Text card explaining the genealogy of the word ‘sicario’ The modern day usage of ‘Sicario’ means hitman. Establishing shot of a neighborhood in Arizona.Soldiers invade the domestic space. Kate (Emily Blunt) gets ready for the operation. A tank breaks in through the wall. and dust blows everywhere Kate (Emily Blunt) avoids getting shot and kills her assailant. Kate (Emily Blunt) is assisted by Reggie (Daniel Kaluuya) after her encounter. Reggie finds two bodies behind the wall. The film starts with the genealogy of the term “sicario”, a word that initially referred to zealots who killed for their values that now means assassin in Mexico. In other words, the word has transformed from a protector fighting for something to nothing more than a killer. Where does on term end and the other begin? How do they reconcile? These are the questions at the heart of Sicario.
An establishing shot reveals soldiers infiltrating a domestic neighborhood – the homeland has been infiltrated by an enemy hiding in plain sight and the protectors are on their way. Kate, the head of the operation, has her tank bulldoze through the house and then bests an assailant in a gun-fight leading to the individual’s death. However, his bullet ricochet reveals the house in question is nothing more than a mausoleum, filled to the brim with bodies. In other words, the domestic foundation has become the birthplace of the macabre.
The film starts by defining the term ‘sicario’: it was initially used to refer to zealots defending their homeland but means ‘hitman’ in the status quo. Though both interpretations of the word signify a killer, one is oriented around protecting ideals while the other seems to confirm a nihilistic kill-or-be-killed world where no values could persist. This dichotomy between the two meanings of the word represents the battleground Sicario takes place on as it explores what the transition between the terms signifies about the world in a paradigmatic sense.
The establishing shot starts from the vantage point of the idealistic interpretation of the word: a domestic view of a neighborhood in Arizona is interrupted as a group of soldiers, defenders of the homeland, creep into frame while the late Jóhann Jóhannsson’s palpable score reverberates like a droning heartbeat in the background, adding to the feeling of tension. The leader of the group, Kate (Emily Blunt), sits in a tank ready for breach before the vehicle breaks into a house, scattering dust all over the area. She gets down to investigate the residence with her squad but is suddenly caught off guard by a armed resident in the house. She evades his bullet and manages to kill him. The sound calms down. It seems like the dust has settled.
However, his bullet, despite missing her, opens another wound that proves to be even more devastating . The wall, broken in by the impact of the shot, reveals a series of bagged up corpses hiding within – a simple hostage retrieval becomes a mortifying entry into the macabre.
Kate (Emily Blunt) goes outside to vomit. Reggie (Daniel Kaluuya) goes outside to vomit. Officers find a padded cell. A close-up of one of the hidden corpses. The hut blows up. Kate (Emily Blunt) is caught in the debris. A severed arm appears. Kate (Emily Blunt) tries to wash the blood of the day off of her. Kate (Emily Blunt) looks into her clouded image, unable to fully see herself. Just when Kate thinks the situation has settled, an explosion is triggered and the dust which had finally settled is thrown up in bloody aplomb. Kate walks through the hellscape and sees a severed hand for her troubles. At home, she desperately tries to wash the filth of the obscene events out of her body and mind, but as she stares into her self image, it’s clear that her image of the world has already started to change.
Kate immediately goes outside to vomit. Being a soldier doesn’t entail being unaffected by such senseless violence, and the brutality of the situation shakes Kate and her crew. She’s asked by personnel on how to document the situation given its severity. Kate insists that the records reveal everything; transparency is more necessary than ever.
While she tries to get an accurate count on the number of bodies in the house, a group of officers outside find a padlocked door in a shed and try and open it. The cuts and expectations established previously lead the viewer to think it’s more bodies hidden away, but the intense heartbeat track comes back signaling shifting times. Suddenly, the shed explodes.
Debris and dust scatter everywhere, obfuscating the frame, and Kate is once again lost in the fog of the situation, unable to see anything besides the carnage. The domestic area turned mausoleum has now become the site of an explosion – suburbia rendered into a site of gratuitous violence. In her efforts to preserve the rule of law, Kate finds herself soaked with so much blood that she can’t seem to scrub it all off in the shower. As she looks into a clouded reflection of herself in her bathroom mirror, it’s clear her more idealistic worldview has been delivered a tremendous blow.
Kate’s superiors speak to Matt (Josh Brolin) about her qualifications. Kate (Emily Blunt) addresses Matt (Josh Brolin) and her superiors. Kate notices that Matt is wearing flip-flops.Kate is offered an opportunity to deal with the people “really responsible” for the violence she saw by an man, initially framed as imposing and mysterious, named Matt. After questioning Kate and informing of her of his mission, she volunteers for his task force and leaves the area, emboldened to achieve her mission. However, as she leaves she notices Matt’s attire is completely distinct from everyone else. He’s in shorts and flip-flops as opposed to a suit and boots. The disjunct between personality, mission, and appearance all serve to highlight the way image is modulated and not defined. The question becomes why Matt is presenting himself in this way and the answer has to do with the themes the film tries to develop.
The next day comes. Kate and her partner on the force, Reggie (Daniel Kaluuya), wait outside of a glass-paned room as their superiors discuss the previous day’s mission. A man speaks to the group with the camera positioned to his back. His framing suggests importance and a sense of mystery. He asks about Kate and Reggie’s respective backgrounds, approving of Kate’s but rejecting Reggie upon hearing about his legal education. The group calls Kate in and introduces her to the man of the hour, Matt (Josh Brolin).
First, he asks her about her relationship and child status. He’s abrupt and straight to the point. She responds she’s both divorced and childless. He tells her he’s hunting the cartels behind the bodies and bombings. She expresses interest. Her superior, Forsing (Jeffrey Donovan) tells her that joining such a task-force requires volunteering for the position. She asks Matt if they’ll be able to hold the people who committed the acts responsible. He guarantees that they’ll be able to deal with the masterminds behind the operation itself.
She agrees with no hesitation and her journey begins. However, as she leaves the room, she notices that the charming, yet serious Matt, shrouded in mystery, is wearing flip-flops in sharp contrast to everyone else in the room wearing business professional clothing – another indication that appearances are not to be trusted. Images are always imbued with an purpose and can’t be taken at face value.
Establishing shot of Nogales, Mexico. Silvio (Maximiliano Hernández) is woken by his son. Silvio (Maximiliano Hernández) puts on his police uniform and walks his son to the soccer field. The film cuts to Mexico and establishes another domestic hub; this time the subjects are Silvio, a cop, and his wife and son. Though seemingly a respite, the turn to a house in the wake of the destruction of another house along with the invocation of Mexico and cartel violence is anxiety inducing because it serves as the nexus point of multiple points of concern. It may be peaceful for now, but the story has confirmed that this will be a site of turmoil later. The family’s journey here is a counterpoint to Kate’s own journey.
The film cuts to a neighborhood in Nogales, Mexico. A young boy wakes up his father, Silvio(Maximiliano Hernández), to ask him to play soccer. Silvio gets up, eats breakfast while getting a nice helping of side-eye from his wife, puts on his police uniform, and then proceeds to take his son out on a walk. This adjunct narrative is a sense of normalcy that gives the viewer a reprieve from the violence; however, its presence immediately generates a sense of unease. The opening’s mention of Mexico in relation to sicario qua assassin, the eruption of violence in the American residence, the focus on cartel violence, and Silvio’s status as police officer transform a seemingly benign scene and moment into one that threatens to become catastrophic.
Reggie is sent home while Kate (Emily Blunt) is allowed to proceed. Kate (Emily Blunt) sees an unknown man(Benicio del Toro) near the plane along with Matt(Josh Brolin).The plane flies over a mountain whose size engulfs it. The route to Kate’s first mission sets up the twists and turns to come. Despite being legally permitted, Reggie, the lawyer, is turned away at the gates. When Kate gets to the airplane, she meets another mysterious figure who she was unaware of. Then when she’s on the plane, this figure, Alejandro, reveals that the location of the mission is not in the United States but is in Mexico instead. As the plane makes it’s way to its destination, its shadow is swallowed by the wild canvas of the mountains – a premonition of things to come and a confirmation that Kate is going to be engulfed by the task at hand.
Back in the United Sates, Reggie drives Kate to her first day on Matt’s team. She’s told she’s going to El Paso with them on some preliminary task-work. However, upon getting to the gate, Reggie is denied access and the uncertainty about the situation increases. The emissary of the law is not allowed to pry his eyes upon this supposedly legal execution of justice. He’s forced to leave as Kate continues forward.
As she gets closer to the plane, another man, with his head turned around as to disguise his visage, appears at the plane’s tail. Matt comes out to greet Kate letting her know that the wayward man is Alejandro (Benicio del Toro) – another unexpected surprise. The trio get on the plane and Alejandro asks Kate if she’s ever been to Juárez; the shoe fully drops and the pretenses dissipate as Kate realizes that the mission she’s signed up for is far more expansive than she could have imagined.
While the nature of where Sicario mysteries lead is fairly by the books, the way its cinematically rendered gives it a poignancy that elevates the film into something special. Screenwriter Taylor Sheridan’s script is propulsive and juggles multiple storylines, giving director Denis Villenevue the ability to flex his muscles and leave his mark of the genre. Instead of focusing on the mystery, Villenevue repeatedly turns the viewer’s attention to the dichotomy introduced at the film’s start by utilizing parallels in characters and groups to demonstrate the way the terms and the manner by which they’re used to categorize can rapidly shift .
There’s an implied distinction between between killing while oriented towards an ideal that stands for something greater than oneself and killing for the sake of something material, like wealth. The former position is one that’s idealistic and moves towards a vision of a “just” world. The latter is one that’s nihilistic and treats the world of winner-take-all. Or is that really the case? Are the two ideas separate or do they bleed into one another? Could one assassinate as an ideal or choose to assassinate in order to move towards an ideal? Villeneuve allows these questions to fester by taking the parallel’s Sheridan’s script sets up between the cartel and the US government, the Mexican police force and the American police force, and so on, and forces the viewer to play a horrifying game of compare and contrast.
One act of violence by one side is met by a seemingly equal atrocious act on the other. A “good” character postures and makes a comment on a “bad” character but then takes action that seems just as egregious. Villeneuve chooses to showcase the “immoral” bouts of violence in more explicit detail and withhold the brutality within the “ethical” instances of violence. He gives just enough information for the viewer to imagine how a scene would progress given both the context clues and the explicit parallels, forcing the audience to come to their own conclusions regarding the mechanics and ethics underpinning certain bouts of brutality. The subjective process of imagining the violence generates an uncomfortable proximity to the situation and forces us to deal with the contradictions in values.
This move also generates an empathetic connection with Kate who is thrust into the same world of twists, turns, and moments of depravity and forced to find stable footing in spite of it all. The first act sets up Kate as resourceful, honest, and passionate. She dodges a bullet, kills an assailant, takes control of her group, and wants to achieve justice – an ideal protagonist to root for. However, the moment she volunteers to achieve her ethical vision, she’s forced into a world where friend and foe mean very little, and the boundaries between what the “good” and “evil” are doing is suspect. Thus, an action of violence which may be immediately justified as necessary can be questioned because the viewer experiences it with Kate; she’s a moral barometer that lets us traverse the hazy backdrop the film plays against.
Sicario’s genre peers would usually feature a character like Alejandro or Matt as the lead – a burly man of mystery ready to whatever it takes to get the job done. However, the choice to have the lead be a highly capable woman with her morals intact in a sea of men and violence provides a vantage point that gives the otherwise gratuitous moments of sheer visceral terror a counterpoint that has heft. She’s not a damsel in distress, and she’s not some battle-hardened veteran looking for a fight; she’s just a competent soldier looking to do the right thing in circumstances that go against everything she’s been taught to accept. Blunt exemplifies this by constantly modulating between a soldier capable of holding her own and someone way out of their depth being racked by panic. She’s the perfect vehicle for both her character and the moral fiber of the film. By building up her competency and then slowly revealing its limits within a brutal, new environment, the film is able to push forward new ground on a story and make what would otherwise be cliché’s into uncomfortable moments to unpackage.
In fact, it’s because Kate is presented as competent in the context of what she’s signed up to do that otherwise passive scenes on her part are absolutely dread inducing. For example, as opposed to a conventional car chase scene with professionals chasing after one another, a traffic jam scene where assailants can be in any car and the protagonist is a fish out of water is much more dreadful. Because Kate is established as capable, the film is able to emphasize just how unforgiving the reality of the cartel violence and dealing with them can be; the rules of war don’t do anything in guerilla situations. Thus, her position gives impetus not only to the primary questions of the film but allow the visceral moments to have genuine stakes associated with them.
Put together with the parallel storylines and the near-perfect pacing of the narrative, Sicario certainly merits a comparison to the Coen brothers’ masterpiece, No Country For Old Men, a neo-Western following multiple characters who hunt and are being hunted by one another. Like No Country, Sicario presents a dark vision of an age without values, where the values of older days have seemingly faded away to the gusts of apathy and violence. While Sicario may not be as ambitious in terms of its narrative construction and direction, it certainly evokes a similar feeling of wandering through a foreign land where sense and reason have vacated the premises.
However, Sicario does match No Country when it comes to its visuals. Serving as director of photography on both films, Roger Deakins gives Villeneuve’s vision the room it needs to breath and fully take hold. Dust in the air, shadowy environments, and ever-present sources of reflection reveal the complexity inherent in seemingly straight-forward situations by introducing a visual opacity which accentuates the themes. Nothing is what it seems and it’s within the shadows cast by projections that the “truth” can be ascertained; there’s a space between words and the paradigms they operate within.
Consequently, this makes Sicario a must-see experience for any fan of cinema ranging from the casual fan looking for an exciting time to the cinephile looking for something heftier to sink their teeth into. While veterans of cartel thrillers might be less surprised by plot twists, the sheer culmination of skill including, but not limited to, Deakins camera work, the late Jóhann Jóhannsson’s adrenaline-pumping propulsive score, Blunt’s humanistic yet confident performance, and of course, Villeneuve’s brilliant ability to put all these elements together makes this an experience no one should miss. If nothing else, the final few moments of the film exemplify how dedication to craft can elevate even a small movement into a grand gesture.
REPORT CARD
TLDR
Sicario is the rare movie that offers a totally engrossing time from start to finish across different types of moviegoers. With its propulsive narrative, fantastic acting, bloody and well-executed set-pieces, and its dark and foreboding score, the experience stays entertaining the whole time. However, it’s use of Emily Blunt in the role of the main character gives the movie a humanity and a vantage point that transforms it into a meditation on violence and the reality of the rule of law. It’s heady without being alienating and even more engaging as a result.
Rating
10/10
Grade
S
Go to Page 2for the for the spoiler discussion and more in-depth analysis. Go to Page 3to view this review’s progress report .
Adam (Jake Gyllenhaal) sits in his car as his mother’s voice drones over.
Helen (Sarah Gadon) sits in the shadows, clearly pregnant.
The words “Chaos is order yet undeciphered,” shows up on the screen.
Anthony (Jake Gyllenhall) opens up the fantasy room/ room of fantasy.
Hordes of men watch women perform sex acts.
Anthony (Jake Gyllenhaal) puts 8 fingers around his face like a spider.
A woman disrobes and becomes nude in the background as Jake gets ready to watch her foreground.
A tarantula crawls out from a platter.
The mirror image of a nude woman walks around the spider.
A woman’s’ silhouette stands against the light.
The woman positions her heel over the spider in menacing fashion.
The opening of the movie sees a yellow, musty looking city haunted by foreboding strings. A young man, Adam, sits in his car dejectedly as a voicemail from his mother drones on and on. A pregnant woman shows up during this monologue – two seemingly different mothers but one is seen and one is shown. The words “Chaos is order yet undeciphered” show up on screen confirming that this pattern isn’t a coincidence. Another man who looks like Adam walks down a hallway and opens up a door to a fantasy room with women engaging in sexual acts. There’s a huge crowd of men eagerly watching. The showstopper event the women build towards is having one woman strip down and then threaten to crush a tarantula from underneath her heel.
The camera tracks left over a muddied yellow cityscape while composers Bensi and Jurrinan’s eerie and foreboding score plays; discordant strings turn into synth-like drones that get under the skin. A beep emerges; the voicemail message accompanying it feels less intrusion and more accompaniment to the score – the soundscape is unified in its discordant elements. A woman’s voice (Isabella Rossellini) can be heard. She talks to her son and thanks him for showing him her new apartment. She mentions concern over his living conditions and asks for him to call back while the camera cuts to Adam (Jake Gyllenhaal), her son, sitting in a musty car. His eyes reflected in the car’s rear-view mirror show an inertia – he looks unenthused and out of it. The mother’s words gain some power as her son’s disposition indicates a lack of vitality.
She tells him she loves him and the film cuts to a pregnant woman, Helen, who sits basked in a yellow haze of light and shadow. Another mother in response to the son. A pattern established, but what does it mean? The screen turns black as if in response and the following words appear on the screen in yellow font: “”Chaos is order yet undeciphered.” This is Enemy’s calling card; the story is a puzzle that entices the viewer to engage in dialogue. Patterns are present and meanings are given but their connections aren’t immediately apparent. Thus, order is only present for those willing to decipher – a great way to prime the viewer to not only pay attention but to stay invested to even the most minor of details.
