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user\nWell where to start here? Straightheads presents me with a bit of a dilemma. Had this film come out of Italy in, say, 1975, been directed by Ruggero Deodatto and starred David Hess, then I'd be lapping it up faster than Labrador drinks water on a summer's day. Because whilst Tarantino and Rodriguez are busy elsewhere with their homage to grindhouse cinema, Dan Reed has produced a rape/revenge grindhouse picture of his very own in England, and on seemingly the same budget as it would have taken Rodriguez to turn Rose McGowan's leg into a machine gun. Because if you want to play grindhouse bingo, then let me call out the 'numbers':
1. Rich, high flying career woman meets a bit of rough from the wrong side of the tracks in an implausible manner and, equally implausibly, gets the hots for him. Check.
2. Gratuitous shots of said high-flying career woman in various states of nudity. Check.
3. Convoluted and highly unlikely plot development that sets up characters that exist solely to do what they do and who cannot be imagined to have any existence outside the scenes they are in. Check.
4. Unnecessarily graphic rape scene perpetrated by a gang of males with no discernible depth of personality or background other than they are there to rape. Check.
5. Gritty and bloody scenes of murder and revenge to round it all off. Bingo!
Plotwise, Straightheads is pretty basic stuff: Dyer meets Anderson and she invites him to a party at a country pile owned by her boss. On the way home, they upset three locals in a Landover who take their revenge by giving Dyer a good shoeing and gang raping Anderson. The couple then set about getting their revenge. So far, so \"Straw Dogs\", \"Late Night Trains\", \"House on the Edge of the Park\", \"I Spit On Your Grave\" etc etc. So why didn't I think much of this film? A number of reasons: I suppose first off, having the likes of Gillian Anderson in the cast prima facie lead me to expect better, but it's the complete lack of honesty here than rankles most.
Because whenever anyone sits down to watch Hess and his ilk terrorising women and murdering their menfolk in those period pieces from the 70's, then they always know exactly what they are getting - low budget quickies designed solely to shock and appeal to the lowest common denominator. The baddies terrorise and murder the goodies, the goodies turn the tables on the baddies and kill them back, and everyone goes home satisfied, their desires to see a bit of nasty violence slaked and safe in the knowledge that the world order had been restored.
As writer and director however, Dan Reed clearly believes Straightheads has far more to say on the state of the human psyche than that, and desperately tries to imbibe his film with a philosophical depth that is simply not there. For instance, when Anderson and Dyer are planning revenge on their attackers, they learn that one of the rapists has a fourteen-year-old daughter who is an object of lust for the two men he hangs around with. When Anderson finally meets him face to face, he confesses that he only raped her as a distraction so that his two mates would take their attention away from his daughter!!! The casual and audacious way that Reed drops this little revelation into the plot is simply jaw-dropping, it's almost as if he expects this simple reference to paedophilia to be enough to throw the audience's moral compass into overdrive and make them leave the cinema thinking they've just sat through something of significance. To make sure we 'get it', at this point we are shown a run through of the rape sequence for a second time, ostensibly from the view of the attacker and his concern for his daughter, but Reed ensures that we get plenty more shots of Anderson rough-handled and raped across the bonnet of her car. Gratuitous does not enter into it.
After being told his reasons for raping her, Anderson ties him over a table, rams the business end of a sniper rifle (complete with bulky silencer, just in case anyone wasn't clear on the phallic imagery) up his jacksie but lacks the courage to pull the trigger, telling Dyer (who has no such moral qualms) that 'it's over'. Dyer argues otherwise and their moral dilemma is presented as something that Wittgenstein and Russell may have discussed in their rooms back at Cambridge over tea and cakes. It is almost unwatchable in its ludicrousness.
In fairness, Ms Anderson acts her guts out throughout the film. It's obvious she wants to leave Scully far behind and, bless her, she certainly does that; one wonders what Mulder would have made of his erstwhile partner squatting down to take a leak at the side of the road and then sodomising a man with a gun? Dyer, on the other hand, does what he's done in virtually every film he's made to date - that is, plays a gor blimey guv cockney type chappie with a roguish grin, a cheeky line of patter and a face that most people would never get tired of punching. This is particularly true at the closing scene where, after murdering his assailants in cold blood, Dyer gazes at the camera in, what I'm sure is meant to be, a look of existential anguish that invites us to sympathise at the hand fate has dealt him and the moral quandaries he has had to overcome, but instead is far more reminiscent of Oliver Hardy looking exasperatedly at the camera after Stan has landed him in yet another fine mess. Which incidentally, sums up this film quite nicely.
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