What starts as a patient round-up-the-posse Western takes a
sharp turn into gore in Bone Tomahawk,
a sturdy genre effort that plays like discount John Ford slowly transforming
into elevated Ruggero Deodato. It’s the meatiest Western since Ravenous, if you catch my drift. Novelist
S. Craig Zahler makes a fun, solid directorial debut, dry pulp with droll
dialogue, amused by its own straight-faced absurdity, taking an unblinking view
of exaggerated pioneer struggles. (When questioned about trespassing, a man
waves his gun. “We got permission.”) We start in a tiny frontier town with the
darkly funny name of Bright Hope. There a small collection of standard Western
types (a sheriff and his deputies, a bartender, a doctor, and so on) are confronted
with a crisis. Native Americans have abducted three people. When townspeople
gather to mount a rescue a local Native gravely informs them the arrows found
at the crime scene aren’t of any tribe. They are from horrifying cave-dwelling troglodytes
who feed on human flesh, too terrifying to even contemplate.
Setting up a tribe of monsters as the villain is a
clever-enough way to skirt the whole slaughtering-Indians tradition of the
genre, making its antagonists an unstoppable weird macabre force long-hidden in
the darkest corners of their remote landscape. With a nurse (Lili Simmons), a
deputy (Evan Jonigkeit), and a mysterious stranger (David Arquette) missing,
and probably on the troglodytes’ menu, there’s not a moment to waste. The
sheriff (Kurt Russell, with impressively elaborate old-timey facial hair)
rustles up his troops – a dandy Indian hunter (Matthew Fox), a handyman with a
broken leg (Patrick Wilson), and a well-meaning doddering older man (Richard
Jenkins) – and rides for the mountain range ready to fight. Although the
creeping danger the largely unseen tribe of dehumanized monsters here could’ve
been plumbed for more metaphoric weight, it’s plenty dreadful as is.
It’s a simple story on a one-way path to a bloodbath. For
most of the film, Zahler takes his time, following the men as they make their
way across the prairies on a three-day journey by horse. The cast has great
dusty chemistry, with enough fault lines of interpersonal conflict to convince
us that they might be their own downfall before they even make their
destination. It’s a good old-fashioned Western hangout, men on the trail
building campfires, worrying about bandits, and on the watch for everything
that could spell certain doom for their rescue mission. It’s meat-and-potatoes
filmmaking, understated taciturn gristle with Benji Bakshi’s soft digital scope
photography flickering by candlelight or blazing under midday sun. It’s reasonably
convincing oater material, with horses and rifles and crackling muscular
repartee between men who look good in hats and mustaches.
Russell is the standout, looking for all the world like he’s
spent his entire life ruling over his little corner of America with forceful
quiet confidence. The rest of the cast falls in with fine eccentric details. Zahler
takes a sideways approach to characterization, finding a little community of
pioneers who have clearly survived in large part only through luck. Most of them are none too quick-witted. It’s a
pleasure to listen to the characters speak, in unpredictable folksy turns of
phrase and wry surprise. One character eventually sighs, “This is why frontier
life is so difficult. Not because of the Indians or the elements, but because
of the idiots.” Zahler undercuts heroism by denying the standard strong silent
types their easy victories. He creates a scenario in which any or all of the
characters could very well be dead in the dirt by the end. It’s a great ooze of
dread in what could’ve been more standard fare.
So much of the film’s success rests on the payoff. That’s
not to say it's not reasonably entertaining to be on the trail with the posse,
but that’s thin, derivative setup. It is in the final third that Bone Tomahawk grows so brutal, wicked,
and surprising in its staggeringly violent vision I almost don’t want to spoil
it. Still, if you hear the words “tribe of cannibal monster people” you can
guess where it’s headed: pure tortuous horror presented in organ-splitting
detail. It’s all the more startling for following a quietly and slowly
developing gallop across the wilderness that gets more mileage out of its
period detail and talented cast’s clever lines than its action. The result is a
satisfying genre hybrid, two parts The
Searchers, one part a Wild West Hills
Have Eyes with howling grey humanoids, tusks giving them scary guttural
yelps, jumping out eager to hack off bits of our cast. An ensemble of great
scenery chewers finds itself in danger of getting chewed. It’s tough to
stomach, but for those who can choke back the bile, it’s a darkly enjoyable
experience.
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