alternative cinema
a guide to the Frida
The Killing of a Sacred Deer
2017, THRILLER
directed by YORGOS LANTHIMOS
Talk to Me
2022, HORROR
directed by MICHAEL & DANNY PHILIPPOU
DOUBLE FEATURE! MAY 22nd
at the FRIDA
by KAI KARAFOTIS | MAY 21
The Killing of a Sacred Deer, directed by Yorgos Lanthimos, is a nail-biting uncanny valley nightmare, following an acclaimed cardiac surgeon whose idyllic life is strangled by the retribution of a buried secret. Deeply unsettling in both form and content, Sacred Deer dissects power, pride, guilt, and justice in fascinatingly complex layers.
Talk to Me, on the other hand, is a supernatural horror centering a group of teenagers who communicate with spirits through an embalmed hand, and quickly discover the horrific consequences of toying with purgatorial powers. At its core a musing on grief and loss, Talk to Me carries a heavy subject in a thrilling way, and creates a thought-provoking resonance with Sacred Deer.
The Killing of a Sacred Deer and Talk to Me are screening as a double feature at the Frida Cinema in Downtown Santa Ana on Thursday, May 22nd. Read more about them below (with some very light spoilers).
Entering the theater expecting the movie to directly explain its thoughts will do you a disservice with Sacred Deer. The title alone contains critical subtext: it references the Greek myth of Iphigenia, whose father King Agamemnon kills a sacred deer. As an act of justice, the goddess Artemis commands him to sacrifice his eldest daughter in order to achieve his goal to reach Troy. As in many classic Greek mythologies, the story of Iphigenia weighs ethics and morality, a recurring concept in Lanthimos’s films. King Agamemnon’s relegation to mortality, a reminder of his vulnerability in his greater quest for power, is a central theme in Sacred Deer.
The film opens with Steven (Colin Farrell) operating on an exposed heart. In every sense, Steven moves with god-like power, the ability to save lives or end them. Much like King Agamemnon, he carries a sense of invulnerability with him. He is respected in all aspects of his life and revered as a leader. He has a perfect life, perfect wife, perfect children, wealth and intelligence and prestige. He is in control. Men in extreme power often face few repercussions, their reputation or money creating infallibility as they bend reality to suit their needs. Often with this power comes pride, a narcissism fostered by inflated self-importance. A mistake is an impossibility that would violate their world view. And so despite what happens in the operating room, Steven removes his bloody gloves and moves on. “A surgeon never kills a patient,” Steven swears. “An anesthesiologist can kill a patient, but a surgeon never can.” He is reluctant to admit his own faults, even to the point of logical implausibility, and in doing so rejects the consequences of his actions. Throughout the film, Steven’s hands are a focus of attention. His hands, so clean and soft and beautiful, perfectly encapsulate his moral character. He will not allow them to be bloodied, even when there should be blood on his hands. He is above guilt and will do anything but admit he is flawed. And the unfolding result of his god complex creates a jaw-clenching narrative.
Overall, watching the film as a parable rather than a hero’s journey sums to a more impactful viewing experience. The characters represent a moral position in a greater ethical question, nearly more so than the characters they were written to be, and the implications of that create a fascinating ghost layer to the movie that makes it compelling the whole way through.
In Talk to Me, the central character, Mia, is dealing with incredible grief—the film begins on the two year anniversary of her mother’s gruesome death, pushing Mia to look for an outlet to avoid her feelings. It leads her to the hand, a source of excitement and ecstasy. However, as the hand tightens its grasp on her, the lines between reality and delusion blur. The overall impression is that of drug addiction: what begins as fun escalates into a problem she cannot pull herself out of. As with Steven in Sacred Deer, she is seeking control and balance, and its unclear how far either will go to eliminate what threatens their world view.
Talk to Me has a classic horror feeling to it, prioritizing scare factor and suspense, and boy does it deliver. It escalates the archetypal ouijia storyline and finds an unpredictable path, with a few scenes leaving you jaw-dropped. It’s absolutely a must-see for modern horror, striking the right balance of story without tipping into territory that distracts from the scares.
Lastly, I feel inclined to mention that both films contain content that may be triggering to some audience members—The Killing of a Sacred Deer in specific features medical trauma and child abuse with mentions of pedophilia (among other things), and both films revolve around the death of a parent. The great success of horror is the ability to unsettle and surprise, but please feel free to research content warnings if you want to ensure you’ll have the right kind of scary fun.
