This peculiar little story centres on Stoner (Braz Cubas), a lone hunter who has recently returned to North Carolina following the death of his beloved mom. All she’s left for him is a series of notes, written in a coded language that will guide him through his personal abyss. He befriends Joel (Joel Loftin), as the two discuss theology through verse and occasional song. But the longer they spend together, the more Stoner disconnects from reality to focus on the voices he senses belong to a higher force: God himself.

Gunfighter Paradise follows a similar path to Joel Coen: it starts off like Fargo (1996, Joel Coen), it zips down a more comic road a la O Brother, Where Art Thou? (Joel Coen, 2000). Like Coen before him, director Jethro Waters cements the work with religious imagery and symbolism; one musical number on a stairwell feels genuinely heartfelt in its appreciation of spiritual energy. Apropos of geography, guns litter the area, and children as young as eleven are taught how to kill.

Stoner is certainly unconventional, welcoming two men dressed up in confederate costumes into his room to use “the landline.” His brother invites him into the “restaurant” business, although Stoner seems happier parading the forests, searching for animals to roast. He fantasises about fighting for a God, armed with the weapon his “daddy” built for him. Stoner is advised to see a professional, but he doesn’t have time for this “voodoo” nonsense.

Cubas is strong as the lead; darkly comic too. Uncovering the remains of his dead cat, Stoner elects to put diamonds in place of the missing eyes; “they used to do that in Egypt.” And there’s a small matter of the face paint he uses, plastering green all over his face in the hope of camouflaging with the nature around him. Gun powder is a currency for those who are willing to spend it, and an argument for those who wish to avoid it.

The characters in this world are divided about their view on religion. One person tells Stoner that God would never contact him in “English”; another feels the Lord is the only thing standing between a bullet and a song. Everybody who is anybody has a copy of the Bible: no one seems to read any other literature. Gunfighter Paradise doesn’t appear to hold a particular stance on artillery – it’s not entirely anti-gun – but Waters seems happy to poke fun at the citizens in this strange part of the world. More than that, none of the citizens are concerned by the central commandment; they’re all happy to kill.

Stoner is directed by another force: the spectre of a woman with webbed feet. He pictures his mother across the terrain, convinced that her stature as a swimmer will outlive them. She’s the one beacon of hope in a world soaked in bravado and threat. Their parent, the brothers feel, had everything padded out for the pair, even if it seemed blurry and out of focus at points.

Waters uses a number of clever close-ups in the picture, offering viewers an insight into the fractured psyche of its subjects. One of the two men dressed up as confederate soldiers looks with bewilderment at Stoner, who is veering further into the realm of fantasy. He’s unconvinced by this malarkey, stating that a “D&D” buddy introduced him to the sport of confederate re-enactments. All around the characters are people acting out their secret revenge tales around them, whether it’s shooting at targets ahead of them, or reciting the Bible to guide them through their particular truth on life. Dreams swallow us all, in their own way.

Gunfighter Paradise premiered in the RiverRun Film Festival.