Indian Graveyard: Bone Tomahawk Review
1/24/2016, 1:45p.m.
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My coworker recommended Bone Tomahawk to me as we were discussing the recent release of The Hateful Eight. This latest film follows a Tarantino-esque typical shootemup style as well. The words my friend used were “it starts off like any old western and then changes to something far more extreme.” What follows is a cavalcade of missteps and western cliché that somehow mesh together into a watchable story that will leave you awestruck at times and laughing at others.
Films that fly under the radar are like little hidden treasures you discover unexpectedly. I also hadn’t really seen anything with significant gore in a while. I grew to love the “gory” genre at age 10 when my aunt used the word to describe Jurassic Park 2. The forewarned feeling I went in with only heightened my anticipation. My instincts proved correct and it proved to be a refreshing taste of the kind of gore that Steven Spielberg might enjoy.
A bright barren landscape invades the screen, a setting perfect for two bushwhackers; one played by David Arquette as the bumbling criminal sidekick that stumbles on a far more dangerous foe that unleashes hell upon a small town. Even he had the sense to advise his partner not to venture into “what looks like an Indian graveyard” as if he were no stranger horror movies. (He’s been in one if you recall.) But his complaints fall on deaf ears and the two flee deeper into the classically forbidding wilderness as all sacrificial characters do to escape something far less threatening. Of course, these kinds of poor decision-making skills lead to catastrophic consequences, in this case to a chain reaction that destroys the fragile society the hardworking civilized frontier folk have created.
As the dominoes fall Sheriff Hunt, played by Kurt Russell, is sucked into the vortex as he struggles to set things right in his straight-talkin’ swashbucklin’ lawmen style. Even he however contributes to the chaos by shooting Arquette in an effort to feel important by inflicting small town justice. Once the sheriff forms his posse which consists of four men (including the required desperado, an aging deputy, and a husband with a fractured leg), they embark with a justifiably less-than-confident manner to rescue the damsel in distress. Hunt’s main tool is the advantage of a cool head and intelligent planning against the marauders’ skills.
The troglodytes as they call them are a group of inhuman cannibals who parallel in some ways the mutated clan from The Hills Have Eyes, and inbred folk from Deliverance. The old John Wayne flick The Searchers follows similar story lines where desperate men will not give up in pursuit of their loved ones kidnapped by Comanche despite the heavy cloud hanging over their heads or the seeming futility of their mission.
The human side of these men is brought to the surface in various comedic scenes. Almost immediately the nerves from divergent personalities forged in rough frontier life are ground to a paste as Brooder (Matthew Fox) attempts to invoke his superior intelligence by stringing a tripwire around the camp to fend off intruders. When Deputy Chicory (Richard Jenkins) gets into an argument over who is in control Brooder wisely changes the tone by claiming his intelligence results from the fact he’s the only one there who isn’t widowed or married. Meanwhile, Arthur O’Dwyer (Patrick Wilson) appears to be slowing the posse with his gimp leg but they somehow ignore pesky realities such as that. His calm demeanor eventually explodes when he goes on a rant about all the ways in which his compatriots have led the group to a situation of near hopelessness before even reaching the kidnappers. Finally, the posse forges a bond as they near the Heart of Darkness and even Brooder allows the deputy to carry his handmade Hamburg telescope to pinpoint their destination.
Upon first encounter, the creatures issue bloodcurdling screams that I tried to mimic by inhaling air almost like a Pterodactyl. The ferocity of these behemoths matches their reputation. The audience and the heroes don’t even have time to prepare themselves when the villains appear out of thin air even after Brooder has scanned the area. The body count of Brooder’s life of fighting Indians is of little consequence against these monsters. Every bullet counts in this battle against the speed of the Bone Tomahawk wielding cannibals.
The gimpy hero isn’t about to let some troglodytes stand in the way of him and his bride. From the depths of despair he valiantly summons all his wits gained from years on the trail in a last ditch attempt to yank her from the jaws of defeat and cannibalistic fate; in an all or nothing foray in the underbelly of the demons lair. Truly a film unto itself that will certainly leave you with something memorable, Bone Tomahawk isn’t your typical Western. Even John Wayne and Jeremiah Johnson together would have trouble with the caretakers of this Indian Graveyard.
