Helmed by Bristol sound co-founder the musician-producer, this scabrous if slight debut feature casts a critical gaze on 90s rave culture. Venal drug user David (the actor) first robs an unconscious dealer, then in another flashback tries to break into his own parents. Before you can say, he's upside down in the wreckage of his car in a woodland – and subject to the angry eye of the Woodsman (Sleaford Mods frontman Jason Williamson). Declining to free David, with no time for city dwellers, he is broken Britain personified: “You’re one of those noisy cunts from up on the heath.”
A Shaky Start and Darkly Funny Duel
The film begins uncertainly, lingering excessively on meticulously detailing David’s attempt to free himself from his seatbelt, while clumsily segueing into past scenes of his everyday life. The bigger point – that the rave-era youth were primarily out for number one – is firmly made. But these vignettes are insufficiently developed to properly prime us for what to expect when the Poacher arrives, enraged after David kills his dog. Still, a darkly funny standoff takes hold – David desperate to escape; the Poacher denying his container of scrumpy, intent on dousing him instead in embittered discourse. Williamson, exuding ponderous menace in the role, is evocative of Michael Smiley.
Visual Flair and Music Video Sensibility
Just a single key story turn, but it leads to a hilariously staged chaotic run on the woodland paths that dips close to folk horror. Director John Minton finally gets to go all in with his showy imagery: where he was focused intently doing artful shots of insects in the light in the early stages, he now lets rip with the full psychedelic 21-gun salute, accompanied by a wild organ version of Ravel’s Boléro. Game feels more like an extended promo than a complete narrative, but there’s enough strident imagery to suggest that Minton could follow Jonathan Glazer, Garth Jennings and others into successfully graduating from the UK video industry.
Game is in UK and Irish theaters from 17 November.
