Rating: B
Dir: Yernar Nurgaliyev
Star: Daniyar Alshinov, Azamat Marklenov, Yerlan Primbetov, Dulyga Akmolda
a.k.a. Zhanym, ty ne poverish
After my last, shaky experience of Kazakhstan cinema, I was a little worried about dipping my toe in again, especially given the genre. Horror-comedy is tricky, and humour can be highly regional; it doesn’t always travel. The early going was not promising, being mostly Dastan (Alshinov) bickering with his shrewish, heavily pregnant wife, before running off for a day of fishing with mates Arman (Marklenov) and Murat (Primbetov). It’s all quite grating, and not very funny. Then they accidentally witness a group of four thugs committing murder, and it’s like the movie discovered a comedy switch, which gets flicked into the “On” position, and remains there for the rest of the movie.
The thugs, naturally, go after our hapless trio. Except, the early casual slaughter of a dog comes back to haunt them, its owner, a one-eyed martial arts master called Tarzan (Akmolda), going John Wick on their asses, in no uncertain manner. And the way he does so, makes it look like Dastan and pals were responsible. If you can imagine a Kazakhstani version of Tucker and Dale vs Evil, you’re not far wrong. Things are further complicated by a local father deciding Dastan would make the ideal groom for his daughter, who has already got her wedding dress on. Once it starts, the chaos and mayhem doesn’t really pause for breath. By the end, the title will make a great deal of sense.
There’s a definite sense of foreign here, particularly in a soundtrack which seems to offer a relentless stream of local pop songs. I suspect it’s a deliberately incongruous commentary on proceedings. However, any specifics would require a knowledge of Kazakhstan culture, beyond my ken. Fortunately, that’s a sidelight, rather than the main focus, and there are some great sequences of physical comedy; these easily cross national borders. The best is probably Murat’s desperate, extended efforts to hide, after he stumbles into a house, only to realize it belongs to Tarzan when the killer comes home. But even the bad guys are given fun quirks, from the one who speaks in proverbs, to the guy who faints at the sight of blood, and therefore goes down about every other scene.
Given there are five credited writers in addition to the director, it’s surprising how coherent and consistent in tone the script ends up being – well, once it finds its footing, at least. It feels as if there’s some kind of point being made about masculinity, toxic and otherwise. This never gets in the way of the movie being entertaining, once you accept it’s going to be dumb, and lean into its macho idiocy, like a gory version of The Hangover. It does feel as if the subs on Tubi weren’t the best. The good news is, a raft made of inflatable sex dolls tied together (top) doesn’t exactly need much explanation. Consider my faith in the cinema of Kazakhstan largely restored.