The words fade into a black background out which a pair of hands appear in close view. We cut to a wider shot and see a man who looks like Adam but exudes a more confident presence along with another man walking down a dimly lit hallway where the yellow lights emit a sickly feeling in the area. This “potential” Adam[1]I use potential in quotes here because the nature of which character this is isn’t made definite and is certainly meant to be presented as up for interpretation at the start. For my full … Continue reading opens the door and enters the room as the unnerving score gets more intrusive and for good reason. It turns out that the characters have entered a dimly lit room filled with smoke and mirrors where hordes of men gather around women performing sexual acts. This mise-en-scène gives the setting a surreal feeling – the perverse room feels apart from a “normal” world. The women’s moans and squeals of enjoyment accentuate the unease generated by the score – the sounds of ecstasy take on the sign of omen as they become infected by the score.
Suddenly, two women adorned in a silky robes and long heels comes out and the crowd’s attention becomes focused. Their initial “holy” appearance, at least comparatively, and the way they command the energy of the room evokes the feeling of sacred ritual – the climax approaches. One of the women carries a covered tray which she places in the center of the room. Meanwhile the other one disrobes in the background as the “potential” Adam places his fingers over his face, almost as if trying to cover it, and leaves room only for his eyes to peer through – four fingers on each side of his face wrapping around from the bottom-up. The tray is picked up and a spider walks out from the center of it. However, as it tries to get away, it’s followed by the now fully disrobed women who follows it around the table. Her pursuit is shown via the reflection of the table – a mirror image.
Eventually she corners and stands menacingly over the creature, revealed only by her silhouette. She places her robe over the spider as if about to crush the creature while the room watches with baited breath. Is this what the men came to see? A nude woman threatening to kill a spider? A leg positioned over a creature possessing 8 legs? We cut back to the “potential” Adam in the same position as before. Now the 8 fingers reaching around his face form part of an inverted image: a spider made of hands reaching around the face in contrast to the feet reaching to the spider proper.
Adam (Jake Gyllenhaal) teaches about patterns.
“Webs” are present in the city’s architecture.
Adam (Jake Gyllenhaal) puts his hands on his face while grading.
Adam (Jake Gyllenhaal) is asked if he watches movies. He is turned away.
Mary (Mélanie Laurent) tries to get Adam (Jake Gyllenhaal) to come to bed with her.
Mary(Mélanie Laurent) walks away from Adam (Jake Gyllenhaal).
Mary (Mélanie Laurent) and Adam (Jake Gyllenhaal) are separated in the darkness of the apartment.
Adam (Jake Gyllenhaal) watches the movie.
Mary (Mélanie Laurent) is fast asleep as Adam watches the movie.
Adam (Jake Gyllenhaal) finishes the movie.
Adam tries to have sex with Mary but she rejects him.
Mary (Mélanie Laurent) tells Adam she’ll talk to him later.
Adam teaches his class about patterns of control and how dictatorships control societies. His life is a series of patterns and his city is filled with webs and lines – cable lines, telephone lines, and the like. His day to day life consists of going to work, coming back home, grading papers, and then going to bed with his girlfriend Mary. However, the pattern breaks when a coworker accosts Adam and recommends a movie for him to watch. The conversation with the co-worker and the the movie proper are both deviations from the pattern and mark the start of Enemy’s wild ride. Adam becomes so engrossed in the movie that he neglects Mary, causes her to leave, and pushes his journey in unknown trajectory.
We see a view of the city again before the film cuts to Adam teaching a college classroom. He starts his lecture on control by stating that: “Every dictatorship has one obsession. And that’s it. So, in Ancient Rome, they gave the people bread and circuses. They kept the populace busy with entertainment, but other dictatorships use other strategies to control ideas. How do they do that? Lower education. They limit culture. Censor information. They censor any means of individual expression. And it’s important to remember this, that this is a pattern that repeats itself throughout history. ” He finishes his lecture and the students leave.
He gets on a bus that traverses the city via cable transport that travels along lines that extend from building to building like a web of control. The spider’s influence is everywhere it seems. Adam gets into his disheveled looking apartment where he exists in lethargic state. His dissatisfaction is apparent as he expresses frustration in the movement of his hands while grading his students’ papers. He brings his hands up to his face as if to pray right as his girlfriend, Mary (Mélanie Laurent), shows up. She attempts to converse with him, but he refuses to answer. Instead, he focuses on just engaging in sex with her.
Then, the pattern repeats. He’s back in his classroom, giving the same lecture as above, gets on the web-linked train, grades papers at home, has sex with Mary and back to it again. He’s stuck in a loop that leaves him out of joint. Finally, the pattern breaks. As Adam sits in the teacher’s lounge, one of his co-workers asks him whether or not he goes to the movies and if he’s a “movie guy”. Adam indicates he doesn’t go out a lot and doesn’t like movies. This would also make sense given his lecture content – entertainment is a strategy used to control people so he stays away from it.
His coworker persists and mentions that one can watch a movie at home and that renting can work just as good as going out theatres. In response to this persistence, Adam requests a recommendation for something cheerful to which his coworker recommends Where There’s a Will, There’s a Way” The odd title initially strikes both us and Adam as a philosophical statement until he clarifies the flick is a local film which Adam should check out. Thus, the initial pattern is disrupted. A desire has presented itself within the inert world of Adam’s.
He comes back home after having rented the movie. As he dejectedly rests his head against his right palm, Mary appears and tries to coax him into coming to bed with her even mentioning how “drunk” she is. She plays with his face and tries to awaken something sensual in him but he’s unmoved. In one fluid movement, the camera tracks horizontally Mary as she leaves Adam alone, receding into the darkness and leaving the light on him. He finishes the last paper and opens up his laptop to start and finish the movie. Once again, the camera moves horizontally, demonstrating the passing of time and location. The movie is done and Mary is fast asleep. Adam gets up and looks perturbed, but tries to distract himself by having sex with sleeping Mary. He gets on top of her, but the time is passed and she’s no longer interested. She asks him to stop, gets out of bed, and changes. He asks what’s wrong and she lets him know she’ll call tomorrow. The pattern has now fully broken down and with it comes the first signs of horror.
A bellboy makes his way to help a guest.
The bellboy picks up the guests bag.
Another woman in the lobby who’s courting a man wearing a spider-web decorated tie gets agitated when she sees the guest walking.
The guest turns around to court a man and the bellboy is revealed to be Adam’s double (Jake Gyllenhaal)
Adam (Jake Gyllenhaal) wakes up after his disturbing dream.
Adam sees his laptop flickering as though possessed by something else.
Adam (Jake Gyllenhaal) re-winds the movie.
Adam finds the scene of his doppelgänger (Jake Gyllenhaal).
The nightmare sequence interrupts the movie just as jarringly for Adam as it does the viewer, coming into the fray with thunderous aplomb as the score booms. A woman with a black hat checks into a hotel and gets help from a young lobby boy wearing a hat. The boy picks up her bags and walks her through the hotel. Another woman wearing a yellow hat is courting a man with a web-patterned tie. She stares at the woman in the black hat as though scared of losing her suitor. However, the woman in the black hat continues on and eventually attracts another man. It’s at this point the lobby boy is revealed to be none other than Adam’s double. Adam wakes up in shock to go and confirm his fears. His laptop waits on his chair menacingly in the on position, as if telling him that the cat is now out of the bag. Adam re-watches the movie and confirms his worries.
The score becomes intimidating as it starts to pound as pattern of the film fully breaks down – now the screen has transported the viewer to within the Where There’s a Will, There’s a Way. This is Adam’s’ dream and his unconscious, now stirred out of the monotony of his “everyday”, presents the dream to move Adam.
A woman in a red dress and black hat stands at a hotel’s reception and is received by two staff without hats. One of the men calls a bell boy with a red hat to help the woman with her two bags. He retrieves two bags from the floor and follows the woman along. As the two walk, a group of men and women sitting close-by stare at the black-hatted woman. A woman wearing a yellow hat courting a man wearing a red-tie with a spider-web pattern on it is terrified at the presence of this woman in the black hat who continues to walk along. The bell boy and woman then run into another man with a hat, who takes his hat off, and then proceeds to talk with the woman. It’s at this point that bell boy’s face is finally revealed and the visage looks exactly like Adam sans a beard. The dream breaks – the realization has been made.
Adam wakes up in dread and slowly walks out of his bedroom to see his laptop, still on, waiting in his chair as if taunting him to peer closer. He picks up the computer and starts to fast forward, pause, and scan Where There’s a Will, There’s a Way for the disturbance he saw in his dream – the presence of his doppelgänger.
Fittingly, upon finding his “repetition”, he begins his next lecture on something new – Hegel. Adam explains that Hegel claimed that “the greatest world events happen twice” and then Karl Marx added that “the first time it was tragedy, and the second time it was a farce.” Taken together, the statements mean that the repetition of an original event, confirms it not merely as contingency but as necessary. In other words, it’s the instantiation of a pattern – chaos which becomes ordered through a repetition which confirms a “truth” established previously. If this is the case, then what patterns does Adam’s movie actor doppelgänger reveal about his patterns – his “truth”? Adam becomes obsessed with finding out precisely that and thus, Enemy can proceed with gusto.
With its doppelgänger set-up, surrealistic set-pieces, and expressed interest in acting as a puzzle to the viewer, it’s no surprise that Enemy falls in a line of films that includes the likes of: Persona, Fight Club, Lost Highway. Like these films, Enemy employs a dream-like logic in its construction to guide the viewer through a matrix of desire and fantasy in such fashion as to engender a desire in the viewer to delve deeper. For all the answers director Denis Villeneuve withholds, he never leaves the viewer feeling frustrated that only “nonsense” is occurring.
He does this by both employing segments of the film absent of Adam and his duplicate to help establish baselines that the audience can use to decipher what can or cannot be the case and also by priming the audience to pay attention to patterns, some easily discernible and others more hidden. Thus, Enemy becomes whatever the audience makes of it – it’s a game that constantly plays back giving the film and enigmatic pulse that gnaws at the viewers curiosity. There’s always another movement, another scene, another pattern waiting to be found to make sense of what came before. Consequently, the mysteries of the film feel solid enough to grasp, so the viewer can traverse strands of Enemy’s web even if they can’t see the web in its entirety.
Because Villeneuve meticulously stages the film in parallel movements, both within scenes and between them, there’s always a constant series of moving answers and questions. As new patterns are formed, new questions can be raised which opens previous and future scenes up to more nuanced interpretations. This is all purposeful, as evidenced by a scene that occurs midway in the film that quite literally represents a particular breakpoint in the film – it’s proof of the intention driving every one of the film’s decisions. Even if one can’t immediately notice each point and it’s counterpoint, it’s doppelgänger so to speak, they can certainly feel it in the structure of the film which reinforces and builds upon symbols and feelings at a subconscious level, priming the audience one way or another.
In particular, this parallel movement sets the viewer up for moments of genuine psychological fear. Patterns induce a level of comfort and the disruption of those patterns creates a level of anxiety. As evidenced by the intrusion of the film within the film, the seemingly random interruption of a “normal occurrence” jolts ones senses. Because the film clues the viewer to notice the patterns, the moments of deviations, the farces to come, are horrific.
Furthermore, the constant presence of the spider and its web in the mise-en-scène evokes the unease of the opening scene of sexual violence while creating webs of meaning between groupings of ideas. The music that accompanies it stays a constant force throughout the film, punctuating every moment with its anxiety inducing drone. There’s never a moment of respite as the senses are assaulted with an impending sense that something obscene is happening. In particular, Villenevue’s dedication to the sickly yellow lighting and color choice accentuates the feeling of misery the characters seem to be experiencing. The color lets the shadows of the dark “shine” through against the yellow, letting the feeling of the unknown pervade in moments of unease. The result is a psychological horror that uses its surrealistic base not just as a method of presenting unnerving images but as a method of probing the viewer’s unconsciousness to pick up on the undercurrents of terror lying just beneath the veneer of the apparent narrative. It’s precisely because of this that the ending of the film hits as hard and shocks as much as it does. It’s a finale that fully crystallizes the tensions and sense of unease that the film spends most of its run-time building, simultaneously tying the strands of the film together while disorienting the viewer.
At the heart of this disorienting feeling is Jake Gyllenhaal, who plays both Adam and his double within the film. Both characters occupy almost every scene, and their intermingling journey serves as the source of the narrative’s momentum. Having one actor play two characters is hard enough, but Villenevue’s story requires that the duo be similar enough to provoke the feeling of unease at the idea of a duplicate, but at the same time be different enough so that the viewer is easily able to identify which character is present in which scene. Jarring cuts which feature jumps between the characters would be wholly incomprehensible if not for Gyllenhaal’s ability to push the smallest subtleties in the characters’ dispositions to help the audience keep track of what storyline is headed in which direction. The genius of the performance lies not in just the distinctions, but the manner in which those performances give birth to even more performances – acts within acts as the two selves vie for control of the situation. Gyllenhaal has to walk a tight rope to let the nuances of Enemy settle and disturb and because he does so, in what I think is his career best performance, he lets the movie rise to its potential.
Currently, Enemy sports the lowest audience and critic scores on both Rotten Tomatoes [2]Denis Villeneuve. Rotten Tomatoes. (n.d.). Retrieved September 25, 2021, from https://www.rottentomatoes.com/celebrity/denis-villeneuve. and Metacritic [3]Denis Villeneuve. Metacritic. (n.d.). Retrieved September 25, 2021, from https://www.metacritic.com/person/denis-villeneuve.. This makes sense when comparing the film to his most popular outputs, Arrival and Sicario, which both feature energetic narratives where there’s a constant sense of propulsion driving everything towards a certain point. Enemy is very much the opposite, choosing instead to assault the audience with patterns whose boundaries bleed into and out of one another. Instead of presenting a straight-forward journey, Enemy presents a closed loop circling around a mystery it beckons the audience towards solving. Forthose viewers that prefer fully comprehensive narratives that need less discernment on their part, Villenevue’s surreal adventure might prove to be too frustrating an experience to find satisfaction in. However, those viewers looking for a cerebral experience should accept Enemy’s invitation to find order in chaos and take the plunge into the spider’s web of meaning.
REPORT CARD
TLDR
Enemy is one part tense psychological horror and another part a puzzle challenging the viewer to put the pieces together. Fans of Villeneuve’s more straightforward ventures à la Sicario might be put off by the matrix of patterns that is Enemy, but those who enjoy his technical style and dedication to creating immersive worlds will definitely appreciate, if not love, this more opaque demonstration of his craft.
Rating
10/10
Grade
S+
Go to Page 2for the for the spoiler discussion and more in-depth analysis. Go to Page 3to view this review’s progress report .
NOTE: This is a new release and the review is based off a theatre viewing. This means the review won’t feature common elements like visual analysis, extended theme analysis, or long-form discussions of the cinematic techniques being used. Once I am able to get a copy of the movie to watch, pause, analyze, and get stills from the review will be updated to match the current site’s standard.
It’s hard to believe that a storyline involving a psychic monster capable of brutally murdering scientists, inept help from the relevant authorities, a woman who has psychic visions of a black-robed murderer who contorts and viciously slices apart its victims, and meticulously crafted murder set pieces is the basis of a James Wan horror movie when it feels like something plucked out of Dario Argento’s giallo playbook, in particular his fever dream film, Phenomena. In other words, the movie is a showcase of spectacle; the point is not the narrative but the audio-visual journey. Extravagance matters more than plot, which functions more as a vehicle for Wan to canvas off of. He’s always been a stylistic director, but Malignant showcases the height of his visual prowess; it’s an absolute treat to behold.
The movie starts with a small taste of things to come as the walls of a institutional facility are drenched with blood. Dr. Florence Weaver (Jacqueline McKenzie) escorts a group, which includes an officer with a gun, towards a room where people are flung out with bloody aplomb. She instructs them to shoot the patient, Gabriel, who is causing all the issues. The group suffers heavy casualties, but the nature of Gabriel along with his powers is left to the viewer’s imagination as the film cuts to twenty-eight years later.
A woman, Madison (Annabelle Wallis ), argues with her husband, Derek (Jake Abel) over the nature of her pregnancies, which seem to always terminate in miscarriages. He viciously attacks her for inability to conceive and beats her against the wall, causing the back of her head to bleed. Madison locks the door to keep safe from her husband, but then nighttime comes and a shadowy assassin makes its presence known. Its form is just a shadow creeping, and Wan teases the audience slowly with its presence before letting the violence continue; the husband is stabbed with no hesitation before Madison herself is thrown on the floor.
She wakes up at the hospital where she reunites with her sister, Sydney (Maddie Hasson). We learn that the siblings haven’t had contact with one another due to Derek’s controlling nature; he stopped Madison from reaching out. Thus, the black-coated figures first kill marks the end of the estrangement between Madison and her sibling and the start of her journey to move past and overcome her trauma at the hands of abuse.
However, later at night, Madison realizes that after this attack she’s now linked to the black-coated figure and can see the murders committed by the figure as they’re happening. These psychic drop-ins, which feel like the pensieve from Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, feature the walls around our protagonist dissolving and reforming around her. Within crisp and fluid shots, Madison is transported from wherever she is to the scene of the next assault. Desperate to figure out the reason for this connection, she tasks Detectives Shaw (George Young) and Moss (Michole Briana White) along with Sydney in an race against time before the killer is allowed to strike again.
