Two men paint yellow center-lines on a desolate Texas country road in this pastoral, enigmatic buddy-comedy. Actually, comedy is used loosely here; while beautiful, shots of trees and various gamboling wildlife is no laughing matter. Neither is the stately score by post-rock instrumentalists Explosions In The Sky. Come to think of it, I may have only chuckled once. If it weren't for Paul Rudd, I would probably call Prince Avalanche a horror film. If you're miles from the nearest restaurant surrounded by nature, how are you going to get an order of penne a aglio e olio with sundried tomatoes and artichokes? Guess what? You're not. You're going to have to catch what you eat and sleep outdoors, and I'd end up starving. Who's going to deliver an order of vegetable fried rice when the nearest address to you is actually a large moss-covered boulder? Nobody, that's who. Some might call that "roughing it", but I call it "bullcrap". I can't think of anything more brain-meltingly awful than sitting in my underpants near a creek gnawing on and choking down a campfire-roasted fish and having to sleep on the dirt in a freaking tent amongst mosquitos, brain-infesting leeches, and hungry bears. It's absolutely barbaric. This is the 21st century people, so get with the program. Technology has now rendered the outdoors obsolete. If you absolutely need to see nature, I'm sure it's on Netflix. Having watched many horror films in my time, I know that the woods are filled with chainsaw-wielding killers, the streams are full of mutant man-eating fish, and if you are outrunning someone brandishing a large tool to bludgeon you with and you fall off a cliff, there is no one for miles to save you. Seriously people, stay safe and order dessert.
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