GREGORY’S DOUBLE FEATURES Presents Two Semi-Recent Bigfoot Movies: SUMMONING THE SPIRIT; and SASQUATCH SUNSET
Hi. As I write this piece for no money, the two main TV-viewing options are the Big Debate, and AFI’s salute to Nicole Kidman. About 20 years ago, I attended the American Cinematheque’s fundraising tribute to Kidman — same room as the Golden Globes — and, although there was spectacle (an older American male producer claiming to have been an Australian schoolgirl; an actor who is more nose than man ignoring posted guidelines and blatantly mispronouncing “Cinematheque” [‘teek! they looped him for the broadcast]; Kidman herself having to rush her kids out of the room during scenes from Eyes Wide Shit, etc.); oh, and Indiana boy Sydney Pollack literally knocked knees (not boots) with me — in sum I found that particular experience too artificially emotionally demanding, though thanks for dinner. Been there, done that.
As for the political thing, I stand with Shatner.
Thus do I have time to tap out this utterly unnecessary dual review of two semi-recent Bigfoot movies.
Lucky you!
Although surely the alliteration is coincidental, these movies are: Summoning the Spirit; and Sasquatch Sunset. They’re both copyrighted 2023, but I have just discovered them on DVD. For me, these days, halfway through the following year for turn-around is to be considered utmost haste, as I note again that I’m not being paid for this. I am, however, cognizant of the double-dip, as it smacks of major studios competing against each other with dueling volcano movies or dueling Wyatt Earp movies or whatever. Remember that trend? Oh, but major studios don’t seem to have been involved here. Which is nice.
Summoning the Spirit, which shockingly features its onscreen title rendered in a frilly pink font (already a point up for a Bigfoot movie), concerns a Bigfoot cult, and people being indoctrinated into it. This is a theme to which I can relate, but perhaps not as you’d cynically suppose. You see, when I was slightly more impressionable than I am today, I was indoctrinated into a Bigfoot cult: yes, between the “Sasquatch” episodes of The Six-Million-Dollar Man, and the abrupt minting of “Chewbacca” and his “Wookiee” associates — a very short span, really — huge, hirsute/hairsuit honkies in the cult of media became a vital topic of discussion for my purported peer group (this without listing all the prehumans in other popular and scientifically inaccurate productions). Of course I had, and have, many other interests, but The Star Wars Holiday Special (which I have unironically loved since its first and only broadcast) and even Return of the Jedi sealed the deal (what are “Ewoks” but diminutive “Wookiees” with the syllables swapped? [love to messrs. Mayhew and Davis, but Bigfoot ripoffs, the lot]). No, I’m not a “Furry,” and yes, I am aware of the daunting plethora of other Bigfoot yarns available — but for this piece I’m just focusing on these two movies, because this subject matter holds some appeal in its familiarity. Have I mentioned the not-being-paid detail? (But also: Not being [horribly] edited. Win!)
The gist of Summoning the Spirit is that an urban married couple move out to the woods, promptly miscarry their stillborn firstborn, discover that their nearby neighbors are weirdos, but also there really is a reason for the group’s fervor: as we see, perhaps too clearly, in broad daylight, several times, that there’s an actual Bigfoot running around their neck of the forest, and he’s their quasi-deity and local Gaia representative, despite his predilection for squishing people’s heads.
The couple are Carla (Krystal Millie Valdes), and Dean (Ernesto Reyes), respectively an ex-therapist and a struggling writer who IRL absolutely could not afford the Martha-Stewart-approved seven-figure home (on five acres) where they uncomfortably settle beside the weirdos’ commune. (Although I’ve never signed up for hippiedom, during a career lull I was for a while New Age-adjacent, and this aspect of Summoning the Spirit deserves praise for its accuracy, however icky.) Dean fornicated with a student, so the couple are “processing,” and into this vulnerable phase pops hippy-dippy Celeste (Isabelle Muthiah), whom, get this, Carla picks up “hitchhiking,” on a narrow, lonely logging road (a dirt path). Summoning the Spirit exists somewhere in the troubled-couple-in-rural-freakshow universe between The Howling, and Wanderlust, and alas that it doesn’t make up its mind to be full-on funny as teased by that unintentional “hitchhiking” chortle, because, with respect for The Howling, I could really go for Wanderlust 2: Wanderlustier.
