In a Violent Nature: A nihilistic, gnarly orgy of dismemberments
Fans of ingeniously gory killings – and nothing but – have a lot more to gain from watching the “experimental” Canadian shocker In a Violent Nature than anyone else. Despite a title that is both pretentious and bad, the film has little on its mind bar serial dismemberment, breaking up the action with long stretches of trudging through woodland, mainly behind the killer.
This film harks back on purpose to the 1980s slasher craze, only with more languorous intent, as if Terrence Malick were giving us his spin on Friday the 13th. While this might be an interestingly weird idea in itself, it results in meretricious cinema. Director Chris Nash mounts the half-dozen horrific death scenes with undeniable finesse, but gives us no ideas, let alone people, to care about.
The story’s a shrug, and high-handedly so: a group of unpleasant Gen Z pals on holiday pilfer a locket they find hanging in an old fire tower. Big mistake. This theft causes the resurrection of a brutish mute killer named Johnny (Ry Barrett), who comes after them on a hack-and-slash spree, while moving at a pace that makes Halloween’s Michael Myers look like Mo Farah.
Various farming tools, including meat hooks and log splitters, are strewn helpfully in Johnny’s path so that lavish mutilation can be inflicted every 10 minutes. Meanwhile, the editing does everything it can to make his victims deeply frustrating to watch, with their zombie-like reflexes and dumb self-absorption.
Some of the acting is so poor it can only be on purpose, but this adds up to a generally misanthropic vision throwing everyone under a bus. The film seems to hate this lot, so there’s no suspense when Johnny comes after them, and we can only coldly admire the gnarly craft as heads are severed, or hooked in a somersault motion through the gaping wound in someone’s abdomen. Hooray.
The killer’s backstory is rote to the point of parody: he was a developmentally delayed child, taunted and tricked into climbing the fire tower, from which he fell and died. We barely see Barrett’s face, and it’s hard to take this character seriously, or contemplate his trauma, with a snide script as his only friend.
This is the trouble with nihilism as a foundation for horror: it can’t quicken the pulse, drum up scares, or elicit any fruitful response from the viewer at all. Being impressed with a whole lot of nothing doesn’t mean we are.
18 cert, 94 min. In cinemas from Friday