Rating: B
Dir: Sander Maran
Star: Karl Ilves, Laura Niils, Martin Ruus, Rita Rätsepp
“What the fuck was that?” So proclaims one of the characters here, but it works equally well as meta commentary about the movie itself. For context, the line comes as our hero, Tom (Ilves), and his sidekick escape from a lost tribe in the Estonian woods. Every Wednesday, they must provide a sacrifice to their god, the Enlightener, a giant fridge which… Well, let’s just say, they’re called the Bukkake Tribe for a reason. And this is just a minor side-plot. The main story has Tom seeking Killer (Ruus), the chainsaw-wielding maniac who abducted Maria (Niils). She’s the love of Tom’s life, who saved him from suicide, but is now having a really bad day of her own.
Oh, and it’s a musical.
I hope you are beginning to see why it’s difficult to describe this in a way that adequately conveys the truly bizarre nature of this experience. It reportedly spent ten years in post-production, and I’m willing to bet nine and a half were just the director staring at the footage, then closing his laptop with a sigh, and going to do something else. But the final result is often amusing, and occasionally wonderful. It’s certainly one of a kind, albeit not quite as original as, say, Hundreds of Beavers, with which it shares DNA. In the splat-stick here, you can see the influence of Peter Jackson, Monty Python, the South Park guys and Sam Raimi. Surprisingly, there’s also the raw horror of Tobe Hooper.
Like Beavers, it is clearly also a labour of love for its maker. There are points where that love probably blinds Maran a bit. This does not need to be almost two hours long, and would definitely be sharper at ninety minutes, trimming stuff that maybe only plays to a local audience. Yet the ratio of hits to misses is definitely in favour of the former. An unexpected treat is the songs, which I was kinda dreading. They range from tongue-in-cheek to genuine and heartfelt, and are a continent better than those in Sophie and the Serial Killers. Having subtitles which manfully do their best to rhyme, is a definite plus.
The Killer’s backstory, with a domineering mother (Rätsepp), is also a nicely constructed plus, and adds to the horror quotient. The effects are mostly practical, save for a running joke about vehicles exploding in digital fire, though they are more “enthusiastically amateur” in nature than anything. However, this arguably fits the tone of the whole thing, other elements of which could be called enthusiastically amateur as well. It is a case where the viewer definitely needs to be on the same frequency as the film. The first ten minutes are a good guide as to whether that’s the case. If not, then I strongly advise cutting your losses, because the 107 which follow are not likely to change your mind. Me, though? I would have been singing along, if only I knew Estonian.