David O'ConnellDying Breed
July 21st 2009 04:42
Liable to send members of Tourism Tasmania into conniption fits, the blood-spotted Dying Breed (2008) is a surprisingly effective carnivorous delight. Its basic premise may be thin at best, a quartet of people heading into the remote dense hills of the state, but upon closer examination the barest hint of originality can indeed be detected propelling this increasingly gruesome misadventure.
Director and co-writer Jody Dwyer neatly overlaps two historical strands – that of the elusive Tasmanian Tiger and notorious escaped convict and cannibal, Alexander "the Pieman" Pearce, with all their intriguing mythological proportions attached - interweaving them into a familiar tale of ignorant mainlanders searching for notoriety in dark places best left alone.
Childhood mates Matt (Leigh Whannell) and Jack (Nathan Phillips) head for the wilderness with their girlfriends in tow; Rebecca (Melanie Vallejo) is just along for a fun ride whilst Matt’s better half, Irish lass Nina (Mirrah Foulkes), has even stronger motivations; she’s keen to follow the route, and visit the last known locations, of her older sister who drowned in these parts years before.
With plenty of voyeuristic point-of-view shots tossed in and a requisite number of noises from that hardy cliché, the rustling scrub, we soon get the idea that a lurker and stalker has uncannily fixed upon their scent. But is it the ghost of Tassie’s most notorious cannibal or just a very hungry Devil?
Their motivations, re: the Tassie Devil, seem blessedly naïve, only Nina’s clue-hunting on the trail of her sister - after eight years, mind you – having a semblance of credibility to it. After a brief stopover in a backwoods bar, giving them a chance to size up the primitive locals, they head for the woods; intended as an adventurous trek, marred by nothing more than dreary weather, the sighting of a Devil-like creature interrupts their sleep in a cave and from here, Dwyer kicks his motor into gear; all other considerations will soon become secondary.
Seperation is the key, of course, the group split up by false bravado or rank stupidity, enabling whatever stalks the remote woodland to isolate its next victim and turn them all into meaty chunks. Credit where it’s due: from a lackluster beginning, Dwyer does manage to wreak some disturbingly pleasurable, sadistic damage upon his hapless quartet; a few locals who stray into the frame with dubious motivations of help or hindrance – for a while it’s not clear which – aren’t spared unhappy endings either. And there's even genuine mild suspense to keep the superior second half ticking along.
Whannell, co-creator of the Saw phenomenon, is never going to win any acting awards but with his everyman looks he just manages to pull off both the flabby exterior of a sex-deprived geek and later on, a hardened edge to address the danger like a man. Not for the first time in his career, Phillips is cast as the obnoxious idiot, though he wasn't odious enough to have me praying for his gruesome demise.
Vellejo as his distracting girlfriend is hardly stretched; it’s obvious from the get-go that she can be penciled in as Victim No.1, engendering little empathy. On the other hand, the brightest performance comes from debutant Foulkes; she makes for an excellent heroine, whilst sporting a convincing Irish accent too; more than anyone she's able to convincingly sustain a sense of the grinding horror closing around them like a vise grip.
You have to admire the confronting pessimism of Dwyer's denouement too; if would have been easy enough to tack on an unnecessary false coda, conveniently capping the horror with a traumatized, but thankful, escapee or two. Instead, he actually rams the blade all the way home to the hilt, and with some glee it has to be said. Though hardly a classic, with Dying Breed the process of resuscitating local genre films is well under way.
Director and co-writer Jody Dwyer neatly overlaps two historical strands – that of the elusive Tasmanian Tiger and notorious escaped convict and cannibal, Alexander "the Pieman" Pearce, with all their intriguing mythological proportions attached - interweaving them into a familiar tale of ignorant mainlanders searching for notoriety in dark places best left alone.
Childhood mates Matt (Leigh Whannell) and Jack (Nathan Phillips) head for the wilderness with their girlfriends in tow; Rebecca (Melanie Vallejo) is just along for a fun ride whilst Matt’s better half, Irish lass Nina (Mirrah Foulkes), has even stronger motivations; she’s keen to follow the route, and visit the last known locations, of her older sister who drowned in these parts years before.
With plenty of voyeuristic point-of-view shots tossed in and a requisite number of noises from that hardy cliché, the rustling scrub, we soon get the idea that a lurker and stalker has uncannily fixed upon their scent. But is it the ghost of Tassie’s most notorious cannibal or just a very hungry Devil?
Nina (Mirrah Foulkes) with Matt (Leigh Whannell)
Their motivations, re: the Tassie Devil, seem blessedly naïve, only Nina’s clue-hunting on the trail of her sister - after eight years, mind you – having a semblance of credibility to it. After a brief stopover in a backwoods bar, giving them a chance to size up the primitive locals, they head for the woods; intended as an adventurous trek, marred by nothing more than dreary weather, the sighting of a Devil-like creature interrupts their sleep in a cave and from here, Dwyer kicks his motor into gear; all other considerations will soon become secondary.
Seperation is the key, of course, the group split up by false bravado or rank stupidity, enabling whatever stalks the remote woodland to isolate its next victim and turn them all into meaty chunks. Credit where it’s due: from a lackluster beginning, Dwyer does manage to wreak some disturbingly pleasurable, sadistic damage upon his hapless quartet; a few locals who stray into the frame with dubious motivations of help or hindrance – for a while it’s not clear which – aren’t spared unhappy endings either. And there's even genuine mild suspense to keep the superior second half ticking along.
Nathan Phillips as bunny-boiling bastard Jack
Whannell, co-creator of the Saw phenomenon, is never going to win any acting awards but with his everyman looks he just manages to pull off both the flabby exterior of a sex-deprived geek and later on, a hardened edge to address the danger like a man. Not for the first time in his career, Phillips is cast as the obnoxious idiot, though he wasn't odious enough to have me praying for his gruesome demise.
Vellejo as his distracting girlfriend is hardly stretched; it’s obvious from the get-go that she can be penciled in as Victim No.1, engendering little empathy. On the other hand, the brightest performance comes from debutant Foulkes; she makes for an excellent heroine, whilst sporting a convincing Irish accent too; more than anyone she's able to convincingly sustain a sense of the grinding horror closing around them like a vise grip.
You have to admire the confronting pessimism of Dwyer's denouement too; if would have been easy enough to tack on an unnecessary false coda, conveniently capping the horror with a traumatized, but thankful, escapee or two. Instead, he actually rams the blade all the way home to the hilt, and with some glee it has to be said. Though hardly a classic, with Dying Breed the process of resuscitating local genre films is well under way.
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Comment by Matt Shea
20/20 Filmsight
Comment by David O'Connell
Screen Fanatic