Review: WEAPONS

One night, at 2.17 in the morning, all but one of a primary school class get out of bed, go out the front door and run into the dark with their arms arched like wings. The community, in a show of communal reason, blame the teacher who is dismissed from her position and turns to vodka for assistance. She's as haunted as anyone and feels the kind of guilt that cannot be assuaged philosophically. Meanwhile, in a series of chapters that cover the same time period in the ensuing days, a cop, a homeless addict, a parent and the school principal, all make their way through the mystery of the disappearance. And then things start coming together.

Zach Cregger gave the world in 2022 the wrong-footing and heart-winning Barbarian whose sudden shifts and rug pulls revealed all of the skills of his comedian beginnings to expose his love of comedy's obverse, horror. Weapons is what his fellow Americans call his sophomore effort and it reminded me, if only in how the differences between debut and follow-up appear, of the Philippou brothers' second feature Bring Her Back. In both cases there is an intensification of elements key to the first outings and a downturn on the humour. Both are subtler than their predecessors but also nastier.

The creepiness of missing children has been an infrequently recalled trope in horror cinema and the first title Weapons reminds me of is The Brotherhood of Satan with its small town aridity and eeriness. We also get a kind of Pennywise in the figure of Gladys. By the time you meet her you'll understand why I say that, so it's not a spoiler. Shallow comparisons aside, though, the ruling mood here is the uncanny, things that almost make sense stop short of it set free the dogs of menace.

Casting here is as fine as Barbarian with the young female lead of the hour Julia Garner as the strong woman rendered fragile by the circumstances and the atmosphere of resentment and hatred around her. She doesn't miss a beat. Josh Brolin as his usual welcome lug with a heart. Amy Madigan renders her every breath unnerving. If each of these weren't offering the best they had the twisted tale would unravel about half way as the artifice begins to show. They do what all good performances do in delicate plotting, distract with organic warmth. One thing demanding mention here is the aid that Cregger's tracking camera gives with the sense of queasiness (at one point making the skeletal junkie figure tower and demoralise). A solid directorial strategy.

As the plot and its matter appear more clearly, with some unnecessary clarification in the narration, we are taken home to a conclusion that, for all its supernature, makes sense. While I was continually engaged over the long two and a half hour running time, I did begin to miss the persistent restraint of the horror behind the horror in Barbarian. That said, I'd much rather watch this than almost anything currently offered by MIFF this year. Yes, that's a hobby horse but it's still true.

Viewing notes: I went to see this at Hoyts in the morning and al was dandy until a small group of  wagging teenagers sat to one side near the front, kicked their shoes off and started talking. I turned and glared at them until I got their attention, a small wave from one of them who nodded when I put a finger to my lips. Their droning mumble lowered to whispers. It rose again as the soundtrack volume swelled and then didn't subside until I glared again. As the credits rolled and the lights came up. I caught the eye of one of them and asked why he had to talk all the way through. I almost instantly regretted it as he responded as though I was a teacher with a kind of feeble excuse that they had been whispering. I reminded him that I had heard them and added that I paid for a ticket to see and hear the film and not him. No reply. I saw them looking for an unofficial exit as the rest of us filed out. I went out into the light of day wishing I'd used the truancy card but then reasoned that it wouldn't have had much of an effect. You go in the morning of a week day and this happens.