5/26/14: If It Ain’t Yours, Don’t Touch It

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Aussie films, Australia, Australian films, bad cops, briefcase full of money, cinema, corrupt law enforcement, Craig Lahiff, David Lyons, double-crosses, Emma Booth, film noir, film reviews, films, Greg Stone, infidelity, Jason Clarke, Movies, stolen money, Swerve, Vince Colosimo, writer-director

By this point in cinematic history, you’d think that nice guys would know better than to pick up suitcases/briefcases/duffle bags that don’t belong to them. You know the scoop: nice, upstanding, morally sound dude (usually a happy married father with a couple of adorable kids) comes upon a crashed car/plane/snow mobile/yak and notices said mysterious package. Said package will usually contain either money or drugs (sometimes both), which the nice, upstanding fella will then take with him. Since packages of drugs and/or money usually aren’t left around for the general populace to find, some bad dude will, inevitably, come looking for the package. The bad dude won’t find it, of course, since the nice guy will be traipsing around with it, trying not to let whatever is in there corrupt his wholesome nature. If these guys are lucky, they’ll end up in Sam Raimi’s A Simple Plan (1998), where bad things happen to good people in some very ingenious ways. If our poor schmucks aren’t lucky, however, they’ll end up in Craig Lahiff’s Swerve (2011), an Aussie who-dunnit (kind of) that manages to mash Fargo (1996) and No Country For Old Men (2007) together into a pretty uninspired ball of Wonder Bread. As always, the nice guy really should kept his hands to himself.

Colin Holland (David Lyons) is one of those aforementioned nice guys, although he missed the memo about needing a cute, spunky family. Nonetheless, Colin is traveling through the backroads of Australia when he comes upon two crashed cars: one is upside down and features a dead man in a white suit (always a giveaway, if you think about it) and a suitcase full of money, while the other one features a comely young lady (Emma Booth), shaken but, otherwise, intact. Since Colin is both nice and kind of dumb, he takes the money and gives the young lady, Jina, a ride to her place. Fair enough. Colin then decides to head to the nearest town – to the nearest bar, to be accurate – and see about getting some law enforcement involvement for the dead guy. Colin has the great fortune to find Frank (Jason Clarke), a sheriff so corrupt that you can smell it through his handshake. Colin tells him about the dead guy, gives him the money and gets an invitation to come stay at Frank’s place. On the way, Colin gets to thinking it’s a little familiar…and it is, of course, because this is just where he dropped off Jina. If you guessed that Jina is actually some kind of an android that Frank keeps around to do chores, you’re in the wrong film. If you guessed that the sultry, ultra-flirtatious femme fatale is married to the corrupt sheriff, well…you may just be too quick for this one, folks. Simmer down, over there!

As Colin gets more and more involved with Frank and Jina, he starts to uncover all kinds of unsavory realities: Jina may not be faithful! Frank may not be a true-blue cop! That money may belong to bad people! Actually, we already know that last part, since we saw the elaborate cross/double-cross in the first few minutes of the film that led to the White Suit BBQ. Any time a suitcase of money involves a bomb, a drug deal and a car crash, we can pretty safely assume its “non-taxable” income. In short order, a mild-mannered blonde gentleman shows up and proceeds to Anton Chigurh the living shit out of everybody (particularly impressive is the scene where he drops a car on a mechanic’s head: suck it, cattle gun!), all on his way to retrieve the missing money. When psycho meets psycho, however, it’s gonna be a real bloodbath…and Frank is so south of sane that he’s on the opposite pole. As if all this isn’t enough, Colin discovers that Jina may have killed her former lover, one of Frank’s deputies. Or perhaps Frank did it. Or what about Jina’s skeezy boss, Sam (Vince Colosimo), who seems to have something out for Frank? What’s a nice guy to do when everybody seems to be giving you the business? If you’re Colin, it just might be time to get the hell out of the Outback.

