Ben Wheatley is the outstanding young British film-maker who got himself talked about with his smart debut Down Terrace; then he scared the daylights out of everyone, as well as amusing and baffling them, with his inspired and ambiguous chiller Kill List. His talent and signature are vividly present in every frame of this new movie, Sightseers, a grisly and Ortonesque black comedy about a lonely couple who go on a caravanning holiday in Yorkshire: Chris and Tina, played by co-writers Steve Oram and Alice Lowe.
Sightseers is funny and well made, but Wheatley could be suffering from difficult third album syndrome: this is not as mysterious and interesting as Kill List; its effects are more obvious and the encounters between the naturalistically conceived antiheroes and the incidental, sketch-comedy posh characters is a little uneasy. By the end, I got the sense that in terms of character and narrative the film was running out of ideas – just a bit.
That isn't to say there aren't brilliant touches, especially at the beginning. The relationship between the pair and Tina's ferociously needy and disapproving mother is a bit like Victoria Wood, Duncan Preston and Thora Hird in the classic TV play Pat & Margaret. In fact, if Wood or Alan Bennett wanted to make a serial-killer gorefest with some readers'-wives porn, it might look an awful lot like this.
It is clear that the holiday marks a decisive break between Tina and her cantankerous mother. The older woman is in mourning for the loss of her pet dog and resents Tina leaving her at this stressful time. She particularly and very candidly dislikes Tina's new boyfriend Chris, a cheery bloke with ginger hair and a beard. As they drive off with the caravan in tow, Wheatley shows how the mother is literally fuming with displeasure at the window, breathing heavily, her nostrils producing twin flumes of condensation.
The trip unlocks Tina's sensuality and the couple enjoy vibrant lovemaking in the caravan and Wheatley creates a bizarre atmosphere of misjudged daring in their erotic life: at a restaurant, Tina's naughty whispered confession that she is not wearing knickers is somewhat spoiled by the admission that she is nonetheless wearing tights.
But it is gradually clear that something is amiss with easygoing Chris, as he rhapsodises about the innocence of the countryside: "That tree won't involve itself in low-level bullying so you'll have to leave work," he says, thoughtfully. Chris is highly displeased by the antisocial behaviour of people he meets along the way; he converts his displeasure into action and Tina is supportive.
Again, Wheatley is adept at summoning an eerie atmosphere of Wicker Man disquiet; the glorious natural surroundings are endowed with a golden sunlit glow and the trips to quaint venues of local interest are well observed: particularly Tina's heartbroken solo excursion to the Pencil Museum, and her heartwrenching attempt to express herself with a big novelty pencil. All this makes an ineffably strange combination with the fear and the violence and the bizarre sociopathy. The problem is that the combination can only go so far: it doesn't seem to develop into anything else.
These reservations are offset by the absolute confidence and visual style that Wheatley always shows. From the very first, as Tina's mother keens and growls with grief and despair at the departure of her beloved Puppy, he creates a weird world, entirely of itself.
