When Life Gives You Melons: Millburn Sows Agricultural Horror in Creepy Debut

We are what we eat, alas. And we’ve come to reap the tainted rewards of the poisoned earth. Such is a pronounced theme in Honeydew, the low-key but overtly grotesque debut from Devereaux Millburn. A goofy freakshow a la David Lynch meets We Are What We Are, the film’s strident sense of tone and fated misfortune for its two privileged (white, natch) protagonists stumbles over the chopping block of an over-the-top finale.

Collapsing so many inspirations together, Millburn feels like he’s furiously churned himself into a particular niche of derivative pastiche. While it outgrows its welcome (pun intended), there’s enough perversity to appease fans of the theater bizarre and a handful of kooky antagonists who strangely feel more resilient than the neutered, self-involved unfortunates who stumble upon them.

Troubled couple Rylie (Malin Barr) and Sam (Sawyer Spielberg) travel to rural Massachusetts so she can research the aftereffects of a fungus called Sordico and the resulting ergot poisoning which decimated the region’s cattle. They’ve become distracted in the pursuit of their careers, with Sam desiring to be an actor as Rylie pursues a doctorate in Botany. While camping out in a field, there sleep is interrupted by Eulis (Stephen D’Ambrose), who asks them to leave his property. Getting back to their vehicle, which won’t start, they wander off into the woods and find a cozy two-story home, where a strange but friendly lady named Karen (Barbara Kingsley) allows them to come in while she calls a neighbor to jumpstart their car. The neighbor never shows, but Sam and Rylie have dinner with Karen’s disabled adult son Gunni (Jamie Bradley), who sucks on lemon rinds and slurps milk through an elaborate straw contraption while watching “Popeye” and “Betty Boop” cartoons. Eventually, it’s revealed Karen is harboring a dark secret…

Initially, Honeydew feels as if it’s torn from the Book of Grimm. Two lost lambs forlornly seeking shelter in the wilderness from an impossibly friendly witchy woman whose fridge overflows with yummy, delectable treats feels like the adult version of Hansel & Gretel, but Millburn hits a formidable dead zone at the hour mark with a few too many repetitive sequences. After the deliciously creepy build, owed almost entirely to Barbara Kingsley (who is a Lynch alum, having appeared in one of the director’s least Lynchian efforts with 1999’s The Straight Story), giving a warped Carol Kane vibe.

A lot of time is spent on the consumption of Karen’s food, such as an extensive sequence where Sam masturbates in the shower (supposedly under the influence of the Sordico) before scarfing down another complete meal while Rylie pines away in the basement. It segues into the third act, but the slow build suddenly deflates, and the magic sound design and attenuated visuals fall away into a mixture of The Hills Have Eyes and The Texas Chainsaw Massacre.

More oblique references could be the dizzyingly strange Ted Post film The Baby (1973), or another Lynchian reference, Boxing Helena (1993), thanks to the late arrival of Lena Dunham as a carnivalesque accent. Unfortunately, though Dunham’s screen time is limited, her presence feels distracting and unravels the painstaking work of Millburn and Dan Kennedy’s (who served as cinematographer) narrative. The most interesting elements are the background of the rye fungus, the cause of ergotism, or ergot poisoning, an actual rye situation which has led several historians to theorize such fungal crop corruption may have lent a hand in everything from the Salem Witch Trials to the Dancing Plague of 1518 in Strasbourg (fascinating stuff).

Toxic crops have infused everything from Soylent Green (1973) to Troll 2 (1990) and beyond, but this forbidden zone eventually goes off into shock-value deep end, like We Are the Flesh (2016). Malin Barr (and her blazing blue-eyed gaze) makes an impression, but as Rylie she’s saddled with playing an elitist so oblivious and inattentive to Karen’s vibes it becomes distracting. Same for Sawyer Spielberg (son of the esteemed director and Kate Capshaw), making his screen debut as a selfish waiter/actor whose characterization skips along on superficial beats. Kingsley and real-life husband Stephen D’Ambrose as Eulis steal the show, however, and Honeydew is their carousel.

★★★/☆☆☆☆☆