A samurai-western revenge thriller set in 1700s Britain, Tornado is an audacious genre hybrid from John Maclean. While it doesn’t entirely stick the landing, this atmospheric and idiosyncratic film has “cult classic” written all over it.

Much like his debut, Slow West, Maclean once again plays with western conventions, crafting an idiosyncratic, atmospheric take on the genre. Tornado (Kōki) is a Japanese performer in a traveling puppet show, alongside her samurai father, Fujin (Takehiro Hira). Dissatisfied with her meager existence, she seizes an opportunity to change her fortunes, making off with two bags of stolen gold. However, This puts her on the radar of the ruthless Sugarman (Tim Roth), who relentlessly pursues her (and the gold) across the windswept countryside, with his ambitious, impulsive son, Little Sugar (Jack Lowden), complicating matters.

Tornado is an interesting counterpoint to Slow West – while his debut has a sense of whimsy running through it, Tornado has a decidedly bleaker, more visceral edge. And yet it still retains Maclean’s absurdist sensibility. Where traditional westerns would show the villains approaching on horseback, here Sugarman and his men plod relentlessly forward, their slow, methodical pursuit turning them into something almost otherworldly. It could be comical, but it’s deeply unsettling. The gang is comprised of an eclectic mix of character actors, models and musicians. Like Sergio Leone, MacLean seems to have cast them primarily for their grizzled, distinctive faces, while their mismatched, threadbare costumes also evoke the surreal, ragtag aesthetics of Alejandro Jodorowsky’s El Topo.

Visually too, the contrast between Maclean’s two films is striking. Where Slow West had a vibrant, sun-drenched color palette, Tornado is washed in overcast grays and deep shadows. It’s no less beautiful for this, as the sweeping landscapes demonstrate, but it’s a harsh kind of beauty, to match the fatalistic narrative. Jed Kurzel’s stirring string-heavy score compliments the look of the film, and helps cement Tornado’s distinct identity. Reminiscent of his work on The Babadook, the music mirrors the film’s stark, desolate atmosphere.

The film is strongest in the first half, particularly in a sequence where Tornado hides inside a stately home, desperately evading the gang. There’s a false sense of security as Tornado takes shelter in the house—civilization offering temporary protection—but there’s something disquieting about the way the gang simply walks inside, unchallenged. It’s a moment that feels like the wild encroaching on civilization, an eerie transgression that leaves you on edge.

Throughout that half, Tornado consistently defies expectations. Violence erupts suddenly and brutally, without fanfare, often on the very edge of the frame. Narrative beats that traditionally serve as major turning points are dismissed with a cold indifference, and characters who seem important are dispatched without hesitation. At times, this approach is refreshing. Other times, it’s frustrating — and leads to certain threads feeling unresolved.

Where the film falters is in its action-packed climax. After defying genre conventions for much of its runtime, Tornado leans into a more traditional revenge narrative that feels incongruous with the tone MacLean established in the first half. The once-unconventional storytelling gives way to familiar genre territory, as Tornado, previously vulnerable and outmatched, begins dispatching her enemies with ease. It’s a jarring, unconvincing tone shift, trading eerie unpredictability in favor of stylized action, and undermines the painstakingly built tension.

That said, the cast is outstanding. It’s a joy to see Tim Roth sinking his teeth into a villainous role again, and he’s mesmerizing. He’s all the more unnerving for Roth’s unassuming demeanour, and Sugarman is terrifyingly unpredictable, casually slitting his subordinates throats for displeasing him. He’s not purely a monster though, and Roth tempers his violent moments with some subtle character work that adds nuance without diminishing his menace.

Jack Lowden is another standout as Little Sugar. He’s at once intimidating and a little hapless, constantly trying to outmaneuver his father. Lowden brings intelligence and a dry sense of humour to the role that makes him oddly sympathetic. His strained relationship with Sugarman mirrors Tornado’s own complicated dynamic with her father, both young characters rebelling against their parental figures in vastly different ways.

Unfortunately, Kōki doesn’t quite bring the same depth or personality to Tornado. She has an undeniable screen presence, but her line delivery often lacks conviction. Similarly, while Takehiro Hira commands the screen, his dialogue is disappointingly generic. His arc, while serviceable, feels conventional and prosaic in a film that thrives on subverting expectations.

Tornado is a fascinating companion to Slow West—a film that embraces the western while distorting it into something sparse, brutal and unsettling. With only two films, Maclean has carved out a distinctive cinematic voice, and here he creates an eerie, unpredictable world where violence is swift and unceremonious. While Tornado stumbles in places, it’s never boring and remains an engrossing, audacious piece of genre filmmaking.

Tornado screened at the Glasgow Film Festival, it comes to UK and Irish cinemas on 13 June