Infinity Pool looks no deeper than its own reflection, but worthy of a fleeting glance
Brandon Cronenberg's third feature holds intriguing concepts, astonishing performances, and terrific visuals, even if it goes no further than its own naval.
Infinity Pool, 117 mins; Canada, Hungary, France |
Written and directed by Brandon Cronenberg, filmed in Croatia and Hungary |
Produced by Film Forge, distributed by Neon |
Given that narcissism is the theme of our time, it would seem odd that a film titled Infinity Pool, a status symbol offering reflections as far as the eye can see, would only meet its set-up halfway. Yet, while the film seems like an unintentional treatise on the ancient Greek myth updated for our time, it has little insight to offer on its own conceit: self-love.
With the genuine possibility of cloning already here and no longer science fiction, this film moves the concept of pondering our reflection into contemplating our sentient doubling. But this is no bucolic Greek myth where a quiet self-lover spends his life gazing into his reflection without event. This is a Cronenberg genre horror/thriller, where he will be forced to kill it.
The myth of Narcissus was intended as a cautionary tale: if you fall in love with yourself, you will do nothing and die. In your place will exist a pretty flower. It has widely influenced modern stories, including Oscar Wilde’s The Picture of Dorian Gray and Herman Melville’s Moby-Dick. In cinema, the myth is of endless application, as ubiquitous as mirrors themselves—an essential prop on any film set.
With this theme, Infinity Pool shares its closest allegiance to Nicholas Winding Refn’s Neon Demon, a 2016 neon-tinged psychological thriller centered on an obsession with fame and flawless beauty. The two are destined for a double feature to overdose on the dread of vacuous self-love. In the movies, of course, this can only lead to one place: bloodshed. Yet the syrup here is mixed too close to taffy candy to have a visceral effect. Could Kubrick have used up all the pig’s blood for that elevator scene in The Shining? But more on that later.
Infinity Pool is horror auteur Brandon Cronenberg’s third feature after Antiviral ‘12 and Possessor ‘20. It's the story of a young couple vacationing inside a gated resort in a fictional East European country when things go decidedly south. The actual filming locations were in Croatia and Hungary, giving the film a hard edge, brutalist vibe when needed. In this country, if you stray out of the tourist compound (which is forbidden), you are guaranteed a horrific time from which a safe return is unlikely. Depending on your particular bent, this could be just what you’re looking for. Such is the case for Alexander Skarsgard’s James Foster, a hapless writer and henpecked hubby suffering through six years of writer’s block along with his rich trust-fund wife Em (Cleopatra Coleman). I guess it never occurred to him to admit he’s an unemployed bum and, you know, get a job.
During an unexpected intrusion into the compound by an ATV riding goon doing donuts in the sand, James meets an intriguing young woman, Gabi Bauer, who recognizes him and professes to be a fan; played with delicious abandon by the rising queen of horror, Mia Goth as a blonde femme fatale. Just the ego boost our milquetoast writer needs. Like any good noir protagonist, he’s got to be a sucker for the dames. If there was ever a dame worth dying for, Goth’s Gabi truly fits the bill. She charms him and us while demonstrating her character’s acting niche as a “failed product user.” One of the film’s early amusing bits, along with Skarsgard’s quip about a good mugging is just the sort of exercise he could use right now.
One of the film’s early shocks is not engineered by film craft; instead, it’s hearing Goth’s charming native accent from across the pond. Those of us, myself included, who are only familiar with her work in Ti West’s recent knock-outs X and Pearl, would be forgiven for thinking her real accent is a Southern drawl. She does it so well. But she is indeed a British lass (as thoroughly head-twisting as that continues to be throughout the film), which lends her character an air of hoity-toityness, elevating her status to posh through elocution alone. That, and her irresistible physical charms—even without eyebrows.
While Cronenberg’s film starts strong and holds its own through its intriguing visual set pieces, it sputters out on story as it clears the second act and realizes it’s not as profound as it thinks it is and nor is it as entertaining or thrilling as a basic genre film as it could be. The conceit of repetitious, mildly escalating hostage crimes runs itself out and finds nothing at the core. Perhaps similar structurally in this way to Babylon, another orgy-celebrating film that lacks a real statement, with only a smattering of engaging scenes. Rounding into the third act, the jig is up, and the game becomes obligatory cat and mouse. The film telegraphs its lack of steam with little left to propel it except its high-caliber acting.
Alexander Skarsgard elevates his craft here with a raw and committed performance. His work is exciting and some of the best I’ve seen from him. It further extends his bold physical work in last year’s The Northman. Likewise, Mia Goth is entirely game for it all as she practically shares the lead with Skarsgard in an intoxicating performance, with a bold full frontal assault. Contrary to some reports, I did not find the performances unhinged. Rather, Goth and Skarsgard fully commit in equal measure and expression without overstepping naturalistic realism. There are no “Here’s Johnny” Nicholson-inspired moments. Cronenberg, in fact, underserves his actors by not following their lead, crafting a relatively sober film conceptually that fizzles when it should pull more of a Kubrickian turn, leaving this viewer questioning the point of the entire affair.
