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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