Horror is cool. It's a lean, agressive genre, often the first stop for hungry young directors looking to make their mark. I actually think it's the best sort of film for a new auteur honing their skills. Action, these days, belongs to computer wizards, with directors more like administrators than battle commanders. Comedy is for the former-standup improv guys, straight drama for writers, romance for heart-throbs. Horror is pure filmmaking. Its best moments are created through sight and sound, careful editing and precise frames. I applauded the choice of James Wan for the next F&F movie, precisely because he's already shown mastery over every aspect of a filmmaker's craft. These skills translate anywhere.
I've heard from a lot of people I trust that You're Next, Adam Wingard's nasty little broadhead of a slasher flick, is one of those movies that announces a huge new talent onto the scene. Verdict? Maaaybe. Just maybe. It isn't a Jaws level revelation, but a kickass, scary, funny movie for no money is still one hell of a feat. Wingard will be around a long time. This is a juvenile movie, flawed, the work of someone still growing into his ideas, but the bones are already here.
If there's a major flaw, it's that of being a bit derivative. Wingard steals from the best and does it well, but so much of the setup is familar. I kept expecting the reveal that Erin's real last name is Ripley, and that her mother Ellen did all the teaching. Don't get me wrong, I love a badass female protagonist, and Erin is a really, really cool one. Sharni Vinson looks like she's 15, and manages to be completely believable wielding a tenderizer. The whole thing is a nice dig at the concept of a "final girl," the horror movie cliche who makes it the final reel by power of general perkiness. Vinson has the look, but man oh man is she playing a different game. The last deliberate kill, which I won't spoil, is a triumph of ferocity and heartbreak playing across her face.
You're Next is very much part of the haunted house / scary mansion tradition, and the old heap makes a fine, majestically crumbling character. I'm fascinated by the way that the strangers are the ones who seem to know it best, to navigate the twists and turn and hidden spaces with the most skill. Part of it, just being practical, is that the masks are soldiers, and Erin is whatever the hell Erin is. But doesn't it seem like the core family is awful ignorant about their own house? Or perhaps it's just being uncomfortable, uncertain. This isn't home and hasn't been for a long time. Who are the real intruders? The actors, mostly indie-film stalwarts and good friends of Wingard (they all write, direct, and act together in various combinations), are very good at illuminating the infinite web of bullshit that's tangled between these people over the years. They're not good people, and if the personalities stray a bit towards type, I'm willing to overlook that as a way to get to the good stuff with minimal exposition.
Wait, you thought "good stuff" meant the bloodletting? Wingard's best, positively Spielbergian trait is his patience. The movie plays out in the beats between blood-sprays, the silence while lightning builds. It's a movie about the vicousness of family, the constant one-upsmanship between brothers that leaves one, only one, laughing. Erin and Cee share a late scene that involves one of them lifting a nail-studded board as a weapon. But the real wound was inflicted earlier, and you can see from the jealousy in Cee's eyes that she knows she's already lost. She'll never be as competent and smart as the Aussie stranger, and if there's one thing Cee can't take it's being second at, well, anything.
Beats like that make the movie. Straight action scenes are tossed off, almost perfunctory, entirely competent but you never get the sense that Wingard cares too much about the stylishness of his many kills. These sequences are used to build character and inject humor, not to horrify or repulse. Notice, in a certain kill-scene in the basement, that it's framed and cut like a joke. Quick, matching edits across eyelines, precise use of sound, pan down to the punchline etc. Another moment, involving a sprint and a wire, plays out like a sightgag worthy of the stooges. Heroic music, slo-mo run annnnnnnnnd……
You're next indeed, Mr. Wingard.
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