Roadkill (1989) (Standard Edition)

Roadkill tells the story of Ramona (Valerie Buhagiar), an intern for a record producer, who must venture into the wilds of Toronto, Canada, and find The Children of Paradise, a band that has gone missing mid-tour. The problem is, Ramona can’t drive, so she begins her journey by cab, and when she loses her driver during a detour, she hitches a ride with a film crew, then a wannabe serial killer, and so on and so on and so on. Along the way, of course, she meets a colorful cast of characters.

Shot for a very low budget on black and white 16mm, Roadkill fits right in with its filmmaking era. It looks like an early Jim Jarmusch picture, but its inability to sit still for very long makes it feel like a Canadian punk spin on Richard Linklater’s Slacker—always anxious to get to next thing. The big difference here is that Ramona is a constant, she’s our audience surrogate as she travels along this version of Homer’s Odyssey, meeting interesting people who help her see the world differently than she ever had before.

The Children of Paradise, the band that she’s been tasked with finding, function more as a MacGuffin for the plot than anything else, to motivate the action into place. Roadkill is one of those movies where everyone in the film represents the demographic it’s being made for: Everyone is either some version of a slacker punk who’s holding a middle finger toward authority, or they’re at odds with that world and they’re some version of a corporate square. The most extreme rock ‘n roll antics are presented as everyday annoyances, or minor inconveniences. Casually flipping through a book, whose pages are lit aflame and a fiery blaze, seems as normal as anything else would.

There are long strengthes with no dialogue--only musical montage, almost like a series of vignettes that could work as standalone music videos. It felt like a predecessor to MTV-inspired films of the 1990s, like The Crow that works almost on a purely musical level and uses action to progress the story.

Roadkill has an astute ability to blur the lines between narrative and perspective, sometimes presented as a pseudo-documentary shot in a handheld style meant to invoke a type of exaggerated realism in its visuals. Other times, it decides to take on the form of a straight mockumentary, complete with voiceover narration, as in the in-film movie crew takes over the story for a bit. One thing Roadkill has zero interest in, to its benefit, is any sort of  focus on actual realism. It may ape documentary filmmaking, but only to present absurdity as fact with a straight face. It’s not interested in some Vittorio De Sica-esque neorealism. Everything we see is knowingly absurd, and that’s part of the film’s overall charm.

One of my favorite bits in Roadkill is when the in-film documentary crew, led by the film’s actual director Bruce McDonald, struggles in vain to justify the name “Roadkill” given to it. Looking at a piece of roadkill along the side of the road, he sputters on and on about how it must mean something, the meaning there, they just need to find it.

“Capitalism,” one of his assistants suggests.

McDonald shrugs and accepts that. Sure. It’s a commentary on capitalism. Whatever.

That sums of the film’s attitude better than any straight-faced commentary could have. It doesn’t matter what the title means. You can assign your own meaning to it if you want, but any sort of obvious subtext in search of pretentious debate over its meaning is not what Roadkill is interested in. It’s interested in the ride. It’s interested in the music. It just wants to rock.

Everything seems to be building toward a big, final show where all the quirky characters we’ve been throughout the film’s journey gather to see the band perform. And just when you start to get a good read on the film, with something as formulaic and pleasant as that, the film pulls the rug out from under you.

Vital Stats: The Blu-ray
Roadkill is housed in a standard case, on a single disc, with a reversible cover. Inside the case is a booklet with an interview with Steve Gravestock, a 25-year veteran of the Toronto International Film Festival, conducted by David Marriott of Canadian International Pictures. The back of the booklet contains information about the film’s transfer and restoration.
Roadkill is presented in 1080p high-def from a 4K scan from its 35mm fine-grain master. The audio mix is in 2.0 DTS HD-MA stereo.

Roadkill looks incredible. Its black and white 16mm cinematography, courtesy of Miroslaw Baszak (Land of the Dead) looks appropriately grimy, with film grain apparent throughout. It’s also crystal clear and razor sharp, allowing clarity on fine details in just about any given shot. The whites are bright and clear and the blacks are pitch, inky black. Interior shots and exterior shots are equally impressive.

I may be biased, but I’m a big fan of this particular film look: The low-budget B&W 16mm aesthetic from the 80s and 90s, setting the stage for Kevin Smiths Clerks and Chasing Amy. Roadkill takes the sort of Jim Jarmusch vibe and pushes it as far as it can. And maybe it’s the Polish in me, but no one shoots those wintery B&W, grainy scenes quite like a Pole. The cinematography here really is quite remarkable and this transfer does it justice. It looks fantastic.

The DTS HD-MA 2.0 stereo mix is the best choice for this movie, and I’m glad that it was determined not to make some newly commissioned 5.1 mix for this release, but to honor its faithful source. Roadkill’s audio mix is a purely front-stage presentation, and that’s the way it should be, that’s what feels right for it. The front stage is, indeed, plenty playful and you’ll hear traffic noise or the whooshing of cars travel along the front speakers, from one channel to the other. The score, by Nash the Slash, is similarly playful, with instruments activating one speaker, pausing, then continuing on the other before erupting into a full cacophony of noise and melody.

The audio is really well-mixed and dialogue never gets lost, even as the soundtrack belts out song after song after song, from artists like The Ramones and Cowboy Junkies.

Roadkill has a wealth of features to make your way through, detailing the film’s history of production and its lasting legacy. The features provide context for what has been later referred to as the Toronto New Wave, including the works of other filmmakers like Atom Egoyan. For fans of the film, there is enough here to keep you occupied for a long, long time.

• New audio commentary featuring Paul Corupe of Canuxploitation.com and film historian Jason Pichonsky
• Archival audio commentary featuring writer-star Don McKellar and producer Colin Brunton
• Rebel Cinema (HD 25:32) – New interview with Don McKellar
• Ready for the Ride (HD 23:23) – New interview with star Valerie Buhagiar
• Rock n’ Road (HD 27:40) – New interview with Colin Brunton
• Lyrical Surrealism (HD 21:31) - New interview with cinematographer Miroslaw Baszak
• Interview with Bruce McDonald (HD  37:09) – A career-spanning interview with director Bruce McDonald
• On Screen! (SD 47:47) - Documentary about the making of Roadkill
• Theatrical trailer

Roadkill is a rockin’ tribute to a specific time and place with an F-you attitude to the conventions of filmmaking narrative. It is also a rollicking good time with a lot of great music played throughout the entirety of its runtime. The amount of quality special features to comb through is staggering, and the transfer (both audio and visual) is worthy of much praise. Roadkill looks and sounds amazing, and this Blu-ray release comes very Highly Recommended.