Or so I feel, at least, upon watching Aaron Guzikowski’s masterpiece on HBO Max. I have not been this excited about a sci-fi series since ‘The Expanse’ (2015), and for good reason. ‘Raised by Wolves’ (2020) is a story about humanity’s last chance at survival after nearly destroying itself. The root of the problem? Religious fundamentalism injected into an authoritarian state versus atheist militias that are willing to become the very monsters they fight against in order to defeat their enemy. But there is more to this than mere concepts of extremism and advanced artificial intelligence.

This is also a story about children, for they are the future.

‘Raised by Wolves’ follows two androids tasked with establishing a human colony on planet Kepler-22B. All they have is a space pod with advanced technology and a handful of human children they must raise in an atheist manner, much like the androids’ ‘creator’, Campion Sturges. While Father is a state-of-the-art service humanoid, Mother is a repurposed Necromancer, a veritable killing machine with a wide array of deadly abilities. Due to her reprogramming as a nurturer, however, Mother doesn’t remember her downright murderous past as a weapon in the hands of the Mithraic, the religious zealots who practically destroyed Earth. She does rediscover the aforementioned abilities, and so her character arc begins as she is tested in her mission to protect the children.

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Kepler-22B is not a welcoming planet. It is mostly arid, with freezing nights and deadly creatures lurking in the darkness. Worse even, the androids fail to raise all the children they brought over from Earth. Some succumb to incurable illnesses, while others perish in tragic accidents. Only one, named after Campion Sturges, survives. He becomes a key element as two different worlds begin to collide right in front of him, threatening to change not only his views but also how he perceives life.

The Mithraic have caught up, now docking their enormous Ark into orbit. They have resources, a military force and advanced technologies, and conflict quickly erupts when Mother retaliates and nearly obliterates the entire fleet while taking a handful of children away to replace the ones she lost. One can rarely observe a finer metaphor to address a mother’s grief.

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Enter Marcus and Sue, two Atheists posing as Mithraic soldiers, desperate to get their son back from Mother’s clutches. It becomes increasingly hard to root for them once it becomes clear that all Mother wants is to fulfil the original Campion’s dream of a better humanity—a world where no religion exists. Her sole objective is to raise children into worthy humans.

It becomes a battle for our very souls as we begin to see the flaws in our species, so eloquently portrayed by the Mithraic against the sweet and ignorant innocence of younglings. Between them, Mother and Father struggle to do the right thing, shocking us with their ability to learn, to protect, and to love. This complex series is insanely ambitious and downright mind-blowing on multiple levels, and I cannot recommend it enough.

‘RAISED BY WOLVES’ (2020), ©HBO/HOME BOX OFFICE

Aaron Guzikowski is no stranger to bold and compelling projects. Better known for penning the screenplays for ‘Papillon’ (2017) and ‘Prisoners’ (2013), the American director has been a showrunner before with ‘The Red Road’ (2014-2015), starring Jason Momoa. Through ‘Raised by Wolves’, however, one can see his spectacularly steep learning curve. It is an impressive accomplishment, to say the least, made even more important with the involvement of luminaries such as Ridley Scott, who also directed the first two episodes.

At the heart of every good film or series is a good screenplay, and it is truly a delight to follow ‘Raised by Wolves’ as it smashes through pretty much every barrier of its genre. Its rhythm isn’t frantic because the story has time to develop, easing us into this strange world much like Mr Scott’s ‘Prometheus’ from a few years back, but it’s not too slow, either. There is hardly a moment where one might get lost. Its threads are loose but gradually coming together in a splendid weave as the religious (Mithraic, worshipers of a deity named Sol), the atheists (Marcus, Sue, Mother, Father), and the non-religious (young Campion) are forced into a series of situations that bring about change on a deeper, fundamental level. When this is over, when we reach the final conclusion, no one will be the same again.

