by Cain Noble-Davies
Worth: $12.50 (10 for objective quality, 15 for entertainment value)
FilmInk rates movies out of $20 — the score indicates the amount we believe a ticket to the movie to be worth
Cast:
Jessica Burgess, Connor Pullinger, Caymond, Adam Ovadia, Kieren Thomas McNamara, Lucas Andrews
Intro:
… may not be a ‘good’ film technically, but when it offers such a good time, it doesn’t have to be.
Sometimes, it’s fun to play into cultural stereotypes from the inside. Whether it’s Americans taking a trip down here, or locals heading abroad, playing into our sand bagel of a continent’s reputation for lethal wildlife can be quite the laugh. Yeah, spiders are our roommates, magpies love to divebomb schoolchildren, and going to the beach is putting your life in your hands. Come to Australia: You might accidentally get killed.
Dropbear, the creature feature of Aussie first time filmmaker John DeCaux, taps directly into that pisstake attitude, where a group of unknowing American tourists go on a dodgy Outback trip and make the horrifying discovery that the dropbear is a) real, and b) going to kill them.
The first thirty-or-so minutes mainly consist of the Yanks and their tour guides Stevo (Lucas Andrews) and Bazza (Kieren Thomas McNamara) acting out the familiar joke. They came here to see something deadly, and the locals are happy to oblige for those who care more about the legend than the actual wildlife. It can get a bit cringe at times with how far that one button gets pushed, of the guides hamming it up while their guests aren’t all that sold on the whole deal, but it makes for good winking chuckles. Much like the national legend, it just as handily plays into the underlying joke of someone learning about a place where everything wants to kill you… and thinking that a vacation there is a sound idea.
As soon as the titular critters appear, though, things take a turn. And genuinely, it’s hard to even tell if it’s a good or bad one, because the cackling result remains the same. After half an hour of consistent dialogue about how fake the tour really is, when they finally turn up, the visual effects from Pulsar Post and Australis FX are somehow less convincing. A dropbear claws someone’s face off, and on top of the effect as it stands, there’s even a clear shot of the guy post-attack and there isn’t even a scratch on him, although he falls over dead immediately anyway.
This is The Asylum ‘Mega Piranha is laughing at you’ levels of dodgy CGI, even directly ripping from Sharknado during the blood-soaked finale. The teams involved seemed to have heard of the classic trick of using shadows and low visibility to make up for wonky textures, but they’re asking a bit too much of the elements on this one because nothing short of pitch-black darkness (with maybe a few lightened pupils showing through) can make these proto-Cocomelon blobs look good.
The surreal sensations here only heighten once the Koala King (Yoz Mensch) makes his grand entrance… and he is a lot to deal with. Fairly basic furry suit, CGI-enhanced face (with the tracking dots clearly visible in some shots), and a voice like a Power Rangers monster. And yet, he kind of works when put all together. As the voice of the threat, the character builds on the overarching theme about the exploitative way that the Australian wilderness is treated, both within and without, and even allows for some cracked-out empathy to seep in for their collective plight. It induces a similar compound mindfrag to the walrus-man in Tusk, where it is hilarious, terrifying, and sad all at the same time.
But even through the embarrassing effects, the iffy performances, and the utter cavalcade of conflicting reactions… or hell, maybe because of all that, this is still incredibly fun to watch with the right mindset. Filmed in just two weeks, with DeCaux handling direction, writing, cinematography, and editing, there’s a certain infectiousness to how much it wears its scrappiness on its sleeves. It doesn’t so much embrace B-movie status as it puts its face right into it, and rubs it deep into the pores like it offers SPF 50+. Even with its light environmentalist messaging, there’s not a whole lot that needs to be seriously here, and the glaring nature of its flaws acquires its own charm before too long.
Dropbear may not be a ‘good’ film technically, but when it offers such a good time, it doesn’t have to be. It’s about killer rage koalas; that is all that the intended audience for material like this should need to hear. It’s fun, it’s doofy, it shares more than a bit of the memetic subversive horror DNA of the infamous Poohniverse (no wonder distributor ITN took a shine to this), and it’s basically designed for a collective slack-jawed viewing experience with a few good mates and maybe some light refreshments. And hey, maybe we can convince some Yanks that this is a documentary and keep the joke alive.
