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alternative cinema 


a guide to the Frida

The Killing of a Sacred Deer

2017, thriller
directed by Yorgos Lanthimos

Talk to Me

2022, horror
directed by Michael & Danny Philippou



double feature! May 22nd
    at the FRIDA



by Kai Karafotis  |  May 21


The Killing of a Sacred Deer, directed by Yorgos Lanthimos, is a nail-biting uncanny valley nightmare, following an acclaimed cardiac surgeon whose idyllic life is strangled by the retribution of a buried secret. Deeply unsettling in both form and content, Sacred Deer dissects power, pride, guilt, and justice in fascinatingly complex layers.

Talk to Me, on the other hand, is a supernatural horror centering a group of teenagers who communicate with spirits through an embalmed hand, and quickly discover the horrific consequences of toying with purgatorial powers. At its core a musing on grief and loss, Talk to Me carries a heavy subject in a thrilling way, and creates a thought-provoking resonance with Sacred Deer.  

   The Killing of a Sacred Deer and Talk to Me are screening as a double feature at the Frida Cinema in Downtown Santa Ana on Thursday, May 22nd. Read more about them below (with some very light spoilers).

Known for his stark and extreme films, Yorgos Lanthimos has an otherworldly sense of direction. His characters often speak in stilted, awkward sentences, typically overtly candid in their dialogue and actions. In this way, Lanthimos cuts through passive small talk to bite into the meat of the story. Personally, I feel that in order to enjoy a Lanthimos film, I have to be open to exploring with him. Exercising curiosity and expecting an atypical style is essential to connecting with his perspective. In Sacred Deer, he’s engaging with ideas bigger than the actual content, with the plot almost serving as flint to spark greater rumination. 


Entering the theater expecting the movie to directly explain its thoughts will do you a disservice with Sacred Deer. The title alone contains critical subtext: it references the Greek myth of Iphigenia, whose father King Agamemnon kills a sacred deer. As an act of justice, the goddess Artemis commands him to sacrifice his eldest daughter in order to achieve his goal to reach Troy. As in many classic Greek mythologies, the story of Iphigenia weighs ethics and morality, a recurring concept in Lanthimos’s films. King Agamemnon’s relegation to mortality, a reminder of his vulnerability in his greater quest for power, is a central theme in Sacred Deer. 


The film opens with Steven (Colin Farrell) operating on an exposed heart. In every sense, Steven moves with god-like power, the ability to save lives or end them. Much like King Agamemnon, he carries a sense of invulnerability with him. He is respected in all aspects of his life and revered as a leader. He has a perfect life, perfect wife, perfect children, wealth and intelligence and prestige. He is in control. Men in extreme power often face few repercussions, their reputation or money creating infallibility as they bend reality to suit their needs. Often with this power comes pride, a narcissism fostered by inflated self-importance. A mistake is an impossibility that would violate their world view. And so despite what happens in the operating room, Steven removes his bloody gloves and moves on. “A surgeon never kills a patient,” Steven swears. “An anesthesiologist can kill a patient, but a surgeon never can.” He is reluctant to admit his own faults, even to the point of logical implausibility, and in doing so rejects the consequences of his actions. Throughout the film, Steven’s hands are a focus of attention. His hands, so clean and soft and beautiful, perfectly encapsulate his moral character. He will not allow them to be bloodied, even when there should be blood on his hands. He is above guilt and will do anything but admit he is flawed. And the unfolding result of his god complex creates a jaw-clenching narrative. 


Overall, watching the film as a parable rather than a hero’s journey sums to a more impactful viewing experience. The characters represent a moral position in a greater ethical question, nearly more so than the characters they were written to be, and the implications of that create a fascinating ghost layer to the movie that makes it compelling the whole way through.


At first glance, Talk to Me has little in common with Sacred Deer. But one of the most central elements is grief, and the ways that it pushes you to desperation, seeking any way out of pain. In Sacred Deer, it follows a path of vengeance, and in Talk to Me, a drug-like escape that devolves into insanity. Both movies explore suburban idealism and the ability for seemingly perfect families to break apart. And both grapple with the need to control, and to take fate into your own hands. 


In Talk to Me, the central character, Mia, is dealing with incredible grief—the film begins on the two year anniversary of her mother’s gruesome death, pushing Mia to look for an outlet to avoid her feelings. It leads her to the hand, a source of excitement and ecstasy. However, as the hand tightens its grasp on her, the lines between reality and delusion blur. The overall impression is that of drug addiction: what begins as fun escalates into a problem she cannot pull herself out of. As with Steven in Sacred Deer, she is seeking control and balance, and its unclear how far either will go to eliminate what threatens their world view. 


Talk to Me has a classic horror feeling to it, prioritizing scare factor and suspense, and boy does it deliver. It escalates the archetypal ouijia storyline and finds an unpredictable path, with a few scenes leaving you jaw-dropped. It’s absolutely a must-see for modern horror, striking the right balance of story without tipping into territory that distracts from the scares. 