Perhaps the most intriguing aspect of ‘Raised by Wolves’ is how far the writer is willing to go with an AI’s ability to understand and experience love. For us, humans, it is a sentiment brought on by social interaction and hormonal reactions. What is it like for Mother, one wonders? Her feelings are clear and undeniable. Her emotions raw despite her otherwise strict programming. Mother’s journey from former villain to a hero for her children is truly a splendid feat of screenwriting.

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The performances are simply out of this world. Amanda Collin and Abubakar Salim as Mother and Father, respectively, are the heroes that nobody saw coming. It’s impossible not to root for Mother when she is willing to sacrifice herself in order to teach Winta McGrath’s young Campion that violence—though a defining trait of her original design—is not and should never be an option. It’s hard not to love Father for how hard he tries to make everyone happy, teaching the children to survive in a harsh environment while figuring out ways to please his otherwise dangerous partner.

Travis Fimmel of ‘Vikings’ (2012-2017) and ‘Warcraft’ (2016) fame is a beautifully troubling and imperfect Marcus. Niamh Algar is Sue, who does the best she can with what she believes and what she is given. They’re both Atheist Militants pretending to be Mithraic after facial reconstruction surgery. They killed Paul’s parents and took their place on the Ark. It was the only way that they could survive. Prior to their arrival to Kepler-22B, survival and revenge had been their core objectives, but after spending thirteen years in a virtual simulation coma, both Marcus and Sue have become attached to Paul, sweetly portrayed by Felix Jamieson.

To make matters worse, not only has their ‘son’ been taken by a seemingly lethal Necromancer, but Marcus is hearing the god Sol’s voice in his head—this, in turn, bumps him up the hierarchical ladder within the surviving Mithraic cluster that is determined to turn Kepler-22B into another Earth, complete with churches and strict religious traditions.

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The children stand out on their own, most of them torn from a zealous cradle and taught by androids, of all things, about compassion, fairness, and mercy. Each of them has a story to tell. Campion is confused by this concept of Sol as the supreme entity but eager to do right by others. Paul wishes to please the parents who have spent most of his life ignoring him, prior to the Ark. Tempest, brought to life by the talented Jordan Loughran, has to deal with an unwanted pregnancy after she was raped during her virtual simulation coma. Aasiya Shah’s Holly and Ethan Hazzard’s Hunter are more bound to the Mithraic than they are to their new android parents. Naturally, betrayal turns the tides and breaks many hearts as the viewers helplessly watch the past repeating itself.

Of course, none of this would be as profoundly arresting without the spectacular camerawork. Mr Guzikowski employs the talents of three stellar cinematographers for ‘Raised by Wolves’, each of them leaving an imprint on their respective episodes. Ross Emery, better known for his work on ‘I, Frankenstein’ (2014) and ‘The Wolverine’ (2013), is responsible for five chapters, including the pilot. Eric Messerschmidt of ‘Mindhunter’ (2017) and ‘Legion’ (2018) renown delivers a visceral vision through three episodes. A noticeable surprise comes from Dariusz Wolski, who has returned to work with Ridley Scott again after ‘The Martian’ (2015) and the epic ‘Prometheus’ (2012).

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Also from the ‘Prometheus’ era, Marc Streitenfeld signs the series’ score alongside Ben Frost, the latter known for his more sombre work on ‘Dark’ (2017-2020). Everything about ‘Raised by Wolves’ is meant to stir a certain set of emotions, and I dare say it’s a successful endeavour, considering that the opening theme alone is capable of encompassing everything good and awful about us in just a handful of lyrics.

With Tom McCullagh of ‘Game of Thrones’ (2011-2019) and Chris Seagers of ‘Saving Private Ryan’ (1998) signing off on the production design, alongside talented art directors such as Jonathan Hely-Hutchinson and Fiona Gavin, the world of Kepler-22B is as intense and as dreary as the writer intended. It was entirely shot in Cape Town, South Africa, with the production team taking advantage of the country’s breath-taking views, some of which are seamlessly incorporated into the setting. One can’t help but applaud the elegant minimalism of sci-fi elements against the wilderness of an unknown and fundamentally hostile realm. It serves as a metaphor for our condition, as well—try as hard as we’d like, with or without religion, we’re all but fodder for the stars.

