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2010s, 2013, Drama, gothic, Grade, Horror, mystery, Past, psychological, Review, review-movie, S, Thriller, Year

Film Review: Stoker – 2013

October 5, 2021 The Critic Leave a comment

Director(s)	Park Chan-wook
Principal Cast	Mia Wasikowska as India Stoker Matthew Goode as Charlie Stoker Nicole Kidman as Evelyn Stoker Dermot Mulroney as Richard Stoker
Release Date	2013
Language(s)	English
Running Time	99 minutes
Report Card	Click to go to Review TLDR/Summary

India (Mia Wasikowska) walks across the street as the frame freezes. Her actor’s name appears across from her.

“My ears hear what other cannot. Small, faraway things people cannot normally see are visible to me. These senses are the fruits of a lifetime of longing. Longing to be rescued. To be completed. Just as the skirt needs the wind to billow…I’m not formed by things that are of myself alone. I wear my father’s belt tied around my mother’s blouse. And shoes which are from my uncle. This is me. Just as a flower does not choose its color…we are not responsible for what we have come to be. Only once you realize this do you become free. And to become adult, is to become free.”

These words are whispered by our protagonist, India (Mia Wasikowska) in a part opening montage and part intro credit sequence that opens on her walking away from a sports car and police car across the street to a green pasture. Her actress’s name, Mia Wasikowski appears on the screen right next to her as the frame freezes momentarily – the present fading into the past. Time flows again and she walks over the name, subsuming it. She stands over the pasture and looks over it, as the wind blows her skirt and the long grass around her. Another cast member’s name appears in the enclosing of her skirt as the frame freezes again. Once again, the present “intervenes” and the freeze stops while the name recedes into the invisible abyss it came from. This pattern continues to repeat before settling on a white flower spattered in red.

This image is unsettling because at this point in the monologue, India directly refers to how a flower doesn’t choose its colors, in the same way as people do not choose the contingent events that shape up their lives up to that moment. The camera cuts to an image of her face smiling as her whispered speech ends on her explaining that realizing this truth is to become adult, thereby becoming free. The frame freezes one last time as her smiling face dissolves to another shot of a younger her running through another field of green; the sounds of wind and rustling fabrics and grass give way to composer Clint Manwell’s fairy-tale like score which evokes feelings of wonder and propulsive change.

India (Mia Wasikowska) feels an injury on her foot.

Just like her “modern” counterpart, this younger India is also followed by the opening credits which appear in the environment around her. She pays them no mind; instead, she takes her shoes off upon noticing a callous and sits next to a gray statue who serves as a mirror image to her. Her wound bursts with clear pus after she pops it, bursting through the soundscape momentarily, before disappearing again. Without a moment wasted, India continues a search, canvassing multiple locations surrounding her expansive residence for “something.” Finally, she climbs up a tree and finds a Birthday present in a box wrapped with yellow ribbons.

Upon finding her mystery item, the film cuts to India’s birthday cake; the propulsive score fades away as the sounds of sirens and flames take charge – a sharp contrast to the scene in question. The camera pushes in on the cake and then rises above it before descending. Now covered in a glass container, the cake is unable to sustain its flames which dissipate into wisps of smoke as a phone starts to ring. A woman screams, “Richard. No!” as the glass container dissolves into the film’s title card proper, which is etched out by an invisible pen and ink.

The camera lingers on both Evelyn’s and India’s shooes. One wears heels while the other wears saddle shoes, a mark of adulthood and childhood respectively.

A preacher’s voice can be heard and it’s revealed that Richard, India’s father, has died. Thus, her 18th birthday, the threshold marking her “birth” as an adult, is marked by the loss of a parent, a figure meant to guide her on that path. Her mother, Evelyn, and her sit at the funeral, both distraught in their own ways. India is stoic and steely while her mother is visibly puffy and devastated. The camera goes to the pair’s feet momentarily; Evelyn is wearing heels while India is wearing saddle shoes. However, India notices a disturbance – a gaze taking notice of her. She turns her head to the side and notices a figure in the distance, a man staring down at her from above the hillocks she previously ran through.

India plays the piano as a spider crawls towards her.

The funeral service proper ends, but the preacher’s sermon continues playing in the soundscape of India’s mind. She tries to play piano while a spider crawls towards her feet. However, her attempts at distracting herself are interrupted by her mother, whose figure makes its presence known on the mirror above her. As Evelyn implores India to help with the event’s cooking, the latter stares her down with a kind of disdain. Even after turning to face Evelyn, as opposed to facing her mirror image, India refuses to say anything. Evelyn exasperatedly pushes her point while the aforementioned spider skirts up the grieving daughter’s leg.

India (Mia Wasikowska) sits in the kitchen to help make deviled eggs.

However, India does acquiesce to her mother’s demands and goes to the kitchen to help make deviled eggs. She overhears a pair of maids gossiping about the state of her family’s affairs. These unwanted thoughts her, so she starts to roll an egg, cracking it slowly. Outside noise fades out as the sound of the eggs breaking overwhelms the ears, until finally, Mrs. McGarrick (Phyllis Somerville), the Stoker’s head caretaker, silences the pair and goes to inquire into India’s state of mind. The two remnisce on their shared past with deviled eggs and it becomes clear that unlike, Evelyn, India sees the elderly caretaker as a surrogate-mother of sorts. Mrs. McGarrick takes out flowers which are tied with a yellow ribbon and asks India if she found her birthday present yet. India ties the color of the ribbon on the flower to the color of the ribbon on the box from her initial adventure and reveals she found a key in the box before also expressing surprise at the revelation that Mrs.McGarrick is tied to her yearly birthday presents, shoes, as opposed to her deceased father like she initially thought.

She leaves the kitchen momentarily and sees her mother talking to the stranger who gazed upon the mother-daughter duo earlier at the funeral. Her mother sees India and calls out to her, introducing the stranger as Roger’s brother, Charlie – a stranger turned into long lost uncle. The revelation deeply upsets India who immediately walks back into the kitchen. Her pale expression invites concern from Mrs.McGarrick who inquiries into what’s wrong. India responds honestly: “Yes. My father is dead”.

India (Mia Wasikowska) sleeps in her bed dejected.

As if in response to her dejection, the film cuts to a fully lethargic India. The camera tracks to the right from India’s face to a pair of shoes, like the ones she’s worn previously. This pair of shoes dissolves into another which dissolves into another and so on, each pair smaller than the one that came before it. Eventually, the dissolving shoes come to a small pair, fit for a toddler, before the camera tracks right back to India’s face. The camera steps back and reveals that India is laying in a circle of 16 pairs of shoes; each pair from the montage lies around her, in a displaced oval like shape, ranging from oldest to newest pair. Her “current” 17th pair, lies on the floor next to the bed; one pair for every birthday except for the most current birthday – the threshold to becoming an adult.

It’s not just that the 18th pair, the guide to walking the path to adulthood, is missing. India’s turmoil stems from the double mystery of who was fully responsible for her previous 17 pairs of shoes. Up to the moment of Mrs.McGarricks’ reveal, India has walked in her “father’s” footsteps. With the identity of the gift-giver stripped away, the path which has defined her so long as a subject is now that has to be re-treat, rediscovered. The words from the opening monologue ring more resounding here: “I’m not formed by things that are of myself alone “.

The montage which initially presented itself as a series of discrete images, moments bleeding into one another, turns out to be multiple sections of the same image. Far from being from different times, the shoes exist in the same “present” moment with India. However, the montage of them dissolving demonstrates the logic of how moments are just accumulations of everything that came before. Each “shoe” is an epoch that can now be re-cast; a past that can open the doors to new futures.

Evelyn (Nicole Kidman) comments that India and Richard’s hunting trophies are wastes of life but Charlie seems to appreciate the work the father-daughter duo did.

Meanwhile, Evelyn and Charlie talk about India and Richard’s close-knit relationship, one formed primarily around hunting birds. Evelyn bemoans the act as senseless violence, but Charlie shows great respect for the duo’s craft. He picks up one of their winged trophies and reveals an an egg underneath. The deviled eggs which start as one of India’s favorite treats become an egg which serves as a remainder of her relationship with her father which then dissolves into her eye itself. Eggs are treats are trophies are eyes. A series of poetic connections between the images are formed.

Eggs are white on the outside and yellow on the inside. Eggs, at least the ones shown in the film, are related to birds. In other circumstances, the eggs would break apart to allow new life to come out – the birth of something new. This is a story of a girl becoming a woman, on the threshold of adulthood, looking for a path to walk on as influences all around her permeate her crumbling shell.

India walks around the house and the whispers about her family’s affairs continue. In hushed tones, adults abound talk about her family; their words enter her mental landscape constantly. She notices Charlie talking to a seemingly distraught Mrs. McGarrick, but just as she sensed her Uncle Charlie earlier during the funeral, her uncle senses her gaze and turns to meet it. However, India immediately averts the battle of gazes and escapes. Before Charlie can catch up to her, she runs out of a side entrance of her expansive manor. The camera track India while she roams the outside of the house in the background of the frame; in the foreground, Charlie is being occupied by Evelyn.

However, this turns out to be far from the case as India, initially confident upon entering her abode from the front, is shocked when Charlie calls to her from at the top of the master staircase. Just like the first time she saw him, he reigns above her. He coyly asks her if she wants to know why she feels she’s at a disadvantage, both announcing his take on the duo’s power relation and also preferring an analysis of her own psyche; this is all done despite the fact, as India rightly retorts, that she was unaware of his existence till the day. He ignores her comment and asserts the real reason is because she’s standing below him. The subtext of the stairs is thus brought to the level of text and the viewer is made aware of both the importance of height and presence of stairs as a motif representing control.

