The Invitation
Director: Karyn
Kusama
Writers: Phil Hay,
Matt Manfredi
Starring: Logan
Marshall-Green, Emayatzy Corinealdi, Tammy Blanchard, Michiel
Huisman, Lindsay Burdge, John Carroll Lynch
Rating:
Four-and-a-half stars out of five
Available in
limited release and on demand now
At the beginning of
Karyn Kusama's The Invitation, it has been a long two years
for central character Will, played by Logan Marshall-Green. His beard
is raggedy and his long hair is combed in an unconvincing attempt to appear put together. His movie-star
good looks are hidden under the veneer of not caring about anything
besides his internal problems. As he and his new girlfriend, Kira
(Emayatzy Corinealdi), drive up the curving roads of the Hollywood
hills, they examine with unease the eponymous invitation, to a dinner
party at the house Will used to share with his ex-wife, Eden (Tammy
Blanchard). It's not a normal situation for anyone involved, but even
in these earliest moments, Kusama's camera holds on these ill-at-ease
characters in a way that implies a deep sense of obligation.
And then the
universe places a startling, frustrating obstacle in their way in the
form of a coyote that darts in front of the car. Kusama's choice to
employ sound designer Phillip Blackford pays off here for the first
of many times throughout the film. Kira's shocked scream pierces as
the brakes screech and the car, unable to come to a complete stop in
time, lands with a sickening thump against the wild animal. The next
move to dull the sound of Will performing his duty of putting the
animal out of its misery with the only tool available to him – a
tire iron – shows this creative team's mastery of the production
elements necessary to twist an audience's emotions.
And twist those
emotions do, over and over again through an excruciating dinner party
hosted by Eden and her new boyfriend, David (Michiel Huisman). The
two lovers have recently returned from a spiritual journey in Mexico
with a faith group meant to help people get over loss. And Eden
certainly appears to have been able to move past the trauma suffered
by her and Will years earlier. She smiles, which is more than Will
can say as he sits sullenly among their former friend support group,
most of whom show up to help the erstwhile couple get some closure.
It's been a while
since most of these people have seen each other, whether it's because
of a misguided attempt to provide space for healing or a helpless
inability to know what to say to people who are obviously hurting. It
doesn't help that Eden and David have made the night about “helping”
the group heal their grief with the same methods they learned from
what Will is convinced was a cult. The hosting couple brings a pair
of new friends (performed by Lindsay Burdge and Fargo's John
Carroll Lynch) they met at their retreat, which throws the already
strained dynamic into a place of bizarre unease. But nearly everyone
powers their way through their misgivings out of care for each other
and a desire to help one another achieve a better emotional mooring
in the world after a tragedy that affected everyone.
For much of The
Invitation, things can work out any number of ways. One person's
cult can be another's salvation. People talk past each other as they
find themselves unable to understand others' (or their own) grieving
processes. All the while, Will's growing nervousness pushes him to
retreat within himself, to tour the house he once resided in, to face
the harsh memories head-on to show his ex-wife his disapproval of
what he sees as her ignoring her own pain. This is when Blackford's
sound design rears its masterful head again, as sliding doors take on
the aural qualities of a samurai sword being quickly unsheathed. The
simple act of chewing a piece of meat becomes nauseating when it is
amplified into a wet, gnashing churn. Absurdly expensive wine flows
into glasses with a dizzying regularity, the sound of which drowns
out all else, furthering the film's goal of showing the ways people
try to keep themselves from facing their troubles. A friend placing a
hand on Will's shoulder startles him to the point where he feels
threatened because of his inwardness and his lack of attention paid
to the people around him trying to make the best of a supremely
uncomfortable night.
Will's agitation
and suspicion of the motivations for the party begin to ruin
everyone's night. For much of The Invitation's middle section,
it takes on a fascinating and anachronistic farcical tone built on a
foundation of escalating misunderstandings. It is dark and full of
shared trauma on the part of everyone on the screen, and it never
forgets that. But there is an uncomfortable humor that grows out of
these people, most of whom have known each other for decades, taking
a cautious step forward, if only to see how weird the night can get.
They play games where each member of the group gets to shine in a way
that reveals an internal life for every person around the coffee
table. These folks are not empty placeholders to serve the plot's
every whim. They have interactions that indicate their place in the
world, their careers, their relationships, all presented in humorous
and deeply relatable ways.
But The
Invitation would likely not be able to sustain itself if it
continued on the path of having things both ways. It presents
evidence of malevolence throughout the night. As much fun as it is to
try to decide whether everything is in Will's head or if there is
more to the things he observes, the movie would do itself a
disservice if it were to not make a choice about revealing the truth
of the night in question.
It makes a bold
choice and pursues that decision with ferocity and expedience. The
impeccably shot and acted thrills of the film's final section do
nothing to diminish the weight of the earlier moments' themes of
finding one's own way to deal with loss, in a surrogate family's
responsibility to its most vulnerable members in their time of
greatest need, and in a deep suspicion of self-help gurus who wish to
remove a person from their pain by sweeping that pain under a rug. In
fact, the last 20 minutes serve to drive home those ideas in visceral
and visual ways that could otherwise have gone unachieved. A
catharsis of sorts is reached in a haunting and beautiful way. The
film's final two shots, and the brutal possibilities they entail,
bring this single-location black comedy into the realm of
universality, broadening the themes to encompass hundreds or maybe
thousands of other people. There is both comfort and terror in that.
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