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Ultimately, ‘Raised by Wolves’ may be perceived as polarizing by religious and atheist viewers alike, though perhaps more by the former than the latter, but the series only has our truth and our violent history to work with. Billions died and more keep dying in wars fuelled by religion and supremacy of one kind or another. Should a cataclysmic event appear on the horizon of our collective existence, how will we survive? If we’re given a second chance at life, what will we do with it?

In Mr Guzikowski’s extraordinary sci-fi drama, these are the very questions that Mother and Father are trying to answer. It’s a rather disappointing conclusion to say that I expect more from the androids than I do from the humans, but given the current climate in which our world festers, perhaps our greatest hope really does lie in our scientific accomplishments. The series serves as a clear warning about the dangers of extremism in every form, religious and atheist alike.

The ultimate threat to humanity, then, is not artificial intelligence like some great minds of the 20^th century have warned. Ideologies are.

HBO have truly outdone themselves this autumn. There are several shows I’m already raving about, of which some I will cover in heartfelt reviews over the next few weeks, but one has managed to stand out from the very first episode: ‘Lovecraft Country’ (2020). I waited until episode five so as not to get ahead of myself and fall for the good-for-the-first-three-episodes-only trick. The gods of television have been kind, however, so 2020 isn’t entirely in the gutter.

I’m a huge fan of genre storytelling used to explore the unpleasant parts of a nation’s history. Damon Lindelof did a splendiferous job of it with ‘Watchmen’ (2019), which recently garnered a record number of Primetime Emmy nominations—twenty-six! There is simply something about weaving elements of uncomfortable truth into a series otherwise designed to thrill people. It’s the cold shower that no one asked for, yet everyone welcomes at the end. In that sense, Misha Green’s ‘Lovecraft Country’ is an astonishing work of televised art.

Before I dig into what makes me love this show so much, I think a small disclaimer is required for those unaware of the series’ source material. While its title and genre melange bring up plenty of Lovecraftian references, the show doesn’t have much of the master of horror’s actual writings at its foundation. ‘Lovecraft Country’ is based on the eponymous book by Matt Ruff and can be considered an homage to H.P. Lovecraft, at best, as a dark fantasy experiment aiming to combine the depiction of racism in America with spine-tingling fiction and a handful of borrowed shoggoths. Critically acclaimed, the book was bound to reach the screen eventually, considering its multi-layered offer of magic, human nature, and blood-pumping frights.

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There were many ways in which the show’s narrative and overall performance could have gone awry. Its success might have something to do with Misha Green’s decision to collaborate with Jordan Peele and J.J. Abrams on this project. The former has already made an indelible mark with deliciously frightful works such as ‘Get Out’ (2017) and ‘Us’ (2019), and the latter is a household name in everything sci-fi and utterly fantastic, best known for ‘Star Trek’ (2009), ‘Super 8’ (2011), and ‘Lost’ (2004-2010), among others. ‘Lovecraft Country’ therefore got off to a formidable start.

The story follows Atticus Turner and his closest friends and family as they grapple with the discovery of magic and occult brotherhoods in the midst of Jim Crow America. From the very beginning, we’re treated to remarkably strong and three-dimensional characters faced with insanely difficult challenges—and that’s before the monsters even show up. What I appreciate most is the apparent irregularity in the narrative thread: if episodes 1 to 2 gave us a thorough introduction into the Sons of Adam lodge and Atticus’s connection to them, for example, episode 3 focuses mostly on Leti and the haunted Victorian mansion she buys on Chicago’s North Side, while episode 4 pulls the story back on the Sons of Adam and Atticus’s determination to learn magic so that he might use it to protect those he loves, and episode 5 takes us closer to Ruby as she gets to experience life in the skin of a white woman. There are so many shades of weird and spooky, repeated viewings are a must!

