manningenglish

I love realistic horror. I want pedestrian settings that are familiar to me and antagonists who could be my neighbor. And I want the dread to creep up on me slowly and build intolerably. I don't need jump scares and I certainly don't need gore. I love a good twist but it's not a prerequisite. I do want to identify with the protagonist and think to myself: this is happening to us both.

"Watcher's" premise is not complex: a wife (Maika Monroe) follows her husband (Karl Glusman) to a well-paying job abroad where she doesnt speak the language and he does. This alone creates unease, but it's the neighbor's constant gaze that really heightens her isolation and fear. About halfway through the film the outwardly likeable husband has suddenly become unsettling for subtle reasons I won't divulge. There is also an extremely chilling exchange in a subway car, and an especially harrowing sequence during the daytime in a grocery store. More and more I judge films on how well the filmmakers can replicate the mundane, and then alter that space in a way that's insidious. The movie's climax respects everything that came before it.

"Watcher" isn't a masterpiece but it's oh so damn good at what it does. I should probably rate this a 7 because the film is hardly original, yet I keep coming back to some of its raw images. Most importantly it establishes tone through Maika Monroe's measured performance as the alienated woman in a foreign city. A lot of actresses could deliver in this role, but Maika is what I think of as a brilliantly restrained force. For those who are critical of "slow" burns I can only rejoin that true psychological terror is something that can never be rushed. Director Chloe Okuno understands this, and let's just say you won't forget Burn Gorman's face anytime soon.

Rod Blackhurst's short film "Alone Time" is nearly 13 minutes of a young woman doing the most normal things, yet nearly every moment is suffused with dread and anticipation. More on that in a moment.

We first join our protagonist Ann (Rose Hemingway) at a rooftop cocktail party where she is off by herself, lost in thought, clearly disconnected from the social scene. Then over the next several minutes of the film, we see her endure the monochrome NYC universe of cubicles, exhausting commutes, and sidewalk overcrowding. She is lonely, unfulfilled, and stifled by the concrete sprawl. We, too, want to come up for air. How much longer can she withstand such rote misery?

Ann is arguably a cinematic descendant of Travis Bickle, whose urban alienation she most definitely shares, but she is fundamentally wholesome and thinks in practical and decent terms for a solution to her isolation: a weekend camping trip in the Adirondacks. Now, the fact she goes alone is not a horror cliche but rather another layer to her personality. She is an introvert with a rich interior life and she needs to be truly alone in the quiet to recharge her batteries. I know many women like her, so this struck me as authentic, despite its obvious service to the unnerving plot.

Once Blackhurst's film moves to the mountains of upstate New York, the film is suddenly colorful, vibrant, and breathtaking. Ann's mood has clearly lifted, and we see that she is now enjoying a lifestyle more suitable to her spirit. This makes it all the more powerful and mysterious that we, the viewers, are now more unsettled than we were in the bleaker city scenes. Each shot feels like a warning. Each sound is suspicious. Something is definitely wrong.

The movie's brief, quietly spooky reveal is as mesmerizing as everything that preceded it, and you'll likely rewatch the film to catch what you might have missed. The thing is, Blackhurst and crew are so artful and subtle in their storytelling, you just might not spot all the clues. I haven't. But that's the whole point: powerful cinema works on the subconscious, and with smart psychological horror the damage is done long before the final details are settled.