In response to his claim, India slowly climbs up the staircase. The camera pushes in through a doorway, signifying the start of the confrontation between uncle and niece, showing India alone, rising to meet Charlie, who slowly enters the frame. She gets to the top of the stairs and stares her newly found family member down, asserting her right to stand as equal to him. She quite literally rises to the challenge.

Upon giving him a long look, she remarks that he looks remarkably like her father. Suddenly, her confused emotional state at his presence gains additional texture. Her father, the one who guided her and took her hunting, not only turns out to not be the one setting her path via the shoes she walks in but has returned, so to speak, in the form of a part hidden relation, part quasi-doppelgänger. Her confrontation with Charlie, is then, the first step she has to take to find herself.

Charlie responds to her comparison with an expression of sympathy towards her loss. A strange response which she notices and calls out, reminding her uncle that the loss is shared among them. Once again, he ignores her observation and tells her that he’s planning on staying with her and her mother for the foreseeable future. He makes it clear that he’s gotten her mother on board but tells India that he wants her approval as well because it’s “important” to him. Thus, the stage for Stoker is set and the battle for power can truly commence.

Given the title, Stoker, a viewer with context would think of Bram Stoker and his work in gothic horror. On that level, Stoker works. All the ingredients for gothic feeling are present: there’s a death encased in mystery, a hidden relative that shows up, and troubled familial relations that bubble up and sublimate in obscene fashion. However, as the first 13 minutes above demonstrate, the film operates closer to the psychoanalytic thrillers of Alfred Hitchcock: the bodies of birds appear like in Psycho, the game of gazes is played like in Vertigo, and at the most obvious level, the basic story beats of Hitchock’s film noir, Shadow of a Doubt, serve as Stoker’s jumping off point. Both stories feature an uncle named Charlie, who shares a special bond with his niece and who is covered in a veil of mystery. Likewise, both stories follow a niece as she struggles against penetrating the veil her uncle puts up. Stoker even goes so far as to replicate Shadow of a Doubt’s use of the staircase as the scene of battle between uncle and niece along with its presence as a motif.

But, unlike Hitchcock’s film which uses the relationship between the uncle and niece to reveal the duplicitous nature of the social order and the underpinnings of the idyllic American fantasy, Stoker uses the relationship to examine the way personal identity is generated and navigated. In other words, one film is aimed at a macro-level and the other at the micro-level. In this way, Stoker is able to traverse a whole different set of ideas from the vantage point of a coming-of-age horror.

Furthermore, though the story and narrative progression may be Hitchcock inspired, the editing, sensuality, and painterly mise-en-scène are all in line with director Park Chan-Wook’s style as an auteur. His stylistic flourishes here give the film it’s poetic sensibilities because he elects to show most of the story rather than tell it. On top of layering motifs in a more traditional sense, he constantly uses the nature of his edits – both sequencing and the edit itself – to suggest connections between seemingly disparate ideas. Like the egg becoming the eye, “apparent” match-cuts between objects of similar sizes and shapes along with dissolves between images are used to demonstrate the state of India’s psychic journey and how she’s processing the story as it goes along. As she makes connections, the viewer can piece together both the narrative and what it means to her own journey.

That being said, the nature of this journey is constantly up for re-interpretation. Pivotal scenes aren’t cut chronologically but are cut in the order India is making sense of them and rendering them coherent from her own vantage point. This gives seemingly obvious moments, a palpable level of uncertainty, because the nature of what the moment is supposed to demonstrate is indeterminate until the very end of that movement, but because movements fade into one another and are constantly recalled, every sequence gains a newfound freedom in how it’s used in the present to open up future possibilities. Consequently, the film feels dynamic even as moments repeat, because those moments come to mean something new.

Even if all the moving parts don’t make sense, Chan-wook’s construction of the film ensures the journey can be felt even if not fully understood. He achieves this feeling of consistency via in how he utilizes the architecture of the house to reflect the ebb and flow of power and also his attention towards maintaining a consistent color palette. While the latter has been mentioned above, the former hasn’t been given it’s due. At a basic level, the exterior of the house is white like the color of an egg’s shell. The green surrounding the house in the form of vegetation makes its way in the walls of the “public” spaces of the house, like the dining room. India is constantly in the color yellow’s proximity. Likewise, her mother is always in red’s presence. By establishing the colors early on and constantly repeating them in and out of the house, Chan-wook is able to get the audience to think about the meaning of them in the background of their minds. As a result, the colors become affectively charged which is why they can be felt even if their presence isn’t consciously noted. Chan-wook is weaving poetic patterns that operate on a level that appears like it’s just style, but is in style employed in lieu of accentuating the substance.

In light of this, it’s surprising to see that critical consensus is so harsh on the film, with many critics chastising the film for being style over substance. It’d be one thing if the film gallivanted from scene to scene for shock value; with violent masterpieces like Oldboy in Chan-wook’s filmography, it would be easy for him to just sink to spectacle. But Stoker is less focused on the spectacle than the journey itself. It’s filmed in a delicate and sensual way because unlike many of his previous excursions, Stoker is a women-led character study; that too, it’s a women led horror movie where the protagonist, far from being victimized, is allowed to find herself in the most emphatic fashion, something which would certainly not be possible if there was no substance beneath the film’s stylistic maneuverings.

This oddity is even more inexplicable given that, in many ways, Stoker feels like a dress rehearsal for The Handmaiden, Park Chan-wook’s 2016 erotic thriller, considered by many, including myself, to be the director’s best work. Both film’s share a woman lead, explore relationships between women, and focus more on the unseen gazes of characters than any overt physical action. They both also showcase incredibly sensual moments of eroticism in unsuspecting fashion, demonstrating the way desire codes even the otherwise seemingly ordinary. Furthermore, while Stoker is an homage and twist on Shadow of a Doubt, The Handmaiden, feels like something similar in relation to Vertigo, at least from my view.

Perhaps the reason for Stoker’s undeserved treatment lies in its opacity. Though, the feeling of the film is something a viewer can take away from a viewing, the lack of direct explanation regarding some of the more overt symbols, like the spider, might put off those looking for a story that provides all the answers. However, it is precisely because the explanations are withheld, that the film opens up interpretative possibility and can evoke the feeling of poetry as opposed to pretentious philosophizing. It’s for that reason that Stoker is best reserved for those viewers who relish engaging with a film, whether that be mulling over it afterwards or playing it back it back to confirm a hint about a theory. It’s a film that rewards multiple viewings and interpretations of the events depicted. At the brisk rate of 99 minutes, Stoker would already be worth seeing for its visual splendor alone. Few films have this much fun presenting images in such confident fashion. However, given the depth Chan-wook manages to pack behind each and every movement, big or small, the film is something that any cinephile should give a watch.

REPORT CARD

TLDR	Stoker is a film about whispers, glances, stolen gazes, and strategies for getting one’s way. The story uses Hitchcock’s Shadow of a Doubt as a jumping off point to explore the psychological journey of a young woman, India, who is forced to find herself after the death of her father and the mysterious emergence of her uncle. Her journey is one that fluctuates from romance to horror to thriller back again all while remaining couched in psychoanalytic motifs and relationships that give each and every moment a host of meanings. While fans of director Park Chan-wook’s other works should definitely seek out this underrated part of his filmography, I’d recommend Stoker to any viewer who enjoys the experience of being washed over by a film and trying to piece it together afterwards. For the viewer who enjoys the journey even if the destination is unclear, Stoker offers a key to a box waiting to be unlocked.
Rating	10/10
Grade	S

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1970s, 1979, A+, Grade, Horror, monster, Past, Review, review-movie, Science Fiction, science fiction horror, Thriller, Year

Review: Alien

October 2, 2020 The Critic Leave a comment

Director(s)	Ridley Scott
Principal Cast	Sigourney Weaver as Ripley Tom Skerritt as Dallas Ian Holm as Ash Veronica Cartwright as Lambert Yaphet Kotto as Parker Harry Dean Stanton as Brett John Hurt as Kane Bolaji Badejo as the Alien
Release Date	1979
Language(s)	English
Running Time	117 minutes

It’s hard writing a review about a movie that’s gotten as much love and adoration as Ridley Scott’s Alien, but I’ll try my best to persuade the few of you out there who haven’t seen it to give this masterpiece a go around. The story of a small commercial space crew who receive orders to investigate an alien spaceship and who subsequently come into contract with a hostile alien species seems like a simple narrative meant to provoke fear. Like the release poster says,” In space no one can hear you scream.” It seems like a no brainer as to why such a story could be so scary. However, a slew of Alien based knockoffs and even some of the franchise sequels indicate that its not just a simple and well executed narrative that makes this movie from the 70’s so enduring as classic in both the horror and science-fiction genres. Underneath the narrative is a hefty amount of subtext, painstakingly interwoven in the movie through the use of immaculate creature designs, pristine lighting, top notch set design, and a soundtrack that’s perfectly suited to transporting the audience into the affective territory of fear.

From the moment the title screen opens, the movie makes it clear that there’s more than meets the eye. As letters slowly appear on the screen spelling out the title, Alien, the camera slowly pans across an oblong object instead of a traditional circle object which would be more inline with what we’d expect from space – planets, stars, and the like.

This is the title track as the camera moves left to right and finishes covering the egg/oblong. The discoloration near the L is the outer boundary of the egg.

This egg like shape sets the stage for the thematic meat at the center of the story – sexuality and our relationship to it. From this egg like shape the camera slowly moves through the Nostromo, a commercial space vehicle with a crew deep in sleep. However, after a distress signal is received from an outside source the ship’s computer, aptly named Mother, sends a signal to wake the crew up. The camera then moves to the crew as they wake up and emerge from a series of oblong, egg-shaped pods.

