Film fans of a certain ilk (myself included) are sure to jelly-up with enthusiasm upon hearing the phrase “Kurt Russell cannibal western” but Bone Tomahawk is so much more than the spaghetti-style splatter flick one might imagine. It’s a worn, slow-burning drama with striking cinematography and squinting, complex characters that spit rusty razor-sharp dialogue then grunt with corroded finesse. When comparing it to the type of hyper-violent, claret-pelted cannibal flick that graces the video bins of Poundland, Bone Tomahawk is a far greater, sophisticated work that blazes on the big screen like an oxidised sunset and, despite what you may have heard, isn’t overloaded with gore.
Before the aforementioned fans scurry in fear of a cure for insomnia, Bone Tomahawk also isn’t the type of elongated cinematic coma that Kevin Costner used to knock out. It’s a masterpiece melding that borrows the better parts of both genres then weaves them into a succulent new design. There is violence but it’s never gratuitous, cartoon-like or served in abundance. Director S. Craig Zahler deftly deploys shocks via shadowed, slow reveals or suggestive techniques similar to those that Tobe Hooper mastered in The Texas Chainsaw Massacre. Making the viewer believe that they witnessed a greater brutality than they actually had while the majority of the horror occurs in their minds. Amplified sound effects also add to the imagining.
A couple of sequences may trigger an involuntary gag reflex but Bone Tomahawk remains dense and character focused for its majority before frenziedly lunging for the jugular like Romero on mow mow. The set-up is simple: after a tribe of elusive cannibal assassins kidnap the local Doctor Samantha O’Dwyer, weathered Sheriff Franklin Hunt/Kurt Russell (with the cinematic beard of the century) sets out with his doddery deputy Chicory (Richard Jenkins) and Samantha’s wounded husband Arthur (Patrick Wilson) to track down the flesh-eaters and rescue the Doctor. Dusty, desert landscapes serve as a fitting backdrop to the drama. Stark, sun-soaked and haunted by the clan of silent cannibal assassins that reside in caves and paint themselves black at night to blend in accordingly.
S. Craig Zahler, who also penned the screenplay, crafts tight, refined dialogue that gilds and fits the horror elements like a silk glove on a zombie: sharp, witty, mastered with finesse and adorned with effective humour. The first hour is measured but the story never dawdles. Zahler’s wonderful characters flourish via brilliant performances but when the horror soon arrives, Bone Tomahawk transforms into a pulverising nerve-wrangler with tension so tight it will make your teeth float. As a western it’s enthralling with depth and visual splendour, resonating like sunstroke, but the film soon unfurls into a terror-fired juggernaut that macerates the senses then leaves you amazed, exhilarated and hugely entertained.
