Jay Rohr
Vulcanizadora is as hard to nail down as it is to pronounce. This bleak, dark comedy is the jet fuel every wavering nihilist needs. Watching it is like stumbling across one’s old poetry written in high school and finding it juvenile yet stingingly honest. Furthermore, it’s a testament to how profound low-budget films can be.
The story follows Martin Jackitansky and Derek Skiba played by Joshua Burge (Buzzard) and writer-director Joel Potrykus. The two venture out into the woods. Over the course of their long hike, Derek largely behaves like a preteen boy relishing fireworks and other juvenile delights. Despite these childlike antics, it slowly emerges that these two have a very grim purpose ahead of them. Although Martin seems the only one of the pair who truly appreciates the gravity of what lies ahead, the two plunge forward.
What ensues is a startling shift in the narrative that is dark comedy at its finest. Perhaps that’s because it almost feels absurdly predictable. At the same time, it is poetically tragic. Vulcanizadora never really makes it clear how one is supposed to react. Events are jarring at first, however, a certain mentality could begin to see them as comically absurd. At risk of implicative spoilers, this is like Crime and Punishment as written by Franz Kafka.
The film is technically a sequel to Joel Potrykus’s 2014 black comedy Buzzard. Although it’s not necessary to have seen that flick to comprehend Vulcanizadora, the movie does gain a few subtle details for anyone familiar. More than anything, though, the two features share a certain nihilistic vibe. Both are partly about a Kafkaesque situation where choices inflict guilt without consequence, while also being about people making gravely, obviously dumb decisions. Mainly, though, these are the stories of two adults who are anything but.
The behavior of the main characters is closer to that of twelve-year-old children than mature individuals. What makes their arrested development interesting is how it seems simultaneously escapist and unintentional. That makes them slackers avoiding adulthood, and overgrown children peeking between their fingers at the horror show that is existence. It’s the increasing inability to avoid that nightmare which propels most of the choices made.
Scenes in the woods mirror adolescents at play. It provides the obvious idea of longing for lost youth, while grimly foreshadowing not only plot points but the sad nature of adulthood in general. There’s a simplicity to their childlike behavior which seems comically ridiculous before it becomes a profound tragedy all people experience.
Vulcanizadora has a definite plot. However, it isn’t a plot-driven picture. The movie moves forward by exploring the emotional consequences of what occurs. Few films allow characters to be so subtle. The captivating aspect of this is how abundantly clear the costs are. So much is said by a facial expression or a simple sentence. Then, when the curtain closes, the ending pulls the rug out from under all conclusions. This is a movie that twists as it turns.
There’s only one real info dump, in a monologue delivered by Joel Potrykus. Most of the dialogue delivers tidbits. These give glimpses of the backstory while inferring a great deal about the two main characters. The ways they perceive their lives are abundantly clear to those paying attention. However, that doesn’t mean Vulcanizadora agrees. In a way, this is a movie about perspectives—life is what you can live with.
Writer-director-editor Joel Potrykus inhabits the role of Derek with heartbreaking indulgence. This is a fellow who just wants to play, but life keeps getting complicated in ways he seems destined to never fully understand. Joshua Burges effortlessly conveys a character with the opposite problem, a person too aware of reality’s complexities to enjoy anything. Especially for anyone familiar with his solid performance in Buzzard, there’s a sense of someone hollowed out by reckless resistance to existence. They are both great examples of waters which run deeper than the surface suggestions.
The film’s modest budget may have restricted some stylistic choices. However, Vulcanizadora shows how straightforward shots coupled with substantive material can make movies impactful without much stylization. This isn’t a slick, glossy slice of tabloid poetry or cheap dive flashy philosophy. It’s a film with an earnest presentation of surprisingly deep material.
Reflecting on Vulcanizadora, I keep coming back to a quote by philosopher Slavoj Žižek. He said, “Cinema is the ultimate pervert art… it doesn’t give you what you desire, it tells you how to desire.” Vulcanizadora feels like an enlightening perversion of typical themes. It rejects any glamorization of misfits. There’s no redemption, no heroes, no romanticization, and it even paints bleakness as a hollow personal hell. Within the experience of watching is a strange window into the peace of accepting the unsatisfactory—life is a nightmare of people’s own making, and there is no way out; you didn’t buy the ticket, but you’re stuck taking the ride.
People looking for a brainless black comedy that tickles edgelord laughter with senseless provocations are likely to be disappointed. Though there is a cynical chuckle around every bend, Vulcanizadora is a sardonic slap in the face of nihilists that turns into a tight hug. Thematically, it’s the cinematic equivalent of a regrettable one-night stand, who phones a few days later at three a.m. asking to come over. Yes, being the only answer.
