The drive behind all this in-your-face style is anger—specifically, women's righteous anger toward the misogynistic forces of violence and oppression. These are embodied in the form of Bruce (Josh Rubin), a guy who seems kinder than museum curator Meredith (Sarah Lind) feels really good after a handful of dates. The audience knows Bruce is bad news when Meredith agrees to accompany him up north for a romantic weekend in the country: In Chilly, we've already seen Bruce stalking and slashing an art dealer in pursuit of "The Wrath of Irene," a very old piece of sculpture depicting the three fainting in Greek mythology. Now we're just waiting for Meredith to catch up.
A misogynistic psycho kills a woman to grab a statue representing female rage, symbolically loaded to the point of being on the nose. Fortunately, revenge is just as crazy. For the first half, "A Wounded Fawn" unfolds as a smart, but not groundbreaking serial killer thriller. In the second, it spins into something surreal and unexpected as Bruce receives supernatural punishment for his many crimes. This is, of course, uplifting to watch. But what really makes it interesting is that it's never clear how far these howls come from Bruce's mind.
Halfway through the film, the tone shifts from thin and saucy to resonant and grandiose. The mythical entities that have so far hovered in the background of the story are transformed into flesh-and-blood characters as the three Furies - Tisiphone, Alecto and Megaera - appear, chanting resoundingly about the damage they are about to inflict on this pathetic waste of oxygen. Add in a human-sized owl, its steampunk henchmen, gallons of red-orange blood, and plenty of cryptic symbolism, and "A Wounded Fawn's" transformation from a violent caterpillar into an equally violent, yet infinitely stranger, butterfly.
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