The last time a major filmmaker ventured into a nightmarish Garden of Eden amid a swirl of Christian and pagan warnings of the evil that men do, the filmmaker was Darren Aronofsky, the film was “Mother!” and the CinemaScore exit polls of moviegoers out for a good time awarded it a rare, how-dare-you grade of “F.”
Writer-director Alex Garland’s latest film, “Men,” may face a similarly harsh reaction, especially with multiplex audiences expecting an ordinary woman-in-peril thriller. This is Garland’s third feature, following the sleek satisfactions of “Ex Machina” and the mournful, methodical ache of “Annihilation."
The film is organic, all of a piece and, for Garland, somewhat on the nose and didactic. It’s also haunting in ways you can’t easily categorize. It showcases two kinds of excellent acting. One is offered by the splendid, searching Jessie Buckley (Oscar nominee for “The Lost Daughter”) in a performance almost entirely guided by watchful, justifiable paranoia. The other is a portrait gallery of male animals curated with extreme craftiness, by Rory Kinnear.
We begin in London, and a horrifying suicide. Throughout “Men,” in radioactive-looking shades of orange, we flash back to the words and acts of an increasingly anguished and abusive marriage preceding that suicide. After witnessing the fatal leap of her husband (Paapa Essiedu), the deeply rattled Harper (Buckley) retreats to a fancy, remote manor home rental somewhere in the English countryside. All she wants is some peace, and to begin to forget. “Men” has other plans.
FaceTiming with a supportive friend (Gayle Rankin) when the village’s wonky Wi-Fi permits, Harper settles into the rambling old house with the conspicuous apple trees in the yard. The landlord who lives down the lane, Geoffrey, seems to be a sweetly clueless sort. But there’s a weird undercurrent in his awkwardness indicating trouble ahead.
Harper’s encounters grow curiouser and curiouser. A chalky-white man, nude, lurks around the grounds and attempts a break-in. The local policeman dismisses Harper’s report of a stalker; it’s just the village hermit, he says. A local vicar engages Harper not with comfort or sympathy, but with Puritan threats of punishment and reminders of the wages of sin. Kinnear portrays all these men; at one point, at the eerily quiet local pub, he takes on five separate roles, five different sets of prying eyes, as Harper feels the walls closing in.
Garland plunges headlong into Biblical imagery: Harper, tempted by the apples in her garden, sets a series of menacing developments in motion. Or perhaps it’s the pagan Green Man (Kinnear again, sporting leaves and tendrils). Or is the Green Man is Harper’s protector?
Where all this goes is pretty astonishing and destined for a likely CinemaScore nightmare grading session. In this dark fable of grief, guilt and toxic male animals, “Men” culminates (no spoilers here) with the latest regeneration of these animals. We’re confronted by new men for all four seasons. I’ll leave it at that.
Brilliantly lighted and refracted in hues of green and red by cinematographer Rob Hardy, Garland’s film (like “Annihilation”) operates on a rhythm that goes a little flat in its second half. But it sticks with you. And it deserves to be experienced rather than explained.
Buckley is superb in a largely reactive role, but the source of Harper’s grief gives her all she needs to hold the screen. Kinnear enjoys more latitude (obviously), and he’s often witty in peculiar ways, recalling the work of his late father, the character actor Roy Kinnear. Once upon a time the elder Kinnear knocked around in ‘60s sex comedies such as “Lock Up Your Daughters!” Garlands “Men” spits in the eye of those quasi-innocent creep-outs, imagining a world where it takes a village to remind a woman of what she’s up against, eternally.
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'MEN'
3 stars (out of 4)
MPAA rating: R (for disturbing and violent content, graphic nudity, grisly images and language)
Running time: 1:40
How to watch: In theaters Friday
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