Roadkill
1989, Canada, Directed by Bruce McDonald
Black & White, Running Time: 85 minutes
DVD, Region 1, VSC, Video: Letterbox 1.82:1, Audio: Dolby Digital Stereo
Not to be confused with the slasher film that later claimed a similar name (specifically, Road Kill, that movie being a Australian and UK re-titling of Joy Ride) this is actually a fairly obscure low budget rock n’ roll road movie made in Canada by the competent but relatively unknown team of director Bruce McDonald and writer/actor Don McKellar. Valerie Buhagiar plays an assistant to the obnoxious music promoter who sends her out on the road to shut down a tour being undertaken by an Indie band called Children of Paradise. Catching up with them, she finds the band in a state of disarray because the singer has gone off on a spiritual quest, leaving them to continue the schedule without him. Taking it on herself to restore order as the boss becomes increasingly agitated about the fact that he’s wasting money on apparent losers, she soon loses the band again but while in pursuit of them comes across a strange collection of lost individuals who populate the lesser known parts of the vast Canadian suburban and rural backdrops. These include a self-proclaimed serial killer (who’s yet to actually kill anyone), a band who stand in the middle of nowhere pounding out cool music, a fifteen year old boy who she makes love to, and an ostensibly mute hotdog salesman, among other weirdos.
Quite a rarity and difficult to pick up on disc I originally saw this at my local arthouse cinema when they actually used to screen arthouse films (nowadays it‘s more likely to be Transformers or the like). Clearly shot with a very low budget and using many non-actors it creates a distinctive sort of world where souls seem to have lost their way, assuming there was ever a way to really follow, a realm where people become enveloped by their own idiosyncrasies and those around them don’t take any notice anymore. Ramona (Buhagiar) is someone who notices the strange tendencies of others on her journey to prove her worth, taking time to briefly entangle herself in the lives that would otherwise never have become known to her. She mutters early on in the film (as she’s been forced to take a several hour taxi journey by a driver who refuses to let her use the train) that she’s never been that far north, as though she’s somehow entered another dimension populated by alien beings. This is almost true from the viewer’s perspective also. There’s also an interesting contrast between the ethics of one of the film’s main characters, the music promoter, and those of the people who made the film itself: while the promoter cares only about the potential financial returns of a musical venture, screaming down the phone and eventually even killing people to enforce his point, the makers seem to utilise music to illustrate Ramona’s journey at every opportunity, be it known material such as The Ramones or that of almost completely unknown outfits, thereby providing free promotion to bands who might otherwise get none while also proving that music doesn’t have come from the supposed upper echelons of popularity to be significant and meaningful. The soundtrack creates some surprisingly emotive moments. The characters also offer partly humorous, partly philosophical contributions as they carry on about issues that may at first appear to have little value in the reality in which we think we have become immersed, but actually demonstrate about as much value as the things that common people seem to hail as relevant - that is, what’s to be considered important to a person is really a subjective area and therefore not necessarily of any greater or lesser concern that what’s important to another. As Ramona takes her unusual journey, so is the viewer taken along with her.
This disc is the only release I’m aware of for Roadkill and comes from Canada itself. The meagre budget is evident in the non-anamorphic transfer as grain is abundant throughout. For once, a rough transfer seems to be appropriate for a film that exemplifies what road movies should be about - the hazy recollection of life‘s noteworthy points. The extensively used music collection is suitably represented by a stereo soundtrack and there are a few extras to note, including a commentary from the writer and a couple of odd but skilfully executed short films from the same team. The package is rounded out with a liner sheet containing a short statement from McDonald.