Yet another review of Hereditary--Ari Aster (2018)

This moment precipitates the slide toward non-stop visual and narrative "insanity" in Ari Aster's Hereditary (2018)

Since everyone out there in "horror film" land has eagerly been anticipating this film, has seen it, or has seen a bazillion reviews about Ari Aster's Hereditary (2018), I figure it's time for me to weigh in.  Not only should you see this film if you are into horror, but you should probably screen it more than once, since a great deal happens in little corners of the frame, and certain moments take on much greater significance (and perhaps a shift in meaning) upon film's end.

The film follows one particular family, The Grahams, as they process the death of their mother/grandmother, a difficult woman that her artist daughter, Annie (Toni Collette) tends to immortalize in these miniature dioramas of her house, and the experiences she has there.  Rounding out the rest of the Grahams are psychiatrist/father, Steve (Gabriel Byrne), with eldest son, Peter (Alex Wolff), and younger, ambiguously disabled daughter, Charlie (Milly Shapiro).  Unsurprisingly, this family is really pretty bad at expressing their emotions and supporting each other in times of crisis, so the death of Annie's Mom sends them on a slippery slope, and then over a precipice into a nightmare abyss from which there is no return.  The film is a pretty slow burn, punctuated by the death of a main character a la Alfred Hitchcock's Psycho.  Once that death occurs, things start to escalate, but the film really gets into gear in the last 15 minutes of the film, and then things just get nuts.  While one has to be careful how one uses words like "insanity," "crazy," or "nuts," the ending of Hereditary is so intense, over the top, and out there, that these terms seem quite appropriate--especially for a film that in some ways at least calls out, if still not really exploring, the pain of mental illness.  I haven't seen an ending in a contemporary horror film that left my mouth hanging open quite so much as Hereditary's, not since Liam Gavin's  A Dark Song (2016)--a film I really need to rewatch and review.

Annie (Toni Collette) channels her turbulent inner life by creating bespoke interiors

One of my favorite things about Hereditary is its portrait of its protagonist/artist, Annie.  She makes these finely detailed dioramas of her personal space, and many clues to the film's world are lurking in these miniature realms.  Indeed, the film begins through a clever device thrusting us into its world, as one of Annie's miniature rooms is suddenly charged into animation by Steve walking into his Peter's room in order to wake him for Grandma's funeral.

Making living in "little boxes" all too real

This liminal, psychological space, formed and perfected through Annie's artistry, constantly shifts as Annie's perspective changes.  No one really talks about their feelings in the Graham household, compelling Annie to visit grief counseling groups, rather than turning to her psychiatrist/husband, Steve.  On the whole, Steve is one of the most useless characters ever committed to celluloid, and sure, Gabriel Byrne is underplaying his role, but Hereditary really does some harm to representations of the psychiatric and therapeutic communities.  In fact, it's in grief counseling where Annie meets Joan (the always marvelous Ann Dowd), who sends her on a journey that "ignites" a spark that rapidly explodes the family's already tenuous connections to each other.  What I'm suggesting, in perhaps a roundabout way, is that the film does a wonderful job of allowing Annie an outlet for some of her pain at the same time implying that her safe, miniaturized universe will not save her from the sh**storm to come.  One particularly powerful moment has Annie regaling her grief group with an anecdote regarding her mother's overbearing presence in raising her daughter, Charlie, which the film chooses to illustrate by returning spectators to the world of her dioramas.  These chilling illustrations punctuate the film's past and present with reminders about the unsettling contents of Annie's psyche.

Annie illustrates a not-very-touching scene where her mother's domineering presence hinders her connection to Charlie

Also, Toni Collette has given one of the best performances of her acting career.  During the film, you cannot take your eyes off her.  She combines sympathy with charisma and the kind of blithe cluelessness that seems essential in order for horror film protagonists to fall into the hot messes required.  She performs grief, rage, stoicism, confusion, and mania with equal expertise, and like Amelia in The Babadook, spectators are both identifying with and afraid of Annie--quite a trick that only the most talented actors can pull off. While horror films rarely get enough accolades, one hopes that someone in these various awarding institutions realizes the tremendous performance Collette gives in Hereditary.

Of course, I wouldn't be a horror film critic if I didn't s**t a little bit on the effusive love of Hereditary by calling out some of its most egregious problems.  Be warned, from here onward there are lots of ***spoilers.

