After the histrionic Harry Brown and gory Eden Lake, you could be forgiven for thinking the hoodie-horror subgenre had run its course. But while this sparse, ingenious thriller might seem to cover familiar ground, Cherry Tree Lane delves deeper into the hoodie psyche with a degree of black comedy lacking from its forebears.
There’s no preamble: a suburban couple find their mealtime interrupted by a gang of teens who make it clear they have a serious beef with their son. The tense siege takes up most of the film’s running time, but this is not so much torture porn as a dry, existential drama. The adults (trussed and terrified) can’t fathom it, and the kids (cool as you like) don’t care; today’s generation gap has never been so starkly rendered.
