New parenthood is practically synonymous with shuffling around feeling like a zombie, but it's a gag that Cargo is happy to literalize with poetic poignancy. And, as elevator pitches go, in a post-Romero/Walking Dead/Shaun cultural landscape where it seems more movie corpses rise than stay put, a cross-country parenthood road trip demonstrates surprising shelf life, especially when told with such sincerity and elegance. If Shaun of the Dead is a 'rom-zom-com,' Cargo is a 'zombifying of age' drama, employing its genre tropes towards a clumsy but surprisingly resonant character study about a reserved father adjusting to single parenthood, albeit one geared towards delivering more "FEEEEEELS" than "BRAAAAIIIINS."
The feature debut of directors Yolanda Ramke and Ben Howling (adapting their 2013 short of the same name), Cargo's 'z-word' tropes are sparse, delivering more of an existential, elegiac Australian Wild that just happens to include shuffling cranium-crunchers. That said, when said undead do rear their heads (quite literally, in an intriguing internal mythology that reframes zombies as nocturnal scavengers, hiding their heads to recharge form the sun like bizarre ostriches), Ramke and Howling play them to the squishy hilt. Oozing, moaning, and shuffling with satisfyingly convulsive jerks (no early 2000s 'speedy zombies' bullsh*t here), Cargo's undead feel both nostalgic and a compellingly fresh threat - and, contextualized as metaphorical tribulations in the path to providing for a child, they establish thematic scope and reverence unseen in most campy contemporaries.
Still, calling Cargo the 'Australian Walking Dead' would be both misleading and somewhat unwarranted. Ramke and Howling do show the growing pains of debut directors fleshing out a one-act short, as their film's pacing lurches in a fashion not unlike one of their moaning mind-munchers. The screenplay is an equally bumpy ride, chock full of twists of convenience and infuriatingly illogical 'Don't go in THERE!!!" maneuvers, 'S-for-Subtle' anti-fracking commentary, and a somewhat uncomfortable reliance on troublesomely archaic 'magical native' tropes of the Australian Aboriginal tribes who float in and out of the conflict. There's almost the feeling of Ramke and Howling being tangibly pressured to justify Cargo's embellished runtime by somewhat overstuffing it with plot points and character cameos (young Simone Landers' plucky Thoomi is a plucky, entertaining road trip buddy presence with a compelling emotional arc of her own; Anthony Hayes' strangely persistent bogun baddie, though effectively creepy, has less staying power). While their screenplay has its fair share of harsh, brutal emotional honesty, it's still a shame to see it out of alignment with the elegance and thoughtfulness of its telling, as if trepidatious to simply breathe with expanses of meditative silence.
Ironically, it's in these moments of zen where the film is at its most unforgettably alive, drinking in the arid splendour of the Outback through gorgeous, sweeping panoramic shots, or simply allowing its leading duo to fill the space. Martin Freeman, who is proving to be one of the most underrated actors of his generation, is astonishingly affecting beyond the put-upon Bilbo Watson bluster he could do in his sleep. Effortlessly subtle and deeply emotional, Freeman is Cargo's beating heart through and through. Whether summoning reservoirs of primal joy interacting with his burbling bundle of baby, or bringing them crashing to the ground with his agonizing, tenacious clinging to life for her sake, Freeman tells the story more effectively with the slightest furrow of his brow or twitch of his mouth than any extraneous dialogue could. When Ramke and Howling clear the stage for him to simply be, Cargo shines - a somewhat spotty, but mature, emotionally haunting genre bender, and one of the most unique contemporary zombie films - and with no decapitation by Batman soundtrack to bolster it, to boot.
-7/10
The feature debut of directors Yolanda Ramke and Ben Howling (adapting their 2013 short of the same name), Cargo's 'z-word' tropes are sparse, delivering more of an existential, elegiac Australian Wild that just happens to include shuffling cranium-crunchers. That said, when said undead do rear their heads (quite literally, in an intriguing internal mythology that reframes zombies as nocturnal scavengers, hiding their heads to recharge form the sun like bizarre ostriches), Ramke and Howling play them to the squishy hilt. Oozing, moaning, and shuffling with satisfyingly convulsive jerks (no early 2000s 'speedy zombies' bullsh*t here), Cargo's undead feel both nostalgic and a compellingly fresh threat - and, contextualized as metaphorical tribulations in the path to providing for a child, they establish thematic scope and reverence unseen in most campy contemporaries.
Still, calling Cargo the 'Australian Walking Dead' would be both misleading and somewhat unwarranted. Ramke and Howling do show the growing pains of debut directors fleshing out a one-act short, as their film's pacing lurches in a fashion not unlike one of their moaning mind-munchers. The screenplay is an equally bumpy ride, chock full of twists of convenience and infuriatingly illogical 'Don't go in THERE!!!" maneuvers, 'S-for-Subtle' anti-fracking commentary, and a somewhat uncomfortable reliance on troublesomely archaic 'magical native' tropes of the Australian Aboriginal tribes who float in and out of the conflict. There's almost the feeling of Ramke and Howling being tangibly pressured to justify Cargo's embellished runtime by somewhat overstuffing it with plot points and character cameos (young Simone Landers' plucky Thoomi is a plucky, entertaining road trip buddy presence with a compelling emotional arc of her own; Anthony Hayes' strangely persistent bogun baddie, though effectively creepy, has less staying power). While their screenplay has its fair share of harsh, brutal emotional honesty, it's still a shame to see it out of alignment with the elegance and thoughtfulness of its telling, as if trepidatious to simply breathe with expanses of meditative silence.
Ironically, it's in these moments of zen where the film is at its most unforgettably alive, drinking in the arid splendour of the Outback through gorgeous, sweeping panoramic shots, or simply allowing its leading duo to fill the space. Martin Freeman, who is proving to be one of the most underrated actors of his generation, is astonishingly affecting beyond the put-upon Bilbo Watson bluster he could do in his sleep. Effortlessly subtle and deeply emotional, Freeman is Cargo's beating heart through and through. Whether summoning reservoirs of primal joy interacting with his burbling bundle of baby, or bringing them crashing to the ground with his agonizing, tenacious clinging to life for her sake, Freeman tells the story more effectively with the slightest furrow of his brow or twitch of his mouth than any extraneous dialogue could. When Ramke and Howling clear the stage for him to simply be, Cargo shines - a somewhat spotty, but mature, emotionally haunting genre bender, and one of the most unique contemporary zombie films - and with no decapitation by Batman soundtrack to bolster it, to boot.
-7/10