Ahhh Upstate NY. Like any place it means different things to different people. To the film makers behind Savage Weekend it means sensual cow milking, Irish fantasies about blood and gore, and bold handlebar moustaches. They might be on to something.
Savage Weekend is a strange treat indeed. It’s a movie that lingers on site gags and weird bits of sexual erotica; the stalk and slash horror groove isn’t tapped into until the last half hour of film time and by then you’ve probably forgotten why you were even watching it in the first place. Maybe the film makers forgot why they were making the film but were having too much fun to care. Was it to see what happens when a flaming homosexual man invades a redneck watering hole? Was it to watch a greasy and misunderstood hick named Otis shoot at rats, talk to himself, and bitch about them city folk? Was it to watch the sensual milking of a cow? Who knows? Who cares with all this grade-A Upstate NY cheese?
The slasher doesn’t start offing people until the end, and by that time it’s long overdue. It sure is fun laughing at the crew’s microphone carelessly stumbling into frame, or giggling at antics involving a house’s old electrical system where light switches don’t act like you’d expect, but damn it all, let’s get down to business here, and that business involves a radical standoff between two burly moustaches battling with chainsaws and machetes. May the better facial hair win.
Savage Weekend is mess; it takes far too long to make any kind of point and languishes in irrelevant sub-plot purgatory. So why have I watched it four times already and will probably watch it again? I think it has something to do with the movie’s main theme song:
“I’m an upstate man, making due with what I can.” I make due.
Make due you gibbering freak-ball; have fun, lighten up, and spend a couple weekend hours with Savage Weekend. It’s worth it for the cow milking scene alone.