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Where the writing is concerned, multiple influences can be identified in the series’ screenwriting. H.P. Lovecraft aside, I’m reminded of Alan Ball’s ‘True Blood’ (2008-2014), given the infusion of sex, mysticism, blood, and oh, so much gore. The story is solid, with good source material and excellent character development—I love each and every one of them intensely. Atticus brought ghosts of the Korean War with him back to America, distraught by the realization that he, too, is capable of inflicting harm and pain and death upon others. Worst of all, he’s more like his father than he’d thought, and that becomes his shadow. Montrose is a complex man, to say the least, struggling with a murky past, his own sexuality, and his lethal, desperate desire to keep magic out of his son’s reach, the very son he beat the living daylights out of as a child.

Leti is young, the element of arousing innocence that finds unexpected courage in the face of mortal danger. She’s the balancing force against Atticus’s rage, and the superb portrait of a strong black woman in defiance of America’s white dominance of the Jim Crow era. Ruby is the older sister, a spicy combination of resentment and deep emotional hurt—she has seen and endured plenty more than her lighter-skinned sister, and she has stories of her own to tell. Even Christina Braithwaite and William are fascinating forces of disruption, while Hippolyta and George Freeman bring a sprinkle of wisdom and maturity to the boiling pot, despite the tragic end to their decades-long love story.

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The performances are absolutely stellar from top to bottom. Jonathan Majors as Atticus Freeman is beyond compelling. Better known for ‘The Last Black Man in San Francisco’ (2019), Mr Majors’s star is rising fast, and it is easy to see why as he breathes his whole life into Atticus. Jurnee Smollett takes everyone’s breath away as Leti Lewis, bold and perhaps a little reckless but eager to live a full life and do the right thing. Yes, the world is full of creepy and awful things—particularly people, though Leti pushes forward and does whatever is humanly possible to save herself and to help others.

In a spectacular contrast, Michael Kenneth Williams of ‘The Wire’ (2002-2008) and ‘Boardwalk Empire’ (2010-2014) gives Montrose a plethora of sides for the viewer to study. He’s the former abuser, the looming father figure that Atticus tried his best to step away from yet ended up being a lot alike. He’s the man learning to love another man after years of hiding his true self in a society that doesn’t look kindly on LGBTQ people. He’s the saboteur who knows more than he is telling us and will even kill to keep magic out of his son’s reach—not because he doesn’t want Atticus to have some kind of advantage against the white oppressors but because he knows… he has seen what such power will do. His apparent antagonism makes sense once you understand the trauma he survived prior to his rescue.

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Aunjanue Ellis, better known for her role as Madeleine Hightower in ‘The Mentalist’ (2008-2015) and as Sharonne Salaam in Ava Duvernay’s ‘When They See Us’ (2019), delivers a rendition in ‘Lovecraft Country’ like nothing I’ve seen before. Her Hippolyta loves Courtney B. Vance’s George Freeman deeply, but she is forced to adjust to life without him practically overnight. She tries to understand what happened. And while Atticus, Montrose, and Leti do their best to protect her from the ugly truth, Hippolyta charges head-first at the problem. The truth is more important, regardless of its aesthetic.

Wunmi Mosaku is Ruby Baptiste. The Nigerian actress has several impressive credits to her name—among them ‘Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them’ (2016) and ‘Philomena’ (2013), but it’s in ‘Lovecraft Country’ that one sees the full spectrum of what she has to offer: impeccable talent and a smouldering gaze that will burn a whole set down. Ruby is bursting with musical talent and the desire for a better life, for dignity and equality in a society that denies her purely because of her skin colour. Magic becomes a double-edged blade for Ruby. It takes her a while to realise that magic, unlike humans, does not see colour. It only gives its wielder the opportunity to do whatever they want, as Miss Braithwaite might say.

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‘Lovecraft Country’ is not Misha Green’s first foray as a showrunner. She brings plenty of experience to the table with ‘Helix’ (2014) and ‘Underground’ (2016-2017), along with an in-depth understanding of the source material and of the history of racial dynamics in the United States. One would need both to produce something so multifaceted and complex, so fascinating, so beautiful and horrifying at the same time.

