The Killing of a Sacred Deer manages to present raw, nightmarish scenarios with the kind of idiosyncratic beauty few films are capable of, crafting an equally awe-inspiring and unsettling experience.
Revealing anything beyond a vague summary would be a great disservice to Yorgos Lanthimos’ work, and it seems unfair to rob prospective viewers of the experience I had. Put briefly: the relationship between cardiovascular surgeon Dr. Steven Murphy (Colin Farrell) and 16-year-old Martin (Barry Keoghan) evolve—or devolves—to the point of wreaking horrible consequences.
The world and narrative Lanthimos has created is dark, jarring, unforgiving, and devoid of basic humanity. Its greatest strength lies with its unpredictability. In any scene, no matter the characters or topic, there is a degree of uncertainty that permeates, leaving the audience permanently on-edge. One can never trust a quiet resolution or simple conversation.
The sheer shock of character actions and dialogue is routinely baffling, upsetting, and downright mean-spirited. This harsh reality is cultivated with great care, routinely presenting disturbing imagery with crushing matter-of-factness.
Slowly, methodically, this movie breaks its audience down. As the situations heighten, and the mental state of Steven and his family deteriorate, the well-being of the audience deteriorates alongside it.
A uniquely cold filmmaking sensibility serves as the foundation of this cruel nightmare.
Lanthimos uses deliberate, deadpan, robotic writing and direction, providing an otherworldly atmosphere despite the familiar settings of suburban backyards, hospital rooms, and diners. The stiff, over-written dialogue’s intentionally emotionless, clinical delivery underlines its strangeness, causing the audience to take the normalcy—sanity even—of our characters into question.
The Killing of a Sacred Deer is decidedly more grounded than his previous film—2015’s The Lobster—and is rooted in similarly great performances. The tone Lanthimos sets would fall horribly flat without the detached delivery being nailed across the board. Nicole Kidman, Bill Camp, Raffey Cassidy, and Sunny Suljic round out a cast that pulls its weight to maintain the sense of distrust and dread throughout the film.
These characters, and therefore the audience, are battered and broken as they follow Lanthimos’ twisted narrative road. Situations have a sense of heart when they need to, but this film pulls no punches, and is quick to steal that away as quickly as it arrives.
This sense of unsentimental harshness is amplified by the film’s cinematography.
Every camera placement, every movement, every frame is meticulously designed to heighten the tense atmosphere. Taking a page from Stanley Kubrick’s The Shining, the stylistic sensibility is one of dread. Lanthimos utilizes an abundance of tracking shots, slow zooms, and uncomfortable close-ups to present the audience its beautiful tragedy. Extremely low or high camera placements, like that of security cameras, further wrings any possibly humanity from the film.
All this is somehow further emphasized by a score liable to send shivers down the spine of even the bravest viewers. The tense, shrill, unending strings and ambient noise elevate each encounter into a blood-curdling, sweat-drenched scene watched with bated breath.
However, it is unsurprising the score is used sparingly enough, as Lanthimos realizes that incredible dread can be formed in the confines of a deafening silence.
Viewers beware: The Killing of a Sacred Deer is not for the faint of heart. It is a thoroughly uncomfortable, disheartening, and stressful cinematic experience. It is a journey into a world where incredible visual elegance is juxtaposed with disturbing imagery, haunting circumstances and humans who feel as though they lack the fundamentals of humanity. It is a nightmare that feels not of this world.
And it is all the better for it.
