Calibre Review - Greek Mythology and Brexit 14/07/18
Matt Palmer turned out to be the dark horse of the Edinburgh Film Festival as his debut feature film Calibre (2018) became this year’s winner of the Michael Powell Award for Best British Feature. It was also the last chance for audiences to experience it on the big screen for another 10 years as the film is being released on Netflix. Being a fortunate viewer who watched Calibre in the cinema, I must express my regret that the film now can only be admired in a domestic environment. The naturalistic wide shots of the breathtaking dark green and brown landscape of the Scottish Highlands are designed to be enjoyed in theatre. On the bright side, as Palmer admitted at the Q&A, it opens the film for a much broader audience and it’s beneficial for merchandising and promoting the film.
The expansion of the film market by Netflix became more aggressive, with the platform not only producing their original series (normally associated with television) but also releasing an increasing amount of feature films. Obviously, it is unavoidable and inescapable, however frightening. Isn’t the whole notion of cinematic spectatorship in danger if we’re not able to experience them in the dark theatre? As there has been vast academic research on the topic, I would like to leave you, dear readers, with this open question before I move on to reviewing the excellent Calibre.
Palmer’s debut gloomy thriller opens with an intimate shot of a couple cuddling in bed. Vaughn (Jack Lowden) is a regular young man living in an elegant apartment in Glasgow who is expecting his first baby with his partner (Olivia Morgan). At the onset of unescapable parenthood, he agrees to go deer hunting with his lifelong friend from boarding school, Marcus (Martin McCann). Their destination? An isolated village in Scottish Highland, a place that Marcus used to go with his father.
As soon as they arrive, they encounter a disturbing resistance by the local people. It becomes an active aversion after the lads’ boozy night in the pub, crowned by Marcus taking a girl up to his hotel room. Consequently, the next morning the men are definitely not in a fit state to hold a gun. Maybe if they read the myth about Artemis, Agamemnon and the killing of the sacred deer they would consider putting the rifle down?
Writer-director Matt Palmer sets a disquieting mood from the very beginning by slowly uncovering the complex relationship between Vaughn and Marcus that echoes the one between father and son. Their complicated friendship constitutes a fascinating ground for building the unsettling psychological tension.
Palmer’s film is rich with mythological references as the protagonists are being faced with the impossible choice, ‘where deeply held moral principles are in conflict and there is no right decision’ (Young, 2018, p.109). The woodland landscape resemblances the mythical forest homeland of Artemis. Therefore, the myth in which Agamemnon kills a stag sacred to the goddess, seems strikingly relevant when approaching Calibre.
Moreover, the deer itself is a sacred animal in mythology with its antlers being associated with spiritual superiority. Considering the Jungian’s notion of archetypes, the deer is also a connotation of both masculinity and femininity. Jung stated that the psyche constraining and embracing both feminine, which he called Anima, and masculine, Animus. It is therefore androgynous. Our protagonists, Vaughn and Marcus, clearly problematise these ideas. As does the community in the remote Scottish village patriarchal model with its male dominated power structure.
Besides being a gripping psychological thriller, Calibre can also be read as socio-political commentary. As uncertainty increases in Western society, the national and separatistic tendencies becomes stronger. The fear of the unknown: terrorism, ecological disasters, technology causes people mutual distrust, to each other, to the system, to the government. Therefore, given the film is Scottish, I would argue that Calibre is also a compelling metaphor for Brexit. The village can be seen as United Kingdom, trying to be self-sustaining but, as debt and ‘foreign’ investments are a big part of film’s narrative, finds it impossible to progress without help from outside. The film, however, doesn’t stand by any of the sides. This is one of the most powerful aspects of the film: the subtle balance of sympathies and identification with outsiders and villagers.
That being said, it is important to acknowledge Palmer’s powerful depiction of contrast between rural and urban Scotland. The film was shot entirely in Robert Burns’ country by Hungarian cinematographer Mark Gyori who perfectly illustrates the wild but breathtakingly beautiful land.
Calibre contains obvious references to John Boorman’s Deliverance (1972) but also echoes Ken Loach’s social realist films and brings to mind Eden Lake (2008). Palmer, however, managed to create something very unique and original. The film is taunting and, considering the limited budget, very efficient as it focuses on the characters psychology and sprinkles additional tension with unexpected twists.
