Reviews
[REVIEW] ‘Longlegs’ Is A Pitch Black Tour De Force Into Outer Darkness
Set sometime around the 90s, a serial killer is ripping through rural Midwestern America. His modus operandi is a paradox, and his crimes are a series of inhuman massacres that leave no survivors and no clues. The only hint as to who the killer is is a score of cipher-riddled letters, and the name they’re signed with: Longlegs.
With the right atmosphere, and the right performances, some films are lucky enough to immerse you, to have you neck high in a sensation as its cinematography laps against your suspension of disbelief. Oz Perkins’ latest venture, Longlegs, forgoes the slow sinking feeling after its first thirty minutes and prefers to drop you directly into an ocean of dread. It drags you under tides of hopelessness that don’t stop smashing against your body until the final frames of its last reel.
A Serial Killer Mystery Set in the 1990s Midwest
Set sometime around the 90s, a serial killer is ripping through rural Midwestern America. His modus operandi is a paradox, and his crimes are a series of inhuman massacres that leave no survivors and no clues. The only hint as to who the killer is is a score of cipher-riddled letters, and the name they’re signed with: Longlegs.
While Longlegs is very clearly evoking genre titans like Silence of the Lambs and Rosemary’s Baby (heavy on the Demme), the film’s cinematography is nothing like its inspirations. Something about the way the entire film is framed and lit has this kind of aura of shadow pricking at the corner of your eyes for the entire runtime. Even in well-lit environments like FBI building interiors with their sickly flourescents, and wide-open bright exteriors blanketed in pure snow, it’s the visual equivalent of feeling fingers ever so close to your skin but never making that contact.
Those environments and the sets that make them up are designed and decorated to be suffocating; there isn’t a single inch of the world Perkins and company has built that feels clean or safe, reflecting the ever-present danger of Longlegs and the places that he leaves possessed by his actions. It’s of course underpinned by an understated score that creeps into your ears and doesn’t hammer in anything that the film isn’t already making you confront head-on.
Maika Monroe Delivers a Career-Defining Performance
This is all in service of a soul-sapping performance by Maika Monroe, carrying a haunting air around her as FBI special agent Lee Harker. She plays the character, a stony and disquieted rookie, with this trembling intensity that worsens as the case falls into madness. There’s liquid torture coursing through her veins particularly hard in the final act, with this stage presence that feels like fishhooks getting into you as you feel her unease vicariously. Monroe has always been a horror movie darling, loved by fans for her work first in It Follows and later The Guest, though the hordes of general audiences flocking to theatres this weekend and next are about to discover the new “it girl” of mainstream horror.
Nicholas Cage is also, as expected, quite good as the titular killer, though any comments on how he achieves this betray my desire to send you in almost completely blind. He makes for a bizarre and skin-crawling antagonist, despite the performance sometimes veering too hard into the territory that Ted Levine’s work as Buffalo Bill already charted (more simply put, Cage emulates the best of Levine, and its close, but no cigar when you look back on the template he’s working off of). The cherry on top is a short performance bordering on a cameo by Kiernan Shipka, who worked with Perkins previously on the impeccable 2015 feature The Blackcoat’s Daughter. Surprisingly, her appearance is one of the film’s best moments, so I can’t say anything else about it at risk of spoiling it.
A Mystery That Becomes a Descent into Outer Darkness
A scene early on in the film where Harker is lured out of her home by a silhouette in the woods is the perfect metaphor for this film’s story: the plot is a mystery that feels much more like a slow walk into gnawing outer darkness, rather than a twist-filled whodunit you have to unpack. It doesn’t have you laboring over its mystery, it’s not overly clever with its network of hints and clues of which there are very few. And its final third rather plainly smacks anybody who doesn’t understand what’s going on in the face with all the answers they could want. I would say it was jarring, and very well it might be on rewatch, but the monologue that does it (along with the voice that’s carrying it to your ears) is so perfectly paired with the film soundtrack and visuals that I didn’t really notice, and frankly I still don’t really care.
Note that the final act of Longlegs will play out exactly how you expect it to if you’re paying close attention. But this isn’t to deride it or call it predictable; this is to let you know you’ll become horribly aware of what is going on just as our main character is only starting to get it, striking you with a very nasty dose of dramatic irony that acts fast. By the time the clock is run down, there’s no relief or comfort to be found. Longlegs is dyed-in-the-wool in its refusal to let you feel anything other than restless uncertainty. It’s a tour de force, and the end of its path is nothing but a study of esoteric evil, and cold discomfort hoping to kill all warmth that might help you escape it; a study that you’d do well to see for yourself.