Lastly, I feel inclined to mention that both films contain content that may be triggering to some audience members—The Killing of a Sacred Deer in specific features medical trauma and child abuse with mentions of pedophilia (among other things), and both films revolve around the death of a parent. The great success of horror is the ability to unsettle and surprise, but please feel free to research content warnings if you want to ensure you’ll have the right kind of scary fun. 

The Killing of a Sacred Deer and Talk to Me are the perfect pair for the anxiety-loving horror fan, and surely best enjoyed with a theater full of commiserating victims. Be sure to check out the double screening at the Frida Cinema on May 22nd. 







editor’s picks  |  May




You Won’t Be Alone

2022, drama
directed by Goran Stolevski

it opens with a cat!





Leningrad Cowboys Go America

1990, adventure
directed by Aki Kaurismäki

new party soundtrack

Mayday

2021, war (metaphorical)
directed by Karen Cinorre

I’d do anything for misandrist mia goth, 
and the fits are actually good?

Titane

2021, horror
directed by Julia Ducournau

it’s a love story



a guide to the Frida

Climax

2018, horror/musical
directed by Gaspar Noe

Bodies Bodies Bodies

2022, horror/mystery
directed by Halina Reijn



double feature! April 24th
    at the FRIDA



by Kai Karafotis  |  April 21


Feverish, explosive, twisted and ambling, Climax explores the breakdown of normalcy into the primal when all control is lost. Set in 1996, the film follows a group of dancers rehearsing in an abandoned school, whose night tears itself apart when they discover their sangria has been spiked with LSD. Part dance movie, part whodunnit, part Lord of the Flies, Gaspar Noé’s daring Climax is a jaw-dropper from start to finish.

Bodies Bodies Bodies hits a similar premise with a completely different result. Trapped in a mansion with a storm raging outside, a drug-fueled group of friends play their version of Werewolf, which quickly erodes into a do-or-die witch hunt until the sun comes up. Hilarious in all the right moments and suspenseful everywhere else, Bodies Bodies Bodies is a ridiculously fun time, and the perfect follow up to Climax.

    Both movies are screening as a double feature at the Frida Cinema on April 24th. Read more about them below (with some very light spoilers).




Climax is a movie where looking only at the product does it a disservice. The production itself is what resulted in such a unique picture: the movie had an unbelievably fast turnaround from conception to actualization. The cast was made up of two seasoned actors—the rest were dancers. The film had no script, operating off of a one page outline, with the cast improvising nearly all of the dialogue. It was shot over 15 days, almost entirely in chronological order, allowing the team to mold the story as it went along. The resulting storyline is incredible, and in large part because each actor is conceptualizing their own complete perspective. The ensemble nature allowed each character to have importance and individuality, and even the more minor characters are experiencing their own truth, if in the backdrop. 


In that sense, the creation of the film matches perfectly with the narrative. Once the characters start tripping, they enter a world of individual survival. Overtaken by LSD, they revert to their base instincts, their feelings, and each moment is the only reality and fleeting fast. The characters in the film are discovering their next thought, their next minute, at the same moment as the actors playing them. Climax remains gripping because of its unpredictability, leaving you constantly guessing if there will be any limits. 


The narrative weaves together a small group of people, their love, frustration, desire, and jealousy. Their shared history is a constant undercurrent, and at moments they crash into one another so desperately and horrifically that you can only watch in disbelief. Queerness is a given, as characters’ attractions shift continuously, and as the story progresses some characters’ desire for sex becomes a need, a starvation that must be fed. It becomes dominance and control for them as much as validation and worth for others. The social bonds that hold a group together melt away under the acid, and individual truth must be expressed at any cost.


But however much individuality is a key component, the mind of the group is equally as significant. A question is repeatedly asked throughout the film: who spiked the punch? Panic sets in and the group descends into fight instead of flight, the intense need to direct fear at something in order to absolve yourself from it, to eliminate the cause. With compromised faculties (from both drugs and fear), pieces of the film devolve into a witch hunt, a game of Werewolf desperate to find something evil. Desperate to destroy it. 


Bodies Bodies Bodies takes the foundation set by Climax and runs with it. The perspective of the group becomes critical. If everyone agrees who the murderer is, it might not be long before they’re voted out. Half truths come out and miscommunication is central to this dysfunctional group (who never listen to each other to begin with). Once fingers start to point, then “the best defense is a good offense”. 


Much like in Climax, sexual tension cannot stay hidden for long, and true feelings—whether positive or negative—are validated by blame. The complex web of past relationships adds so many layers to the mystery, as the facade of their friendships crack under the animalistic pressure. And despite what the characters may say, feelings aren’t fact, and even facts aren’t fact, both are desperate grasps at self-protection. As the stakes heighten, civility crashes and burns. This film shows how quickly groupthink can change targets, and how fast someone can find themselves on the outskirts. Revealing the primal instinct to stay alive, it plays with the idea that when push comes to shove, you better be shoving. 


Bodies Bodies Bodies is the perfect shift back into reality following Climax, and needless to say, both films are a worthwhile watch—especially in a double screening.





The Frida Cinema is a non-profit arthouse movie theater in Santa Ana, California.