Culty goings-on in Sweden in a not too bad Brit horror
This review was written 2 years too late
CUDDLY Sweden. Home to Ikea, Volvo and giant goaty-type creatures fond of disembowelment.
Four chaps, mourning the death of an old friend, remember his last wishes by hiking through a remote Swedish landscape. One of them get knee-knack so they opt for a short cut to civilisation through a scary forest – this film’s equivalent to going down into the basement.
There you go. There’s your set-up. Cue mostly at-night nastiness as the lads get spooked and attacked – mentally and physically – as they try to make it to the other side of the forest.
It’s not a slash-fest though but has a fair amount of antler-styled gore and eviseration. Enjoy the head-fuckery as the gang endure a rough night in a dodgy-looking shack with weirdo effigies. Laugh at the pallid cult-types who seem a salvation but of course are not.
No one of note fills the cast, bar Timothy Spall’s son Rafe and Patrick Troughton’s grandson Sam (they’ll both thank me for referincing them thus) but all involved handle the fun well enough.
All familiar stuff – these films are a bit of a ritual these days (sorry) – I’m sure you’d agree, but pretty well done all the same and worth a look if you like a bit of nastiness.