Herditary's representations of disability, and their alignment with evil, really suck

The film's pat representations of both mental illness and disability, and their ultimate link to demonic evil are a really BIG problem, and I have seen some, but not a ton, of discussion about these issues in reviews.  First, audiences learn from a monologue Annie gives to the camera/her grief support group, that she comes from a long line of mentally ill family members, including her mother and brother.  This revelation, combined with the tragic ways in which the Grahams communicate/do not communicate with each other, points a finger throughout the rest of the film right at "bad MOM" Annie, who perhaps has inherited these unfortunate traits, and has indeed passed them onto her disabled daughter, Charlie. 

Then there's Charlie's unnamed, undiagnosed, and unclear disability.  Ominously pegged as Grandma's favorite, she barely speaks, and needs to be monitored at all times since she cannot seem to control her own vicious nut allergy.  Is she on the autism spectrum, developmentally disabled?  Hereditary is happy to use her disability to make Charlie creepy and unlikable, but cannot spare the time to either explain what's wrong, nor flesh out her interior world.  Like Annie, Charlie also appears to be an artist, constructing her own little effigies out of various parts, but she happens to cut the heads off of dead birds to use in her contraptions.  Such details become important when spectators find out at film's end that Charlie houses a demon who's trapped inside her inferior female body until "he" can find a preferable male vessel in Peter.  Here is the film's great conceit: Charlie isn't actually disabled, but rather possessed by a demon, seemingly compelling her to decapitate herself in order for the demon, Paimon, to sneak into her now devastated brother, Peter.  This great demon uprising has been in play since before Charlie's birth, as Annie's mom had pressured her to have children in order to create this vessel.  Which brings me to the most tired and cliched part of Hereditary:

Moms are evil and will destroy everything and everyone--including themselves--for the greater demon good

Women, especially mothers, are evil, self-absorbed, and not protective, and will do anything to reestablish patriarchal dominance through the worshiping of male demons, and once that's handled, they might as well off themselves in one of the most incredible, indelible images ever to be committed to horror film.  Seriously, the image of Toni Collette's Annie, levitating up into the upper corner of the house, manically sawing her own head off in front of Peter's horrified gaze is going to stay with me for a really long time.  That image, followed by a perverse tableau of demon worship (visited by a trio of headless female corpses) enacted in the family tree house, leaves Peter the last guy/demon standing, compelled into place by the machinations of some demon-worshiping cult (led by Anne Dowd, of course). 

So Hereditary isn't a film about mental illness, or a family's inability to cope with grief.  Nope.  The long con is a plan to resurrect a demon, and it works.  Women are only pawns or tools in achieving this dream, and their bodies are easily violated as they are mere supplicants to this patriarchal fantasy run amok.  Now you might think, "Hereditary is obviously a critique of these ideas because it's representing them in such a blatant manner."  I would then sigh, heavily, and once again remind readers that "representing" racism, sexism, and homophobia doesn't necessarily mean that those problems are critiqued, and very well might be reinforced by said representations.

Come for the occult rituals and weirdness, but don't be fooled by talk of "cultural critique"

Should you see Hereditary?  Definitely.  The film is visually provocative, marked by a riveting performance by Toni Collette, revels in various uncanny settings, and is laden with enough creepy occult stuff to pretty much demand repeat viewing.  What are those words written sporadically on the walls of the house?  What are some clues that Joan's really evil, and how does Charlie manifest this evil while she still has her "girl" body?  How many shallow shout-outs to mental illness are there?  Why is Steve clearly the worst mental illness professional ever?  These questions are sure to haunt viewers after their first screening, but nothing, NOTHING haunts as much as that image of Annie frantically sawing off her own head.  Still haunted.

Marrowbone--Sergio G. Sanchez (2017)

Allie (Anya Taylor-Joy) comforts a distraught Jack (George MacKay) In Marrowbone (2017)

Somehow, I've seemed to have fallen into some Anya-Taylor Joy cinematic rabbit hole, and have watched a passel of her films recently, including Sergio G. Sanchez's feature directorial debut, Marrowbone (2017).  Sanchez is mostly known for writing two of J.A. Bayona's rather atmospheric films--The Orphanage (2007) and The Impossible (2012), so I knew that he was quite an effective and nuanced storyteller.  Not to compare too much, but this film tries for The Orphanage but doesn't quite meet that standard, either narratively or visually.

Something about creepy dolls/effigies gets me every time

Like a film that I also plan to review, Hereditary, the film opens with a DIY model of a house, with lots of doll/child figurines scattered about.  The film is framed as a fairy tale with a beautifully illustrated book of watercolors entitled "Our Story" to introduce audiences to the Marrowbone clan--Jack, Billy, Anna, and Sam--the children of Rose Marrowbone, who has recently passed away due to a wasting illness.  The backstory of this family is crucial: the Marrowbones are named after the home to which they flee from what appears to be a serial killer father.  This house is rich with memories, as it is Rose's childhood home, but she steers the children away from their family trauma by suggesting that once the children cross an invisible line on the floor, "there will be no more memories.  Our story begins here."  Yet, Marrowbone is really about how one cannot escape so easily, or erase, one's past, and the hauntings that occur in this ruined, and dilapidated old house are reminders of what clings to this family, despite supposed new beginnings.  The kids have also built this massive fort in one of the rooms because they have been told by Mom to "have a safe place ready...in case he finds you."  She clearly means dear old Dad.

