Infinity Pool

Infinity Pool (2023) Dir: Brandon Cronenberg ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ ‘𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘢𝘯’𝘵 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘞𝘩𝘪𝘵𝘦-𝘚𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘉𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘋𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩.’ Sometimes you are just in the right space to receive a movie. For whatever reason the stars align and you just completely connect with what is happening on screen. It’s a beautiful thing when that occurs and it hit me last Thursday with Brandon (son of David) Cronenberg’s Infinity Pool. Admittedly the shot of Crystal Head Vodka I had with my coke while watching might have helped things along 😅 James Foster (Alexander Skarsgård) is a writer, attempting to overcome his near 6 year struggle with writers block, through a resort holiday with his wife/benefactor Em (Aussie Cleopatra Coleman AKA Erica from Last Man on Earth) in the fictional Eastern European beach locale Li Tolqa. The couple encounter fellow resort guests Gabi (an eyebrow-less Mia Goth) and Alban (Jalil Lespert) who suggest a forbidden venture outside of the resort gates, where they experience the nation’s unique brand of justice, and soon become entangled in a dark and vicious cycle of hedonism, depravity and self reflection. This is absolutely not for the squeamish and it truly does earn its R rating with both brutal and savage violence and explicit sexual content. There is a scene here that I never thought would ever be allowed on a mainstream streaming platform like Binge. I was shook. So prepare yourself. Again - the Vodka helps. The visuals here are stunning - undulating waves presenting an ominous portent of the drama to unfold, a camera that skews even the most innocent of conversations with extreme close-ups of facial feature and during the aphrodisiac hallucinogen sequence a (literal) orgy of light, colour, deformity and depravity. You can’t (and won’t) look away. A round of applause to Mia Goth who is far and above the most creative, interesting and courageous actress in recent genre film memory. She inhabits the role of Gabi, imbuing her with the allure and intrigue of a Film Noir Femme Fatale with an added level of intoxicating power and cruel mockery. The best eyebrow-less performance since Robert Blake as the Mystery Man in Lost Highway. Of which this shares, not necessarily a narrative comparison, but at least a conceptual bond with. And like a Lynch film there is no immediate easy interpretation of what it all means. Foster’s dark descent into hedonism is a way of escaping his ‘frozen’ existence, his emasculating marriage and failed career. Embracing his inner savagery and loosening his inhibition, encouraged by his new found indulgently amoral ‘friends’, is his attempt to connect with something more primal, yet ultimately his actions leave him a cold and uncaring shell even further unable to engage with reality. It is dark and deep (and delicious if you are in the right mood) and signals Cronenberg (like his Father before him) as a film maker of significant of substance and talent. I want more.