The Bad Batch – first look review

Ana Lily Amirpour’s fol­low-up to the rav­ish­ing A Girl Walks Home Alone at Night envi­sions an Amer­i­ca where those deigned unwor­thy of resid­ing on home soil are turfed out to a dusty waste­land on the bor­der of Texas. These ex-cit­i­zens, referred to sim­ply as ​“the bad batch”, are brand­ed with a unique ser­i­al num­ber and forced to fend for them­selves in this harsh terrain.

Arlen (Suki Water­house) nav­i­gates across the desert in her tie-dye jean shorts and base­ball cap search­ing for a promised land – until she is cap­tured by a cou­ple of vicious can­ni­bals who hack off a cou­ple of her limbs to grill on their BBQ. In order to escape she slathers her­self in shit, smacks her cap­tor over the head with a met­al bar and skate­boards to safe­ty. A drifter then finds her lying in the pun­ish­ing sun and leads her to a makeshift town called Com­fort, which is secured by car­go con­tain­ers and a large fence. Five months lat­er Arlen has set­tled in to her new home and been gift­ed a pros­thet­ic leg, but she soon starts to ques­tion Comfort’s moral fibre and wan­ders off in search of some­thing else.

Out­side of the com­pound is a place known as ​“the Bridge” where the can­ni­bals reside in hol­lowed out air­planes and trail­ers. Mad Max is a clear influ­ence, though Amirpour’s film pos­sess nei­ther its furi­ous pace nor an enthralling hero­ine of its own. Instead the direc­tor delights in sum­mon­ing the spir­it of a range of ​’80s B‑movies. Jason Momoa takes the role of a Cuban maneater who sports a giant tat­too dis­play­ing the words ​‘Mia­mi Man’ on his chest. He’s a silent, brood­ing artist who lis­tens to Cul­ture Club on his Walk­man and sketch­es beau­ti­ful drawings.

In the intro­duc­tion to the Bridge, the cam­era lingers over a mass of oily bod­ies work­ing out, pos­tur­ing as if they are on Mus­cle Beach. Sax­o­phon­ist Tim Cap­pel­lo from The Lost Boys wouldn’t feel out of place here. Com­fort has more of a grimy Escape from LA vibe to it late at night but this is very much Amirpour’s own neon-lit vision. A giant stereo on wheels where a DJ (played by Diego Luna) spins heady tunes on vinyl (much of the music is pro­vid­ed by elec­tro band Dark­side) is the hub of the town. Flash motor­cy­cles and golf carts pro­vide trans­port for the disenfranchised.

Keanu Reeves is giv­en the moniker of ​“the Dream” in the clos­ing cred­its. He’s a slimy char­ac­ter who is essen­tial­ly the King of Com­fort. He com­mands an army of preg­nant machine gun-tot­ing women who hand out acid as if it were com­mu­nion. Amir­pour presents him as a cult leader of sorts who dress­es all in white and dis­tracts his res­i­dents with the pow­er of par­ty­ing. This is a seduc­tive world where the streets are lit­tered with glit­ter­ing VHS tape, but Amir­pour spends too much time glid­ing her cam­era over bar­ren land­scapes, naked flesh, sparkling skies and hec­tic parties.