A peaceful island is resting quietly off the Irish coast, congenially
taking care of its daily business, relaxed and chill, content and
thirsty, relatively unconcerned with the partitions of the mainland,
enjoying what little they have with everything they've got.
But after an austere by-the-book officious smartypants arrives from Dublin for a two week shift, strange things begin to happen.
A pod of deceased whales washes up on shore.
Residents and fisherpersons disappear.
A bizarre unclassified squidlike creature is caught in a lobster trap.
Who has given birth to young seeking to feast on human blood.
This
means local constable Ciarán O'Shea (Richard Coyle) must give up
drinking in order to save the village when papa comes searching for his
imprisoned mate, and his by-the-book superior must tie-one-on for the
first time.
In fact, since the aliens can't digest
blood infused with alcohol, the entire town is invited to a local
tavern, where there is a piss-up of biblical proportions, mirthfully
unrestrained, at first, on the house.
Celebrating the
love of stiff pints while comedically and romantically illustrating how
they can effectively fight off bloodsucking monsters, Jon Wright's Grabbers jovially
and collectively serves up a round of experimentally crafted filmic
fermentation, torrentially tapping a traditional reservoir, to insouciantly
distribute an ironic distillation.
Brazenly brewed.
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