Mark Reviews Movies: AMULET

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Review by Mark Dujsik | July 23, 2020

Something is hidden away in the attic. A nun is clearly hiding something. The refugee, a former soldier hoping to survive in London and maybe resume his life one day, has something to hide, too. The unknown is the most frightening thing in the world, but that which is hidden, waiting to be revealed, has to rank up there, as well.

Amulet, writer/director Romola Garai's debut feature, has a lot that is hidden, waiting to be revealed. There's the man's past. The nun's intentions are questionable. Above all else, perhaps, there's the person or thing that's up in the attic of a dilapidated house, in a not-so-busy part of London. At first, we learn it's a woman's ailing, dying mother, but if that's true, the ailment must be terrible beyond belief, considering the pounding and howls of anguish coming from the house's top floor. Death, someone assures the daughter, is imminent, but how does one define "imminent" when it has just been the ill mother and the caretaking daughter alone in the house for months or years or more?

The film is about its mysteries, yes, but it's also about that kind of all-consuming loneliness—of being alone in a foreign land away from a home that is no longer welcoming, of being trapped in a house with only the pained cries of a sick person to keep you company, of being locked away in an attic without any sunlight and with only the guarantee of more agony. These are specific types of torment—a sort of cosmic punishment that, at first, seems wholly unfair. We find sympathy with these characters, because no one, it would seem, deserves any of this.

We should, perhaps, see what Garai has in store for this story once the first mystery is ostensibly revealed (It's accurate, if we look at it from the worldview in which the answer is presented, but old things receive new names as knowledge and beliefs evolve). Such, though, is how well the filmmaker portrays these characters in their isolated miseries—and how skillfully she withholds the full answers to the story's assorted and sordid mysteries. We're so engaged in the tale that's being told in the moment—of solitude and fear and regret—that the actual, underlying story evades our attention.

There are two central narratives here, both involving Tomaz (Alec Secareanu). He was a soldier in his war-torn, unnamed homeland before escaping to London in an unofficial capacity. Tomaz sleeps in an abandoned building with other refugees and undocumented immigrants, spending his days doing off-the-books and often dangerous work. After a fire destroys his shelter, a seemingly kindly nun named Sister Claire (Imelda Staunton) feeds him and offers him a place to call home.

It's the previously mentioned house, where Magda (Carla Juri) cares for her sickly mother, who's living in the attic. For room and board, Tomaz just has to take care of the house. It turns out to be a lot more than that, though. The wailing and thumping upstairs continue. Magda resents Tomaz's presence. The house's water supply remains a muddy shade of brown, even after pouring bleach into it. Then, there's the bat, flesh-colored and huge, that he discovers in a toilet. It's unlike any he has ever seen, and he spent a long time in the woods during his military service at home.

The second story consists of a series of flashbacks to Tomaz's time in that forest. Also alone then, tending to a remote and barely used security checkpoint, he waits for the conflict to end so that he can continue his education. He receives company in the person of Miriam (Angeliki Papoulia), who is trying to flee the country to be reunited with her daughter. Tomaz offers her food, shelter, and protection.

The flashbacks unfold in Tomaz's dreams, clearly haunted by some remorse about his failure toward his surprise companion (That eventual revelation is at the core of the film's ultimate point). In the present-day section, Garai watches as Tomaz and Magda connect over their feelings of seclusion and guilt. Tomaz once again assigns himself as a woman's protector. The nun eventually reveals the nature of the person or thing in the attic.

Garai has made a fine horror film, although it's one that's not particularly interested in scares. There are some (One involving a close-up of an eye looking through a keyhole is timed perfectly), but they're earned, because the filmmaker spends so much time establishing these characters and, more importantly, an enveloping atmosphere of loneliness and dread.

The setup of a dim and creepy house, in which everything seems to be tainted by some unnatural infection or growth, certainly helps. The feeling of being imprisoned in such a place, for reasons that seem so unwarranted, solidifies that mood. As the mysteries unravel, though, a different tone of horror is uncovered. Sometimes, punishments are deserved, and in certain cases, one person's punishment might be the safety and protection of others.

Garai doesn't present this as a moral or ethical question with which to wrestle. It's simply a fact. There is evil in the world, of either the supernatural variety or the human one, and some system, either human or—when that fails—supernatural, is in place to take care of it. By the end of Amulet, there's a brand of righteous, if apathetic, justice that emerges, and it's as horrifying and unnerving as we would expect from some ancient, unknowable presence in the world. The really scary part, perhaps, is that it also feels satisfying and just.

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