Produced by Bristol sound co-founder Geoff Barrow, this sharp-edged if slight debut feature turns a sceptical eye on the ecstasy-fueled club scene. Venal pillhead David (Marc Bessant) first robs an passed-out supplier, then in another flashback tries to burgle his own family home. Before you can say, he's upside down in the wreckage of his car in a woodland – and subject to the wrathful eye of the Poacher (vocalist Jason Williamson). Declining to free David, with impatience toward city dwellers, he is a fractured society embodied: “You’re one of those noisy cunts from up on the heath.”
A Shaky Start and Grimly Amusing Duel
The film begins uncertainly, lingering excessively on pedantically chronicling David’s attempt to free himself from his safety harness, while awkwardly transitioning into flashbacks of his everyday life. The bigger point – that the rave-era youth were mainly focused on number one – is firmly made. But these vignettes are too thin to adequately prepare us for what to expect when the Woodsman arrives, fuming after David kills his dog. Still, a darkly funny standoff takes hold – David desperate to escape; the Woodsman withholding his jerrycan of cider, intent on soaking him instead in embittered discourse. Williamson, projecting ponderous menace in the role, is reminiscent of Michael Smiley.
Visual Flair and Promo-Inspired Vibe
Just a single key story turn, but it leads to a comically executed rampage on the forest trails that dips close to rural terror. Director John Minton at last unleashes with his showy imagery: where he was hunkered down doing artful shots of insects in the light in the early stages, he now goes all out with the full lysergic grand display, accompanied by a wild organ version of Ravel’s Boléro. Game feels more like an extended promo than a fully fledged drama, but there’s enough strident imagery to suggest that Minton could follow Jonathan Glazer, Garth Jennings et al into successfully graduating from the UK video industry.
The film is in UK and Irish theaters from 17 November.
