Margaret exudes ruthless confidence. Impeccably dressed and living in a shiny condo, she is the sort of businesswoman who offers devastating advice to an underling because she knows how hard it can be out there. But then Margaret sees someone at a conference she does not expect, and her entire world changes. All that confidence evaporates, leaving a quaking victim who barely has the courage to function. Resurrection, the new thriller from writer-director Andrew Semans, is about Margaret’s struggle to overcome trauma. Don’t for a moment think, however, this is a feel-good drama about empowerment and perseverance. Semans has crafted a disturbing horror-thriller, one with a “go for broke” ending that will disgust, delight, and alienate audiences in equal measure.
Semans sets his film in Albany, and the opening act takes place in reassuring spaces like wide public parks or immaculate modern architecture. Rebecca Hall plays Margaret as someone who gets through life through compartmentalization. She has her career and she has Peter (Michael Esper), the man she sometimes fucks, but she keeps both away from her daughter Abbie (Grace Kaufman). Through claustrophobic camera placement and some nightmare sequences, we get the sense that Margaret lives an incomplete life so that Abbie may have semblance of normalcy. All that changes when Margaret notices David (Tim Roth), who does not announce himself directly. He’s on the fringes of Margaret’s life, sitting quietly, but his mere presence is enough to give her a panic attack.
At first, Semans films David entirely from Margaret’s point of view, giving the possible suggestion she is a figment of her imagination. That’s part of Resurrection’s appeal: we are unsure precisely what to think, or what David and Margaret might do next. But then they start talking, and uneven psychological warfare defines their relationship. David claims he does not recognize Margaret, and offers to call the police when she gets agitated. The gaslighting is transparent to see, but what makes it agonizing is the effect it has on Margaret: through Hall’s amazing performance, we see doubt and hopelessness creep all over her face. Over the course of the film, we finally see why he has such power over her. Instead of reassuring space, Semans drifts to abandoned alleys and seedy hotels, a reflection of his hero’s deteriorating mental state.
Resurrection is deliberate and careful in what information it supplies. Key details come from Peter and Abbie, who do not know Margaret that well, but are concerned enough about her that we can start to put together what is wrong. The effect is involving because Hall effectively withholds and divulges information, and Margaret’s abrupt change is so extraordinary. This is an admirable escalation of tension, and there are two significant ways Semans releases it. The first is a scene that is frankly unforgettable, a word I do not use lightly: midway through the film, there is a long monologue where Margaret describes her history with David. It is an unbroken take, one that starts in distant close-up and grows tighter on Hall’s face, with all the light draining around her until her deep brown eyes are huge. I won’t divulge the details of her story, except to say that is totally shocking and paints a vivid picture in our imagination.
Tim Roth is no long as ubiquitous as he was in the ‘90s, so you may have forgotten how menacing he can be. David is completely unlike the softspoken, albeit self-centered character from last year’s Bergman Island. He accomplishes something tricky in the film’s second half: he expounds on extraordinary details from Hall’s monologue, confirming her story with “here and now” realism. We cannot fully believe what David says to Margaret, and maybe Margaret does not believe it either, yet his language has such power over her that it leads to significant physical and mental turmoil.
The second, more perplexing release of tension happens late in the film. David and Margaret meet in a hotel room for a final showdown, and after playing his hand close to the chest for the film, Semans reveals to what he has been building. Semans combines surrealism and body horror, all with a veneer of vengeance, and once again we are not completely sure what we are seeing. Unlike this year’s Men, which opts for shock over substance, Resurrection’s horrifying imagery is a more potent, more specific metaphor (IFC released the film without a MPAA rating, as if to goad genre fans). My wife and my therapist like to remind me, “Thoughts are not feelings.” That would be a helpful reminder for Margaret, too, except she regresses so deeply that simple truths offer zero solace, and her comfort requires an extreme, bloody excision. Put another way, Resurrection is a trauma allegory cranked up to 11.
Photo courtesy of IFC Films
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