Feast (John Gulager, 2005)

Imagine Feast’s two Project Greenlight screenwriters sequestered in a dusky Arizona motel, one sipping Dickel, the other chugging Nyquil, one set of eyes on the messy Mexican porn on the television, the other watching a mountain lion delicately disembowel a rabbit on the sweaty blacktop of the parking lot outside, one accompanying each fresh beat with disgusted snorts, the other with queasy laughter. How else to explain this film’s pack of libidinous troglodytes, a horde so gleefully anarchic they puke on one human, use another as a battering ram, and wave a penis at a third, and yet so methodical that they wait patiently until their prey is at their most vulnerable? Complaining about the inconsistent actions of fantastic beasts in this film is, to be fair, a lost cause, but it is infinitely more rewarding than trying to read complexity in the screaming one-note Janes and Johnnies that are their victims.

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