My first exposure to the low-budget horror of Larry Fessenden, serving as writer-director-producer here, Blackout may not have turned me into a raving fanatic—as happens to the main character in this werewolf riff—but I can see what the cult fandom is about. This is scruffy around the edges, especially with the awkward insertion of its politics, but there is no denying the movie’s potency as a metaphor for alcoholism. The notion to have the tortured hero (a quite good Alex Hurst) be an artist also pays dividends, especially in the way his scrawled paintings function as searing confessions.
(3/25/2024)
