Review: Society of the Snow

Director:  J. A. Bayona

Stars:  Matías Recalt, Enzo Vogrincic, Agustín Pardella

One might have assumed Frank Marshall’s suitably serious dramatisation of how members of a Uruguayan rugby team survived a plane crash in the Andes mountains – 1993’s Alive – would have been enough for everybody (pardon the pun), yet here comes J. A. Bayona’s Spanish iteration of the story; a sudden and surprising underdog that debuted in Venice, that’s caught on with Netflix viewers big time. Clearly this tale of horrific endurance continues to fascinate, likely prompting clicks from the same crowd who relish true crime docs to devour the gory details.

Bayona will be best known to many for his stint with the Jurassic World franchise, making this pivot seem even more like a wildcard, yet his appreciably silly Fallen Kingdom endures as possibly the only entry in that spurious series since Spielberg left that’s worth a damn (even if it’s for the high-wire eccentricities of that bonkers second half). The point is Bayona can handle risky, volatile elements. Otherwise, he’s shown past form mining disasters for their dramatic potential, having helmed The Impossible around a decade back.

He wastes no time getting his thinly-sketched team up in the air before pulling off a bone-crunching crash-landing in the remote mountain wilds. Society of the Snow gets off to a uncomfortably gruesome start as bodies are crushed together on impact in Bayona’s steel sardine can. Given the dicey situation for the wounded survivors, one is forced to wonder whether any of those prayers uttered in earnest on descent have really been answered.

The crispness of the modern day digital anamorphic lenses enhance the high-altitude cold and ensure that the vistas surrounding the survivors look beautiful yet terrifying, though their use runs in contrast to the ’70s specific costuming and hair-styling (a recurring jaundiced effect found in a lot of contemporary period-pieces). The clarity of image does help reinforce the ‘realness’ of the horrible situation that these young men have to deal with. We’re keenly aware of chapped lips and black eyes. Without getting bogged down in comparing Bayona’s film to Marshall’s, Society of the Snow inevitably feels the more visceral and, by extension, the more grim.

As the days tick by and our all-male Yellowjackets realise the futility of their situation, the growing question of morality keeps pace. With their numbers and food sources diminishing (nibbling at scabs and cigarettes makes explicit the increasing bleakness), the dilemma of cannibalism grows inevitable. Numa (Enzo Vogrincic) appears to be the sole holdout, yet this drama is undercut by the discovery of a radio and the almost comic dashing of hopes that occurs immediately. Cannibalising the dead becomes the survival of inaction, while searching for a means of escape is coloured as the more heroic endeavour. So Society of the Snow – intentionally or not – makes its own judgement.

Numa and his cohorts become amateur mountaineers, and Society refocuses its attention as a battle against the elements, flitting between risky excursions to the crests of the surrounding ridges and the sudden battering of an avalanche. Here, at least, it is on safer ground and Bayona can concentrate on the more dependable tensions of a survivalist thriller. So the film becomes a bit of an odd contradiction; darker and more graphic than its ’90s predecessor, but also eager to distract itself from its most taboo subject matter.

Considering the UK is in the midst of a relative cold snap, picking Bayona’s movie as an evening flick at home right now might be most comfortably done with the heating on. If you’re going to put yourself through the Uruguayan team’s hardships, at least treat yourself to better circumstances. The opening narration cites that the events that occurred in the Andes in 1972 are seen by some as a tragedy, as a miracle by others. Society of the Snow seems undetermined on which side to land, turning in a handwringing slab of misery porn that verges on exploitation, and not the fun kind. Most disheartening is the sensation that it’s finally getting somewhere when a quick pause reveals there’s still an hour to go.