Rating: C-
Dir: Bobby Marno
Star: Andrew McClay, Bobby Marno, Matthew Åkerfeldt, Damien Seed
Rarely has a film fallen apart so quickly and irrevocably. Initially, this proved rather effective. It opens with a quietly ominous caption explaining about the Celts, their magical traditions and their belief a “flame-haired” individual was imbued with special powers. We then are introduced to Damien (Seed), one such redhead, about whom a documentary is being made by Bobby (Marno) and his crew. They include cameraman Matt (Åkerfeldt) and sound recordist Andy (McClay). Although Bobby has clearly known Damien for a while, he doesn’t initially seem a very interesting subject. He’s a farmer, in a long line of farmers, descended from one of Ireland’s oldest families. He’s vegan, a bit odd for a beef farmer, but whatever.
There’s a dilapidated farmhouse on a remote part of the property, which Damien seems curiously reluctant to show them. And an odd symbol on his front door, which Internet research reveals to be that of an ancient cult. One of the crew vanishes, sending Bobby a text that he has gone home. Except, his jacket turns up in the dubious farmhouse – and is apparently soaked in blood. On the way back down, after dusk, the team see a light, hear chanting, and observe a religious ritual. And its at this moment where the film goes to hell. Because it collapses into the worst clichés of the found footage genre, with endless sequences of running around woods, while the camera does its best to generate motion sickness.
It’s a shame, because to this point, it has done its job well. I suspect much of the dialogue is improvised, and it feels natural and realistic [if extremely sweary: in less than 72 minutes, you get 218 F-bombs, not including two motherfuckers. That’s a top twenty rate all-time, albeit still well behind One Day Removals] There’s a good sense of gradually increasing unease, things slow burning their way towards the not unexpected conclusion that Damien is other than the simple, peaceful farmer he initially appears. Bobby, especially, has problems coming to terms with what is being revealed about his friend (to the extent I wondered if he was in on it). Though this becomes an untenable position after the bloody clothing turns up.
Sadly, it has little more to offer, unless you’re a fan of blurry, badly lit shots and largely inaudible yelling. I did have to laugh at the line, “Have you ever seen as many ginger people in a circle?” Any sense of plot development goes completely out the window, replaced by ineffective faux terror. It didn’t work 25 years ago in Blair Witch, and has not improved with age. My interest suddenly found something better to do: those toenails weren’t going to clean themselves. That said, Marno and McClay have apparently written a script for a sequel, entitled Gingers: “A survivor from a previous encounter with a cult steeped in ancient Celtic mythology, hires an elite team of mercenaries to enact retribution on their leader.” There’s enough here to suggest it could work – if only they lay off the found footage bullshit.