Backcountry: Man Versus Man, Man Versus Nature, Man Versus Self

One of the most common criticisms leveled at horror movies is that people in horror movies behave like idiots, doing things no sensible person would do. This strikes me as kind of glib criticism, though, because (as I’ve observed here before), people in horror movies don’t know they’re in horror movies, and let’s face it, actual people in the real world behave like idiots all the time as well. Sure, there are instances where the only explanation for a character’s behavior is the need to move a plot along, but it’s definitely possible to build a gripping story around entirely plausible behavior. Poor judgment in the real world has had shocking consequences.

Backcountry is a very tense, economically told story about man’s folly, one based on actual events.

We open on a slow tilt down the length of a stand of trees. The only sound we can hear is the buzzing of flies. A lot of flies, by the sound of it. As the camera continues down, the buzzing gets louder, and the top of a cloud of flies reveals itself. We cut away before we see what they’re circling.

We cut away to Alex and Jenn, packing up for a camping trip. The car ride out into the woods reveals them to be a pretty normal couple by all appearances - their conversation is easy, familiar, not overly expository, and their interactions seem playful, though there does seem to be some tension or strain underneath. It’s clear pretty quickly that the trip was Alex’s idea, and there’s some friction mixed in with the affection. But soon enough they get to the canoe rental spot at the entrance to the park - it’s a big, sprawling nature preserve that Alex has been coming to since he was a little kid. The guy who runs the canoe rental business tells him one of Alex’s favorite trails has been closed for the season, and he’s sort of evasive about why. He offers Alex a map, but Alex doesn’t need it. He knows the park really well.

It’s a quiet, uneventful trip to their campsite - it’s the end of the season, so they pass more people going out than coming in. They’re setting up for dinner and gathering wood when a handsome stranger comes by the campsite. His name’s Brad, and he’s caught more fish than he can eat by himself. Jenn invites him to stay for dinner, which bothers Alex a little. Brad seems friendly enough, though he’s a little cryptic about what he does for a living, and takes plenty of shots at Alex in the way that men do when there’s a pretty lady in the room. There’s some jockeying for dominance, and then Brad gets up and pisses just outside of the campfire.

Almost like he’s marking his territory.

This film takes its time to set up the events of its second half, to tell us who these people are and what they’re doing here. Jenn is a lawyer who’s never been camping before and has trouble putting her phone away. Alex does some landscaping work, but he’s working on something bigger. You get the sense that maybe he’s a little disappointed with himself, a little insecure. He wants to show Jenn this park, this place that’s been so important to him since he was very young, including all of the really cool places off-trail that the tourists don’t know about. Well, Brad knows about them.

Alex isn’t showy or loud, but he definitely has something to prove, and maybe Jenn’s a little impatient with it. All of this is important for what comes after, because out in the woods, little mistakes can have big consequences. Small injuries can become big problems if left untreated, the weather can turn on you, and memory plays tricks on us. A lot of what happens to Alex and Jenn comes down to his pride, his need to be good at something, to show off for Jenn, to demonstrate his worth to her. And without giving anything away, the second half of the film is a measured, dispassionate look at the ways in which they pay an awful cost for Alex’s pride. A lot can happen out in the woods, and there isn’t necessarily anyone around to help you.

The tension of the first half increases as things get worse and worse for the two of them, without ever really descending into melodrama. Everyone in this film is a believable person, with flaws and strengths and moments of weakness and moments of compassion, and their conversations sound like how people actually talk. The camerawork is expressive throughout but not overly showy, and makes good use of focus and a combination of close-ups and wide shots to communicate both interior states and the precariousness of their position out in the wild. Moments of high tension are punctuated with blurred, shaking shots and an absence of sound, which ends up being highly evocative - this film is good at making you feel what its characters are going through. At times it feels like it signposts things maybe a little too clearly (alternatively, I may just be entirely too vigilant about stuff like this), though there are a few nice feints and red herrings along the way, and the last act drags a little as the action subsides and becomes more about escape and survival, which dissipates some of the tension. I’m not sure it’s avoidable, though - this is a story told at a realistic scale, and hysterics and melodrama would seem awfully out of place.

Ultimately, that’s the film’s strength. This story is relatable, and that makes what happens all that much worse. Sometimes your insecurities and misplaced confidence and need to prove something - to pit yourself against something - lead to terrible consequences, and there’s something about the plainness of that that stayed with me after the film was over. Horror isn’t always moodily lit - sometimes it’s just out there in the world, under an open sky, screams and moans and pleas going unheeded in the middle of nowhere.

IMDB entry
Available on Netflix
Available from Amazon