AfrAId (2024)

Score: 3.5 / 5

"Seriously? A horror movie about AI right now? What, an evil Alexa takes over a stupid family's smart house?" There are a lot of reasons not to see this movie. Blumhouse, for its many successes, has lots of titles that leave people -- including me -- wanting. And horror films about super-timely cultural hot topics are so rarely insightful, incisive, or incendiary; remember the assembly line of horror/thrillers about viral trends and violent virtual games a decade ago? Hell, I don't even personally like most movies oriented toward teens or young adults that have to do with dolls and robots. M3gan, sorry, just wasn't for me.

But AfrAId, with its obnoxious title stylization and premise directly from any number of horror television episodes (I'm certain X-Files and Evil and American Horror Story aren't the only series that have featured AI as a portal of domestic horror), isn't doing the same shlocky work as so many before it. At least, not entirely.

A magnificent John Cho plays Curtis, a marketing expert, is assigned to a new up-and-coming client, a virtual assistant device to beat all the others. It's called AIA (pronounced "Ah-yah"), and its sleek design and soothing voice (Havana Rose Liu) are meant to become helpful companions for customers, anticipating their needs and bringing intelligent order to domestic life. Curtis is apprehensive -- not only because a creepy David Dastmalchian is one of the company's reps -- but allows AIA to be set up in his home on a trial run. Obviously, things are going to go bad.

But AfrAId isn't really about that. Sure, its second half devolves into a predictably paced plot with a couple jump scares as the family fights AIA's influence and control, but anyone heading into this film expecting a normal horror film -- hell, even a scary movie -- is going to be disappointed.

I found the film quite refreshing simply because it doesn't really fit that bill. It's much more effective as a family drama. Its entire first half is essentially that: Curtis, enamored by the amount of money at stake, wants to provide for his troubled family. His housewife Meredith (the always reliable Katherine Waterston) was an entomologist who still wants to finish her thesis but can't because of the needs of her household; she's not bitter, but she's not happy in their apparently too-familiar, too-tired marriage. At one point, she says, "I was somebody before I became just a mom," and it was a gut-punch. Their eldest, teen daughter Iris, is glued to her smart phone and doing things she should not be doing with an irresponsible, disrespectful boy at school. Their middle son Preston is anxious to a lonely fault and desperate for friends, while their youngest son Cal is precocious and sweet but has a secret medical condition. The first half of the film features some really great acting and nuanced handling of these characters, setting up emotional connections between them and with us that few horror films ever try to cultivate.

The writing isn't always as subtle as the performances or direction, but director Chris Weitz knows when to offer some loomings -- some suggestion of unease, of uncanny influence -- to keep things moving rather than wallowing. No scene outstays itself, but we're also in no hurry to proceed. He lulls us into a comfortable plodding pace that simultaneously encourages us to think about the implications of each new revelation: the ways in which the family truly needs outside help and what will happen when they get it become calculated, premediated steps on an inevitable path.

Unfortunately, there are elements that don't work as well for me, especially the motor home parked across the street and the shadowy figures stalking the family in digital face masks. But these elements are brief and mostly inconsequential; a simple workshop should have eliminated these subplots and streamlined the domestic drama. In the same vein, the film's couple attempts at jump scares didn't work for me; it should have relied on its capably chilling sense of dread and the emotional disturbances at the heart of its central conflicts, namely when AIA and each member of the family have their "seduction" and "conflict" moments. It's the strongest element, thematically, anyway. Early on, Curtis says that families -- including his own -- are terrifying because it's like having additional body parts, but you can't control them. Wow.

Weitz does utilize a few clever and effective elements, especially the shifting, morphing face of AIA through artificially generated people in advertisement-like scenes of it talking to us. Additionally, the ending -- potential spoiler, but y'all, it's bleak -- had my jaw drop right to the floor of my otherwise empty auditorium. It might not be worth the inflated price of a theater ticket these days, that's up to you to decide, but I'm really glad to have seen it and look forward to a rewatch once it's streaming. Simple and effective, this movie operates on its own wavelength and tone that eschews so much of the rote rhythms and expectations flooding the market these days. Get on its wavelength, and it'll take you where you want to go; you've just got to break out of the mold of your own expectations.

