NAKED CITY: WELCOME TO WOLF CREEK 3
The sequel to the original Australian outback horror movie Wolf Creek is due for release this year but has anybody thought about the inevitable franchise extension – i.e. Wolf Creek 3. We’re sure there are some potential scripts knocking about but for what it’s worth we think we have come up with the ideal scenario.
In our big budget 3D version we’ve moved the outback a little closer to home, like coastal NSW, and we’ve also looked to the future, with an almost apocalyptic vision set in the year 2025. The movie begins with a inspiring scene of Clive Palmer’s Titantic sailing triumphantly through the Sydney heads. On board are 2000 members of America’s National Rifle Association, all on a package tour to hunt in the national parks of NSW.
After a series of despotic rulers and a sizeable swing to the extreme right, the economy here has turned to shit and it’s time to try just about anything to bring in a buck. The NRA hunting tours have become a real bread winner, especially after all bans were lifted on the type of weapons they could bring – everything from an AK47 to a rocket launcher and a flame thrower. Similarly everything in the national parks be it feral or native fauna has been declared ‘fair game’ and should the odd camper or bush walker be felled, the authorities have indicated they will turn a blind eye to any collateral damage.
Move to a national park just south of Sydney and the rampage begins as busloads of NRA shooters unload a barrage of ammo not seen since the days of the Vietnam War. Within hours anything vaguely resembling a living creature has been annihilated including a walking party of Korean tourists. Only an elusive lone marsupial remains, let’s call him Skippy and the word goes out amongst the NRA boys – there’s a six pack of Bud and a free taxidermy service to anybody who can bag that big ol’ critter.
Enter the John Jarratt character, a maverick park ranger, who has forsaken a lifetime of terrorising backpackers to saving the last remaining roos, wombats and bandicoots. The crafty ranger, long since delared persona non grata by the NSW Government, soon decides on a strategy of if you can’t beat ‘em, then just join ‘em. Disguising himself as a crack NRA sniper, and affecting a Southern style accent he learned from Quentin Tarantino, he leads the hunting pack towards a massive escarpment, plunging hundreds of metres into the sea.
Whilst the shooters search furiously for the trail of Skippy, and teeter perilously on the edge of the precipice, he lights a good old Aussie bushfire behind him. The forces of nature are unleashed and it soon becomes clear, that despite their massive arsenal, all 2000 of the NRA army are trapped. One by one they plummet screaming to the raging ocean below, like lemmings in some Disneyesque vision of hell.
As the chopper shot pans away from the ultimate metaphor of poetic justice, the ranger and the fly blown roo are finally reunited, the Titanic heads back to its normal charter in the North Atlantic and the repressive Government of NSW crumbles as people power reclaims the National Parks as havens of serenity and the odd feral pig.