The Killing of a Sacred Deer and Talk to Me are the perfect pair for the anxiety-loving horror fan, and surely best enjoyed with a theater full of commiserating victims. Be sure to check out the double screening at the Frida Cinema on May 22nd.
editor’s picks | May
Mayday
2021, WAR (METAPHORICAL)
directed by KAREN CINORRE
I’d do anything for misandrist mia goth
Titane
2021, HORROR
directed by JULIA DUCOURNAU
it’s a love storyLeningrad Cowboys
Go America
1990, ADVENTURE
directed by AKI KAURISMÄKI
my new party soundtrack
You Won’t Be Alone
2022, DRAMA
directed by GORAN STOLEVSKI
it opens with a cat!
a guide to the Frida
Climax
2018, HORROR/MUSICAL
directed by GASPAR NOE
Bodies Bodies Bodies
2022, HORROR/MYSTERY
directed by HALINA REIJN
DOUBLE FEATURE! APRIL 24th
at the FRIDA
by KAI KARAFOTIS | APRIL 21
Feverish, explosive, twisted and ambling, Climax explores the breakdown of normalcy into the primal when all control is lost. Set in 1996, the film follows a group of dancers rehearsing in an abandoned school, whose night tears itself apart when they discover their sangria has been spiked with LSD. Part dance movie, part whodunnit, part Lord of the Flies, Gaspar Noé’s daring Climax is a jaw-dropper from start to finish.
Bodies Bodies Bodies hits a similar premise with a completely different result. Trapped in a mansion with a storm raging outside, a drug-fueled group of friends play their version of Werewolf, which quickly erodes into a do-or-die witch hunt until the sun comes up. Hilarious in all the right moments and suspenseful everywhere else, Bodies Bodies Bodies is a ridiculously fun time, and the perfect follow up to Climax.
Both movies are screening as a double feature at the Frida Cinema on April 24th. Read more about them below (with some very light spoilers).
In that sense, the creation of the film matches perfectly with the narrative. Once the characters start tripping, they enter a world of individual survival. Overtaken by LSD, they revert to their base instincts, their feelings, and each moment is the only reality and fleeting fast. The characters in the film are discovering their next thought, their next minute, at the same moment as the actors playing them. Climax remains gripping because of its unpredictability, leaving you constantly guessing if there will be any limits.
The narrative weaves together a small group of people, their love, frustration, desire, and jealousy. Their shared history is a constant undercurrent, and at moments they crash into one another so desperately and horrifically that you can only watch in disbelief. Queerness is a given, as characters’ attractions shift continuously, and as the story progresses some characters’ desire for sex becomes a need, a starvation that must be fed. It becomes dominance and control for them as much as validation and worth for others. The social bonds that hold a group together melt away under the acid, and individual truth must be expressed at any cost.
Bodies Bodies Bodies takes the foundation set by Climax and runs with it. The perspective of the group becomes critical. If everyone agrees who the murderer is, it might not be long before they’re voted out. Half truths come out and miscommunication is central to this dysfunctional group (who never listen to each other to begin with). Once fingers start to point, then “the best defense is a good offense”.
Much like in Climax, sexual tension cannot stay hidden for long, and true feelings—whether positive or negative—are validated by blame. The complex web of past relationships adds so many layers to the mystery, as the facade of their friendships crack under the animalistic pressure. And despite what the characters may say, feelings aren’t fact, and even facts aren’t fact, both are desperate grasps at self-protection. As the stakes heighten, civility crashes and burns. This film shows how quickly groupthink can change targets, and how fast someone can find themselves on the outskirts. Revealing the primal instinct to stay alive, it plays with the idea that when push comes to shove, you better be shoving.
Bodies Bodies Bodies is the perfect shift back into reality following Climax, and needless to say, both films are a worthwhile watch—especially in a double screening.
editor’s picks | APRIL
Problemista
2023, COMEDY
directed by JULIO TORRES
turn off the phone flashlight or I will scream
The Holdovers
2023, COMEDY
directed by ALEXANDER PAYNE
these misfits will make you feel all warm and fuzzyWe’re All Going to the World’s Fair
2021, HORROR
directed by JANE SCHOENBRUN
blend of internet intimacy and dysphoric gender discovery
Raise the Red Lantern
1991, ROMANCE
directed by ZHANG YIMOU
does anything change?
a guide to the Frida
Picnic at Hanging Rock
2018, HORROR/MUSICAL
directed by GASPAR NOE
SCREENING MARCH 17th - 21st
at the FRIDA
by HENRY LITTLEWORTH & BELLA MARINOS | APRIL 21
Peter Weir’s 1975 classic Picnic at Hanging Rock is a waking nightmare that defies explanation. Set in early 1900s Australia, the film follows a group of students from Appleyard College, an all-girls boarding school, on a Valentine’s Day picnic at the eponymous “Hanging Rock,” a hallowed volcanic formation on the outskirts of their town. Frenzy follows when three schoolgirls and their teacher vanish without a trace. The boarding school and surrounding community are all left with nothing but superstition to make sense of the disappearances. This film makes viewers feel like they’re drifting peacefully over some great, unseen terror. Picnic at Hanging Rock will be playing at the Frida Cinema in downtown Santa Ana from March 17th through the 21st.