Aside from its aforementioned Lovecraftian influences, the show is also a visual tribute to George Romero. It’s what horror filmmakers of the past century could only dream of. We have the constantly developing SFX technology and computer animation to thank for that. The mastery begins with the cinematographers in this case—namely, Robert McLachlan and Michael Watson. You’ll remember Mr McLachlan for his Emmy-nominated work on ‘Game of Thrones’ (2011-2019) and ‘Ray Donovan’ (2013-2020), and Mr Watson for ‘Underground’ and ‘Black Lightning’ (2018-2019), both capable of formidable imagery to accompany the equally exceptional production design, signed by Kalina Ivanov and Howard Cummings.

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Moving past the magnificent costume and set design and the production’s brilliant art direction, which when combined manage to easily submerge the viewer in 1950s Chicago, a tip of the hat is owed to the special effects—the result of Ms Green’s collaboration with Academy-Award-winning creative studio Framestore.

Truth be told, I’d envisioned the shoggoth monsters more along the lines of how H.P. Lovecraft had described them in ‘At the Mountains of Madness’: ‘Formless protoplasm able to mock and reflect all forms and organs and processes – viscous agglutinations of bubbling cells – rubbery fifteen-foot spheroids infinitely plastic and ductile’, but Framestore’s proposal in the ‘Sundown’ and ‘Whitey on the Moon’ episodes were just as frightening, if not worse.

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‘Lovecraft Country’ is full of such moments where dread is mercilessly induced, and a rapid heart rate is expected. Ruby’s metamorphosis continues to haunt me even as I write this review. George Romero would be giggling with sheer joy at this point, for Misha Green manages to make the viewer’s stomach churn while forcing them to keep watching—this is just too good to miss any of it, even the gooey, bloody, slimy and gory parts, proving that beauty exists in horror, too. There’s no shortage of violence and limbs flying, either, but they only serve as minor plot devices.

The true horror of ‘Lovecraft Country’ comes not from the monsters and the dark magic that it loves to play with in each episode. It doesn’t come from the many secrets still left to uncover about the Sons of Adam, either. No, the true horror of ‘Lovecraft Country’ comes from mankind and the terrible things too many people are willing to do in their quest for absolute dominance over the rest of the world and over those they foolishly consider inferior. The true monsters aren’t the shoggoths.

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The true monsters are those who perpetuate racism to this day. The near-deadly troubles that Atticus and his friends deal with are basically what one too many Black Americans continue to face today, albeit at different levels and in varying circumstances. In that sense, ‘Lovecraft Country’ is a heart-breaking, compelling study of Black Americans and their painful history. I’ve seen enough to eagerly see this season’s journey to the end.

Mike Flanagan is a darling of horror film festivals and a rapidly rising star of the genre. Therefore, I was not at all surprised upon learning that he had been tasked with bringing Stephen King’s ‘Doctor Sleep’ onto the silver screen. On the contrary, I was excited, and fortunately, my initial expectations were met although not dramatically exceeded. Don’t get me wrong, I was not disappointed, though I do feel like Mr Flanagan was constantly torn between pleasing both Kubrick and King audiences—surely, we agree they’re not one and the same.

Adapting Stephen King’s works has always been a hit and a miss process, with some exquisite cinematic masterpieces like ‘The Shining’ (1980), the celebrated precursor to ‘Doctor Sleep’, as well as ‘The Shawshank Redemption’ (1994), ‘Carrie’ (1976), ‘The Green Mile’ (1999), and ‘Stand by Me’ (1986), to name but a few. I’m relieved to be able to place Flanagan’s work into the good pile rather than the bad, where bombs like ‘Needful Things’ (1993) and ‘Maximum Overdrive’ (1986) dwell.

