Once upon
a time the big movie studios would occasionally make a risky film - sometimes
with a bunch of money, and other times with just a little bit. Either way, it was
an artistic gamble, and sometimes it would pay off, and other times it wouldn’t.
This never seems to happen anymore, where all such choices are made only after myriad polls, research, and analysis, rather than from the gut. These days the risky
fare is showing up on TV in the forms of shows like Hannibal (as perfect an
example as any for this particular review). I’ve always wanted to meet and
shake the hand of the Fox exec[1] who greenlit Ravenous - a period black
comedy-horror western about cannibalism, in which the central character, Captain
John Boyd (Guy Pearce), doesn’t even speak a complete sentence for the first
half hour.
The
modestly budgeted film ($12 million) tanked something fierce upon its release
in spring of ‘99. Despite opening on over a thousand screens, its B.O. take was
only around $2 million. But, as many movies of quality do, Ravenous lived to
see better days, and over the years amassed a pretty hardcore cult following
(undoubtedly aided by the increasing popularity of its two stars, Pearce and
Robert Carlyle).
In the
midst of the Mexican-American War circa 1847, Boyd, having been branded a
coward by General Slauson (John Spencer), is sent to Fort Spencer in the remote,
wintry Sierra Nevadas, where nothing ever happens. The Fort is staffed by a
motley collection of military misfits played by Jeffrey Jones, Neal McDonough,
Jeremy Davies, David Arquette, and Stephen Spinella, as well as a pair of
Native siblings, amusingly named George (Joseph Runningfox) and Martha (Sheila
Tousey, the only female in the picture). The trend of isolated boredom is
bucked by the arrival of the mysterious Mr. Colqhoun (Carlyle). Starving and
near death, he tells a tale of survival involving Colonel Ives – a member of
his party who resorted to cannibalizing the rest of the expedition when the
food ran out.
And little
more should be said about the plot to the uninitiated. Knowing much else about Ravenous would spoil its manic twists and turns. The script’s unpredictability
is one of the film’s numerous strong attributes. Despite its gruesome, graphic
depictions of humans dining on each other’s flesh, the film has been called by
many (including yours truly) a vampire movie in disguise. There are aspects of its story that echo the
relationship of Louis and Lestat in Interview with the Vampire, yet on this
viewing I found myself not wanting to acknowledge the vampiric parallels – as
if they might somehow take away from the uniqueness of the movie, which
actually bases its extensive chowdown on the Algonquian Wendigo myth. Maybe
back in ’99 we needed to make such connections and conditions in order to
accept a movie that revolves around such an unsettling topic, but today we’re
living in a world in which a network series like Hannibal has been granted a
third season. There’s no longer any reason to romanticize or qualify Ravenous to those who
aren’t in the know, for if you’ve dined on Hannibal for thirteen weeks
straight, this 100-minute movie should be a walk in the park (albeit a pretty
twisted park).
Behind the
lens, Ravenous was directed by the late Antonia Bird, a last minute replacement
after the film’s original director, Milcho Manchevski, parted ways with the
production after shooting began. Bird was brought onboard at the insistence of
Carlyle who’d worked with her on two previous pictures, Priest and Face. Though
Priest ruffled a few feathers upon its 1994 release, and met with a fair amount of acclaim, it might still be
fair to say that Ravenous will be the movie for which she’ll ultimately be most
remembered. The moody cinematography was accomplished by Anthony B. Richmond,
and while recent credits of his aren’t particularly impressive, he once upon a
time helped give a number of Nicolas Roeg movies - such as Don’t Look Now and
The Man Who Fell to Earth - their distinctive looks. The screenplay was the
debut of Ted Griffin, who’d go on to co-create another hailed concept that
failed to find an audience, the recent one-season FX TV wonder, Terriers.
But perhaps
the most exceptional layer of Ravenous is its score. I’ve often heard it said
that the best movie scores are the ones you don’t notice, an assertion I take
great issue with. To me, the best scores are the ones that stick in your mind –
hopefully along with the rest of the picture – for weeks after having
experienced them. Michael Nyman had created many such scores for the films of
Peter Greenaway, though perhaps his most famous score was for Jane Campion’s
The Piano. Here Nyman is, curiously, paired with Damon Albarn, who is nowadays
best known as the mad genius behind Gorillaz. Together (or rather apart; they allegedly made their contributions separately), Nyman and Albarn
composed and created a work that stands on its own, ranging from quirky tonal
sounds to full on majestic orchestrations. The now out of print Ravenous soundtrack
goes for pretty big dollars these days, which itself is something of a
testament to its quality. Let the menu screen of this disc spin for a while in
the background, and the central theme will undoubtedly hypnotize you.
The print
used for this Blu-ray had some noticeable dirt on it, but after a bit it either
disappeared or, caught up in the movie and I was, I ceased to notice it. While
nobody will ever accuse Ravenous of having a varied color palette, the movie
looks fair here, but not stellar; inconsistent would probably be the best word
to describe it. The 5.1 DTS-HD audio track fares considerably better, in all the
right places.
Blu-ray
Extras: The very best DVD/Blu-ray extras are often produced years after the
movie itself, once the actors and/or crew have gained some perspective on the
proceedings, or when there’s no longer any danger of offending co-workers or
executives or what have you. This Scream Factory Blu-ray offers up a recently
shot 20-minute interview with Jeffrey Jones entitled “The Ravenous Tales of
Colonel Hart,” in which he, as a history buff, discusses the implications of
manifest destiny as presented in the picture and candidly dishes on the firing
of Manchevski and the hiring of Bird. For the Ravenous buff, this is
outstanding stuff and a welcome inclusion.
The rest
of the extras are, I believe, all ported over from the original DVD release.
There are three, count ‘em three, commentary tracks: Bird and Albarn, Griffin
and Jones, and finally Carlyle flying solo. There are also deleted scenes with
optional commentary by Bird, a theatrical trailer and TV spots, and two
galleries of stills detailing the costume and production design. As with many
Shout/Scream discs, the artwork can be flipped over to reveal an alternate cover
that matches the original Ravenous movie poster art (pictured).
[1] While
I can’t find a definitive answer, it appears that the late Laura Ziskin, who
headed the arm of Fox (Fox 2000) that produced Ravenous, may have been the
culprit.
Portions of this review were lifted from an earlier Rued Morgue article entitled Five Great Movies You May Not Have Seen...But Should.
Screenshots were taken from Vagebond's Movie Screenshots.
