The Australian film industry is doing a pretty slick job of destroying the image of the country as a dream holiday destination. From torturing backpackers in Wolf Creek to an extreme form of neighbourhood watch in Snowtown, there has been a real prevalence of exposing the visceral, violent underside to Aussie suburbia. Writer/director Ben Young’s feature debut, Hounds of Love, is no different. Set in Perth in the 1980s, it is an extremely upsetting and challenging film. It’s less horror, more horrific. It’s definitely an endurance watch: It’s a brilliant film but you’ll come away feeling drained.
John (Ben Curry) and Evelyn (Emma Booth) set about kidnapping local teenage girls on a Friday, raping and degrading them all weekend and killing them on Monday. The film opens with a still image of schoolgirls playing netball. The camera pans down their bodies – as if eyeing up each prospect – whilst the couple wait in their car to choose their next victim.
It’s this opening scene – with a quick glance of John’s eyes in the mirror – that starts the film off on an incredibly unsettling note. And that feeling of unease only proliferates from there. Less than a minute later, it cuts to a scene of Evelyn tidying up blood-soaked ropes, dildos and tissues from the floor: their latest victim disposed of.
You are then introduced to Vicki (the tremendous Ashleigh Cummings); a teenage schoolgirl trying to navigate falling grades and her parents’ divorce. After sneaking out to a party, she is targeted by the couple who offer her weed. Seeing a baby seat in the car, she assumes she is safe. Whilst the dulcet tones of The Moody Blues Nights In White Satin blare out, Vicki loses consciousness. Cleverly, so does the viewer as the scene before you starts to swim and blur.
What is so brilliant – and haunting – about Hounds of Love is that none of the violence or rape is ever seen on screen. You just know that when the couple enter the spare room with that little brown box of implements that the poor child in question is about to be subjected to a brutal, relentless assault, especially as John’s pornography collection hints at an extreme taste for underage girls and sickening violence.
The relationship between John and Evelyn is so interesting. Clearly lacking in self-worth, she adheres to his every demand, even slicing his toast in a 
certain way. She is entirely submissive to his moods; thinking of him as an alpha male. But the reality, as is often the case, couldn’t be more different outside his own four walls. He is in debt to a pair of drug dealers, who take pleasure in belittling him. It’s an uneasy watch – as you know his inability to stand up to them will only lead to frustration and violence at home.
Their house is swamped in cool greys, faded browns and muddied creams. It’s fenced in, bolted and dark. It doesn’t conjure up the sunny image of Australia we’re more familiar with. It’s grimy, seedy and riddled with secrets.
The central performances here are absolutely stunning. Ben Curry is every inch the frustrated little man. He is menacing, not always in a physical way, and rarely has to raise his voice to elicit fear. Emma Booth – despite her complicity in the murders – is a rather pathetic figure. She is emotionally all over the place and blinded by her reliance on John.
The stand out, however, is Ashleigh Cummings. Starting the film as a typically defiant teenager, her attempts to play her captors against each other to escape will leave you chewing your nails off. Her eventual submission to her situation is frustrating – gone is her wild teenage spirit. She is entirely broken. The seemingly never-ending scream she erupts into halfway through the film will make you think twice about ever walking home alone again. It will genuinely stop your heart.
Alongside a stellar script and acting, the soundtrack to the film is quite something. Sonorous, pulsating and foreboding, it really manages to capture the situation perfectly. There’s even a couple of 80s hits thrown in – such as Joy Division’s haunting Atmosphere – as neat reminders of the era. The title of the film takes its name from the Kate Bush hit, which compared the sensation of falling in love to the fear of being chased by a pack of hounds.
There is no love here, though. Only fear.
I can’t remember the last time a film had such a strong physical impact on me, but I left the auditorium shaking. I definitely don’t know if I’ll ever be able to watch Hounds of Love again, but I am so glad I saw it. It’s an emotionally draining piece of cinema but it deserves to be seen. If Ben Young continues to knock it out of the park like this for the rest of his career, he will be one of the best new talents to ever have emerged. His craft at exploring an extremely dark and depraved side to humanity is unparalleled.
I would go so far as to say I think I will struggle to find a better film in 2017 – and it’s only February.
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