Unlike The Howling, Summoning the Spirit isn’t particularly scary, either, owing perhaps to that odd-yet-prevalent indie-shot-on-video feeling of, for lack of a better term, languid intimacy: often it kind of hangs there among its requisite drone shots, letting not-quite-professional actors say their not-quite-finessed lines, not-quite-convincingly. Meanwhile, until the nocturnal climax wherein a smug elder gets his head opened like a bloomin’ onion, most of these hippie rituals are strangely staged in daylight, with the ladies prancing around not “sky-clad” but merely bra-clad: a sharp contrast to real New Agers and/or top-shelf Hollywood show ponies, who jump at every opportunity to go the full monty. (At this I was reminded of the astute and ever-delightful Jack Packard, who at RLM HQ tsk-tsk-ed some indie actress giving it all up for zero glory: “Oh, no, honey: not for this!” Exactly. Although this movie does deliver a furtive F-F kiss, albeit one that exudes all the steamy passion of the economical sharing of lip gloss.) It’s also puzzling that the promotional art features a Bigfoot who looks like a typically enraged buzz-cut Midwestern dumbass, whereas the Bigfoot in the movie is an easygoing shaggy Pac-NW dude, at least until riled. As with many details throughout, Summoning the Spirit feels undecided: it’s clearly shot in the temperate rainforest of Oregon or thereabouts, but in the movie it claims to be Ohio, but Dean is working on a book about the Oregon Trail . . . in Ohio?
Bigfoot is Bigfoot? Bigfoot is people? Bigfoot is a slasher? Bigfoot is Nature’s emissary? Hm.
There’s also some business about everyone in the cult being damaged, but it’s the woman with the thickest, most luxuriant hair (Lacy Todd) who is said to suffer from alopecia. Is that a wig? Wait, and Dean has sleep apnea? And who invited the pro-wrestlers and grannies? What’s going on here?
Back to the praise, I was pleasantly surprised with what director-cowriter Jon Garcia and his team achieved with their movie, and despite it initially seeming like a bazillion other cheapo Asylum-esque squishy digital horrors (I like some of those productions, but nonetheless I was prepared to switch it off in despair), it actually tells a story, with characters, and it has a theme (renewal), and I was genuinely curious about where it was going, and felt adequately satisfied when it got there.
Apart from the two leads, other standouts include Robin Magdhalen as precisely the sort of New Age lady it’s best to avoid, and especially Jesse Tayeh as the cult leader: spot-on sanctimonious, thus creepy as hell, and perfect in his role. As noted above, I didn’t quite grok the mythos — you’re “called,” someone else is “called,” someone becomes a Bigfoot, then they later return to human form from that “trip”? — but whether he’s moonlighting (more like sunlighting) as a hairy brute, or he’s supposed to be the real deal, Sean Sisson, in full-body suit and facial prosthetic, certainly looks the part.
Apart from a few quick and frankly silly bursts of gore, Summoning the Spirit may not be the Bigfoot movie your inner 14-year-old is craving, but with its earnest human foibles and attempts to reinvest in the natural world, your inner 40-year-old may dig it.
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While there are no raves, not even from greasy-kid-stuff sites, on the DVD case of Summoning the Spirit, by contrast Sasquatch Sunset boasts three: from IndieWire (which I note seems to be a real outlet), Variety (which I don’t trust, but I’ve heard of it), and even The Guardian (which means this production’s budget included a strong publicity arm). Some Boston critic dissed Summoning the Spirit by comparing it unfavorably to an Ari Aster movie, but thus far Aster’s movies repel me: I’ve glanced at them on cable, they feel extremely forced and false, and I’m not a Millennial, so I shrug and click over to whichever Jaws movie is on (preferably 2). I’m not shocked or thrilled by Aster’s work. To me, he simply is not a brand.
Nonetheless, Aster’s name, as executive producer, tops the artwork on Sasquatch Sunset, which premiered in the freezing cold at Sundance earlier this year, from screenwriter David Zellner, who co-directed with his brother Nathan Zellner, of whom I hadn’t heard until I noticed this DVD and the other one, and thought: low-hanging-fruit excuse for an article. It’s unclear what Aster actually did with this production, but the Zellner Bros seem to be likable freaks, so 89 minutes, why not? (Online I’ve determined that David Zellner attended something called “the University of Texas film school,” and as it’s a well-known fact that there aren’t any educational institutions in Texas, if that’s some sort of joke, hey, funny!)