In most cases, Swerve is completely middle-of-the-road, a thoroughly average “mystery” that’s more average than mysterious. Truth be told, the film suffers from the exact same problem that sinks most zombie films: unless you’re doing something radically different (or drastically better than everyone else), there’s just no way to differentiate one of these from the others. Zombie films attempt to vary this up by switching up the locations, making the zombies good guys, adding elements of comedy/romance/musical/etc…whatever it takes to make one stand out from the pack. The films that don’t do this, by default, end up seeming so generic as to be factory-made: perhaps anonymous zombie pictures would have been more of a novelty in the early-mid-’70s but by this point in the 2000s, it’s all pretty much been seen/done before.

This, then, is Swerve’s biggest problem: it takes several genre tropes (the mysterious suitcase of case, the femme fatale, the crooked sheriff, the small-town with a secret, the innocent but unlucky drifter) and serves them up as-is, as fresh as stale bread. There’s no sense of invention, nothing to set this above (or below, in many ways) a hundred other similar films. Unlike other Australian crime films, the actual setting doesn’t really affect the story: it could have been the American South, the British Isles or the African veldt and it would have made the same difference. I certainly don’t expect Australian films to be awash in kangaroos and didgeridoos but there seems to be precious little Australian identity here whatsoever: the setting ends up being as generic as the rest of the film.

As a mystery, Swerve is almost a complete mess, filled with so many crosses and double-crosses that the plot takes on too many holes and sinks like a stone. By the time we get to the rather ridiculous “twist” ending, which really does come out of left field and means absolutely nothing, we’ve already had to sit through so many film noir-lite moments that it all feels arbitrary. At first, I was disappointed that I’d missed the clue’s that pointed to the “real” mastermind. This was, of course, until I realized that there were no clues: how could there be…the character in question is only in the film for about three minutes altogether and never mentioned or alluded to by anyone. It’s a Perry Mason moment (how do you know who’s guilty? Ask ’em in court and they’ll be happy to spill the beans) in that it’s just dropped into our laps, a gift from the movie gods.

Craft-wise, the film is pretty content to stick to the middle-road established by the plot: this is basic, no-frills filmmaking (with a little more editing “flair” than I usually prefer in films) with competent acting and not much else. Jason Clarke is pretty slimy as Frank but David Lyons is pretty ridiculous as Colin. Lyons plays Colin like a cross between a white knight, Colin Ferrell and Forrest Gump, blending in so many disparate elements of sweet/naive/stupid/smoldering that he ends up completely without personality: all colors combine to create the blandest white possible. Poor Emma Booth has the misfortune of channeling Tara Reid throughout the film, which did nothing for her credibility whatsoever. Jina is one of those ridiculous “sexpot” characters that really only work in very old films or very self-aware ones: Swerve is neither and just comes across as frustratingly mercurial and fickle. The blonde hitman (sorry, buddy: you were never named in the film, which may have been some sort of genius plan, on your part) is patently ridiculous, coming across like some sort of twiggy Termnator even before we get the Terminator-esque scenes where Frank takes a lickin’ and keeps on tickin’…and keeps on…and keeps on…and on…

As I find myself saying quite a bit, Swerve isn’t the worst film you’ll see all year: it probably won’t even be in the bottom 30. That said, there’s absolutely nothing to distinguish this in any way or to make it worth seeking out. Unless you’re on some kind of an insane quest to see every film every made (which, of course, I am), there won’t be much of a reason to slow down and give this the once-over twice. Better to spend your 90 minutes elsewhere, perhaps looking for your own mysterious suitcase out in the desert.

