Steve Irwin was a conservationist, and a proper
fucking nutcase, who spent his entire life caring for animals and then doing
his best to piss them off. There's no denying that the man knew his stuff
although even I'm aware that most creatures don't like being poked in the eye
for fun... and higher ratings. I don't mean to insult his television shows but
should an animal documentary really have so much in common with Jackass?
The only thing missing from The Crocodile Hunter was a beard of pubes
and a cast of bruised ball-sacks. I presume Irwin's risky method of teaching
was intended to prove that animals aren't simply monsters and so won't just
kill for no reason. Unfortunately however this lesson seemed somewhat
undermined when one of them decided to freak the fuck out and left him for dead
on a beach.
The irony of course was that of all the
creatures that he annoyed, the identity of his killer was both surprising and
anti-climactic. The man made a living from dry humping Crocodiles and pissing
about with snakes and yet in the end he was murdered while paddling with a
stingray. No offense to that odd looking fish but if the sea had vaginal flaps,
I strongly suspect they'd look alike. The fact that Irwin was killed by the
ocean’s equivalent to a meaty cape just goes to prove one thing- Australia is
fucking dangerous.
Wolf Creek was
a 2005 horror movie telling the story of a group of tourists who went missing
in the Australian outback. The film is allegedly “based on a true story”, which
technically isn't lying but only in a Bible-y sort of way. They're both
completely true unless you're after any facts or honesty at all. It's sort of
like how The Texas Chainsaw Massacre is based on the factual story of Ed
Gein who didn't live in Texas and didn't massacre anybody with a chainsaw. Not
that this is a problem by the way. Due to the films content, if it was based on a true story, Wolf Creek
would be horrifically exploitative and as morally sinister as R Kelly offering
to child-mind with a full bladder and a throbbing erection.
In a way, Wolf Creek is a film of
two halves with the first section being spent getting to know our three main
characters. The group consists of two British girls named Liz and Kristy and an
Aussie, surfer type dude called Ben. Liz and Kristy are played by two
Australian actresses who are about as convincing as Brits as George Lazenby was
when he played James Bond in OHMSS. In 1969 the only way 007 could have
seemed more Australian would have been if he'd killed Blofeld with a boomerang,
drank a can of Fosters, committed infanticide and then blamed it on a dingo.
Accent aside however, Liz and Kristy are
genuinely believable characters that I completely bought throughout. It's a
credit to them too, that after thirty minutes I also very nearly stopped
staring at the freakishly large stalactite chin attached to Liz's face. I don't
mean to make a big deal out of it but there was one point when, despite all
evidence to the contrary, I convinced myself Liz might actually be played by
Bruce Campbell. The third character of Ben was an Aussie played by an Aussie so
it's hard to criticise him. He's a bit of an idiot but not in an unlikeable way-
more in an adrenaline junkie kind of way. It's not that I dislike people who
surf in an ocean infested with sharks, it's just that the term, “adrenaline
junkie” is clearly the polite way of saying someone’s a knob-head. Oh and by
the way, did I mention Liz's huge chin? Honestly if you stuck a nipple on the
end of it, I reckon she'd have herself a pretty sexy face-boob.
Anyway so like I said the first half of the
film is all set up with the three tourists having decided to take a road trip
into the outback. We learn the dynamics of the characters and watch as Ben
develops a crush on 'Liz the chin'. During their journey, one of the sites that
they intend to stop off at is a giant meteor crater known as Wolf Creek. For
anyone unsure, a meteor is basically a giant rock that falls from the sky and
not, as my friends genuinely assumed, a type of dinosaur. After I corrected
them they laughed at their mistake and then informed me that they'd actually
gotten it confused with the dinosaur known as a Minotaur... I need to get
myself some new fucking friends.
As soon as they get to their destination,
things start to go a little wrong. Their car mysteriously breaks down leaving
them stranded and alone in the middle-of-fucking-nowhere. Considering how
dangerous that country is, with its venomous spiders, massive snakes and boxing
kangaroos, if I were them I'd have accepted my upcoming death a lot more
quickly. It's at this point that the main villain of the film finally arrives
and in the form of a friendly, old-school style Aussie bloke called Mick
Taylor.
Played by John Jarrett, Mick may well be my
favourite horror character of the last decade or so. To my mind, his only main
competitor would probably be Jigsaw from The Saw series, but in
honesty he really pisses me off. He preaches to everyone about savouring life
and yet spends all of his time building torture chambers instead of going to
chemotherapy. Although even beyond the stupidity of his motives, I think what
annoys me most about Jigsaw is just how much of a pretentious, bald cunt he is.
Mick on the other hand is a great laugh and if it wasn't for all the killing
and craziness, he'd make great company down at the pub. Being an Australian
archetype, he's kind of like a cross between Mick Dundee and Jack the Ripper.
