It Follows (2014, David Robert Mitchell)

It Follows is a monster movie. Somewhere in the second half of the film, the monster starts acting with more malice towards its targets, like it’s frustrated it hasn’t been able to kill them yet. Given it’s an invisible sex monster—or, I guess, possibly an invisible sex demon—there’s a particular energy to it. There’s always specific energy to the sex in Follows. It’s always transactional; it’s always wrong. Abstinence is the only way to keep the sex demons away.

But if writer and director Mitchell is doing the whole thing to tell young folks to wait until they’re married—though it wouldn’t save you either, in fact, it’s just making your doom all the more convenient. So hang on, there are rules.

The monster doesn’t “follow” so much as walk directly towards its target. It has one target at a time, but previous targets can also see it because once the current target is resolved, the one previous becomes the target. The only way to pass the target along is through sex. It’s sexually transmitted but apparently not through bodily fluids, and it’s unclear if Clinton definitions apply. Even after the Scooby Gang gets together to save the final girl-to-be(?), Maika Monroe, and they come up with plans to deal with the monster… there’s never a big exposition dump about their ideas. Given how many decisions are made offscreen or when the music gloriously blares over any conversation, anything’s possible. Because while Mitchell doing it all as a VD analogy is probably too much, he’s got the class angle in there.

While the gang isn’t Richie Rich, they’re doing a lot better than many residents of their neighboring city, Detroit, MI. At the beginning of the second act, there’s a scene where they drive through the city and stare out at the urban blight, only to talk about it later on. And it’s going to figure into the resolution. So it’s very much there. Of the two symbolisms, he went with the white American bourgeoisie being devils over VD being their undoing. It works out. Like, it’s solid symbolism. If Mitchell had any third act tricks up his sleeve whatsoever, who knows where it would’ve led.

But the third act is a mess. It’s an initially ambitious mess, where the ideas just stop being good at a certain point, and there’s nothing left to do but wait for a sequel. Or not.

The film’s a stunning mix of monster, horror, slasher, and teen angst. But good indie teen angst, handheld teen angst. Bringing all those moods together is the sensational music by Disasterpeace. It’s electronic, occasionally very video game sounds (intentionally), keeping the atmosphere in check. Without the music, It Follows wouldn’t be anywhere near as potentially terrifying in its mundane. The music’s particularly vital in the first act before the Scooby Gang sets off, and it’s all about Monroe’s recovery from trauma. It Follows is never more actually violent or intense than the first act, but only because the film ends if Monroe dies and it’s a hundred-minute movie; in other words, there are many actual breathers, even as the film keeps the tension up. If only Mitchell had another fifteen minutes of ratcheting up the tension, it’d be incredible.

As is, it’s still damn good. Monroe’s a good lead, and the Scooby Gang’s all effective. There are multiple love triangles, always involving Keir Gilchrist—more like he inserts himself in them—including dreamboat neighbor with a past Daniel Zovatto, who Monroe’s little sister, Lili Sepe, likes. Olivia Luccardi’s the other friend, who reads Dostoevsky on a pocket clamshell (literally) e-reader. They all get personalities but always in the background. Mitchell’s script and direction are wonderfully efficient in the setups.

Excellent photography from Mike Gioulakis for most of the film; third act, it goes slightly to pot (for the big finale, so it’s essential) and never really has a chance to come back. Great editing from Julio C. Perez IV. The editing’s the most important thing. Perez and Mitchell have a great sense of timing (ditto Disasterpeace for the music).

It Follows is outstanding, but Mitchell bunts the third act, which is disappointing.

The Guest (2014, Adam Wingard)

For most of The Guest, the script doesn’t matter. Either the acting or the filmmaking carry the scene. The first act is this fairly standard, fairly obvious—albeit beautifully produced—drama about an all American family in crisis after the death of the oldest son, a soldier, killed in action in the Middle East. Dad Leland Orser is a verbally abusive drunk who also feels inadequate for not making enough money (in rural New Mexico). Mom Sheila Kelley is just sad. And dealing with Orser. High schooler Brendan Meyer is super-smart and mercilessly bullied. Daughter Maika Monroe works at the diner to save for college and has to hide pot-head boyfriend Chase Williamson from the fam. Then Dan Stevens knocks on the door—actually, Dan Stevens knocks on the door first and then the film establishes the family and really quickly, really efficiently. The strangest thing about The Guest having script problems is the plotting flows perfectly; writer Simon Barrett basically just doesn’t have any ending and he doesn’t have enough character development. Otherwise, the script’s good.

Anyway—Stevens. He’s the dead son’s comrade and he promised to tell each family member how much the dead son loved them. Stevens is just a good, nice guy, which is apparently exactly what the family needs. Kelley doesn’t have a son back so much as a pal. Kelley’s a missed opportunity. She’s a narrative prop, moved around for effective, but her performance is great. The film really doesn’t do enough with her. She’s around a lot but she doesn’t get any character development. She’s just sad about dead son and worried about her family. She also doesn’t have a clothes dryer, which is important later on. She and Stevens are really good together. Actually, Stevens is really good with everyone—Orser, Meyer, love interest Tabatha Shaun—except the one person it turns out he needs to be really good with—Monroe.

