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USA/UK 1999
Reviewed by Philip Kemp
Our synopses give away the plot in full, including surprise twists.
1847. Following a dishonourable incident in the Mexican-American War, Captain John Boyd is transferred to Fort Spencer, an isolated outpost in the Sierra Nevada mountains commanded by the disillusioned Colonel Hart. Also at Fort Spencer are the drunken Major Knox, the ultra-religious Toffler, keen soldier Reich, peyote-addicted Cleaves, and two Native Americans, George and his sister Martha.
While Cleaves and Martha are off fetching supplies, a stranger stumbles half-dead into the fort. He identifies himself as Colqhoun, survivor of a group of settlers snowbound in a mountain cave. Prompted by the group's leader the settlers had begun eating each other. Colqhoun joined in, but escaped to avoid being eaten. Leaving Knox at the fort, the others go with Colqhoun to the cave, where they realise he had eaten all his companions. Colqhoun stabs Hart and kills Toffler, George and Reich; Boyd jumps off a cliff and breaks his leg. While it heals, he survives by eating the corpse of Reich.
Boyd limps back to the fort, but his story is disbelieved. General Slauson, the area commander, appoints a new CO: Colonel Ives, alias Colqhoun. Alone with Boyd, Ives recounts how, as a former invalid, he regained strength and health through cannibalism, and urges Boyd to adopt the same practice. Boyd attacks him, and is chained up. While Martha is dispatched to fetch Slauson, Knox and Cleaves are killed by Hart, whom Ives had turned into a cannibal. Repentant, Hart frees Boyd, who slits his throat. After a savage battle Boyd lures Ives into a huge bear trap, where they die together.
Ravenous was a troubled production: the original director, Milcho Manchevski, was fired, and Robert Carlyle persuaded (or, according to reports, "practically blackmailed") Antonia Bird, with whom he'd worked on three previous films, to take over. Such events usually herald a turkey, but in this case the end result, though uneven and at times incoherent, has enough ideas going for it (maybe even a few too many) to sustain momentum, helped immeasurably by the headlong frenzy of Bird's direction.
Kicking off with a quotation from Nietzsche, and tossing in references to Benjamin Franklin and Native American myth as it goes, Ravenous makes free with its conceptual reference points. At its heart is the idea of cannibalism as a proselytising movement, eager to attract new blood in more ways than one: gaining strength not only from the victims who are dismembered and eaten, but also from new converts to the creed. The religious parallel is underlined by the Native American George who recounts the legend of the Weendigo, a creature who absorbs the power and very spirit of each person it eats, adding casually, "Like man eats Jesus Christ each Sunday."
There's also a hint at a political subtext, with Ives/Colqhoun musing ironically on the westwards-expanding doctrine of Manifest Destiny, and referring to America as, "a country seeking to be whole, consuming all it can." (In his case it's an even more self-serving doctrine than usual, since he foresees a steady stream of westbound pioneers heading his way to serve as sustenance.) Ted Griffin's script dangles these references as if to lure us into thinking we're watching something serious. But essentially Ravenous is an ingenious period-costume reworking of that reliable old staple the closed-community horror movie, of which Alien (1979) and John Carpenter's The Thing (1982) are other variants, though its eat-or-be-eaten theme suggests a sideglance at subversive one-offs like Bob Balaban's Parents (1988) or Brian Yuzna's Society (1989) both of which worked through their ideas more cleverly.
Whether due to script problems or last-minute reshoots, Ravenous comes apart towards the end. An abrupt, unmotivated change of heart by the recent cannibal-convert Colonel Hart is used to slice through a plot crux, after which the showdown between Boyd and Ives degenerates into standard hayforks-in-the-barn mayhem where something far more towering and apocalyptic was needed. Whatever his subsequent misgivings, Carlyle plays Ives with a fine edge of callous relish, though Guy Pearce, terrific as the straight-arrow cop in L.A. Confidential, here can't do much with a role that mostly asks him to react. No doubt conscious of the script's weaknesses, Antonia Bird's typically dynamic camera goes into compensatory overdrive, wheeling and careening and zip-panning in mounting hysteria at every menacing moment. By itself this would be fine, but the hyperactivity is compounded by the contributions of Michael Nyman and Damon Albarn, collaborating on what must be the loudest and most bombastic score since Maurice Jarre pulled out all the stops for Ryan's Daughter.