What goes up must come down, it has been said: and no fable, no story or grand narrative has ever challenged such an idiom -- until now. Watching "Feeders" is like laying on a beach and feeling the tide crash into you, being overcome by the foamy goodness and numerous starfish of aesthetic perfection. You cannot help but wonder at the twists and turns in plot, and inquire into the hallowed halls that must have carved up such a laviscious, tender beast from the rotting oak of the bygone Horror genre.
In this film, a debutante work par excellence, the cargenre reaches a climax and a triumph of cinematic and postmodern senisibilities. The black canvas of darkness ushered in to illustrate our nightmares gives one a sense of transvelescence, posphorescence, and evanescence thoroughly original - and audacious! - in its application.
A deft tribute to HP Lovecraft can be observed half-way through (watch for it!). To be sure, hommages can easily be seen also for King, Shelley, Kelly, Hardy, Christie, and Weiner. The subtext beneath the dialogue is one of depraved earnestness, and simple, as if the writers were in fact bufoons; to the untrained eye, one might be critical. But beneath it all there is a mischievous deconstruction of the terror of the sublime: a repudiation of all modernity.
I liked it.