Nothing about this film plays out quite as you'd expect. Reg, for instance, initially seems a standard-issue movie yokel, mangling the language and reacting to adversity with wallaby-in-the-headlights terror; but "100 Bloody Acres" eventually reveals his hidden layers. Over the course of the film Reg seems increasingly sympathetic without any special pleading by the script, and without minimizing his culpability in his brother's viciousness. Herriman's performance is thoughtful, funny and often touching: at times I felt as though I was watching a young Michael Rooker play Norman Bates as a tragic clown.
All the characters are as well-drawn as Reg. They keep surprising you with artfully-revealed bits of backstory and amusing character touches, such as when Wes offers James a tab of LSD when they're in the back of the truck, with the no-big-deal affability of one hobo offering a cigarette to another while riding in a boxcar. I love the way Reg blurts out to Sophie that she's a "city slu—uh—uh, slicker!" when they're riding together; it clues you in on the fearful misogynist attitudes that Reg learned in isolation with his scary big brother. Even better is Sophie's reaction to Reg's gaffe: rather than smack him down, she explains that the fact that she likes sex and feels comfortable having more than one boyfriend doesn't mean she's a slut, just that she's not the settle-down type. (Her attitudes would be no big deal if she were a he.) Sophie assures Reg that deep down she's still a "country girl," a phrase that gets redefined away from stereotype the more time you spend in her company. Gender studies buffs are going to have a field day analyzing her choices in this movie, and not disapprovingly.
James and Wes are surprising as well. On first glance they seem like a typical "nice guy"/"bad boy" pairing. But Wes is funnier and more decent than you think, and James isn't the white knight you assume he is. Maybe Sophie could be satisfied with just one guy if she could combine her two boyfriends, and create a sensitive, loyal, caring man who's also boisterous and fearless and funny and doesn't seem as though he has a fishing pole up his bum twenty four-seven.
Lindsay is probably the film's most straightforward character—a heavy whose violence drives much of the film's action—but he isn't one-note either. There's a sadness in his eyes. Maybe he realized at some point that he's an ogre, the kind of guy who can string up a hostage by clanking chains over a meat grinder and talk to him calmly as he prepares to gut him; then maybe he decided to not think about it, as real-life ogres do. The throwaway moments—such as Lindsay absentmindedly singing along with a song on the radio as he drives—hint at the humanity he must have lost long ago. He just wants the family business to be secure.
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