Ahh, good old no-budget horror. Among the thousands of titles that belong to said subgenre within a subgenre, there are many gems. I’ll cut right to the chase here: Don’t Fuck in the Woods is one of those gems.
You see, it seems to me that the independent no-budget horror flick makers are the ones who haven’t forgotten what horror is all about, and most importantly, that horror can still be FUN. Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m not knocking all the current pretentious, artsy-fartsy bullshit that often seems to strive more on political correctness and social awareness than it does the actual horror…okay, I lied. I am knocking that shit. Most of it, anyways. But enough digression.
Don’t Fuck in the Woods starts off just right. We find ourselves in a nighttime setting where a young couple sits by the fire in, of course, the woods. In no time at all, carnal desires lead them to do exactly what the title warned against. Before I even finished my second fistful of popcorn, I was treated to a very fleshy sex scene complete with dry anal, which if you ask me is the perfect metaphor to let the viewer know that the movie they’re about to see will keep them sitting uncomfortably on one ass cheek for the next 90 minutes, or in this case, 73. And, not long after that rear-entry penetration, the consequences of fucking in the woods become apparent: violent death at the hands of a strange, mysterious, humanoid creature with no apparent motivation other than the brutal murder of young people fucking in the woods. The creature itself was a pleasant surprise. No CGI here, but instead, a slimy green rubber get-up that was remarkably creepy and real looking. Well, real enough for this movie.
The plot is simple; there isn’t much of one. A group of young people go to the woods for a little relaxation equipped with not much more than tents, a cooler full of beer and lots of cigarettes. Not much relaxation ever takes place, as fucking seems to be the primary objective for everyone except for the token feminist and the token fat guy. There’s blood, gore, and just the right amount of bouncing titties that any good horror movie should have. Hell, we even get a few snatch shots. There’s definitely not enough of that in horror.
While the film didn’t intentionally invoke nostalgia, it did remind me of some elusive VHS gems I’d find on the shelf at my childhood video store in the late ‘80s, similar in style and attitude to such classics as 1987’s Lunch Meat and the like.
The acting is above acceptable for what is to be rightfully expected of the product. In most slasher movies, I often find myself rooting for the killer to eviscerate every last one of the annoying gaggle of dimwitted morons. In DFITW, the cast of characters was genuinely likable. The dialogue is simple and thoughtless, which some might consider a fault. Apparently some people think that a bunch of horny kids who venture out into the woods for drinking and fucking must spend the remainder of their time discussing the works of Geoffrey Chaucer.
DFITW is unapologetic and well aware of what it is: good, fun, brutal horror that will put a smile on your face.