The Killing of a Sacred Deer
The first thing that struck me about The Killing of a Sacred Deer was the odd, affectless delivery of the dialogue—as if the characters had been drained of all emotion. The effect is subtle, but quite unsettling. It's as if I was watching automata perform, or CGI-animated figures, who had not quite managed to escape the uncanny valley.
I hadn't realized how much the intonation of someone's speech, perhaps even more than the words themselves, helps us to empathize. This aspect alone—the emotional flatness in The Killing of a Sacred Deer—proves to be a remarkably effective way for Greek director Yorgos Lanthimos to separate the world in which his dark and unnerving tale plays out, from our world. It is as if the characters of the film exist in a world of two and a half dimensions, rather than our three. This "otherness" helps us to suspend disbelief while events unfold onscreen; it helps us feel safe.
The film's plotline is described quite succinctly on this VIFF page; I'll just quote it here for context:
Colin Farrell plays Andrew, a brilliant heart surgeon whose happy home is threatened by a teenage interloper, the son of a patient who died under the knife. Martin (Barry Keoghan) tells him that to make reparations, Andrew must sacrifice one of his own family, son, daughter, or wife (Nicole Kidman), or lose them all. Suffice it to say, the creepy Martin leaves the surgeon in no doubt that he can deliver on his macabre threats. So: who to choose?
I was reminded of Shirley Jackson's classic short story The Lottery, in which events take place that by any definition would qualify as horrific—and yet the delivery of the story suggests that there could have been no other way.
The Killing of a Sacred Deer works in much the same way; it is Shirley Jackson reflected in a distorting mirror. The result is a beautifully-realized example of what might be called "post-modern horror"; the standard tropes of classic horror films—someone enters a darkened room; light glints off a gleaming blade; a panicked expression appears, eyes open wide in terror—are nowhere to be found. Instead, Lanthimos shows us that none of this is needed; slowly, inexorably, he ramps up the tension, building to a disturbing, and yet darkly comic climax.
Alas: there are no more screenings of The Killing of a Sacred Deer scheduled during this year's VIFF. But stay tuned: I'm sure it will come back; it's too good not to.
