Welcome to the Woods, Now Die Screaming
Jenn Wexler’s The Ranger (2018) is the kind of film that looks like it crawled out of a mosh pit, stole a switchblade, and decided to go camping. It’s a neon-soaked, blood-spattered love letter to 1980s punk and slasher cinema — the kind of movie that asks, “What if The Breakfast Club took LSD, broke a few laws, and accidentally pissed off Smokey Bear’s psychotic cousin?”
It’s fast, filthy, and fun — and at only 77 minutes long, it’s short enough to make you wonder if you actually dreamed it. But no, you didn’t. You just survived The Ranger, and congratulations: you probably need a shower.
Punk’s Not Dead — But Everyone Else Is
Our heroine, Chelsea (Chloë Levine), is a pink-haired punk who’s got more eyeliner than life direction. She and her crew — a collection of anarchist Barbie dolls and thrift-store Sid Vicious wannabes — are on the run from the cops after an altercation involving drugs, bad decisions, and possibly a stabbing (it’s hard to tell; everyone’s yelling too much).
With nowhere else to go, Chelsea suggests hiding out at her late uncle’s cabin in the woods. It’s remote, it’s rustic, and it’s the perfect place for a group of urban degenerates to learn that nature doesn’t like them very much.
Unfortunately for them, the woods already have a caretaker: The Ranger (Jeremy Holm), a polite, clean-cut park official with the personality of a buzzsaw and the moral code of a fascist eagle scout. He’s obsessed with “preserving the park” — and if that means killing off a few litterbugs with a hunting knife, well, that’s just good forest management.
The Ranger: Nature’s Middle Manager
Jeremy Holm plays The Ranger like a serial killer version of Mr. Rogers. He’s calm, articulate, and terrifyingly precise. When he’s not quoting park regulations, he’s dispatching punks with ranger-approved efficiency. Forget Jason Voorhees — this guy kills people for camping without a permit.
Holm’s performance is deliciously dry. He never shouts or loses control; he just calmly explains the rules of the forest before stabbing someone through the neck. It’s like getting murdered by your childhood safety instructor.
He’s also hilariously over-the-top in his commitment to the law. Every death comes with a lecture about wilderness etiquette — a mix of Sesame Street and Texas Chainsaw Massacre. Watching him slit someone’s throat while reciting federal code 36 CFR 2.10 (“Camping restrictions”) is both horrifying and oddly educational.
Chelsea: Punk Rock Final Girl
Chloë Levine gives us one of the most grounded final girls in years. Chelsea isn’t your typical scream queen — she’s angry, self-destructive, and quietly traumatized by her past. Her punk exterior hides a childhood shaped by tragedy and an abusive uncle (played by horror legend Larry Fessenden in a cameo that screams “I’m here to die early”).
Levine nails the balance between rebellion and vulnerability. She’s not running from the killer because she’s scared — she’s running because she’s furious. By the time she faces off against The Ranger, she’s channeling pure riot grrrl energy, fighting not just for her life but for her identity.
It’s refreshing to see a final girl who isn’t defined by purity or innocence. Chelsea’s survival instinct comes from anger, not virtue — and Wexler directs her journey with the kind of feminist punk bite that would make Joan Jett proud.
Murder, Mayhem, and Mohawks
Wexler doesn’t waste time. The movie gets straight to the bloodletting — and oh, what glorious bloodletting it is. Heads explode, knives flash, and even nature gets in on the action. One poor soul meets his end via a particularly inventive use of a bear trap. It’s the kind of gory creativity that makes you laugh, cringe, and briefly reconsider camping forever.
What sets The Ranger apart from most indie slashers is its attitude. It doesn’t try to scare you with shadows or cheap jump scares — it wants to shock you, entertain you, and spray your screen with enough fake blood to make Tarantino blush. Every kill feels like an exclamation point written in crimson ink.
Aesthetic: When Lisa Frank Meets Leatherface
Visually, the movie is stunning — in a trashy, glitter-covered way. Cinematographer James Siewert bathes the forest in lurid pinks, blues, and greens, turning every tree into a neon nightmare. It’s like Mandy and Return of the Living Dead got into a bar fight at Coachella.
The soundtrack, scored by Wade MacNeil (of Alexisonfire fame) and Andrew Gordon Macpherson, slaps harder than a mosh pit on fire. Guitars snarl, synths hum, and the whole film pulses with chaotic punk rhythm. You could almost smell the beer and cigarette smoke through the speakers.
This is a movie that doesn’t just show punk — it feels punk. Every frame is defiant, dirty, and alive.
The Humor: Dark, Deadpan, and Delicious
For a film about a psycho park ranger enforcing forest laws through homicide, The Ranger is surprisingly funny. Its humor is the same brand of nihilistic wit that fueled 1980s classics like Heathers and Return of the Living Dead.
There’s something inherently hilarious about watching a uniformed ranger politely tell a terrified punk, “Littering is a federal offense,” before feeding them to the local wildlife. The absurdity never overshadows the horror — it enhances it. You’re not laughing at the violence, you’re laughing with the madness of it all.
Jenn Wexler clearly knows that horror and humor are two sides of the same bloodstained coin.
A Love Letter to Low-Budget Horror
Wexler’s direction is confident and stylish, balancing grindhouse grit with art-house flair. She’s clearly having fun playing with slasher tropes — the isolated cabin, the “wrong place, wrong time” premise, the group of doomed friends — but she twists them just enough to feel fresh.
The punks, for instance, aren’t your typical victims. They’re obnoxious, selfish, and perpetually high, yet somehow you root for them. Their chaotic energy makes their deaths both inevitable and oddly endearing.
The film’s lean runtime means it never overstays its welcome. It’s a quick, savage burst of punk-rock horror — like a 3-minute song played at maximum volume and cut off mid-scream.
The Ranger vs. The World
Ultimately, The Ranger is less about “man vs. nature” and more about “man vs. authority.” It’s a gleefully anarchic story about personal rebellion in a world obsessed with control. The Ranger isn’t just a killer — he’s a walking metaphor for the authoritarian impulse to police everything, right down to how people experience the wilderness.
Chelsea, on the other hand, embodies freedom — messy, loud, and unrestrained. Their final confrontation feels like punk versus patriotism, chaos versus order, youth versus the system. Spoiler: the system bleeds out.
Final Verdict: Stay Out of the Woods, Stay Punk Forever
The Ranger is a beautiful contradiction — a slasher that’s both savage and smart, hilarious and horrifying, nostalgic and new. It’s a love letter to rebellion, a middle finger to authority, and a reminder that sometimes the scariest monsters wear uniforms and quote park regulations.
Jenn Wexler has crafted something truly unique: a feminist, punk-infused horror film that doesn’t apologize for being loud, bloody, or weird. It’s the cinematic equivalent of spray-painting “F*** THE SYSTEM” on a park sign — and getting away with it.
So lace up your boots, spike your hair, and maybe skip your next camping trip.
Rating: 4.5 out of 5 forest rangers with superiority complexes.
Because punk may not save the world — but it can definitely survive the woods.