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5/18/14: Not Psychos…Small Business Operators

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100 Bloody Acres, Angus Sampson, Anna McGahan, Aussie films, Aussie horror, Australia, Australian films, Australian horror films, Cameron Cairnes, Chrissie Page, cinema, co-directors, co-writers, Colin Cairnes, Damon Herriman, film reviews, filmmaking siblings, films, horror, horror films, horror-comedies, human fertilizer, Jamie Kristian, John Jarratt, Movies, Oliver Ackland, Ozploitation, Wolf Creek, writer-director

Australia’s had a rich and vibrant horror/exploitation film industry since the 1970’s (if you’ve never seen a classic Ozploitation flick, you’re missing out on something quite beautifully insane), so it’s not surprising that they’ve continued this into our horror-happy present day. Over the past decade or so, however, Aussie horror films have been getting steadily more brutal, with Greg McLean’s Wolf Creek (2005) serving as somewhat of a standard-bearer. The sparse, unrelentingly grim and shockingly graphic film about an Outback psychopath who values human life as much as animal life (which is to say, not at all) has sparked a mini-wave of similar films in its wake, including Dying Breed (2008), The Horseman (2008), The Loved Ones (2009), Road Kill (2010) and McLean’s own Wolf Creek 2 (2013). This newest entry in an apparent attempt by Australian genre filmmakers to scare away tourists is the horror-comedy 100 Bloody Acres (2012), which often comes across as a kinder and gentler, if no less gore-drenched, take on McLean’s influential shocker.

Reg (Damon Harriman) and Lindsay Morgan (Angus Sampson) are not only brothers but local celebrities, of a sort, in their tiny, backwater Australian town. The two own a local “organic fertilizer” company and are so successful that they even have their own radio ad, a catchy jingle that seems to play about every five minutes (the station was probably happy for the revenue). Lindsay is the older of the two, the defacto leader and, vaguely threatening in a beefy, Amish way. Reg is kind of sweet and slow-witted, an idealistic dreamer who still sings along to their ad whenever it comes on the radio. For all intents and purposes, the Morgans are happy, thriving small business owners. Only, they aren’t.

You see, the Morgan’s fertilizer company is behind on shipping out its famed fertilizer and their customers are starting to grow impatient. Reg won’t let a bad product go out, however (they have a reputation, after all), and he’s been doing everything he can to round up the secret ingredient that makes it so special. Turns out, this secret ingredient is roadkill: more specifically, the human kind. Reg has a pretty good system (get to the accident first, scoop the bodies into his truck) that seems to work fairly well, bar the various questions that must arise when 100% of local accident victims vanish into thin air…but I digress. We’ve just seen Reg scoop up his latest find when he ends up with slightly more lively passengers: Sophie (Anna McGahan), James (Oliver Ackland) and Wes (Jamie Kristian). Their car has broken down en route to a music festival (where James intends to propose to Sophie, during John Butler’s set, not aware that best friend Wes is slipping her the salami with alarming frequency) and Sophie sweet talks a ride from the ever-skittish Reg. She rides up front, the fellas get to ride in back, with the fertilizer and hidden bodies, and they’re off to the races. When the inevitable happens in the back, Reg must take steps to prevent his and Lindsay’s illicit business practices from seeing daylight. Time to visit the factory.

Once Lindsay gets involved, the shit really hits the fan. With zero tolerance for screw-ups and a propensity for coldbloodedness that rivals Anton Chigurh, Lindsay is a true force of nature. Seeing a golden opportunity, Lindsay decides to waste not, want not with their new captives: after all, if dead bodies were well, fresh ones should work even better. The only fly in Lindsay’s ointment is an annoying tendency for the captives to escape (especially the perpetually stoned Wes) and the fact that Reg has started to fall in love with Sophie. Before long, there’s a randy local looking to knock boots with Lindsay, a dog is running around with a disembodied hand in its mouth, James is realizing that Sophie hates John Butler and the grinder is screaming into bloody life. As the Morgans are finding out, owning your own business definitely means sweating blood…and then some.

