In which I state all my problems with It Follows

I decided to cut this from my previous blog, since I realized it was less analysis and more nonsensical ranting about a movie I'd only seen once, and to include it would make it overly long and straying away from the main topic. (I think you can sense my nitpicky rage building as it goes along.) Turns out I have a lot to say about it, worthwhile or not, and I've been holding onto this anger for far too long. And now I pass it on to you.

To be clear, I've watched this movie exactly one and a half times. The first time was breathlessly optimistic leading to a supreme letdown. The half-time was begrudgingly open-minded in respect to the film and this post, ultimately leading to tapping out just before the climax, secure in the feeling that I just don't like this movie. And it sucks because it's far from a bad movie, it's just....not for me.

For as many interesting shots and intriguing moments as there are, there is just as much artsy filler. I am a fan of film and filmmakers and visual storytelling and metaphor and ambiguity and all that crap, but filler is filler. When I'm watching a suspenseful monster movie and I keep getting tripped up by teenagers mumbling about what they used to do when they were kids, I call that filler. When I'm watching a film whose monster is clearly communicating a frightening, ambiguous sexual metaphor (whether for venereal diseases, or sexual assault, or whatever theory you subscribe to), then to see Jay staring down her panties and hyperventilating for no apparent reason (if only to drive it home that her pesky vagina got her into this mess) and never relate back to it, I call that filler. When I'm watching a movie that clearly states its rules and implores me to remember them, only to show me unresolved scenes that leave it up to interpretation whether or not those rules were followed, I call that fucking BULLSHIT filler. (I am very upset about that boat scene.) And when I walk away from a movie loving aspects of it but remembering an overwhelming amount of aimless nothing, I just end up mad. I just watched Halloween with even longer long shots and it was fucking exhausting.

It Follows' biggest flaw lies in a most familiar territory of horror: unsympathetic teen victims. I don't know where down the line teens in horror went from being outwardly stupid and obnoxious to being outwardly pretentious zombies, but I'd like to go back to stupid, please. These kids are the perfect age to think every mundane they say and do is its own kind of poetry, much like the irrelevant lyrical prose clumsily woven throughout the narrative. It's as if all their intense teenagery feelings have gone too deep and imploded into comatose indifference. In fact, the entire movie seems tinged with this teenage sense of wonder--but not sincere wonder, more like "This ant crawling on my arm reminds me how insignificant we all are." That kind of self-indulgent, manufactured wonder, like these kids know they're in a movie and are purposefully projecting those deep vibes and striking those languid poses in order to look alluring. How else do you rationalize that stilted car sex between Hugh and Jay? Sure, he's unloading a terrible curse so his guilt sort of overwhelms his arousal, but Jay responds to his absolute lack of passion with performed tenderness, like she's copying something she saw in a movie. How else to you explain Jay choosing to hide by sleeping in the woods curled up on a car hood like a fucking cat? Because it would make a nice photo on her Tumblr.

 In fact, maybe this movie had the Instagram generation in mind--that would explain all the nonsensical posing, impossibly flattering camera angles, and general self-absorption among the characters. (Not to mention the trappings of another time scattered in the background...hipster kids love retro shit!) The camera indulges these kids' desire to be watched, leering at their vacant pretty faces and careless nubile limbs in a way that's uncomfortably pornographic. With that mood in mind, the kids feel less like characters than window dressing, pretty mannequins that the director can put into compelling poses without the need for logic or continuity, merely the pastiche of a beautiful image.

Jay would have all the followers on Instagram. I mean look at her. The director certainly wants us to. Her closeups are fetishized with glorious slow motion and that dreamy score, which is sometimes compelling but often laborious. I suppose when you have your camera aimed at such a beautiful face as Maika Monroe's, you would want to capture every little microexpression. Yara is speaking to my very soul when she says to Kelly, "Your sister is so pretty, it's annoying." Yes, Yara, it really is. So this whole movie is going to annoy me with her prettiness.

Nice puka shells.

I don't dislike this actress or the performance--I'm betting the script didn't give her a whole lot to work with--it's just that we're being presented with a pretty girl and through the camera's adoring gaze, we are obliged fall in love with her without understanding the first thing about her. That's nothing new for pretty girls in the movies, hardee har har, but I just can't buy into this portrait of a beautiful teenage girl taken at a distance. Its too Virgin Suicides, like those neighbor boys watching Jay in the pool are also the ones writing the script: just keep looking at this angel and the rest will speak for itself. It's kind of icky.

Jay's rising paranoia is hard to follow given she can't crumple her beautiful face too much, aside from a steady knitting of her remarkable eyebrows into an ever-deeper pout. I suffer from resting-bitch-face myself, so I do sympathize, but Jay can't seem to muster an emotion outside of "tense" and "relaxed." Because she's apparently incapable of communicating her feelings, she appears as an entirely passive character throughout the movie. Whereas most final girls have some sort of agency in their fate, Jay's decision-making ends after she chooses to have sex with Hugh (which is just another stick in my craw...more unfeeling punishment for sexually active teens). For the rest of the movie, she's a little wounded kitten: chirping meekly and smiling weakly and taking teeny tiny bites of her beautifully photographed food, just begging someone to wrap her up in a blanket and kiss her forehead.

