Helmed by Portishead co-founder Geoff Barrow, this scabrous though undernourished first film casts a critical gaze on 90s rave culture. Self-serving pillhead David (Marc Bessant) initially steals from an unconscious dealer, then in a later recollection tries to break into his own parents. Before you can say, he's upside down in the remains of his car in a forest – and subject to the wrathful eye of the Poacher (vocalist Jason Williamson). Declining to free David, with no time for city dwellers, he is broken Britain personified: “You’re one of those noisy cunts from up on the heath.”
A Shaky Start and Darkly Funny Duel
Game gets off to a shaky start, spending too long on pedantically chronicling David’s attempt to extricate himself from his seatbelt, while clumsily segueing into flashbacks of his normal activities. The central theme – that the rave-era youth were mainly focused on themselves – is clearly conveyed. But these brief episodes are too thin to properly prime us for what to expect when the Poacher arrives, fuming after David kills his dog. Still, a grimly amusing duel unfolds – David eager to get away; the Poacher withholding his jerrycan of cider, intent on soaking him instead in embittered discourse. Williamson, exuding ponderous menace in the role, is evocative of Michael Smiley.
Stylish Imagery and Music Video Vibe
Just a single key story turn, but it leads to a comically executed rampage on the woodland paths that dips close to folk horror. Filmmaker John Minton at last unleashes with his showy imagery: where he was focused intently doing impressionistic closeups of bugs in headlights in the early stages, he now goes all out with the full psychedelic 21-gun salute, soundtracked to a wild organ version of Ravel’s Boléro. The movie resembles an elongated music video than a complete narrative, but there’s enough strident imagery to suggest that Minton could emulate Jonathan Glazer, Garth Jennings et al into making the leap from the Brit music promo scene.
Game is in UK and Irish cinemas from 17 November.
