Barbarian

In his solo directorial debut and his first horror film, writer-director Zach Cregger proves adept at toying with his viewers, and the editing by Joe Murphy aids Barbarian’s delightfully unpredictable twists and turns. After the tension between Tess and Keith builds to a feverish conclusion, a sudden cut to black is interrupted by a bubbly pop song that jarringly rips the audience out of the dark basement and into a bright and sunny new narrative in which Justin Long’s boyish face takes center screen. As Long’s character AJ careens down the Pacific Coast Highway in a convertible, top-down and carefree, he learns that the lead actress of the television show he’s starring in has accused him of rape. This development prompts him to liquidate his Detroit property to pay for his impending legal fees, and he quickly becomes entangled in the mysterious nightmare unfolding in the basement of his house.

Initially, AJ’s role as a stereotypical L.A. douchebag seems to function as the film’s much-needed comic relief, but it soon becomes clear that his character offers a broader critique of the insidiousness of misogyny and toxic masculinity. What begins as a series of short-sighted mistakes on AJ’s part borders increasingly on barbaric cruelty; he’s the kind of guy who “parades through life making messes,” and Tess is repeatedly caught in the crosshairs. Our heroine is not without flaws of her own—as Tess stated earlier, she has a problem with “always going back”—but in direct contrast to AJ, her selflessness endangers her. While AJ only looks out for himself, Tess seems incapable of putting herself first, making her the victim nearly every time. This extreme empathy proves to be a near-fatal character flaw. Time and again, she almost escapes, but “keeps going back” to save others, as though her deeply ingrained maternal instincts—or social conditioning—are impossible to kick. Meanwhile, a lack of empathy is what created the monstrosity that is terrorizing her in the first place.

Barbarian avoids any sort of didactic political agenda but offers thought-provoking discourse on culturally relevant themes, such as the effects of misogyny, sexual violence, male entitlement, the #MeToo movement, ineffective policing, redlining, gentrification, homelessness, homophobia, and even our cultural obsession with true crime. In the end, Tess’s selflessness grounds the story; she’s the person we want to root for, even if we hope she’d learn to put herself first.