Wan said he wanted Malignant to be his take on giallo and the film more than delivers a set-up let lets him have fun. [1]Navarro, M. (2021, September 1). “My version OF GIALLO”: James wan lets us know what to expect from his new horror Movie ‘Malignant’ [Interview]. Bloody Disgusting! Retrieved … Continue readingThere’s a mysterious killer in possession of a distinctive weapon, brutal murders, a race to figure out the identity of the murderer, and law enforcement characters who are meant to help but who actively inhibit the protagonist while bumbling around. However, penchant of any great gialli, like the ones made by Argento and Bava, is to structure the violence with great care around fluid and dramatic camera moves which transform the macabre into the sensational. Malignant nails all of this and more. The plot moves along at a pace that keeps the audience invested until a reveal 30 minutes before the ending which then ratchets the film into an utterly enthralling cinematic experience that any fan of sensual cinema should watch. It’s entirely unpredictable; even if you guess one element of the way events will unfold, the entirety of the combined threads is something that can only be described as Shymalanesque in the best possible way.
Wan, who has always been stylistically talented, is allowed to push the boundaries on his own patterns. While the movie starts slow with some of his trademark sequences, like a tense overhead tracking shot which follows the characters as they navigate a household à la The Conjuringand The Conjuring 2, it really starts to show its hand once Madison is allowed to “dissolve” into the psychic visions that she’s made to see. The transitions are as evocative as the murders which follow and serve a purpose in delineating the contours of Madison’s psyche. As the film continues and Madison is allowed to explore the connection, its visualization changes in ways to reflect the same.
However, what pushes Malignant over the edge is the vitality and fury by which Wan shoots some of the larger set-pieces, moments which blow out scenes from even movies, including even Wan’s own Aquaman. The camera is an assassin and follows the path of blood and carnage with surgical precession. Every blow is brutal. Every slice is sinister. Every moment is an extension of the dance of the fabulous blood-bath. He lets the impact of the ferocity sit with the audience as the frame sticks on the murders unbroken. There may be a lot of the stereotypical horror movie teasing with the slow set-ups and the disappearing shadows, but the pay-off is bloody, excessive, beautiful, and utterly worth every moment in wait – a carnivalesque celebration of blood and splatter.
The supernatural slasher often takes place in rooms lit by rich reds and glowing greens along with rooms dyed in shades of dark blue and pockets of darkness. Often times, the camera glides from one room to another, swinging between colors in a way to accentuate the visual momentum of the spectacle occurring. Even though some of the needle drop moments feel like they could have been timed to synch up with the emotional intensity of the film a bit better, most of Joseph Bishara’s electric score fulfills what it sets out to do – provide a companion to the visuals that can match their energy. Many of the tracks inject a head-bobbing energy that add a fiery intensity to the scenes. The combination of both elements creates dynamite film-making that serves as proof that some things have to be seen on the big screen to be experienced in their full glory.
While there are some plot issues here and there, the muscular film-making put on display by Wan is more than worth witnessing for fans of the genre and for those people looking for a off-the-walls story to have fun with. It’s more than just stylistic homage. Malignant is a celebration of sheer and utter excess in the best of ways. It’s the best of Wan’s artillery amplified to the next level – truly bravura filmmaking.
REPORT CARD
TLDR
Since his horror debut with Saw, Wan has put out some of the most well-loved horror classics. Insidious galvanized a new-age of horror fans and The Conjuring confirmed that his arrival was no fluke. Malignant is a confirmation of the director’s potential and showcases some of the highest highs in his oeuvre as of yet.
Rating
9.0/10
Grade
A
Go to Page 2 for the for the spoiler discussion and more in-depth analysis. Go to Page 3 to view this review’s progress report .
Ellen Burstyn as Chris MacNeil Linda Blair as Regan MacNeil Jason Miller as Father/Dr. Damien Karras Max von Sydow as Father Merrin Lee J. Cobb as Lieutenant Kinderman
Release Date
1973
Language(s)
English
Running Time
121 minutes
The title card comes in a deep red font surrounded by black. A black-and-white perspective on the sun rising. The fantasy fades and the hues of the sun overpower the frame.The opening sequence of The Exorcist marks the end of simplistic worldviews; order is broken and the world isn’t a clear cut black-and-white image anymore. The battle begins with a hellish intensity that must be overcome.
The film opens with a bright red title card as the Islamic call to prayer is heard in the background. A grayscale image of a desert is shown before its burning red, orange, and yellow hues dominate the screen. The simplicity of the black-and-white image gives way to a hellish haze that burns the natural environment around it. The world isn’t black-and-white and the battle between good and evil has begun.
Animals walk in the haze of the desert. People dig at a site. Location card indicates we’re in Northern Iraq. Father Merrin (Alex von Sydow) is framed between the legs of a young boy looking up. A series of establishing shots let us know we’re in a desert on a dig site somewhere in Northern Iraq. Despite being shot like a documentary, the establishing shots culminate in a picturesque frame where Father Merrin is trapped in between the legs of a young boy. It’s a sign of strenuous things to come, where he’ll be be starting at a lower vantage point.
We see a series of establishing shots – animals walking through a haze and workers digging up a site – before a location card shows up informing us that we’re in Northern Iraq. The presentation makes us feel like we’re watching a documentary. Eventually the camera comes upon and follows a young boy at the site who runs through the grounds. He stops and we see the subject of his search, an older archaeologist and priest named Father Merrin (Max von Sydow), positioned between his legs looking up. The child informs the priest that that something of interest has been dug up.
Despite the fact that the compositions and camera movements are done in a naturalistic, unassuming manner, director William Friedkin is still able to fill the film with evocative frames like this one to set up the narrative. Merrin is trapped by the child and the announcement. He looks up from a lower position suggesting that what’s to come will be a struggle for him, one in which he will be lowered. The fact that the one giving him the message and demarcating him is a child is not a coincidence; it’s just one small demonstration of one The Exorcist’s major strengths: the ability to portray events in documentary like fashion while retaining full control on what each frame entails in a thematic sense. This is how Friedkin transforms the ordinary into the extraordinary.
Merrin (Max von Sydow) finds the Medal of St.Joseph.Merrin (Max von Sydow) finds a sculpture of Pazuzu’s head. A lone bird flies through the sun covered frame. Merrin’s (Max von Sydow) hands tremble as he takes his medication. Merrin (Max von Sydow) sees a blacksmith tending to burning fire. The blacksmith looks at Merrin. One of his eyes is clouded in shades of gray.Father Merrin finds both a medal of St.Joseph and a sculpt of Pazuzu’s’, a demon-God, head. This double finding of a sign of good luck and a sign of bad luck will be repeated as a motif throughout the film. After finding both items, we see the sun dominate the frame for a split second as a bird flies through the frame – this creature will show up later. The experience disgruntles Merrin so much that even a simple encounter with a blacksmith becomes elevated.
Merrin walks through the desert towards the location of the aforementioned discovery and finds a medal of St.Joseph. The medal is out of place in the environment, both geographically and chronologically, calling to question how and why it’s present in the area. The film even calls attention to the discrepancy by having the characters mention that such an artifact doesn’t belong in the area. After puzzling over the medal, Merrin starts to dig and comes upon a sculpting. The sound of the wind gets stronger as he brushes the dust off the figure revealing it to be a statue of Pazuzu. [1] While Pazuzu is never mentioned explicitly, it’s clear from the material and discussion on the film that the figure is of Pazuzu. As he stares at the ominous looking head, the sound of buzzing flies becomes more intense.
Once again, the hellish haze of the sun takes control of the screen; this time its presence is brief while it burns not just the desert like before but also a large building in the background; the flames have made their way to civilization. A single bird flies through the frame; the conflict has started to move. The scene dissipates and we cut back to Merrin sitting in a crowded area. It’s clear he’s perturbed by his encounter with Pazuzu as his hands tremble fumbling with his medicine. From the way his eyes glaze out, we know he’s not taking in any of his surroundings; his mind is focused entirely on the presence of malevolence. He gets up and walks through the city before coming upon a blacksmith. The intensity of the flames from their work feels off-putting as they remind us of the intensity of the sun. A simple encounter becomes nefarious as our mind puts the visual cues together; a sub-conscious fear is being laid out.
Insert shot of the clock’s chime. Insert shot of the clock.Insert shot of a recovered statue head. Merrin (Max von Sydow) catalogues his finding. Merrin (Max von Sydow) picks up the Medal of St.Joseph. The clock goes on behind him. Merrin (Max von Sydow) looks at the Medal of St. Joseph. Merrin (Max von Sydow) looks at the head of Pazuzu while being informed it’s a ward against evil. Merrin (Max von Sydow) notices the clock behind him has stopped. Friedkin hides subliminal clues in this establishing montage; seemingly benign insert shots become triggers for a scare in the making. By clueing us in to look at the clocks, not from one but two separate angles, Friedkin manages to get our subconscious hyper-focsed on the clock. This is why it stopping hits as hard. The fact that it happens after a repetition of the double finding motif – Merrin touches both the medal and statue again – helps both techniques reinforce one another. This is how the film weaves psychic chains.
We see another set of establishing shots – a clock chime, a clock head, recovered statues – before revealing Merrin documenting his dig findings. He picks up the medal and looks at it for a brief moment before picking up the head. Another worker in the building notes that the head is a figure of “Evil against Evil.” This mention is not without purpose; Pazuzu is both a demon associated with the evils of the air and a God invoked by people to protect against other more malicious forces. [2]Near eastern antiquities : Mesopotamia. Statuette of the demon Pazuzu with an inscription – Near Eastern Antiquities | Louvre Museum. (n.d.). … Continue reading Thus, we have a symbol of God from a different area juxtaposed against the symbol of a God-Demon from a more local culture being discovered by a Father who is deadly terrified of the latter.
Immediately, the clock behind Merrin stops and our anxieties rise along with him. Because Friedkin disguised the clock parts as part of the establishing shot, our minds were primed to pay attention to the clock without being immediately aware of it. This makes its eventual stoppage more effective because it’s something we’re already thinking about. Friedkin shows us the clock multiple times in a non-innocuous manner, so he conditions us even further to recognize its disparity as off-putting. Combining this with the juxtaposition of the findings amplifies our unease, transforming a small clock pause into a moment of utter panic.
Merrin (Max von Sydow) walks past a group of Muslims praying. A woman looks down at Merrin from above. Merrin (Max von Sydow) walks past two women who are veiled. Merrin (Max von Sydow) is almost hit by a carriage. Even though nothing should be going wrong, we’re primed for the worst to happen. Every point of God is met with a counter-point of bad luck, so after Merrin walks past Muslims praying, we’re expecting something go awry. He walks past a woman looking down on him, just like the child did earlier, which starts the trepidation. After he walks past two women, we’re not even surprised that he’s almost run over. The film constantly generates expectations because of how it repeats itself.
Merrin leaves the establishment as a group of Muslims start to pray – a callback to the call for prayer at the start of the film. Despite being a man of faith, he makes no notice of the group and walks past them. It’s a continuation of the juxtaposition between the figures; orientations towards religions constantly mix and swap in this battle for and of faith. While the anxiety ridden priest makes his way around a corner, the camera cuts to a woman who seems him from up above looking down. The shot itself is nothing out of the ordinary, but it’s inclusion in an already tense movement makes us scared for the elderly priest. The last time someone was looking down on him, the child giving the announcement, he was met with a dark presence.
We cut from the women back down to Merrin who stares down at the ground as he walks past two women. Within seconds of passing them, he is almost ran over by a carriage which approaches from a darkened tunnel. Is this Pazuzu or is it just Merrin’s pre-occupation?
Merrin (Max von Sydow) looks up as a shadow comes over him and a gust of wind threatens to blow off his hat. A statue of Pazuzu is revealed to be above, with the burning sun behind it. Pazuzu and Merrin (Max von Sydow) stare off. A man is revealed to be behind Merrin. Dogs fight in the desert. The camera zooms in on Pazuzu. Pazuzu and Merrin (Max von Sydow) are engaged in battle. Pazuzu and Merrin’s (Max von Sydow) battle dissolves into the red heat of the sun. The heat of the sun covers everything. The heat of the sun dissolves into the cool looking cityscape. The city is revealed to be Georgetown. Chris (Ellen Burstyn) hears some animal noises and goes to investigate. A black-and-white image of her daughter is positioned next to her bed. Chris (Ellen Burstyn) puts on an orange robe and goes to investigate the source of the noise. Regan (Linda Blair) wears yellow pajamas. The window to Regan’s room is open and a gust comes in. The confrontation between Merrin and Pazuzu sets the stage for everything to come and marks one of the greatest movie introductions. The wind and sound of animals are established to be antagonistic forces as their presence makes way while Merrin realizes he’s being stared down on by Pazuzu. Merrin has been set lower by the boy, woman above, and now finally, the demon-God before him. We already know the battle will be brutal. A man behind Merrin reminds us that the entity of Pazuzu is not one of pure evil; Merrin is reacting strongly but a local doesn’t move. The film is establishing sources of ambiguity.
At the same time, the battle dissolves into the harsh sun, tying the battle between Merrin and Pazuzu to the universal breaking of black-and-white morals. This further dissolves into Georgetown, which is bathed in a cool blue. The battle has changed locations.
As Chris moves from her black-and-white photograph of Reagan to Reagan herself, we notice that the mother-daughter duo pair are wearing the colors of the sun. Another movement of black-and-white breaking to the intensity of the solar spectrum. At the same time, the gusts of wind break through Reagan’s window. Another repetition.
An answer is given. Merrin walks down to the dig site and a gust of wind blows threatening to take his hat off. His face is cast in shadows as he looks up. The camera cuts to a statue of Pazuzu looking down upon him, the blinding hot sun appearing right behind the figure. Finally, the confrontation has come to a head. The sounds of dogs fighting and the gusts of wind rage over the soundscape as the two combatants take their stances. The two figures stand apart from each other, Merrin positioned lower looking up, as the scene dissolves into the burning bright sun – a confirmation that the days of a black-and-white world are over. This burning environment dissolves to an establishing shot of Georgetown; the arena of the battle has shifted grounds from Iraq to Washington D.C.
The camera moves from the city to the bedroom of a large mansion. We see Chris MacNeil (Ellen Burstyn) writing notes on her bed. On her nightstand is a large black-and-white portrait of her daughter, Regan (Linda Blair). Chris hears loud animal noises coming from her attic and gets up to investigate. She puts on an orange nightgown before checking on Regan, who happens to be asleep in yellow pajamas. The window in Regan’s bedroom is wide open and gusts of wind are blowing through. A black-and-white image that gives way to orange and yellow, gusts of wind, and animal noises are all signs that the conflict we saw in the opening act has made its way here. Once again, Friedkin has managed to tell us what’s going to happen with just the most subtle of elements, using the repetition of visual and auditory cues to highlight the parallels between the evil happenings between both locations.
Extras playing students on the film hold up signs in protests against the Vietnam War, which was hugely unpopular and televised at the time. Father Damien Karras (Jason Miller) laughs in the background as he watches Chris and Burke squabble. The sub-text of the Vietnam war is present but the reasoning for why is never given to the audience. Instead, we’re made aware of its odd placement in the film and then made to laugh at it as to let it float away, to the recesses of our subconscious.
The next day comes and we cut to a film materialized within the film; it turns out Chris is a famous movie actor and is on set filming a movie about the Vietnamese war. Extras on set hold up signs indicative of the counter-culture at the time. The Vietnam war was raging and was immensely unpopular to many college aged students at the time. The war was famous for being the first “televised war” and media reporting at the time made it infamous at large. [3]Spector, R. H. (2016, April 27). The Vietnam War and the Media. Encyclopædia Britannica. https://www.britannica.com/topic/The-Vietnam-War-and-the-media-2051426.. In particular, it was a time associated with the hippie movement – a group who was known for its opposition to consumerist bourgeois culture and Christianity. [4]Quinn, D. (2019, August 21). The mixed legacy of the 60s hippie movement. The Irish Catholic. https://www.irishcatholic.com/the-mixed-legacy-of-the-60s-hippie-movement/. It’s place in a film about supernatural evil feels out of place. However, this strangeness is called to attention by a crew member who asks the in-movie director, Burke Dennings, if “this scene [is] really essential” and if “[Dennings could] consider on whether or not [the film] can do without it?” Chris then follows up and asks Dennings to explain the student’s motivations for tearing the building down. In both cases, no real answer is given, but the mention of a purpose entices us to give the scene more attention than we would; immediately, we become aware that what we’re about to see has a purpose which allows the sub-text to become imprinted on our psyches.
Dennings ignores the crew member and responds to Chris’s question by reiterating her role. He tells her that as a “teacher at the college, [she] doesn’t want the building torn down.” In exasperation this non-answer , Chris exclaims, “C’mon I can read for Christ’s sake.” – the first verbal mention of Christ in the film – and continues her search for a purpose to the scene. Dennings is still unable to provide a reason and jokes around with Chris about the situation – diffusing it and providing entertainment for the throng of people who have come around the shoot to watch it in action. In the audience is a priest adorned in black, Damien Karras (Jason Miller), who smiles along in excitement at the proceedings. The joke diffuses us as well as it does the proxy audience within the film, causing us to drop our guard again; the lingering questions disappear, leaving only their spectral vestiges behind to accumulate in the the recesses of the mind.
Chris (Ellen Burstyn) mentions God as she tells the students to calm down. The camera picks up on Damien (Jason Miller) as he leaves the crowd. Damien (Jason Miller) leaves as Chris mentions that change has to occur within the system. Chris (Ellen Burstyn) walks past a yellow door as the wind blows Autumn leaves past her. Chris (Ellen Burstyn) walks past a red door as the wind blows Autumn leaves past her. Chris (Ellen Burstyn) smiles at children in Halloween costumes running past her. Chris walks past two Nuns, one of whom is carrying a rosary. Chris ( Ellen Burstyn) sees Damien (Jason Miller) consoling another priest but can’t make out the conversation due to the loud noise of wind displacement. The filming scene does a great job establishing that Chris and Damien’s paths have and will continue to intertwine almost as if fate is pushing them together. We start with Chris, hop to Damien in a crowd of faces, then cut back to Chris who eventually runs back into Damien. It’s a poetic movement; they can’t meet till the time is right.