Once Rose passes, the kids retreat from society and most visitors, clinging to each other for "no one will separate us--we are one."  Only Allie (Anya-Taylor Joy), the local librarian, appears to connect with these kids, especially Jack (George MacKay).  Cue hetero-romance plotline with even a mild sub-antagonist in Tom Porter (Kyle Soller), who competes for Allie's affections in this po-dunk "American" town.  He also happens to be the solicitor who can demolish their family if he finds out that Rose has died, and there are an elaborate series of ruses used in order to provide him with Rose's signature on important documents.  When Porter gets suspicious of the goings on at Marrowbone, Jack placates him with some cold hard cash--"blood money" seemingly stolen from their father's victims, and then taken when the family ran away.  Of course, when Porter's financial well runs dry, he tries to get some more, and "sh** happens."  Bad "sh**.

The Marrowbone clan sticks together at all costs

The film makes the most of its setting, and the old homestead, Marrowbone, has plenty of creaking doors, overgrown yards, and dusty attics.  Their poverty is emphasized in their spare, dirty clothing, especially in comparison to Allie and Porter's more modern garb.  The film takes place in 1969, but Jack and his siblings look like they are from a far earlier era.  The film has several timeline jumps that don't make a lot of sense until the film's end, starting with the family's arrival, then shortly after Rose's death and when an unwelcome visitor arrives, with the majority of the film taking place "6 months later," in July 1969.  During this time period, the family makes sure to keep all mirrors covered, and lives in fear of the return of some ghost that seems to haunt them at every turn.  This haunting, combined with their attempts to stay one step ahead of their solicitor, maintain the primary tensions of the film.  Unfortunately, too many scenes spent with the family squabbling, or Jack clutching his head in pain, are repetitive moments that don't really take the narrative anywhere, nor provide the film with a source of momentum.

Jack is tasked with protecting his family, but some jobs may turn out to be too difficult

Like many contemporary horror films, most of Marrowbone's explanations come to a head during the film's climax, so from here onward, this review contains ***spoilers.  Much of the research I'm undertaking these days is on a figure I call "the haunted heroine," a female protagonist whose past is clouded by trauma, and her fragile subjectivity leaves her vulnerable to supernatural happenings and hauntings.  Yet, throughout the narrative, her perspective is questioned, and the specter of mental illness lurks as a possible explanation for her experiences.  When one works on a book project, you have to flesh out your research with other possible examples.  While there are not as many examples available in the horror genre, it does have its share of "haunted hero" characters, and Jack would fit right into this mold.  As the oldest in his family and ostensibly the "man of the house," he is A) tasked by his mother to protect his siblings and keep his family together, B) marked by the most trauma, C) trusted as the audience's chief POV, since he not only goes to town, but interacts with a love interest to boot.  Much of the film, his siblings are more like incredibly chatty background.

In a roundabout manner, the film goes back to a moment earlier in the narrative where a gunshot drives a hole into one of the windows, and we actually get to see what events occurred prior to the time jump to July 1969.  **Turns out that not only did their psycho father find them, but knocked Jack unconscious, leaving his siblings to be systematically murdered (thankfully, these murders occur offscreen).  Upon waking, and realizing what has happened, he traps Dad in the attic, and then walls up the room, hoping that Dad will just die from starvation.  Yet, Jack's failure at protecting his family causes him to snap, ergo the mental illness part.  Henceforth (July 1969), Jack sees his siblings around him, taking on their voices, and interacting with them as if they were still alive.  Not only are there no ghosts, but Jack's Dad is still alive in the attic, eating rodents and biding his time until Porter tears the wall down and is killed by Dad--as he should.  Allie stumbles into his clutches, and Jack, in a moment of lucidity, saves her, kills Dad, and it's all very standard.  Allie and Jack end up a couple, and Allie picks up Jack's "medicine" for his dissociative identity disorder,  but doesn't make him take it so that he can continue to live in a fantasy world where his siblings are still alive.  Ugh.  Anya Taylor-Joy's Allie is thus trapped in this life taking care of her mentally ill boyfriend, but she does it for love.  Like The Orphanage, the film plays with spectral incognizance (ghosts do not realize that they are dead), then explaining that idea away with "mental illness," while throwing in some unnecessary gender-norm sentimentality at film's end.  Sanchez certainly is good at creating atmosphere, but unfortunately falls into too many conventions to compel me to recommend Marrowbone with enthusiasm.

