Since humankind crawled out from the liquidly shores of the sea, the social gathering has been a staple of the household mores of the bourgeoisie. The wail of invitation, the echo of RSVP, the congregation of like-minded people intent on passing an evening in the pursuit of small talk and trivial toasts, all enclosed within the most ornamented of cages. What could go wrong? Well plenty, if cinema’s anything to go by.
Renoir suffered a quandary or two when surveying the Rules of the Game, with cordiality rapidly evaporating in the midst of a plethora of misunderstanding. Festen’s family reunion wasted little time turning sour as truths were unveiled and vexation became sutured to the grimace of just about everyone. The Exterminating Angel’s dinner party descended into savagery when hosts and guests alike became mysteriously incarcerated in the dining room. Hell, look what happened when the good-natured Han invited folks around his pad in Enter the Dragon – some little sprite from Hong Kong wrecked the furniture, broke the toilet and ended up killing the host!
In The Beast Must Die, a wealthy hunting-enthusiastic by the name of Tom Newcliffe invites six individuals to his grand country mansion. Expecting a relaxing couple of days gazing at the finest green pastures the British landscape has to offer, and maybe taking the time to peruse that Chekhov that’s been gathering dust for a while, the sextet are alarmed to learn that Newcliffe has other motives in amassing their bodies in his abode. His moustache quivering, he announces that he reckons one of them to be a werewolf – and not only that, for he has arranged this shindig with the express purpose of kindling a transformation in order that he may exercise his skills in the hunting arts. With an estate overflowing with CCTV, sound transmitters and motion sensors, and a full moon hovering into position above, he’s primed to gun-down one of nature’s most elusive shaggy-haired canines.
And thus begins a crazy game of Guess the Werewolf – a game not simply played out in the film world. The Beast Must Die opens with a call directly to the audience to participate in this sport of elimination. Against a murky black, a croaking voice spits out a challenge to eager would-be detectives to test out all those supposedly-dormant abilities, talents hitherto suppressed by 9 to 5 and income tax. But now, go ahead, be Sherlock, be Kojak, be Marlowe, be Burt Reynolds in Cop and a Half, all your dreams can now be realised, and minus the risk of having your throat jettisoned to the opposite side of the room. The narrative even ceases for a moment towards the denouement so that a reminder can be issued from the off-screen voice, a teasing slice of “have you worked it out yet”, followed by a thirty-second countdown in which each possibility is flashed into the frame for a few seconds. Sure, it’s slightly naff, but you have to admire the filmmakers for shaking it up a tad and having fun.
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