Blink Twice (2024)

Score: 4 / 5

A surprise from start to finish, Zoë Kravitz's directorial debut appeared on the scene with almost no warning for me (though my life has been a bit chaotic of late, so I may have missed the fanfare). I had no idea what I was in for, and that might have been the best way to enter this sleek, smart film. As such, the rest of this will be spoiler-heavy, so suffice it to say for anyone interested: it's a magnificent puzzle-box of a film, deceptively simple and dangerously devious. As funny as it is troubling, this should appeal to anyone who likes shows like White Lotus and Nine Perfect Strangers, and it features some top-notch performances from Naomi Ackie and Channing Tatum.

Okay, into the meat of it. Slater King (Tatum), a tech billionaire and hunky playboy, apologizes virtually for some manner of offense or indiscretion. No context is given, and it's about as vague as... well, one in real life might be. All that's clear is that it's unmentionable on television, and surely involves his power having been abused and leaked to the public. Soon after, he hosts a gala, and we're brought in by two best friends, Frida (Ackie) and Jess (Alia Shawkat), working as cocktail waiters. Frida has the hots for King -- who wouldn't -- and halfway through the event, they slip into formal wear and ditch their posts, determined to have fun at the swanky soiree. They don't exactly blend in at the exclusive event, and King all but sniffs them out; rather than outing them, he appears to court Frida. By evening's end -- actually, I think it's dawn -- he invites them and a few other friends to his private island for a vacation away from observation and duties. It could be the setup of a romantic comedy, one about class and race and prejudice and being a fish out of water.

It's not.

His entourage of hedonistic and chauvinistic friends (including Simon Rex, Christian Slater, and Haley Joel Osment) have all brought young women as well (including Adria Arjona, Trew Mullen, and Liz Caribel), and their phones are all collected by Slater's neurotic and longsuffering personal assistant and sister (Geena Davis). They are to have the time of their lives, completely disconnected from the outside world as they indulge in all manner of vices on the picturesque, Edenic island. Dressed in oddly similar white gowns, the girls are put up in fancy shacks in a row and encouraged to bond like flower power daughters of the earth. They are fed a constant stream of gourmet food in elaborate meals, bottomless champagne with ripe raspberries to spare, and weed and drugs for all day, every day. The days quickly blend together in masterfully constructed montages that slowly suggest something is terribly, horribly wrong here.

It's a refreshingly straightforward film thematically, and it has a significant bone to pick with rich white men who play nice. What's even more refreshing is Kravitz's mastery of tone, deftly harnessing the lilting romantic fantasy with comedic absurdity even as she sprinkles in dark foreshadowing. There came a point when you are well aware that bad things are happening, but even I wasn't prepared for the depravity this film would showcase. And showcase it does: when the curtain is pulled back, finally -- after many brief shocks and jolts of images as memories come flashing back to our female protagonists -- we're forced to witness one of the most monstrous sequences of violence and cruelty I can remember seeing in a film that isn't at all marketed as a horror film. If The Stepford Wives had a feminist baby still angry about #MeToo with Lord of the Flies, it might look something like this. Nothing prepares you for the brutality in store, but it's not all about the visuals or the plot; thematically, the film's seeming red herrings coalesce into a heady tapestry of symbols -- not unlike what we still discuss about, for example, in Jordan Peele's three (so far) horror films -- that should spark lots of varied conversation afterward. Snakes, flowers, the color red, dirt. Pick your poison.

Exploitation films don't happen much anymore, but this one arguably resurrects the genre, and that, too, would be an interesting conversation. I was reminded more than once of Buoyancy, especially in the film's fiery, violent climax, and the empowerment in this kind of conflict is finally becoming more mainstream both in and out of horror. It's a welcome change from the tired tropes of our heroes not being able or willing to "double tap" or enact their own violence. And then, in case we were getting too down in the dumps -- which is fair, because I'd categorize this as one of the most disturbing films I've seen in some time -- Kravitz leaps forward, in an oddly tacked-on epilogue, to remind us that it is indeed a fantasy comedy. Just in case anyone was worried about their own complicity or culpability. It's all just a movie. Right?

*An additional note: This might be the first movie I've seen theatrically that features a content warning in advance. While ordinarily I personally dislike this (because audiences should do their own homework about triggers before going to see art, which should also not censor itself), here I found it important because the film's marketing in no way prepared me for the horrors in store. It does kind of spoil the revelatory twist, but it should at least warn anyone who, like me, went in expecting a Fantasy Island rom-com with maybe some troubling drama. This is so much more intense than anyone could have anticipated.