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Mads, Shudder

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Review by Mark Dujsik | October 17, 2024

The all-in-one-take gimmick can work, if a filmmaker has a storytelling rationale to back it up and an understanding of the inherent limitations of the conceit. MadS tells the story of a mounting apocalypse from the perspectives of three characters in a small French town, so writer/director David Moreau seems to have the first part of that equation correct. We watch as the seemingly mundane events of one evening are repeatedly and more frequently interrupted by a zombie-creating infection, as well as a team of well-armed soldiers trying to stop the pandemic in its tracks.

When the terror and threat arrive, Moreau's stunt makes sense and leads to some effective sequences of tension. On a technical level, the gimmick is pulled off impressively, too. If there are any seams to blend multiple takes of the movie's single-shot approach, they're basically invisible, and some of the apparent cheats that would suggest a hidden cut almost seem to be more practical. With the actors running around this town over the course of a night, it's only fair that Moreau give them at least a little time to breathe.

There is a lot of running in this story, as well as driving and riding on bikes or scooters, because Moreau isn't content to give us a single location for his vision of this end-of-the-world scenario. It has to expand outward, from the remote home a drug dealer, to the car trip—when things start to go wrong—back into town, to a fortress of a mansion, to a ride to another house for a party, and to places beyond these and throughout the sleepy place that's about to get a very loud, very bloody wakeup call. The scope of the movie would seem limited for a more traditional actioner, but within those restrictions of following characters in real time, it's also impressive.

It is, however, part of the material's downfall, as well. Moreau clearly has devised assorted sequences of action and tension to highlight as a trio of characters try to survive the night together or, often, apart, but as for everything in between those moments, the filmmaker hasn't figured out how to dramatize the transitional scenes in any compelling way. It's not just the actors getting a break. The whole narrative seems to take a nap.

Initially, we follow Romain (Milton Riche), who's buying drugs for the night and party ahead, and while driving back home, he stops after dropping his cigarette on the seat. That's when a mysterious woman, covered in bandages and wearing a hospital gown, appears in front of and, then, inside his convertible. She's unable to speak and in distress, but since Romain tried some of the drugs before buying them, he doesn't want paramedics and cops to come to help.

Instead, he decides to drive the woman to the hospital, but that plan is complicated when the stranger stabs herself repeated in the neck. Too high to deal with or come up with good answers to the many questions everyone will have, Romain drives home and decides to figure out things from there. By the time he showers and collects himself, though, the woman has disappeared from the car.

What's actually happening in this story is revealed by a digital recorder the woman has on her. Someone on it explains that she has been infected with some kind of virus, that her tongue and teeth have been removed, and that the disease spreads by way of fluid transmission. Since Romain's face and some the drugs were covered in the woman's blood, that starts the spread of an infection. It's not as if, after all, Romain is going to pass up the big birthday party his friends are having for him.

This means a long trip in the back of a truck from Romain's home to another house, where little is revealed except that he starts to hear things and Ana (Laurie Pavy) is his pseudo-girlfriend. There's some drama with her best friend Julia (Lucille Guillaume), and after doing some of the drugs, Ana starts hearing and seeing things, too.

At various points, all three of these characters try to escape the effects of whatever's happening to them, the armed mercenaries who show up to kill anyone infected by the virus or who may have been in contact with someone infected, and, at times, each other. The staging of some of these scenes, such as Romain realizing the woman is still in the house—before the soldiers turn up, too—and Ana taking shelter in a bar restroom until gunfire breaks out close by, gets at why the one-take can work. There's a sense of intimacy that heightens the feeling that danger is inescapable and, because the camera often sticks to the central character at the moment, the uncertainty of what's happening.

The transitions between locations, though, highlight how the gimmick can falter. Nothing much happens on those long walks, drives, or rides through town, and the staging of those is regularly awkward and unnatural, such as an infected person lazily caressing and snapping at someone from the back of a scooter. MadS quickly becomes lengthy sections of practicality, mainly changing scenery, followed by occasionally effective sequences of action. The latter isn't worthwhile enough to compensate for the former.

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