Many horror films have tried to emulate the charismatic atmosphere of Wake In Fright (1971), but nearly all have failed. Crafting a horror film with rich atmosphere and letting its story exist as a vehicle for the vibe is hard…maybe even impossible. Between the pacing, direction, acting, set, and all other aspects, Wake In Fright set in motion (basically) its own subgenre (Wake In Fright-esque). That’s not to say films like it hadn’t existed before, but something about Wake In Fright checks the boxes for the overwhelming majority of film viewers. The first film I had the opportunity to see for the Ninth Annual Brooklyn Horror Film Festival this year was a film that wore its Wake In Fright inspiration on its sleeve.
Birdeater follows a group of Australian friends who embark on a weekend getaway for Louie’s (Mackenzie Fearnley) bachelor party. Louie’s girlfriend Irene (Shabana Azeez) is invited along for the trip, which seems out of the ordinary on the surface. As the weekend progresses, ugly truths spill and relationships become irreparably strained. Drugs, booze, and lies fuel this nearly two-hour descent into Aussie madness.
Writer/directors Jack Clark and Jim Weir set out on their directorial feature debut(s) with this highly ambitious homage. Birdeater has the bones of a great film but that’s unfortunately all it has. Rather than being a breakdown of toxic masculinity and commenting on itself, it ends up a frustrating mess of self-righteousness. When speaking with someone post-screening, they said this film was akin to someone watching Midsommar and thinking Dani (Florence Pugh) was a bitch and Christian (Jack Reynor) got the short end of the stick. It’s impossible to say why that description is apt without spoiling much of the story, but it’s impossible not to think of that conversation when thinking of this film.
If you can get past Birdeater’s shallow story, there are quite a few interesting visual elements that help it stand out from just another Wake in Fright clone. The first half of the film has an overly naturalistic look to it. Clark and Weir, as well as cinematographer Roger Stonehouse, do a compelling job of lulling the viewer into a state of constant unease. Toward the middle half of the two-hour runtime, the filmmakers start to take chances visually. Whether these chances work for the average viewer will be incredibly subjective. It’s clear this film was conceived by men. I’m not trying to virtue signal or trying to overinterpret something that isn’t there, but even a shallow watch of this film left me feeling uncomfortable. (And not in a that’s-what-was-intended way.)
When I watch a film that doesn’t sit right with me, I still try and find the positives. Visually, Birdeater was entertaining to watch. It starts slow and subtly takes the viewer on a fascinating trip through the male psyche; what’s right, wrong, and morally questionable. Besides a few interesting visuals, Birdeater ends up being a frustrating attempt at exploring the masculine mind with zero self-awareness. If that was the point, then it was lost on me (and nearly every critic that was at the screening).
The film’s overly ambiguous ending will be used as a cop-out when criticized as misogynistic. “That’s the point!” People will say. But that’s not the point. When zero of your female characters have agency beyond how their actions affect the men, it’s clear what you’re trying to say. A single pass by a female writer would have ironed out the flat female characters, and this film could have been quite enjoyable for all. Unfortunately, Birdeater may be doomed to decompose on the side of the highway.