3 min read

I Watched X!

Once again, Ti West takes the spooky scenic route to somewhere we've been before.
I Watched X!
If you've ever seen a movie set in the '70s, you know the cast of X isn't headed anywhere good.

One of the most exciting cinematic experiences I had as a movie critic for Tiny Mix Tapes (I didn’t get paid, but I did get into free screenings!) was seeing Ti West’s House Of The Devil. While the ending underwhelmed, the first nine-tenths or so felt like a masterful prolonging of tension. For over an hour, we’re watching this sensible babysitter while away an evening, anticipating a lethal threat she’s almost entirely oblivious to. I never felt exasperated waiting for the payoff, or resentful that doom was certain to come. Devil simply luxuriated in a nerve-wracking calm before the storm. His next movie, The Innkeepers, confirmed his gift at looming suspense and long, shadowy hallways, though he remained uninspired when it came to the final reveal. I didn’t realize he directed the found footage Jonestown rip The Sacrament (fine if you enjoy indie thrillers where Joe Swanberg waits to get killed - his face just screams "expendable"!) and I only saw an unpromising sliver of his John Travolta western In The Valley Of Violence.

That was that for about five years, until I saw the trailer for his A24 slasher X earlier this year, soon followed by news that a prequel had already been filmed with a sequel to come. Honestly, I couldn’t say I was too enthusiastic. A couple years off radar following a failed attempt to escape horror filmmaking and then a triple-down on the genre for A24? One that's a transparent tribute to Texas Chainsaw and ‘70s smut? The possibility of commercial resignation was strong enough I didn’t want to get my hopes up.

Brittany Snow, scandalizing John Tucker in X.

Then came the reviews! Uniformly positive, promising intelligence, fun and solid performances. And so I’ve seen it! Surprisingly enough, it’s neither hackier nor more inspired than anything else he’s done. Once again, the actors are agreeable to charming, particularly the Final Girl (though one guy owes Matthew McConaughey royalties). Once again, we spend a long time being told by long, slow shots that some bad shit will eventually go down. Once again, the eventual violence feels relatively uninspired. A rare novelty is it might be West's most pretentious movie yet: a group monologue about sex positivity is followed by a split-screen montage of nothing in particular, set to a character singing “Landslide” (the scariest moment of the film might be when Kid Cudi picks up a previously unseen acoustic guitar). The camera regularly cuts to an interminable or endlessly looping religious filibuster on the television, the volume rising and falling depending on how badly West wants you to know the movie is being directed.

A lot of the technique in this film has the pastiche quality of a modern day auteur who wants partial credit for showing their work whether or not they get the answer right. West makes it obvious he’s seen the original Texas Chainsaw Massacre, that he’s using practical effects, that he’s sparing no expense on the soundtrack, and that he’s got an ironic self-awareness about the trash he’s celebrating. But he can't really commit to either a coherent message about sexuality or violent set pieces for the sake of violent set pieces. Someone gets offed to “(Don’t Fear) The Reaper” on a car stereo, then the music shifts to some nondiagetic creepytime of unclear import as the killer weaves and/or wobbles. Then we go back to “Reaper.” Clumsy try-hard shit like that is less Ari Aster than Rob Zombie.

As suggested by the latter's career, it might be enough to make a vaguely self-aware thriller with hipster-approved iconography and sensibility, even if the final message is more “you've just seen a movie!” (right down to the climactic appearance of a title card as victorious music blares) than any sort of genuine social commentary. You get to have your cake and eat it too, hypothetically offering food for thought while making anyone who complains about the flavor or lack of sustenance look like they can’t just enjoy a slasher. I may well like the recently arrived prequel Pearl more once it's on premium streaming, now that I know where to set my expectations with West. Maybe I'll even be pleasantly surprised for once.