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‘Doctor Sleep’ has ginormous shoes to fill, and Mr Flanagan does an excellent job of not getting himself lost inside them. After all, ‘The Shining’ suffered critical modifications from book to screen. Most of you might remember that Mr King hated Kubrick’s adaptation so much that he invested in a remake which unsurprisingly bombed. As far as the storyline goes, ‘Doctor Sleep’ picks up where ‘The Shining’ left off—both the movie and the book, which had to be tied up somehow in a manner that made sense. The book saw the Overlook Hotel exploding. The film clearly didn’t. Some assembly was required.

In the first ‘chapter’ of the film, we follow young Danny Torrance at first with his mum, both of them learning to live with the trauma and grief after leaving Jack for dead at the Overlook. While Shelley Duval and Jack Nicholson dominated ‘The Shining’ back in 1980, Flanagan’s sequel adaptation has Henry Thomas and Alex Essoe as Jack and Wendy. Aesthetically grand choices, both talented and intense enough to portray iconic characters. Danny is trying to cope with his ‘shining’, his special ability that brought the Overlook to life, so to speak, in the first place. Having been introduced to death and ghosts and violence from such a young age, it’s difficult for him to move on, especially since the spectres have followed him home.

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After he learns to lock away the bad stuff with a little trick from his memory of Dick Hallorann, Danny delves into adulthood with a serious drinking problem. The film follows him right up to the peak of his crisis. Having used alcohol to cope with his ‘shining’, Danny hits rock bottom when he takes money out of the wallet of a woman with whom he had a coke-and-booze-addled affair the night before.

Ultimately, Danny moves to a small town in New Hampshire, sobers up, attends AA meetings, and remotely befriends Abra Stone, a little girl with a gift like his. Of course, things take the obligatory dip into nightmare territory when a cult of apparent immortals start hunting Abra down, desperate to feed on her ‘shining’ in order to further prolong their lives—her power could feed them for entire generations, unlike other kids with ‘steam’, as they call it, these days. Danny must therefore mentor and protect the girl against these monsters, who will stop at nothing to kill her.

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I am in awe of Ewan McGregor. He manages to do a lot more with an otherwise bland character—the book’s strength did not come from Danny Torrance, not where ‘Doctor Sleep’ is concerned, at least. The kid version of him from ‘The Shining’ was a strong presence. But Mr McGregor breathes life into a grown-up Danny with his fears and vulnerabilities and self-loathing. We believe him as the alcoholic in desperate need of redemption, and we believe him as the man who is ready to face the demons of his past, including his own father, in order to protect the future, here portrayed by young Abra Stone.

His growth as Doctor Sleep, the kind soul who guides the dying hospice patients where he works into the afterlife, is done with a certain solemnity and reverence towards death itself. This particularly poignant side of him has roots in Flanagan’s writing, too, carrying over several touching notes from ‘The Haunting of Hill House’ (2018). McGregor’s Danny isn’t just the main character, however. He is also the supporting element for Kyliegh Curran’s Abra—not necessarily a father figure but more of a Dick Hallorann himself.

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Ms Curran’s interpretation of a teenage girl who has grown with a titanic ‘shining’ is also noteworthy. While still young, she does not lack the talent to bring Abra to life as Mr King penned her. She is not a victim, nor is she entirely invulnerable. No, Abra is aware of how insanely awesome she is, but Danny does help to remind her that she is not invincible, either—that’s something she also gets from those frightful telepathic encounters with Rose the Hat.

From Abra’s point of view, I’d say that ‘Doctor Sleep’ is less a tale of empowerment and more a journey of overcoming trauma and horrific violence, as Abra sees the terrible things that The True Knot cult are willing to do for power like hers.

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Truth be told, I believe it’s Rebecca Ferguson’s stunning performance as Rose the Hat, the cult’s leader, that truly carries the film into the realm of greatness. The book offered little for us to work with as readers. There were plenty of gaps to be filled, yet Ms Ferguson, better known for her roles in ‘Mission: Impossible – Fallout’ (2018) and ‘The Greatest Showman’ (2017), manages to build an impressively spooky and authentic villain. There is depth in her persona and a truly desperate hunger for immortality.

