Katrina is 19 with a neglected toddler, a lipstick-smeared pout and a bad attitude. Her brother's in jail for murder and her dad's fed up with her bludging off him to finance a life that revolves around the beauty salon, bourbon and blow jobs. Soon she, too, is plotting a murder, which may or may not involve her sweet mechanic boyfriend Rusty or her brother's best mate, Kenny, a dropkick with a sadistic streak. In fact, every man she knows becomes a drooling idiot as soon as she unzips her micro-mini denim skirt. It's a juicy role and Emily Barclay attacks it with relish, making this vile steamroller of a sexpot almost likable. But her brash performance is also the movie's fatal flaw: Hurricane Katrina has it all her own way. Everyone else is too stupid or too nice to stand up to her. We've seen this character before, but Dede Truitt in The Opposite Of Sex and Suzanne Stone in To Die For weren't just bad to the bone, they were better written. Still, like that other wild ride through westie wasteland, Idiot Box, this is a bold, blackly funny picture of the Australia most of us live in, full of noisy energy and visual flair, and for that it deserves a big thumbs-up.
