When I read the synopsis of COOKERS - concerning a pair of clueless young speed freaks who barricade themselves in an abandoned house, set up a round-the-clock meth lab and succumb to paranoid hallucinations - I was a bit apprehensive at the thought of subjecting myself to more self-indulgent indie suicide-fodder. Not only did it sound like less than a jolly old time in front of the TV, but gave me a reflexive knee-jerk as I promptly flashed back to my dark days of working in a sweltering, smelly factory for ten bucks an hour, taking orders from a toothless, screeching ex-carny with a runaway crank habit. I am soooo not kidding.

I immediately hid the razors, sleeping pills, drain cleaner and other weapons of self-destruction, and settled in with the grim awareness that it would take supernaturally fine work by filmmaker Dan Mintz to make this one even remotely bearable. Turns out I was pretty lucky this time, because COOKERS is a powerful and compelling work, with a thread of hope running through its nihilistic worldview.

The film succeeds primarily on its ability to create an enveloping climate of dread, something many filmmakers set out to create but seldom manage to achieve. Financial constraints are seldom a limitation to creating this atmosphere of doom - see THE BLAIR WITCH PROJECT as a textbook example of how to generate a sense of overwhelming fear without special effects, overt violence or even a musical score - and this film's shoestring budget is maximized for the same purpose. In fact, one might borrow lame studio promo-speak to pitch COOKERS as "BLAIR WITCH meets REQUIEM FOR A DREAM." As much as I loathe using that kind of description, it's remarkably fitting here. The concept of "addiction as monster" that Darren Aronofsky employs to horrifying effect in REQUIEM is clearly imprinted on this tale (a bit too much at times, what with the flash-cut extreme close-ups of pumping syringes and bubbling spoons and all... everything but that dilating-pupil shot), and the claustrophobic wilderness isolation a la BLAIR makes a fitting environment for the crank-fueled paranoia that drives the plot.

Speaking of plot, here's a dose: Upon arriving at a thoroughly creepy backwoods farmhouse, Hector (Brad Hunt) and Doreena (Cyia Batten) unload a massive cache of pharmaceutical-grade pseudoephedrine that they've apparently stolen from Hector's supplier (it's implied that the theft ended violently). Once the site is secure, Doreena - the only actual "cooker" of the two - gets to work assembling the lab equipment and whipping up their first batch of white crystalline joy. Apparently neither of them choose to remember or heed the old axiom "don't get high on your own supply," as they dig in for more than a few chef's samples, ultimately snorting, smoking and shooting up an entire cake pan's worth.

After a night of jittery fun, they are met by Hector's only trusted friend, Merle (Patrick McGaw), who is the living incarnation of just about every Jeff Foxworthy character you've ever heard of - right down to the mullet, John Deere cap and cheesy mustache. Merle is tasked with procuring supplies from town, thus maintaining his friends' low profile. In exchange, Hector promises him a cut of the money he expects to bring in by selling the end product (although one has to wonder how discreetly he plans on distributing it after apparently murdering his supplier... oh well, no accounting for tweaker logic). Needless to say, after puffing his first sample, Merle is completely hooked, and therefore rendered nearly useless.

As the inevitable paranoid delusions begin to set in, Hector begins to suspect that someone is prowling around the surrounding forest, staying just outside of visual range, and responds by covering all the windows and boarding up or padlocking every door. To make matters worse, both of them are beginning to see dark, spectral apparitions around every corner: Hector is haunted by a severe-looking, elderly woman, while Doreena's nemesis comes in the shape of a pale little girl. Whether the apparitions are the result of supernatural forces or simply conjurations of meth-addled minds is never fully explained, nor entirely necessary, as the plot does ultimately offer a fairly clear explanation as to the identity of these shadowy figures, leaving the viewer to draw their own conclusions about how they actually got there. It's a fairly effective twist - nothing that hasn't been done before, but well-executed nonetheless - and results in a shocking karmic payoff for everyone involved.

Mintz makes masterly use of limited resources to create the doomed, claustrophobic world in which this plays out. Seldom straying far from the central location, the camera roams and probes relentlessly into every deep shadow and secret crawlspace of the decrepit old house, as the deep creaks and moans of the rotting walls and floorboards compete with the constant mad-lab bubbling of Doreen's gear for nightmarish ambiance. Recreating the deep orange pools of light cast by the oil lamps, the lighting scheme really drives home the dank, dingy claustrophobia, making the atmosphere stick to you. (By the way, I'm eternally grateful this film was not produced in "Odorama.") Were it not for a certain strangely positive moment of redemption - done in a very low-key but refreshing way - this film would necessitate bathing in bleach after viewing.

Kudos in particular to the three leads, who turn in strong, natural performances. You wouldn't want to know these people socially, but they're not entirely unsympathetic, and there are logical reasons for many of their actions... at least until the chemical influences blow much of that away. In such an intimate setting, any weak link in casting would bring the entire thing crashing down, but everyone comes through convincingly - including a dead-on portrayal of psychotic tweaker behavior that summoned up WAY too many bad memories for me.

Despite the fact that Mintz occasionally reaches into the same bag of indie tricks used by countless freshman directors (i.e. music-video shock edits, a chest-mounted camera rig, jump-cuts depicting a character's fragmented ramblings), it's still quite an accomplishment for a film to create genuine mood, good or bad, on such limited means (or on a large budget, for that matter), and so often films of this type never rise above sheer tedium, but I daresay this one escapes its limitations and carves out its own niche in the genre.

Ardustry, an indie-friendly division of Fries Home Video, serves up COOKERS in a no-frills fullscreen presentation (the film was shot on digital video, and shots were composed for this ratio, so that's fine), with no discernible image flaws in the interior scenes - black levels are dense, and the dingy orange lamplight glow doesn't hinder the clarity of the videography. The few daylight exteriors are a bit grainy, betraying limited resolution, and there is a distinct blue tinge to sunlit scenes, but it's not distracting, and may have been intentional. The Dolby 2.0 track comes close to capturing a surround-like feel, making good use of the ever-circling ambient sound effects - they might even make you jump once or twice - which made me wish there had been a 5.1 mix to really show off the quality of the sound design. Sadly, there is bupkiss for extras, apart from trailers for other Ardustry titles. Too bad, really... a director/cast commentary would've been interesting.

COOKERS may not be everyone's cup of tea, and some may question categorizing it as a horror film per se, but I think it holds its own as a small but potent genre entry which comes very close to replicating the feel of a sweat-soaked, feverish nightmare. I know, because I still have bad dreams about that toothless cracker I used to work for, and they look a helluva lot like this movie. Hopefully, you won't have those kinds of issues hampering your enjoyment of this cool little flick.