As the old adage goes “nature is red in tooth and claw” but this year’s environmental cinema focuses on a bloodier violence which is far from inevitable. The black and white slapstick comedy Hundreds of Beavers, the gory slasher In a Violent Nature and cryptid movie Sasquatch Sunset all chose to limit or entirely refrain from dialogue in order to offer strange odes to the environment which highlight humanity’s lasting impact on the natural world.
Opting for physicality over dialogue, these three films follow in the footsteps of nonverbal nature documentaries such as Victor Kossakovsky’s Gunda and Laurent Charbonnier and Michel Seydoux’s Heart of An Oak. These documentaries offer much more than simple meditative depictions of wildlife and, though at first glance are seemingly plotless, they are in fact action-packed. Gunda’s unromantic lens captures the often bleak reality of life for farm animals – the invisible omnipresent hand of agriculture infringes on those living life in captivity – while Heart of An Oak documents the thriving atmosphere of the inhabitants of the oak tree and the surrounding area occupied by its stretching roots. Broadcasting nature needs no narration here, as it offers wildly unpredictable entertainment all of its own accord. A Dean Martin needle-drop may be cliche in any other setting, but watching flies copulate to Sway is a hilarious footnote in a rousing eco-conscience film.
While In a Violent Nature and Sasquatch Sunset are similar in the pacing and often brutalistic outlook of Gunda, Hundreds of Beavers’ fervent energy and quick wit shares more with Heart of An Oak. Although in the latter each animal and insect takes turns being predator and prey (depending on relative size), director Mike Cheslik returns to the violent dynamic between human and animal. The indie hit Hundreds of Beavers follows a failed cider salesman, Jean Kayak (Ryland Brickson Cole Tews), who pivots to a career as a fur pelter in a bid for survival. Once Jean teams up with fellow trapper (Wes Tank) the pair hold the relentless efficiency of the production line – with continuous nods throughout the film to Charlie Chaplin’s Modern Times – with a full docket of traps for woodland creatures and a success rate that Wile E Coyote could only dream of. Cheslik’s outrageous comedy demonstrates the colonial settler’s insatiable hunger for natural resources.
Jean, the amateur fur pelter, epitomises the industrial impact on the world; he feels only contempt for the beavers, knows no bounds and has no remorse for his endlessly destructive actions. Dialogue isn’t necessary to a film filled with quick-fire action shots and a never-ending supply of DIY traps. Jean stubbornly attempts to make the environment bend to his will, with increasingly detrimental effects. One unsuccessful trap even causes a wind tunnel that sucks him in. In the sisyphean nature of capitalism, Jean’s goalposts are routinely moved just out of reach, but with his blinkered perspective he cannot stop ravaging the land for his own gain.
Rather than rely on CGI that’s given many Disney live-action remakes that dead-behind-the-eyes quality, Sasquatch Sunset directors Nathan and David Zellner opted for realism. It is thanks to prosthetic artist Steve Newburn that the cryptid comes to life, no longer the blurry footage of bigfoot that believers hold up as evidence. The myth becomes tangible in the Northern Californian wilderness. To continue this harmony with the natural world the sasquatches – played by Jesse Eisenberg, Riley Keough, Christophe Zajac-Denek and Nathan Zellner – exchange only grunts and hollers. When signs of humanity appear on screen, be it a campsite or the discovery of a road, the beasts treat them with curiosity, but their naivety unnerves us as humanity’s encroaching presence serve as portends for their demise.
No one knows humanity’s cruelty better than In a Violent Nature’s Johnny (Ry Barrett), the vengeful resurrected corpse whose brutal death was covered up by the local logging company. The killer steals from the logging museum, dressing himself head to toe in the workwear, hiding the decomposing flesh that is a visceral testament to the logging industry’s violent history under the apparel of his enemy. Of these three films Chris Nash’s In a Violent Nature is the most dialogue heavy of the bunch, but as the slasher focuses on the often untapped perspective of the murderer, the dialogue of the victims serves merely as background noise.
Between the bloody kill scenes, Johnny stalks the woods of Northern Ontario, offering a surprisingly meditative reflection on the natural world. But what should be a forest brimming with life is often as quiet as its predator, making the slasher a painful reminder of our detrimental hand. His silence is deafening as he lingers over the decaying remains of a coyote caught in the jaws of a trap, or runs his hand over the tatters of pink ribbon tied around the trees. Alongside Johnny’s own vengeful motives, this homicidal supernatural being takes the “leave no trace” principle of outdoor hobbyists deadly serious.
Whether it’s Jean desperately collecting furs to win the hand of a maiden, the sasquatches routinely calling out into the forest in the hopes of finding more of their kind, or Johnny’s quest to recover a stolen heirloom that belonged to his long-dead family, each unspeaking protagonist casts a lonely shadow. They stand as testament to the growing isolation of the modern world, and the irony of cyclical violence in order to find connection is not lost on the slapstick barbarity of Hundreds of Beavers, Sasquatch Sunset and In a Violent Nature. By returning to cinema’s silent roots, these nonverbal films bridge the gap between animal and human. The omittance of language enhances the emotional depths of the natural world, bringing audiences closer to those that cannot speak for themselves.
