ravenous

There’s quite a lot to like about Ravenous (1999), the Guy Pearce / Robert Carlyle cannibalism opus set in the high mountains above California during the Gold Rush of the 1840s. And considering the troubled production history (three different directors, difficult shooting conditions and constant creative sparring) that’s a surprise in and of itself. That it could have been a much better film also goes without saying. But what’s here is an authentic-looking horror story with an incredibly engaging first act marred by supernatural meanderings that leave a bad taste in one’s mouth.

His first role of any prominence after co-starring in L.A. Confidential (and just before popping up in Christopher Nolan’s Memento), Guy Pearce barely makes an impression as a cowardly soldier assigned to an isolated Army outpost; partly due to the script which provides him with almost no dialogue. And partly due to the overwhelming nature of the performance by Robert Carlyle, whose cannibalistic conversion techniques take over the film from the moment he appears onscreen.

Investigating the disappearance of a band of stranded travelers, Colonel Hart (Jeffrey Jones) and his quirky compatriots stumble upon an all-too human massacre. What follows is an amusing series of plot twists and switchbacks that do a wonderful job of keeping the audience on edge. Exactly who is planning to eat whom is part of the fun of the film, which has a definite twinkle in its eye, but is probably too austere to be called straight-up black comedy.

As screenwriter Ted Griffin (Ocean’s Eleven) introduces Native American legends and the curative, sometime miraculous powers bestowed upon those who eat human flesh, Ravenous drifts into speculative territory that breaks its spell. Director Antonia Bird crafts a wonderful looking film, but the performances begin to spin out of her control, particularly Carlyle with whom she collaborated on two previous projects (and who ostensibly go her the job). The interesting musical score by Michael Nyman and Damon Albarn of the British band Blur works great in some scenes and proves distracting in others. Which, as a whole, is an accurate description of the film itself.

But it’s a great fit for Scream Factory, who’ve blessed it with a new blu-ray edition and enough special features to dig up the whole bloody behind-the-scenes affair. Three separate and unique commentary tracks tell every side of the story (Griffin and Jeffrey Jones being the most interesting of the bunch) plus deleted scenes with additional commentary, featurettes, still galleries, trailers and TV spots. The only sore spot is the transfer itself that, while serviceable, fails to make much of a hi-def impression.