MIFF Session #6: THE SHROUDS

Karsh a widowed tech tycoon has invented a means of dealing with grief that involves shrouds that allow fine details of the deceased in graves that are somewhere between headstones and wildlife cams. He is struggling to cope with the loss of his wife Becca whose bones are in such a container in 3D, zoomable form. In examining the remains he notices strange anomalies appearing on the bones. Then the graves a vandalised in a targeted attack and he sets out to find out who and why?

This near future scenario is the new feature from David Cronenberg, the inventor of and Mosaic leader of the body horror sub-genre. The theme of connection with the dead emerges from his own recent experience in becoming a widower himself. His wife Carolyn died in 2017. Cronenberg has admitted the personal connection.

It is unavoidable: the lead, Vincent Cassell, is given lighting that accentuates his chiselled features and a mane of white hair brushed back and resembles no one so much as Cronenberg himself. Cassell rolls back his physicality to a contemplative stillness and keeps his voice clear but projected only as far as the conveyance of meaning demands. If you see this film, have a look at a recent interview video with the director and note the quiet curiosity and gravity that Cassell also saw in his presentation of Karsh.

If the theme of death and its treatment in Western hands might produce some juicy shocks on screen. But remember Cronenberg's personal calling to make it. The pace is slow and deliberate the texture smooth and audio-scape gentle and solemn. What does offer the kind of cultural ideation here is also from recent experience but not just Cronenberg's but the world's. There is a wealth of bruised conspiracy thinking in the dialogue, whether from the dispossessed or those closer to the workings of the machine; the digital insect swarms of rumour, fantasy scenarios and the sadder fear-mounted snarls of the frightened and powerless, feel like they come straight out of the pandemic. 

Cronenberg can have a tendency to pack a lot of exposition into conversations while walking or even direct addresses between characters of varying power status. Here, they feel all but disposable, sounds that seem designed to engender paranoia in Karsh and his world, rather than lists of details to remember later. In this film they are less confessions or accusations than whispers in the cathedral. 

There has been no announcement by Cronenberg of this being his last film, nor anything of the health-compelled retirement like David Lynch's recent announcement. It might really be here in front of us to present a response to real grief. But, knowing Cronenberg, he might be prepared to rest, knowing that this was his last will and cinematic testament. I bet it isn't, though.