Another Supernatural ‘Entity’ Heads To An Asylum; Impressive Trailer, Stills & Poster Art

3-entity

In the latest supernatural indie, thirty four unidentified bodies were found in shallow graves in a remote Siberian forest. No official explanation was ever discovered.

We’ve landed the first trailer, stills and awesome posters for Nexus DNA films LTD’s Entity, from Steve Stone, starring Dervla Kirwan, Charlotte Riley, Branko Tomovic, Oliver Jackson, Rupert Hill and David Worden. The footage makes me think we have another Tunnel on our hands – meaning, overhyped and we see nothing cool happen. I’m also fairly sick of seeing a ghost movie in an abandoned hospital/warehouse. Still, a good movie is a good movie and visually, Entity looks appealing.

1998: Thirty four unidentified bodies were found in shallow graves in a remote Siberian forest. Despite subsequent police investigations no official explanation was ever offered by the Russian authorities for these deaths. The case was closed three years later.

2010: A small English TV crew set out for the remote Russian forest. The Darkest Secrets TV programme revisits the sites of unsolved crimes. They employ the gifts of a psychic whose extraordinary powers may shed new light on this old mystery. The last communication to their production office in London stated that they were approaching the Siberian region where the bodies were found.

Nothing was heard from them again.

Source: Facebook
  • flesheater24

    This looks creepy as fuck

  • Neil-Ireland

    No review of ‘Entity’ yet? Well, here’s mine (some spoilers):

    Ragged prisoners, impassive or whimpering, perfunctorily shot without compunction, carcass piling on carcass, by military dogs of war; an indistinct, head-like protuberance, all Francis Bacon, brutalised meat, thrusting viciously from a metal bed; a woman, a second earlier reverent, kneeling, coaxing, now terror-stricken in the grip of an unrelenting claw: Steve Stone’s ‘Entity’ conjures a world where dread and death stalk unfettered – but physical extinction, here, is not the end. In this universe, all possibility of erasure or redemption has been obliterated; only final isolation and embittered recrimination remain – the animating spirit persisting, impotent, conscious only of its own torment.
    Once inside the lowering complex, faces are pallidly illumined. A diabolical iconography at work, here a palette of impenetrable blacks, forbidding blues and opaque greens at turns lures, then ensnares, each of the floundering characters. Mental furniture fashioned for 21st century metropolitan living will not fit them to survive in this charnel house. Only the psychic will tread a different path: her impulse – compassion; her reward – possession.
    Alex Veitch’s cinematography appreciates geometric form and scale, but also the expressive fragilities of the human face: the achingly beautiful sunlight, caught slowly sinking, barred by a forest of slender silver birch, echoes the film’s epigraph, foretelling a journey ‘down to where the sun is mute’; the vast industrial complex imposing itself vertically and horizontally on the camera’s framing, drowning out all colour except its own – a stark, visual assertion that there will be no escape from a structure inflicting such a pervasive sense of scale; the psychic, supine, soft-focussed in extreme close-up, her face bigger than the screen, her features lingered over, her eyes closed in ecstatic invitation, embarking, she thinks, on a compassionate exorcism of the unquiet dead.
    Mark Ashworth’s superlative sound design, full of sonic woundings, torments with relish those dragged towards annihilation. Tentative cries and the shivered inhalations of absent presences transmute, at climactic moments, into a brutalising cacophony, which itself fades to a spectral siren voice singing out its seduction of the soon-to-be-dead, only to be replaced once more by the rabid discord which denotes the Entity’s enraged presence.
    The actors deliver: Dervla Kirwan, all contained pain and fear; Charlotte Riley, a slick TV professional embarked on a careening descent towards psychic breakdown; Branko Tomovic, ambiguous, violent, aching with tearful longing. Yet it is the titular entity, Mischka, which sears into the imagination: a classic creation of the genre delivered with furiously wounded malevolence by Michael David Worden. His eyes torn out – a blinded seer screaming his incantations; naked, elemental, ferociously intimidating.
    Steve Stone, as writer/director, convincingly weaves into the film themes of enduring love, loss, comradeship and loyalty, compassion in the face of extreme suffering – all of which become subsumed into a fearful consideration of what lies within the darkness, when that darkness is diabolical. This is horror created with intelligence and skill for the discerning viewer.