[every couple of nights, once he’s finished shower-crying over the nature of humanity, contributing writer and “miserable little pile of secrets” marrrrrrr likes to prepare a classic snack and watch an existential horror in order to avoid the cold, cold, tendrils of emptiness that sneak between the cracks of moments in the softest ways. this is Midnight Movies.]
film: She Dies Tomorrow (2020)
food: [popcorn emoji]
pre-game: IT SPOOP! SPOOP MONTH IS HERE! kicking off the coverage w/ a horror from director amy seimetz about a potentially fatal existential dread that begins spreading through a group of friends like a contagious disease. been wanting to watch this for awhile. released last year amidst lockdowns/quarantines so got a little boost in attention for “timeliness.” supposed to be good. back later… hopefully…
post-game: impending doom as contagion isn’t the most original idea in film (see, for example: Ringu (1998) and It Follows (2014)). as a fiction trope it’s existed since at least the publishing of Masque of the Red Death by Edgar Allen Poe in 1842. what separates She Dies Tomorrow, writer-director Amy Seimetz’s second feature, from other films with similar plots is 1) the serendipity to have the movie released at the height of a global pandemic, and 2) the refusal for the movie to provide any obvious answers, explanations or solutions.
unfortunately, the movie’s ambiguity is also its biggest flaw. whereas last week’s Midnight Movie, Yes, God, Yes, focused on a good character, but skimped on fully developing any broader ideas, She Dies Tomorrow focuses on good ideas and skimps on fully developing its characters. i didn’t mind (though some viewers might) that the origins and nature of the “disease” are never properly explained, that the rates at which other characters became “infected” were highly variable (after all, that would seem to imitate real life), that the “infection” is seemingly solidified via hallucinations of red-and-blue strobing lights (major photosensitivity warning btw) that are never discussed, nor that it’s arguably vague as to whether or not anyone will actually die as a result of the contagion. but when two characters only obliquely hint at some (otherwise) life-altering off-screen act before concluding “it doesn’t matter anyway,” i’m not sure the audience is supposed to agree.
Kate Lyn Sheil stars as Amy (possibly a self-insert for Seimetz, who has said the movie was inspired by the cascading reactions she used to get when discussing her anxiety) a young woman who has recently purchased a house and, for reasons only partially explained later, has come to believe, with certain conviction, that her next day will be her last. amidst grasping clumps of plants as if she’s never felt them before, wearing out her vinyl record of Mozart’s Lacrymosa movement, downing multiple bottles of wine, and shopping for urns online, she calls her friend Jane (the underappreciated Jane Adams) to come console her. after Jane arrives, Amy, evidently a recovering alcoholic, shares her belief in her imminent demise. Jane dismisses her as drunk.
but then there’s a moment, accompanied by a rush of sound and dimming of lights. Jane is the next victim of the “disease.”
at first, Jane cancels her plans for the evening (her sister-in-law’s birthday party), changes into some pajamas, and decides to work — creating blown up photos of various microscopic substances, some of which are shown earlier in the film during hallucination sequences before they are contextualized as Jane’s art. as the realization of her own death sets in, Jane changes her mind and goes to the party after all, where she “infects” her brother Jason (Chris Messina), his wife Susan (Katie Aselton), and their “couple friends” Brian and Tilly (TV on the Radio’s Tunde Adebimpe and Jennifer Kim, respectively).
one obvious parallel between the onset of the COVID pandemic and the disease in She Dies Tomorrow is how most characters immediately panic, sparing no thought for decreasing further spread, even, in one case, from a parent to her daughter. that kind of recklessness might have seemed irrational or even unbelievable in a world without coronavirus. unfortunately, the contemperaneous real-time failure of both individuals and large-scale institutions to take the spread of COVID-19 seriously makes the film’s situations all too recognizable.
as a whole, She Dies Tomorrow is incredibly artistic, almost oppressively so. on the one hand, it leads to some truly excellent shots: Amy driving a dune buggy, headlights-blaring, through the desert in slow motion in the middle of the night, just to name one. on the other hand, it can (rarely) seem like a parody of auteur film-making, especially as the characters become emotionally drained hurtling through the five stages of grief. though maybe no fault of anyone involved, the affectless delivery of the lines, “the sunrise. it’s beautiful,” immediately reminded me of a “Family Guy” bit making fun of a fake british television show called “Condensation.”
which is a shame, because other parts of the movie make it clear that Seimetz has a good sense of humor. when Amy tells the dune buggy rental operator that she doesn’t want to wear a helmet because “she’s going to die anyway,” he asks, “but not tonight, right? right?” and lets out a so-awkward-it’s-funny spat of nervous laughter. (later, after she infects him, they decide to make out, because what else are they going to do?)
perhaps more moments like that might help the thinly drawn characterization. as it stands, the impact of the horror is lessened because of the disconnect between the audience and the characters. the subplot involving Brian and Tilly reveals almost nothing about their relationship, despite going on two scenes too long. and when the plot circles back to the start as Amy’s backstory is (partially) revealed, it feels like more of a machination than a catharsis because of how little is really shown about her.
when it was first released in June 2020, at the height of COVID hospitalizations worldwide, She Dies Tomorrow seemed eerily prescient. were it released now, almost a year-and-a-half later, and even with ongoing coronavirus struggles and new variants popping up, i’m not sure it would be regarded so well (good, yes, but maybe not as terribly essential).
during Amy’s first phone call with Jane, Jane suggests Amy relax by taking a walk or watching a movie. Amy responds, “a movie is an hour and a half.” she doesn’t elaborate, but the viewer understands: she doesn’t want to waste what has become an increasingly precious commodity.
it’s not a bad idea, it’s just… timing is everything.
rating: have you ever tried syncing up The Wizard of Oz and Dark Side of the Moon?
(here’s a number inspired by that concept)
