at the sales math and shifting to “darker and dirtier” tastes of readers, and a third decides she’s done what she can with it and backs away from this world.

The academics are here to put this “fad” into perspective, to praise the way these women have leveled this one corner of publishing’s playing field and warn about the dangers of “rape fantasies” in such fiction.

All in all, “Naughty Books” is a pretty good introduction to a publishing and reading phenomenon that came after Harlequin Romances. Here are women writing, publishing and purchasing books by women, for women and taking taking inspiration from the women who came before them.

“After I read ‘Twilight,'” one writer admits, “I thought if SHE could do it…”

Cast: Kristen Proby, CJ Roberts, Laurelin Paige, Kelli Maine (Jamie Blair), Glorya Hidalgo

Credits: Directed by Austin Rachlis. A 1091 release.

Running time: 1:22

A LOT of famous to famous-ish voices populate this 2018 BRON Studios/Canadian production, just now heading into release.

James Marsden and Rosario Dawson, Jane Krakowski, Nathan Fillion, Rob Riggle and Alfred Molina, anyone?

“Henchmen today, supervillain tomorrow.”

It seemingly had a limited theatrical release, but gets a “virtual cinemas” release on Oct. 9.

“No Escape,” a “Saw” like murder-puzzle thriller originally titled “Follow Me,” hits enough of its marks to earn a “not half bad” label.

It may not do the best job of putting-us-in-the-hero’s predicament. But as for the grisly chills and suspense presented by that predicament, it delivers the goods.

Keegan Allen of TV’s “Pretty Little Liars” is Cole Turner, a gonzo “Escape Real Life” vlogger/adrenalin salesman. He, with his team, promises to “take you somewhere you’ve probably never been” seeing and doing something “you would never do.”

He’s accomplished at selfie live-streaming and a master of hype. All he and “American Gladiators” tough Samantha (Siya from “Sisterhood of Hip Hop”) and his right-hand man Dash (George Janko) have to do is make each hyped-to-hell adventure more gonzo than the last.

And this Moscow outing, to this “next-level-loaded” Russian oligarch’s escape room complex, promises to be just that. Bringing along girlfriend Erin (Holland Roden) and “my best friend in the world” Thomas (Denzel Whitaker of “Black Panther” and “Cut Throat City”) ensures that it’ll be like a vacation, right?

The odd edgy/violent encounter with foes of their host, a hipster parody of a young Russian oligarchy (Ronen Rubenstein) doesn’t harsh Cole’s hype.

“I don’t know why everybody s–t talks Russia. Besides the guns and gangsters, it’s not that bad” he uploads onto his site.

There’s all this sketchy stuff going on around them, but Cole only has eyes for his audience. A visit to a lavish Russian nightclub is just “Whoa, so much CONTENT” to him.

The puzzle? He and his friends will be parked in “Bolshevik Prison,” with each of them in a cell in a torture device — The Rack, the Iron Maiden, a glass booth filling with water, an electric chair. Cole has to puzzle them out of these fixes.

Writer-director Will Wernick, whose previous film was titled “Escape Room,” tries to write around repeating himself here. The first act introduces us to this scary, alien world (Nobody in the crew speaks Russian, no subtitles are provided for the viewer, either.) where “they don’t have the same rules.”

Cole is all “I wonder if Alexei got that” harrowing moment on camera, self-absorbed and chill.

“Relax, bro, it’s a game.“

The first act set-up does its job of laying out the terrain, the players and the stakes.

The escape room takes up the middle act. That middle act — where one “clue” is hidden in a fresh corpse Cole must dissect — is where all the suspense and the few inventive touches to the script reside. It’s where the quintet journey from “just a game” to “What just happened?”

It’s the third act where “No Escape” loses its way, becomes even more generic than the “Saw” inspired puzzles and lapses into something a lot more like “Hostel,” and a limp imitation of it at best.

Most of the characters are badly under-developed. Even Cole is painted in broad, simplistic strokes. Putting glasses on Thomas makes him “the smart one.” That’s lazy screenwriting.

The Russians in the cast are here for their generic hulking menace.

It’s a step up from “Escape Room,” but “No Escape” shows Wernick’s uphill battle to make a mark in the genre. There have been other movies titled “Escape Room,” and others titled “No Escape.”

He’s a writer-director in a trap of his own typing.

MPAA Rating: R for bloody violence, grisly images, pervasive language, some graphic nudity and brief drug use

Keegan Allen, Denzel Whitaker, Holland Roden, Ronen Rubinstein, George Janko, Siya

Credits: Written and directed by Will Wernick. A Vertical Entertainment release.

Running time: 1:31

While that tagline about drive-in theaters could apply to most any film due out over the next few months, it used to be that drive-ins had whole genres of film all to themselves.

“A drive-in movie” pre-dated the home video revolution, but films like “Shortcut” or your below average horror title would find a home in rural/suburban America and make their money by the carload.

Here’s one coming out Sept. 25.

Joel and Aimee and a Jeep and “The Monster Uprising.”

Kinda goofy, kinda gonzo. Dylan O’Brien, Jessica Henwick and of course, Michael Rooker — in the Woody Harrelson role — are the stars.

“D’ja ever hear of a fool’s errand?”

A family gathers at the parents beach house for a not-quite-holiday get-together in “Blackbird,” a downbeat but arresting and intimate melodrama based on the Danish film, “Silent Heart.”

Daughters Jennifer (Kate Winslet) and Anna (Mia Wasikowska) and their families are here for an early Christmas with Mom (Susan Sarandon) and Dad (Sam Neill). They “celebrating” now because mother Lily won’t be around Dec. 25. She’s terminally ill.

