Longlegs
In cinemas now
The latest feature from writer-director Osgood Perkins (son of Psycho’s own Anthony Perkins) has been subject to the sort of hype that has become the norm for the horror genre since its rebranding at the hands of prestige production houses such as A24 and Blumhouse. However, this proves to be both a blessing and a curse for Longlegs.
On the plus side, the fervent marketing of Perkins’ film prior to its release makes it very easy for audiences to quickly invest in its unsettling aura, which is aided by the work of cinematographer Andrés Arochi and composer Zilgi (the stage name of Osgood’s brother Elvis). Arochi frames the film in a dark and muted palette that complements its 1990s setting, while Zilgi’s eerie score adds to the increasing sense of dread that accompanies Longlegs’ best moments.
Maika Monroe’s lead performance as an emotionally detached but highly intuitive FBI agent is also stellar, with Blair Underwood also impressive as her overtly macho superior officer. Nonetheless, both cannot help but be overshadowed by a typically larger-than-life turn from Nicolas Cage as the titular antagonist, a grotesque serial killer with a penchant for the occult that is only fully revealed at the film’s midway point.
In terms of aesthetics, Cage’s villain is as memorable as any I can recall. The legendary actor’s unmistakably hammy style is an issue for Longlegs though, as its aggressive assumption of centre stage coincides with a dramatic tonal shift in Perkins’ screenplay. If the film’s first act is a dark and engrossing manhunt reminiscent of classics such as Se7en and The Silence of the Lambs, what follows is a nonsensical mishmash of satanic mumbo jumbo that is undeniably fun to watch but very difficult to take seriously (let alone be frightened by).
This is symptomatic of the general issue with Longlegs, which is that it has the look and feel of ‘elevated horror’ but is at its core something decidedly sillier. Subsequently, I left my screening feeling somewhat underwhelmed, in spite of the fun I’d had watching Cage manically recite T-Rex lyrics. It’s an odd feeling of dissatisfaction that isn’t actually reflective of the film’s overall quality, but more so how are expectations are shaped by viral pre-release marketing.
