Dirtbag Cinema Gem Rats! Is No Fink

A moment of innocence pops up just before the home stretch of Rats!, writer-directors Carl Fry and Maxwell Nalevansky’s contribution to American dirtbag cinema: a tender, unguarded exchange between Raphael (Luke Wilcox) and Bernadette (Khali Sykes), two 20-somethings stuck to their hometown, Pfresno, Texas, like deck boats grounded on a playa. Both of them desperately wish to get the hell out of their personal Hell, where the writing’s on the graffitied walls, the pockmarked roads, the cell where Raphael idles at the start of the movie: no future exists in Pfresno other than a holding pattern of morbid decay.
So Bernadette low key invites Raphael to ditch Pfresno for her uncle’s Iowan blackberry farm, and Raphael enters a sweet reverie: he and Bernadette, lounging in the back of his cousin Mateo’s (Darius Autry) pickup truck with the open road before them and endless desert embracing them. Raphael’s contentment doesn’t last. They’re actually in Mateo’s backyard, where his obnoxious neighbor Nestor (Marc Livingood) is hosting a party for Pfresno’s degenerate asshole demographic, the people comprising 25% of why Raphael and Bernadette are eager to relocate; the remaining 75% consists of 25% the backwater bizarreness seen only in America’s most neglected burgs, and especially 50% of Officer Williams (Danielle Evon Ploeger), a cop who’s so unhinged, even the good old blue wall won’t stand for her.
Bonkers details like these are embedded in the DNA of Rats!. Totaled up, they’re extensive enough to complicate what’s otherwise a straightforward film about jaded, dissatisfied youth yearning to break away from their societal mooring; apart from Williams and all the degenerates, there are virulent homophobes protesting the violent pink exterior of Mateo’s house, an aspiring newscaster who can’t even say the town’s name right (lady, the “P” is silent), bigoted tittle tattlers, a possible terrorist group seeking components to build nukes, and a serial murderer whose signature move is amputating his victims’ hands (pronounced “hahns” by literally everyone). Pfresno’s citizenry is constitutionally paranoid. They see a van parked on the curb, and they immediately assume it’s the FBI. (They turn out to be right, of course, but still.)