Sometimes, it becomes easier to sense when a show or a movie has been shaped by a female perspective. For me, it has almost become a game of intuition. I still remember going into Down Cemetery Road on Apple TV blind and sensing that I was watching something created by a woman. There were Zoë Boehm's sexual encounters, which didn't feel exploitative or sensationalized but, um, empowering. And then there was this strange sensation of hearing "wanker" in the background whenever someone said "banker" to refer to Sarah Trafford's hubby.
Those same intuitions returned while I was watching Balaraw: Blood Island on Netflix. This time, the signs revealed themselves in the show's refusal to indulge in sexual titillation, even when a few female characters find themselves surrounded or caged by rowdy, thug-like men who, in a third-rate crime thriller, might have at least attempted to force themselves on the women, either to torture them or to satiate their own lustful desires. It's a woman, in fact, who chooses to enter a romantic relationship, and it's a woman who breaks herself and her companion out of prison by taking the latter's knife. What's more, the women in Balaraw fight, kill, wield sniper rifles, provide comic relief, and venture (or plan to venture) into dangerous territory alone, as if they consider themselves one-woman armies.
The series, in other words, gives its female characters all the personality, leaving the men bland, unremarkable, and okayish. The men simply don't command as much interest as the women. Is it any surprise, then, that Balaraw comes from Rae Red, a woman whose approach to her female characters seems refreshingly unconcerned with reducing them to familiar stereotypes? Here is a director who not only blurs gender boundaries but also portrays women as capable human beings. For its representation alone, Balaraw deserves a prize. We need more shows and movies in which the female body isn't reduced to a sex object or eye candy. But what about Balaraw's filmmaking? Does it deserve a prize in this category? Well... not really. Unfortunately, this is where the compliments stop and the criticisms begin. My first and foremost complaint is a basic one: for a show about creepy creatures, a spooky island, and weird, cultish, cannibalistic bad guys, why is Balaraw so devoid of dread and the sort of chills that run down your spine?
Red never manages to establish an atmosphere of dread. When she inverts the camera, she creates a disorienting image, but that disorientation neither makes your skin crawl nor unsettles you viscerally. Just yesterday, I was watching Damian McCarthy's Hokum, which marries negative space with eerie darkness to make its terror sing. When Ohm, say, investigates a small door in the honeymoon suite, we find ourselves constantly scanning the edges of the frame, sometimes feeling as though something or someone has appeared behind him for a fleeting moment. Red could have employed similar techniques to make the island, Babang Yawa, feel ominous and freaky. Characters often say that Babang Yawa is "alive." Why not support these words with some visual creativity?
Red also keeps most of the frightening scenes offscreen. A man, for instance, encounters a terrifying winged creature that opens its chest to reveal long, sharp teeth. Before it can feed on its victim, however, we cut to another scene. We eventually see those teeth doing their job, but by then, the moment has lost its impact. The scene might have worked better had Red initially kept the island's "monstrosity" hidden from view, offering glimpses here and there before eventually revealing its entire form, along with the act of devouring its victim. That might actually have been shocking. Instead, Red reveals too much, too soon, and what remains is little more than a matter of cutting away quickly.
What is Balaraw really about? A group of outsiders crash-land on a hidden, unexplored island, exploit the locals, suppress their powers, and rule over them like kings. Is there a subtext here about humans exploiting nature, land, and indigenous communities? Or is this all a lesson in the cruelty of autocracy? Go on, check all the boxes. Feel free to take your pick.
I suppose I would have liked the series better had Red written more compelling characters who weren't merely there to fit neatly into the script's schemes. She seems to see everything within the confines of the story, trimming the characters and their actions to make all the pieces slot comfortably into place. Take young Rebecca, played by Charlie Dizon, who is shown to be obsessed with Babang Yawa. Has she explored any other such mysterious locations? How did she learn about this island? Does she work freelance or for a company? These aren't questions that necessarily demand answers, but the show does little to develop an intriguing aspect of Rebecca's character beyond what the plot requires. The result, then, is a show that's more dutiful than imaginative, more concerned with ticking boxes than bringing its ideas to life. Despite all the horror and violence, Balaraw isn't really nasty. And despite its good intentions, it isn't exactly uplifting, either. The series simply sits there on the screen, making you feel nothing. Balaraw: Blood Island has no blood in its body.
Final Score - [3.5/10]
Reviewed by - Vikas Yadav
Follow @vikasonorous on Twitter
Publisher at Midgard Times