It feels like ages since the first posters for Longlegs dropped and even longer since horror fans had such a potent buzz eruption. The mystery around Oz Perkins’ fourth feature film has been a singular ride for horror hounds, fermented by mysterious posters, Satanic riddles, and the cautious withholding of Nicolas Cage’s visage from marketing. It’s been a dangerous gamble, allowing hype to get so furiously high, but it has undoubtedly paid off. Within two weeks of release Longlegs has grossed $50 million off a $10 million budget, delivering Neon their biggest film to date.
Maika Monroe (It Follows) stars as Lee Harker, a somewhat psychic FBI agent scouted to join a decades-long murder investigation. Multiple families murdered, seemingly out of the blue, by the fathers, with the only thing in common being a cryptic note left at each familicide signed ‘Longlegs’.
Its worth going in as blind as possible. Longlegs is, after all, a procedural in the vein of Seven and The Silence of the Lambs; its twists and reveals are worth guarding. But Perkins is no Demme or Fincher, his style more indebted to trance, supernature, and folklore (see Gretel & Hansel). He takes risks with a kind of softcore abstraction. Its not quite Lynchian, but certainly not a run of the mill catch-the-killer thriller.
Monroe’s natural ability to invoke intrigue and sympathy makes her the beating heart of the film. When Perkins throws us into the heart of darkness its Monroe’s cautious charisma that holds our hand, much as Jodie Foster did with Clarice Starling back in ‘92. Stellar supporting turns from Blair Underwood, Alicia Witt, and Keirnan Shipka mean there’s no shortage of persuasive performances throughout a potentially alienating journey.
There’s a lot of frustratingly evasive parts which, on their own, could be silly. Even Cage’s bizarre bewitching aging glam rocker shouldn’t work. The botched plastic surgery and high-pitched Pee Wee intonation should be absolutely ridiculous yet, in the context, it’s a haunted bit of inspiration. But Cage is just one part of the film’s cursed alure.
Perkins is clearly not as interested in plot as he is in constructing a spider web of vibes. Andres Arochi’s cinematography conjures a Polaroid nostalgia one minute then a kind of barren dream quality the next. Locations feel isolated from the ebb and flow of everyday life, away from bustling cities and crowded malls where this kind of domestic terror could never unfold. The static camera work insinuates an uneasy voyeurism, as if every shot is being overseen by something patient and petrifying. The exquisitely invasive sound design puts heartbeats and footsteps where they ought not to be and begs for viewing at maximum volume. Perkins gleefully wields mastery of subliminal atmosphere and insinuation.
The serial killer who doesn’t kill and has an obsession with T.Rex feels carefully constructed to subconsciously invoke the Manson Family murders. Charles Manson did after all have his own deranged obsession with The Beatles and was never directly involved in the crimes he became infamous for. It’s a background insinuation which reminds us that, for all its supernatural accoutrements, Longlegs isn’t that far-fetched. Even the omnipresent portraits of Bill Clinton represent something more than just set dressing to conjure the 90’s; in the context of Longlegs they become another red flag for the corruption of beloved patriarchs. It’s a mood board of mistrust and decaying nostalgia. A place where memories and childhood are tainted by adults and the lies they tell.
Whilst the film only pulls off a couple of genuine gut-wrenching scares, and most of the gory details are left off screen, Perkins works us over. The accumulative weirdness quietly, insidiously, crawls under your skin. Longlegs isn’t the kind of film which will be called scary in the context of Blumhouse Friday night thrill-rides, so folks expecting the jump-a-minute rollercoaster might want to change their expectations. But for those who take pleasure in the effervescent eeriness and existential distress of Kurosawa’s Cure, Egger’s The Witch, or Aster’s Hereditary, it will be a rewarding trip.
Perkins’ latest is his most accomplished film yet and whilst the director’s penchant for style-over-substance may disappoint some, it’s never been put to better use. Longlegs is without doubt the most invasive and clinging horror of the year.
4/5
Dir. Oz Perkins
Stars. Maika Munroe, Nicolas Cage, Blair Underwood, Alicia Witt, Keirnan Shipka,
