2017

Director: Yorgos Lanthimos

Genre: Dramatic horror mystery 

There's a moment in The Killing of a Sacred Deer when Nicole Kidman's character exits a room. As she shuts the door behind her, she accidentally kicks it with the back of her foot. This makes the whole door wobble slightly before it is fully shut. 

I can't provide proof, but I don't think this moment was planned on set. It felt like a legit tiny mistake that was left in the film. But here's the thing: this moment when the door wobbled fits so well into the tone and atmosphere of the film. 

My point is, some directors wouldn't think about it like that. I'd say the majority of working directors would view this moment as a mistake and not use the take where the door wobbles in the final edit. And if I'm wrong, and this was a carefully crafted character moment, then it makes me respect the director even more. 

There's a lot to talk about with this movie. It's a film that transcends a plot synopsis, meaning you should see this film for yourself. However, I think this is a great time to discuss "pretentious filmmaking". As far as film titles go, I'd say "The Killing of a Sacred Deer" sounds pretty darn pretentious. 

I think when most people call something "pretentious" they forget about the full definition of the word. The full and simple definition of the word is: attempting to impress by affecting greater importance. The first part of that definition (attempting to impress) is key. Film students make tons of pretentious films because they're trying to impress teachers and peers. Indie filmmakers make pretentious films to try and impress people who would not see the film unless they thought it was something smart. Established filmmakers make pretentious films to try and boost intrigue and make grand statements.

I don't like pretentious films. Nobody does. I would label Yorgos Lanthimos's previous film The Lobster as a pretentious film. I believe with that film he was attempting to impress critics with statements about human relationships and the nature of love. For my personal definition of pretentiousness, I would put that label on any film that is more concerned with an overall message rather than a story being told. 

So, as I sat in the theater for this film, I feared sitting through two hours of preaching, accompanied by shocking imagery. I'd say the first fifteen minutes of The Killing of a Sacred Deer supports this. The film starts in a very abstract way. I kept thinking to myself "what's the plot of this film?" 

But then, as the film continued. I started to piece things together. I found myself connecting the dots of throwaway lines and subtle placement of characters in the scene. And just before the son of the doctor reveals he can't move his legs, I had formed a plot in my head of a boy getting revenge against the doctor who murdered his father. 

I was correct with my assumption, but everything was much more interesting and creative than I imagined. In a fantastic scene, where the exposition is spoken in a wonderfully rushed and disturbingly casual manner, the boy reveals to the doctor that he needs to murder one of his family members, or else they will get sicker and sicker until they all die. 

After this, I was so on board with the film. Things progressively get tense and disturbing from this point on, while still maintaining the occasional moment of well placed dark humor. 

And then I collapse. My legs don't work anymore. I no longer sustain myself with food. 

Everyone eats spaghetti the same way.

This film is not pretentious. It works on its own as a story of a family unraveling. Or, it works as a revenge story. The other elements, such as how the story ties in with the title, is buried in the subtext to compliment the film, other than to replace the story elements. Greek myths and legends of battles between gods and mortals are scattered in the background. Perhaps in the beginning of a scene, spoken in a barely audible manner. Perhaps with the name of an essay someone wrote. Perhaps in the dialog of a specific scene from Groundhog Day, playing on the TV in the corner of the screen. These tiny details enrich the film and add more layers to an already layered story. 

My words may begin to deteriorate as I continue. My points grow less solid. My arguments are unable to stand on their own, and must crawl on the ground toward the illusive concept of meaning. 

Everyone eats spaghetti the same way.

Is everything here a metaphor for a larger story? Or is that idea a metaphor on its own? Are there rules here, or is the plot merely an exercise of chaos? You can spin around with a gun, but you will always shoot the same person. There was only ever one answer. 

Something looms far above my head. It is off to the side, and I am but a small man in the corner of a large world. An unknown force guides my hands and writes my words. Is it a god? Is that so unbelievable? Is something making these events unfold? Or is the unknown force human? Is there a distinction between the supernatural forces of earth, and the persuasive ideas of a broken human mind? 

I try and bargain for my survival. To assure others I should be the one to exist on this earth. But there is no right answer. Only the one answer. 

Everyone eats spaghetti the same way. 

Like the girl shouting at the boy to try harder to make her legs work again, we are left in the dark. Unsure of whether or not he is capable of such a feat. We are left to keep shouting, trying to grab at meaning from something that may or may not be meaningless. 

But that's what we do. We shout. We yell and scream and bury ourselves deeper in a web of lies and pleas for passion and meaning. 

I'm very sick now. My vision is blurring. My eyes are bleeding. 

It is never anyone's fault if someone dies. Chaos is purely to blame. Never you. You would never kill anyone. People don't do things like that. We just spin around and let fate dictate when we pull the trigger. 

Everyone eats spaghetti the same way. We push the fork onto the plate, and twist. 

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