At first glance, writer-director Scott Phillips, “Gimme Skelter” might appear to be yet another entry in growing neo-grindhouse movement. In fact, on second glance, it might be taken as mere exploitation, employing the ever popular mix of gratuitous blood, boobs and moral degradation. While there is something to be said for first impressions, there is also some value in looking beneath the surface and in “Gimme Skelter” it is virtually impossible to miss what can, of all things, be called subtly and nuance.

To say that the film fits into the classic “a stranger comes to town” plot device is an understatement when emphasis is place on the word “stranger” because, in this case, he is Phillip Valentine, who claims to be the illegitimate son of Charles Manson. Accompanied by his own “family”, Phillip descends upon a dusty small town with designs on establishing his own legacy.

It is here where things veer ever so slightly from what might have been perceived as a “normal” plot trajectory. Not all of the townspeople (iconic Gunnar Hansen among them) who are served up as lambs to the slaughter are stereotypical horror movie victims and this choice in direction adds a surprisingly sober tone to much of this affair.

The film has an ever-so-faint hint of the small town musings of David Lynch, lots of local (off) color moments and oddities that are really well-rendered. Not so faint, of course, are the crowd pleasing elements: skin, blood and generally depraved behavior. It is the uneasy but oddly seamless mix of the gore and examination of rural life that lifts this one a couple of notches above average. Phillip’s writing and directing show some genuine, relatively visionary talent, production values are decent, it moves at a nice clip and performances range from just okay to pretty good.