If this UK-Canadian thriller has a wind-hardened snowcrust of malice, it’s somewhat less dense under the surface – though still an enjoyable punt from the digital-release ranks. Amiable but downtrodden waitress Ana (Nina Bergman) has her bacon saved by chance diner David (Allen Leech) when her abusive husband Vincent (Yan Tual) comes calling. Eerily calm in the face of having his dessert desecrated and a potential shanking, David drives off unharmed. But, redneck to the core, Vincent tailgates him; skidding into a snow drift, David is stuck in the Colorado Rockies in a -40C blizzard with, of course, no mobile reception.
From the sharply written rebuff over cherry pie onwards, French director Sébastien Drouin’s feature debut shows a concise pulpy assurance – including devious deployment of plot twists starting with what David has in his trunk. Cold Meat suddenly becomes a hatchback-bound two-hander, with survival challenges on two fronts: the lethal cold outside and the psychopathic intent within. Drouin and his co-writers James Kermack and Andrew Desmond are admirably forensic in laying out this predicament, from the logistics of how to escape a car boot, to the feints and provocations employed by a sadistic mind.
But it only goes so far. In particular, the presiding big idea – that any human pushed to extremes can exhibit cruelty – is only semi-fleshed out. This finally undermines the moral-supernatural judgment Drouin tacks on, which comes off a little gratuitous given the perfectly serviceable human evil at play. The lead pair are well-braced in their exchange, the unblinking Allen’s eyelashes glittering in the rear-view mirror as he fosters an unsettling intimacy. Cold Meat may not be deep, but it is crisp and chilling.
If this UK-Canadian thriller has a wind-hardened snowcrust of malice, it’s somewhat less dense under the surface – though still an enjoyable punt from the digital-release ranks. Amiable but downtrodden waitress Ana (Nina Bergman) has her bacon saved by chance diner David (Allen Leech) when her abusive husband Vincent (Yan Tual) comes calling. Eerily calm in the face of having his dessert desecrated and a potential shanking, David drives off unharmed. But, redneck to the core, Vincent tailgates him; skidding into a snow drift, David is stuck in the Colorado Rockies in a -40C blizzard with, of course, no mobile reception.
From the sharply written rebuff over cherry pie onwards, French director Sébastien Drouin’s feature debut shows a concise pulpy assurance – including devious deployment of plot twists starting with what David has in his trunk. Cold Meat suddenly becomes a hatchback-bound two-hander, with survival challenges on two fronts: the lethal cold outside and the psychopathic intent within. Drouin and his co-writers James Kermack and Andrew Desmond are admirably forensic in laying out this predicament, from the logistics of how to escape a car boot, to the feints and provocations employed by a sadistic mind.
But it only goes so far. In particular, the presiding big idea – that any human pushed to extremes can exhibit cruelty – is only semi-fleshed out. This finally undermines the moral-supernatural judgment Drouin tacks on, which comes off a little gratuitous given the perfectly serviceable human evil at play. The lead pair are well-braced in their exchange, the unblinking Allen’s eyelashes glittering in the rear-view mirror as he fosters an unsettling intimacy. Cold Meat may not be deep, but it is crisp and chilling.