The Cottage

Paul Andrew Williams’ debut feature London To Brighton married British grit and thrilling genre wiles successfully enough to convince us that we were watching the southern Shane Meadows. It comes as no surprise that this sticky, icky comic horror was originally intended as the bright young filmmaker’s feature debut; what’s surprising is how utterly different it is from its unintended predecessor.
With more than a nod to An American Werewolf In London and The League Of Gentlemen – in Reece Shearsmith it even borrows one of the League’s troop – The Cottage takes us deep into the bosom of English countryside gothic. Mr. Shearsmith and Andy Serkis (Gollum!) essay two bickering brothers turned amateur criminal in the hope of ending their financial woes. Having barely managed to kidnap the feisty Jennifer Ellison, leaving lots of clues for her gangland boss father in the process, they find themselves up against Korean assassins and a local Leatherface with a penchant for human gristle.
The chemistry between the leads is nicely set up. Shearsmith is the decent cowardly one. Ellison could, one feels, kill with a lash of her Liverpudlian tongue or crush you with her august anterior. Serkis is the Mo of these particular Stooges. But a rather flat script never allows the characters to come into full bloom. Indeed, the film doesn’t really get going until the body parts start to fly.
In this respect, as a carnival of comic carnage, The Cottage is an unqualified success. We loved the inventive and satisfyingly squelching use of gore. The monster, who seems to have lumbered out of Universal Studios when James Whale was still plying his trade, is equally impressive.
Still, there’s a touch of disappointment. From the creator of London To Brighton we were expecting nothing less than extreme genre makeover from the lower intestines up. The Cottage might be clever and amusing but in stark contrast to Mr. Williams’ earlier film, it’s all blood and no heart.