Review by
Benjamin Poole
Directed by: David Zellner, Nathan Zellner
Starring: Jesse Eisenberg, Riley Keough, Christophe Zajac-Denek, Nathan
Zellner
Funny thing about the Sasquatch, or the Yeti, or the Bigfoot, or even (in
my favourite appellation) the Abominable Snowman, is that all indigenous
cultures seem to have a myth which relates to the hirsute lumbering
man-beast (if you were in Mongolia you'd be talking about the Almas, in
China the Yeren, while Australia has the Yowie). Within cryptozoological
study, the Sasquatch (let's stick with that, as it's the designation which
indie oddity Sasquatch Sunset favours) inspires the greatest
enthusiasm: it is the most sighted, the most advocated for, the most
believed in. The Sasquatch abides, and, when you consider the cultural
ubiquity of the lad, you do have to wonder if there is some veracity in
his omnipresence... Despite the global bearing of the Sasquatch however,
the legend is generally perceived within the woody landscapes of American
folklore. Perhaps this is because North America otherwise has a paucity of
native mythology, notwithstanding the country's richly spiritual
indigenous legends; with the shapeshifting, environmental psychedelia of
that canon placed in blunt juxtaposition to the earthy primitivism of the
Sasquatch.
Furthermore, the Sasquatch has a specifically close relationship with an
American form of cinema, by means of the 1967 Patterson-Gimlin film and
its iconic footage of the creature; a real-life horror short which for
many provides conclusive evidence that Bigfoot exists (the Wikipedia page
is a joyous rabbit hole: aside from the Zapruder Tape, surely this is the
most scrutinised film ever?!). Despite such an auspicious mainstream
debut, compared to other paradigmatic monsters, further cinematic
sightings of the Sasquatch are rare. A quick nosey down Imdb user
freaksruz's list, 'Bigfoot and Yeti Movies' (which was updated only five months ago) reveals that, apart from a
persistent strain where a kid makes friends with a kindly incarnation of
the missing link, most films featuring Sasquatchy creatures are either
pseudo-documentaries (The Legend of Boggy Creek, 1972), actual-documentaries (The Legend of Bigfoot, 1975) or movies which predicate upon the search for Sasquatch (Not Your Typical Bigfoot Movie, 2008): almost as if within the cultural imagination we sort of accept
that these creatures are "real," and construct narratives which support
this notion (1970's Bigfoot is bookmarked for later re its
irresistible descriptor; "Bigfoot kidnaps some women and some bikers
decide to go on a rescue mission to save them"-!).
Here's another one to add to the weird catalogue,
Sasquatch Sunset, a "surreal comedy" with bravura indie credentials: it is directed and
written by festival darlings David and Nathan Zellner, stars
Jesse Eisenberg and Riley Keough, and is executive produced
by Ari Aster. Envisioning the existence of a small tribe of
Sasquatch (a "flurry") over the seasons of the year, we see the primal
creatures gradually become aware of the human existence which is slowly
but surely eroding their territory. With these humans and their roads,
forest felling and cheap pop music you have to wonder who the REAL beasts
are, etc.
The film sets out its stall early on with an extended static shot of two
Sasquatch fucking like, well, animals. Sasquatch Sunset's visual set apes the quasi-documentary photography of its predecessors
(cameras set slightly back, gorgeous indexical wide-angles of Rockefeller
forest, etc) but the overall tone of the film is that of plaintive
slapstick. How far you enjoy Sasquatch Sunset relies upon
how inherently amusing you find the very concept of hairy, subhuman
beasts...
From this opening, the Sasquatch continue to behave in ways you’d expect
them to: they fight, they hunt for food, they have more sex. They get
drunk on blackberries and fart. The males have penises which are the
dimensions of a supermarket frankfurter whipping about in the breeze.
Publicity claims that actors underwent weeks of training to calibrate
their performances at "Ape Camp", but, come on. This is essentially
monkeying about: less Andy Serkis as Kong, and more George Galloway
playing a cat. Due to the lack of dialogue, there could have been an
expressive correlation with silent cinema here, where motion, the "action"
which is called at the start of the scene, is exclusively vital to the art
of the frame. However, Sasquatch Sunset's soupy, emotive score is too instructive to justify such a take.
In Sasquatch Sunset's favour, throughout the film there are elements of the natural sublime,
the sort of resplendent, mysterious verdancy which Herzog strives towards.
Yet these are just moments of calm wonder, of simple "woah." Perhaps the
ideal audience for Sasquatch Sunset would be stoned teens,
who would bliss out at the inevitably leafy mise-en-scene, giggle at the
apish antics and nod sagely at the film's elementary environmental
message. To wit, there is a sad moment involving a fallen log, a sasquatch
and a shallow river, which despite the poignancy makes you wonder just how
fragile these supposed savages actually are (if only the doomed couple in
Bobcat Goldthwait's mega-scary Willow Creek had access to a
stream and a tree trunk, eh?). The most striking moment occurs when a
spray-painted red X is spotted upon a tree, the eerie instance deftly
capturing the strange irl dislocation of such markings (when I'm walking
the dogs and see this sort of thing it is always weird, an uncanny
indicator that the supposedly open forests are in actuality controlled by
unseen aerosol wielding/chainsaw pulling authorities).
The sort of film Sasquatch Sunset is though, when the tribe
see a road for the first time their freaked-out instinct is to first piss
on it in fear, then defecate over it and then finally, via a female
sasquatch, ostentatiously lactate upon it too because comedy rule of
cumulative three, etc. Like I say, it depends on how funny you find this
sort of thing: this thing being Keough in a full body Yeti suit spraying
breast milk everywhere while whooping in outraged fury. Intriguingly,
referential codes within the film obscure at what point exactly the
narrative takes place. When the gang happen upon a deserted campsite, in
pointedly tight shots we see main Sasquatch handle an old-fashioned tape
player and get visibly moved by the sound wrangled from it: 'Love to Hate
You' by the amazing Erasure. I think the joke is meant to be that this
simian creature, this rube, is so without guile that he is affected by
such artless music. Fuck you Sasquatch Sunset, I say. Erasure were, are, and always will be Great (perhaps I'm in a
bad mood and misreading the gag, but I can't see it playing the same way
if the tape player housed, I dunno, Nirvana or whatever other contemporary
outfit these hipsters would endorse). In its stilted sketch comedy
presentation Sasquatch Sunset exhibits as persistently
self-satisfied, a knowing folly that even at 89 minutes outstays its
welcome. Bigfoot? Big deal.
Sasquatch Sunset is on UK/ROI VOD now.
