In Cara, we meet Cara (Elle O’Hara), who hosts pornographic performances via webcam, has a roommate in the same profession, and has a history of quite severe mental illness. She’s stanchly against returning to the institution she was previously at, Sunnyside. If it’s anything like Sunnyside Daycare, you’ll understand why she’s so adamant; unfortunately, there seems to be a conspiracy among her mental health care providers to do just that, send her back there. But is there really a conspiracy, or are Cara’s perceptions not what they seem? Given that the colour drains away to bathe everyone in a blue light whenever Cara’s being paranoid, it’s pretty easy to judge what’s really going on here.
But that’s an exterior perspective. For Cara, the conspiracy is all too real, and so with the help of some thoroughly vile, foul-mouthed supporting characters – including Laurence R. Harvey, the memorably strange-looking fat man from The Human Centipede 2, who is the highlight here – things are soon headed towards an ultra-gory bloodbath.
Aside from some very nice gore effects, there’s nothing in Cara that you won’t have seen done before, and done with more style, taste and good humour. The world of Cara is a bleak one, and the chances are that’s an intentional creative decision, but there’s only so long you can spend in a world like that without something to latch on to – a likeable character, a sense of style, a compelling mystery – and before long, the film’s brisk 96 minutes begins to feel punishingly long, and we in the audience might start to wonder: what is it about Scotland that makes it so difficult to produce a good horror film?