The crew of the Nostromo waking up from their egg/oblong shaped pods.

After giving us a few moments to get to know the members of the crew the movie quickly moves to getting them to respond to the signal. A small subset of the crew is led by Kane, an executive officer, to investigate the source of the signal and to determine if anyone needs help. Unfortunately, for the members of the Nostromo, Kane discovers an oblong egg-shaped object with a cross symbol (religious heresy at its finest) in the middle, that shoots out an alien species which immediately latches onto his body.

Despite quarantine protocol dictating that he be left behind and not allowed back onto the ship Ash, the ship’s scientist, overrules Ripley’s, the warrant officer, command to follow the same and allows the expedition crew and a grievously injured Kane back aboard. This subsumption of authority is quickly brushed aside by the rest of the crew due to Kane’s condition, but it sets up the “war of the sexes” power dynamic that guides the rest of the movie. Ripley, one of the two female crewmates, has her orders ignored to save a crewmate despite orders. Kane, a male, is then shown with the “face hugger” alien aptly covering his face. With its phallic tail coiling around Kane’s neck and a tube running from its body down his throat, the scene utilizes sexuality – particularly a male on male oral rape scene- as a method of genuinely scaring the audience.

Kane with face hugger attached. The phallic coil slithers around his neck provocatively as the creature inserts itself down his throat.

The deviant sexuality is literally weaponized and works in horrifying because it A- depicts rape and B- masks that depiction through an alien organism that pulsates and oozes in an incomprehensible way. As the alien creature matures throughout the movie, it takes on more and more pronounced male and female sexual characteristics, transforming into an amalgamation of deviant sexuality that actively violates and threatens the crewmembers. This relationship to sexuality is developed by other characters’ attempts at reining in control over the situation and their attempts at fighting back the alien. Like the face hugger scene, none of these sexually violent images are overt but rather work on the level of suggestion and repetition. Eggs, phallic shaped objects, liquids gushing and oozing, penetration, and the like all work to trigger off a sub-conscious response that plays off our fears of sexuality, violence, and the forces inner workings. H.R. Giger’s aesthetic choices are what turn Alien from a superb thriller, into a deeply thought-provoking look at the way sexuality is coded and linked to power. None of the images overtly force us to think about things in this way, but their suggestive power combined with the setup of the plot makes those connections operate in the back of our minds leading to some genuinely frightening moments.

The story also does a great job of positioning the Alien in relation to humanity/animality by constantly juxtaposing the creature with both the human crewmates and the crew’s cat, Jones. At first glance, Jones can be written off as a minor character whose only purpose is to get crewmates put into precarious situation. However, a closer reading reveals that compared to the Alien’s overtly sexual and violent predatory practices, Jones is docile, restrained, and something that crew actively wants to protect. Jones isn’t just a cat. Jones is the inverse to the Alien – a sexuality that can be understood and controlled in a sense. The fact that the cat conveniently appears in so many scenes where the Alien pops up isn’t a coincidence as much as it is Scott’s attempts at making the audience piece together the connections. This becomes even more pronounced in the last act of the movie which does the best job of visually depicting the importance of Jones as a counterbalance.

*Two sides of the same coin- Jones and the Xenomorph are different instantiations of a predator- docile and known versus violent and deviant*

Put together, this is why the Alien creature (the Xenomorph) works so well. It plays off our natural fears of sexual violence through its increasingly disturbing amalgamation of female and male sexuality. Its attempts at gaining control and overpowering the crewmates ties back into the earlier instantiation of sexualized power hierarchies and depictions of agency. It’s juxtaposition against Jones highlights just how much about it we don’t know, understand, and are unable to control. As a result, the creature works perfectly as both a thematic and visual depiction of true horror.

Obviously, none of this sub-text would be relevant if the movie itself did not work on the level of its plot. The simplicity of the overarching narrative lets all the thematic elements become part of the stories identity as opposed to feeling like some postmodern meaning soup. Every element plays into one another and is highlighted through Scott’s impeccable visual storytelling as opposed to preaching to the audience through boring dialogue. From the way the spaceship looks all dark and dilapidated to how the alien planet looks musty, cloudy, and damp its clear a lot of effort went into creating a believable outer space. It’s astounding to think this movie was made back in 1979 because it holds up incredibly well even now. Outside of the superb aesthetic direction and wholly realistic looking set pieces, the movie excels in its use of lighting. Scott knows just how much to show you and the flickering light effects in the latter portions of the movie do a great job of exemplifying just how hidden and nefarious the Alien really is. It’s not that he’s afraid to show you the creature. Not at all. Trust me – you get to see every disgusting and skin crawling aspect of it by the end of the movie. It’s more that he wants you to be genuinely unnerved by it. He wants you to be staring at the creature in plain sight and not know that you’re looking at it. What’s scarier than not knowing you’re looking at the monster the whole time? Because the dialogue is so witty and does a great job of establishing the characters’ personalities and motivations it becomes hard to not become attached to the crew and place yourselves in their shoes. That’s why the revelation that you, like the crew, were incapable of finding the monster first is chilling. Because you would’ve died to.

Speaking of the crew members, every single member of the cast delivers a performance that has you wholeheartedly believe that they’re members of an actual space expedition and that they’re on another day on the job. From the constant bickering about payment to the lively banter between them, its easy to forget that everyone’s acting. Sigourney Weaver is great as the lead and manages to give the warrant officer equal helpings of raw humanity and genuine badassery. She can quickly go from panicked in the face of the Xenomorph to eager and ready to destroy it. Without her walking through some tricky emotional tightropes with precision, the emotional and thematic weight of the movie would not hit nearly as hard. I love Holm’s performance as Ash and think he does a great job at both acting as a foil to Weaver and at carrying along some fairly important story beats. Kotto and Stanton’s bantering is a genuine treat to watch near the start of the movie and provides the audience with much needed levity before things actually start going off the rocker.

From the script to the acting to the set design to everything in between, Alien never manages to disappoint. This is truly one of the movies I think you could call “perfect” and not get an eyeroll from everyone in the room. It’s a masterwork in the Science-Fiction and Horror genres and its ubiquity in pop culture (I’m looking at you Avengers:Infinity War) necessitate a watch from movie fans in general. It’s scary, thought provoking, and equal parts beautiful and disgusting to watch.

Report Card

TLDR	If you’re a fan of movies, you owe it to yourself to watch Alien. Rarely is there a movie that so perfectly manages to progress a message through its narrative, visual and sound design, and character progression. Despite being made in 1979, the movie looks, feels, and operates better than most things coming out now. The story of a space crew trying to fight for their lives against a horrifying alien is entertaining enough, but the treasure trove of subtext that lies beneath each and every frame make this a movie worth re-watching and studying. There’s so much *more I could gush over , but I really do think some things are better experienced than explained. That’s a lesson Alien* taught me well.**
Rating	10/10
Grade	A+

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2017, A+, Action, Grade, Horror, Review, review-movie, Thriller, Year

Review: Revenge

May 6, 2020 The Critic Leave a comment

Director(s)	Coralie Fargeat
Principal Cast	Matilda Lutz as Jen Kevin Janssens as Richard Vincent Colombe as Stan Guillaume Bouchède as Dimitri
Release Date	2017
Language(s)	English, French
Running Time	108 minutes

I’m not the biggest fan of rape and revenge stories because I think most of them rely too much on the shock and exploitative nature of the rape and violence as opposed to the revenge by the survivor. As a result the exploitative nature of the movies tends to crowd out any big thematic takeaways about (feminine) agency and the way dominant powers can be usurped. Thankfully, as the title would suggest, Revenge is a story that focuses more on the survivor’s story than her abusers’ actions. Don’t get me wrong. The movie definitely doesn’t hold back punches when it comes to demonstrating the brutality our lead goes through. It’s just that it manages to do it in a way that focuses more on the horror of the power dynamic than just shocking imagery.

The story follows Jen and Richard, a couple on a romantic getaway that’s quickly interrupted when the latter’s two friends, Stan and Dimitri, show up at the house they’re staying in. As soon as they show up the mood in the house changes. There’s a palpable tension that keeps building, just waiting to explode and explode it does. Jen is violated, brutalized, and left for dead. Thankfully, the violence and brutality of the actions is demonstrated not by some grotesque demonstration of the act proper. Instead, it is the actions/reactions of the 3 men towards the “situation” that demonstrate just how depraved their behavior is. Though they’re similar in terms of their general orientation towards the situation (and women), Fargeat made sure to carve out unique identities for each of the scumbags. I was surprised at how well each member of the trio stood out. It’s easy to bog down the antagonists in these types of movies and make them all just a vacuous evil with varying shades, but Revenge teases out the nuances in their perception of women and violence demonstrating that toxic masculinity can come in different shapes and sizes, each perpetuating a misogynistic culture in their own ways.

Likewise, Jen is far more than the eye candy she’s made out to be in the earlier portions of the movie. When she’s first introduced she comes off as a pretty socialite who’s trying to enjoy her getaway despite the presence of her lovers new friends. She dances and parades with a full confidence and swagger. The camera lingers on her body in a provocative voyeuristic fashion, demonstrating what her male audience is paying attention to. After her traumatic encounter she draws upon a well of genius, tenacity, and rage to find a way to survive. Clad in the same previously sexualized garb, cut up and damaged, and covered with blood she goes out to execute her plan of action. Her transformation feels surreal with her subsequent revenge feeling more like a fantastical imagining of how it should go down rather than how it would in another movie. Some people might see it as unrealistic, but the movie fully embraces the dream like and seemingly magical logic of Jen’s journey so it never feels like a real issue. It helps that antagonists are all characters you actively want to see suffer, so there’s a great sense of catharsis in watching Jen proceed down her bloody path. Lutz’s performance is what keeps all these elements tightly knit and effective. Despite having only a few lines in the movie, everything from the way she holds her body to the way her face reflects her mood and outlook reinforces exactly what she’s thinking and what she’s planning on doing. There’s no need for words. What she wants is clear and her previous calls for help fell on deaf ears so the time for words are over.

