The Killing of a Sacred Deer

In the early 1700s, while Britain is at war with France, Queen Anne (Olivia Colman; Tyrannosaur) has health issues and only a passive interest in actually ruling the nation. Her close companion and advisor Sarah (Rachel Weisz; The Lobster) manages her affairs until their relationship is interrupted by Sarah’s cousin Abigail (Emma Stone; La La Land) who, while acting as Sarah’s attendant, gains favor and influence with the Queen. Alongside their personal rivalry is a larger political struggle over the direction of the current war with party leaders trying to use Abigail and Sarah’s positions to advance their own causes.

Director Yorgos Lanthimos (The Lobster) nails the look of the film. Shot on location in large estates or palaces in England, the high ceilings and lavish interiors make the Queen’s existence feel both opulent and oppressive. The director again uses wide, almost fisheye, lenses that slightly distort the environment and, doing the inverse of The Killing of a Sacred Deer, place the camera at low heights, emphasizing how small even royalty feel in the cavernous setting. It isn’t pure extravagance though. Lanthimos never lets the audience forget the grimy living that supports the upper class with Abigail’s story. She falls into mud, scrubs floors, and sleeps in the uncomfortably crowded servant’s quarters. Her initial situation is unsavory to say the least, but is also casually dismissed by Sarah while she simultaneously reprimands everyone for the slightest error in the Queen’s care. The extensive period detail creates an unmistakable class divide and fuel for Abigail’s ambitions.

The cinematography makes the royal estate an imposing setting.

It is a joy to watch Abigail and Sarah plot against each other. Both prove themselves to be master manipulators of the Queen and know how to manage the competing political parties. Sarah starts the film with near complete control of the Queen, telling her what she can and cannot do and often speaking in her place for important political meetings, yet Abigail is able to pry open an opportunity to reach the Queen. While Sarah acts as an almost matriarchal authoritarian, Abigail takes a softer, kind approach to win the Queen’s affections. Stone and Weisz masterfully convey the intellect and determination needed to continually surprise and outmaneuver each other. The moments where they spend time together with the Queen can lead to hilarious expressions when the women are forced to act cordial despite their thinly veiled contempt.

The director’s trademark delivery and style are still present but don’t meld as well with the writing. Characters speak in Lanthimos’ ultra-deadpan, unemotional delivery that continues to distinguish his works from any other filmmaker. The manner of speech often results in unexpected humor when characters read what should be impassioned speech with cold distance, but the dialogue seems less suited to this approach that his prior releases. The Favourite is the first film Lanthimos has directed that wasn’t written by him and his co-writer Efthymis Filippou and this may be why his vision feels less effective. There are fewer lines that take advantage of this diction which reduces the frequency of laughs. The chess-like scheming is exciting to watch unfold, but the script doesn’t take full advantage of Lanthimos’ signature acting style resulting less humor than desired

3/5 stars.

Yorgos Lanthimos is not a normal person. His debut film, Dogtooth, centered on a family whose children were brainwashed into believing cats were vicious predators and that the outside world was uninhabitable. His most recent movie, The Lobster, was about a man sent to a facility where he had to find a partner or else he would be turned into an animal. As strange as they may sound, each of his films is centered on a high concept. His first was about societal norms, The Lobster was about the overlooked ridiculousness of courtship, and The Killing of a Sacred Deer is about trust during a family crisis. Steven (Colin Firth; The Lobster) is a heart surgeon who spends time with Martin (Barry Keoghan; Dunkirk), the 16-year old son of a man that died during an operation. After Martin meets Steven’s family, he decides Steven must pay for the death of his father. He claims a series of illnesses will strike Steven’s wife Anna (Nicole Kidman; Lion) and their son and daughter unless Steven makes an impossible choice.

Lanthimos continues the style seen in The Lobster but with a thriller twist. Characters still speak in the same monotone with a deliberately anti-naturalist cadence. This can still lead to laughter at the sheer morbidity flowing from each deadpan delivery. Martin’s threats are spoken like a reading from a number from a phonebook, slow, clear, and punctuated. He becomes a dangerous presence despite his size. He makes no physical aggressions and maintains a withdrawn posture. He seems resigned to the fate of Stevens family, not excited by it, and is completely stoic, often trying to present logical reasoning for why they must suffer. Keoghan, an Irish actor, maintains complete control of his body language and takes Martin from a potential red flag to an enigma of potentially sadistic capability.

The camera’s distance emphasizes the insignificance of the characters.

The film’s world feels sterile and foreboding. Lanthimos tracks his characters like Kubrick in the famous tricycle scene from The Shining but places his camera at a curiously elevated height with wide angle lenses. The camera, perched near the ceiling, looms over its subjects, making them tiny figures in a pristine, but cold and empty world. The hallways of Steven’s hospital are cavernous with rooms that dwarf the staff and patients. Lanthimos adds to this atmosphere with his use of music. The soundtrack uses heavy groans from a piano and violin screeches. Everything in the production hints at the ominous nature of the events to come.

The genre of the film is as inexplicable as its narrative. It features laugh out loud moments as characters bluntly and dryly describe their situation, flashes of body horror, but, more than anything, a creeping paranoia. Like with the family from last year’s The Witch, when the kids suddenly fall ill, distrust begins to grow. What is happening and how? What are they willing to do to stop it? Farrell and Kidman’s relationship goes from loving, or at least whatever loving means in a Lanthimos film, to jagged and explosive. There are no clear answers about on what is going on and what should happen next. Instead, their suspicion breeds desperation as we witness how quickly – and violently – a family unit can be upended by an outside force.

4/5 stars.

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