Despite its often grim subject matter, there’s a certain light-hearted feel to first time writer/directors Cameron and Colin Cairnes’ debut feature that’s quite refreshing. While I’m a huge fan of Australian cinema, in general, I’ve really enjoyed the horror renaissance of the past decade. That being said, I’ve often felt that more recent films, such as Wolf Creek and The Loved Ones, had a tendency to be so unrelentingly bleak and torturous that they functioned more as endurance tests than things to be enjoyed. 100 Bloody Acres is, first and foremost, a horror-comedy, as opposed to a slightly sardonic horror film: it’s a subtle but big difference. Whereas Wolf Creek had a tendency to brandish each bloody incident as a weapon, using the set-piece approach to horror films, 100 Bloody Acres tends to use its goriest bits as jokes, similar to how gross-out comedies like There’s Something About Mary (1998) use material that would be shocking, in a serious context, but becomes comedic when blown into absurdity. While there’s certainly nothing funny about watching a guy get part of his hand chopped off, there is something pretty amusing about watching that guy spend the rest of the film politely inquiring as to the whereabouts of said hand (remember the dog from earlier? Yep.). There’s almost endless potential inherent with Lindsay’s growing frustration with not only his idiot brother but the world in general and the Cairnes’ have managed to wring quite a bit out of the film.

With a sharp script, it falls to the cast to deliver the goods and they acquit themselves pretty nicely. Angus Sampson, who plays Tucker in the Insidious films, is the clear standout in the cast and is actually worth the price of admission all on his own. Lindsay is a fascinatingly complex character: his bursts of anger are matched with depths of serenity and calm that approach zen levels and the scenes where he manages to draw on both reserves, such as the one where he begins by congratulating Reg and ends by choking him in a headlock, are the best in the film. If Damon Harriman isn’t quite as good as Sampson, it might have more to do with a character that often seems a bit conflicted and confused: it’s a great moment when Reg finally composes himself and decides to stand up to his brother but it also doesn’t really feel earned. The three hitchhikers tend to fairly obnoxious, although Jamie Kristian has some fun with his character’s stonier moments, including a great goof where an attempt to kick a knife across the floor ends with the knife embedded in his leg. Oliver Ackland, by contrast, is a constantly whining drip, although the film does get some mileage from a running gag where his mouth is ducktaped shot and we only hear nonsense, whereas Sophie responds as if hearing an actual conversation: it’s a credit bit and Ackland’s unusually expressive face sells it. McGahan, for her part, is a rather odd presence: her character seems to be an attempt to graft a “pixie girl” onto a “final girl” and the end results don’t work. She’s usually stuck playing cloyingly cute but her (too few) moments of resolve work a bit better.

Ultimately, despite all of the positives, 100 Bloody Acres didn’t make as much of an impact on me as I’d hoped. While there are some delightfully gonzo moments, the film is usually so low-key that it seems to stall out. The script is always sharp but I didn’t always like where it was going and the final resolution seemed more than a little contrived, unlike a similar resolution for something like Tucker and Dale vs Evil (2010), for example. It also seems a little strange to complain about an overabundance of gore in a horror film (especially a 2000’s-era Aussie horror film) but 100 Bloody Acres really takes the cake. It’s not spoiling anything to say that the grinding machine gets quite a workout in the film and the results are never pretty: if just thinking about the ramifications of this turns your stomach, 100 Bloody Acres is definitely not your film. The biggest issue with the gore tends to be the film’s overly conflicted tone: it begins as a horror-comedy, which balances out the excess violence quite well. When the film becomes unexpectedly serious, however, it tends to get dragged down into some pretty grimy places before being sent back into zany comedy land. Tucker and Dale, by contrast, maintained consistent levels of both grue and laughs: with 100 Bloody Acres, you’re really not sure where the needle will stop spinning.

If you’re a fan of Aussie horror films, feuding brothers and “special fertilizer,” 100 Bloody Acres may just be your ticket. If you’re just jumping on the Australian horror train, however, you might want to get on at another stop: this one might be for the fans only.