Warning: Spoilers (for what little plot there is)
What immediately struck me about this film, is the level of utter self-indulgence that it promotes. When you get older, 30s, 40s, one thing that happens is that your emotional responses to external events, change. Yes, grief is grief whatever the age, however, suffering when you're young can become a soiree of self-indulgence, you sit with your headphones on, shutting out the world, the music pandering to your every emotional need. There is a huge sense of this film pandering to that young, slightly self-centred, teenage angst, with mixtapes giving our anti-hero, Aubrey, perfect reason to sit and wallow. And to flail a bit, and wallow. And...wallow. Like a really angsty teenager.
Some critics are raving about Starfish, calling it 'emotionally nuanced horror'. I was less than convinced. It's beautifully shot alright, mesmerising in places. I loved the look of some of the scenes. But my word, the film is so long-drawn out that lost a lot of impact. Yes, grief can be messy. It can be engulfing. Grief works through you it the way it wants to, and you have to allow it room to do that. But I did not, could not, relate to this film. I saw only artsy pretention and a director who should have been reigned in, perhaps with a co-director.
(I'm giving it 6 stars only because there is one, beautiful, glorious scene that depicts a Godzilla-esque monster with a disco in it's belly. And, because of a delightful baby turtle that accompanies her on her non-journey.)
Really, that was the best thing about this film, I was delighted, just for one, glorious, moment. Otherwise, I had no time for the self-indulgence, both with which this film was shot, and the main protagonist's. The long-drawn out nature, got tiresome, and it felt pretentious.
Her grief comes because her friend, Grace, dies, and she breaks into her apartment. Whilst there, she wakes up to discover an apocalyptic event has occurred, which leads to her finding all Grace's mixtapes that she's planted around the town. She discovers she needs to gather the tapes, because they contain signals that brought in monsters from another dimension. Occasionally, we see her partner, portrayed without a face. We learn later, that this is her ex-husband, whom she cheated on.
The tapes all have letters on, which together spell, 'forgive and forget.' Playing them together at the end, she is able to begin to mend the chasm inside her. This film is director A.T. White's, debut, and he wrote it to mitigate or work through, his own grief.
Suddenly, about half-way through the film, I realised that this whole thing, the monsters, the end of the world, was simply a metaphor for an exploration of grief and guilt and her disconnection from normality. And on and on it went. We didn't have enough sense of the characters to really emote. We didn't have enough of anything worthwhile in terms of a plot, to care about anything. The film just floated on an ethereal cloud of Sigur Ros (a band I love). Clearly the director loves mixtapes, because they're a huge feature. The soundtrack is a character; the music is eventually the medium which heals her.
The ending wafts away in similarly nebulous fashion. I hoped, I would see Aubrey, integrate back into society at the end would have been a little satisfying. That she didn't, just added to this soporific miasma of wallowing and lack of plot or character definition, that calls itself, 'Starfish.' We assume she's healing. She must be, because all the tapes together spell 'forgive and forget'.
If you love giant monsters though, I recommend it, even just for that one scene. If you love beautiful films, I'd recommend it. But, it's not a film I'd want to see again. It wants to be as deep and moving and haunting as 'Eternal Sunshine of a Spotless Mind', but it isn't. I love how some people want to love a film that's nebulous, or artsy, simply because of those concepts. 'It's weird, therefore it must be good.' Etc. And that, doesn't necessarily follow. There are good bits in it, but lets not build castles in the sky. It fails as a horror film because it really is a pretentious, grief-fest. It fails as a drama because, well, there isn't any. We just see Aubrey, in various different locations, with little variation of the same facial expression. It's a sort of mental equivalent to 'The Revenant' which felt like a physical, self-indulgent expression of filmmaking.
It's an ethereal wisp, sad, otherworldly, formless; without heart, stylised, and sadly, pretentious, making too much out of just a couple of ideas. If this had been condensed to a 10 minute short film, I think it would have been brilliant. The trailer was brilliant. The length of it slackens the hold of the mesmerising moments, turns them to dust.