Chris’s journey back is also a double of Merrin’s journey in Iraq. She walks past red and yellow (the sun), goes past kids in costumes (a symbol of evil against evil) and nuns holding a crucifix (a symbol of the Lord and two veiled women), while the wind blows and “Tubular Bells” play. We know she, like Merrin ,will have to deal with the forces of evil.
Our attention focuses on the scene itself as it begins. Chris, now in character, walks up to the top of the school and tells the students to stop their protests. Once again, she verbally mentions “God” in her exclamations while telling the crowd of extras around her that if they “wanna effect any change [they”] have to do it within the system.” The irony of a wealthy atheist actress playing a teacher working against the counterculture movement while invoking “God” and “the system” is so astoundingly blatant that the fact that Friedkin was able to disguise each element by only subtly drawing a viewer’s attention to it, while simultaneously not compromising the structure of the film proper is proof enough of how textured The Exorcist is at cultivating multifaceted themes. As Chris’s monologue comes to a close, the camera zooms in on a crowd of faces before finding and following the young priest, Karras, as he makes his way to the Church.
The in-movie scene ends and Chris walks back from the set to her mansion. The red, orange, and yellow Autumn leaves around her blow as the wind blows them around her. The iconic theme music, “Tubular Bells” plays, a confirmation to the audience that the sings they’re seeing are a confirmation of the evil that has come to lay siege to the MacNeils. Chris walks by a series of doors, the first of which is yellow and the last of which is red. Children, symbols of innocence, dressed in Halloween costumes run by her. The tradition of wearing costumes on holiday started namely to protect people from evil spirits. Costumes were meant to disguise oneself from evil. Wearing the monsters protected one from monsters – evil against evil. It’s fitting then that the innocent Regan, soon to be possessed, is being affected by Pazuzu of all entities.
Unlike the innocent depictions of costumes on these children, Chris will be forced to deal with the real thing; just like in Iraq, the conflict has started and Chris, just like Father Merrin, will have to come face to face with her nightmares. On the other side of the street, two nun’s walk by. Their presence does not make the sinister soundscape abate. This scene is done in parallel to Merrin’s own walk in the opening; both parties walk by women in veils as evil pursues. Eventually, Chris come to the Church’s gates and sees Father Karras. He starts to talk but both us and Chris are unable to hear as the soundscape is once again interrupted by the sound of the winds. Chris and Karras have not met yet but the seeds for their encounter have been planted.
With this, all the key players have been introduced and The Exorcist can truly begin as Regan MacNeil finds herself in a series of supernatural events that force her mother and self into action in a race to save their lives. The above description of the first 16 minutes is only scratching the surface of the intricate and deeply enigmatic story lying at the heart of the film. Hypnotic suggestions loom around every corner as the movie cuts between sequences in thematic fashion. Consequently, the story’s rythm always feel constant so we’re none the wiser to how much time has passed in between scenes. It’s from these “gaps” that Friedkin puts the mysteries of the film behind. Just like the medal Merrin finds at the start, The Exorcist is littered with minor oddities like repetitions of certain quips and details in the mise en scène like the cover of a magazine that are brought to attention and then pushed to the periphery only to pop up later in the strangest of ways.
Strange cuts and displacements offer an answer one way, while the nature of the narrative suggests others. Based on how a viewer interprets one event, they color the way other events proceed; each of these decisions, culminates in how one processes the ending and subsequently the themes of the movie. Each little detail is placed there with a purpose, waiting to be deciphered in the matrix of meaning afforded by the rich subtext the film employs. The end result is a movie with an infinite permutations of meanings, each justified by an orientation grounded in the film itself.
For example is the film, like Stephen King suggests, about “the entire youth explosion that took place in the late sixties and early seventies”? [5] King, S. (2010). Danse macabre. Gallery.The film-making scene in-movie would certainly be evidence to suggest as much. Or is the film about the way we demonize the Other? The use of Pazuzu as opposed to directly invoking the Devil from the start is a choice made for a reason. These are only a few of the questions the movie allows us to ponder. Every detail, no matter how small it is, presents with it another layer of themes by which to interpret the primary conflict and a set of questions along with them. It’s not an exaggeration to say that one could watch the movie on repeat and come to a different conclusion each time.
Regan (Linda Blair) is shaken by her blue bed while dressed in yellow pajamas. Chris (Ellen Burstyn) talks to Dr. Klein (Barton Heyman) in a blue hallway. Lt. Kidnerman (Lee J. Cobb) accosts Damien (Jason Miller) in front of blue seats.I have to applaud the efforts in production design to ensure such a consistent color scheme. One only has to pause at a important enough juncture to see the scenes bursting in either blues, oranges, reds, and/or yellows depending on the nature of the scene. Whether it be in the architecture or the clothing, the relevant colors are there when they need to be and frequent enough to not feel like coincidence.
This is due, in no small part, to the way Friedkin repeats motifs, making the connections between seemingly disparate moments seem clear if one is looking. The colors red, yellow, and orange are first introduced at the start of the film and represent the spiritual battle. Whenever the colors prop up in the mise en scène, like in the color of the doorways or the characters clothing, we can already tell something is afoot. This is the color of the fight. In contrast, blues envelop the screen whenever a party is attempting to work against the malicious entities. It makes sense from a color theory perspective; in contrast to the heat feeling generated by the sun’s gradient, the cool and calm feeling of the blues feel like a natural response. Likewise, wind makes its presence apparent preceding scenes of terror, reinforcing Pazuzu’s dominion and area of reach. Animal noises like growls and barks creep into the soundscape reminding us of the buzz of the flies and the fighting of the dogs in Iraq while “Tubular Bells” all but confirms the sinister is going to happen when it turns up.
Damien (Jason Miller) tells Tom (Thomas Bermingham) that he, Damien, has lost his faith. Chris (Ellen Burstyn) hears animal noises from above. Ellen (Chris Burstyn) bathes Regan (Linda Blair) after the latter’s incident. The darkness crowds around them as the light gets further away. The fact that Friedkin could get some of the shots he did with the style of filmmaking he was pursuing is testament to his genius. The use of harsh shadows, smoke, and distant sources of light let him give all his images a distinct texture while enabling thematically rich visual storytelling.
Furthermore, the film’s lighting and use of shadows hearkens back to German Expressionism movement, and to an effect the noir movement which was deeply influenced by the former movement. Smoke fills many frames, emanating from cigarettes constantly being lit and the freezing cold temperatures of the increasingly chilly gusts of wind, giving them a more textured and gritty look. Lighting is harsh and often shows the dark nooks and corners in characters faces. Shadows encroach on characters visually demonstrating the influence of evil on their lives. Likewise, divinity comes in the form of bright lights which often show up near the spiritually inclined characters.
By sticking to a mostly unassuming style, Friedkin is able to employ all the above stylistic flourishes, call attention to them momentarily, and then sweep that attention under the rug in favor of something else. The end result is a hypnotic film that creeps under the skin without notice. Suggestions become patterns which become motifs that inform how one proceeds down the mine. Our mind is conditioned to associate certain triggers with evil and others with good, ultimately giving the viewer full reign in determining what the film really means.
The documentary like severity by which the subject matter is treated is the reason this subsequent engagement is so powerful and potentially cathartic. Because everything leading up to the supernatural phenomena is so grounded, the inclusion of such events is given a real power. Every single actor, from the main to the side cast, deals with the events of the film with a cold sense of realism forcing us to do the same. While I could spend at least a few paragraphs detailing the meticulous performances on display, I mainly want to draw attention at how well the film humanizes our leads and gets us to care about their well-being. In particular, the mother-daughter relationship between Chris and Regan, played by Ellen Burstyn and Linda Blair respectively, is sweet and endearing; their love is palpable. Blair presents her soon-to-be possessed character as innocent, whimsical, and child-like.
This is why her flip to cruel and off-kilter hits so hard; it feels impossible to believe that such a sweet little girl could transform into something so much more sinister. There’s no respite from the macabre cruelty put on display. One isn’t allowed to escape from the violence or allowed to cast it aside; instead, they’re forced to sit and marinate with it, imbuing it with their own personal subjective tendencies. It’s no wonder then that the film elicited such strong reactions when it was released with some more sensitive members fainting in theatres. [6]Vanderbilt, M. (2017, August 23). Audiences had some intense reactions to the exorcist in 1973. The A.V. Club. … Continue reading The movie tapped into the cultural zeitgeist at the time and pricks on a litany of unconscious fears and desires ranging from generational to cultural that are bound to generate strong responses even now and it does all that while remaining a conventionally frightening movie that doesn’t cheap up on the spectacle of the scares.
There’s a reason The Exorcist is often the first name mentioned in discussions regarding the greatest horror films of all time[7]I’m in the camp of critic Mark Kermode who regards The Exorcist as the greatest film of all time. I’m not at that level, but I have the film in my top 30 of all time and it constantly … Continue reading At one level it is as spiritual of an experience as a film by Dreyer or Bergman and then on another level it’s use of spectacle is of the greatest variety providing chills so deep and unsettling that they still serve as a benchmark, along with John Carpenter’s The Thing, on how to utilize practical effects to make horror as real as possible. It is a film that understands true terror lies hidden in the unconscious, so it employs psychological ands subliminal tricks to prime our minds and feelings for the nightmares to follow, but it doesn’t forget that the audience has come to be scared, so it pays off all the tension with the most depraved and upsetting images it can. It’s one of the crown jewels of cinema and is proof the medium’s power at truly probing the corners of one’s mind. Friedkin puts it best in his intro to the film: ” Over the years, I think most people take out of The Exorcist what they bring to it. If you believe the world is a dark and evil place, then The Exorcist will reinforce that. But if you believe that there is a force for good that combats and eventually triumphs over evil, then you will be taking out of the film what we tried to put into it.” [8] William Friedkin’s Introduction to The Exorcist. Warner Brothers. (1973) The Exorcist.
REPORT CARD
TLDR
The Exorcist is one of the greatest works of cinema, let alone horror cinema, serving spiritual lessons along with nightmares in equal amount. It is a film that treats every frame as an opportunity to set up subliminal scares, demonstrating that the best results require the most delicate of touches. By lulling the audience to the film’s hypnotic, but elliptical, rhythm, Friedkin forces every viewer to engage in a subjective tango with his mangum opus thereby ensuring that no two viewing experiences are totally alike. Multiple events in the film require the viewer to imagine their own scenes of terror in order to get a “whole” perspective on what transpires. If you give yourself wholly to it, The Exorcist will take you on an unbelievable journey that only the cream of the crop of cinema can dare to venture. The choice is yours.
Rating
10/10
Grade
S+
Go to Page 2 for the for the spoiler discussion and more in-depth analysis. Go to Page 3to view this review’s progress report .
Teresa Wright as Charlie Newton Joseph Cotten as Uncle Charlie Henry Travers as Joseph Newton Patricia Collinge as Emma Newton Charles Bates as Roger Newton Edna May Wonacott as Ann Newton Hume Cronyn as Herb Macdonald Carey as Detective Jack Graham Wallace Ford as Detective Fred Saunders
The “Merry Widow Waltz” plays as the title sequence goes on.
The waltz refrain dissolves to a view of the Pulaski Skyway.
Two detectives, Graham (Macdonald Carey) and Saunders (Ford) look across for a missing subject.
The opening sets up the waltz that will serve as the movie’s key refrain, set to pop up at the key moments of the film. It’s from this scene that we dissolve into the view of two detectives looking for a subject.
The title card opens on a shot of couples waltzing to the “Merry Widow Waltz”. A waltz is characterized as being a triple time[1]A rhythym characterized by three beats to a bar,so it makes sense that this shot of the couples dancing will be be used 3 more times during the film’s run-time, each occasion marking one of 3 pivotal movements in the narrative: the start of the mystery, the mystery’s reveal, and the final conclusion. This shot dissolves to a view of two detectives eating underneath the Pulaski Skyway in New Jersey. The object of these men’s investigation is unknown.
Children play on the street.
A canted angle shot of a building.
A canted angle shot of a window.
Uncle Charlie (Joseph Cotten) lies in bed.
Uncle Charlie’s money lays on the floor.
A landlady (Constance Purdy) babies Uncle Charlie and looks after him.
The establishing shot of children playing on the street suggest innocence, but this idea gives way quickly as we cut to canted angles closer to our subject. He lies on a bed surrounded with money, suggesting both his wealth and lack of concern with it. In spite of not knowing him anymore than as a tenant, the landlady treats him like a child and takes care of him. Despite having a “canted” interior, Uncle Charlie has a childlike presentation that immediately makes him endearing.
We cut to children playing in a street – an image of innocence. This tranquility is broken by the next shots: canted images of a doorway followed by a window – a darkness hiding under the innocence. We go to a shot of a young man sleeping in a room. The camera pans to a stack of bills next to him and underneath; he has a lot of money but doesn’t care about it. The door to his room opens. A motherly figure enters and informs that him that two of his “friends” showed up and asked for him. It’s clear from the conversation that this woman has no previous relation to the young man but she dotes on him regardless, treating him like one of the children playing outside. He informs her that the two man who inquired after him have never met him before despite being “friends”. Our censors go off at the oddity but hers do not.
Uncle Charlie (Joseph Cotten) pretends to sleep as the blinds are closed.
Uncle Charlie (Joseph Cotten) looks out at the police men.
Uncle Charlie has the vantage position advantage on the detectives.
Uncle Charlie walks past the detectives with no concern.
The cops are unable to find Uncle Charlie.
Uncle Charlie (Joseph Cotten) stares down at the cops knowing that he can best them.
Uncle Charlie only reveals his true colors in the dark, coming to life only once the shades are fully shut. He stares down at the detectives from a vantage point which positions him above them; position means everything in this movie of influence. Certain in his status, Uncle Charlie walks past both detectives. He confirms they don’t know him and that he’s capable of outwitting them, gaining an advantageous vantage point all over again. He starts and ends on top.
Instead, she moves towards the blinds and closes them, insisting that the young strange man get some rest. The darkness envelops the mans face as he pretends to sleep before awaking – a denizen of the shadows react to move. He peers out the window and looks down on the two men who wait for him at the corner. This is a common motif Hitchcock employs to demonstrate power: the one who stands on the high ground comes out on top. The young man moves brazenly past the two detectives demonstrating to us that he is: 1. absolutely unafraid of his pursuers 2. the detectives looking for him don’t know what he looks like. They give chase to him but he gets away. The camera pans from the confused detectives who stumble on the ground up towards the young man who watches them from the upper floor of a nearby building; once again, he’s on top.
He goes to make a telegram to extended family of his in Santa Rosa, California. We learn his name is Charlie (Joseph Cotten) [2]I will be referring to him as Uncle Charlie for the rest of the review to make disambiguation easier. We learn that he’s an uncle. But we don’t learn why the detectives are pursuing him.
The traffic cop (Earle S. Dewey) stands as a symbol of the idyllic American life.
The cop (Early S. Dewey) dissolves into the Newton house. They are the “All-American” family.
A canted angle shot of the back entrance of a house.
Charlie (Theresa Wright) lies in the same position as her Uncle Charlie.
The introduction to Santa Rosa positions it and the Newton household as representative of the mythic peaceful suburban Americana. However, the parallel use of canted angles along with Charlie emulating her uncle’s position makes it certain that their stories are going to collide. The city and suburbia will clash it out to reveal the truth.
We cut from the wanted man on the run to the city of Santa Rosa. A cop monitors the traffic. This is a lawful place; an idyllic American city. The cop dissolves into a shot of a house. Like the transition from the children to the canted entrance to Uncle Charlie the transition from the cop to the house also shows a building in disarray. We cut from a canted back entrance of a house to a young woman, Charlie (Teresa Wright), in the same position we found Uncle Charlie in. Charlie explains to her dad, Joseph (Henry Travers), that she’s tired of her family who seems to be in a rut, especially her mother, Emma ( Patricia Collinge),who she feels is overworked and underappreciated. Desperate for a “miracle” she goes off to send a telegram to the family’s favorite uncle and her namesake, Uncle Charlie, hoping that he can shake things up at the Newton household.
Emma (Patricia Collinge) is trapped by Roger (Charles Bates) and Ann (Edna May Wonacott) who accost her from both sides.
After getting a call from her brother, Uncle Charlie, Emma (Patricia Collinge) is framed in a new light. She her own space from Roger (Charles Bates) and Ann (Edna May Wonacott)
Emma, like Charlie mentions, is overworked and underappreciated. As she takes a phone call regarding Uncle Charlie’s message, she’s harassed from both sides by her younger children. They incessantly talk and intrude into their mothers sense of space. It’s only when she realizes that her younger brother is coming into town that her sense of self returns. The camera arcs around the walls columns to frame her in a new independent light; her identity is being restored.
At the same time Charlie, a telephone comes in for the Newtons. The call is picked up by Emma who tries to take the call while being accosted by her younger children, Ann (Edna May Wonacott) and Roger(Charles Bates ). The two children “surround” Emma on both sides. However, as soon as the caller mentions to Emma that her brother, Uncle Charlie has sent a telegram informing the Newton’s that he’s going to be visiting them , the camera pans to a new view of Emma; this time she’s “free” and is framed in a new light. It’s clear that Uncle Charlie means the world to his sister.
