Sasquatch Sunset. // Courtesy Bleecker Street
Nature documentaries are such a bizarre feat of filmmaking. To capture the sheer amount of footage, without shattering the fourth wall and spoking the subjects, would be impressive enough on its own. That some Heisenbergian principle plays in and a narrative usually finds a way to emerge beyond the mere ebb and flow of nature is usually where the prestige moment turns to a moment of surprise for an unsuspecting audience. Sasquatch Sunset, a sort of faux-nature doc, would in lesser hands push for a stronger, more imposing narrative to carry an experimental feature with big names, in hopes of never losing its audience. That the end product here has no problem giving its “stars” space to merely exist is the kind of powerful creative vision that gives this unwieldy summer flick all the magic it needs to soar.
In North America, a family of Sasquatches (sasquatchii?)—perhaps the last ones left—embark on a journey that is observed by the audience, from a great distance, for one year. The creatures themselves are significantly more complicated than a mere evolutionary missing link, with unexpected forms of communication, emotional reactions, and a kind yet wild internal compass. Met with joy, terror, surprise, lose, confusion, and celebration, the story of this human-adjacent clan, their journey, and how the natural world swerves into perilous territory brushing up against the modern world… it’s just a lot to take in.
The film itself is a thing of beauty. The stunning vistas and the way our featured characters are captured on camera carries such a strong air of stylistic grounding, it would be easy to imagine a future channel-surfer having a hard time discerning how real this is—especially since stars Jesse Eisenberg and Riley Keough are impossible to distinguish. Writer/directors David and Nathan Zellner’s approach to a straight-faced bigfoot film is admirable and drenched in dedication.
That this all brushes up against actors in Harry and the Hendersons-level yeti costumes, pissing and shitting all over themselves, is shockingly not the disconnect viewers might expect.
The usage of “Your Milage May Vary” on a flick produced by Ari Aster feels, well, implied. For those this film is not “for” I’m not sure they’ll see anything recognizable as a “movie” at all. Admittedly, I was having an absolutely crap day when I caught the movie, and my kneejerk reaction was to wonder what I was doing with my time, watching what I was watching. It’s heart, charm, and enthusiasm for its own existence could be a turn-off, but for this critic it grabbed me in a headlock and turned my whole day around.
If you meet this film on its own terms, its one of the year’s most rewarding outings.
There’s a space in our current existence where, seeing very obviously human actors trying to be something “other” to disconnect from all this bullshit around us, only to find themselves still running from the encroachment of modernity—it’s joyful, and a bit overwhelming.
If serious-yet-ridiculous-yet-incomprehensible messes aren’t your speed, I’ll understand if you take a pass. Whatever your screening situation, whether in theaters now or on streaming later, this really depends on if you’re willing to turn your cell phone off and really give in.
