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| Images courtesy of Neon |
Longlegs (2024) is a film with a miasma of evil over it, so thick that one can almost taste the copper tang on their tongue. Lee Harker (Maika Monroe), a quiet and withdrawn FBI agent, has been assigned to investigate a decades-long killing spree by a serial killer known as Longlegs. The murders all have a strange connection; the patriarch of each family murders his wife and children and then kills himself. However, at the scene of each crime, there is a letter written in code, signed shakily at the bottom by Longlegs. Who is Longlegs, and how are they coercing these bouts of violence? Harker seems to have a connection to the case and experiences flashes of intuition that go beyond regular powers of investigation, bordering on psychic abilities.
The selling point of Longlegs is its atmosphere, a claustrophobic and unsettling vibe that permeates the film's first two acts. Every moment feels like a pregnant pause, and cinematographer Andrés Arochi's framing and lighting choices infuse the environment with malice. Scenes that initially look like static shots have a nearly imperceptible slow zoom-in, subconsciously absorbed by the viewer. Even when a scene occurs in a well-lit area or next to a sunlight-filled window, it's as though the light can't fully penetrate the gloom surrounding the characters. They are trapped by a malicious force more potent than they can imagine.
In most detective movies, the procedure is the plot. The protagonist is presented with clues and red herrings, and the intrigue comes from each additional clue, unwrapping more of the story until the twist is revealed in the third act and the killer is apprehended. Longlegs subverts this trope by having the investigation eventually point internally, as Harker discovers that her own mind is the red herring. Since the movie is from her viewpoint and she is an unreliable narrator, the audience cannot trust the revelations, and the context is only gained through hindsight. Genuine fear comes from the idea that one cannot trust their perception and that reality itself might be a lie.
Then Nicolas Cage shows up.
Cage's portrayal of Longlegs is a turning point in the narrative, and it leaves the heavy foreboding aesthetic behind and embraces farce. Tone-switching is a delicate endeavor, and when done well, like in Audition (1999), it can throw the audience into enjoyable chaos, especially when they aren't expecting it. Encased in heavy prosthetic makeup, Cage's over-the-top, shrill theatrical performance feels like he wandered onto the set of Longlegs from a different film, and it's a shock to the system after the slow, methodical build-up that proceeds it. Thematically, his brand of madness could be interpreted as the personification of religious fervor, as if a midwestern church lady was possessed by Satan. After this point, however, the film dives headfirst into insanity, with each revelation becoming more deranged than the last.
The main question is, does the execution of the hard left turn into absurdity work? Not entirely, as it opens up many loose ends that it doesn't have the time to wrap up. Much of the exposition is dumped into the third act, raising questions that would have been less glaring in the nightmare logic ambiguous style of the first two acts. However, it's admirable that director Osgood Perkins doesn't let genre expectations pigeonhole his creativity, and at no point is his film boring. Ultimately, it explores the duality of religion, the serious reverence, and the unhinged zealotry.
--Michelle Kisner