Anguish--Sonny Mallhi (2015)

Tess (Ryan Simpkins) isn't sure it's safe to go home in Anguish--Sonny Mallhi (2015)

Mental Illness and Demon Possession have always been strange bedfellows--in horror films and throughout history.  Mentally ill people are often wrongly persecuted under the assumption that they are possessed by evil.  Unnecessary exorcisms ensue.  Throw in rampant sexism, and then women who do not behave appropriately (too sexy) are also deemed possessed.  Burn them at the stake--problem solved.  Rarely does a film that dabbles in spiritual possession do so with any sense of nuance or moral ambiguity.  Rather, the world is strongly rendered in moral contrast, and films that focus on spiritual possession obsess over the struggle between GOOD and EVIL at play in the film.  These films are often about punishing mothers for not being good enough (The Exorcist, The Conjuring), reiterating the scariness of female sexuality (The Exorcist, The Haunting of Hell House, The Last Exorcism), or focusing on a male character struggling with his faith in the face of EVIL (The Exorcist, Deliver Us From Evil).  Sonny Mallhi's Anguish (2015) is that rare film that gets the balance just right, exploring people struggling with mental illness while also suggesting that those "illnesses" may be a way of explaining what happens to people "gifted" with spiritual possession.  Anguish also explores these ideas through the sensitive representation of women characters--two pairs of mothers and daughters.  What this film accomplishes is really rather astounding, and frankly, pretty damn scary too!

The film opens on one mother/daughter pairing, Sarah (Karina Logue) and her daughter Lucy (Amberley Grimley).  The two are having a fairly typical conversation, with Lucy asking sullenly if she can go on a camping trip, and her mother saying "nope."  In a huff, Lucy decides to walk home rather than sharing space with her Mom, and as one sees in the trailer, things turn deadly.

Jumping forward to what seems like a mere few months later, another mother and daughter move to town, Jessica (Annika Marks) and her daughter Tess (Ryan Simpkins).  Tess's quiet withdrawal and darkness mirrors Lucy's brooding from before.  These teenage girls seem sad and mysterious, trapped in discomfort, misunderstood, and wrestling with their inner demons.  What becomes clear quickly is that Tess is "troubled," on medication, and struggling to get through each day.  Her new home does not help matters, as she seems to be especially sensitive to the bad vibes (or spirits) lingering around town.  She and her Mom both wear crosses, and visit the local Priest, Father Meyers.  Still, when sh** gets real, the church and religion do not seem to provide any clear or easy answers.  In fact, as my friend Andrew Mack, an Associate Editor at Twitch points out, men do not save the day in this film.  How refreshing.  The only way Jessica and Tess can find there way out is through the help of another mother and daughter--Sarah and Lucy.

Sarah (Karina Logue) and Jessica (Annika Marks) do their best to save Tess (Ryan Simpkins) from her Anguish

Mallhi is probably best known for producing films like The Strangers (2008) the Oldboy remake (2013), and last year's At the Devil's Door (2014).  Here he crafts some remarkable set-pieces and characters, creating a heady atmosphere of dread.  What Mallhi does beautifully is capture the misery of what it feels like to be a teenager while showing that parents, especially mothers, are not always the enemy. Not once are Jessica or Sarah shown in a negative light, even when they are acting like parents and telling their daughters what to do, or expressing their concern.  The daughters, like many teenagers, are pretty damn inscrutable at times.  Ryan Simpkins' Tess is a fascinating presence in the film, and Simpkins effectively conveys to the audience what it feels like to live in Tess's skin.  And wearing that skin is like wearing an itchy sweater.  Not comfortable. 

Another striking thing about this film is how ambiguously it frames the "afterlife"--or at least what happens after a particularly violent death.  To me, that part of the film was truly terrifying, and suggests that there is all this messed up stuff happening behind the veil between worlds.  Hints of this world could be parlayed into a sequel (I know, bite my tongue) in order to explore this realm further.  Yes, you know it's a good film when I'm actually requesting a sequel!  Likewise, the film ends on a slightly ambiguous note, leaving the film open to interpretation with some questions left unanswered.  This film's openness respects the audience's intelligence, and encourages repeat viewings.

Sonny Mallhi's Anguish (2015) was one of my most hotly anticipated films screening at the 2015 Fantasia Film Festival, and I was not disappointed.  Here's hoping that Mallhi makes another soon. I highly recommend this scary, thoughtful, and unsettling film.