Mark Reviews Movies: MANDY (2018)

Become a fan on Facebook Follow on Twitter

Review by Mark Dujsik | September 13, 2018

It takes 75 minutes—more than half of the film's two-hour running time—for the title card to appear in Mandy. This might sound like just a piece of interesting but useless trivia, but it still points to a significant aspect of writer/director Panos Cosmatos' goals with this aggressively bizarre film. The story is cleanly divided in two: before, as well as during, a particular, violent event and after that event. Before, the film is deliberate in its pacing and features a hypnotic sense of tranquility in its visuals, its rhythm, and its story. After, it's as if the characters and the entire world have gone to hell, and from a visual standpoint, we might as well take that metaphor literally.

In the opening half, we're told that the story is set in "1983 A.D.," and while it might seem unnecessary for the film to specify the calendar era in which it takes place, that detail comes across, in retrospect, as foreshadowing for the shift that's to come. Once that pivotal event occurs, it does feel as if we have entered a new era—some time in which the world has died and humanity has become some mad version of its former self. There's Anno Domini, and then there's another time for the world and its inhabitants: "After Mandy."

The eponymous character is the romantic partner (The actual relationship is never specified) of Red (Nicolas Cage, subdued and then wild), a lumberjack who lives in a nearly transparent, two-story cabin the woods near the Shadow Mountains. Mandy (Andrea Riseborough) is a clerk at a local store and an avid reader of darkly supernatural literature.

The two are happy, if anything really can be described as "happy" in the world of this film. They spend their time together watching television, discussing a disturbing incident from her past (involving her father, a bag filled with baby birds, and an order to the neighborhood kids to take turns killing the animals), and lying in bed, next to a tall and wide window, talking about the solar system. Some otherworldly light dances on their faces as each one declares his or her favorite planet.

All of this is, then, more about atmosphere and tone than story or characters, and the mood of the first half or so of Cosmatos' film lulls us into a sense of ethereal serenity. Sitting in a canoe on a lake, the couple is surrounded by sharp blue-green water that seems almost unnatural in its deep hue, as well as the way its tiny waves appear to be of the same sizes and equidistant from each other. Scenes of contentment fade into each other, and even the eventual hints of the story's later central conflict are played out with muted, unassuming stillness.

Yes, the darkness here appears fairly early with the introduction of a religious cult, led by Jeremiah Sand (Linus Roach). He is not anything approaching evil incarnate. Jeremiah is an insecure man, who once thought of himself as a rising star in the folk music scene, only to come to the crushing realization that nobody wanted to hear his music. In a lengthy monologue, he claims that he heard the voice of God and has become something of a self-professed prophet. His followers are loyal to the point of being willing to die and do terrible things for him.

We know what they're willing to do, because Jeremiah orders them to abduct Mandy, whom Jeremiah believes possesses some spiritual glow like the one he thinks that he possesses. Cosmatos clearly is fascinated by this character, who has the biggest speeches and the most depth. There's a scene of him coming to terms with Mandy's laughter at his back story of tragedy becoming hope—as his opinion of the woman transforms from possible apostolic partner to sworn enemy.

This is only strange if one goes through the first half of the film expecting anything close to well-rounded characters or an intricate plot. Cosmatos dispels such expectations so thoroughly, though, that it becomes a genuine shock when both the story and the film's tone make such a drastic shift.

It comes, of course, with Mandy's brutal murder, captured off screen and cloaked by a cloth bag that encompasses her entire body. Red sees it, and the mostly quiet man, who sits by as his peaceful life passes him by, has a breakdown in the bathroom. Up until this point, Cosmatos and cinematographer Benjamin Loeb have given the film a certain sheen of the unreal, but here, under the crisp fluorescent lights of the bathroom, Red's grief and rage are put on full display.

Everything changes. The world more or less dies. Red becomes a nearly insane figure of vengeance, and the plot becomes a straightforward revenge tale.

If the first half seems over-the-top in terms of its slow pacing and its hyper-earthly imagery, the second half is all gloom and doom, writ on an apocalyptic canvas of barren landscapes, fiery wreckages, and subterranean passages. The scenes become dark and gray, with only the glow of fire and the spouting of blood giving the visuals any color. The violence is extreme (Heads are split, severed, and squeezed) and almost absurd, as Red wields a crossbow against masked bikers who have gone insane from bad LSD and, at one point, gets into a chainsaw duel with one of Jeremiah's disciples.

Even with the radical shift between its two halves, the film presents a cohesive vision, if only on account of how utterly strange it is. Mandy may be shallow in every way except its aesthetics, but its uniquely inexplicable take on a revenge story almost has to be seen to be believed.

Back to Home

Buy Related Products

Buy the Soundtrack

Buy the Soundtrack (Digital Download)

Buy the DVD

Buy the Blu-ray