And at the end of this weekend, she’ll be taking a drug cocktail that ends her life, while she still has the capacity to do that on her own.

Sarandon’s Lily is a feisty sort. None of this soothing classical music that husband Paul prefers. Oh no. She’s aware of how long it takes her to get a bathrobe on, and doesn’t want to be hovered over as she does.

“Go f—–g DO something,” she barks, for not the last time. Lily is out of patience and almost out of time.

Organized adult daughter Jennifer is aware that she’s in pain, because “She lies just badly enough that you know she’s lying.”

Her pedantic husband Michael (Rainn Wilson) can make historical anecdote small talk with the best of them. Pass the salt.

“You know the Indian independence movement started” with salt protests, he begins. It’s no wonder Jennifer’s testy, “fragile” younger sister Anna calls him “Mr. Dull.”

She has her own issues, which Jennifer lists for her every moment she gets her alone.

Lily’s best friend (Lindsay Duncan) is here for support. But only Jennifer and Michael’s doted-on/nagged to excellence teen son (Anson Boon) has the tactlessness to be direct.

“When’s it happen?” And later, with his grandpa, a stoic pillar of equanimity, he’s even more blunt.

“How’re you going to do it?”

Director Roger Michell (“Venus,”Notting Hill”) cast this well and earns stellar on-the-nose performances from Sarandon, Wilson, Duncan and Wasikowska. Pairing her opposite Winslet turns out to be inspired, as their characters are highly-strung flipsides of the same coin, making for some splendid fights. Each knows where to stick the dagger.

Sarandon’s Lily has the sarcastic bravado common to end-of-life movies of this sort, from “Whose Life is It Anyway?” to “Me Before You.”

“You up yet?” she shouts at the kids. “I’d DEAD soon. You coming down?”

Neill’s Paul might be the most accessible character, simply by virtue of his “get through this with a little ordinary grace” ethos. But how are YOU doing, Paul?

“A little tired of people saying ‘And how are you?'”

The conflicts come from the usual corners, the twists have a pre-ordained feel. But the players, the setting (West Sussex, UK, doubling for Long Island?) and Michell’s sure-handed way with sensitive material get “Blackbird” airborne, and keep it there, from beginning to not-remotely-bitter-end.

MPAA Rating: R for language, some drug use and brief sexual material

Cast: Susan Sarandon, Kate Winslet, Mia Wasikowska, Sam Neill, Rainn Wilson, Bex Taylor-Klaus, Anson Boon and Lindsay Duncan.

Credits: Directed by Roger Michell, script by Christian Torpe. A Screen Media/Fathom Events release.

Running time: 1:37

I tend to look askance at movie-making nepotism, but Merawi Gerima’s debut feature, “Residue,” has me rethinking that.

“Residue” is an immersive, impressionistic sketch of a Black DC expat coming home to a place he swore he’d put in his rear-view for good fifteen years before. It’s a memory play steeped in social upheaval, pointed, politically-aware and beautiful to behold.

And among the films it resembles is the model-visits-a-slave-trading fort drama, “Sankofa,” a memorably gorgeous and dark dreamscape, a landmark indie film by Ethiopian-American director Haile Gerima, whom I got to hang with at a film school he was visiting some years back.

So, “Chip off the old block?” Oh yes, and in the most flattering ways.

Jake (Obinna Nwachuwu) shows up on Q Street in his pickup, a mattress in the flatbed, ready to stick around for a while. He’s working on a script about the old hood — “Eckington,” which the callow yuppies moving in and “gentrifying” have re-dubbed “NoMa” (north of Massachusetts Ave.).

A narrator questions Jake, in his head — “Did you sense that our obliteration was just around the corner? You thought a FILM could save us?”

Jake reconnects with his parents (Melody A. Tally and Ramon Thompson). He hooks up with the beautiful Blue (Taline Stewart). And he starts mingling, chatting up the few people who might remember him, asking where his childhood bud Demetrius is.

Nobody wants to talk about that. Not Mike (Derron Scott), and especially not Devonte (Dennis Lindsey).

“Gentrification” is seen at its ugliest here, fake “eviction notice” threats slapped on doors, endless calls from predatory real estate flippers.

And the endless provocations presented “back home” are a genuine threat to Jake, who has flashbacks to the neighborhood violence he witnessed during his childhood, and whose anger management issues will be severely tested by hassling cops, obnoxious urban (white) homesteaders and young bloods out to prove how “hard” they are — when they’re with their gang.

The white folks among them, not picking up after their dogs, “are the decoys,” his mother warns. Don’t take the bait. Don’t give them the chance to call the cops on you.

“How many people do we know whose lives were wasted like that?”

It’s the same with his endless Demetrius search. Dion? “He’s still in.” This guy or that one is “under the concrete.”

Gerima uses a hand-held camera, tight shots and splashes of dialogue blended in with dimly-lit, sometimes grainy/sometimes blurry flashbacks to create this chiaroscuro.

But the most impressionistic scene is of Jake’s chat with one old friend. They’re in the woods, chuckling and remembering, enjoying nature, Jake apologizing for all the letters he never replied to. An off camera voice barks, “OK, that’s it.” It’s actually a prison visit, sobering and sad and institutional. And it’s just beautiful.

The bleak outlook of this story won’t be to every taste. But “Residue” brings a painful beauty to a real-life “whitewashing” of a city that will never let you look at gentrification from a realtor’s point of view ever again.

MPAA Rating: TV-MA

Cast: Obinna Nwachuwu, Melody A. Tally, Ramon Thompson, Taline Stewart, Dennis Lindsey, Derron Scott

Credits: Written and directed by Merawi Gerima. A Netflix release.

Running time: 1:30

This looks fun, in an early Guy Ritchie but in Ireland sorta way.