The way the scenery and sound design reflect the changes in Jen and her subsequent journey are what push the movie over the edge. The color scheme of the vacation house she starts off at along with her wardrobe is fun, exciting, and bright with pretty pinks and nice yellows.As she goes along her journey her outfit becomes matted in blood, becoming dark and gritty matching the hellish desert landscape. While she might’ve been the prey back in the house, out in the wild she’s the huntress. Early on there’s a beautiful closeup shot of her blood pouring out in big drops, hitting the ground (and one particularly unlucky ant) like a series of explosions. Each drop is punctuated with the sound of a gun shot. It’s a highly effective scene that marks the beginning of her transformation and indicates to the audience that the power dynamic has started to shift. Moments like these are scattered through the movie through cuts to obviously symbolic imagery, vague fantasy sequences, and poetic flourishes that feel too good to be true.

Of course none of these elements would work if not for the tightly knit, well-paced story, that knows exactly when to push on the gas pedals and when to slow down. Blood and gore are used effectively. There’s a lot of it by the end, but it feels well earned as opposed to over the top. There’s never a boring moment in the movie and once the third act gets underway the movie becomes a non-stop, white-knuckled, cat and mouse chase that has to be seen to be believed. The way the camera moves with the characters as they frantically chase after one another adds a healthy dose of tension and disorientation which keeps you wholly engaged.

REPORT CARD

TLDR	Revenge is an action packed story that subverts and plays with genre tropes and expectations to wild success. While it might feel too fantastical for those looking for an incredibly realistic revenge story, it absolutely delivers for those willing to give themselves over to the surreal way events unfold. This is a rape and revenge story that manages to keep the focus on the survivor and her journey to overcome and survive. It’s enthralling, well paced, and is packed with symbols and images that’ll have you thinking long after the run time.
Rating	9.7/10
Grade	A+

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2019, A+, Drama, Grade, Review, review-movie, romance, Year

Review: Portrait of a Lady on Fire

March 2, 2020 The Critic Leave a comment

Director(s)	Céline Sciamma
Principal Cast	Noémie Merlant as Marianne Adèle Haenel as Heloise Luàna Bajrami as Sophie
Release Date	2019
Language(s)	French
Running Time	120 minutes

Marianne, a young painter, is hired to paint the portrait of Heloise, a member of the French aristocracy for the latter’s future husband to be. The catch? She has to do it in secret without Heloise finding out because the not-so-blushing bride to be has no desire to get married. As a result she’s hired on as a companion and is forced to steal glances at her subject and commit them to memory in an effort to paint them later. What follows is a forbidden romance as the our two leading ladies guide us through a discussion of art, the relationship of the painter vs the subject, love, desire, and the functions of our gaze. It’s one of the most touching love stories I’ve had the pleasure of watching and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it since I saw it last night.

The movie is slow and deliberately paced to give every moment importance. Dialogue is slow and deliberate. Often times our leading ladies talks slowly and meticulously, accentuating the importance of the few lines of spoken dialogue that happen throughout the film. Most times conversation takes place through the series of gazes. Early on Marianne has to take note of Heloise’s features without coming off as too obvious. Meanwhile, the Heloise steals glances of the the painter-in-disguise when she’s looking away. As the relationship progresses so does the nature of the gaze. It’s genuinely amazing just how much of the story can be felt and told in this way. Both Merlant and Haenel knock it out of the park in how well they manage to convey their thoughts and emotions in their eyes. You can tell exactly what wavelength they’re on emotionally, independently, and as a couple growing more deeply in love. The desire inherent in what they’re looking at tells the real story of what’s happening between the two. Their chemistry radiates off the screen and the build-up to more crucial moments is well worth the long wait time.

On top of being rich from a narrative standpoint, the movie is packed to the brim with interesting themes. At one level the movie is about the relationship between the painter and their subject. Usually when we think of art, we think of the artist rendering the subject into a piece of art. The subject is stripped of agency and becomes an object to be transformed. However, as the painter glances at the subject, the subject glances back at the painter and a similar kind of understanding is created. At another level the movie is a profound critique of the way women are forced into social positions where their desire is redirected against their will and offers methods of overcoming those situations in realistic ways. The way that these ideas mix together in relation to each other and to the nature of a forbidden romance is touching and has given more than enough to think about. The brilliance of the movie is how each of these moments is seamlessly layered into the larger tapestry of the movie in a way that flows with the story.

Finally, as if you needed another reason, this is one of the prettiest movies I’ve ever seen. Every shot is bursting with color and the color palette on display is vibrant and highly distinct. The movie’s never boring to look at and as the island the characters are on is traversed more, the changes in scenery keep every moment feeling fresh. Every single detail is visible up to the strands of saliva that remain post kiss. If that isn’t high fidelity I don’t know what is. The way that certain shots are blocked and positioned are both visceral and thematic. My jaw dropped more than one time at the sheer artistry of certain frames. Music is used sparsely so you’re completely immersed into the scene and what the character’s are doing. When it does come into play, and believe me it does, it only exists as a kind of bow on top of a perfect present. It somehow seals the whole movie together into a pristine package.

REPORT CARD

TLDR	A Portrait of a Lady on Fire’s ingenious premise of a painter forced to paint a subject without letting them know is explored to its fullest in this queer, French, period piece that’s packed to the brim with some of 2019’s best cinematography. The way the movie tackles desire, the gaze, love, women’s social positions, art, and the relation of painters and their subjects somehow gives each topic justice while melding them together into a one of a kind experience that you shouldn’t miss. Please do yourself the service of watching this.
Rating	10/10
Grade	A+

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2020, 2020s, A+, Grade, Horror, mystery, Review, review-movie, Science Fiction, science fiction horror, Thriller, Year

Review: The Invisible Man (2020)

February 29, 2020 The Critic 2 Comments

Director(s)	Leigh Whannell
Principal Cast	Elisabeth Moss as Cecilia Oliver Jackson-Cohen as Adrian Aldis Hodge as Detective James Harriet Dyer as Emily Storm Reid as Sydney
Release Date	2020
Language(s)	English
Running Time	124 minutes

Leigh Whannell has never made a movie I haven’t enjoyed either as a screenwriter or director. The Insidious series is one of my favorite horror franchises and wouldn’t have been possible without him. 2018’s Upgrade made me appreciate how well he could move behind the camera and I was hyped up to see what he was going to do next. Then I saw the trailers for his latest feature, a remake of the iconic The Invisible Man. I’ll be honest when I say that I didn’t have faith the movie would be good. I thought the trailer spoiled too much and I thought the movie would be schlocky or boring as a result. If it wasn’t for my love of Whannell’s past works I would’ve given this a sit-out till reviews came out, like I did for Fantasy Island . Thankfully, I ended up seeing this opening night and left the theater blown away. Whanell has taken the core components of H.G Well’s beloved story and fitted them into a #MeToo movie that’s topical and nuanced without being patronizing.

The story follows Cecilia, an abused women who decides enough is enough and attempts to escape from her controlling and manipulative husband. Despite knowing that she’d escape based off the trailers , I still felt my knuckles clench during the opening sequence. It is pin drop silent as Emily Moss tip toes around the mansion that serves as her castle. You can feel her tension in every action, in every moment, in every hurried look around her settings to make sure that her husband isn’t near. Thankfully for the audience, it’s only an appetizer for what’s to come. After she manages to get out of the situation, she receives the news that her husband has apparently died from suicide and has left her a huge sum in his will. Soon after this, she settles into an apparently peaceful life, that is, until she realizes that her husband may not be dead and instead might be stalking her as an invisible man.

Whannell gets what makes invisibility scary and manages to push the concept in new, bold ways. There are moments where the camera pans from a character to a supposedly empty area. It lingers there almost hinting that the invisible assailant is in the same space. It’s almost like Whannell is taunting you to pick out where the man is. Sometimes there’s a discernible sign something is there. Other times there’s nothing. I felt myself becoming more paranoid and off kilter as I desperately tried to find him in the frame. It’s brilliant move that places you in Cecilia’s frame of mind. Once she realizes she’s being stalked, no space is a safe space. Any space could house “him” in it and she constantly has to be on high alert at all times. The ingenuity of panning to different kids of empty settings is we’re never made aware if the titular antagonist is actually there. We, the audience and Cecilia, might just be staring at nothing, scaring ourselves at the idea of what’s there. It creates an immersive atmosphere that should pull anyone in , regardless of gender or sex.

What gives the movie it’s unique subtext is also one of the main differences between it and the 1933 original- the focus on the perspective of the victim and not the assailant. We follow Cecilia the whole movie, so the fear of being pursued by an invisible assailant feels more personal as opposed to detached. There’s a stronger sense of culpability which makes us even more sympathetic of the main character’s plight. That’s why it feels so frustrating to see her rebuffed at every opportunity. Of course it would sound crazy to talk about how you’re being stalked by your invisible dead husband. Even when the malevolent entity is literally in the room invading her space and psyche, no one believes her. It’s a poignant #MeToo call , as Cecilia desperately tries to get anyone to believe her abuse and help her. The fear of losing ones mind from constant gaslighting compliments and accentuates the fear of invisibility. It gives the movie layers of textured horror.

