If you’re a “Bad Batch” candidate (basically any type of
criminal and/or other type of free-thinking individual), you’re sent to a desert
prison that looks like something out of an ‘80s post-apocalypse movie. Arlen (Suki Waterhouse) is dropped off at the
gates of the prison and wanders around for a bit before being captured by a
group of cannibals who dismember her leg and arm for a cookout. She is still somehow able to escape (on a
skateboard) and with the help of a bag man (a very famous person whose
appearance I wouldn’t dream of spoiling) makes it to a place called “Comfort”
where she is fitted with a prosthetic leg.
After she is all healed up, the restless Arlen grabs her leg, finds a
gun, and goes out for revenge on the people who ate her.
Director Ana Lily Amirpour has a nice eye for detail. The prison has a great lived-in quality to
it. Even if it feels like a mash-up of
various other movies, it looks authentic.
She also delivers the goods on a handful of squirm-inducing
sequences. One thing is for sure, you’ll
never listen to Ace of Base quite the same way again after watching this flick.
I also liked the “rules” of the prison. I dug the way Jason Momoa is forced to draw a
sketch of a man in exchange for information.
Even the slightest character touches were endearing. Like the way Waterhouse cuts out a picture of
an arm and stands in front of the mirror to make herself feel complete. It’s these little touches that keeps the
movie a step ahead of other similar genre films.
The Bad Batch is also important as it gives us yet another
interesting exploitation movie role for Keanu Reeves to sink his teeth into. He plays a cult leader called “The Dream” who
looks like Nicolas Cage cosplaying as Jim Jones. The Dream presides over his congregation by
standing atop a giant neon boombox and spouting a lot of fortune cookie wisdom. That is to say, he’s pretty awesome.
The movie can’t quite keep up its weird allure consistently
throughout the running time. After a
stellar start, things sort of stall once Waterhouse joins forces with
Momoa. It particularly fizzles out in
the third act. Still, there’s enough
moments of sheer invention and plenty of bizarre imagery to make it wholly
recommended.
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