Film Review - Strange Darling (2024)

A reimagining of the “final girl” trope that manipulates and mauls through an aggressive symphony of 35mm hyper-realism. A ruthless gunman pursues a resilient woman, showing maximum prejudice and minimum mercy. That is all you should know before letting this ravishing headfuck off the leash. JT Mollner‘s spectacular horror/thriller is destined for a date with cult status. Outstanding performances from a superb cast elevate its genre credentials, and Giovanni Ribisi‘s salivatory cinematography represents a scintillating debut of hypnotic menace.

Strange Darling gets right in your face and, for the most part, stays there. However, it occasionally quits savaging your eyes and ears to kiss your lips; moments of quiet relief and delinquent humour infiltrate the hostile soundscape, blazing sexual temperature, and brutal violence, providing oxygen-rich pockets in the breathless sprint of a feature-length chase scene. In preparation for Strange Darling, the filmmakers immersed themselves in the work of genre masters: David Lynch’s repurposed world-building, De Palma’s craftmanship, and Cronenberg’s gruesome guile—the single soundtrack majesty of The Graduate and Magnolia and the seminal camerawork of David Watkin, Masaki Kobayashi, and Freddie Francis.

Although the film’s influences are apparent, it seizes a stylish identity through narrative chicanery and a staggeringly tight screenplay. Jumbled chapter headings and bracing editing accentuate its chaotic pace; however, we never lose grip of the plot nor feel cheated by lazy distraction techniques. The meticulously deconstructed timeline is a mechanic to shock and surprise rather than a cynical attempt to garner cult kudos. It’s a heavily greased mechanism with the sole purpose of triggering explosive booby traps and challenging preconceptions.

Strange Darling is far from a one-trick pony, with a variety of thoroughbred themes such as the dark side of feminism, sexual equality in sadomasochism, and the risks associated with casual fucking, unhealthy hippie breakfasts, and birthday snorting.

It is a visually driven movie obsessed with aesthetic continuity and a scorched earth policy of palette control. Various blooms were hardwired into natural spaces to achieve uniformity, and medical scrubs shifted from teal to Dead Ringers red. This self-imposed ‘colour lock’ of reds, blues, and only natural greens creates a paradoxical kaleidoscope that feels both artificial and organic. Subsequently, Strange Darling looks drop-dead deviant as it throbs and spits beneath a timeless haze of lost Americana.

It is a Strange Darling indeed that fucks you up at every possible opportunity yet leaves you begging for more punishment after its extraordinary final fade out. Insanely addictive and hideously entertaining, you will never see Mr. Snuffleupagus or chest freezers in the same light again.