At the heart of all of this is Elisabeth Moss’s performance as Cecilia. Holy shit. Moss is asked to do so much this movie and delivers on all fronts. Early on when she’s just escaping, she nails the dread and anxiety of leaving her abuser. The uncertainty of her precautions working shows in her face and her constant glances. When she thinks her husband is dead you can see her body language change. Her face brightens and you can feel the hope set in, which is why when she realizes that he may not be as dead as everyone says, it hurts. You can see the confidence tear as it’s replaced by anxiety and paranoia again. The fatigue, the weariness, the feeling of being absolutely done; it’s all there. There are huge scenes where she’s literally talking to nothing visible in the room, but you feel like someone else is there, because maybe there is. When she starts to fight back, you can feel the fight or flight in her desperation and/or her tenacity. She’s the emotional core of the movie and without such an amazing performance, the story would fail to be as effective of compelling.

There are a few story issues that threaten the underlying logic of the movie, but I didn’t notice them in the moment. Some of them feel like more serious realism issues . Others are more nitpicky. However, none of them detracted from my enjoyment or from the story in a meaningful way. If you’re someone who can’t turn the “but how could they even” part of your brain off, you might get frustrated with some of thriller sequences in the second act. Thankfully, I was able to ignore that inner voice and just let myself be transported into Whannell’s world.

Report Card

TLDR	The Invisible Man knocks it out of the park. It captures the essential ideas of the original movie, but manages to make them more topical for our day and age. The story of an abused wife being stalked by her supposedly dead, abusive husband manages to surprise more than the trailers would let on. Whannell manages to deliver some well earned scares alongside an incredibly relevant message in the #MeToo era.
Rating	9.5/10
Grade	A+

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2010s, 2015, A+, Drama, Grade, Horror, mystery, Review, review-movie, supernatural, Year

Review: The Witch

February 11, 2020 The Critic Leave a comment

Director(s)	Robert Eggers
Principal Cast	Anya Taylor-Joy as Thomasin Ralph Ineson as William Kate Dickie as Katherine Harvey Scrhimshaw as Caleb Ellie Grainger as Mercy Lucas Dawson as Jonas
Release Date	2015
Language(s)	English
Running Time	93 minutes

After I had first seen The Witch, I was convinced the movie I saw and the general audience saw were completely different, because there’s absolutely no way someone could see this masterpiece and walk away thinking it’s only at 58% (as per Rotten Tomatoes audience score). Eggers’s period piece set in Puritanical times is a well-crafted, deeply layered story, that examines the deterioration of an incredibly religious family that finds themselves dealing with crises of faith and the very real threat of witches in the forest around them.

There’s no time wasted establishing the stakes and rules of the world the lead family finds themselves in. After William, the patriarch, refuses to bend to his community’s religious views, decrying them as sacrilege, his family finds themselves exiled, forced to find a new home in the wilderness. Soon after disaster strikes, the family finds themselves assaulted by the presence of supernatural happenings, a sense of constant disarray, maddening paranoia, and severe blows to their faith in the Almighty.

Eggers really nails the look and feel of the New England world we find ourselves within. The costumes all feel and look accurate and the subsequent way they get dirtied or marred with impure elements makes the movie feel gritty and rugged. Dialogue is on point and you can tell that there was a lot of effort put into keeping things honest and precise. I have found the experience to be better after watching the movie with subtitles, just so I could see all the dialogue, but after reading it I can confirm it really is as good as I thought it was. All this attention to detail ensures that are no distracting anachronisms that would otherwise distract us from the drama at play. I found myself completely immersed in the world around our lead family and as a result was completely engrossed in every little moment and action. I never felt the effects of the slower pacing, because I was lost in the experience of watching the family struggle against their obstacles.

Every character is fleshed out and feels like an integral part of the world. Anya Taylor-Joy absolutely kills it as Thomasin and sells the conflict integral to her character’s core. There are tons of close-up shots of her face, each demonstrating her reaction to the events around her. She manages to balance teen angst with religious turmoil culminating in a well-developed spiritual and emotional journey. The exploration of her characters growth as a guilty “sinner” combined with the period’s treatment of women lends itself to an interesting feminist journey that offers some nuanced thoughts about community, agency, and the relationship between women and children. Ineson’s portrayal of a religious man, too fueled by his ego to compromise on what counts as scripture, but so genuinely caring for his family that he sheds tears for their sake, strikes a strange blow at expectations. You’d think someone so hotheaded that they’d let their family get kicked out of a community would be prone to bursts of rage and insolence, but William comes off as a man just trying to do what he personally thinks is best for the family, even if he’s incapable of slowing down long enough to figure out what that is. Dicke is great as the mother, Katherine, and emotes her weariness and fatigue to great effect. Her latter interactions with Joy and Ineson are some of the most dramatic moments in the movie and add to the discourse on the place of women. Scrhimshaw is great as Caleb, the middle child of the family, and absolutely steals the show in latter portions of the movie, channeling some transcendental acting in a scene you won’t soon forget. Grainger and Dawson have fairly convincing child performances and kept their own in the serious setting.

Speaking of setting , did I mention that the movie looks and sounds amazing? Mark Korven’s score is absolutely ethereal and makes moments pop when it comes into play. It never tries to take a scene over. It only exists to accompany the eerie feeling and tense atmosphere. You really notice it because the movie is silent for the most part, choosing to focus on long shots that drive home the emotions underlying the scene. The movie employs a series of closeup shots, which give you great mental pictures of what’s running through the characters’ heads. You can gaze into their eyes, notice the way their face darts and moves, and see what’s happening underneath.

Finally, the movie is rich with themes but works as a surface-level story as well. The narrative is tight and filled with believable characterization. The presence of the supernatural is confirmed early on, because the focus of the horror is the unwinding family dynamic. Each character’s relation to their faith is altered/exacerbated because of the family’s expulsion from the colony, so the whole unit experiences a discordant crisis of faith. The events in the story would be horrifying if you were a devout Christian living back in those times and living through them would be a real hell. That gives the movie a layer of historical nuance that grounds its fears into the world the characters live in. The reason I can still remember the shocking moments from The Witch is because they happen sparingly, are never done for pure shock value,and add to the theme or previous character threads. There’s a purpose to each scare which gives the movie tons of re-watch value. It’s a movie you can watch to watch, or watch to analyze, and if you’re someone who enjoys slower paced movies, there’s a lot to get out of this.

Report Card

TLDR	The Witch is a masterful period horror that examines the disintegration of an exiled Puritan family forced to find a new life for themselves in the abandoned woods. Historically accurate dialogue, immaculate costume design, an ethereal and well-placed score, and gorgeous symmetrical close ups await those of you who can deal with a slower movie that relies on atmosphere instead of jump scares. The movies treatment of religion, ideology, and feminist thought are interesting and anyone interesting in watching those ideas intersect need to give this a try.
Rating	10/10
Grade	A+

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2010s, 2018, A+, Bollywood, Comedy, Grade, Horror, Review, review-movie, supernatural, Year

Review: Stree

February 10, 2020 The Critic 2 Comments

Director(s)	Amar Kaushik
Principal Cast	Shraddha Kapoor as the mysterious woman Rajkummar Rao as Vicky Aparshakti Kurana as Bittu Abishek Banerjee as Jaana Pankaj Tripathi as Rudra
Release Date	2018
Language(s)	Hindi
Running Time	128 minutes

This highly slept on horror comedy follows Vicky, a tailor with genius abilities who becomes smitten with an unknown woman who shows up during his town’s esoteric festival/ritual meant to ward off a man-snatching spirit aptly named Stree (which means woman in Hindi). As the supernatural situation gets more tense, suspicions run high, as everyone is desperate to find a way to stop the abductions. The movie expertly plays with audience expectations, subverting them in ways that are clever and well laid out by a directorial bread crumb trail. Watching the mystery unfold is a treat and the movie will keep you on edge up till the very end.

If you’re familiar with Indian politics,the country’s social setting, or grew up with family/close friends that filled your heads with stories about those things, the movie will stand out even more in how well it effectively utilizes both horror and comedy to critique gender roles, religious manipulation, and the discrepancy between the customs of different generations. By leading into these serious discussions with a comedic touch, the horrifying “lessons” ,so to say, both highlight the repercussions of actions that aren’t taken seriously today, while never coming off as too preachy. From urinating on the wall, to prostitution, to sex talks, the movie knows how to approach the broad variety of topics it wants to talk about with great care. Tonal balance is definitely here and the movie never loses focus on what it’s trying to do.

There’s more than one moment that reminded me of interactions I had in my youth, and I laughed at how genuine and real the dialogue sounded. This is obviously helped by the great performances from the leading cast members. Rao absolutely nails it as Vicky, a dopey, awkward, romantic with aspirations of moving out and ahead in life. He’s comical enough to laugh at, but not so comical to render the issues he goes through less serious. Kapoor captures the ambivalence of the mysterious woman to a T and constantly kept me guessing as to what really drove her. Every side character is interesting from Vicky’s father to the town’s resident bookkeeper. Even if you can’t keep track of all the names, they’re all written with a real humaneness so you care about them. I can still tell you exactly what each character was about, so that’s a credit to how fleshed out everyone comes off.

If you’re someone who likes Bollywood, you’ll be glad to know this movie manages to incorporate the flair and passion you normally get in an mainstream Indian movie, but ties it down into a wholly unique plot that demonstrates serious writing ingenuity. There’s even an item song that’s incorporated both as an injection of a fun vibrant energy and as a way to highlight the themes at play. Offering a unique story is hard enough but managing to do that while playing to convention is something else. Sound design is excellent and the music can be scary and exciting at the same time. By playing up the normal romcom ideas we expect to see and adding a supernatural twist to the background those affairs take place in, the movie manages to keep the audience constantly guessing what’s going to happen. There’s more than one moment that had me nervously laughing, both because of the comedic tension of the situation at play and the fear that something horrendous would happen.