And it’s both Stevens and Monroe’s fault, but maybe more director Wingard and writer Barrett’s. Because eventually they at least need to have some spark and they never do, which seems almost intentional and a really wrong-headed move on the film’s part. So, eventually weird things start happening—like Stevens helping Meyer with his bully problem and Shaun with a pushy ex-boyfriend—and Monroe overhears Stevens on a mysterious cellphone call and just has to start investigating. Everything about that plot development is bad—anal-retentive Stevens having his super-shady but not super-shady at all phone call in hearing distance, Monroe immediately going Nancy Drew (the character’s written differently in each act), even the direction is forced (in the wrong way). Because first act Monroe is supposed to be crushing on Stevens, whereas second act Monroe is convinced he’s the devil and then third act Monroe is aware he’s the devil but operating indifferently to that belief. It’s not a good part for Monroe, especially not in the third act; the writing is just too thin. Also the film kind of dumps Monroe in the second act as she’s Nancy Drewing to follow everyone else. Well, the guys, not Kelley.

But it’s always an engrossing thriller. Wingard, who also edits, which seems right, knows how to present Stevens for maximum effect and Stevens is the whole point. Again, why Nancy Drew Monroe if she’s not going to take point but whatever; Barrett’s script has a lot of issues. Wingard’s got a tone he’s going for and hits it; making the film around any narrative issues for most of its hundred minutes. Steve Moore’s music and Robby Baumgartner’s photography are both excellent and enable that tone. If Wingard had been able to succeed with The Guest, it would’ve been something. But not failing is something too. Though having Stevens helps. And Monroe and Meyer and Kelley and Orser. The cast is right, the script is just a little wrong.

Also, Lance Reddick as Stevens’s former CO needs to be great and then isn’t. Reddick’s the third act surprise and it’s a flop.

Greta (2018, Neil Jordan)

Greta is exceedingly competent. It’s way too unimaginative, predictable, traditional, and restrained in the final third, but it’s always exceedingly competent at those things. Even after it’s clear top-billed Isabelle Huppert isn’t going to create a singular cinema villain and even after it’s clear she’s not even as good as she was in the first hour… she’s always exceedingly competent. Ditto de facto lead Chloë Grace Moretz; she gets thin, melodramatic backstory, an annoying sidekick, a boring job, and a bland dad, but she always makes it work. Greta’s even able to make its utterly predictable last shot work.

Probably because the whole thing is utterly noncommittal and emotionally exploitative until the thriller dangers take over.

The film doesn’t start out noncommittal or emotionally exploitative. The first act at least hints at some sincerity—another of the script’s efficiencies—Moretz is a recent college (Smith, natch) graduate living the dream in New York City. Literally. She works as a waitress, but has no future ambitions and doesn’t need any because she lives with good friend Maika Monroe, whose dad bought her a loft for college graduation. Monroe doesn’t appear to do anything but yoga and party. Again, efficiency after efficiency. Moretz’s dad, Colm Feore, lives back in Boston. Moretz came to New York not because she gets to live rent-free in a bitchin’ loft but because her mom died the year before and she’s grieving. It’s implied Feore grieved his way immediately into another marriage, but it’s never explained. Because efficiency. And also the implied detail makes the film less shallow.

So one day Moretz finds a handbag on the train and—thanks to the lost and found not being open—has to bring it back to the owner herself. The owner is French-ish Isabelle Huppert, who lives all by herself because her husband died the year before and her daughter is off in Paris. Huppert and Moretz immediately bond, much to Monroe’s chagrin—she feels like Moretz is judging her negatively for being a superficial rich girl (which Moretz can’t be because she doesn’t do yoga and also dead mom). Except (and it happens before the second act) it turns out Huppert is seriously creepy creeper and Moretz tries to break off their relationship, only for Huppert to start stalking her. And eventually Monroe, leading to some great thriller sequences from Jordan, cinematographer Seamus McGarvey, and editor Nick Emerson.

Huppert’s stalking gets worse, leading to bigger and bigger set pieces, until the last third (or so) of the film when the danger to Moretz starts to become far more literal. No more foreshadowing, no more backstory hints (and the ones the film has revealed add up to nothing because of how the third act plays), just terror.

The conclusion is a mix of predictable, problematic, satisfying, and truncated. Greta runs just less than a hundred minutes and definitely could use a more thorough denouement. Jordan and co-writer Ray Wright go for intensity to get the film to the finish, which is fine in the moment, it just doesn’t add up to anything. Nothing in the film adds up to anything. None of the suspicions, none of the characters’ traumatic histories, none of the characters’ criminal histories (private investigator Stephen Rea discovers more about Huppert from one file folder than the cops do after multiple interactions with both Huppert and Moritz); none of it matters in the end. So no character development, not for Moritz or Huppert. Moritz definitely needed some. Huppert, if the villain role were better, might be able to get away without it. But the role’s not better. It’s lacking. Even if she does power through the third act quite well.

Moritz is good too, though the film’s patronizing towards her, like it resents her for not having enough to do because it doesn’t give her enough to do. Monroe gets better as things go on. She’s good at action, not at exposition. She’s real rough in the first act.

Rea’s great.

Feore’s okay. It’s a perfect role for stunt-casting or a character actor and instead it’s filler with Feore.

Like I said, it’s all exceedingly competent, making Greta a successful viewing experience without being a successful film.

It’s too bad. A better, sincerer, more ambitious script could’ve given Huppert, Moretz, and Monroe some great roles.