In spite of what its title and country of origin might suggest, not a single spider appears in Birdeater (2023), the feature debut of Australian directing duo Jack Clark and Jim Weir; the webs of predatory entrapment that its characters become tangled in are of the metaphorical variety, constructed using social dynamics and emotional manipulation rather than silken snares.
Though it could easily be considered horror-adjacent thanks to its nightmarish scenario and uneasy presentation, Birdeater is primarily a relationship drama, albeit one with a thoroughly uncomfortable edge. Set over the course of a “buck’s party” (for non-Aussie readers, this is the Antipodean equivalent of a stag night or bachelor weekend), the film follows groom Louie (Mackenzie Fearnley), who has invited his bride-to-be, Irene (Shabana Azeez), to join him on his weekend of pre-nuptial partying in the great outdoors. Tensions rise and gender roles are asserted as the booze flows freely, and it isn’t long before some unfortunate details come to light about the (perhaps not-so) happy couple’s relationship; these revelations immediately alter the weekend’s tone for the worse, and what was supposed to be a quiet trip away with some friends gradually becomes a festival of hedonism and hyper-masculine debauchery.
If you’ve attended any horror film festivals over the past couple of years, then you’ll know that Birdeater certainly isn’t the first “social gathering nightmare” movie to come out of Australia this decade; the fantastic An Ideal Host (2020) and Shudder’s Sissy (2022) are but two notable examples from a recent wave of Aussie cinema about functions going foul. It’s not hard to see parallels between the content and style of Birdeater and said aforementioned films, yet there is also a major element to Clark and Weir’s film that gives it an original, unique edge; a buck’s party is an explicitly gendered gathering, especially from the perspective of a typical heterosexual relationship, and therefore Birdeater’s setting enables the film’s commentary on (and criticism of) the toxicity of modern-day Australian “lad culture” to feel like an ever-present part of its plot. The wild, remote setting gives the film a sense of its own ecosystem – a rather literal “man’s world”, if you will – giving the male leads’ chauvinistic locker-room banter an unsettlingly primal air, playing into some kind of unspoken predator-and-prey dynamic that some members of the group wish to enforce.
Never once did I doubt that the filmmakers wanted me to root and fear for Irene and her situation, and that’s partially down to just how impressively crafted their movie is from a technical standpoint; this is a beautifully-shot and sharply-edited film, every frame full of purpose and every cut in the right place.
The themes explored in Birdeater are interesting and pertinent ones, for sure, and by no means are they handled “badly”, but overall the film’s narrative does feel somewhat underdeveloped, with far too many characters (many of whom have little to do) and a handful of intriguing concepts which are introduced before being immediately forgotten. One of the more promising points that is briefly discussed in Clark and Weir’s film is the idea that our non-white female lead, Irene, may be stuck in an unhappy and toxic relationship with Louie because it’s the only way she can obtain a Visa and remain in the country; unfortunately, the mention of this in the film is more of an offhand remark than a component in Irene’s character arc, and Birdeater opts for a more typical approach to depicting spousal abuse which plays things all a bit too safe for my liking.
Though not as egregious as another recent film in this regard (that being Shudder’s History of Evil), Birdeater also kneecaps itself slightly by being a movie which, in spite of being about the horrors of misogyny and patriarchal social structures, doesn’t really spend enough time developing its female characters or even giving them the time of day compared to their male counterparts; at times. Birdeater could be accused of playing its buddy-hangout movie elements a little too straight for its own good, somewhat undermining its message. This vibe isn’t particularly helped by an extended and incredibly gratuitous scene of female nudity towards the end – which could simply be there for a bit of horrendously misjudged titillation, or on a more sinister note, could be actively associating the appearance of the sex worker in said scene with the peak of the male leads’ hedonistic depravity.
Yet, for all my major criticisms of Birdeater, its core message does still land, and its commentary on the social structures that reinforce abuse and sexism does still pack a punch. Never once did I doubt that the filmmakers wanted me to root and fear for Irene and her situation, and that’s partially down to just how impressively crafted their movie is from a technical standpoint; this is a beautifully-shot and sharply-edited film, every frame full of purpose and every cut in the right place. The highlight of Birdeater, though, its its ever-morphing score, at once playful and woozy, and always full of deep, uneasy dread; composer Andreas Dominguez works wonders on the film’s soundtrack, some kind of dark melodic magic – I can only hope that we’ll be hearing more from this phenomenally talented musician soon.
For all its major issues, Birdeater is nonetheless a promising, challenging debut. There’s been much love for this one online following previous screenings, with some even comparing it to the classic Aussie shocker Wake in Fright (1971); so, with any luck, we can expect to see bigger and better projects from Clark and Weir in future, and more opportunities for their technical skills to shine.
Birdeater played at SXSW 2024
