As genre-based studios, such as horror factory Blumhouse, seemingly double down on exhuming the decrepit corpses of beloved classics for their corporate IP, it’s a breath of fresh air to see a film that manages to build hype entirely on its own merit. The months-long build-up to Longlegs, the latest directorial effort from writer-director Osgood Perkins (The Blackcoat’s Daughter, Gretel & Hansel), has been a savvy bit of marketing on the part of distributor, Neon. First, there were a handful of cryptic teasers, titled after lyrics from T-Rex’s “Bang a Gong,” sparsely showcasing the movie’s footage and emphasizing its illicit, sinister quality. The strategy recalls a banned 1973 teaser for The Exorcist: flashing images of a possessed Reagan’s face set to the distorted harmonics of Lalo Schifrin’s hellish and eventually abandoned score. Neon and Perkins wants to sell you on one thing: this movie might be evil.
As it turns out, Longlegs is not evil. It is not, as some reviews have hyperbolically dubbed it, “the scariest movie of the decade.” But Neon’s confidence pays off in one, vitally important respect: the movie is, in fact, quite good. A ‘70s-inspired, supernatural riff on The Silence of the Lambs, Perkins’s Longlegs filters its familiar premise through the distorted frequency of real-world satanic panic, as if existing in a world where spinning a record by Black Sabbath might actually open up a portal into Hell. Not convinced? Marc Bolan’s lyrics, which open the film, directly inform the story – “You’ve got the teeth of the hydra upon you. You’re dirty, sweet and you’re my girl.” Its titular serial killer, played by prosthetic-laden and androgynous Nicolas Cage, wears long hair and face makeup reminiscent of a disheveled glam rocker. Posters of T-Rex and Lou Reed hang in his basement, as he channels the Devil’s will to deviously sinister ends.
Maika Monroe (It Follows, Watcher) plays Lee Harker, a novice FBI agent who finds herself on the trail of Cage’s eponymous serial killer following a string of gruesome murder-suicides. Each crime scene – including a husband, wife and daughter – bears the marker of an elusive and disturbing influence: coded messages signed with the name, Longlegs. But Harker isn’t just a good detective. As revealed in an early sequence, where she and an ill-fated colleague locate a murder suspect in an abandoned house, she possesses the supernatural capability of foresight, an innate knowledge of where and when to look. Along with her supervisor, Agent Carter (Blair Underwood), Harker sets off to identify the killer and prevent him from murdering again. However, it appears that the villain might be on her trail, too.
For anyone who has seen a handful of notable works in the thriller or horror genre, such as David Fincher’s Zodiac, Kiyoshi Kurosawa’s Cure or the aforementioned The Silence of the Lambs, Perkins’s screenplay will sound somewhat familiar. What distinguishes Longlegs from its forebearers is its precise visuals and atypical editing choices. First-time feature cinematographer Andrés Arochi has a distinctly photographic sensibility. The prologue, shot in academy ratio, is completely locked down, emphasizing the atmosphere of discomfort Perkins weaponizes throughout. Cage’s Longlegs makes his first appearance in a bold composition that cuts off half of his head, his full features only appearing in a brief flash before the opening credits. Leaning towards arthouse rather than standard horror, Perkins understands that what you don’t see is often more unnerving than what you do. Despite the frequently gruesome content and eventual violence, many of Longlegs’s cruelest moments are presented off-screen or at a measured distance. Perversely, the film’s remove from its own horrors makes the nastiness that much more inescapable.
This novel restraint is both Longlegs’s chief feature and an eventual flaw. Cage’s memorable performance has largely been kept absent from the film’s marketing, and for good reason – he’s creepy, but best enjoyed in small doses. It was perhaps inevitable, given the cryptic marketing, that the story’s big reveal would be underwhelming, but Perkins’s sparsely written script fails to provide an explanation for its mysteries that matches the austere unreality of its atmosphere. For her part, Monroe handles the material, and her thinly-sketched character, convincingly, but it all ends up being a bit too literal. The dialogue lands with a heavier hand than the filmmaking can support, leaning on rote thriller clichés in its handling of prominent characters, especially Agent Carter. The narrative is disappointingly predictable as well – an important third-act plot development is made so obvious early on that it robs the eventual denouement of its impact. Ultimately, the story can’t quite live up to its presentation.
But having the power to recontextualize something is a strong attribute for any horror movie to have. T-Rex’s “Bang a Gong,” whilst catchy, is not a scary song. As a whole, glam rock is more kitsch than frightening. But part of Longlegs’s time-honored strategy is to take something innocent and corrupt it. The film’s world is not a friendly one, and its brief moments of levity are baked into humorously morbid scenarios. This delirious combination of discomfort and oddity gives Longlegs the potential to become a cult classic, even if it falls short of being an all-time achievement. The pieces are there, from Cage’s eerie work to etching yet another mark in Monroe’s increasingly notable presence in the contemporary horror movie landscape. As Longlegs, himself, says, “It’s a gift from the man downstairs.”
Photo courtesy of NEON
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