Despite my glowing praise, there are some plot elements that stand out as being less developed than others. It makes sense given the breadth of what the movie is trying to do, but those little moments feel like they could’ve really cemented some of the themes. Thankfully, a sequel is due to come out , so I’m excited to see how this creative team will answer or develop these threads.

REPORT CARD

TLDR	Stree is a one of a kind horror comedy that mixes traditional Bollywood elements with a one of a kind ghost story. If you’re familiar with India’s culture/social history, the movie really shines as a critique of some of the country’s most pressing issues. With the sequel coming out soon, there’s no better than than now to watch this masterpiece.
Rating	9.5/10
Grade	A+

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2010s, 2019, A+, Drama, Grade, Review, review-movie, romance, Year

Review: Little Women (2019)

February 4, 2020 The Critic Leave a comment

Director(s)	Greta Gerwig
Principal Cast	Saoirse Ronan as Jo March Florence Pugh as Amy March Emma Watson as Meg March Eliza Scanlen as Beth March Laura Dern as Marmee March Timothee Chalamet as Laurie
Release Date	2019
Language(s)	English
Running Time	135 minutes

That settles that. I’m watching Ladybird as soon as I can. After having experienced the feel-good delight that is Little Women, I’m more than excited to watch more Gerwig and am super excited for whatever she does next. I came into this movie as someone who has not read the original book or seen any other adaptation (I want to read the book now and then watch the movie again to see how it fared as an adaptation) . I only decided to see it because it was nominated for best picture and I’m glad I did.

The story is a coming-of-age story that follows the women of the March family, four daughters and their mother, Marmee, who are forced to maintain the household as their father is out fighting in the Civil War. Every single daughter is driven and has their own set of passions. Meg, the eldest, has acting aspirations. Jo, the second oldest, wants to be a author and writes stories to get money. Amy, next in line, is more spoiled and wants to be an artist. Beth, the youngest, loves music and wants to be happy with her family. The movie cuts between this past and the present (set a few years later) seamlessly, juxtaposing each of the girls idealistic younger selves with their more worn and mature selves. It creates an expectation because you know what’s going to come, but also a sense of mystery because you want to see how we go from point A to B.

This sense of mystery keeps the movie fresh from a storytelling perspective and happens seamlessly in the background, without you realizing it. I knew that we were going back and forth, but I was never focused on it. My brain just automatically accepted it. Editing and scene placement is on point and it creates a piece that seems to reveal information at precisely the right time. There are meta-narrative moments that are placed perfectly in the third act and allow for a lot of interesting interpretative leeway (I’m assuming on purpose) that I can’t help but admire, especially after reading about the movie and the stories original writer, Louisa May Alcott. Every thread comes together at precisely the right time and it makes the whole experience an emotionally satisfying roller-coaster. I would go from feeling sad, to feeling hopeful , to laughing, to tearing up, to feeling inspired, to some combination of any of these, and all the feelings in between and I never once felt any kind of tonal whiplash. The only issue I felt was ,because there’s no clear passage of time, certain character decisions in the latter portions of the movie feel rushed given the the gravity of what they are. It’s a fleeting issue that didn’t bother me too much in the moment, but after finishing the movie I did feel like some of the later portions of the movie feel less earned.

Acting, characterization, and dialogue are almost always impeccable. Every conversation feels real because each actor/actress nails their motivations from their cadence to their body language. It’s hard to praise any performance in particular because all of them, especially each of the titular “Little Women” completely feels in the moment. Saying that, I have to be honest on how impressed I was with Florence Pugh. I already thought she was amazing in Midsommar – being able to portray grief and anguish in an very visceral way. After this, I’m in awe of her acting range. She gives Amy a real brattiness and sense of indulgence in the earlier timeline and projects a lot of maturity and pragmatism in the latter timeline. It’s a surprising blend that had me rooting for her character, in spite of the kind of horrendous things her character does.

The movie is packed to the brim with tons of relatable themes. Despite having a particularly feminist flair, the movie is for everyone. It’s not trying to exclude or ostracize. It never comes off as preachy. The ways that it critiques gender roles, women’s treatment in society, and the functions of marriage are all relevant and presented fairly and naturally. I thought the discourse on marriage as a communion predicated on love versus social ladder was made even more interesting by placing it in front of a discussion of a woman’s agency. If that’s not your groove, the movie tackles common issues we’ve all gone through- being nervous of pursuing our dreams, thinking we’re not good enough, balancing dreams with financial concerns, and trying to find love in a world that often times alienates us. There’s something in here for everyone.

REPORT CARD

TLDR	Little Women is the feel good movie of 2019. The March family’s coming-of-age story has something for everyone and will have you laughing,crying,smirking, and glued to the screen the whole time. A fun time for the whole family with a ton of messages to boot.
Rating	9.7/10
Grade	A+

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2020, 2020s, Fantasy, Grade, Horror, Past, Review, review-movie, S, supernatural, Thriller, Year

Film Review: Gretel & Hansel – 2020

February 1, 2020 The Critic 1 Comment

Director(s)	Osgood Perkins
Principal Cast	Sophia Lillis as Gretel Alice Krige as Holda Sam Leaky as Hansel
Release Date	2020
Language(s)	English
Running Time	87 minutes
Report Card	Click to go Review TLDR/Summary

We open on a black frame as a narrator invites us to listen to her tale, a story which “holds a lesson” that “might keep” its childish listeners “safe.” This is the story of “the Beautiful Child with the little pink cap.”

We cut to a scene of labor. A child is born to a couple through great pain and we’re treated to beautiful shots of the environment (utilizing both depth and blocking to accentuate the milieu in highly evocative fashion) of her upbringing.

This child is ill and her father (Jonathan Delaney Tynan) seeks alliance with an enchantress (Melody Carrillo), a denizen of “darkness”, who can heal any ailment. Her father bravely trusts the powers of this iconic figure, one whose silhouetted presence in a distinctive triangle emphasizes her narrative importance and the extent of her domain. The framing of her reveal needs no other dialogue to highlight her power.

A treatment is given and an ooze is extracted from the child, the illness rendered corporeal; in its place, a gift is given: the child (Giulia Doherty) is granted “second sight.” The film marks this transition from the witch to the child with a wonderful, dream-like dissolve which emphasizes the mystical connection between the two figures.

The town, eager to hear their futures, is ultimately made uncomfortable by the girl who predicts their “bitter” ends, an emotional response which is only exacerbated by the manner in which the gifted child ensures her prophecies come through via her use of supernatural gifts ; she even goes so far as to execute her father, the man who braved everything in his journey to heal his daughter, by hypnotizing him into taking his own life.

The child is returned to the deep woods, an attempt to isolate and seal the darkness resulting from her presence. But the girl, far from powerless, acquires new “friends”, the undead resurrected, who surround her in lieu of her former town and family.

With the tale concluded, the narrator warns her audience to be wary of gifts, those who offer them, and the willing benefactors willing to take them.

Fittingly, the “Beautiful Child” stares menacingly towards the audience, a 4th-wall breaking shot which serves as a wonderful footnote to the nature of the monologue so far, affirming to the audience that the deconstruction of the fairy tale will start promptly as the evils lurking behind the fantastical framework of the narrative form will be allowed to break through.

We cut to black and travel upwards through the reaching limbs of crooked trees, an evocation of the forest which served as the point of abandonment and magical mystery, before the iconic triangle, the symbol of the powerful enchantress, pops up back in frame and captures the film’s name within its domain, a title, Gretel & Hansel, which inverses the order of its Grimm fairy tale counterpart, Hansel and Gretel.

Gretel (Sophia Lillis) walks through the woods as the camera tracks her.

Then, we’re entreated to new narration, one that operates in a psychic conversation with the opening, deconstructing the gendered apparatus of fairy tales and the way they subordinate identity through strict normative paradigms and establishing the thematic posturing of the film itself: a genealogy examining the fairy tale as heuristic along with its gendered machinations and the manners in which they frame the morals commonplace to the format.

This switch of type of narration — narrating a fable (third-person) versus narrating the subjective thoughts of one’s own life (first-person) — is visually indicated in the change in the frame’s ratio which goes from a wide, elongated, epic shot to a more personate, intimate shot; we’re going from a tale told externally to one told internally.

Our new narrator, a young girl, Gretel (Sophia Lillis), refers back to the story of “the Beautiful Child with the little pink cap” and remarks on the manners in which such tales can “get” into one’s head like the way this fable has burrowed itself into hers. She examines and questions the nature of the tale, the history of how its come to be burrowed within her psyche, and the manners by which real stories are elevated into the grandiose mythical encounters. Finally, she laments on the way “princes” come in and resolve a good portion of such stories, rendering the question of the female characters’ agencies a trite manner.

But there are no princes in her surroundings. Her tale will be a different one, focused on a journey of femininity finding itself in a world that seeks to consume this freedom through its socialization processes. The film’s titular choice begins to poke through as we understand the vantage point that will color it.

Her quest for agency begins with a journey where her brother, Hansel (Sam Leakey), a young boy, questions her incessantly as she walks with him through a forest in search of a job.

The siblings come to stand in front of an expansive building, press their faces against one another, and grunt like pigs, affirming their solidarity and making us aware of their struggles. Their choice to celebrate their relationship through an animalistic parlance reminds us of the underlying manner by which fables utilize non-human creatures to impart messages and simultaneously reinforces a motif of consumption (the children, acting as animals which are traditionally rendered food, are seeking labor in order to acquire nourishment)— a reminder that lurks ominously in the backdrop given the source material.