Palmer’s thriller is gripping, original, and compelling. It is truly a shame that it couldn’t be admired on the big screen by a wider audience. On the other hand, I can doubtlessly recommend it as one of the best new releases on Netflix.
By Paulina
The expansion of the film market by Netflix became more aggressive, with the platform not only producing their original series (normally associated with television) but also releasing an increasing amount of feature films. Obviously, it is unavoidable and inescapable, however frightening. Isn’t the whole notion of cinematic spectatorship in danger if we’re not able to experience them in the dark theatre? As there has been vast academic research on the topic, I would like to leave you, dear readers, with this open question before I move on to reviewing the excellent Calibre.
Palmer’s debut gloomy thriller opens with an intimate shot of a couple cuddling in bed. Vaughn (Jack Lowden) is a regular young man living in an elegant apartment in Glasgow who is expecting his first baby with his partner (Olivia Morgan). At the onset of unescapable parenthood, he agrees to go deer hunting with his lifelong friend from boarding school, Marcus (Martin McCann). Their destination? An isolated village in Scottish Highland, a place that Marcus used to go with his father.
As soon as they arrive, they encounter a disturbing resistance by the local people. It becomes an active aversion after the lads’ boozy night in the pub, crowned by Marcus taking a girl up to his hotel room. Consequently, the next morning the men are definitely not in a fit state to hold a gun. Maybe if they read the myth about Artemis, Agamemnon and the killing of the sacred deer they would consider putting the rifle down?
Writer-director Matt Palmer sets a disquieting mood from the very beginning by slowly uncovering the complex relationship between Vaughn and Marcus that echoes the one between father and son. Their complicated friendship constitutes a fascinating ground for building the unsettling psychological tension.
Palmer’s film is rich with mythological references as the protagonists are being faced with the impossible choice, ‘where deeply held moral principles are in conflict and there is no right decision’ (Young, 2018, p.109). The woodland landscape resemblances the mythical forest homeland of Artemis. Therefore, the myth in which Agamemnon kills a stag sacred to the goddess, seems strikingly relevant when approaching Calibre.
Moreover, the deer itself is a sacred animal in mythology with its antlers being associated with spiritual superiority. Considering the Jungian’s notion of archetypes, the deer is also a connotation of both masculinity and femininity. Jung stated that the psyche constraining and embracing both feminine, which he called Anima, and masculine, Animus. It is therefore androgynous. Our protagonists, Vaughn and Marcus, clearly problematise these ideas. As does the community in the remote Scottish village patriarchal model with its male dominated power structure.
Besides being a gripping psychological thriller, Calibre can also be read as socio-political commentary. As uncertainty increases in Western society, the national and separatistic tendencies becomes stronger. The fear of the unknown: terrorism, ecological disasters, technology causes people mutual distrust, to each other, to the system, to the government. Therefore, given the film is Scottish, I would argue that Calibre is also a compelling metaphor for Brexit. The village can be seen as United Kingdom, trying to be self-sustaining but, as debt and ‘foreign’ investments are a big part of film’s narrative, finds it impossible to progress without help from outside. The film, however, doesn’t stand by any of the sides. This is one of the most powerful aspects of the film: the subtle balance of sympathies and identification with outsiders and villagers.
That being said, it is important to acknowledge Palmer’s powerful depiction of contrast between rural and urban Scotland. The film was shot entirely in Robert Burns’ country by Hungarian cinematographer Mark Gyori who perfectly illustrates the wild but breathtakingly beautiful land.
Calibre contains obvious references to John Boorman’s Deliverance (1972) but also echoes Ken Loach’s social realist films and brings to mind Eden Lake (2008). Palmer, however, managed to create something very unique and original. The film is taunting and, considering the limited budget, very efficient as it focuses on the characters psychology and sprinkles additional tension with unexpected twists.
Palmer’s thriller is gripping, original, and compelling. It is truly a shame that it couldn’t be admired on the big screen by a wider audience. On the other hand, I can doubtlessly recommend it as one of the best new releases on Netflix.
By Paulina