Sasquatch Sunset is not about a bouncer on the Strip, but rather concerns a small group of Bigfoots wandering around searching for other Bigfoots. They communicate in grunts, screeches, and hoots, and they’re about as realistic-looking as the titular creations in the vastly superior Planet of the Apes, from 56 years ago. They’re almost certainly modeled after Chewbacca’s family (Malla, Itchy, and Lumpy) from the Holiday Special — except they’re not fun. Two die of extreme stupidity, two survive, a new one is born, and the survivors eventually discover that their land is being destroyed by humans. The titles and credits are all bland white-on-black.
Unfortunately, despite some directorial ambition and upscale production plus Ansel Adams-aping vistas, most of Sasquatch Sunset doesn’t work. It’s rarely a good idea to encourage your actors to indulge their lowest and most obnoxious impulses, but a mere five minutes in, we get hardcore fucking, followed by plenty of graphic shitting, pissing, puking, and even — hey, thanks! — booger-eating. Other senses are served by farting and vag-sniffing. There’s no need to be a prude about it, but there’s also no need to be this idiotically juvenile. Given this tone, the whole movie feels like being stuck with your worst theatre friends on meth.
Even that would be excusable, however, were it not for the Zellner Bros’ deranged and off-putting take on the mythic Bigfoots as outrageous slobs and morons. Seriously, it makes no sense that the adults among this species — creatures who have presumably roamed this land for many generations — have no clue what’s good to eat, and what isn’t. We spend a near-eternity watching them sample the local flora, but wouldn’t the mature ones already know how to nourish themselves (and how to find their own mouths when inserting food)? Instead what we get is like a quartet of Morks flouncing around the forest, aliens who’ve just arrived on this planet and have no idea what to do about it. Which, again, doesn’t work.
Side note: To show his commitment to his bestial role, Jesse Eisenberg (One Day Like Rain) brought in movement and mime coach Lorin Eric Salm, who helped the cast create consistent behaviors; although why they chose to act like rabid chimps remains . . . UnXplained (sic).
I’m not claiming a degree in cryptozoology, but until near the end of this movie, when it’s too late, these creatures are depicted as being completely disgusting, utterly devoid of grace, and merely an excuse to be, again, as obnoxious as possible: at the expense of the viewer. Add in twee music and cutesy moments, and Sasquatch Sunset feels like a Wes Anderson remake of Quest for Fire. (I can already feel the Reddit brats shouting “THAT SOUNDS AMAZING!!!” Trust me, it isn’t.) Sasquatch Sunset also feels eerily reminiscent of several frat-pack comedies, in that it’s crass as hell for its first hour, then desperately swerves toward Meaningful and Sensitive in its third act. Yeah, right. Pick a lane.
Logistical problems abound, too: Although the creatures visit a curiously unattended camping setup in an improbable ravine (where bears would have made short work of it), plus they traverse territory increasingly ravaged by logging, burning, and clearcutting, why do they never encounter a single human? And when they discover a road for the first time (this is the first time the adults have ever seen a road?), they literally piss and shit all over it — the female even blasts milk from her breasts — but later, surrounded by human development, they offer no such “opinions”? Earlier, the patriarch eats an entire bush of red berries, but then he pukes green slime. And this movie’s dumb take on Bigfoots has them quite handy with two-star sashimi and caviar, but berries are new to them? I could go on. Why did you make this movie?
Props to cinematographer Michael Gioulakis, who delivers lavish images of Humboldt County, CA, and cheers to the animal wranglers. The rare subtle scene with the Bigfoot trying to pet a badger, then shrugging as it wanders off, provided one of my two laughs during this movie.
The other laugh involved the child Bigfoot standing beside a grave for the freshly-killed-by-mountain-lion “Alpha” Bigfoot, getting hit in the face with each scoop of dirt as it’s being dug. The getting hit isn’t the funny part; the funny part is that the little oaf is so stupid he doesn’t think to step to one side. Perhaps he’s an ancestor of Charlize Theron’s character in Prometheus. Thanks for that.
Anyway, since the appearances and behaviors depicted herein are available for free outside any 7–11, I cannot recommend Sasquatch Sunset, although I will contradict The Guardian: whatever the opposite of “ingenious” is, that’s this movie. Apparently the Zellner Bros have made other movies. Perhaps some of those are good.
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My takeaway from this self-imposed assignment: Well, each movie approaches the Bigfoot thing from a radically different angle, but also each is a movie made by men that ultimately focuses on birth and motherhood. Maybe there are some college essays in that. I mean, in places where there are colleges.
