Helmed by Portishead co-founder Geoff Barrow, this scabrous if slight debut feature turns a sceptical eye on 90s rave culture. Venal drug user David (Marc Bessant) initially steals from an unconscious dealer, then in a later recollection tries to break into his own parents. In no time, he's overturned in the remains of his car in a woodland – and subject to the angry eye of the Woodsman (vocalist Jason Williamson). Refusing to extricate David, with no time for townies, he is broken Britain 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 meticulously detailing David’s attempt to free himself from his seatbelt, while clumsily segueing into flashbacks of his everyday life. The central theme – 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 turns up, fuming after David kills his dog. Nevertheless, a darkly funny duel takes hold – David desperate to escape; the Poacher withholding his jerrycan of scrumpy, determined to soaking him instead in resentful talk. Williamson, projecting ponderous menace in the role, is reminiscent of Michael Smiley.
Visual Flair and Music Video Vibe
There is only one important plot development, but it leads to a comically executed chaotic run on the woodland paths that veers toward rural terror. Filmmaker John Minton finally gets to go all in with his showy imagery: where he was focused intently doing artful shots of insects in the light in the opening part, he now lets rip with the full psychedelic 21-gun salute, soundtracked to a frenzied keyboard rendition 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 British and Irish cinemas from 17 November.