Charlie (Teresa Wright) walks home excited that her uncle is coming.
Charlie (Teresa Wright) dissolves into the ominous train which carries her uncle.
The train shoots out soot and makes loud noises. It’s a disruptive force.
Charlie excitedly believes that her uncle will bring fulfill her dreams. Little does she know that all he brings is nightmares. As she goes off excitedly, she dissolves into the ominous feeling train which is going off in the same direction. The images “collide” into each other, just like the worlds of Uncle Charlie and Charlie are about to.
Meanwhile, Charlie makes her way to the telegram store where she learns the same information her mother had. She happily exclaims that her Uncle and her have a psychic connection with one another. As she makes her way home, the shot dissolves to a train going off in the same direction. The noise and smoke plume from the train serve as harbingers of the darkness to come. On the train, we learn that Uncle Charlie is “sick”, apparently so much so that no one on the machine has seen him. Uncle Charlie limps out of the train with the assistance of others but straightens up (un)surprisingly quickly upon seeing his family, namely Charlie, running towards him.
Immediately it’s understandable why the family loves him so. He regales Emma upon seeing her causing her to burst with joy. At dinner he presents every member of the family with gifts. Charlie initially refuses but acquiesces after her uncle places the ring on her right right finger. This placement is not a coincidence; if the left hand’s ringer finger marks a legal marriage, the right hand’s ring finger marks an alliance to prohibited.
Charlie notes that the ring is engraved with a couples initials but enjoys the mystery. Her uncle does not share the sentiment and comments he didn’t know it was marked; his face breaks into horror and the the shot dissolves to our first of the three “waltz” refrains; the “Merry Widow Waltz” mystery is finally afoot. This is made explicit as the camera cuts to Joseph talking to his friend Herb (Hume Cronyn) about their shared interest: murder mysteries their machinations. With all the key players finally introduced – the detectives, Uncle Charlie, Charlie, the rest of the Newton family, and Herb – Hitchcock’s thriller can begin with gusto.
Shadow of a Doubt is a story which examines the idyllic American fantasy and it’s nightmarish underside. In many ways the movie is a precursor to David Lynch’s Blue Velvet, seeking to explore the way two seemingly opposite worlds interact with and feed into the others construction. This is why our introduction to both worlds is so stylized. While Uncle Charlie’s world is one of darkness, Charlie’s is one where there is belief in the rule of law. The ring given to Charlie[3] Speaking of Blue Velvet, Charlie finding the ring is analogous to Jeffrey finding the detached ear. It’s the start of the journey into the mystery world. What do the initials mean? represents the choice, both metaphorically and literally, she has to make, one where she chooses to marry the fantasy of order and legality or the fantasy of chaos and disregard for law.
This battle for dominant fantasy is reflected in the architecture of the Newton residence, which has both a front and back entrance and which serves as the primary environment the movie takes place in. The front entrance is the domain of the idyllic fantasy, while the back entrance is the domain of the nightmare. Connecting these entrances is the stairway which automatically positions people higher or lower than another. Thus, the “everyday” American house becomes the battlefield for the direction of its soul. As Charlie and her uncle learn more about one another, they swap positions; the cat and mouse game flipping on its head as each party vies for the “top” of the stairs. Eventually the intensity of the battle bleeds out to the city proper, as the characters venture to new locale which reinforce the dichotomy between the two worlds.
This movie, for me, is the first of Hitchcock’s masterpieces combining both his sensibilities as the “master of suspense” with an immaculate use of technique to get his themes across in as many ways as possible. From the opening to the final shot, there is not a single wasted camera movement or out-of-place shot. Multiple scenes demonstrate changes in character disposition purely through changes in lighting long before making those changes noted through dialogue. If my long-winded analysis of the opening 20 minutes above wasn’t proof enough, one only has to look at any scene’s ending image to figure out what the point of that scene was; that’s how methodical the direction is. Every minute detail has at least one counterpoint that is meant to draw contrast in order to constantly draw our attention to story’s thematic question. However, none of these moments are ever done for their own sake; every detail supports multiple narrative threads. What seems to be the point of one scene transforms into the set-up for an even more elaborate plot in the next, giving the movie a fully immersive and connected feeling in spite of plot details that would otherwise immediately draw ire. Instead of questioning the story, one is completely captured by it, desperate to figure out where its end will lead. In fact, Hitchcock intentionally uses ellipses in the story by not fully explaining certain plot threads to force us to imagine scenes in the movie without seeing them; that’s cinematic mastery.
Even if one isn’t captured by the way Hitchcock deconstructs the American fantasy, one certainly can’t help but be caught up by the propulsive energy of the narrative which is in large part helped by commanding performances by both Teresa Wright and Joseph Cotton. Both of their characters have to do a juggling act between personas, light and dark, while showing cracks in their personas depending on what the story calls for. There are multiple scenes involving the two of them as they go from scared to received to enthralled and so on without ever skipping a beat. They play off one another believably like partners in a waltz as their worlds bleed into each others.
The end result is a film that effectively demonstrates the fragility of our notions of peace and the dirty processes that result in the successful deployment of such ideas (think Nolan’s The Dark Knight ) without ever treating itself like an epic. By subtly incorporating the themes and driving ideas behind them in and around every small detail, Hitchcock manages to give the questions he’s asking a more universal feeling; their presence can literally be felt in every movement of the movie. In spite of this, the movie never feels overly “showy”, choosing instead to lull the audience into its rhythm until they’re glued to the screen to the very end.
REPORT CARD
TLDR
Shadow of a Doubt is a a thrill ride from start to finish, showcasing some of the finest craft and most impeccable storytelling. Even the smallest moment has meaning in this film-noir qua deconstruction of the American dream. Over 40 years before Lynch’s own masterpiece, Blue Velvet, Hitchcock’s work does much of the traversing between the two fantasies of American life: the beautiful dream and the terrible nightmare. And even now it’s just as powerful a watch.
Rating
10/10
Grade
S+
Go to Page 2for the for the spoiler discussion and more in-depth analysis. Go to Page 3 to view this review’s progress report .
Leonardo DiCaprio as Dom Cobb Joseph Gordon-Levitt as Arthur Elliot Page[1]Credited as Ellen Page as Ariadne Marion Cotillard as Mal Cobb Ken Watanabe as Saito Cillian Murphy as Robert Fischer Tom Hardy as Eames Dileep Rao as Yusuf
Dom sees two children on the shore who seem out of place.
Nolan starts his experimentation in mimesis here, replacing the loud blare from Zimmer’s score with the rushing sound of the waves. The swell of waves crashing against the shore represent a world of potential. Every moment marks the birth of a new wave – a vortex of creation – that eventually gives way to another. It’s from this swirl that our protagonist, Dom, wakes up confused. He sees two children building sand castles on the shore. The children seem out of place given the disheveled appearance of Dom, but their act of creating sandcastles mimics the waves. After all sandcastles are an act of creation that give way to new castles as the waves wash away the old ones. It’s fitting that the man whose eventual mission will be to implant ideas is sandwiches between these two parallel movements of creation.
As the intro sequence plays, Hans Zimmer’s music envelops the soundscape ensuring that your attention is fully focused on the sound. The title fades to black as the music approaches a crescendo, swelling to a massive size before fading away to the sound of crashing waves. Our attention immediately switches focus as the importance we’ve given the score now shifts to the waves on screen. Water swells before crashing into the shoreline creating momentary impressions upon impact -explosions of being- before fading back into the ocean from where it came. Given the movie’s thematic connections with Tarkovksy’s Solaris, a science fiction film about a group of emotionally fractured astronauts stuck on an ocean planet named Solaris which seems to conjure the crew’s memories from within its oceans, it makes sense then that it is from this abode of infinite creation, the ocean, that the camera picks its next target of focus – a partially submerged man named Dom.
His eyes flutter awake revealing that he’s very much alive. It’s at this point that both Dom and the audience become privy to the fact that there are children present. The camera cuts between Dom’s perplexed face and two children who appear with their backs to him. They’re building a sandcastle. Like the waves, the sandcastle is a temporary explosion of creativity, coming into form for an instance before fading away, leaving only its impressions behind.
An older Asian man ( Ken Watanabe) tells Dom that the top he, Dom , carries reminds him of something from the past.
Dom’s (Leonardo DiCaprio) expression changes upon being reminded of the top.
Saito (Ken Watanabe) talks to Dom.
Dom(Leonardo DiCaprio) tries to get Saito to buy some extraction protection lessons.
Nolan uses cuts to demonstrate the malleability of different moments and scenes, showcasing the way ideas give way and lapse into others- whether they be dreams or memories. The normal shot, reverse-shot structure used to cover dialogue scenes is used to transfer us from space and time along with the characters. As the older Asian man talks and ignites a thought in Dom’s head, the reverse shot which would normally be the elder man is instead a much younger man named Saito. He’s oriented to the camera facing a different angle. As the camera cuts again to a much more composed looking Dom, we realize the orientation of the first meeting has also shifted, reflecting a shift in power as well. It’s brilliant filmmaking.
Before Dom can make sense of what’s happening, he’s accosted by armed security who check for weaponry before finding a gun on him. They take him to their boss, an elderly Asian man, for interrogation in a large ornate dining room. This man starts to play with a top he’s apparently taken from Dom before claiming that the object reminded him of something from his past – a distant memory. The camera cuts from the old man back to Dom at which point the movie employs a match cut to another conversation between a much younger Asian man, Saito, and a Dom from another time in the same ornate dining room, this time framed from opposite angles. It is here that Dom and his associate, Arthur, indicate to Saito that they are “extractors”, individuals who specialize in the art of stealing from peoples’ dreams, looking to teach him the tools of the trade to keep his own mental faculties safe.
The room shakes as though and earthquake is happening.
The movie cuts to the face of a watch whose hands go from moving slowly to moving much faster.
People riot on the streets as a car in the background explodes.
Dom (Leonardo DiCaprio) sits unconscious in an new apartment location.
The movie cuts to the face of a watch whose hands go from moving fast to moving much slower.
The flames coming from the car’s explosion seem to slow down along with the clock.
Arthur (Joseph Gordon-Levitt) and Dom (Leonardo DiCaprio) walk outside and notice the world shaking in non-natural ways.
The parallel watch sequence demonstrates the logic Inception will continue to use (and will explain later). Impacts from seemingly disparate moments bleed into each other – this is not only a mechanic of the universe but the first indication that the important thing to focus on is the intensity of feeling. This is cemented by the way that the impacts of both scenes’ respective rumblings are tied to the respective dilations of the watch face.
Saito indicates he’ll think about the deal from the two before leaving the room at which it starts to shake violently, as though an earthquake is causing the foundations of the house to rumble. The duo comment that Saito is on to their ruse before the movie cuts to the face of a watch whose hands move slowly before quickly ramping. This ramp up is matched with another cut a riot happening in the streets of a wholly distinct location. The camera moves from the rumble on the street to an apartment overlooking the chaos. Inside the unit, a new character is show tending to what appears to be Dom and Arthur’s unconscious bodies. We cut back to the image of the watch whose hands goes from fast to slow, a reversal of the previous temporal dilation. A car explodes on the street, shaking the screen before the movie cuts back to Arthur and Dom who are walking outside in a world that seems to be shaking just as hard as the explosion that came before.
In a sequence that runs a little over 5 minutes, Nolan manages to establish and present the core mechanics by which his world operates and make clear the themes he’ll be tackling – the way memory and reality bleed into one another, granting meaning to existence. The initial match cut makes it apparent that this is a world where memories and dreams interconnect- one moment, the future, gives way to the interruptions of a past, that may or may not itself be nothing more than artifice. The conversation with Saito primes the viewer to begin probing these ideas, questioning the nature of the first scene and what it’s meant to represent. The parallel watch-sequence is not only a beautiful demonstration of the exposition that Nolan will give us later on, but also hammers home the idea of intensity and duration. The rumbling that starts in the dining room, goes to the riots, stays with the exploding cars, and leads to a world literally shaking as time continues to ramp forward and slow down emphasizes that what matters is intensity , not duration.
This is Inception – a time-diluting, dream-invading, thriller that will have you questioning the “reality” of what’s being presented on the screen at every moment. After this initial sequence, Dom is offered a job with a reward that he can’t resist. The reward? A chance to see his children. The job? Implanting an idea into a person’s head, thereby changing their future decisions – in other words a kind of psychological terrorism. [2]In Kon’s Paprika, Chiba’s exclaims that “Implanting dreams in other people’s heads is terrorism!” It’s funny then that one of the bigger reaction to Inception by many … Continue reading. He goes on to make a team to help in his operation and the “heist” movie really begins.
In a traditional heist movie, a group comes together, usually skillful criminals, to carry out a theft of some kind. The unifying force between movies in the genre is the presence of an object that gets stolen – whether it be money or technology. Inception flips the genre’s trappings on its head by changing the object getting stolen from something physical to something metaphysical – that of free will. After all, the idea of implanting an idea into someone’s head assumes that you are replacing some other idea that was originally there. In other words, the object the thieves are trying to steal are the autonomy of a subject.
Eames (Tom Hardy) explains the nature of the mark’s relationships to his inner circle. Dom (Leonardio DiCaprio) and co. listen on.
From left to right: Saito (Ken Watanabe), Arthur (Joseph Gordon-Levitt), Yusuf (Dileep Rao), Eames (Tom Hardy), Dom (Leonardo DiCaprio), Ariadne (Elliot Paige)
Traditional heist-planning sequences aren’t missing. They’ve just been modified to deal with the psychological nature of the heist being planned. Instead of talking about firewall security, the group has to probe into the inner psyches of their subjects mind and lives so they can more easily break into said subjects subjectivity and influence it. These sessions take place in both the “real” world of the movie and the “dream” world of the movie.
Likewise, the traditional heist-planning sequences have their counterparts here. Instead of discussing how to get past a certain firewall, the characters analyze their subject(s) from the microscopic details of their daily behavior to the larger way they deal with relationships among their associates. In this way, the structure of the heist film maps onto what feels like a psychoanalytic session, the extractors serving as psychoanalysts treating their mark as a analysand. Each maneuver the crew utilizes to plant their idea doubles as technique an analyst would use in a session. Unwinding in parallel to this external psychological session is Dom’s internal journey to overcome his respective psychological trauma. As he rushes forward to plant an idea into another to control them, he has to deal with his own wayward ideas which refuse to submit to his control – a schema which makes us ask how one can implant a thought in stable fashion to someone if one’s own thoughts constantly float around outside of our control.
This conundrum of subjectivity is reflected in the rules of the story early on as it’s revealed that people breaking into a dream bring along their subconscious projections with them. The subconscious is nothing more than a sea of cognitive material formed from the fabrics of our day to day – images and ideas that slip through our self-constructed barriers to the parts of our mind out of our control. These ideas come from others – people, cultures, legal institutions. Would this entail that social behavior by its nature is always involved in some “inception” of a kind if our ideas are “implanted” by some other agent?
At a technical level, Nolan achieves this conundrum through the magic of cutting. That’s right. Just normal cuts from scene to scene. Traditional movies dealing with dreams and memory as subject matter tend to approach field with surrealist imagery, imperceptible messages, and an obvious desire to be recognized as distinctly “dream-like.” The point is to call attention to the nature of the dream versus reality. Inception approaches dreams in the complete opposite way – treating them as they come to us in real life. Completely naturally. By using audio, especially Zimmer’s simultaneously bombastic and inquisitively resonating score (seriously just listen to the difference between the adrenaline pumping “Mombasa” and the somber epic sounding “Time”), as a throughline, Nolan is able to intercut between scenes occurring in different locations without alerting us to a change in scenery. For example, characters can begin talking in one location. The camera will cut to a completely different location as their conversation continues to play out in the background, the characters now missing from the frame. Then the camera cuts back to the characters in a different location, the same conversation continuing. It seems innocuous until it’s revealed that the final conversation in the sequence is actually occurring in a dream as opposed to the first conversation which occurred in reality.
Dom (Leonardio DiCaprio) looks in awe as Ariadne bends physics in the dreamworld to clone the world into new planes.
Dom (Leonardo DiCaprio) and Ariadne (Elliot Paige) walk up the new plane of reality.
Arthur (Joseph Gordon-Levitt) explains to Ariadne (Elliot Paige) the way dreams allow people to cheat logic.
Arthur (Joseph Gordon-Levitt) shows Ariadne (Elliot Paige) the Penrose steps as an example of paradoxes that dreams allow.
Inception’s dream visuals are astounding and larger than life, constantly cheating reality and reveling in doing so. From the early demonstration of the way gravity can shift to the way paradoxes can come to life, it’s made clear that anything is possible.
That isn’t to say the movie approaches dreams just through subtleties – the majority of the obvious dream action makes major use of spectacular set pieces that will leave you in awe if at nothing else, the sheer slick fluidity by which everything operates. Those looking for a visual feast will take great viewing pleasure in watching the way structures form out of nowhere or the manner in which gravity shifts directions. Instead of embracing the surrealist spirit in the vein of Satoshi Kon with scenarios that beg interpretation (whose own movie about dreams, Paprika, served as some influence to Nolan himself) , Nolan “mechanizes” surrealism to fit the mold of a thriller, letting action play out against a tapestry that rests on the tenuous connection reality and the unconscious.
