★★
“Neither protecting nor serving.”
I get the idea of what this is trying to do: really, be a female-centric version of The Hitcher. Though to some extent, that franchise went there itself, in The Hitcher II: I’ve Been Waiting. Here, we have Bobbi Torres (Camacho) driving across New Mexico in her sweet muscle car, and when she stops for fuel, has an awkward encounter with Sheriff Bilstein (Schwab). Things get worse when she gets back on the road, and is quickly pulled over by the officer for speeding, which gets her a thousand dollar ticket she is unable to pay. Thanks to a prologue, we know Bilstein has a psychopathic fondness for tormenting and killing young women. This ain’t gonna end well.
It is one of those films where you can tell whether someone is good or evil by their genital configuration. Every man Bobbi meets is evil; every woman we see is part of an unspoken sisterhood. I sense the aim was some kind of riot grrrl agenda, but it manifests itself in some spectacularly clunky ways. There’s one conversation which is especially cringey, Bobbi trading abuse stories with a diner waitress, Amy (Brumfield). It ends in a manner that is clearly intended to be shocking, but I was more relieved the pair had simply stopped spitting out clichés. And I am fairly sure that getting jabbed with a syringe does not typically result in instinct heroin addiction, as alleged here.
Nor does it help that Bobbi isn’t very likeable, the script mistaking smart-ass and mouthy as endearing. Schwab does better as the authority figure, exuding menace with every sentence. Though despite sharing a fondness for toying with his victim, the Sheriff is inevitably nowhere near as memorable as Rutger Hauer’s mythical road warrior. The agenda here is less interesting as well: I’ve seen a few reviews which compare this to the Wolf Creek movie, and I’d not argue – in part because I didn’t like that Australian road-slasher very much either [the TV series, however, is worth a look] The scales here are tipped considerably in favour of torture porn (albeit more mental than physical), with the inevitable explosion of Bobbi limited to the final fifteen minutes.
There are some positives to be found, such as the impressively sparse desert landscapes (looks like California played the part of New Mexico), and Bobbi’s car, a 1977 Ford Mustang, which arguably has more personality than its driver. There’s a plot point established about it having a balky starter motor, but I don’t recall this being as crucial as I expected. I did like the sense anyone could die at any time, with a couple of deaths out of nowhere. It needs a heroine who is considerably more aggressive, except verbally, in the first half. Bobbi ends up being too passive for too long in the face of the Sheriff’s obvious threat, which belies the strong, confident woman the script wants her to be.
Dir: Lawrence Jacomelli
Star: Britni Camacho, John Schwab, Sydney Brumfield, Travis Lincoln Cox


At the beginning of this, I wondered if I was watching a Godzilla film. Because it opens with atomic bomb footage, depicting French test in the Pacific. We know what this leads to: gigantic lizards with fiery bre… Oh, hang on: it’s actually a group of women, looking for a place reputed to have particularly gnarly (if my knowledge of beach-speak doesn’t fail me, and it probably does) waves. There are three surfers, plus photographer Sarah (Galloy), who has been out of the game since an accident which wrecked her confidence. The island they find isn’t on any map, so it must be good, and not a death-trap waiting to happen to them. Right?
For a good while, this struggled to retain my interest, and when it did, the problems outweighed the positive aspects. Fortunately, after a solid hour of faffing around in ways that provoked mostly rolling of my eyes, the film found its stride. That’s funny, because it’s a running reference. Ok, not very funny. Down the stretch it both figuratively and literally pushes the pedal to the metal, in quite an impressive manner. My reaction was divided. Part of me wondered, where the heck this was earlier on? However, rather than petering out like a sad trombone, there’s no question it’s better for a film to finish strongly, and give the viewers something positive to take away with them.
Marni (Johnson) is stuck in the titular town, where oil fracking is causing problems from earthquakes to poisoning the local water supply. She’s barely scraping by as a single mom to teenage son Jason (Strange), working as a bartender for sleazy owner Daryl (McMahan), who has a bad case of wandering hands, and hustling customers at pool. Her life is upended when Steph (Carpenter) comes into the bar, kicks Marni’s ass on the pool table, and the two end up making out in the back alley. When Steph becomes aware of Darryl’s safe full of cash, she suggests they liberate it, to finance a new life for them and Jason, far away from Extraction.
I’ve seen worse films, to be quite clear. Technically, this is perfectly acceptable, with an apparently reasonable budget, put to decent use. But I don’t think I’ve seen one which has been more
Bec ‘Rowdy’ Rawlings is an Australian mixed martial-artist, who fought in the UFC for a bit, and then became the first woman to win a bare-knuckle boxing world title. This documentary covers her life, from growing up as a teenage tearaway, through motherhood transforming her character, her discovery of mixed martial-arts, a disastrous and highly toxic first marriage, and escaping that to become eventually the Bare Knuckle Fighting Championship federation’s Women’s Featherweight World Champion. Phew. That’s quite a lot to get through in less than eighty minutes. The film does a decent job of covering its bases, through interviews with Bec, and her family and friends, plus no shortage of archive footage of Rawlings, both in and out of the ring.
What’s unusual here is that, allow this is an American production, the cast and crew are almost entirely of South Asian origin. Which is fine, except that writer/director Gil has an imperfect grasp of English. Witness the opening voice-over, which I present verbatim: “There are three wants which can never be satisfied. That of the mastermind who want more, that of the peddler who pray for more, and that of the whistle stopper who don’t know when to say enough.” Um, yes? Fortunately, it’s not too dialogue-heavy, and the plot is mercifully basic, albeit needlessly cluttered up with jumps around in time of weeks, months or days, which a more skilled creator would have avoided.
Coincidentally, I watched this the night after Sinners, another period piece which looks at the place of a specific culture in society. There, it was music in predominantly black society of the thirties; here, it’s professional wrestling in the overwhelmingly white society of the fifties [the presence of in this WWE champion Naomi as Ethel Johnson, feels very much a token gesture]. Definitely fewer vampires in this, however. It’s the story of Mildred Burke (Rickards), who went from working as a waitress in a diner, though wrestling at carnivals, to become one of the biggest draws in the ring of her time. The end of the film calls her the first woman to become a millionaire through sports.
Interestingly, this is based on a somewhat true story, written by Raquel Santos de Oliveira. She comes from Rocinha, one of the most notorious slums in Rio, where she grew up on the streets. “By 11, I was already carrying a .38 revolver,” 