Helmed by Bristol sound co-founder the musician-producer, this scabrous if slight first film casts a critical gaze on 90s rave culture. Self-serving pillhead David (the actor) first robs an unconscious dealer, then in another flashback tries to burgle his own parents. In no time, he's overturned in the remains of his car in a woodland – and subject to the wrathful 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 loud individuals 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 extricate himself from his seatbelt, while awkwardly transitioning into flashbacks of his normal activities. The bigger point – that the rave-era youth were primarily out for number one – is clearly conveyed. But these brief episodes are too thin to properly prime us for what to expect when the Poacher arrives, enraged after David strangles his dog. Nevertheless, a grimly amusing standoff takes hold – David eager to get away; the Poacher withholding his jerrycan of scrumpy, determined to soaking him instead in embittered discourse. Williamson, exuding heavy threat in the role, is reminiscent of Michael Smiley.
Visual Flair and Music Video Vibe
Just a single key story turn, but it leads to a comically executed rampage on the woodland paths that veers toward rural terror. Filmmaker John Minton at last unleashes with his ostentatious visuals: where he was hunkered down doing artful shots of insects in the light in the opening part, he now goes all out with the full lysergic 21-gun salute, soundtracked to a wild organ version of Ravel’s Boléro. Game feels more like an elongated music video than a fully fledged drama, but there’s enough bold visuals to suggest that Minton could emulate Jonathan Glazer, Garth Jennings et al into making the leap from the Brit music promo scene.
Game releases in British and Irish theaters from 17 November.