Every once in a while, a festival film oozes with so much craft that it’s hard to believe it exists. I’ve only seen a handful of films on the circuit that filled me with seething jealousy that I didn’t come up with them first. Films like All Jacked Up and Full of Worms and Jimmy & Stiggs are two of the main films that come to mind. As I round out my coverage for this year’s Chattanooga Film Festival, I inadvertently ended with a film that rivals American Theater for my Best of the Fest. Donnie Hobbie’s Jump Scare truly astounds on nearly all fronts and shows how to pay homage to the films (and filmmakers) that are beloved, while still remaining original and unique.
What is Jump Scare About?
The metal band known as Jump Scare, comprised of Val (Chelsea Talmadge), Jen (Erin Ruth Walker), Kye (Shannon Dang), and Debbie (Madison Abbott), head to a cabin in the middle of the desert to work on their latest album. Little do they know that their closest neighbors are a hellbilly’s worst nightmare. One by one, Jump Scare gets smaller and smaller as the neighbors reveal their true horrors. But the band doesn’t take too kindly to the onslaught of violence brought towards them. Metal may not be dead, but Jump Scare might be very soon.
How Did We Get Here?
Writer/director Donnie Hobbie’s Jump Scare is a truly unique piece of genre that pushes the boundaries of good taste in some fascinating ways. Hobbie’s distinct style blends homage and originality in a way Tarantino could only wish for. What’s fun about Jump Scare is how you can truly feel the love for the films considered ‘inspired by’ while still being able to see and feel Hobbie’s personal style. Jump Scare is a dash of Tarantino, Rob Zombie, and Panos Cosmatos, with a heaping spoonful of Hobbie. But in saying that, I fully acknowledge that only Panos Cosmatos could make a film as great as Donnie Hobbie.
Hobbie’s adrenaline-fueled story is not only expertly crafted, but chock-full of blood, guts, and viscera; it’s the epitome of a midnight movie. From blood geysers, hammers to heads, and shotguns galore, Jump Scare has a kill for everyone. While the effects, both practical and digital, make the film a blast to watch, it’s the performance of the main cast that sells this film. Have you ever watched a film and thought, “No one else could ever play this role”? That’s exactly how I feel about Jump Scare‘s cast. Every single actor was perfectly cast, and I can’t picture this film without every single one of them.
The Deeper Meaning Within Jump Scare
Not only is Jump Scare visually entertaining, but it has a deeper message that may become easily lost within the chainsaws and hammers. The running commentary in the film centers around the question “is metal dead”? This comes on the heels of the idea of sampling within metal music. When sampling comes up, the idea of art theft is broached. And this got me thinking. Jump Scare‘s antagonists are cannibals, and, if you think about it, sampling is a form of art theft. And what is art theft if not a form of self-cannibalism?
Jump Scare weirdly embodies this analogue of art theft = cannibalism. When art STOPS being original, when artistry is stripped away, are we not just creating more of the same? That’s why mainstream music, a la songs heard on any IHEARTRADIO station, doesn’t sit well with many people. That’s not to say sampling (or paying homage) is bad by any means. It’s when the main appeal of your song (or film) is solely predicated on work done [better] by others that came before, then what the hell are we doing?
Proper Homage vs. Soulless Ripoffs
That’s why Jump Scare works so well. There’s one particular scene that could easily be described as Hobbie’s version of the ear scene in Reservoir Dogs. But even in this explicitly blatant reference, Hobbie still makes it his own. Every time you watch one of those YouTube compilations that shows the original version and Tarantino’s version next to each other, it’s nearly impossible to tell the difference. It’s where substance and style clash. I love a Tarantino film (not the man) as much as the next person, but it’s impossible to watch one of his films without questioning, “which filmmaker did he steal this from?” While watching Jump Scare, you can pick out the inspiration without feeling bogged down by a soulless ripoff.
Jump Scare surprised me until the very last second, something that films struggle to do nowadays. God, I sound old. If you’re looking for a truly insane double feature, you could easily pair this film with Chainsaws Were Singing or All Jacked Up and Full of Worms. But if you just want to see the most truly surprising Eric Roberts cameo, then Jump Scare will fill that void for you.
Brandon Cronenberg’s Infinity Pool has aged like fine wine. Sour, very dry, sickening wine. That’s not a crack on its quality, mind you. It’s moreover an observation of its embittering social relevance and how hard to swallow it really is in its best moments. And at its best, Infinity Pool is a bleak tale of bizzarro technology and even more bizarre people that most noticeably channels the soul of films like Brian Yuzna’s Society (though dialing the camp of that slimy feature way, way back).
