Werewolves may have long been the stuff of farcical, special effects-laden fodder, but beneath a mainstream radar dogged by style-over-substance blockbusters lies an altogether edgier title that tears into this hackneyed trend with gory, wisecracking aplomb. Forged from a sharp-witted parallel between these lunar, supernatural horrors and the ‘curse’ of menstruation, director John Fawcett’s adept intermingling of raw menace and deliciously twisted humour is a rare, genre-defying feat.
Drably projected through Fawcett’s stark, low-budget camerawork, the Canadian district of Bailey Downs is the dour, lifeless corner of suburbia that’s plagued by what’s presumed to be a rabid animal. After a string of slaughtered pets makes local headlines, teenage sisters Ginger (Katharine Isabelle) and Brigitte Fitzgerald (Emily Perkins) themselves fall foul of an attack that leaves late developer Ginger maimed before making a freakishly rapid recovery. Coinciding with the arrival of her first period, Ginger logically assumes the hairy happenings that follow are merely hormonal, but it fast becomes apparent that she’s doubly cursed as a pesky case of cramps escalates into sinister, supernatural territory.
Despite a number of glaringly amateur prosthetics, the devilish, demented energy with which Isabelle brings Ginger’s terrifying metamorphosis to life ultimately outstrips these cosmetic shortcomings. Indeed, before all else, it’s Ginger’s turbulent downward spiral from likeable, acid-tongued outsider to bloodlust-driven beast that makes for frightening, fiercely compelling viewing.
OVERALL SUMMARY
With Ginger Snaps’ nerve-shredding scares erupting out of realistically dreary, day-to-day scenarios, this rare mix of horror and razor-edged humour is as chilling as it is revolutionary in design.