The film’s visuals are captivating and innovative with some dazzling cinematography. An abundance of shallow depth of field, short siding, and extreme close-ups of eyeballs and lips separate this film from the multiplex’s McFilm factory fodder we’re usually fed. This palate cleanser is added refreshment, to be sure. The film’s opening of spiraling landscapes serves as scene setters for the resort, landing us in the colorless glass austerity that feels as relaxing as a visit to one’s proctologist. Thematically, though, it signals a descent into the dark side. From there, the film’s dramatic scenes are spiked with fashionable neon-lit editing montages to portray the physical interplay of characters as they lose their inhibitions and engage in various acts of violence, sex, and drug use—the good ayahuasca kind, of course.
Perhaps most disappointing is its incomplete treatise on the Narcissus myth. For example, there’s a brief moment where Gabi goads James to have a threesome with his clone as if it’s something she does on the regular. This concept is the very heart of the movie, yet he balks at the idea. It’s then shrugged off as a joke. Yet it is this very concept that we’re here for. Falling in love with your reflection was so two millenniums ago; now, we can experience it for real with our clone. Isn’t this what this film is precisely here for?
Instead, as if shocked by its suggestion, the film picks the easy way out: violence against oneself. The unexamined internal glee with which James watches himself being killed as it if were mere sport, which ostensibly pushes his wife away, seems odd. It begs the question, what kind of person could be so full of self-loathing they would revel in witnessing their execution through a surrogate and want to do so repeatedly? Yet when faced with being the executioner, James cowers in fear of the task. Oddly, the movie sets this up as the minotaur our Theseus James must slay. You’d think it would be the ones who put him up to the task needing to be defeated, not as it is here, fulfilling the destruction within the job itself. By carrying out the task, he is tacitly aligning with his oppressor and not self-actualizing.
Along with its halfway approach to narcissism, the film introduces other powerful themes that only hang in the air. One in particular that I liked is the concept of which version of ourselves we are on vacation. Or, by extension, who are we when rules, responsibilities, and fidelity to relationships are erased? After such a transgression, can we return to the previous version of ourselves, having gone so far from it? Are we still the person we left behind at home, or are we now this callously self-absorbed, above-the-law heathen in an extreme vacation experience, molted like a snake away from the former skin we’re outgrown? Is the film suggesting we become our shadow self to destroy our “dog” self? The obedient task master who never questions but always fetches the ball when told to. But isn’t that exactly what James does here? The film successfully floats these fascinating questions. But without a solid or engaging way forward, they fall by the side, mostly uncontemplated.
Another matter to mull over was one issue that rubbed me the wrong way (pun unavoidable—as you’ll see). This is at the film’s start, once our characters leave the compound together for what seems like an innocent picnic by the sea. James heads into the nearby woods for a “nature’s call.” After a close-up of urine hitting pebbles, Gabi soon appears behind him and performs a handy bit of business without consent, manually bringing him to an immediate orgasm after having only just met. I feel compelled to call attention to this event on two fronts, as this is becoming a trope in modern films to emasculate men. In The Whale, the movie introduces Brendan Fraser’s character caught masturbating to further pile on the shame. And here we have a man unable to respond to a woman violating him.
It is a blatant example of the double standards around sexual assault combined with the demasculinization of men. Yet, this moment is normalized, shrugged off, and forgotten. To me, this is an insidious act. If the gender roles were reversed, I would envision a fake uproar to the extent of having the film publicly canceled for the ‘r-word. Furthermore, the woman would immediately strike back and vanquish the man. But here? Nothing. I think it’s irresponsible how the film does not follow up on this scene. It is never brought up again. The scene is provocative for its line crossing but disappointing for existing merely as a random event when it should have a greater consequence as a foreshadowing tool. As is, it’s a forgotten bit of business left to seep unconsciously into the zeitgeist, with no one ever talking about it.
In addition to the themes of the Narcissus myth, the iconic virgin, or Madonna, breastfeeding her infant is explored later in the game. I was intrigued by this. It’s an icon rarely presented or investigated with any seriousness in pop culture. Late in the film, James experiences a regression as he becomes infantilized right after his “slay the minotaur moment” at the behest of Gabi. This event leads to an iconic image at Gabi’s bosom. It’s a curious statement that contradicts itself. The imagery is, of course, provocative but lacks coherence. You cannot both gain yourself and become submissive at the same moment.
Back to Kubrick's seminal The Shining. In many ways, this film feels like a spiritual prequel to it, especially in the setting within which Cronenberg chooses to end it and the choices he’s made for his characters. I could see a return visit to the Croatian resort for deeper, more twisted, and genuinely haunting escapades.
Infinity Pool is a partially realized work but a solid effort. I caution those looking for escapist entertainment or a formulaic film with pay-offs in thrills that this is not what you will experience with this film. However, if you’re inspired towards contemplation, this film will leave you plenty to naval gaze about. It may take a film or two more for Cronenberg to focus and further ground his concepts. But I’ll be there for them as he goes along. After all, most of us mortals who aspire to direct do not emerge as a fully formed Kubrick, despite the genetic advantage to do so in this case.
3/5
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