Dead Mail

“I’m not paid to be a crime detective,” says Jasper when his colleagues in the the postal centre hand him a bloodstained note from someone claiming to have been kidnapped. But given what we see him achieve, getting lost mail to its destination based on just a tiny handful of clues, he certainly has the skills.

Dead Mail is not, in fact, a true crime drama, despite the updates on characters at the end and despite its scuzzy appearance. It might be accused of doing a bit of a Fargo, but it goes about it in its own special way, not with wild claims but with detailed recreation of period and style. Everything here looks grimy, as if the film itself had been lying around in poor conditions for years, and colours and patterns are artfully mismatched. The story unfurls in non-linear fashion and is further complicated by the very different kinds of logic applied by each of its characters, which lead them to act in ways that don’t seem to belong in the same film, but that could be believably found in real life.

Where most thrillers derive their plots from politics, corporate greed, or sexual or romantic passion, Dead Mail is rooted in another area where people all too often find themselves going to extremes: a small business. Josh (Sterling Macer Jr) and Trent (John Fleck) are colleagues to begin with, sharing an enthusiasm for synthesiser design, but when Josh develops something really good, it becomes apparent that they have very different visions for the future of their operations. Before he knows it, Josh finds himself a prisoner, a situation which is more disturbing because both parties are out of their depth, with Trent’s efforts to figure it out as he goes along leading to escalating brutality.

Directors Joe DeBoer and Kyle McConaghy make great use of small spaces and find opportunity or threat in everyday objects. Most of the action takes place in three labyrinths, all dingy and designed with little concern for human comfort: the rambling house where the business is based, the men’s home where Jasper has washed up, and the underground chambers of the postal building. The only real brightness comes from two of its other workers, Ann (Micki Jackson) and Bess (Susan Priver), whose friendship and cooperative way of working gives them an advantage that none of the men possess. Set in 1982, when US films were full of gritty lone male heroes, Dead Mail is full of the tragic realities of prolonged loneliness, with all the men vulnerable in their different ways.

An uncomfortable watch yet smart and full of shrewd observations, this is one of those films that’s perfectly suited to SXSW and spaces where people appreciate art, but may be a harder sell in the wider world. That said, it might just have the potential for cult status. In its pursuit of mundanity, it’s quite unusual, and in its understanding of the horror that can lurk in the mundane, it packs a punch.