Ah, New Zealand, with its bucolic, Hobbit-trodden hills, jocular locals and vast array of fluffy animals just waiting to be butchered, buggered, genetically messed with or, in this case, some unholy combination of all three.
Channelling the spirit of early Peter Jackson with a touch more technical sophistication and a little less wit, Jonathan King’s debut follows ovineophobe Henry (Nathan Meister) as he heads back to his childhood home to discover that the distinctly suspect (and somewhat over-literal) animal husbandry favoured by his brother Angus (Peter Feeney) has created a flock of marauding Frankensheep.
In a genre that delights in depictions of tree rape (The Evil Dead) and zombie rumpo (Braindead), the first half – essentially a gaggle of strapping outdoorsy types in sweaters repeatedly mispronouncing their ‘I’s – is genially goofy rather than funny or scary. But then the sheep really hits the fan, and WETA’s fearsome creatures come slathering to life in a Baa-mageddon of entrail-ripping, penis-munching mutton chopsocky.
The only people likely to feel hard done by are vegetarians, farmers and those whose stomachs are weaker than their sense of humour. Kiwis: 1 Taste: 0.
