Atlanta-filmed Bleed grips viewers, but questions remain
With local talent and a local backdrop, this horror movie will keep you on the edge of your seat.
Bleed starts off quickly, with establishing shots of what appear to be rural Georgia — farmland, dirt roads, and all. Touted as a Southern Gothic horror movie, I find myself in the Plaza Theatre amid the film's crew, some of its stars, and their significant others for Bleed's premiere night, which also serves as its wrap party, I find out just before the reel begins to play.
The movie's budget was just over $500,000 which, according to my friend who works in film production, isn't very much, so my expectations are admittedly low. But as a whole, I'm pleasantly surprised — the acting is solid, the storyline flows, and there are plenty of "jump" moments that'll keep viewers engaged until the very end.
Directed by Atlanta local Tripp Rhame and produced by local company Spitfire Studios, Bleed centers around married couple Sarah (Chelsey Crisp) and Matt (Michael Steger), who recently bought a house and have a baby on the way. Their friend Bree (Brittany Ishibashi) and her date Dave (Elimu Nelson) are over to see the house and have lunch when Sarah's van-living, Burning Man-touting brother Eric (Riley Smith) shows up unannounced with his hippie-dippie girlfriend, Skye (Lyndon Smith). Spooky undertones abound, like creepy cops (played by local musicians David Yow of The Jesus Lizard, Shannon Mulvany of Magnapop, and Brian Malone of The 45s), Eric's talk about ghost hunting, and a small grave the crew stumbles upon in the couple's backyard while throwing around a frisbee. The bulk of the film takes place at an abandoned prison not far away that the characters (minus Sarah) decide to explore to see if there's any meat behind Eric's ghost babble. Needless to say, horrific hijinks ensue, and not everyone makes it out alive.
embed-1For Atlantans, watching Bleed has the added element of hidden Easter eggs — the burned-out prison setting is none other than the oft-written about Atlanta Prison Farm, a large chunk of land that the city has been trying to decide what to do with (make it a park, tear it down, clean it up) for about 15 years. I spy the word "Murmur" written in graffiti on a wall, which could be a nod to the local zine organization, or just something creepy someone wanted to tag.
While the film has some plot holes that left me scratching my head post-viewing, overall the quality of the acting, the unique backdrop and the classic scary-movie moments in the script result in a low-budget flick that's sure to leave horror enthusiasts — and Atlanta film lovers — scared and satisfied.