Bone Tomahawk

Bone Tomahawk ★★★★

Christmas Day is the time when old classic movies get their day on the television schedules. We get everything from It's A Wonderful Life to Home Alone, Miracle on 34th Street to the Muppet's Christmas Carol, until night falls and the more recent blockbusters take centre stage. In our house however, we take a slightly darker path. If it has to be a Christmas movie with the in-laws, it's Scrooged with Bill Murray or if I'm trying to get them to fuck off it's Bad Santa on Blu-Ray. I've always loved my mother-in-law's face when Billy Bob does the "yeah baby, you ain't gonna shit right for a week" line in the changing room sex scene. With that in mind and the urge for something different, I thought I might surprise them with Bone Tomahawk which I'd received from Santa Claus as a prezzie and a recommendation from our very own Todd Gaines back in November last year.
Where do you even begin with Bone Tomahawk? Kurt Russell's return to the Western genre he so successfully conquered in Tarantino's Hateful Eight was certainly an eye-opener. It's been a long time since I've had to look away at certain points during a film, I'm not squeamish, but there's a limit to just what I can watch. This Western tale of cannibalistic Indians who've kidnapped a prisoner, a deputy, and a young woman, is the stuff of nightmares. This is described as a horror/western, a whole new ball game for me, but I really enjoyed the cut and thrust, pardon the pun, of this attempted rescue mission. It's violent, has visceral action sequences, and characters we could invest in. Matthew Fox has done little of note since his time in Lost, but he's great here alongside the seasoned Richard Jenkins and the always reliable Patrick Wilson. The Indians are scary as fuck, that sound they made brought shivers, but Russell just about manages to upstage them all. It's a riveting and compelling watch, but was just a touch too much for my viewing companions who disappeared quicker than the chocolate Christmas decorations the dog scoffed from our tree. Yet another slow-burner that's about as far removed from the mainstream as you could get, this fitted our Christmas evening viewing almost as perfectly as the limited edition Led Zeppelin t-shirts I received from my Mrs.

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