Tie Me Backpackers Down, Sport

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I'd prepped myself beforehand for a very different experience with Wolf Creek 2 than the pitch-black nightmare of the first film (mostly thanks to the trailer, which let on to the different tone director Greg McLean was reaching for this time around) and I'm glad I did, because they are very different beasts indeed. I might've been blindsided! Expectations are tricky, and lord knows my love for the original film had me wading ear-deep in them approaching this sucker - sometimes you wanna know nothing beforehand, sometimes not, and who's to know when is when and which is where and what is happening?

Indeed, save the scattered heads-on-sticks the flick of Greg McLean's that Wolf Creek 2 resembles most isn't its fore-bearer but rather his nasty fun croc-romp Rogue - they both glide like killer beasts, savagely chomping their merry way to destruction. (Or is that merrily chomping their savage way?) Point being the sequel is gunning for a different plane; happily, it lands. 

Outback serial killer Mick Taylor is all about the branding now - see how many times he introduces himself? Remember this name, the movie is saying - he's your new oogie boogie, your new Voorhees and Krueger, a bigger than big cartoon of carnage. I wouldn't have been surprised to see him rise from the dead somewhere in here, perhaps jolted to life from a lightning bolt, only to then be dragged to hell on a bed of demon kangaroos. Or maybe impale somebody on a didgeridoo? I'm just thinking out loud here. They can save these for Part III, or the one where he goes to space.

I am making light here, but the movie's a great ride - dark as night in the desert, but skipping and snapping its fingers as it carves out its own heart of darkness. Just make like the exact opposite of everybody not named Mick Taylor we meet on-screen, and know what you're in for, and then you'll be good. Or you'll survive with some sanity intact, at least.

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