In fact, one of the great feats of the movie is the way it forces the audience to engage with it in its totality by misdirecting them in the most obvious ways. The breathtaking visual effects in the “dream” worlds and the focus on clear and robust exposition all make it seem like the spectacle of the movie is the focus – the focus on what is real and what is not real. However, what this interpretation tends to miss is that the duplicity between what is real and what is not real is something Nolan is actively showing you on the screen. He’s not hiding it or making the tenuous nature of reality ambiguous. Like Solaris, Inception makes it apparent that everything is not what it seems- the barriers between memory, reality, and dreams are revealed to be tenuous at best. If the movie stresses to us the duplicity between the real and dream world, the question becomes what does such a revelation tell us? What does existence look when we’re constantly traversing one realm to another, calling one “real” and one “dream” ?
With all its moving parts working in tandem, Inception can be seen as a a serious reckoning with the story of Chuang Tzu who dreamt he was a butterfly so vividly that he experienced shock upon waking back up. The dream was so lifelike that it led him to ask, “was I Chuang Tzu dreaming I was a butterfly or am I now really a butterfly dreaming that I am Chuang Tzu?” [3] The Philosophy Foundation – The Butterfly Dream. (n.d.). https://www.philosophy-foundation.org/enquiries/view/the-butterfly-dream.. In other words, given the depth of experience in both domains how can (un)consciousness determine what is reality. Nolan’s answer seems to be reality itself doesn’t matter as much as the experience itself. It doesn’t matter whether or not Chuang Tzu was a butterfly or a person as much as if both experiences left an meaningful impact on that unified consciousness (ex: soul) which perceived them. It’s the emotional journey that matters more than the literal journey – the latter only serves as a jumping off point to begin the former’s discovery.
The end result of these two journeys is a heist movie about perception whose very reality is constantly under question, tying form into content and narrative into theme. It’s a movie that treats its audience intelligently, showing first and explaining just enough later, forcing engagement with the subject matter. The cerebral elements of the movie never overpower the visceral elements or vice versa giving fans of both visual splendor and philosophical inquiry things to chew on. At it’s heart, Inception is nothing more than the story of finding ourselves in our own absences.
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TLDR
Inception deftly combines the genre mainstays of a heist film with the cerebral intensity involved with the best of science fiction. It is a movie that trusts the audience fully, constantly demonstrating the rules of the world it presents to wow and dazzle. At no point does either element, cerebral or visceral, overwhelm the other as Nolan manages to keep the thriller sequences and metaphysical discoveries tied to each other. Cinema, in both form and content, is used to reveal the duplicitous nature of ideas – their source, their interpretation, and their impact on (un)unconsciousness. The result is a truly human story that asks what it means to have freedom and what it means to use that freedom to live a life worth living.
Rating
10/10
Grade
S
Go to Page 2 for the for the spoiler discussion and more in-depth analysis. Go to Page 3 to view this review’s progress report .
The camera slowly pushes in on the First Reformed church.
The camera lingers on the First Reformed Church sign.
The camera lingers on the Church from an alternative angle -the back of the building.
The camera lingers on the front door of the Church.
The opening 3 minutes of the movie set the stage for the piece to follow by lulling us into a meditative state with silence and slow moving cinema. Each shot lingers and makes us anticipate what’s to come. The lack of anything tangible to grasp onto forces us to reach forward which primes us for the upcoming scene.
For over a minute, the camera slowly and quietly pushes in on a church. Upon getting to the building’s base the movie cuts to a sign in front letting us know this is the First Reformed Church. Like the shot getting to the church, this shot of the sign lingers. The movie cuts to yet another image of the church, this time from an angle behind it as opposed to in front of it. The camera lingers once again before cutting to a shot of the church’s door. Another pause as the camera lingers. Four shots. Each silent. This is the movie priming us, letting us know to strap in for the slow and meticulous ride. By using silence and stillness like this, Schrader creates type of meditative lull. We’re desperate to find something to latch onto because it feels like nothing’s been given to us.
Ernst (Ethan Hawke) writes in his journal as he explains to the audience that he writes because he cannot pray. God’s lonely man experiencing a crisis of faith – this is Schrader’s wheelhouse.
It’s at this moment of desperation where the 3 minute long silence is broken by a voice-over by Ernst Toller (Ethan Hawke). The camera cuts to reveal him writing in a journal. The preceding silence of the opening sequence not only signals the importance of the first source of sound but also heightens their spiritual impact. We’re fully attentive to what Toller has to say. It’s at this point he mentions that the journal is his attempt at spirituality – an alternative to praying which, for reasons unknown to us, he can longer engage in. A priest experiencing a crisis of faith.
After a service, Toller is approached by a young mother-to-be Mary (Amanda Seyfried) and her husband Michael (Philip Ettinger). She asks Toller to check in on her husband due to fears that he, Michael, is in a dark spiritual place. Toller agrees and sets out to meet him the next day. He spends the night writing in his journal giving us more to learn about him. His process of introspection is harsh and unforgiving, revealing a man desperate to find inner peace. He ends the entry once again bemoaning his lack of ability to pray.
The camera lingers on Mary and Michael’s house for over a minute. All that happens during this time is a women walking her dog across the screen.
After the women and her dog clear off, Ernst finally shows up and proceeds to walk into the house.
The movie makes frequent use of pauses and deadtimes to achieve a meditative state. Schrader’s transcendental style focuses on getting the audience to slow down and actively engage in the cinematic experience as opposed to passively just absorbing information. By forcing the long wait on the women just walking, he gets us ready for the important conversation to come.
The next day comes. The camera cuts to Mary and Michael’s house. We watch the house for close to a minute during which time all that happens is a women walking her dog across the sidewalk. Like the start of the movie, this sequence a meditative lull, purposely put by Schrader to slow the pace of the movie and get us primed to fully invest in what’s to happen. Eventually Toller does arrive and goes to engage Michael. The 12 minute conversation between the two is the heart and soul of the movie and ranges from topics including anti-natalism to martyrdom. At each turn of the conversation, Michael nihilism regarding the world pours out. It’s clear he’s at his wits end and Toller attempts to diffuse the situation as best as he can before explaining to Michael that the source of his problem is an existential issue that’s plagued us all since the start of time.
Wisdom is holding two contradictory truths in our mind, simultaneously, Hope and despair. A life without despair is a life without hope. Holding these two ideas in our head is life itself.
He explains that, “Wisdom is holding two contradictory truths in our mind, simultaneously, Hope and despair. A life without despair is a life without hope. Holding these two ideas in our head is life itself.” This statement is the thesis of the movie and the jumping off point for the questions it seeks to answer. What is hope? What is despair? What does it mean for something to exhibit hope or despair? How do those ideas change when presented with different interpretations of the divine?
These spiritual questions become more poignant because the circumstances under which they arrive are intimately tied to the material issues the movie tackles. For example, what does environmental preservation look like once you consider the problem of evil. Did God mean for us to destroy the planet for some greater end? If so does that mean renewal efforts are problematic? The movie constantly throws loops like these and more (opposing Bible verses for example) into the equation causing us to re-evaluate the same event over and over sometimes multiple times in a scene. These moments not only force us to ask whether or not what the character’s are doing wrong but also whether or not our own actions hold up to judgement. Schrader can only achieve this level of audience engagement and introspection because of the perfect way he marries narrative and structure.
At a narrative level, Schrader’s script sets everything up for success. The story of a priest helping the troubled husband of a young couple is lifted from Bergman’s Winter Light. The loner on a mission who slowly becomes obsessed with a singular goal is lifted from his own Taxi Driver script. The voice-over narration and the journal is lifted from Bresson’s Diary of a Country Priest (which Schrader also previously lifted for Taxi Driver). These larger allusions are combined with a host of other references (ex: Tarkovsky) to create a sum that’s genuinely greater than its parts. This is because every element lifted over is only done so if it helps tie into and expand the theme and the content involved is updated to be more relevant to an audience now. Nothing is homage just for homage’s sake. It all has a purpose.
For example, in Winter Light the main preacher, Tomas, is someone who’s frustrated with the silence of God. He’s an angry man dealing with the loss of a wife. His encounter with Jonas, Michael’s double, is marked by complete despair. Likewise, Toller is someone who’s dealing with his own crisis of faith. He’s dealing with the loss of his wife and son. His encounter with Michael, is marked by hope and despair, primarily because he sees Michael as an counterpoint to his deceased son. The lifted plot thus becomes distinct and opens new points of contrast that were unavailable before. Furthermore, Jonas is concerned about the threat with China. Michael is primarily concerned with anthropogenic climate change. The latter is far more relevant to an audience today. This is true of most of the call-backs to other movies. The structures/ideas are imported over, but are constructed in strict point and counterpoint duos to explore the ideas of hope and despair.
The way that Schrader has taken and developed these story ideas is most apparent when comparing First Reformed to Taxi Driver. Both stories employ Bresson’s voice-over tool to get us in the protagonists head. The technique not only lets us know them but gets us invested in rooting for them. In Taxi Driver, Travis Bickle, the protagonist, is a loner desperate to find a place. He’s never found a way to belong so his attempts at finding normalcy are utterly strange even if they initially come off as endearing. We’re sympathetic to his struggles even if we can’t understand him. As his decision making becomes more erratic we experience a strange shock. While Toller shares this desperation to find a place, he’s more mature and grounded. Unlike Travis, he’s had a family and a past before. Unlike Travis, he’s able to articulate the nature of his existential crisis. He’s not just being assaulted by a unassailable alienation. This makes his journey more easy to latch onto and comprehend. It’s not sympathy but empathy that gets us on his side. He reads. He thinks. He’s contemplative and kind, even if he’s harsh on himself. His nature as a priest makes him automatically someone we’re more receptive towards. As his decision making becomes more apparent, we become incredibly unnerved. By pushing us even more into the corner of his lonely protagonist, Schrader manages to increase the impact and feeling of every decision that’s made. It’s one thing watching a loose canon go closer to the extreme. It’s another thing entirely to watch a self-tempered man of God go to the same places.
Schrader’s dedication to using his “transcendental” style to structure the movie makes these hard hitting moments that much more effective [1]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mFcCs8c2n6I. He litters the movie with odd little sequences that only serve to elongate the time between moments of tension. We’re forced to sit with our thoughts and take in the world. Every event is given it’s importance. Every decision’s significance becomes that much more relevance. By testing our patience, Schrader ensures we’re invested in the story and thinking about the relevance of what’s going on.
Ernst (Ethan Hawke) and Michael (Philip Ettinger) speak about a host of issues. The initial conversation is framed in a two shot to force the audience to pick sides.
Ernst (Ethan Hawke) responding to Michael.
Michael ( Phillip Ettinger) responding to Ersnt.
The color palette the movie uses is drab, muted, and drained. The austere environment adds to the meditative feeling of the movie. This palette combined with the way dialogue is framed makes every conversation that much more hard-hitting and involved. Conversation happening in a two shot requires the audience to parse the scene – paying attention to what is being said, how it’s being said, and how it’s been perceived. Singles are inherently more intimate because they allow the characters to speak “directly” to the audience with less of a filter. The resulting combination makes dialogue scenes more personal and engaging for audience members because they become involved in parsing and dealing with the weight of what’s being said.
This is reinforced at a visual level in both the drab color palette, the smaller aspect ratio (1:37) , and the basically un-moving camera. Nothing on the screen is ever meant to distract so nothing is flashy. This makes visceral scenes that much more direct. The screen itself is smaller and more constricted than usual, limiting the amount of information we have to work with and forcing us to pay even more attention to what we actually get. An unmoving camera forces us to stay focused on what’s happening in front of us, giving the moments that play out a duration which adds to their intensity. They also help build anticipation as the camera will stay focused on nothing as characters converse off frame. Unlike a normal movie which would pan over to the characters, Schrader often chooses to just wait till the characters come back in. Dialogue scenes are usually filmed in two shots (with both characters in frame) or in respective singles. Unlike most movies now, there are no over-the shoulder shots. Put together, the techniques lead to an rare intimacy with the characters. When they talk directly at the screen it feels like they’re talking to us. No over the shoulders mean no defense against their questions and concerns. The impact of what is happening is something that must be confronted.
Similarly, the soundscape is mainly quiet and filled with diegetic (within the world of the movie) noises, like footsteps or the wind blowing. When non-diegetic sound is finally introduced over an hour into the movie, it’s presence coincides with a startling event. The movie makes clear strides not to use any non-diegetic music, opting instead for a disconcerting droning noises to emphasize the uneasiness of the situations playing out.
Even the actors aren’t spared the quieting treatment as Schrader directs them to be as non-theatrical as possible. None of the characters ever emote in a way that’s showy or overly familiar. They’re not stoic, but their immediate feelings aren’t easily accessible. You have to take the time to look at them and see the slight nuances they give off. The emotional depth present only reveals itself to those willing to give to the movie as much as they want to take.
Ethan Hawke exemplifies subtle acting in this scene as he slowly closes his eyes and demonstrates a light feeling of satisfaction in response to the Church choir’s singing. The slow way the music washes over him is played subtle enough to show its impact without feeling showy or staged.
For example, in one breathtaking scene Reverend Toller walks in on the church’s youth choir singing “Are You Washed in the Blood”. He quietly takes a seat in the audience and lets the music envelop him. Hawke’s acting is subtle. He doesn’t do anything ostentation. Instead he closes his eyes slowly and lets the smallest slimmer of a smile creep up. The speed at which he does it makes it feel like Toller is actually experiencing something washing over him. The movie is filled with moments like these and it’s testament to both Schrader and his actors that most of them leave such a powerful impact.
The telos of all these surgically precise decisions is to generate a piece capable of reaching the audience on a truly spiritual level. Just like William Friedkin’s The Exorcist, First Reformed gives to the view exactly what they put in. One’s disposition towards hope or despair colors the way the entire story progresses, and the more one intensely relates to the context by which these ideas are presented the more intense the culmination of the entire experience becomes. Every critical juncture within the story presents a point and counterpoint – a path of hope and a path of despair. These moments allow the audience, the characters, and Schrader via proxy to engage in dialogue constantly, transforming the moments of silence the film employs into opportunities for reflection and gestation. We’re allowed to bask in the severity of what’s being explored. The final scene is the ultimate closing to everything leading up to it; it’s construction fully makes use of past judgements on the part of viewer so no two viewing experiences will ever be the same.
First Reformed is the culmination of a lifetime of work and represents the absolute crystallization of Schrader’s style, a culmination of the ideas he’s been bringing to life for the past few decades. It’s filled with references and allusions to Schrader’s favorite movies, informing us both of the movie’s place in the transcendental cannon and Schrader’s own thought process in the story’s construction. Despite this, the movie feels completely unique because each reference has a distinctive purpose in the grander scheme of the theme .It’s a movie where every move has purpose each of which can be traced back to Schrader’s own writings on what makes transcendental filmmaking . Toller being a more mature Bickle is emblematic of the way First Reformed is the maturation of Schrader’s “lonely man” narrative – a story he’s been telling since the 70’s. It is my favorite movie of his (including both his written and directed works) and one every person should watch. If you authentically give yourself to it and the ideas it presents, you may find yourself in the midst of a genuine spiritual journey.
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TLDR
First Reformed feels like Paul Schrader’s most distilled and rigidly methodical movie. This tale of a reverend dealing with a crisis of faith might be Schrader’s latest in a long line of God’s lonely man stories, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t have something unique to say. By combining the ideas and plot structures from his favorite spiritual movies and his own former works, Schrader is able to create a truly unique tale exploring the depths of hope and despair.
Every move made from editing to lighting, is done in accords with the transcendental method Schrader defined so many years ago in his seminal work, Transcendental style in film: Ozu, Bresson, Dreyer. He makes use of dead time, an unmoving camera, minimal noise in the soundscape, and the like to lull us into his character’s point of view before then dragging us along our own parallel spiritual journey. This is a movie that demands an active audience to parse meaning from it because answers aren’t clear and points of emphasis aren’t made clear. Every scene requires the audience to make a choice on what is and is not important and why. The more you give to the movie, the more it gives back to you.
If you’re someone who’s loved Schrader’s past works (both written and directed), you owe it to yourself to check this out. At the very least, using it as a reference stick against his other movies will give you a lot to inspect regarding his evolution as an auteur. Likewise, if you’re someone who enjoys slow moving spiritual works in the vein of Dreyer and Bresson, you should check out the movie for similar reasons. The way it remixes references and ideas is something truly innovative and demonstrates proper allusions can make a work that much stronger.
Rating
10/10
Grade
S+
Go to Page 2 for the for the spoiler discussion and more in-depth analysis. Go to Page 3to view this review’s progress report .
Haley Bishop as Haley Jemma Moore as Jemma Emma Louise Webb as Emma Radina Drandova as Radina Caroline Ward as Caroline Edward Linard as Teddy Seylan Baxter as Seylan
Haley starts the Zoom meeting at the start of the movie. Haley removes the tape from her camera.Haley (Haley Bishop) sends out invitations to the meeting.Someone else joins the meeting as Haley steps away from the camera.
We start in the virtual plane. A Zoom call opens up. The mouse moves to start up a meeting. The computer screen is the stage this play takes stage on. The physical pierces through the virtual as the filter tape that covers the meeting host’s camera is slowly removed. Privacy gives way for a chance at intimacy. We finally see our host, Haley (Haley Bishop), as she gets ready for meeting. Unbeknownst to her, someone else has joined her meeting room.
Haley moves the laptop down the hallway to look for the noise.Haley discovers Jemma (Jemma Moore) is the source of the noise.
Suddenly we hear a loud thud. Has something happened already? Does it have something to do with the unseen participant in the room? Haley leaves to find out, moving the laptop with her to bring us along on the journey. The screen is no longer bound to one place and is allowed to be active. As she makes her way to her living area, she realizes the sound is coming from outside. She peers out the window.