Gretel sits in an interview room, silhouetted against wondrous stained-glass windows.

Her interview quickly devolves into a didactic interplay as her interviewer (Donncha Crowley) quickly corrects Gretel when she openly speaks her mind and criticizes the bureaucratic structures which oppress her brother and her. He tells her to address him as “milord” and questions her “maidenhood”, quickly affirming the oppressive milieu and reminding Gretel of her uniquely vulnerable, feminine place within the social apparatus.

The shot tracks Gretel (Sophia Lillis) as she walks back home.

We know that things have gone poorly when Gretel rushes out of the location, brother in tow, as the rain pounds on them accentuating her failure in procuring employment. She questions whether or not it would have been proper to slap the man for his controlling, disgusting demeanor and the camera, fully focused on her face and tracking her movements, imparts her deliberation with a subjective heft that emphasizes her agency. But before we get an answer, the film cuts to her house, framing both Hansel and Gretel within the closed-off and darkened boundaries demarcating it.

The manor, lit in a depressing, overwhelming blue makes the siblings’ mother’s (Fiona O’Shaughnessy) chastisement of Gretel sting all the harder. Gretel is questioned as to her insolence but attempts to push back against the unfair debasement. Yet, the matriarch continues and tells Gretel that the latter must leave. There’s not enough room in this house for “ghosts”, a haunting proclamation which ties the house and its inhabitants towards death, and Gretel is told to take her brother and try to make it to a convent.

Gretel argues logistics but her mother quickly ends the conversation, telling her daughter that if they’re unable to do as much, they should dig their own graves and make sure to make one for their mother as well. She reaches over to her daughter, places their faces against one another, and grunts like a pig; yet, the utterance is perverse, an explicit acceptance of annihilation, a far cry from the earlier evocation which hinted at perseverance in the face of tribulations.

Immediately, this disjoint is emphasized. A loud thud shocks as an axe falls onto the table and the matriarch threatens to kill her children if they do not leave; the family unit is broken apart and must be re-forged once more.

Gretel (Sophia Lillis) and Hansel (Sam Leakey) are covered by the forest.

As a result, the siblings find themselves swallowed in the “terrible mouth” of the forest, a metaphorical rendering which paints the world as a consumptive machine with its denizens being nothing more than foodstuffs waiting for their turn to eaten, subject to the whims of the trees stretching across the backdrop, limbs reaching down for the next tasty morsel, and the hazy fog pervading the area, obscuring their fates and diminishing their presence; they are truly at the whims of nature.

Hansel, innocently unaware of the gravity of the situation, questions Gretel on her obstinance to accepting the seemingly easy solutions to their problems. If she had just accepted the earlier offer of employment and subjected herself to the decorum required of the same, the family might still be together; food (particularly cake) might be on the horizon. But Gretel, unperturbed by the childish problem-solving, explains the reality of the world: “Nothing is given without something else being taken away.”

While her use of the adage is in reference to the sexual politicking she had to and will have to navigate, there’s a uncomfortable undercurrent catalyzed due to the nature of the opening’s tale of the girl whose illness was traded for power; sickness is transfigured not as purely negative, an impediment stopping natural functions, but instead as metonymical humanity, one that has been traded for supernatural powers; humanity, and it’s reliance on over-arching norms, poison from a certain point-of-view, agreed to upon by the powers that be, is rendered fungible and can be sacrificed for that which exists beyond in the realm of the supernatural.

This overarching connection, subtly implied through the film’s posturing, lingers in the air like the malevolent fog surrounding the kids and makes Gretel’s plan to find shelter at another woman’s house suspect, especially when she reveals that she sees this abode not through her normal vision but through some special sight.

The two tepidly approach a solitary building with a fire out front and enter the dim, cavernous building with flickering lights. They decide to rest in a bed and we see a top-down view of them oriented upside-down — domesticity has been established but at an unseen cost is waiting to let itself be made known.

The situation completely flips on itself, when a hidden figure (Jonathan Gunning) slowly rises behind Gretel as the siblings attempt to comfort one another, stripping away any sense of security and warmth the duo had managed to clench onto.

The kids run out of the building but the menacing man takes hold of Hansel in the chaos. Gretel attempts to take him out, injuring his eye and rendering him even more of a monstrosity, but he only appears to get more powerful, threatening to bring the duo’s journey to a premature halt.

Suddenly, an arrow flies through the man’s head and removes him from the equation. A huntsman (Charles Babalola), framed neatly in the doorway of the building announcing his presence, comes forward and takes the children in before questioning them about their unfortunate circumstances. They converse in room lit by a musky, yellow haze which saturates the area, making grime on the children’s’ faces more prominent and pessimistically highlighting the realities of what they must do in order to survive.

Hansel (Sam Leaky), Gretel (Sophia Lillis), and the Huntsman (Charles Babalola) sit around the dimly lit table, enshrined by yellow hues.

The huntsman offers to help the two by leading them towards labor, work defined by explicit gender roles that remind Gretel of the way her femininity has been coded and the way she can be taken (in even the darkest senses of the term) by the realm of men. However, with no other options, the two acquiesce to the huntsman’s suggestions and depart the location; all the while, Gretel questions the coincidence of the encounter and its fantastical nature, neatly tying her journey back to the earlier discussion about fairy tales.

The siblings once again journey through the forest and director Oz Perkins uses a series of nice dissolves which accentuates the environment’s fogginess and the dreaminess of the endeavor.

While taking a break, Hansel once again breaks into a tirade of childish inquisitions and Gretel is forced into an uncomfortable position, forced to deal with her younger brother’s lack of knowledge regarding sexual processes (and the disturbing manners in which gender roles are implicated in them) and the responsibilities that she faces in spite of her own young age. He believes in the fairy tales about procreation involving children being delivered by birds while she knows the involves processes underlying such myth, but her only response is sardonic disavowal instead of deeper explanation; what else is she to do?

Gretel (Sophia Lillis) looks out into the forest.

He asks her to tell him the “pink cap” story again but she refuses, not willing to scare him and cause him to fall victim to delusions: the repetition of the story will only exacerbate their unwieldy conditions and cause the younger of them to see things which “aren’t there.” But as the older sibling looks into the woods and sees the silhouettes of enchanters in the forest, covered in the haze, we’re left wondering as to the nature of her visions and feel the pernicious effects of the story in her psyche that she alluded to earlier. Is her warning to Hans based off her own circumstances or is she truly gifted with a second sight like the character from the fable embedded within her?

Nighttime falls and the journey becomes increasingly treacherous. A solitary silhouette stands in the forest blocking the children’s path and the camera slowly zooms onto it. What does it want?

A whisper: “Gretel”.

Then, a dark bird, an evocation of the supernatural, flies up ending the moment. The figure is missing and reality becomes suspect. We’re left wondering the figure’s motivations and its reasoning for reaching out to Gretel while being unsure of its status as dream or reality.

Gretel (Sophia Lillis) narrates until she is interrupted by a noise.

Back in the daytime, Gretel narrates again about her powers and how her mother told her to put such thoughts out of her head, but this internal discussion is interrupted by an unseen noise which Gretel begins to trek towards. The interruption in thought reveals the “real-time” aspect of the film proper, informing us that this tale, unlike the fairy tale, is far from set in stone and is being carved out. The camera adopts a handheld quality as it tracks her, imbuing the shot with a subjectivity that affirms this moment of urgent agency.

We’re initially tense with her. Is this her nightly visitor coming back again?

No.

It’s just Hansel, who bored in the moment, is “practicing” his craft by whacking a stick against a tree, an affirmation of his future role as a manly woodcutter. A wide shot that frames the duo within a larger scope of the trees and reveals the truth of the situation: objectivity reigns once more.

Initially, Gretel is cross with her brother for worrying her but the discord is cut through as the two affirm their piggish bond, coming closer within a more enclosed frame, and continue forwards.

Gretel runs towards mushrooms framed in the foreground.

Incredibly hungry, they come towards mushrooms growing on the forest floors, growths which appear prominently framed in the foreground. Gretel dresses the moment up with make-believe, pretending to talk to the fungus (although given her claims of magic, we’re also slightly convinced that her dialogue may in fact be real) and gets the “okay” to eat them. Hansel eagerly accepts her affirmation and the two eat the mushrooms.

We cut to the delirium: both children are framed in their own spaces and the two laugh before the soundscape becomes more intense. Hansel becomes perturbed and begins to walk out of his position. An immediate cut disorients us, as the continuity of Hansel’s trajectory within Gretel’s shot is whiplash-inducing in how it changes our spatial perception of the environment the two are in.

Figures, once again hidden in the fog, appear in response to this spatial schism, and call to question the reality of the setting. Are they a drug induced vision or something more nefarious?

Then, another childish whisper: “Follow me. Come and find me. Follow me, sister.”

A carriage pops out of view, once again usurping our orientation of the environment through the intentionally obfuscating editing; where did this vehicle come from and where is it in reference to the children?

The questions only pile up as the visuals continue to become more abstracted as; suddenly, we cut to “the Beautiful child” and a woman in a carriage lit in impossibly deep blues, a luminescence similar to the children’s’ house at night. Then, the dream temporarily abates, leaving only questions in its wake.

A gate frames the siblings as they walk towards the source of the voice and they find a partially hidden doll-like figures on the floor, a sign of civilization and a marker of lost innocence, that points them towards a house where the smells of cake are overwhelming and tempt the hungry children desperate for any source of meaningful consumption.

But the revelation of the triangular structure of the house informs us of what we now know: this is the abode of absolute power.

