Waste of two hours.
Leader of killing pack has no purpose and his followers are idiots, literally retards. Entire movie make no sense.
The beginning is a little worrying after a few seconds but thankfully it turns out to be a video on one of the character's mobile phones. The film then takes a while to build up however it becomes obvious that the inbreds of Yorkshire are a little different.
The deaths roll on in, every one getting weirder and the end becomes rather obvious. How the end is reached however can never be predicted. Prepare your eyes for things you never thought you would see... ever.
Couple this with pacing and plot that leave the film with zero impact, and an over reliance on CGI effects whose quality is more horrifying than the film itself. Even as far as mindless splatter romps go this film should be avoided at all costs as it lacks substance, style and actual humour.
Perhaps the most shocking thing about this film is that so many people willingly worked on it.
There's an anarchic quality to Inbred that reminds us a lot of Peter Jackson's Bad Taste. Like the New Zealand gorefest, Inbred's budget is limited, but used wisely to ensure there's a heavy mixture of gore and laughter. Also, like Jackson, Chandon is one sick puppy. Realising deaths by horse, landmines and ferrets, he doesn't just challenge the barriers of good taste, he throws them to the ground, urinates on them and sends pictures to their relatives.
His army of Mortlock locals are a mish mash of Eden Lake's murderous teens and the insular inhabitants of Innsmouth. There is nothing subtle about this gang, and once Jim sets up one of his torture shows for the benefit of others, any subtlety that's left throws itself out of the window. Their casual nature to the violence they put their victims through during these 'shows' is made more unnerving by the showbiz attitude that comes with it. Donning mask and makeup, Jim and his cohorts prance around the stage, playing up to the crowd like a fetid Bruce Forsyth, whilst unleashing the most horrific acts upon the weakest of flesh. It's a dichotomy that runs throughout the film - the diseased and the delightful.
During a key scene towards the end, Jim places a bet with his bumpkins on when one of their sacrificial lambs will finally bite the dust. There's a temptation to compare this to the killers in Michael Heneke's Funny Games; calling the audience to task for wanting to see such brutality. Whether this is intentional on Chandon's part is hard to say. Maybe we're just overanalyzing a film where someone dies being force-fed slurry.
You will either hate this film or love it, but you will not come out of the screening calling it simply all right. Inbred is a film of grotesques, with humour as a black as a diseased lung and we loved it.