Hounds of Love – first look review | Little White Lies

Festivals

Hounds of Love – first look review

02 Sep 2016

Words by Ed Gibbs

Woman in mint green dress by patterned wall.
Woman in mint green dress by patterned wall.
This Aus­tralian chiller about a rash of gris­ly mur­ders makes a play to be the new Snowtown.

Aussies know a thing or two about grim, grit­ty hor­ror. In the last decade, direc­tor Justin Kurzel mined grotesque real-life crime in the excel­lent Snow­town, which explored the twist­ed pos­tur­ings of a neo-Nazi prey­ing on the weak and needy. Greg McLean’s Wolf Creek sim­i­lar­ly blend­ed despi­ca­ble crimes to craft the defin­i­tive back­pack­er mur­der­er who sliced and diced for­eign­ers for kicks. Even David Michôd’s Ani­mal King­dom, while tech­ni­cal­ly a crime thriller, didn’t shy from show­ing the ugli­er side of Aus­tralian sub­ur­ban life.

Toe-curl­ing tales, then, are a bona fide train­ing ground for emerg­ing fea­ture film­mak­ers down under. Ben Young, an accom­plished music video and com­mer­cials direc­tor, takes up the man­tle, trans­fer­ring the hor­rors of the ser­i­al killer to the West Aus­tralian sub­urbs of Perth. It’s 1987, and white trash lovers John (Stephen Cur­ry) and Eve­lyn (Emma Booth) are cruis­ing, evi­dent­ly look­ing for a nubile lon­er to bruise. Not long after they pass a net­ball court full of teens, in one of sev­er­al dreamy sequences, a tar­get soon presents herself.

Young, togeth­er with cin­e­matog­ra­ph­er Michael McDer­mott, com­pos­er Dan Lus­combe and edi­tor Mer­lin Eden, cre­ates a deeply unset­tling world in which the cou­ple from hell indulge their sex­u­al fan­tasies (thank­ful­ly, most­ly left to the imag­i­na­tion) from behind board­ed win­dows. When the school girls begin to van­ish, the local police shrug with an indif­fer­ence that bor­ders on par­o­dy. Even when the sec­ond vic­tim, Vic­ki (Ash­leigh Cum­mings), the daugh­ter of the local cashed-up den­tist, dis­ap­pears, noth­ing is done.

Unlike sim­i­lar­ly-primed ser­i­al killer thrillers, the gore quo­tient here is kept to a min­i­mum, most­ly left to the imag­i­na­tion – plac­ing a greater respon­si­bil­i­ty on the leads to deliv­er. Which they all do effec­tive­ly. Cum­mings is par­tic­u­lar­ly good as the impris­oned vic­tim who may yet sur­prise her cap­tors. Booth is also con­vinc­ing as the trou­bled sin­gle mom who’s lost her kids to the state. Cur­ry, play­ing dra­mat­i­cal­ly against type, is the ter­ri­fy­ing time bomb, wild­ly unpre­dictable and eas­i­ly the most obscene of the few char­ac­ters we encounter.

Frus­trat­ing­ly, the ten­sion does dip in a less-than-sat­is­fy­ing third act, as the film looks for ways of main­tain­ing its rhythm and inten­si­ty, while try­ing to pan­der to con­ven­tion and its audi­ence. Odd­ly, it nods back to a vague, unde­vel­oped sub­plot of Eve­lyn being denied access to her chil­dren, with the finale final­ly play­ing out to the sounds of Joy Divi­sion (Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds would have been a bet­ter fit.) Prob­lems such as these can be fixed in the edit. Oth­er­wise, it’s an unnerv­ing, dis­turb­ing ride that looks and feels authentic.

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