(NO MAJOR SPOILERS OR PLOT REVEALS)
Since I watched Midsommar, my mind’s been racing over certain scenes. Not so much the scenes of extravagant shock or illustrious visuals, per-se, or the stark scenes of anguish or betrayal. No, for this movie, I have pocketed the moments between friends. I feel the smooth edges and unique contours of these in my pocket, as though I would a curious piece of flint.
We are dropped in to Midsommar with scenes of modern anxiety, frothing on the surface of an underbelly of anguish, that pulls, breaks and recedes to leave our main characters in our midst. Ahead lies, of course, the revealing of a journey one can only hope to experience one first time only. It really is that sort of movie.
I will talk about the movie in such terms as to not reveal key moments as spoilers.
When I went in to this movie, the set-up was ideal: I had a recommendation from a bud, sort-of read the Netflix description, and got tucked in. “Something… Sweden… commune…” etc. Being a westerner, I took for granted the fact this movie was going to be all English-worded, I found myself squinting at scenes of scenery, asking myself “is this Sweden, yeah?” (in my defence the protag looks ultra-Swedish, as do the buildings shown). Yeah, I snapped out of it quick when the hints came.
Complex emotions and two faces are the distinguishing marks of many relationships. Here included, we see the pull and push of who our guys are. Who they really are, what they think with regards to, or desire to be seen as, concerning their peers. Each one a different struggle, as each one a differing level of wily and cunning.
It’s been a long time coming where I have seen a film use the emotions of it’s invested cast, to rudder the watcher’s emotions through the plot. Such films are always a real artistic treat. I can think of names such as Donnie Darko, Requiem for a Dream, etc.
I’ll never get a second chance to see this movie for the first time again, but one thing I am certain of: It just, plain-as-day won’t be the same movie. Running my imaginary fingers across the memory of the conversations, they are what I would be tuning in again to behold. The memories here provoke thoughts like “Really? Can’t he tell?”, or “you can rightly hear it in his voice that he doesn’t care”.
Other little mind-discussions whirl around the cast’s actions, on the occasions where they spoke more loudly than their words. A good example being that these guys clearly show invested interest in what’s going on around them, sometimes more or less than they vocalize, or care to admit. Body. Language.
Little flickers of emotion also, have me questioning my place as a participant in the events on screen. Thinking about my life in terms of how I would act, trapped in the maelstrom of such things. Woe, and general joy, (but primarily woe,) accompany such envisioning. May these things and such bitterness remain a distant spectacle! Ha-ha!
Well I think it’s fair to say that this movie, sure, left an impression unique to its scent. Strange, psychological, theatrical, sharp, sun-drenched, and at times subtle and sour. I welcome it to the repertoire of the few films I’ve been marked by, maybe in years…
The Humble Rock Dove 