This is a movie that stretches bold in its singularity.
What follows are a series of fragmented thoughts, explorations of the cinematic melding.
We've become a dark synth over grainy forgotten VHS wastelands in the woods. It's Christmas and mom has grown silent. She sits on the couch and pines the night as if the psychic link she feels to the samurai killer who stalks the dark is somehow a creation of her own. As if any of us are safe.
[Drenched in blue and gray streaks / Smut-red with blood]
And we will never understand the panic of this fevered narrative, the feeling of being lost in the cold. Of inhabiting a haunted house where the only color is the dulled stains of our yellowed walls, of the power of a mother's mind. Of a mother's guilt. Stare into eyes. Bleed restless aches of slamming cupboards.
I was once a warrior. I will always be a warrior, but the silverware is shaking, the knives clattering to chests and arrows.
There is magic that thickens the air. The magic shocks your hand. There is no logic anymore, never was. We are reminded that bodies without organs are those things that can kill. Cans can kill. Cardboard boxes can fly through the empty space and embed themselves in your skull. Like a hatchet. Or like the disembodied spirit of a samurai warrior.
Turn the world blue. Turn your mind to the woods where you grew into the man you now think you are. You will never be the same. The fire you thought you had is gone. You are left with vocables of silence. Sever your tongue. Swords cut through these walls. Your home is made of paper. These walls are bloody with those you've wished dead. We never leave the country. There are worlds left to spare.
A television bleeps static.
The Christmas tree riles. The mother speaks, "Who are you? What do you want here?"
But the spirit of how these timelines are intertwined is what fascinates us. Don't look down. Don't open the door. Don't pay attention to the wound in the wall. Your hands will grow red with the blood of your guts. And the mother only wants to help. The mother will not be able to help. Her hands glow pink. You bleed on the carpet. Your stain will be an eternal blue.
Of silence and wind. Of couples hiding, screaming dead in the closet. And what we've hidden. And what transgressions we've committed that have brought this evil into our house. Know that I love you. Know that the wind carries a message that Gary cannot deliver. And be the hunter. Be the love that releases the purity of the kill, of how we can explain Paul's body.
Be a mother. Be full of a love more powerful than anything in the world.
Tuck yourself in. We're all cursed here.
In this place of forever wind.