Crisis averted. She realizes that this noise, this false source of fear, is her friend Jemma (Jemma Moore), who’s outside making a ruckus in an attempt to get Haley to give her, Jemma, permission to join the zoom meeting; thus, the boundary between the physical gives way to the virtual as the encounter between the two transitions to the online call.
In just a little under 4 minutes, Rob Savage’s Host manages to showcase its themes, set up a scare, and foreshadow the structure of the story (along with finer plot details). As the rest of the members of the Zoom meeting show up, it’s revealed that the jolly group of friends, made up of 5 women – Haley, Jemma, Emma ( Emma Louise Webb), Radina (Radina Drandova), and Caroline (Caroline Ward) along with their male cohort Teddy (Edward Linard ), have come together under Haley’s instructions to perform an online séance. However, it becomes clear that things are going to take a turn for the worse as the group is inevitably forced to defend themselves against supernatural forces.
Now while creepy séance movies are nothing new, Host manages to raise the stakes by taking the process online. A séance is a ritualized procedure whereby individuals participate with one another to communicate with the spirits. The procedure involves the dissolution of the physical into the spiritual. It is not a coincidence that the nature of a séance matches up so well with the nature of an online meeting. Like the best J-Horrors (Pulse, Ringu), Host is focused on exploring the way the web has become the realm of a new spiritual – a site of connectivity where the the bonds between the living and the dead commingle. As communication transforms so does the nature of the haunting.
This is where the COVID-19 quarantine based setting of the movie comes in. Participants in a séance have to follow protocol to safely engage with the astral world. Breaking these rules can have consequences in the same way that breaking quarantine protocol can. Quarantine limits communication, relegating people to online messages as opposed to in person discussion. Without the physical presence of people around us, the way we engage in that conversation changes. We may be less inclined to follow rules of decorum or less likely to be as committed to engaging. In a more intimate sense, the forced closeness generated by quarantine protocol means that in-person relationships are forced to weather increased presences. People who you might have been able to ignore now are an everyday presence, and if they choose to ignore protocol they can end up infecting you with the virus potentially harming you and those you love. Privacy becomes harder to feign because the private is forced to seep into the public – another dissolution.
It is these qualities that makes an online séance during COVID-19 quarantine the perfect melting pot of ideas and themes. Barriers between the physical, spiritual, virtual, public, and private bleed into one another forcing us to ask tough questions about what we think about those closest to us and ourselves. Corona is compared to the nature of haunting. The breakdown of spirits is compared to the way the virtual space is made up. Each layer of the movie works on it’s own, but the strength of the movie comes from the way the ideas so easily build upon and proceed into one another.
This can most be seen in the way the movie marries its metaphysical vision to an equally exciting visual style. The way the script tackles its particular spirit(s) gives Savage and co. carte blanche to go hog wild with their ways of supernatural scares along with building up a mythos for what’s going on. Early on, the movie intentionally calls note to some small flickers on a user’s screen to goad you into focusing onto small details. That way when the screen changes from the group view to the individual view and back, you’re hyper focused on making sure nothing’s moving. The smallest flicker can elicit a scare. By layering moments like these early on, the movie manages to ratchet up the tension to incredibly high levels.
However unlike its most of its found-footage contemporaries, Host isn’t satisfied with just going for micro-scares and ending with one big scare akin to Paranormal Activity. It’s more ambitious and plays closer to something like James Wan’s The Conjuring; there are beautiful big set pieces, scares that are set up earlier in the movie, and practical effects are deployed wherever possible to help enhance the sense of immersion
Despite being constrained by filming (mostly) by themselves in their own apartments., Savage and his crew don’t shy away from going for big and impactful scenes with real heft demonstrating that embracing limitations is a powerful way to ground scares. Because it starts small and builds up progressively, the story is able to explore the development of the spiritual and offer space for questions to form on what’s actually going on.
By grounding the more horrifying elements of the supernatural encounter the movie’s individual elements can congeal. This is primarily achieved in two ways:
Careful attention to characterization details
Maintaing the feeling of a Zoom call.
Subtle interactions between the characters and in relation to the way they describe/deal with their respective living situations helps to fill in a lot of context as to what they’re doing and their respective histories with one another. Every piece of dialogue feels natural and conversations between the character’s feel consistent and proceed in a way that’s too natural to feel scripted but to well put together to fell fully done off the cuff. For example, early on the girls rag on Teddy before he shows up. Anyone who’s had friends can tell that under the playfulness is a real frustration at his presumed recent callousness at their group interactions. Moments like these are a testament to both the editor, Brenna Rangott, for picking clips that seamlessly flow off of one another and the cast and crew for playing off one another in a way that feels like actual friends would.
From left to right and top to bottom: Emma (Emma Louise Webb), Caroline (Caroline Ward), Haley (Haley Bishop), Jemma (Jemma Moore), Radina (Radina Drandova). The group uses the Zoom audio interface to boost up their ability to capture potential noises happening around them demonstrating both a commitment to the application and a neat way of using it to the movie’s advantage.
However, what grounds the film and makes it work is its impeccable formal consistency; never once does the film break away from the formatting of a Zoom call. It starts and ends on the application proper. The audio and video feeds range from high definition and nice microphone quality to scratchy and lagging video streams. The characters make use of functions in the application to problem solve a variety of issues. As they switch between mediums, from phones to computers, audio feedback delays and connection issues come about. Variation comes from the quality of the videos as the film cuts between the group participant views of the screen to solo participant views of the screen, and having the characters move the camera when the situation calls for it. The result is a movie that’s brimming with visual life despite being so limited in location and space.
Furthermore, there’s no score, because the movie is supposed to be a chronicle of a séance. But instead of silence, the soundscape is littered with bits of feedback and small creaks which manages to unsettle just as well as any compelling horror score. No noise or visual cue betrays the feeling of the movie which in turn makes the more grandiose moments feel satisfying, authentic, and unexpected.
Best of all, there’s no cheating with the use of awful glitch effects. Even the better found-footage horror movies like Hell House LLC tend to use cheap-feeling glitch effects where the camera presents a stream of static in an attempt to show the supernatural distorting things. It typically comes off as awful visual clutter that betrays the aesthetic of found-footage movies. Host completely avoids these issues because the practical stunts and effects are done so well that there’s no need to be afraid of showing the audience the horror.
However, the bursts of cinematic genius and narrative levity come to a close far too quickly. Many of the fleshier metaphysical ideas feel like they get truncated too quickly and consequently the depth present in each haunting is diminished. For example, the movie introduces the idea of personal totems that each character can use during the séance but makes very little use of it as the film goes on. Tying in some of the intense scary scenes with these more intimate character items would have helped give more definition to certain character arcs and relationship dynamics and made the supernatural subjectivity the film is trying to establish more apparent.
But in spite of these misses, Host is part of a select few found footage to evoke same sense of dread and unease that the The Blair Witch Project did at the turn of the century. By placing the narrative within the pandemic that many remains so fresh in many of our minds, it’s more easily able to get us to invest in the story and care about what happens to the characters because they’re like us: they’re trapped, forced to take responsibility for others, and susceptible to the smallest misstep from someone in their social group. It’s this empathetic identification that makes the sense of unease in Host so poignant and terrifying – a reminder of the shared horrors we’re still vulnerable to today.
REPORT CARD
TLDR
Host is proof that budget matters less than the guts to commit to a vision and figure out the most effective way to demonstrate that vision with the tools available. Despite being made during quarantine and with a low budget, each member of the cast and crew came together to turn in a cohesive and well-oiled horror machine that looks and plays like a major horror blockbuster. There’s characters to cheer for, scares that get under the skin, and a story that’s easy to follow while remaining compelling to think about.
Rating
8.7/10
Grade
A
Go to Page 2for the for the spoiler discussion and more in-depth analysis. Go to Page 3 to view this review’s progress report .
Adam Sandler as Barry Egan Emily Watson as Lena Leonard Philip Seymour Hoffman as Dean Trumbell Mary Lynn Rajskub as Elizabeth Egan
Release Date
2002
Language(s)
English
Running Time
95 minutes
The movie opens on Barry Egan, an plunger entrepreneur who’s engaged in conversation with a help desk of sorts. His conversation style is awkward due to the importance and seriousness of the subject he’s speaking about – an airwards mile rewards program. This conversation is shot on a handheld camera. This is on purpose- many moments the movie explores, Barry’s awkwardness is a natural predisposition towards the world that manifests in his shaky lack of control over the way it should work.
Barry Eagan (Adam Sandler) isolated through mise en scène as he talks about an airplane rewards program. He’s in a corner oppressed by the shadows that encroach him.
He is surrounded by the colors blue and white – the blue matches his suit and feels like an extension of himself. The white feels oppressive especially with the way the shadows loom all around. He feels enclosed – stuck in a rut, threatening to get engulfed by the darkness around him. This is a pattern he needs to break.
He gets up to open his garage and literally disappears from the screen. Saying he’s in in a dark place is putting it lightly. As he looks out at the entrance to his garage lot the camera cuts to the entrance of the lot quite and starts tracking to the left side of it. Unlike the sky that surrounds Barry – a melancholic blue -the site on the street is a gradient of purple – a mix of blues and reds. Up to this moment, the soundscape has been minimal and precise outside of Barry’s footsteps, his dialogue (obviously), the scribbling of his notes, and similar small details.
Barry (Adam Sandler) walks away from his desk.
Barry (Adam Sandler) is subsumed by the darkness.
Barry (Adam Sandler) opens up the garage to his office.
As Barry (Adam Sandler) leaves his desk to go outside he’s momentarily swallowed by darkness. He’s experiencing a bout of something bad at the moment and we’re joining him at a pivotal event in his life.
This calculated calm gives way as a red car flips over the street violently. The sound of its crash is jarring – a wake up call – a signal to Barry that change is coming. Immediately after this crashed car skids down, a red moving van drops off a small harmonium before quickly driving off. Two red vehicles arriving at the same time disrupting the silence – in intervention in Barry’s life. The camera zooms onto the discarded harmonium before quickly cutting to Barry at his desk – his body replacing the space the piano was previously in. The piano will come to play an intimate part in his life.
Barry (Adam Sandler) looks out at the street in from of the lot he’s located at.
The street is calm. The background is a mix of purple, blue, and red.
A flash of violence as a red car flies through the air.
Barry (Adam Sandler) looks at the car crash in shock. The background behind him is blue like his suit, but is also different from the more distinct and gradient like street background.
Another red vehicle approaches and drops off a harmonium.
A zoom on the harmonium lets us know that it’s important.
The movie cuts from the harmonium being center of the frame to Barry (Adam Sandler) showing the way it’s going to play a defininig role in what’s to come in his life.
He goes through another awkward but telling phone conversation – socializing is not his strong point. The conversation ends and he goes outside once more. This time the sky is bright, filled with the sun- a warm radiance. A woman dressed in red, Lena, runs out of her white car. The warmth of the sun seems drawn to her. She’s fully illuminated as she runs towards Barry. Due to some unforeseen scheduling issues she needs his help getting her car to the mechanic next door. Barry plays it cool and lets her know he’ll be of assistance .
Their conversation is accompanied by a multicolored lens flare which shows up in between them. A bridge of light made up of red and blue colors – a connection willingly made by two parties. As she walks away the camera pauses on her standing next to the harmonium. Another connection made between a person and the harmonium. Now the two red interruptions (the red cars and Lena) are linked to an instrument (the harmonium) that’s linked to Barry.
He waits coyly for her to leave before rushing back into his garage/office. He hides in the shadows. The blackness consumes him. This is a momentary paralysis – a fear of the decision he has to make. A brief pause later and he choses to go into the light. His silhouette stands strongly and resolutely – a sign of his determination. The blackness goes from imposing to representing a moment of agency – from the shadows to the light. Speaking of the light, the harmonium which has been tied to Lena – a literal beacon of light, beckons Barry forward. To demonstrate to us the severity of Barry’s upcoming decision – PTA opts to show us our protagonist along with the harmonium from 3 separate angles , even going so far as to break the 180 degree rule( Barry’s orientation changes in images 7 to 8 as he goes from facing left to facing right) . The decision to take the harmonium is one of vital importance and as Barry decides to take it another truck violently zooms. As the truck goes by there’s another loud and abrasive car noise – a counterpoint to the first crash – a confirmation of a choice that has been made.
Barry (Adam Sandler) goes out into the blinding sunlight as a white car approaches him.
Barry (Adam Sandler) meets Lena (Emily Watson) who’s completely covered by the light – a new light in his life.
As Lena (Emily Watson) leaves the lot, the camera shows her next to the harmonium drawing a connection between the two.
Barry (Adam Sandler) runs back into his garage after his encounter with Lena. He’s paralyzed in fear and hides in the shadows, letting the black cover him up.
Barry (Adam Sandler) snaps out his momentary paralysis and becomes resolved in his decision to get the harmonium. He stands by the light- his frame becoming resolute and distinct showing his will instantiating.
Barry (Adam Sandler) goes to the harmonium.
Barry (Adam Sandler) looks at the harmonium from the right looking left.
Barry (Adam Sandler) looks at the harmonium from the left looking right.
As Barry takes the harmonium a large white truck goes on by and makes a large and jarring noise like the vehicles from earlier.
Barry (Adam Sandler) runs down to his office with the harmonium.
Lena (Emily Watson ) is a source of light in Barry’s (Adam Sandler) life. She shows up in a white car – a decision to be made. She’s dressed in red and stands with the harmonium – this ties her with the idea of love and music and in contrast to the violence of the original crash. If she is the harmonium and not the crash, then what is the crash going to look like? The movie invites us such questions through it’s clever development of motifs.
After agreeing to turn her car in, Barry hides in fear before deciding to recover the harmonium. His decision is reflected in the way the movie is edited through both the movie’s motifs (car crash noise) and the way it uses multiple angles and breaking the 180 rule.
He brings the harmonium back to his private office – a room which he keeps free from the chaos of his work environment. As he sets to examine the instrument, a blue lens flare appears- this is an important moment of determination from Barry . His face which was previously covered in shadows becomes enveloped in a light as the camera slowly zooms in on him staring at the instrument- he’s lit up by an outside brightness just like with Lena earlier.
As he plays the instrument, Jon Brion’s “Punch Drunk Melody” starts up in the background alongside the wonky harmonium notes Barry plays -the first meeting of the non-diegetic experimental score with the deliberate diegetic soundscape feels like an orchestra of sorts. The silence from earlier feels like a deliberate refrain akin to a song which helps tie the newfound audio to Berry’s newfound decision making process. The idea to bring in the harmonium is the key to everything – it brings “music” into Barry’s life. Even if the character’s can’t hear it, the non-diegetic score blends in with the sounds of their life, giving their actions and behaviors an accentuated rhythm.
One of Barry’s employee’s shows up and asks why there’s a harmonium in the main office . Barry initially ignores the question. He slowly dances out of the office with his eyes fixated on the harmonium almost as if in a trance. As he’s asked again he responds, “I don’t know.” Watch the movie to find out why.
Barry (Adam Sandler) sits down to tinker with the harmonium after picking it up off the street. There’s a blue lens flare showcasing how this manifestation of his will is important for what’s to come.
Barry (Adam Sandler) looks at the harmonium and goes from being in the shadow…
to being revealed in a light. The harmonium is a positive force for him.
Barry (Adam Sandler) slowly dances…
from side to side…
before admitting he doesn’t know why he brought the harmonium in.
Barry (Adam Sandler) may not know why the harmonium is so important to him, but he does find it to be a source of light in his life. It brings music and rhythm to his silent and melancholic existence and he goes on a journey to figure out why it is that it means so much to him.
To commemorate the start of Barry’s journey, the movie cuts to a Jeremy Blake art piece that showcases colors and shapes slowly dissolving, transforming, molding, and becoming one another. A gradient of pinks become blue become stars in the night sky become rainbows that cascade across the screen. The soundscape changes as music and dialogue interplay with one another – the diegetic/non-diegetic boundary continues to come undone as this plane of attributes coalesces into something before cutting to the next scene in the movie.
This living art piece is the framing device holding the elements of the movie together and is cut to at 4 critical junctures in the movie – moments of decision or change (this decision and resulting question being one of them) . The infinite array of sounds and changing visual schema represent the potential inherent to any decision – anything is possible. Highlighting the malleability of a situation by tying key junctures to the literal visual depiction of change helps drive home the importance of Barry’s decisions. However, Blake’s work also lets PTA say something about the act of cinema itself. It’s an assemblage of moving parts – lights, colors, sound, sound design, shapes, compositions, and so on- that can blend into an infinite array of phenomena. The particular presentation of a moment then, is incredibly important. It’s a distinct manifestation of the attributes done in an explicit way to elicit a feeling. As such it’s not just Barry’s decisions that are highlighted as important to the narrative, but also the auteur’s (and their respective cohorts) decisions to film scenes in certain ways.
Jeremy Blake’s constantly changing art piece serves as the framing mechanism that orders and matches the form, content, and themes of the movie into one cohesive breathing entity. This changing assemblage is a meditation on art, a deliberation on deliberation, love given a visual form, and the movie in its basest.
In Barry’s case – his decision involves love, hence the title of the movie. His awkward mannerisms and tendencies to hide in the shadows and become paralyzed are only the beginning of his character traits. As the movie continues, it’s clear that Barry is a man who struggles with his self image and doesn’t have full control over his impulses. He constantly commits Freudian slips, breaks into immense moments of emotional volatility, breaks things, awkwardly tries to get out of situations, and similar such behaviors. However, in spite of this he’s not a “bad guy”. It helps that Adam Sandler is naturally goofy and charming and those natural qualities bleed into his performance here. It’s this veneer of likability that gets us on his side cheering for him as opposed to against him and his manic patterns.
