Blood Trails

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Shot in a harsh mini-DV format with an oversaturation of colors, "Blood Trails" is, aesthetically, a visually arresting pic. Its raw lens is focused mainly on a bike messenger named Anne, whose relationship with her boyfriend, Michael, is on the rocks. In a weak moment, she agrees to a one-night stand with a steady-eyed bicycle cop (Chris), and immediately regrets it, as Chris gets a little ... weird. Rueful and ashamed, she tries, the next day, to patch things up with Michael via a nice, quiet bike ride in the woods.

The daytrip turns out to be neither nice nor quiet. Chris has followed them into the mountainside forests and demands complete possession of Anne, which starts with him dispatching of Michael in a ludicrous and altogether laughable fashion. The "horror" that follows Anne for the rest of this tepid film is, we are meant to realize, the repercusions of her single, adulterous mistake.

The problem is that Anne, like most Slasher Pic Sirens, continues to make mistakes in her attempts to find safety and freedom. In fact, of the many, many, many horror/killer films I've seen, Anne has got to be, hands-down, the absolute stupidest heroine I have ever had the misfortune to watch. I wondered, as the film progressed, how any clear-thinking director could expect an audience to find Anne sympathetic, her actions understandable, or her position terrifying.

Not that our villain is any more relatable. In addition to possessing a humbling silence common for most malicious men, Chris is also, apparantly, an expert tracker with something like superhuman strength and agility. Neither he nor Anne seem very real until the final scene. This last burst of full-flowered action is a welcome change of pace, but it is also short and truncated. One gets the impression that almost the entire movie was made on the basis of this inspired conclusion.

Almost. It was also (rather obviously) built upon an allegory of self-discovery and sexuality, and this is why -- I believe -- the film fails so fully. Instead of trying to tell an engaging story of escape and fear, our director and writer (Robert Krause) has lifted a maudlin metaphor out of the cheesiest of self-help books for women and has tried to give it animus and color. Anne, you see, is running from herself. Chris, you see, is her unlikely mentor, here to teach her all about the grisly corners of the human soul. This is why her actions are all so inane -- they are no more or less ridiculous than the rationalizations we use for the most common of human decisions (staying with the abusive spouse, smoking that cigarette, drinking and driving). In this case, Anne is running not from Chris, but from what she likes about Chris. Her fear is not that Chris will kill her, but that he WON'T. Don't you get it? It's all one. Big. Symbol.

It's also one big trainwreck of a film, deeper meanings notwithstanding. Metaphors and allegories are NO substitute for a good story, I don't care how profound or true the underlying message is. Krause has got the pacing down. He knows how to knit together a scene with crisp and crass chromatics. He even frames his moments rather well. But if a runner is going nowhere, pacing doesn't matter. If there is nothing interesting to see, color makes no difference. And if your Big Message is transmitted by symbols that are hollow and mundane, no amount of clever framing will make them seem anything other than dull.

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