Hunt for the Wilderpeople
I’ve got a hard on for Australia and New Zealand. I don’t know why; my love for those two countries sort of snuck up on me. Like when I used to make fun of this cashier at K-Mart who had a lisp and a tattoo of a snake where her eyebrow once was, and then one night I found my impure thoughts turning to her bent over, pulling a dirty price sticker off her shoe. Within a week, every thought was of her, how she packed her cutoff shorts the way a six-year-old might pour himself a Slurpee, absolutely filling it to the top, dripping over the sides and then shaking it just so he could force in even more sticky goodness. How she rode a mobility scooter sidesaddle from cash register to service counter. Luckily, she got run over by a bus and I got over her.
I don’t think a bus could take out Australia and New Zealand, so I’m not sure how to get over them. I’ve never been to either. I’ve gotten drunk on some of their beer. One time I was talking to an Aussie and his accent was so thick I didn’t realize I agreed to give him a hand job until he pulled down his pants. An erect penis, though, is the universal language. I also know for a fact that their toilet water swirls counterclockwise. I hate clockwise water.
I also enjoyed the New Zealand vampire comedy What We Do in the Shadows a hell of a lot, and it was co-written and directed by Taika Watiti. His new movie is Hunt for the Wilderpeople, which is like a New Zealand version of My Side of the Mountain and Up. And I fucking love My Side of the Mountain and Up.
In Hunt for the Wilderpeople, an orphan named Ricky (Julian Dennison), who is getting long in the tooth as far as orphans go, is placed with a childless couple in the Bush. Basically, what follows is fish out of the water stuff with the exception that the fish is a teenager who needs stability and steadying adults in his life far more than he needs creature comforts.
Shortly after Ricky arrives, his foster mom dies, and Child Welfare declares they’re going to take him back rather than leave him with the scowling, reclusive husband Hec (Sam Neill). Instead, Ricky abscnds into the bush, followed by Hec, where they survive on eels, feral pigs and stolen toilet paper. They become national folk heroes for eluding the police.
Hunt for the Wilderpeople is about as gentle as comedy gets. I knew where it was going: the kid and the old man would learn to respect each other, and the kid would become self-sufficient and confident. That shit’s sort of formulaic. But that’s fine here because the movie is an adventure, and where it ends up isn’t as interesting as how it gets there. It has enough nice moments along the way to make it entertaining. There are the wet, tangled forests , and a pretty damn likable kid. There is a scene where Ricky meets a girl his age, and their interaction is pretty much dead-on for how teenagers behave, with all the talking while looking at the ground and awkward silences. Although, now that I think about it, that’s pretty much how I interact with other adults. It’s even how I talk to myself.
Another plus is that the movie has one of prettiest damn dogs I’ve ever seen, a pit bull named Tupac.
In fact, where the movie shits the bed is when it overtly tries to be comedy. There is a cameo by Rhys Darby (who plays the leader of the werewolf pack in What We Do in the Shadows, and Murray on Flight of the Conchords) as a conspiracy-loving hermit that is a fucking shrill attempt at comedy, like a drunk realtor who decided to try out for an improv troupe and brought puppets. Similarly, a running gag with a group of hunters goes on a bit longer than it’s worth. And the finale is a guns ablazing sequence that is over the top.
Yet, there’s something to be said for adventure, especially when it features as many likable and human characters as this. I’m guessing they spent $15 on makeup, and the actors really did get wet feet and scraped up in the process of making it. But they got to do it in New Zealand, a land I hope to someday have sex with. Three Fingers for Hunt for the Wilderpeople.