We get to a point midway in Sebastián Silva's empathy endurance test,
Magic Magic,
where Alicia, a blonde girl in a bathing suit is standing on the edge
of a cliff, alone. She goes through the motions of trying to work up
the resolve to take the plunge into the ocean several meters below. She
laughs uncomfortably, a touch of hysteria, has awkward stop-starts that
involve jittering hand movements and unflattering body language. Below,
her companions have already made the jump and are waiting for her.
Their words of encouragement eventually move to increasingly less polite
cries of "Do it, already" or "Finish something you've started." Cut to
an awkward boat-ride back to the cottage. This scene might be the litmus
test on whether or not you will accept the particularly horrific
odyssey of the film. Are you frustrated with young Alicia's failure to
execute, or are you deeply sympathetic to her discomfort and
awkwardness?
Magic Magic is a horror film of social norms and
narcissism in equal measure, one where the horror comes from the
discomfort of the lead character in a situation that slowly,
deliciously, spirals out of control. The movie is quietly obsessed with
spirals (and mirrors), and at one point someone says, "Relax your eyes
and stare at the centre." Stay for the closing credits.
Alicia is played by Juno Temple, one of the more fearless and
versatile young actors working today and here she delivers a memorable
descent into that unhinged and hysterical state of mind that horror
movies seem to impose on women. This happens meticulously as a result if
exceptionally tight filmmaking. One guesses that Kier-La Janisse who
penned a full book on the subject,
House of Psychotic Women, would be a fan of Silva's film.
After a long flight, Alicia arrives in Santiago to meet up with
her friend, Sara (Emily Browning). Along with Sara's boyfriend, Agustín
(Agustín Silva) is his sister Barbara (
Maria Full of Grace's
Catalina Sandino Moreno) and another American named Brink (a boorish and
freakish Michael Cera). There is already stress in the air, because
the group is running behind schedule and there is a 12 hour drive to
pick up one more passenger and make the boat to the destination of their
island cottage. The group argues in Spanish until Sara insists, in
English, that Alicia be allowed to grab a shower first, further
increasing tension. Language, in particular Alicia's lack of ability to
speak Spanish, and the casual rudeness of her hosts to accommodate her
even though they are all capable of English brings things further a
boil, but the film is only getting started. Anyone who has gone out of
their comfort zone traveling has probably experienced this sort of
low-level anxiety when left out of the conversation by this barrier.
A set of convoluted reasons force Sara to leave the car-ride en
route, and catch a bus back to town alone. Alicia is now stranded with
people she doesn't know, who are already slightly pissed at her, and
refuse to speak in English to her, unless in a somewhat
passive-aggressive way. She tries to be helpful with music in the car,
but breaks the CD player such that
Minne The Moocher plays on
repeat. Cab Calloway's wonderfully catchy song used often in films, has
never been used quite like this. And then there is creepy Brink whose
weird body language and incredibly awkward flirting is enough to put
anyone on edge. Alicia shrinks into a nervous ball of
self-consciousness, desperate for Sara to return to bail her out. Time
slows. Insomnia sets in because she never feels comfortable and her
hosts certainly are not taking her home. Trapped on an island with no
cellphone and no life-line but these crazy people who seem to be
constantly picking at her, every sensation felt by Alicia is heightened
to the point of madness.
Shockingly, all of the above is merely the first act of the
film. From there on out Silva piles on ever more audio-visual
atmosphere, tense social situations, and handsome exaggerations of the
beautiful forested island, courtesy of ace cinematographer Christopher
Doyle and partner Glen Kaplan. The island, its inhabitants and creatures
all seem in league against an increasingly wild-eyed Alicia.
How
much you may loathe all of these crazy people, or take a bleakly comic
bit of schadenfreude on Alicia's wilting wallflower, or give up all
together and write everyone off as horrible human idiots (Chilean
passive-aggressive posturing vs. American entitlement) is the mirror
mirror that
Magic Magic is holding up to the audience. Hell is other people.
Comparisons from Fabrice Du Weltz's Calvaire and
Vinyan to Polanski's
Repulsion and
Rosemary's Baby
spring to mind. Silva's screenplay carefully builds one scene to the
next, subtly suggesting reasons for what is happening and why characters
are making their decisions. This makes it worthy of the best of
'hysterical female' pictures, but the film makes an effort to go even
further. There are some wild and surprising shifts in where our empathy
may lie when the film builds to its final, inevitable conclusion.
Overall, Silva's film is a smart study on how easily things can
get out of control, exceptionally high on craft, and with excellent
performances across the board. In that case
Magic Magic is very much a cliff that is worth jumping from.
