This peculiar, funny addition to the already out-there cannibal sub-genre is your basic black-comedy horror Western with metaphorical overtones. Call it Dances with Werewolves. The year is 1847. Fresh from the Mexican American war, Capt John Boyd (Pearce) is transferred to a remote, sparsely populated army fort in the high Nevadas. Hot on his heels comes the stricken figure of a Scot, Colqhoun (Carlyle), with a cannibal tale to chill even the bravest of them. Colqhoun escaped, hoping to save the last of the women, so Boyd and Colonel Hart (Jones) lead a rescue party with Colqhoun as guide. What they encounter is more terrifying than they ever imagined. Antonia Bird (Priest) was the third director on what was evidently a troubled shoot, and it's not a neat and tidy piece of work. But whoever wanted a neat, tidy comic horror Western? Carlyle acts his socks off, Pearce endures against terrible odds, and the action is confidently handled. As bizarre as its Michael Nyman-Damon Albarn bluegrass score, this is a gourmet dish for midnight movie ghouls.