Yet, the sibling’s drive to consume overwhelms all other senses and notions of common sense. Gretel cautiously peers into the house, one lit in ominous yellows, but her eye, framed within a triangular peephole, a confirmation of the overarching architecture, sees only a bountiful feast on a table. There is only one goal Gretel and Hansel care for now: satiating their hunger which takes full control of their faculties.

Hansel sneaks in with Gretel’s help and starts to steal foodstuffs. But then, a figure appears from the background (seemingly out of nowhere like the horrific emaciated man from earlier), isolated in a doorframe, and whisks Hansel away with the flip of her cloak. Unfortunately, there are no princes (or huntsmen) to save the duo from their current perils and the older sister is tasked with figuring out her own solution to the major impediment facing her.

She decides to throw a rock at the building in an attempt to save her brother but is unable to make any meaningful dent as the projectile weakly bounces off the abode. While she begins to start a fire in another rescue attempt, the woman (Alice Krige) and Hansel come out and the former warns the young woman to not “start something that she can’t stop”, clearly alluding to a more sinister double meaning lurking beneath the words.

Gretel (Sophia Lillis) finally decides to eat the food gifted to her.

Finally, the visions and reality collide: Gretel is tasked with dealing with this strange and mysterious woman, a seemingly kind soul named Holda, who offers the first positive words in regards to Gretel’s femininity and the roles available to her. With no other path to turn down, Gretel joins her brother and begins to consume the bounty in front of her all while the elderly woman takes a strand of Hansel’s hair and stores it away.

The opening’s warning, made all the more poignant due to the slow burn nature of the narrative creepily crawling towards this preluded epiphany, is brought to sinister light as all the visible pieces — gifts (the food and boarding), those who offer them (Holda herself), and the willing benefactors willing to take them (Gretel & Hansel) — make us eerily aware that a cost will have to be paid when the battle between the parties plays out.

Perkins perfectly encapsulates the nature of this triangular antagonism through the metaphor of chess; as the children get acquainted with Holda she has them play the great strategic game and uses the pieces and rules to further extend the gender discourse: “the king is afraid, and he should be. Because the queen can do whatever she wants.” In this battle to determine her own fate against the powers that be and seek to domesticate her, Gretel is tasked to play in this game, her opponent being the woman who seeks to educate her, the other “queen” on the other side of the board.

The characters (and their affects) become pieces in an overarching game and the cinematographic decisions reflect as much, demonstrating the effects of their movements on the wider state of the “board”.

The primary players are typically framed in manners that never highlight their entire body (usually in medium shots) with the characters in the center of the frame (usually in the lowest vertical register of the frame at that) to emphasize the characters’ subjectivity and their current situation. In addition, these types of shot usually isolate the character by themselves, emphasizing their status as individual pieces. This makes shots where characters intercede in another’s space immediately evocative, suggesting that a “power play” is occurring even if the nature of the maneuver is not immediately apparent.

Tracking shots, both stable and handheld, follow the characters as they make specific decisions —movements on the board in order to strike the enemy down. The speed of these shots is perfectly calibrated, going as slowly or quickly as the moments need, carefully establishing just who really is in control of a situation.

Wide shots, which usually are the only such shots to reveal characters’ entire bodies, represent the results of the clashes by respective parties which is why they emphasize the totality of the players qua pieces and their surroundings.

The film oscillates between these visual registers, taking advantage of elliptical editing and the Kuleshov effect to visually depict how each respective party asserts their power within this (primarily) psychological space. We see them isolated thinking of their next move, privy to their pressing interests and their psychological states due to the symbolically rich and evocative mise-en-scène (in particular, the lighting achieved through the stained glass). We see the momentum of their agency as we see them proceed towards action. Then, the battlespace is revealed and we can re-assess who’s “winning” before the next “move” is played.

This flow in the film’s rhythm is what keeps it captivating, accentuating the poetic flourishes of the script’s dialogue and buoying the weaker such parts (usually involving either dialogue that’s too on the nose for it’s own good or, less often, line deliveries which bely the tone of the scenarios in which they’re spoken) with visual schemas that safeguard the tense, oneiric mood (even during basic shot-reverse-shot sequences). Even when the story goes slower, quieting its more traditional narrative in favor of affective mood-setting, the heart of the battle is always present within the frame, captivating any viewer willing to parse the piece’s form.

Even without the schematic underpinnings imbuing the frames with their respective meanings, Perkins and his cinematographer, Galo Olivares, achieve a fairy tale aesthetic that’s oozing in personality. Watching the film is akin to viewing a moving storybook, filled with breathtaking and nightmarish images that certainly dip their toes in surrealism to great effect.

The score operates in a harmonious (mostly) subdued sense, augmenting the mood but never overdetermining the moments with an unearned elicitation of feeling due to the music alone. The effect is one that surprises as we’re caught unaware when the sonorous stylings do rear their head during the profound moments when characters’ make legitimate headway in their strategies.

It’s no surprise then that the film has still struggled with finding its audience as its focus is less on the story and more on the nature of its telling; the fairy tale is merely a springboard to discuss the ideas inherent within the narrative form and the film’s exploration of these vis-à-vis the particular mode of film, the nature of the image and the ways they can have an impact on the psyche of the viewer through the way the assert implicit meaning and connection, allows the viewer to disappear within the world of the film, fully captured within texture of the frame. The measured pacing and lack of conventional narrative thrust intentionally forces the viewer to play the film’s game on its terms, a decision which may alienate those looking for a more propulsive, kinetic horror experience; however, by that same token, the confident formal and aesthetic decisions should also earn the film fans itching for a mood piece which reckons with genre in a lush, painterly manner as it excavates the darkness present within the popular childhood fable.

REPORT CARD

TLDR	Gretel and Hansel is a beautiful looking, slow-burn telling of the Grimm Brother’s fairy tail with a feminist slant that plays perfectly within director Oz Perkins moody, evocative wheelhouse. While the script fails him at times, the depth he’s able to imbue through his direction, which prioritizes mood over narrative propulsion, elevates the piece and makes it a truly haunting experience for viewers willing to lose themselves in the film’s spell.
Rating	10/10
Grade	S

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2010s, 2016, A+, Art House, Grade, Horror, mystery, psychological, Review, review-movie, supernatural, Thriller, Year

Review: I Am the Pretty Thing That Lives in the House

January 31, 2020 The Critic Leave a comment

Director(s)	Osgood Perkins
Principal Cast	Ruth Wilson as Lily Saylor Paula Prentiss as Iris Blum Lucy Boynton as Polly Parsons Bob Balaban as Mr. Waxcap
Release Date	2016
Language(s)	English
Running Time	87 minutes

When I heard that Oz Perkins was releasing his next film I was more than excited. Despite having heaps of garbage, Netflix has a surprising number of gems, and under Perkins’ deft hand, I hoped one more could be added to the library. Thankfully, I was right. Perkins had taken the slow burn elements from his first movie, The Blackcoat’s Daughter, and amped them up to create a surreal almost ethereal audio-visual experience. This is not the movie for people who want jump scares, answers, or a clear story-line. It’s thought provoking, suspenseful, mesmerizing, and pays off in the way it executes its ideas rather than being a spectacle for spectacle’s sake.

The movie follows the intersecting tales of three women and their independent yet related interactions within a house. It opens up with a narration from Lily, a nurse who informs us of her incoming death in the house, as a specter. She recounts her journey in the house from the beginning, when she came in as live-in-nurse to help famed horror author, Iris Blum. As strange things happen in the house, the audience joins Lily through a visceral, strange, and out of bounds journey that always raises questions, but rarely answers them in direct ways.

Wilson does a great job as the lead. As the narrator she channels a strange melancholy aura . It’s eerie and hearing her solemnly narrating her eventual death makes that feeling even more intense. However, as her corporeal self, she’s just a poor nurse trying to do her job in a wonky household. She’s not looking for trouble and comes off as endearing. Despite being different, both performances are believable and knowing where Lily’s eventual journey is going to go, makes analyzing her narrative intonations that much more interesting. Wilson makes you want to know why it happened.

The movie fascinated me in its exploration of death and the way it furnishes a source of meaning between people. Everyone has an impact on each other, so even when they die they never vanish. There’s an impact to their existence that pervades and expands, filling out cracks and crevices. The movie makes that idea more literal by having a spectral Lily narrate portions of the movie. There’s a strange perverse pleasure in knowing that the lead you’re following is dead and talks about their death as though they’re still very much there. This is also why the ending worked so well for me. It’s not grandiose in a traditional sense, but it really pulls together all the thematic and story threads in a neat package.

Despite being only 87 minutes, Perkins also knows how to create a sense of dread and eeriness. Shots are slow and diverse. There are gorgeous panning shots and zoom ins that highlight how alone/not alone Lily really is in the house. The camera lingers on the faces of our actresses in a way that flips a masculine gaze. A pretty thing in the frame, but it’s framed for something tragic and otherworldly, rendering it as something that’s difficult to process. There are also no cheap jump scares. Things come into frame and linger. Their presence is what’s terrifying. Not some crazy noise that tells you to be scared of it. That being said, I thought some of the shots felt excessive. I wished there were a few more scenes thrown in that showed more of the mystery of the lives of our lead women ( I would talk about them but that’d be a spoiler). The movie could have swapped out a few of its longer tracking shots for those. I think it would’ve added to the nuance of the themes, without revealing more of the “mystery”.

REPORT CARD

TLDR	I Am the Pretty Thing That Lives in the House is not a movie for everyone. If you want something like The Conjuring , with nice jump scares and a straightforward plot, you won’t get it. This movie thrives on atmosphere and mystery (sometimes a little too much). It comes off as poetic, almost like an Edgar Allen Poe story come to life. It’s provocative, mesmerizing, and will have you genuinely thinking about your impact on the world .
Rating	9.5/10
Grade	A+

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