Midwest Gothic with a Smile: Inside Galante’s Vampire Comedy
What do you get when you toss four Black vampires, a beat-up car, and a dusty Midwestern highway into a blender and hit “chaos”? The answer is Sanguine Teeth on a Driftless Road, Austin Galante’s audacious, blood-streaked love letter to indie horror-comedy — equal parts bite and banter, shot through with a DIY pulse so loud you can practically hear it thumping beneath the dialogue.
Is it rough around the edges? Absolutely. But that’s part of the charm. Galante, a director who moonlights (or maybe daylights?) as a music producer, actor, and creative shapeshifter, paints his world with the raw energy of a basement punk show—sloppy, sincere, and full of soul.
The plot? Four vampires—yes, vampires—take a road trip to a remote cabin. Cue the detours, both literal and narrative.
It’s a comedy, sure, but not the kind that chases punchlines. The humor here is marinated in character—the charmingly un-charming misfits who talk like they've known each other forever and still manage to surprise each other. The film breathes in its own odd rhythm, a lopsided dance that feels more like stolen moments than plotted acts.
Galante’s background in music videos comes through in the edit: quick cuts, eclectic settings, and a soundtrack that slaps hard enough to leave a mark. But with that also comes the film’s Achilles heel — the cinematography leans more “weekend shoot with friends” than “festival darling,” and the sound mix occasionally wanders like a lost signal on a long drive. And yet, even the technical missteps feel weirdly right, as if the film is winking at its own imperfections.
What Sanguine Teeth lacks in polish, it makes up for in guts. Not just gore, but heart. You feel the passion of every hand on this project, from the scrappy set pieces to the fully committed performances. This is a film made by people who had to make it.
In an era of factory-pressed streaming fodder, it feels like a mixtape passed to you under the table. Raw. Loud. Personal. Is it messy? Yes. But sometimes mess is the only honest way to tell a story.