She's either running away with a baffling sense of direction (the middle of an empty park is the perfect place to hide!), or she's dragged along by her buddies into solving this mystery, all the while staring off worriedly into the distance and being entirely unhelpful, despite being the one whose life is on the line. While Hugh is explaining the intricacies of the curse to her and her friends, she's barely paying attention, apparently too consumed by her own misery to do anything but pick at the grass (that particular gesture--girls absent-mindedly picking or stroking things to communicate a troubled mind, or ya know, boredom--recurs throughout the movie like it's supposed to mean something and I fucking hate it). She turns into absolute dead weight, and given we're supposed to want to protect her and identify with her, she's so closed off in all her ethereal teenage dreaminess that she just does not make contact as a real character. She's the lovely-looking centerpiece to this lovely-looking display.

And an apparent attempt at making peacoats and cutoff shorts a thing.

Meanwhile, her sidekicks are steadfastly at her side. This little team of poker-faced go-getters jumps at every chance to help Jay on the grounds that they're all such besties, but often I get the feeling this group just doesn't have anything better to do. Like, they're good kids so they don't get high or vandalize property (aside from Greg the jauggernaut bad boy), but they're clearly bored enough to drop everything in their lives to help their maybe-crazy friend feel better. It's made fairly clear that even though they believe Jay's fear, they don't really believe there is a monster, (at least until Paul gets beat down by a green screen effect) so it's a bit odd that they would go to such great lengths to indulge in what they largely perceive to be a paranoid fantasy.

But remember that Jay is a pretty, blonde, quiet girl, which is movie language for "She's not crazy, she's on a whole other level." This is reason enough for those boys--Pouty Paul and Sleazy Greg--to trail after her like puppies, both baldly campaigning to be the lucky guy she passes It along to. And to be clear, neither of those guys is the better choice. Greg is a horny teenage boy with a wandering eye, but at least he's honest about it; he makes no bones about the fact that he's in this for the pussy. Meanwhile, Paul is carrying his crush on Jay with this martyred nobility that's nauseating to watch. They're childhood friends, and movie logic tells us they will eventually end up together, and Paul has clearly seen those movies. Despite his gentle demeanor, he bears this obvious territorial resentment towards anyone attracted to Jay. He even snaps at Yara's aforementioned "pretty" comment with "At least she's nice." [Subtext: "Not like all those other fake bitches who won't date me either."]. He's clearly biding his time being the white knight next door he feels he's supposed to be, trying desperately to hide the full body angst-erection he gets whenever Jay's in the room.

May I take your curse, m'lady?

When he and Jay end up together at the end, it feels forced and awkward which was possibly the intention, but it's one of the more hollow images that's selling itself as a payoff moment. The relationship isn't any more romantic than her connection with Greg. It ultimately boils down to sex: Paul that always wanted it, and Jay that wanted to get rid of It. After that, there's nothing left but shallow hand-holding and staring blankly into the distance, as if because they knew each other for years and then silently fucked on a couch while it stormed outside, now they should be in love. Again, just children striking a pose for the camera.

Jay's sister Kelly barely has any purpose besides providing the buffer between Jay and the others. One wonders why Jay doesn't have her own friends....is she so pretty that everyone is intimidated by her? Kelly has little personality outside of staring at Jay with concern, which I guess translates to unwavering sister-love. We sum up their relationship with exchanged glances and call it a day.

And Yara...what the hell are you even doing here, Yara? You're the one bright spot in this whole mess. All you do is read and sleep. You probably haven't made direct eye contact with a single person in your life. Why do you hang out with these people? You know these people are boring as shit, that's why you're always reading to them in an effort to have some fucking thing to talk about. Why do you need friends at all, Yara? You have yourself and your shell-phone books and that's fantastic. Yara, you're a beautiful bedraggled gap-toothed angel and you're the only person I can connect with in this shitshow.

Eat your sandwich, you perfect weirdo.

And most perplexing of all, WHERE ARE YOUR PARENTS? What world are you living in where you can just disappear on road trips upstate to the family cabin with no notice? Do you go to school? Is it summer break? Is it fall break? Is it "I'm really going through some stuff right now" break? How the hell are you not all grounded?

This, and everything covered in the Cinema Sins video is why this one is staying in the DVD collection strictly for show, until the day some unsuspecting guest picks it out for a watch and is subjected to my bitter heckling.

I realize I'm nitpicking things that are microscopic next to the things the film does right. And it does so many things right, which infuriates me most of all! There are superb moments of horror and suspense, lots of hypnotic imagery, and the ever-present feeling that you are not safe. Normally those things would make a perfect horror movie, forgivable for all manner of sins! But I only focus on these aspects because the film seems so focused on them, and it's infuriating because these scenes do not deserve the attention. These slow-moving interludes of banal reality that serve as a story merely make for an over-long series of distractions from the good stuff, weighing down every too-brief moment of fright with a whole lot of boredom and irritation. Maybe I relate more to these teens than I realized: I felt equal parts terrified, sleepy, and helplessly confused throughout the film. Maybe this David Robert Mitchell is on to something I hadn't considered, but I doubt it.

 Obviously a great deal of talent went into this fascinating concept, but it seems they got so caught up in how cool their idea was that they neglected the part about compelling characters and plot structure. Saying after the fact "You can't solve a nightmare" is a poor excuse when really you just couldn't come up with an ending.