Martin Scorsese’s 1973 classic Mean Streets wasn’t the first movie to set a moment of explosive violence to a pop song (you may remember “Please Mr. Postman” by the Marvelettes during the pool hall fight), but it certainly set the standard. When Edgar Wright’s Shaun of the Dead had its big finish at the pub, he saw an opportunity to “yes, and…” the master by having his characters battle zombies with pool cues to the beat of Queen’s “Don’t Stop Me Now.” And for my money it’s the ne plus ultra of gory needle-drop moments in cinema.
So it’s no surprise that Get Away, written by and starring Shaun’s sidekick Nick Frost, should try to recapture some of that magic. When this bloodsoaked comedy reaches its “and now all hell shall break loose” moment, we’re treated to the opening licks of Iron Maiden’s “Run to the Hills,” one of the best headbanging ever recorded. So of course it’s fun when everyone starts whipping blades around in slow motion.
But in the earlier films, there’s been an in-world reason for the gag—there was a jukebox on. With Get Away, a pleasurable film without too much depth, the moment is there just because it’s fun. It’s a sterling example of why this is a good movie, but not a great one.
But let’s focus on the positives of this brisk, 86-minute picture from director Steffen Haars (New Kids, New Kids Turbo). Frost plays Richard, a classic doofus Dad taking the family on a vacation to a remote Swedish island. By his side is Susan (Aisling Bea), the zany mom, proving that “adorkable” has no age limit. In the back seat are the sullen son (Sebastian Croft) and the smarty pants daughter (Maisie Ayres), both very funny performances despite looking way too old to play teens.
The island they are headed to is about to celebrate their annual Karantän ceremony—a festival that commemorates a self-imposed quarantine the population suffered through two centuries ago, which ultimately led to bloodshed and cannibalism. Our visiting family thinks it’s just a yearly festival with an outdoor puppet show, but when they arrive there are immediate Wicker Man vibes. Despite ample warnings to get the hell off the island for their own safety, the family is determined to make a nice holiday.
Slowly peeling back the conspiracy of this isolated, provincial village inevitably brings to mind the plot of another Frost film he made with Edgar Wright and Simon Pegg, Hot Fuzz—and frankly these comparisons don’t do the movie any favors. But when the characters have a little room to play opposite one another and not focus on story beats, the movie is quite charming. There are gags about waffles, there’s a Swede named Sven Svenson, and it’s even shot on location (well, technically Finland) so there’s some great scenery for a low budget picture.
All four of the leads are quite good, especially Frost playing a beefy, British spin on a classic Clark Griswold character. There’s a nice back and forth between him and Ayres, with Dad trying to persuade her to keep away from smoking too much weed. “Cannabis isn’t really my thing,” she assures him. What is her thing? “Cocaine and fat dicks.” Okay, it isn’t Shakespeare, but the performances nail it.
As the hour of Karantän draws near, there’s a build-up of spooky occurrences—beheaded chickens and the like, with Frost and co. reacting in a naturalistic, deadpan manner that always gets a nice laugh. Then the movie takes less of a sharp turn but a complete jump onto a different road. I’m not interested in spoiling the twist, but I’ll admit I had absolutely no clue that this was where the movie was headed.
And I’ll be honest with you—I don’t think it actually makes sense. I started to do that thing where you roll back everything you’ve seen thus far to see if the new revelations were hinted at along the way. (“Aha! No one was actually talking to Bruce Willis in The Sixth Sense except the kid!” being the classic example.) I’m not so sure Get Away snaps together. But as I was doing this I had two, somewhat competing thoughts.
First, I realized that this extremely slight movie just wasn’t worth the extra mental energy to scrutinize. I know, that sounds bad. But then I had a second revelation. “Giving up,” so to speak, was okay.
The movie still worked as a comedy, just one that kept everything on the surface. If there weren’t genuine laughs in there I’d probably feel ripped off, but the zings are sharp enough and the gory gross-outs are cleverly executed as well. Picture Nick Frost after running, bent over, hands on his knees, too exhausted to make a further effort. That essence leapt off the screen and into my soul; good enough, I thought, having warm feelings toward Get Away, despite it all. Sometimes a movie, like a vacation, isn’t quite perfect, but still beats staying home and doing nothing.
