Vesper (2022)

Score: 3.5 / 5

Opening text tells us the state of the world, sometime in the future, when humanity's efforts to stop ecological crisis backfired, destroying the world's edible plants and devastating the human and animal populations. In this new Dark Age, oligarchs rule "citadels," closed and protected cities, while the outside world starves and scavenges what it can. The citadels trade goods, including seeds for produce that only yield one harvest. To help with the work, scientists have also developed Jugs, androids meant to be laboring slaves.

With this thick science fiction setting, I had no idea what to expect from Vesper, a European indie genre flick that arrived in the States with almost no fanfare. I'm not really of the opinion that "science fiction" is a genre so much as an aesthetic, but this film is generically a coming-of-age story for its title character, a young teenaged girl who lives in the forest with her paralyzed father Darius. In the dystopian, post-apocalyptic world, even the forest around her home is dangerous, so as she daily goes out to scrounge for seeds and food, as well as scavenge for power sources and materials to keep her house running and her father alive, we see her resourcefulness and determination shine through. She may be young, but she's already a hardened survivor. But she also wants love, and knows she needs companionship and care, as she clearly misses her mother, who left some time ago to join a group of "Pilgrims," though we are not told exactly what that means. Based on the feudal system of society, we can guess they are searching for life elsewhere more sustainable and free.

The film, written and directed by duo Kristina Buozyte and Bruno Sampler, is not your typical sci-fi experience. While it features more than its share of clunky dialogue, an unwelcome amount of genre lingo, and contrived plot points to push the whole thing forward while offering exposition, it also does some unexpected things. For such a young heroine in Vesper, the film works to emotionally and psychologically mature her before our eyes, underscoring the harsh truth that life can't be fully planned or controlled and that her struggles will be a part of her life in perpetuity. The playing field is far from level and almost never fair. As such, the film eschews token empowerment for its characters (though its heroes are notably young and female while its antagonists are mostly older men) and works hard to avoid much sense of hope or validation. Indeed, all of Vesper's actions are based on her own observations and scientific experiments on seeds, and we're never really given the option to entertain the fact that she is right. She is very possibly misguided or simply wrong, but it's her determined pursuit of hope that wins us over. It's really not until the very end -- I mean about the last three minutes or so -- that a tiny glimmer of hope shines into the film. And even then, it's only after the very worst has occurred to everyone Vesper cares about.

Which isn't to say many people. The bulk of the film is a series of unfortunate events that involve Vesper's predatory and violent uncle Jonas (Eddie Marsan), a crashed scientist's ship, invading citadel soldiers, and experiments to "unlock" seeds for more harvests. The actors are all fine, though acting is clearly not the point of this movie (nor is the dialogue). Vesper is best experienced as a surrealist fantasy, a visual trip through Cronenbergian production design replete with tendrils and mucus and membranes and organic fluids and violent bugs; warning for anyone with trypophobic aversions, this movie's textures are weirdly and disturbingly specific.

I don't want to spoil the specifics of the plot, but Marsan's character is clearly an amalgamation of what lengths desperate white men will go to for survival in positions of power, and his threat is at once mortal, material, sexual, and spiritual. Vesper won't be entirely alone in her tribulations, as she rescues a mysterious citadel refugee named Camellia (Rosy McEwan), whose partnership with Vesper is cleverly written and acted to avoid sentimental romantic or familial pitfalls. Their relationship is fairly unique in the genre, and it's beautiful to behold. The film's other strengths are primarily visual, with arresting design from props and set dressing to costumes and restrained use of digital effects. But it won its way into my head by virtue of not force-feeding us the typical YA dystopian journey to heroism; Vesper makes us survive alongside a young person who tries hard to succeed through hypotheses and experiments all on her own, while fearing that every step she takes could prove disastrous.

Barbarian (2022)

Score: 4 / 5

For Zach Cregger's feature directorial debut, Barbarian is an absolute doozy. The most unpredictable, genre-hopping horror film I can readily think of, it is written brilliantly: completely coherent even as it aggressively tries to surprise us at every turn. It starts with one of the most effective and relatable (but no less horrifying) premises I've seen in recent years, and from there it launches into a roller coaster ride of terror. It's one of those films that makes you feel icky while and after watching, but it's so damned smart that I really want to watch it again sometime soon to appreciate its focused efforts to subvert our expectations and refract our perceptions.

