[Film Review] Brightwood (2022)

“Brightwood Puts a New Spin on Groundhog-Day Style Horror”

Dane Elcar’s film Brightwood (screened at Panic Fest and Salem Horror Festival) does the seemingly impossible – it makes the outdoors seem claustrophobic. The central conceit of this movie is not quite in the same vein as Happy Death Day, where someone relives the same day over and over; instead, a married couple on the edge of divorce find themselves stuck forever in a specific moment in time, unable to leave a trail that circles a pond.

What spans out of this conceit is a tense and at times interminable film, that builds to an ultimately satisfying conclusion. I can’t get into the plot, like, at all really without spoiling things, so mea culpa if the discussion of the narrative here seems light. 

With a plot that necessitates a very small cast, the actors on deck have to -in a lot of ways- carry the film. The two actors in Brightwood seemed to grow into their roles over the course of the film, as we see them develop from one-dimensional caricatures of people in a strained marriage to people with complex feelings about one another. Max Woertendyke as Dan in particular displays an impressive emotional range throughout the film. Dana Berger as Jen, Dan’s embattled wife, plays closer to the chest – her overwhelming frustration and anger with her life develops out in a subtler way over the course of the runtime, but don’t ever mistake it for one-note. 

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Onto the cinematography: the camera work is the part of this whole endeavor that could come across as divisive. Since the film takes place in a single location, there are a lot, (particularly in the beginning) of long shots of forest scenes and cuts back to visages the audience has seen time and again. While it’s clear that this is intentional, and supposed to reinforce the horror of being stuck on the trail surrounding the pond, it can at times make the film feel as though it’s dragging a little. This is especially the case for the first forty or so minutes, before the action really picks up. Again, I’m inclined to read this as an intentional series of choices, almost in the vein of how Kubrick tried to recreate the ultimate boredom of space in 2001, but if you’re going to watch it, be prepared for the beginning to be the very definition of a slow burn, and know that even if you’re dissatisfied with the beginning, the rest of the film provides a good payoff.

Continuing its dedication to lean production values (a hallmark of the indie horror that can showcase some truly innovative thought) the film forgoes much of a soundtrack in favor of overlaying unsettling noise, meant to indicate (in some sort of ambiguous way) the time shenanigans that are currently ongoing. What’s interesting about the noise is how it is, at points, incorporated into the narrative – Jen and Dan are waylaid at a couple points by a terrible ringing noise. This makes it unclear if the other noises the audience hears are purely for our benefit, or if we’re hearing the same things as the characters. 

The final piece here in our discussion of production values is the practical effects. Now, y’all know I love some campy gore – it is, to my mind, one of the most fun things one can see in a horror movie. This film DOES have a few moments of grossness, but, in a weird turn of events, I actually don’t think the film needs it. Since so much of the tension is built up in the uncertainty and overall awfulness of their situation, the few moments of blood and guts we get feel almost incongruous, tonally (there’s a particular scene where Jen faceplants into some viscera that I think is maybe the most out of place). The violence that happens in the film seems to be more effective when it happens just out of frame, or otherwise obscured in some way. 

In terms of the overall appeal of this film, I think Brightwood works best if you approach it with the understanding that the film is going to make you live, in some small way, the experiences of the characters – those first forty minutes are indeed quite slow, and can make one feel as though they’re stuck in time. But if you accept that that’s the point – and further, that the point of a film and especially a horror film is to sometimes make you feel uncomfortable or otherwise unpleasant – then you can really appreciate this movie for what it is. Which is a weird indie outing that tells an interesting story about love in the face of adversity and uses its central narrative conceit to keep a tight hold on the scope of its production values and not get overly ambitious. 

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