Recencies van critici

Okay, so let's just say that this 'revisionist western' (aren't they all of late?) is unafraid to, um, 'go there', in its depiction of Old Testament levels of vengeance.

Although the four-chapter structure is neatly handled and the savage backdrop strikingly photographed, there’s something a little unsavoury about this picture. It’s not the graphic violence, rape, incest and numerous shots of women being bound and flogged that are the problems, as such. It’s the hint of tumescence behind the camera accompanying these scenes that gives the whole picture a queasily sensationalist quality.

An exploitation western that veers from self-importance to high camp... features biblical allusions, a slew of western movie nods (The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance especially) and a bold commitment to the idea that 19th-century Americans were mostly murderers, rapists and incestuous maniacs.

The road to hell is rather famously paved with good intentions, and for all of Brimstone’s Promised Lands, Solomonic wisdom, sacrificial lambs, Infernos and desert wanderings, it is fundamentally little more than a well dressed, handsomely conceived theo-thriller with ideas – some of them decent, but all of them familiar – a little above the station of a crazed revenger.

There’s nothing good about it, from the acting to the writing. And what’s bad is made worse by the long runtime. The tonal mess pervades the entire film and so anything that might have been interesting is unsalvageable.

This epically long, lurid, violent western from Dutch film-maker Martin Koolhoven has a kind of Tarantino-ish prolixity and narrative ingenuity. Despite its very indulgent length, it never bores.

A classy cast give this the air of a prestige production, but it’s a disreputable exploitation flick at heart.

For a film that is so cinematically pleasing (hats off to cinematographer Rogier Stoffers) with stunning visuals and sweeping landscape shots, Brimstone seems to be a bit of baseless grandeur. It’s the structure and style of an epic with a flippant heart.

Brutal in its depictions of violence, Brimstone is tough to watch at times, but never less than gripping, even as the clock creeps up to the 150-minute mark.

There are as many echoes of Wes Craven as Clint Eastwood in its blood and thunder approach, and the effect is definitely grand guignol – with an almost complete lack of humour – rather than artfilm angst. It doesn’t come within a country mile of subtlety...

The film’s acts of cruelty and gruesome violence accumulate like a finely tuned torment. Ultimately, Koolhoven is asking not how Fanning’s Liz can persevere, but how much a viewer can take.

Given its bloodlust, “Brimstone” might have been better if Mr. Koolhoven had roughed up the story more (and not only his heroine) and gone for full-on exploitation. There’s a nice, nasty little movie in here somewhere.