The movie uses every detail possible to showcase his developing agency, the way it manifests, and the way he feels about himself before and after such manifestations (identity). The movie uses colors, shadows, camera moves to highlight the way Barry sees and perceives every situation. White/yellow represent change and feel almost paralyzing. Change is horrifying and Barry spends much of time petrified in the white. Blue is the color of Barry. Obviously blue is connoted with a melancholy/depression which makes sense given where Barry is, but the color is more representative of his will. His fate and sense of being. Red is the color of Lena. It is the color of both love and violence. As evidenced by the red car and truck at the start of the movie, there’s both forces are explosive in their own right. Black is the color of determinacy – it represents a stabilization of attributes – a manifestation of the will. Characters constantly change their outfits in slight ways – changing colors to show their thought process and where they’re going to go. By adopting other characters’ colors, it’s evident that people can become a part of one another – that which was alone becomes part of a whole. Lens flares show moments of decision – the potential of a person activating a change and making a meaningful choice. These colors are draped in either a blinding light or a overwhelming shadow – the light and dark side of each of these colors – the duality between love and hate.
The innermost feeling of the characters are felt in the soundscape. As I have mentioned before, Brion’s work melds in seamlessly with the world of Punch Drunk Love. It is evocative and experimental – the sounds get under the skin like they’re being tapped or blown in the ear. It’s a direct and unforgettable kind of noise. It is also an explosion, turning beautiful and romantic at one moment to brutal and anxiety inducing at the next. There are other moments where the score fades to the background if not disappears altogether when something important is happening. For example, chaotic scenes might have a thumping score that ceases for a few moments as characters find a sense of peace.
Every single element of the movie works and is elevated because every point has a counterpoint (if not multiple) to tie together symbols and ideas into recognizable motifs- tying plot and theme together in an organic way that’s subconsciously understandable even if not particularly noticeable. The use of color, light, and certain musical cues only scratch the tip of the iceberg. In the same vein as Blue Velvet, the story is split and explores a seedy underbelly (violence) and a beautiful, charming, picket-fence world (love). Our protagonist has to navigate and deliberate between this split world and come up with a way of living in the world because his worldview is shattered/incomplete as of now. The counterpoints in each of these social spheres help reinforce the idea of love and hate being two sides of the same coin (as evidenced by the crash early on) – two instantiations of passion.
With Sandler and Watson’s performances as the leads along with more than satisfying performances from Hoffman and other members of the supporting cast, the movie feels fully realized. Sandler and Watson have a chemistry that’s undeniable – it helps keep the more absurd moments of the movie endearing, so they pass off as something heartfelt as opposed to disconcerting. Both of them bring something from the other and their relationship is one you cheer for. Sandler in particular taps into a darkness that gives his character the capacity to deal with both the light and dark worlds the movies present (a precursor of the depths he would end up going to in the more recent Uncut Gems).
As evidenced by the swarm of screenshots and stills, this is a movie where every frame has a purpose – a definite meaning. Every lens flare, every use of color, ever crash, every beat shift, every movement of the characters is purposeful and comes together to create what can only be called a true cinematic experience. I could spend hours just poring over the mise en scène, cinematography, shot composition, etc but the main point I want to emphasize is that the meticulous attention to detail more than pays off. Every symbol is introduced in a dynamic and distinctive way. Symbols are tied together to narrative cues and elements of the movie. The repetition of these motifs along with the symbols gives the movie a host of meanings that film nerds can get completely lost in. On top of this the score and pacing of scenes gives the movie a beat that every characters actions and decision seem to abide by – there’s even a moment where Barry dances in a grocery aisle that feels like it could be from a musical. This underlying rhythm helps keep the pace steady and consistent – even in quality from beginning to end. This is all then tied together by a framing mechanism that’s quite literally a meditation on art form – giving the formal decisions of the movie a resonance that can’t help but be appreciate.
It’s a movie that shows cinema as love. Every decision really is important and by giving such dedication to every element – big and small- PTA manages to take that love as plot point and transform it love as audience response. In the same way the non-diegetic music has the characters moving along to it, as if they can hear its reverberations making some kind of impact on the rhythm of the world, the movie has us completely entrapped by it. Without even knowing why, we’re wrapped up in a love story, a meditation on film, and a look at the way trauma manifests and can be resolved all without ever being hit over the head with it. We fall in love.
REPORT CARD
TLDR
Punch Drunk Love is a masterpiece that needs to be seen to be believed. It is a true demonstration of the potential of cinema as an art form , of cinema as a conduit to emotion. The way that formal elements are set up, utilized, referenced, and grouped into more discernible patterns shows that PTA has made every decision deliberately. Symbols and their respective ideas are shown explicitly, subtly, and repeatedly with multiple scenes constantly hammering the connections between different ideas. From the everything is color coded to the way the score transforms the movie into a spiritual musical , this is a movie that really has something for everybody. It’s funny, charming, disturbing, heartwarming, beautiful, meditative, and everything in between – a potential that’s constantly giving .
Rating
10/10
Grade
A+
Go to Page 2 for the spoiler discussion. Go to Page 3 to view this review’s progress report .
Carey Mulligan as Cassandra/ “Cassie” Bo Burnham as Dr. Ryan Cooper Clancy Brown as Stanley Jennifer Coolidge as Susan
Release Date
2020
Language(s)
English
Running Time
113 minutes
Charlie XCX’s “Boys” plays accompanied by a montage of men’s hips thrusting and gyrating in a bar setting. A pop song that means something more.
Montage of men’s groins as they dance in the bar. The early montage accompanied by Charlie XCX’s “Boys” sets the stage for the analysis of phallocentrism and agency to come.
The song’s accompanying music video is a view on alternative masculinity – men commit to performing “sexiness” in alternate fashions [1]Kim, M. (2018, March 17). We need to talk about charli xcx’s very important “boys” video. Retrieved February 09, 2021, from … Continue reading. The video showcases men acting like prototypical women in sexy photoshoots, but treats the whole endeavor as more wholesome. The result is a exploration of the ranges of masculinity. As a result, the song’s hook, “I’ve been busy thinking about boys,” comes to mean something far more. It’s thinking about alternative instantiations of masculine agency. Promising Young Woman operates in a similar fashion- it has a lot to say about the way power and gender operates under its stylized poppy exterior.
The montage ends and the movie moves to a conversation among 3 men in the bar who engage in “locker room” talk. It starts off with them trashing on some coworkers until they notice Cassandra, a seemingly inebriated and thoroughly “wasted” woman, laying passed out on some couches.
Cassie (Carey Mulligan) slumped against the red couches in the back of the bar. Unbeknownst to her prey, she waits for them to make a move patiently.
The group’s insults turn towards her as they cast judgement on her poor decisions. If anything happens to her it’s her fault for not taking care of herself – rape culture. One member of the group, Jerry (Adam Brody), feigns worry about Cassandra’s state and goes to help her get home. He lets his friends know and they immediately and holler – the implication is clear. Rape becomes an in-joke – consent is murky and she was asking for it, but it’s all a joke so there’s plausible deniability. The moment he gets her out of the bar and into a rideshare vehicle, he announces that his apartment is “close by” and actively changes the GPS end location. He tells Cassie they can have some drinks at his place. The man who was concerned about the drunk girl getting taken advantage of takes her home to give her more alcohol. Did we expect something different?
Meanwhile, the cab driver feigns ignorance. It doesn’t matter that a drunk woman is being escorted by a stranger blatantly taking advantage of her. We’ve met 4 men so far -3 were willing to look past the obviously drunk woman being escorted by someone she doesn’t know while 1 is fine taking her home despite knowing she can’t consent to anything . Complicity is not direct participation says the former group but that complicity is what serves as direct affirmation for the latter person. As such everything becomes forgiven.
Unfortunately for Jerry, he’s finally run into someone who can’t forget and definitely can’t forgive. As he removes her underwear despite her protests and questions about what he’s doing, she looks up directly at the camera- at the audience – to clue us in on on a little secret; she’s the one who’s in charge. No longer relegated to the periphery of society, she flips the script and reveals her drunk performance was nothing more than bait set out to lure prey to her.
This moment is one of the most striking and demonstrates early on that this is Cassie’s (Carey Mulligan) story. As she’s being stripped she stares at the camera, breaking the fourth wall, to let us know that this is all going according to her plan and that she’s more in charge of everything happening than we think. This is an important idea the movie expands on, using Cassie’s status as “writer” of the story to explore the way agency can manifest under oppressive circumstances. Notice how the Christmas lights surround her in the first and third images like a boundary of sorts, but as soon as she reveals she’s in charge the next shot shows her with the lights below her. She’s outside of the box.
Furthermore, the way she carries over her “gotcha” look from the audience to Jerry reflects the way that the problems the latter represents are endemic in society proper, not just the world of the movie.
She had “been busy thinking about boys” all along – their agency, their ability to inflict violence, their nice guy personas, the way society actively helps protect/enable them, and had decided that enough was enough.
The movie cuts from Cassie revealing to Jerry that she’s very much conscious to her walking down the street, a red smear on her leg. In a typical revenge movie, this smear would be blood- the presence of the torture that Cassie enacted on Jerry in her “revenge”. However, this is a movie that’s painfully aware of narrative conventions and subverts them in an attempt to interrogate the underlying logic of a phallocentric society – one where rape culture, as the movie demonstrates heads on , is pervasive and built into the “rules”. The camera continues to tilt up and reveals a similar huge red smear on Cassie’s arm. However, it’s made immediately apparent that the red smears aren’t blood but are jelly from the doughnuts instead. What we thought to be blood turns to be something far more innocuous instead – violence transformed into something sweet and sugary.
Cassie (Carey Mulligan) wipes off jelly doughnut filling after her rendezvous with Jerry. The way the camera tilts up along with revenge-story tropes makes us think this is blood, but the deflection is done purposefully. It’s an early sign to to the audience to be aware of revenge narrative tropes and to break down why they are/are not being implemented in certain ways and what that says about a character’s position in relation to power structures.
As she continues to walk, Cassie is accosted by cat-calling construction workers across the street who deride/shame her for having had a crazy night out. They laugh at her. She stares back at them. She is unmoving. She is unfazed. Her gaze unsettles them to the point of distress. They immediately call her a spoil sport and go off. Her refusal to play along to the scripted relation by frustrates them. She continues on her path until she gets home. Once she’s inside her room she retrieves a journal, flips through dozens upon dozens of pages, deliberately and aggressive adds a count to a tally which appears to be color coded, flips to another section of the journal, and then proceeds to write out the name Jerry in a list that contains a staggering number of names. What’s been done to Jerry or any of these other names is still unknown at this point.
This is simple, clean, and effective visual storytelling. It’s immediately clear that Cassie has been playing rape culture vigilante for a while. The throng of names and tally marks give an indication of the count, but the way that indentations bleed from page to page show brutal and destructive the whole endeavor has been for Cassie. Hundreds of people have tried to do God knows what to her to the point where she has a healthy running tally. No wonder she’s so fatalistic. How does one live in a world where one is constantly reduced to a passive object that can be casually used and discarded?
Her name Cassandra is fitting. In Greek myth, Cassandra is a princess who catches the eye of Apollo, rejects him, and then is cursed with the power to tell of prophecies that will come true but that no one will listen to. [2]“Cassandra.” Merriam-Webster, Merriam-Webster, www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/Cassandra. A woman cursed by a man for rejecting his advances who is then condemned to tell the truth but be ignored. That description seems to hit a lot of marks especially as we proceed through the story. Given that Cassie’s prophecies are doomed to be ignored the question becomes how does she exercise agency? How can rape culture be fought when it’s part and parcel of society at large – when people hear the truth but choose to ignore it? This is where the movie’s play and subversion on narrative ideology comes in.
The revenge story is the cultural mythos of this society – a man who is wronged in some way musters up the wherewithal necessary to beat down whomever stands in his way whether it involve underground criminal organizations or covert government forces. Even when women are written in as the leads, the way they deal with the problems and scenarios doesn’t differ in a meaningful structural level. The “good” guys win and the “bad” guys lose. The overall result is a kind of propaganda that doesn’t meaningfully wrangle with subjectivity. Promising Young Woman does the opposite of this by having Cassie act with a distinct womanhood. It recognizes that the world forces certain vantage points upon people based on their social position and actively positions the narrative and its development around Cassie and her subjective orientation towards the dominant social order.
Everything from the way she deals with her night-time vigilante situations to the way she handles her fundamental revenge mission plays on familiar tropes (look back to the aforementioned doughnut example). By placing her in typical revenge confrontations and delaying the reveal of what she actually done, the movie forces us to examine just how brutal the rules of the social order are for some while they’re unfairly stacked in the favor of others. We have images of what we think Cassie has done which help reveal our complicity in/normalization of the system and the movie cleverly shows us how out of depth we are when it reveals what’s actually happened. Furthermore, Cassie’s relation to her trauma is kept as anonymized as possible – there’s no “face” to attach to it per say. It makes placing yourself in Cassie’s shoes incredibly easy because her relationship becomes something more universal – the anonymization helps showcase just how deep seated rape culture is and how devastating it can be to all involved.
The end result is a striking dialogue that engages the audience on multiple levels. It becomes clear just how integrated certain ideas are within our psyches and how they colors our view on envisioning the realm of possible action, both for ourselves and other people. It shows us just how easy it is to distract away from violence by framing it in more abstract terms – a sweeping under the rug that does nothing but tidy the mess. This is reflected in the structure of the movie, which uses Cassie’s orientation towards her trauma as a way to constantly change the genre. As her character arc progresses the movie goes from thriller/black comedy, to rom-com, to drama, to fantasy with some some great transitory bits in between. Each of these moments uses Cassie’s character disposition, the music, the use of montage (like the one that starts the movie), and so on to reveal a vantage point that women can occupy in respect to a male dominated order. Some of these genre moves feel abrupt (ex: a rom- com styled dance sequence that pops up out of nowhere is a common criticism I’ve seen in some reviews) because they are meant to critique the way these issues are normally pushed aside in favor of more lighthearted and palatable discussions – the range fantasies go in concealing the true nature of what’s going on.
The framing mechanism takes elements from Cassie’s (Carey Mulligan) personal journal and makes them chapters in the story. This further emphasizes her agency in constructing what we’re seeing and helps to drive the point the story is making.
Structurally the movie makes use of a list of targets from Cassie’s journal as a framing device. This directly ties form to content – the story (movie proper) is Cassie’s tale. This is the story she’s writing and the framing mechanism does an important job in both establishing the way she thinks about how to deal with her trauma and what “winning” against the same looks like. Each genre shift forces you to think about what her agency means. There are multiple moments where you’re left wondering if her range of choices were really as limited as presented or if that limitation was meant to reveal something else entirely.
Holding all these strands together is Cary Mulligan’s standout performance as Cassie. She’s the emotional center of the movie and single handedly helps every story thread come together in a cohesive and moving fashion. Her deadpan delivery along with her witty dialogue makes her easy to root for. The anger by which she emotes make it easy to understand how serious what she’s dealing with is. There are moments where she moves around on the camera like a hunter- slowly pushing her target to the corner of the frame trapping them – cornering someone in the most literal sense of the term. The ease by which she controls situations makes it apparent that she’s skilled. It all coms down to one thing – Mulligan knows how to show the depth of what she’s going through which makes Cassie’s subsequent arc coherent and believable while still using it to explore social positions. This is also why so many members of the supporting cast were cast from likable comedians/actors who immediately make us trust as opposed to doubt them. The movie uses this previously built trust to reveal how deep seated and ubiquitous rape culture is and the danger inherent at the heart of it – anyone can hurt you and appearances are deceiving.
The end result plays likea Gothic fairy tale, albeit one with a bubblegum pop aesthetic as opposed to the traditional black and white palette. The traditional pop songs and the vibrant use of colors, namely pink and blue, come off feeling as something reclaimed as opposed to something campy -they are the artifice of womanhood that must be taken seriously. Likewise, the story actively forces you to engage with the point it’s trying to make, not in a way that’s preachy but in a way that demonstrates the ideological maneuverings we use to obstruct and get around difficult issues and conversations. Most importantly, it tells a story that needs to be heard because of how lasting and important it is. The way the movie tackles issues of culpability, consent, systemic injustice, and the manifestation make it essential viewing, but it’s presentation and examination of the way ideology plays into these demarcating these thoughts makes it an absolute masterwork.
REPORT CARD
TLDR
Promising Young Women is the type of debut that gets you excited for the director’s future movies. Fennell takes an idea – what does “real” agency look like in a world where rape culture is built into the way that world operates – and explores it in a way that actively gets the audience involved in examining their own prejudice while being wholly committed to a strong singular vision. The movie utilizes a bubblegum pop aesthetic comes in both the c olor palette and music choice giving this Grimm fairytale an updated makeover that’s infectious, fun, and serious. The script’s genre jumping tendencies gives Mulligan a huge canvas to play on which gives the story the emotional core it needs to sustain its more intense beats. The elements come together in a truly ambitious fashion that help it more than deliver on its promise.
Rating
10/10
Grade
A+
Go to Page 2 for the spoiler discussion. Go to Page 3 to view this review’s progress report .
Kim, M. (2018, March 17). We need to talk about charli xcx’s very important “boys” video. Retrieved February 09, 2021, from https://pitchfork.com/thepitch/we-need-to-talk-about-charli-xcxs-very-important-boys-video/
