An overlong but endearingly camp introduction by psychopathic killer Doom-Head (Richard Brake) segues into the story of a group of hippie carnival performers travelling the dusty backroads of America in their beat-up van. This is important because the story here is a familiar one, even if it's nicely framed. It's exploitation cinema but it's made with care.
This is thanks in part to the excellent work of cinematographer David Daniel and editor Glenn Garland, who give form to his still chaotic vision. The central characters are well drawn, their relationships to one another efficiently communicated, and although he packs in a lot of stylistic quirks popular in the period, they don't detract from his story. 31 is set in the Seventies and is to some extent pastiche, but he has understood the cinema he's playing with well. Perhaps it's odd to suggest that somebody who has managed to attract such a dedicated fan following as Zombie had not previously communicated with a clear voice, but whilst the violence and the brashness of his work gave it a distinctive character, he was limited in what he was able to express beyond that. There's a new cinematic vocabulary on display and, more importantly, his own voice has started to come through. With this film, he has finally come of age. From early efforts that were the cinematic equivalent of finger painting and played like MTV with added gore, he's come a long way, picking up scraps of technique at every stage.
Few filmmakers have grown up in public in quite the way Rob Zombie has.