What immediately struck me about this film, is the level of utter self-indulgence that it promotes. When you get older, 30s, 40s, one thing that happens is that your emotional responses to external events, change. Yes, grief is grief whatever the age, however, suffering when you're young can become a soiree of self-indulgence, you sit with your headphones on, shutting out the world, the music pandering to your every emotional need. There is a huge sense of this film pandering to that young, slightly self-centred, teenage angst, with mixtapes giving our anti-hero, Aubrey, perfect reason to sit and wallow. And to flail a bit, and wallow. And...wallow. Like a really angsty teenager.
Some critics are raving about Starfish, calling it 'emotionally nuanced horror'. I was less than convinced. It's beautifully shot alright, mesmerising in places. I loved the look of some of the scenes. But my word, the film is so long-drawn out that lost a lot of impact. Yes, grief can be messy. It can be engulfing. Grief works through you it the way it wants to, and you have to allow it room to do that. But I did not, could not, relate to this film. I saw only artsy pretention and a director who should have been reigned in, perhaps with a co-director.
(I'm giving it 6 stars only because there is one, beautiful, glorious scene that depicts a Godzilla-esque monster with a disco in it's belly. And, because of a delightful baby turtle that accompanies her on her non-journey.)
Really, that was the best thing about this film, I was delighted, just for one, glorious, moment. Otherwise, I had no time for the self-indulgence, both with which this film was shot, and the main protagonist's. The long-drawn out nature, got tiresome, and it felt pretentious.
Her grief comes because her friend, Grace, dies, and she breaks into her apartment. Whilst there, she wakes up to discover an apocalyptic event has occurred, which leads to her finding all Grace's mixtapes that she's planted around the town. She discovers she needs to gather the tapes, because they contain signals that brought in monsters from another dimension. Occasionally, we see her partner, portrayed without a face. We learn later, that this is her ex-husband, whom she cheated on.
The tapes all have letters on, which together spell, 'forgive and forget.' Playing them together at the end, she is able to begin to mend the chasm inside her. This film is director A.T. White's, debut, and he wrote it to mitigate or work through, his own grief.
Suddenly, about half-way through the film, I realised that this whole thing, the monsters, the end of the world, was simply a metaphor for an exploration of grief and guilt and her disconnection from normality. And on and on it went. We didn't have enough sense of the characters to really emote. We didn't have enough of anything worthwhile in terms of a plot, to care about anything. The film just floated on an ethereal cloud of Sigur Ros (a band I love). Clearly the director loves mixtapes, because they're a huge feature. The soundtrack is a character; the music is eventually the medium which heals her.
The ending wafts away in similarly nebulous fashion. I hoped, I would see Aubrey, integrate back into society at the end would have been a little satisfying. That she didn't, just added to this soporific miasma of wallowing and lack of plot or character definition, that calls itself, 'Starfish.' We assume she's healing. She must be, because all the tapes together spell 'forgive and forget'.
If you love giant monsters though, I recommend it, even just for that one scene. If you love beautiful films, I'd recommend it. But, it's not a film I'd want to see again. It wants to be as deep and moving and haunting as 'Eternal Sunshine of a Spotless Mind', but it isn't. I love how some people want to love a film that's nebulous, or artsy, simply because of those concepts. 'It's weird, therefore it must be good.' Etc. And that, doesn't necessarily follow. There are good bits in it, but lets not build castles in the sky. It fails as a horror film because it really is a pretentious, grief-fest. It fails as a drama because, well, there isn't any. We just see Aubrey, in various different locations, with little variation of the same facial expression. It's a sort of mental equivalent to 'The Revenant' which felt like a physical, self-indulgent expression of filmmaking.
It's an ethereal wisp, sad, otherworldly, formless; without heart, stylised, and sadly, pretentious, making too much out of just a couple of ideas. If this had been condensed to a 10 minute short film, I think it would have been brilliant. The trailer was brilliant. The length of it slackens the hold of the mesmerising moments, turns them to dust.