Review by
Benjamin Poole
Directed by: Danny Philippou, Michael Philippou
Starring: Sophie Wilde, Miranda Otto, Alexandra Jensen, Joe Bird, Otis Djanji, Zoe Terakes
At every party there's always that one person. Somebody's parents are away
for the night, you turn up clutching some illicit booze, and there's that
one person at the party; a friend of a friend, a cousin, a neighbour; a
person liminal to your usual social circle that is nonetheless at the
party and who is dangerously extra. They're the person who gives you your
first joint or mushroom, or worse. The person who spins the bottle, starts
a fight, pushes the party further then it would have gone. They're
trouble, and in Talk to Me, they have with them a severed hand covered in gypsum plaster,
graffitied and posed to mid-handshake, and it can contact the dead -
yikes, indeed.
It is part of the supremely careful storytelling of Danny and
Michael Philippou's (with co-writing from "Bill Hinzman"- hmmm)
Talk to Me that we don't see the hand or its owners (rough
kids Hayley, Zoe Terakes, and Joss, Chris Alosio) until
we've been manipulated into caring, via the film's strong writing and warm
performances, about the characters who will be mainly affected by its
paranormal cruelty. There is Mia (Sophie Wilde), who following the
death of her mother is estranged from her father and more or less living
with bestie Jade (Alexandra Jensen) and her little brother Riley
(Joe Bird). Mum (Miranda Otto) seems to be ok with this,
with the implication that Mia is extra support for the tween Riley. In the
mix is Daniel (Otis Dhanji), who is Mia's ex and Jade's new
boyfriend. Just really believable, likeable kids, with an already
intriguing social dynamic. Let's hope nothing bad happens to them, eh?
Glimpsed in viral moments on mobiles and laptops throughout the opening is
phone footage of house party teens seeming to go into a weird trance upon
shaking the hand, like a fit but with buggier eyes and stranger
contortions, which has been filmed and shared with juvenile glee. Our
interest is piqued, as is Mia and co's, and, before you can say Momo
Challenge, they find themselves at a gathering with Joss, Hayley and their
mad supernatural hand... The Philippous frame the ensuing seance scenes as
akin to the sort of recognisably spooky party games we've all played, with
the same giggly nerves as if That Person had brought an Ouija board, or
knew the right five words to say into a bathroom mirror (admit it - you've
dared yourself to say "Candyman" more than four times...). Here the rules
involve lighting a candle, gripping the hand while intoning the film's
title, and being very careful not to exceed the 90 second time limit of
contact lest something is brought back. No prizes for guessing what
happens...
But it's the how of it happening in Talk to Me which is
compellingly, horrifically plausible. Mia, on a tear due to the
anniversary of her mum's passing, is first to try it. And even though what
she witnesses (only the user, and us, can see the spirit) is horrible, she
goes again, and again, and so the others do too, in an excitable montage
sequence which explicates the drug metaphor the film works with. Mia says
she feels like she's glowing after doing it, and the effects of contacting
the spiritual world seem deeply energising; moreover, the easy manner in
which the kids embrace the supernatural reminded me of the way in which
the alternate experience of psychedelics is readily accepted by
participants. The Philippous credibly express the wild naivety of being a
kid, that sense of safety in numbers and subtle peer pressures which
characterise adolescent groupings. Eating a spoonful of cinnamon, throwing
ice water over yourself, contacting the dead: everybody else is doing it,
so I will too. Along with wanting to impress Mia, it is this false sense
of security that compels Riley to try the hand.... it goes about as well
as giving a kid that age a tab of acid would.
What started as a fun time in a party descends to one of the kids
hospitalised, and Mia continuing to use the hand by herself, joylessly
addicted. The filmic precedent is Flatliners as interloping
apparitions appear in reflection or at the edge of the frame, with ghosts
either malicious or sad, or, in the case of the one who looks like Mia's
dead mum, an exceptionally creepy blend of both.
Talk to Me is an A24 film, and so the tropes of elevated
horror such as grief and mental illness are inevitably present, but
delivered in a way that is urgent and fresh and dedicated not to navel
gazing but full on entertaining the audience. As is the fashion in horror
(Jordan Peele, Zach Cregger, David Gordon Green-ish) the Philippous have a
background in comedy (YouTube shorts - I tried watching their channel but
it "wasn't for me") and perhaps the precision of the genre is evident in
this film's tight rhythms and energy, but there is nothing funny otherwise
about Talk to Me. This is a nasty film, and completely without mercy, both for its young
characters and the audience watching. Gruesomely practical and very wet
effects communicate physical trauma in a way that made my stomach curl.
There is so much to unpack, too: the leitmotif of hands throughout the
film - nails being painted, broken fingers;
POTENTIAL SPOILER the implications of the
ending with someone's miraculous recovery - it's another spirit trick,
isn't it? SPOILER ENDS. The drug metaphor
of Talk to Me is clear, but perhaps there is another
correlation to be made which involves a willing audience member sitting
down in the dark and inviting scary images into their vision, enslaved by
the dangerous, hedonistic buzz of it all. I can't remember being so
traumatised by a horror film, yet here I am, excited about the next time I
watch it and thrilled about whatever dark gems the Philippous cut in the
future. Talk to me Talk to Me, again and again.
Talk to Me is on Netflix UK/ROI now.
