As a man, I’m going to come out and say that I’m tired of exploring the concept of toxic masculinity in horror and thriller movies. Before the pitchforks pierce my spleen, let me step back from that with a brief caveat: It’s not that the perils of machismo aren’t real, and aren’t an ever-present threat in everyday life. I agree with that wholeheartedly. My complaint stems from filmmakers trying to dissect the minutiae of masculinity’s effects and having no unique vision or concise message to convey.
Alex Garland and Ari Aster—listen up, boys. It’s no longer enough to use ostentatious visual style and needlessly shocking gore and violence to communicate the dangers of unrestrained male virility. While Garland’s Men and Aster’s Midsommar (and, arguably, elements of Beau is Afraid) were admirable efforts to anatomize masculinity, the directors ultimately blundered their theses by getting lost in the trappings of what audiences were expecting from them, based on their prior films. Viewers anticipated disturbing images, shocking scares, and menacing characters, and they got them at the expense of any truly original narrative.
Jack Clark and Jim Weir, who co-directed the Australian thriller Birdeater—which had its North American premiere at the SXSW festival March 9—are unencumbered by the problems that Aster and Garland fell prey to. For starters, Birdeater is the pair’s feature film debut; the audience has yet to develop preconceived notions over what the movie might feel like. But regardless of its directors’ prior credits, Birdeater blows Men, Midsommar, and any other recent examination of masculinity out of the water. Weir and Clark have crafted an absurdly stylish film that is never content to rest on its ambitious visual scope, burrowing under your skin for an eerie glimpse at how men in their youth form bonds with one another that can slowly spin out of control as time passes.
Given that Birdeater largely takes place at a stag party (the U.K. and Aussie version of a bachelor party, though I’m told they exist stateside too), the setting almost seems too conventional for a film aiming to probe the prickly thematic content that it does. Of course, a bachelor party is going to be the setting where men feel most free to be wild. But Weir and Clark, who also co-wrote the film together, are betting on the audience entering with their expectations tempered—it gives them plenty more room for the amount of awe that’s yet to come.
Despite the complicated and constantly delayed nuptials of young couple Louie (Mackenzie Fearnley) and Irene (Shabana Azeez), Louie arranges for his stag party to go on as scheduled. Although, there’s a bit of a problem: Irene can’t stand to be away from Louie for extended periods. Her separation anxiety is crippling, and it’s only gotten worse as their relationship has intensified. Like any decent groom-to-be, Louie invites Irene to come along to the party, figuring that his friends Dylan (Ben Hunter), Charlie (Jack Bannister), Murph (Alfie Gledhill), and Sam (Harley Wilson) won’t mind. Plus, Charlie’s girlfriend Grace (Clementine Anderson) will tag along to make sure that Irene doesn’t feel like the odd one out.
But for Irene to not feel strange is practically a feat. Like any group of old high school and college buddies, there are tightly knit bonds forged over years of kinship that Irene isn’t privy to—and just as many sour memories hidden beneath the surface of those dynamics. It doesn’t help that Dylan is practically a feral child. Even before the group reaches their remote property in the Australian woodlands, he’s alienating and loud, despite everyone’s requests that he try to settle down. Hey, maybe he’s just excited about the ketamine in his pocket.
Weir and Clark cleverly thrust viewers into Irene’s mindset. Like her, we’re trapped at a cabin with a bunch of rowdy men that we barely know, and their quirks are immediately annoying. These opening scenes are slow and sometimes even obnoxious, as we seek to understand finer details of each member of the group. But this slow build is ultimately a necessary tactic. By the time the men have had a few beers and wrestled in the woods, squealing at each other and making Louie wear a pleather gimp suit for their juvenile pleasure, each person’s temperament is solidified. And what luck—it’s time for a drunken dinner.
When Birdeater gets going, it doesn’t let up on its expertly crafted tension for a single second. As soon as everyone comes together under the cover of night, details about what transpired in the past between parties at the dinner table are doled out with careful intention. Each small reveal builds on the last, illustrating a clearer portrait of this peculiar posse. It’s here where the filmmakers seize their opportunity to ensnare viewers with a deluge of marvelous editing tactics.
Halfway through its runtime, the movie transforms from a sophisticated-but-traditional thriller into an experimental exercise in eerie, atmospheric anxiety. Considering this is Clark and Weir’s first feature-length film, their ability to execute gnarly match cuts and gorgeous montage sequences awash in color is even more impressive. And that’s not even mentioning the film’s spectacular score, which sounds as if nü-jazz band Sparkle Division got a hold of a soundboard of Mac error noises.
Like the thematically similar Australian classic Wake in Fright before it, Birdeater uses style and story in tandem to flesh out its vivisection of toxic masculinity, never sacrificing one for the other. Even at its most polarizing moments, the film stays on course. Whereas other directors have made films that muddle their vision to shock audiences, Weir and Clark’s vision is blissfully clear to the end. The thrills in Birdeater come from its basis in reality and its reluctance to careen over the edge into implausibility. Other filmmakers should take note: This is how you practice restraint to great effect.
But perhaps the best thing about Birdeater is that the element of true wrongdoing remains murky throughout. The question of whether manipulation can be a two-person dance weaves its way through the film’s narrative like a piece of barbed wire, cutting deeper as the movie tightens its focus on Louie and Irene. It’s a terrific trick that holds attention until the film’s final moments, when Birdeater asks its audience to consider the whole picture. Sure, masculinity is a prison, but it can also be very attractive. Often, there is a contradictory mixture of both of those feelings involved, which creates a dicey allure. The real trouble comes when that enticing pull is mistaken for love, and you find yourself caught up in something you never expected.
