It's possible to see "Sasquatch Sunset" at an almost anthropological level, with four humanoid creatures in a series of scenes with them eating, fornicating, walking, defecating, sleeping, etc. That could be boring.
But start with the early scene of two of them chewing on grasses in an alpine meadow-- and think of it as breakfast. This is the start of their day. After that you're watching what their daily life is like, and it is familiar. Soon an interstitial title appears, "Spring," and the time scale has opened to a year. Eventually, you stop thinking about the timeline and start thinking about the fragility of existence.
There is no backstory, but the quartet is taken to be the last of their species-- and they know it. They have a signal to call for help: banging a fallen branch against a tree trunk in a series of four distinct sounds that echo through the forest. It tells us that they were once part of a clan, and a tribe, members of whom have died in the recent past. Perhaps there were five Sasquatch a year ago, or ten. Every death brings them closer to extinction, and every time their SOS isn't answered, it's a reminder that they are alone.
The movie is brilliantly structured, with credible costuming, able performances, and a score that pretty successfully mixes folk and New Age-y forms.
But my favorite parts have to do with the glimmers of intelligence and progress. We see nascent engineering skills when a log traps one of them. One member has the urge to count things, but without numbers he has trouble keeping track past two or three. At one point he holds a fossil or rock that petrified into rows of ripples, interrupted in the middle by a dark horizontal flaw. He begins counting down from the flaw, struggling to find a way to keep track, and you realize that someday he may notice there are ripples both above and below the flaw, which will require negative numbers.
But the best scene, by far, is when they happen upon a road in their forest. Do your brain a favor; see the movie.
But start with the early scene of two of them chewing on grasses in an alpine meadow-- and think of it as breakfast. This is the start of their day. After that you're watching what their daily life is like, and it is familiar. Soon an interstitial title appears, "Spring," and the time scale has opened to a year. Eventually, you stop thinking about the timeline and start thinking about the fragility of existence.
There is no backstory, but the quartet is taken to be the last of their species-- and they know it. They have a signal to call for help: banging a fallen branch against a tree trunk in a series of four distinct sounds that echo through the forest. It tells us that they were once part of a clan, and a tribe, members of whom have died in the recent past. Perhaps there were five Sasquatch a year ago, or ten. Every death brings them closer to extinction, and every time their SOS isn't answered, it's a reminder that they are alone.
The movie is brilliantly structured, with credible costuming, able performances, and a score that pretty successfully mixes folk and New Age-y forms.
But my favorite parts have to do with the glimmers of intelligence and progress. We see nascent engineering skills when a log traps one of them. One member has the urge to count things, but without numbers he has trouble keeping track past two or three. At one point he holds a fossil or rock that petrified into rows of ripples, interrupted in the middle by a dark horizontal flaw. He begins counting down from the flaw, struggling to find a way to keep track, and you realize that someday he may notice there are ripples both above and below the flaw, which will require negative numbers.
But the best scene, by far, is when they happen upon a road in their forest. Do your brain a favor; see the movie.