Blood Myth, 2019.
Directed by Sean Brown and Luke Gosling
Starring Jonathan McClean, Anna Dawson, Hannah Chalmers and Matt Ray Brown.
SYNOPSIS:
A journalist desperately tries to find his missing fiancee and finally uncover the truth behind a sinister folklore, leading him down a dangerous road of discovery.
When producers asked Aaron Sorkin to trim down his mammoth 178 page screenplay for The Social Network – under the assumption that this would correlate to roughly 3 hours of screentime – David Fincher flat out refused. Insisting that he could easily retain all the density whilst keeping the film to a breezy 120 minutes, the director sat down with Sorkin and timed each scene according to how it played out in his head.
In doing so the pair demonstrated that, with well-paced delivery, many of the complex dialogue exchanges in the script could actually be far shorter than they initially looked. For example, they managed to condense the 10 page break-up between Mark Zuckerberg and Erica Albright into just seven minutes, without losing any of the sharp material.
Throughout the subsequent rehearsal process, Fincher stressed to the cast that they would need to adhere to these strict timings (giving them very little leeway), by doing take after take until the whole thing became ingrained in their muscle memory. It’s amazing just how fastidious he was in keeping everyone on top of this: agonising over little details like the rhythm of speech, the emphasis placed on certain words, and when it would be appropriate to let dialogue breathe. All of this forethought and care resulted in a lean movie that is full of nuance, without ever feeling baggy or long-winded.
By stark contrast, Blood Myth is clearly the product of someone trying to squeeze mileage out of their screenplay’s every last syllable, presumably after they realised there was barely enough content to fill a GIF, never mind a full-length feature. Indeed, this interminable slog requires almost herculean willpower on the part of the viewer, in order to see it through to the end. It’s unspeakably slow, mind-numbingly repetitive and, worst of all, dull beyond comprehension.
The story, such as it is, focuses on James Lincoln (Jonathan McClean), a hack journalist and father-to-be who is desperately trying to make ends meet by writing ‘’kook’’ columns for a national tabloid. You know, those trashy newspaper articles about Jesus appearing in waffles and people claiming they’ve been probed by aliens. He basically tracks down individuals with far-fetched stories about the paranormal, feigns an interest in what they have to say, and then transcribes their crackpot ramblings for the amusement of the general public.
Despite the vapid and insincere nature of his work, James bafflingly feels entitled to more prestige and so confronts his editor on the topic, asking why his writing isn’t displayed more prominently in the print editions. He even goes so far as to insinuate that his meaningless guff should be given more real estate than the sports section, because apparently no one cares about that crap. There’s obviously a much higher demand for stories about bleary-eyed security guards encountering strange apparitions at night.
I dunno, it just seems like an oddly superior stance for him to take: looking down on football coverage when he makes his living by mocking other people’s beliefs. It’s not like he’s war correspondent or anything. He writes clickbait about ghosts!
So our protagonist makes a pretty hateful first impression and, to make matters worse, we soon find out that he’s having an extramarital affair with his editor. Which is a detail that never really pays off in a meaningful way, save for one subplot that goes absolutely nowhere, about his wife potentially noticing some missed calls. Of course, infidelity can be perfectly fertile ground for character drama, but all it does here is add to the list of reasons why we shouldn’t be invested in our lead (he’s also habitually rude, condescending and utterly humourless).
Anyway, the stony-faced prick is given a new assignment in a remote village, where mysterious disappearances occur like clockwork every thirty years. Oh and he inexplicably drags his expectant wife Harriet (Anna Dawson) along for the ride as well! Because investigating a series of female abductions is obviously an ideal weekend getaway for a woman in her third trimester!
After a disorienting journey through winding roads and over mountainous peaks, the couple eventually arrives at a local bread and breakfast – whereupon they are greeted by a sinister innkeeper who is depicted with all the subtlety of a League of Gentlemen villain. Not even remotely phased by this gurning Wickerman reject (despite the fact that his favorite mode of transportation seems to be apparating via jump scares), they settle in for the night. In a room that has a snarling fox head mounted on its wall no less!
Things take a turn when Harriet is hit with a sudden onset of cramps and decides to venture into the hills for a spot of midnight crocheting, as heavily pregnant women are wont to do. James then awakens the next morning to find that his wife is nowhere to be seen and that only her discarded kitting needles remain.
And so begins a long, arduous quest wherein James aimless plods around the countryside yelling ‘’Harriet’’ for what feels like approximately 9000 soul-destroying hours. The only breaks in this monotonous loop come when we periodically cut away to him dialing his wife, on a rotary phone no less, and leaving the exact same voicemail message for the twentieth fucking time! Incidentally, this is a process that we are forced to endure, in its entirety, whenever he chooses to call her. So get used to him rotating that dial!
Speaking of which, it doesn’t appear that these filmmakers were ever introduced to the concept of editing, because they are intent on showing us every menial task in the minutest detail. For example, if James is about to drive to another location then it is important for us to see him: open the car door; sit down; adjust his headrest; buckle up; start the ignition; put it into gear; glance in his mirrors; and then check his blindspot before setting off. What is this an extended theory test or something? Just show him pulling away, I’ll fill in the gaps!
It doesn’t stop there either, as each little action is presented in this excruciating fashion, with the movie relying on it as a blatant padding tactic. Say what you want about Scorsese’s runtimes, but at least his films are packed with incident and usually have complex stories to justify their lengths. Thelma Schoonmaker isn’t just killing time by leaving in the bits where Jordan Belfort ties his shoelaces or brushes his teeth.
To make matters worse, the cast seems to be delivering their lines as slowly as possible, as if they’re impersonating William Shatner on Xanax. This sluggish acting is the final nail in the coffin when it comes to the pacing and it certainly doesn’t help make James a more compelling protagonist. On top of being an inattentive husband, a lying cheat and a self-aggrandizing twat – we now also have to contend with the fact that he’s an inexpressive, comatose bore.
It’s difficult to articulate quite how lacking in urgency the narrative is, as James does nothing but wander around looking for Harriet in random places, until the film just sort of … ends. Without any real escalation or developments, all your left with is a procession of tedious non-events and unfulfilling dead-ends. Plus, there’s not even a good mystery to unravel, as you’re never given any suspects or clues to chew on.
There’s nothing to occupy your mind. Nothing to distract you from the awful reality that you’re watching fucking Blood Myth!
Flickering Myth Rating – Film: ★ / Movie: ★
Harrison Abbott
