By Holly Nicholson, Third Year, English
This November, Geoff Barrow, of Portishead fame, made an unexpected but striking leap into filmmaking with his debut feature film GAME. Alongside John Minton (who directs), Invada Films creates a hauntingly sharp re-imagination of a cat-and-mouse thriller set against Bristol’s flourishing rave scene in the dying summer of 1993.
The project premiered at Watershed, introduced by Barrow, Minton and co-stars Marc Bessant and Jason Williamson, debuting as an unflinchingly confident example of a film made on ‘little budget and little time’ as Minton quipped during the Q&A. It would seem these supposed limitations only compounded what Barrow claimed to be a desperate ‘fear to achieve’ amongst the collaborators, leaving them with an astounding feature film.
The opening scene is equally beautiful and horrifying. A close-up of a pheasant - still and iridescent - fills the frame as the soft soundscape of the woods surrounds it. The peace is ruptured by a single violent strike; the bird falls; the screen bleeds red, and the title GAME centres. This powerful introductory scene leaves the audience with no doubt as to why the film dons its name and is a stark warning for what follows.
The film cuts to David (Marc Bessant) after leaving a rave, intoxicated and crashing his car in the woods. Upside-down in the wreckage, his body bent and bleeding, David - completely at odds with the surroundings in which he finds himself - becomes an exhibition of human frailty. The cinematography by Ross James emphasises this with zoomed-in, unforgiving close-ups of David’s face contrasted with reverent shots of the animals surrounding him: foxes, owls, and insects.
These animals, harmonious in the forest, watch on as David loses bodily control, vomiting, wetting himself and crying. As he struggles and fails to escape, the stillness of the forest becomes haunting; an astute metaphor for the fragility of humanity and the endurance of the natural world. The film seems deeply concerned with the coexistence of dichotomous factors - as David’s past and present oscillate through strobe lights of the rave and filtered forest sunlight, the audience considers human self-destruction amidst ecological equilibrium.
The agony of waiting for David to free himself becomes unbearable, just as a collared German Shepherd appears, hinting at the presence of an owner nearby. The scene is gruesome - the audience watches as David, limbs crushed, is ravaged and mauled. In a grotesque act, the tenuous border between man and animal collapses: David winds the car window up, crushing the dog’s neck until it whimpers out in death. Viscerally uncomfortable, this is a moment that prompts David’s shift toward desperation to survive which spurs on the second half of the film.
Having passed out from exhaustion, David eventually wakes to the sight of another man. Once again, the relief is short-lived. Jason Williamson (the poacher) is revealed in a shot that drags from his feet upward to a masked face. His first words, ‘You killed my dog’, land with unsettling finality. A colloquial, slightly manic performance from Williamson, combined with the palpable fear displayed by Bessant, creates a captivating interaction to watch on screen.
The Poacher, despising the rave scene and David in equal measure, claims he wouldn’t be culpable for David’s inevitable death, stating, ‘I’ve done nothing.’ Here arises the film's interest with accountability and the cycle of life, as Williamson waits, letting nature take its course. The dynamic, tense and enthralling is a testament to the chemistry between the two actors, who deliver their roles with precision and vulnerability.
Here begins the most cinematically daring sequence: a psychedelic chase through the woods. The trees seem to breathe; colours pulse, and the setting shifts erratically in a kaleidoscope of sound, place and movement. In the background, an organ drones on, establishing itself as the film's ‘only two minutes of actual score’ (Minton, Q&A). The Poacher looks up to the trees and mutters, ‘It’s flowing. It’s everywhere.’ The moment blurs the boundary between men and their differences, as well as indicating an innate interconnectedness between consciousness and environment.
After escaping into a garden-centre car park, the shift is abrasive and visually jarring. After over an hour immersed in vibrant natural imagery, their return to a concrete suburbia is unsettling. The film’s concluding moment shows David and the Poacher facing each other from their opposing worlds - one framed by an impenetrable row of greenery, the other in the sterility of the modern world.
Before disappearing back into the woods, the Poacher asks, ‘What have you done?’ The final line of dialogue is deliberately ambiguous – is he asking David about the drugs, or his dog? Is it a question posed to the rest of society on the spiritual dislocation of modern life? Perhaps he’s even asking himself - the answer is up to interpretation.
Gabriella Adaway
The screening ended with enthusiastic applause from the audience before the team took to the stage. A humorous chemistry exuded from the four men, passionately discussing the film’s origins in friendship and artistic expression with a casual but compelling presence. Barrow was candid about the difficulties independent filmmakers face in distribution and marketing, but GAME’s triumph lies in such an idiosyncratic style.
GAME is unlike anything else produced in Bristol this year. As two men unravel in the woods, Williamson and Bessant deliver exceptional performances that simultaneously contradict and complement one other. What begins as a brutal tale of survival transforms into a rumination on the uneasy space between nature and modern culture.
With their bold debut, Invada films proves that small budgets need not limit ambition, nor diminish the force of imaginative triumph.
Featured Image: Epigram / Holly Nicholson
Did you manage to catch the GAME preview at the Watershed?