CONTINUE READING BELOW (MAYBE SPOLIERS)
The setting of Picnic at Hanging Rock is also its central symbol. Hanging Rock is a symbol of three themes of the film: nature’s retribution, colonialism’s oppression, and the unseen power of the mystic.
Hanging Rock is part of a volcanic formation in southern Australia that was, for tens of thousands of years, a sacred-grounds for native Aboriginal tribes. The rock imposes on the flatlands that surround it; its enormity and polarity in the landscape emphasize its sanctity. In spite of the frivolous picnics and privies hosted around its base—where the schoolgirls eat, read, and lounge—the mysterious and bestial events that take place are a reminder of the mountain’s true nature, one of untamed, and perhaps untamable, force. Through the film’s progression, we see the results of colonialism in both nature and the community, as colonialism oppresses, contains, and consumes them all.
The brutality enacted upon Aboriginal Australian people and nature, though significantly more violent, is linked to the repression which colonial society enforces on the young, white schoolgirls. The systematic habit of colonialism to sanitize, tame, and control nature as a means of exerting authority over native groups, also determines how colonial structures behave toward its own people. Though the schoolgirls live in the wild heartland, they know little about it. When they are brought to Hanging Rock for their Valentine’s picnic, not only are the schoolgirls emotionally removed from the land through a lack of knowledge and experience, but physically removed from it as well. Even in the extreme heat, they are forced to don their uniforms of sanitized purity: collared white dresses, petticoats, corsets, gloves, and high-heeled black boots. Outfits curated for their lack of adventuring abilities.
The schoolgirls are furthermore discouraged from exploring the mountain by their chaperones, despite their natural human instinct to uncover the mysteries of Hanging Rock. This heartless, detached relationship with nature exposes colonialist anxieties regarding nature’s inherent power. Aware of this power and the significance of these sacred-sites to Aboriginal people, invasive settlers pursue the taming, sanitation, and domination of the landscape. Those who control the land control the people who live on the land. The oppression of the schoolgirls is not just limited to their interactions with the landscape, but also that of their history, sexuality, and human nature. Picnic at Hanging Rock tells a story of freeing oneself from the grips of colonialism, and the revolution as well as chaos that may spark from it.
The Fog innocently drifts over the Appleyard entourage, slowly enshrouding them and the rock in mystery. Unbeknownst to the group, the fog is the instigator of the ensuing chaos. The Fog first causes everyone’s pocket watches to freeze at exactly 12 noon, indicating the thinning of the veil between the natural and the supernatural. Four girls—Irma, Edith, Marion, and Miranda—adventure away from the rest of the group moving deeper into the bush, untethering themselves from the world as they know it. The Fog trails alongside them as they venture higher and higher up the rock. The Fog does not cause distortion or confusion for the girls but is merely an indication of such sensations. Throughout the film, we get a glimpse under the Fog, some clue to the nature of the disappearances and whatever lies beyond. However, as soon as we think we might be piecing it all together, the Fog returns and what was shown is snapped off and abstracted, becoming yet another part of the mystery.
Hysteria & Sexuality
As we move through the film, the purity, fragility, and helplessness of the schoolgirls is at the forefront. They must wear layers upon layers of tight, hot, lacey clothing, speak softly, and act with much restraint. Any and all deviation is met with swift, pitiless consequences enforced by the teachers at Appleyard College. Their journey to the rock is void of emotion. Only upon arriving at the edge of the bush, the schoolgirls regain their spirits, coming alive with sighs of relief, removing their gloves at last. The tight grip of colonial society loosens this far into the wild.
As the aforementioned group of four venture up the rock, they remove their shoes and stockings. Edith hesitates, keeping her stockings but continues to trail the others up the slopes. Autonomy is on the horizon. They plunge their feet in the grass growing in the cracks of the rock and dance under the baking afternoon sun. Unknown to the rest of the picnic, it is here that the defiant three completely sever their ties to their colonial oppression. They are no longer bound by the rules other than those brought forth by the bush. They nap high on the peak, while flies, reptiles, and birds ramble around their home that is Hanging Rock. The schoolgirls transform, becoming another blade of grass, another bird song, another rock. Nature carries on, their presence no longer threatening nor trivial. They join the endless and unmoveable cycle that is life and death, free from the sterile, static atmosphere of Appleyard College. As a final act of defiance—influenced by nature's unruliness, the girls chose to return to the wild earth, never to be seen again.