(Canada, 78 min.)
Written and directed by Ashley McKenzie
Starring: Andrew Gillis, Bhreagh MacNeil
Werewolf’s claws
scratch, scratch, scratch, but they don’t cut deep. This disappointing first
feature from Ashley McKenzie might get under the skin of some viewers with its
stark, bleak, and episodic portrait of recovering addicts. For others, though, Werewolf might be akin to nails on a
chalkboard with its whiny protagonist, lethargic pace, and nonsensically random
visual style. There’s obviously a great stab at something here, but whatever it
is, Werewolf just doesn’t work.
The chief offenders here are the cinematography and the framing. McKenzie and DP Scott Moore make some bizarre—and frankly irritating—shot choices as they frame the story of Blaise (Andrew Gillis) and Nessa (Bhreagh MacNeil) and their struggles with Methadone within an odd assortment of off-kilter images. Werewolf offers a 78-minute conversation in which the film refuses to let the audience look it in the eye. Instead, Werewolf puts its focus on, say, a character’s ear or elbow, or a prop that might kinda/sorta have some function in the scene. It rarely works and the distancing effect proves needlessly alienating.
Werewolf goes for
the junkie itch and almost scratches the restlessness of the couples’ recovery,
but there really isn’t any coherent logic to the unbalanced imagery and style
often makes the film hard to follow. (Which is a problem given that most scenes
feature only two characters.) It’s unusually distracting for such a sparse
production. The maplecore visuals don’t find any justice in the low-grade
camera with which the team shoots Werewolf
and the overly shaky camerawork is too self-conscious to complement the
faux-verité style.
The film echoes indies about addiction and recovery like
Debra Granik’s searing Down to the Bone
with its raw style and challenging subject matter, yet Blaise and Nessa aren’t
likely to endear themselves to viewers unless one gives them ample patience.
Blaise spends so much time whining that an overdose would be welcome (if only
to liven up the pace) and the couple’s effort to pay their rising Methadone bill
by cutting grass around the ‘hood is a little too aimless for its own good.
McKenzie nevertheless succeeds in crafting the characters’ plight with raw authenticity
as they go door to door and turn off prospective customers with their sickly
appearances and unprofessional pitches. One customer actually pays them to
leave and one almost wants to contribute to the pot.
Fortunately, though, Werewolf
finds redemption in Nessa as she listens to her mother and opts to save herself
from the dumpster fire called Blaise. Werewolf
tackles the co-dependency and the trap of convenience one falls into with such
a such-destructive relationship. Nessa’s true poison is Blaise and quitting him
is the hardest feat an addict like her can take. As Nessa, MacNeil’s withdrawn
and disaffected performance creates a character so deprived of life that her spiritual
malnourishment is evident from the opening frames. One only gets fleeting
glimpses of MacNeil’s potential, though, whenever Werewolf looks past the actress’s elbow or ice cream cone and
reminds the viewer that there’s actually a human somewhere in the frame.
Werewolf is currently playing the festival circuit.