Tess (Georgina Campbell) arrives at her Airbnb in the dead of night. It's pouring outside, and she can't see anything of the neighborhood in this forgotten neighborhood of Detroit in the present day. She's a documentary researcher and needs to rest and relax a bit before her big interview in the city tomorrow. But there's a light on in the Airbnb and another car there, and there's no key in the lockbox. Finally roused from slumber -- or so he suggests -- the current inhabitant opens the door. His name is Keith (a suitably creepy Bill Skarsgård) and he doesn't seem to want any guests. Who would, right? You get an Airbnb, and you expect to be left alone, like in a hotel. But between the late hour and the intense rain, he pities her and invites her inside, but only after they prove to each other that they indeed made reservations and were mysteriously, annoyingly double-booked.

Skarsgård plays against type here, leaning into the innately creepy situation and his performance history to be unnerving even as he charms the heck out of Tess and us. He's a bit verbose, but clearly means well: he knows this is awful and that the optics are not in his favor. He offers to sleep on the sofa so Tess can have the bedroom (with a door). He wants to split the wine but waits for her to open it so she knows he hasn't tampered with it. He wishes her well at her interview and sets up what is probably meant to be a celebratory date. Cregger and his cinematographer use the subtlest shifts of light and angles to make their scenes uncanny; that is, familiar but wrong somehow. It's our job (and Tess's) to find out exactly what's wrong and why and how to escape. Right?

Well, maybe not. Some secrets need to be explored first, as evidenced when Tess awakes later in the night to her door wide open and Keith having an apparent nightmare. One thing leads to another, and eventually by day, when Keith is gone, Tess wanders into the basement and gets stuck. Looking for a way out, she discovers a semi-hidden rope that pulls open a secret door in the cement. Anyone would tell you not to go in there, but naturally she does and discovers horrible things. Well, the things themselves aren't inherently horrid, but her suspicions of what they mean altogether are monstrous. And those things are paired with her already discomfited stay, her opinions of the rundown neighborhood and that aggressive, scary neighbor who chased her down, and the warnings of the area given by the woman who interviewed her.

This first act of the film -- don't worry, I will try not to give any spoilers this time -- ends shortly after this, when Tess ventures further down into the basement. It's a screaming climax that comes a bit too soon for most horror films. But then the film does an about-face (not unlike the shock twist of Psycho) and actor Justin Long shows up as "AJ". He's a fascinating and loathsome character, as we discover in an absolutely brilliant marriage of screenwriting and acting, and his tale comprises the second act of the film. I feared it would include a redemption arc for him, but, without spoiling anything, the film is too smart for that. Finally, there's the third act of the film, which is the out-and-out horror fest that left me absolutely breathless with anxiety and dread. It's the most rote of the acts, but by this point I needed something a little familiar to grasp or I was going to panic.

It's not a perfect movie. Many discussions -- all of which should be necessary and would be fascinating -- will revolve around the film's characterization of women, of men (which I think is the primary mode of horror here), of poverty, of greed and vanity. There is the cringey depiction of an impoverished Detroit, much like that used in Don't Breathe (which shares a surprising amount of DNA with this film), that we could all do without, despite its relevance and relative authenticity. There is the unbearable but constant series of idiotic actions taken by most characters; by the third act, I almost wanted more terrible things to happen to them to punish them for being so endlessly stupid. Thankfully, there is no actual depiction of sexual violence in this film, even though it's a major series of plot points and character arcs, so that's good, although we definitely still feel the impact cognitively. 

And then there's the title itself, a stroke of pure genius that creates a sort of maze for us as viewers to venture through, looking for its significance and meaning. Is it Keith? AJ? Tess? Someone else (we learn of a few other people connected to this house, none of whom are very nice)? Could it be the house itself, situated as it is on Barbary Street? I think the answer is "yes"! I'd argue it also refers to the cycle of misogyny in generations and cultures of toxic and evil men and the effect they have on the rest of us, especially on women. That entitlement led those men to build the world, and now we're all trapped in it. Can we escape?