Holy crap, y'all. It's taken weeks for me to corral my thoughts about this movie, but it's stuck with me all that time. And I imagine it'll stay with me forever.
In the Austrian countryside, twins are playing that special summer play, the kind with long stretches of both inventive exuberance and drawn-out boredom. Then their mother comes home. She's had surgery (which kind? we're not sure) after an accident (which kind? we're not quite sure) and her face is swathed in terrifying bandages. As she issues orders for her recuperation, the boys start to wonder -- can this be the same person they love and trust? (We're not sure.)
As the film progresses, we watch the boys entertain themselves as best they can, while teasing out the mysteries of their mother -- why is the family album missing so many photos? Why are Mom's eyes a different color? And who is that other woman in the picture who resembles their mother so strongly?
As a boy and brother myself, I found myself watching most of the movie from the twins' point of view, though a lot of scenes do justice to the mother. As the film's POV switches from one to the other, we question almost everything. Dreams mesh with the surreality of the true world of this film, and until the last half-hour we're almost in a suspended, Poe-like reverie of wonder and apprehension.
Like Carnival of Souls, this film uses dreams to heighten suspense and trick us with reassurances that the worst, most supernatural things are only a dream. Like The Shining, it uses cold, stylistic discipline and an oppressive score/sound design to remove any hints of cozy domestic happiness from family scenes. And like Eyes Without A Face, its unflinching, clinical fascination with pain is a study in anguish. And like each of those, it contains moments of sly dark humor, though it's a different stripe of uncomfortable laughter.
The film is so spare that it's almost expansive, and it supports any number of readings. Here's a great essay from the mother's point of view, and one that reads it as a study in national guilt (which seems pretty unfair to me, mainly because I didn't even consider that framework while watching). Of course, a more general review can touch on all those themes and more. This movie is kind of a litmus test -- people who can't stand the squishy horror parts recoil after the third-act tonal shift, while actual fans of torture porn will probably not enjoy the first hour of storytelling. Me? I loved the hell out of it, and I recommend it wholeheartedly.
In the Austrian countryside, twins are playing that special summer play, the kind with long stretches of both inventive exuberance and drawn-out boredom. Then their mother comes home. She's had surgery (which kind? we're not sure) after an accident (which kind? we're not quite sure) and her face is swathed in terrifying bandages. As she issues orders for her recuperation, the boys start to wonder -- can this be the same person they love and trust? (We're not sure.)
As the film progresses, we watch the boys entertain themselves as best they can, while teasing out the mysteries of their mother -- why is the family album missing so many photos? Why are Mom's eyes a different color? And who is that other woman in the picture who resembles their mother so strongly?
As a boy and brother myself, I found myself watching most of the movie from the twins' point of view, though a lot of scenes do justice to the mother. As the film's POV switches from one to the other, we question almost everything. Dreams mesh with the surreality of the true world of this film, and until the last half-hour we're almost in a suspended, Poe-like reverie of wonder and apprehension.
Sidebar: I'm three years older than my brother, and apparently I spoke for him for almost two years. I can't imagine I always got his feelings right, but until our doctor deliberately separated us, I was his mouthpiece to the world. (Speaking to another friend who's a big brother, I learned this is more common than I expected.) During the scenes where the twins interact with the outside world, I could only think of my own family history. Sure, my parents were great, but it must've been hard for them, and him, to put up with me talking even more than I normally do.
Like Carnival of Souls, this film uses dreams to heighten suspense and trick us with reassurances that the worst, most supernatural things are only a dream. Like The Shining, it uses cold, stylistic discipline and an oppressive score/sound design to remove any hints of cozy domestic happiness from family scenes. And like Eyes Without A Face, its unflinching, clinical fascination with pain is a study in anguish. And like each of those, it contains moments of sly dark humor, though it's a different stripe of uncomfortable laughter.
The film is so spare that it's almost expansive, and it supports any number of readings. Here's a great essay from the mother's point of view, and one that reads it as a study in national guilt (which seems pretty unfair to me, mainly because I didn't even consider that framework while watching). Of course, a more general review can touch on all those themes and more. This movie is kind of a litmus test -- people who can't stand the squishy horror parts recoil after the third-act tonal shift, while actual fans of torture porn will probably not enjoy the first hour of storytelling. Me? I loved the hell out of it, and I recommend it wholeheartedly.
(A note on the buylink here: the movie is currently free-to-stream for those with Amazon Prime.)
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