Author James Foster (Alexander Skarsgard) vacations to an island resort in the nation of Li Tolqa in search of inspiration for his next book. When he and his wife Em meet a couple, they’re quickly lured by them into a prohibited excursion outside of the resort’s grounds. But on James’ drive back from the countryside, he kills a pedestrian in a hit and run accident. After he’s quickly arrested for the murder and jailed, he finds out about the draconian revenge-killing laws of Li Tolqa—and of the sickening high-tech workaround he can pay for to avoid his death.
Why You Might Not Remember Much About Infinity Pool
If you don’t remember Infinity Pool as much more than “that film Brandon Cronenberg did after Possessor”, I can’t say I blame you. It was a 2023 release that got smothered early on in the year. Not only by a lack of an audience thanks to lackluster marketing, but by the absolute behemoth that was released only a few days prior to it: Skinamarink.
That dark, mumbly miracle experiment effectively swallowed all the surrounding releases of that January into itself and erased all the doors and windows out. Infinity Pool never really stood a chance. Which is a shame because between the two, for my money at least, Infinity Pool was the more disturbing offering despite its very straightforward storytelling and lack of experimental visuals.
A Tale of Class and Cruelty in Infinity Pool
Those who have seen Infinity Pool might argue with me on that last point. Sure, there are psychedelic sequences of hallucinogenic madness. Exhibitions of cruelty that feel more like nightmares than reality in the way they’re staged. But I wouldn’t quite count them as experimental; especially when a lot of the style is being pulled from what Cronenberg mastered in Possessor. And their kaleidoscopic array of blurred images, smeared light, and psychosexual shots isn’t really the main draw here.
Infinity Pool really shines when it’s painting in the neutral tones of luxury and then contrasting those beiges and browns with harsh splatters of blood red and rotten soul black. It’s in how it transitions from observing the mundane nature of the ultra-wealthy vacationing in Li Tolqa to allowing us to peer into what’s really inside of them.
Infinity Pool Exposes the Moral Rot of Wealth and Privilege
We watch what happens when they’re allowed to commit crimes with no restraint; more frighteningly, it lets us see that that consequence is more of a reward for their bad behavior than it is a trade-off. On paper, the premise feels comically simple. We’re all well aware of the cushy insulation wealth allows the rich to evade due punishment for their crimes. But Infinity Pool is a real mask-off moment that examines the unfettered cruelty that insulation affords.
It really does feel like seeing people go beyond the pale and it questions the ideological motives behind that evil. Is it a pursuit of strength, or a pursuit of entertainment? How detached from reality are our ultra-rich killers on vacation? Or is this actually a reality in its own right, a constructed one built on pure cash flow and amorality? Is it any more illegitimate than the capital that allowed it to exist in the first place? On paper, simple, but in execution the questions it asks are surprisingly interesting.
An All-Star Performance by Mia Goth
The characters trying to pull James into their circle of bad influence are, of course, shallow and inhuman by nature. The only one who offers any sort of puzzle is Mia Goth’s character Gabi, one half of the couple that lures James and Em out of the resort as the inciting incident. Even when her motives appear to be clear, Goth’s performance and line deliveries find new ways to spiral into a whirlpool of oddity that keeps you guessing.
Alexander Skarsgard, on the other hand is playing a very passive character in James. His performance mainly consists of reacting and being pulled deeper and deeper into the energetic spiral that Goth generates. This isn’t preferable since he doesn’t have many standout moments and is dry with many of his reactions, to say the least. That being said, it becomes quickly apparent that James himself has very little sense of self and is an empty vessel for any sort of drive or emotion. The question then becomes what is going to fill that emptiness inside of him, if it even can be filled. Which is why, by the film’s final frames, the answer is downright bleak.
Cronenberg Tackles Neo-colonialism and Orientalism
If there’s one final thing I have to praise, it’s what Cronenberg thematically explores through the use of the setting. The island resort and its parasitic relationship with the nation of Li Tolqa is my personal highlight of the film. It’s a horror show about how the bloated hands of neo-colonialism and orientalism choke countries and cultures to death in the pursuit of cheap thrills.
It generates some really great moments of dark humor but doesn’t get lost in what it’s trying to say. While the quest for carnal desires and questions of class divide are center stage, the phantom of colonialist powers and how they interface with their subject countries haunts the narrative the same way it haunts our real world. I just wish that it was more thoroughly integrated into the plot and its resolution, because by the third act it’s all but drained out.
Nonetheless, what Brandon Cronenberg made here is undoubtedly a sci-fi horror flint knife that saws through flesh and gnaws at the bone, not stopping its motion until it cuts through or breaks against the sensibilities of its viewer. Infinity Pool might not have gotten the attention it deserved at the box office, but its gouache approach to its subject matter and enduring relevance almost guarantee it a cult following in the coming years.
