I Saw the TV Glow (2024)

Score: 4 / 5

No doubt lending the film its title, Jane Schoenbrun's third directorial feature exists in the filtered colors and sounds of memory, specifically those blaring from an old analog screen. Much like their earlier film We're All Going to the World's Fair, or the visually and somewhat thematically similar Skinamarink, I Saw the TV Glow attempts to capture the essence of coming of age and into belonging during the relatively early days of home media. Any child of the '80s and '90s will be reminded of that and more while watching, which may entice as many as it deters. Escapism fantasies and the powers of dissociation through magic screens arguably began there, and for many millennials those regular shows on network television and available for rent on VHS were a means of cultivating a social identity while experiencing more than what their mundane lives had to offer. The glowing television can and did literally save many kids in those days, and anyone for whom that rings true will find boons in store here.

But I Saw the TV Glow is not for everyone, not even in that demographic. Mismarketed as a typically hyperbolic "scariest movie of the year" and so forth, the film indeed claims horror and fantasy as its aesthetic lineage, but it's by and large a dramatic arthouse exploration of youth, identity, and belonging in a world getting smaller by the day. The film takes place over three decades in the life of Owen, an isolated and awkward teen who befriends social outcast Maddy, bonding over a television show on once a week, late at night. The Pink Opaque seems to be a something like a cross between Twin Peaks and Goosebumps or a particularly camp Buffy, and it features two teenage women using a psychic connection to fight monsters and other supernatural threats. Maddy is a hardcore fan, no doubt partly due to her burgeoning queer sexuality, and she invites Owen over to watch it with her, as it airs after his bedtime at home. Lying to his mother (Danielle Deadwyler), he sneaks and and stays the night at Maddy's house.

The show's grotesquerie doesn't phase Owen a jot. At least, not negatively. He's enraptured. Even as we (the audience) see flickers of the creepy images on screen and grasp for meaning in the characters' cryptic hints about the show itself, we see Owen allowing -- inviting -- it in to his soul. He has a strong connection to this material, and it's a moment that will haunt me for a long time. It reminded me, personally, of my memory watching Jurassic Park for the first time, away at a friend's house so my parents wouldn't know their pre-teen kid was watching a PG-13 movie. I was in heaven. My fantasies about dinosaurs were coming to life in a very real way, and I laughed and loved the whole thing. It wasn't until I revisited it many years later that I was shocked by how truly horrifying and scary that film still is.

The largest portion of the film jumps ahead in time a bit to 2006, as an older Owen works at a movie theater. Ten years prior, Maddy said she was going to run away and then vanished, Owen's mother died of cancer, and The Pink Opaque was cancelled. Owen, likely shortly after high school at this point, still lives with his father but clearly hasn't adjusted and has no ambition. Justice Smith, in what may be his most accomplished performance yet, plays Owen as all but his youngest self (Ian Foreman), delivering layers of subtle nuance beneath each awkward gaze or twitch the character makes. His seemingly lost identity comes crashing back into sight when, suddenly, Maddy materializes and wants to talk to Owen, claiming to have been inside The Pink Opaque for the past several years.

A push-pull rhythm controls the flow of scanty information in this film, and it's rather difficult to discuss as a result. Its thin plot and thick theming are more about a particular sensation than about any concrete knowledge or answers. Much as teens question their own identities, Maddy and Owen are actively searching for that things that feels True for themselves. The brief clips we get of their favorite show tell us something interesting about the characters, despite its overtly silly design; they can't stand the mundane banality of their suburb and of the lives they've gotten stuck enacting. There's a reason each moment of inspiration or liberation is marked with neon colors, especially pink and blue. It's a queer lens through which they are finally allowed to view the world, and they can finally see where they fit in.

In a crucial scene, the two sit on the school bleachers unsure about having sleepovers to fool Owen's mother. Maddy admits to liking girls, and asks Owen who he likes. "I think I like TV shows," he replies, providing perhaps the most naked moment of raw honesty I've seen in any film in a long time. Owen remains an enigma the entire film. So does Maddy (an excellent Jack Haven, who I only discuss less because I know less of their work and because the character is a bit more flat and intentionally enigmatic... or opaque, if you will), to a slightly lesser degree, but Owen's mystery is a challenge to even qualify. There could be some gender dysphoria at work here (there is a moment when he wears a dress, though it seems more likely that he's reenacting a scene from The Pink Opaque as one of the characters). There is certainly, on the filmmaker's part, serious consideration for ideas of queer temporalities and the repressive political climate of the '90s; by telling us the story of two queer teens finding community and affirmation in a heartfelt spookfest on primetime television, Schoenbrun is concurrently inviting us to think about the elements of our lives that shaped us, for better and worse, and how all our identities are constructed. Media isn't warping kids' minds; it's saving them. And, the film seems to suggest, those foundational reference points to our ideal selves will forever be burning within our memories.

The identity crises at the core of this film will invite a broader audience than queer people, though many are labeling this film as, particularly, trans. Owen's family is living in a very white suburb; Maddy's family exhibits painfully clear gender roles. That they immediately connect can be no real surprise, and their chemistry onscreen is a wonder to behold. Just pay attention to their body language and you'll see what I mean; they begin slumping and visibly uncomfortable, but later on Owen is all but collapsed upon himself whereas Maddy is proud and strong in posture. Hopefully their connection will inspire casual viewers -- especially those who don't know what they're watching -- to think outside the box more and see the similarly struggling spirit within the person across from them. To go beyond their comfort zone and not give in to the suffocating fantasy of a safe, guarded life.

Because that seems to be the purpose of I Saw the TV Glow. I won't spoil it here, but the final scene scarred me in a big way and strongly affirmed my suspicion that this is, fundamentally, a deeply trans film. And not just because of the throwaway line about Sleepaway Camp, which is a standout moment of dialogue that recalls the shocking and upsettingly problematic original trans slasher film of the same name. Owen's agony by film's end is tragic, meant in terms of Greek drama. Schoenbrun and their team honor it with glossy, stylish design elements and a dreamlike aesthetic approach. Beautiful music, haunting visuals, devastating performances, and frankly risky storytelling combine into a unique and endlessly fascinating sensory experience. It won't be the most exciting, terrifying, romantic, or weird thing you've seen, and I do wish it nailed down a few more specifics, if not scares. But I'd rather artists willing to take risks over those playing it safe, every time.