Worse than a rejected X-Files episode, Darklands (despite nabbing a few awards), is unforgiveably terrible. An investigative journo (Fairbrass) stumbles on a pagan cult - by day hard-working townspeople, by night a legion of body-painted punks dressed in bed sheets. The actors are miscast, wandering through the industrial Welsh wasteland, carefully sidestepping the plot holes. Count the clichés: mist and smoke in the pagan scenes, soft music to accompany the sex shots, the "I didn't do it" police interrogation and the sprinting-from-the-exploding-car-in-slo-mo shot. It's impossible to identify with the hero (his speedy romance isblatantly dodgy to everybody else but him), while most of the other characters are only half-developed and instantly forgettable. Darklands tries hard to be The Wicker Man, without ever creating any of the tension and terror of the '73 chiller. If you're still interested after half-an-hour, then you're doing extremely well.
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