He's a violent crazy bastard but fuck it at least he's having fun. I guess it
serves as a good reminder of Australia's history as a giant prison. Even the
friendliest of people there are descended from a British convict and so
shouldn't be trusted… kind of like scousers.
The clever thing about the film however, is
that Mick never quite becomes an anti-hero. After meeting the three main
characters at Wolf Creek, he proceeds to take them back to his home and torture
them. However, where other films have fallen in love with their villain, at no
point here do you find yourself on his side. An example of this sort of
character could be Hannibal Lector who started off as a creepy cannibal before
evolving into a loveable, dapper gent with an insatiable taste for face. Despite
Mick being such a laugh, there's a moment where 'Liz the chin' points a gun at
him and all you want her to do is blow his fucking head off. This is probably
due to the films genius of allowing us to get to know the victims in the first
half. Now that we've formed a bond with them, it's less enjoyable to watch them
die. That's coincidentally also why in reality I never learn the first name of
any whores.
In a way, the difference between Wolf
Creek and most other slashers is the same as the difference between Saw
and Saw 2. Rather than being presented with a gang of talking meat, we
are watching likeable humans who we want to see survive. In Saw 2, the
conflict isn't how are the victims going to get away but rather how are they
going to die. The traps are too complicated, the characters too weak and the
investigating detective is Donnie Wahlberg. If I was being held hostage and my
only chance of hope was a member of 'New Kids on the Block', I'd probably leap
eyes first into the pit of needles just to save time.
The point that I'm starting to drag out is
that for the viewer, watching the violent scenes in Wolf Creek is
actually less of a sadistic pleasure and more of a masochistic endurance test.
Just to clarify, an example of sadism would be the derivation of pleasure from
burning Piers Morgan for his corruption with fiery copies of the News of the
World. Masochism would be like forcing yourself to wank with a knife up your
arse whilst staring at a picture of Britney Spears's snaggletoothed vagina.
The very first torture scene in Wolf
Creek is voyeuristically shot through the crack of a broken window. Like
the cupboard scene in Blue Velvet, this isn't done to titillate the
audience but rather instil a feeling of helplessness, fear and realism. There's
no close-ups or kinetic flourishes to remind us that this is actually a movie.
Instead it's filmed amateur-porno style with a handheld grittiness that's more
reminiscent of a news story than a Hollywood film. By underplaying everything
that happens, it really helps to highlight the nihilism of our world and the
pointlessness of life. Mick kills for seemingly no reason at all and does so
apparently free of any civilised consequences. There's probably not a God and
the loneliness and pointlessness of Mick's killings really do highlight just
how little everything really means. However, as depressing as that might sound
don't forget that Wolf Creek is still a righteous chucklefest in
comparison to the grimness and cynicism of the genuinely evil Sex and the City
2.
However it's not all just doom and gloom as
visually, the film looks genuinely phenomenal. This is mostly down to the
gorgeous scenery that the Aussie landscape has to offer, although its vastness
does still highlight how insignificant we all really are. I guess as a country,
Australia is a bit like Ted Bundy- there's no denying that it is fucking
dangerous, but it can scrub up well when it needs to. In fact it could be
argued that the whole of Wolf Creek is simply about the clash between
civilisation and the wildly uncivilised. In a way, Mick is the face of the
outback with his final shot almost highlighting his connection to the
uncontrollable wilderness. It seems that he feels as genuinely comfortable in
that environment as a drunk Lindsey Lohan does when facehugging a camera lens
with her vagina. I suppose everybody just has their natural place in this
world.
Wolf Creek came
out during the height of the 'gorno' craze and so was unfortunately and wrongly
placed into that category. The only thing that Hostel did was spend
ninety minutes chopping its characters up and then boring my tits off. This is
something that was proved to me when I had a girlfriend who told me how
genuinely clever Hostel Part 2 was. The fact that she also once asked
me, “Where about in England is Down South?” may indicate the level of
intelligence required to enjoy that crap franchise.
In the end I'd say Wolf Creek is
actually a lot closer to something like Jaws than any of that 'gorno'
bollocks. Both are less explicit than you might remember with the camera
actually instead focusing more on the suffering of the victims than the actual
injuries they've sustained. In the way that Jaws has put me off ever
going back into the sea Wolf Creek too has ensured I'll never go
backpacking anywhere ever. Not that I had any plans to visit Australia anyway.
Beyond all the murderous wildlife and psychotic loners, you've got to question
the morals of a country willing to inflict Kylie Minogue onto Western
civilisation. I know I enjoy the masochistic pleasure of enduring Wolf Creek,
but listening to that Aussie midgets hollow, pointless warbling is just a
pain too far.
Follow this blog or I'll fucking cut you.
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