Amulet (2020)

 Score: 5 / 5

A stunning work of Gothic horror, Amulet sees actor Romola Garai directing her first feature film. It is the voice of a brave and brilliant newcomer to the genre, much like Jennifer Kent with The Babadook or Natalie Erika James with Relic earlier this year. No doubt aided by her training as an actor, she elicits stunning and nuanced performances from her three principal cast members. But as a new director, she is in full control of this movie and manages to make it beautiful in its ugliness. And, most impressively, her incredible writing skills use this story to aggressively, angrily challenge the status quo of women in horror -- indeed, in the world -- while changing the game for feminist genre pictures.

She begins with Tomaz (the beautiful Alec Secareanu of God's Own Country, Ammonite), a man squatting in a London den by night and working hard labor by day. His difficult life is dramatized in effective shorthand, but we recognize that he's haunted by something more traumatizing. We learn through flashbacks that he is a former soldier of an unspecific conflict, but it is also clear that he was not a frontline warrior, as he is only shown as an isolated sentry in a quiet, foggy wood. We see, early, that he binds his hands with duct tape before he sleeps, as if afraid his own Mr. Hyde will do something terrible. This pairs, uncomfortably, with his flashbacks, in which a lone woman suddenly materializes and Tomaz (who, for an attractive man, is quite creepy) aggressively tries to make her feel safe with him. As these scenes progress, we sense him wrestling with certain urges through his body language and side-eye ogling.

The haunted Tomaz is forced to the streets when his squatter's den catches fire, and he is found and taken in by the kindly Sister Claire (Imelda Staunton of Harry Potter, Vera Drake, Maleficent, Pride). She takes him to a house wherein he can live for free, in exchange for his help as a repairman. The house, he quickly learns, is falling apart, and grimy plumbing problems plague his days. His companion in this house is the quiet Magda (Carla Juri, Blade Runner 2049), who cares for her ailing -- read: screaming -- mother locked in the attic. The house becomes a sort of character itself, helped by strong production design, and it quickly becomes clear that everything is not as it seems. Not just because all of Magda's meals for Tomaz are heavy on meat. There's the weird hints of who previously lived in the house and left their possessions. And, of course, there's the horrific batlike creature bathed in bloody sewage.

But while the mysteries unfold, Garai is most interested in the many references she can make. The rotting house with pools of moldy discoloration feel not unlike something from Japanese horror, along with the rarely seen but distinctly terrifying specter of Magda's mother crawling around the attic. Amber light in the hallways below seem to scream "yellow wallpaper" to us, and Magda's submissive behavior fits right in. Cinematographer Laura Bellingham transitions between drama and horror by interjecting shots of nature like raindrops on the eaves or snails gliding along moss. It swirls into a heady concoction of textile interest, a film about high-brow concepts that uses the physical senses -- don't even get me started on the sound mixing -- to keep you grounded and invested.

By the film's final act, the mysteries are revealed and the particularly graphic imagery all along suddenly makes sense. We understand why there have been so many yonic symbols: partly due to the ultimate theme of the film, sure, but also because we are meant to view the movie from Tomaz's perspective, and the imagery means something very specific for him, as we eventually learn. Magda slicing open a fish and pulling out its organs isn't just dinner preparation, and the bloody bed sheet isn't just her period. And then, as the film shifts our assumptions about a protector and the protected, it also inverts our understanding of the intentions of hospitality. After all, earlier Tomaz offers Magda a particularly creepy amulet he found in the dirt. It is this symbol, one intended apparently for comfort or protection, that informs Garai's Gothic aesthetic and her feminist themes, apart from supplying the film's title. It indicates a specific history and tradition that, to discuss here, would spoil too much of the film.

Amulet has a lot on its mind about superficial gender norms, about revenge and forgiveness, about internalized trauma and externalized guilt, and Garai handles it all with grace and a grim sense of fun. While most of the film could be called a slow-burner, it has its share of gruesome, bloody body horror moments to shock and excite. Despite the occasional dip into giallo territory, though, there is no mistaking Garai's sense of fun for her audience's sense of fun. This is an outspoken, angry film, determined to make us squirm with guilt as much as disgust. In fact, I'd liken this film to mother! and the remake of Suspiria more than to the recent films I referenced in my first paragraph, simply due to its righteous anger centered on gendered bodies and violent bodily violations.

I found myself, by the end, still questioning a lot, though, and that is why the movie will continue to fascinate me. Is there a distinction between evil behavior and evil that possesses or compels? Is it possible for someone to earn forgiveness without confronting themselves with their own actions? Does forgiveness require suffering, and if so, for which party? Is sacrifice always about love (as a burgeoning romantic scene between Tomaz and Magda suggests), or is it often more masochistic and selfish than we admit? And just what the hell is that half-bat, half-rat thing doing in the toilet anyway?