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| Images courtesy of Shudder |
Kuso (2017), Flying Lotus's previous full-length film, was a post-apocalyptic work of surrealism that felt messy and grotesque, like being trapped inside his mind and constantly bombarded by his influences and fetishes. With Ash (2025), he marks a turning point in his cinematic language, presenting a more straightforward and refined narrative while still incorporating flashes of weirdness and grotesque body horror. His obsessions peek through the seams, revealing a love for survival horror video games (with a hint of Mass Effect), as well as influences from The Thing (1982), Alien (1979), and even Event Horizon (1997). On paper, and to some extent in execution, it may seem derivative, but Lotus cleverly uses the audience's familiarity with these tropes to subvert expectations, ultimately delivering an intriguing film.
The audience is immediately thrust into the thick of things as Riya (Eiza González), a young researcher at an isolated space station, wakes up to find that her entire crew has been murdered, and not only does she have no recollection of the events that lead to the massacre, she can't remember who she is either. She's sweaty and ill, with a nasty gash on her forehead, and as she wanders through the dimly lit halls of the station, the mystery only grows larger. Shortly after exploring, she is joined by Brion (Aaron Paul), a technician from an adjacent space station who claims that he has come there to help her escape. Riya has to figure out what the hell happened to her crewmates while also entertaining the thought that Brion might have ulterior motives.
Unfortunately, the biggest issue with Ash is the pacing of the first two acts. Much of the narrative is told through flashbacks, but there isn't enough time spent fleshing out the crew's personalities, so there isn't much of an emotional connection when they turn up dead. A romance is implied between one of the crew and Riya, but brief flashes of their connection fail to sell the pathos of his death in retrospect. It takes too long for the forward motion of the narrative to get going, and the film drags somewhat as a result. However, once it starts to cook, it barrels ahead at jet speed while pulling the rug out from beneath the viewer. Lotus is fond of jump-scare split-second nightmare frames, and he peppers them throughout the story to great effect. González is fine as Riya, though she isn't given much to do other than be anxious and scared. Aaron Paul is in full intensity mode, and his character is similarly one-note.
This film is visually stunning, featuring cosmic vistas infused with pink and purple hues, alongside saturated red and blue lighting within the space station. Several scenes depict the characters as black silhouettes against a blood-red backdrop, artfully posed and impeccably framed. When the action turns violent, the perspective shifts to a first-person view, enhancing the video game aesthetic. As Riya navigates through dimly lit corridors, one can't help but feel reminiscent of Dead Space, particularly with the glowing spine exoskeleton design of her spacesuit.
The strongest elements are undoubtedly the sound design and the score, composed by Flying Lotus. He fills the soundscape with pounding synth arpeggios, lush silvery pads, and industrial-style soundscapes. One memorable sequence features a "red alert" alarm sounding in the station, which is then seamlessly integrated into the score, intensifying the frantic atmosphere of the scene. The soundtrack is filled with intriguing moments like this and is a treat to listen to for the entire runtime.
Ash is a dose of body horror, fractal weirdness, and little touches of humor that are ultimately entertaining and thrilling despite the script's lack of character motivations and backstory.
--Michelle Kisner