It’s got to be the oddest 21st-century blockbuster franchise: a miserable dystopian version of America with no recurring characters, no super powers, few overt CGIs, nothing supernatural, alien or androidal. All it’s got is also what’s most troublesome about it: a Grand Theft Auto-style lack of regard for life and death, built into the premise, which is also predicated entirely on the belief that a good percentage of Americans are bloodthirsty, homicidal maniacs.
Then again, as franchise conjectures go, there’s some gin in this cocktail. That the Purge films – five of them now, plus 20 episodes of a TV series – were proudly political from the outset doesn’t make the dynamic easier to parse. What exact sociopolitical postures or functions are being skewered remains a Rorschachian question. Saying the poor will happily kill the poor if the elites let it happen isn’t being awakened to a nuanced reality because we never see beyond child-like binaries. The films always center themselves on bland/good/average non-Purgers caught up in the government-sponsored melee. They’re us, whoever we are, and the Purgers in the franchise’s 25+ hours of run and fight, are almost always them.
The new film, which ostensibly ties up the whole project, goes where you think it must once you’ve thought out the concept a little, post-January 6th. America loves the officially sanctioned Purge so much it decides it has no patience for federal limits, and just keeps on Purgin.’ Anonymously directed by the rather Pynchonesque-ly named TV vet Everardo Gout, the film newly focuses on American hatred for Mexican immigrants and “annoyingly righteous” Indigenous Peoples, which unfortunately puts us in a posh Texas horse ranch run by patriarch Will Patton and his bigot son Josh Lucas, who doesn’t appreciate getting one-upped in bronco-breaking by illegal worker Juan (Tenoch Huerta).
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