While she has been a conscientious collector, her cult’s supply of ‘steam’ is running low, and their more recent victims have not been enough to feed them in the long term. The entire ‘tribe’ is a strange combo of misfits with sociopathic tendencies who live in their RV’s, crossing the entire country in search of more ‘steam’ to keep themselves young for longer. Their villainy is interesting, however, because they’re aware that they cannot live forever. Everything they do is solely for the purpose of cheating the clock. Rose and The True Knot are troubling metaphors for those in the real world who thrive and feed on pain and misery.

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In writing the screenplay adaptation, Mike Flanagan had to reconcile two sides of the same coin in a manner aimed at drawing and pleasing two kinds of fans—the Kubrick aficionados who still refer to ‘The Shining’ as one of the best movies ever made and the King devotees whose guilty pleasure is watching ‘The Shining’ since it is still superior to the remake. Both sides equally demanding. The writer-director faithfully recreates the elegant dread and the layered terror that made the Overlook so memorable. It is still home to a variety of live-in fiendish phantoms and a nightmarish cradle to which we are forced to return.

Story-wise, ‘Doctor Sleep’ builds Danny as the guiding light emerging from his personal darkness, a reluctant mentor to Abra’s fierce youth. She may be young, but she knows that she might be the only one who can stand up to the True Knot. On the other hand, Danny has his past demons to deal with—starting with the undying presence of his father, the spirits he locked inside boxes in his head, and the Overlook, where he knows they will have a better shot at defeating Rose the Hat.

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Mike Flanagan’s ‘Doctor Sleep’ is quite the visual treat, too. Rife with emotional close-ups and mainly adhering to a nocturnal grey and blue palette, the film can be seen as an extension to ‘The Haunting of Hill House’ and as a loving tribute to Kubrick’s original imagery. Michael Fimognari has worked with Flanagan before, on ‘Gerald’s Game’ (2017), another King adaptation, and on the above noted Shirley Jackson-based Netflix miniseries. I see this as a fruitful partnership, as Mr Fimognari not only understands the sophisticated yet heart-rending style that has become Flanagan’s signature, he also manages to convey the Kubrick-inspired imagery meant to tie ‘Doctor Sleep’ to ‘The Shining’.

The lighting is low, and there is much to work with in the darkness. Rose the Hat and Crow Daddy and Snakebite Andi are thrice as scary whilst glazed in shadows, each of them hungry for a few more years, a bit more youth. In Danny’s room, the tenebrosity serves to remind us where he comes from and where he’s been, while in Abra’s room it is a medium for her to sink into when she sleeps and unwittingly witnesses the terrible murders committed by Rose and her deranged crew.

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But it’s the production design that really does it for me. The sets, in particular, stand on the shoulders of Roy Walker and Leslie Tomkins. Combined with Fimognari’s cinematography, however, the viewer is mercilessly dragged back to the real Overlook—the ‘70s style orange and brown geometric carpets, the high ceilings with wagon-wheel chandeliers, the terracotta walls and the red-door elevators… the chills just rush through and anchor us so deep into the story, we cannot escape. Not until Danny deals with his past.

Production designer Maher Ahmad, best known for ‘The Fugitive’ (1993), ‘Zombieland’ (2009), and ‘Little Evil’ (2017), and art director Richie Bearden of ‘Den of Thieves’ (2018) and ‘Game Night’ (2018) are just two of the team that delivers the superb visuals behind ‘Doctor Sleep’, and they deserve a round of heartfelt applause. It’s not just the Overlook that stands out, however. A personal favourite of mine is the visual duet between Abra and Danny’s room, the latter fitted with a blackboard wall on which she leaves him telepathic chalk messages. And then there are the minds of our characters—Danny’s with its boxes and Abra’s with its traps for Rose.

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While there are plenty of Kubrickian nods, the film ultimately stands more as a longer episode of ‘The Haunting of Hill House’, combining soul-stirring and supernatural elements that cause all kinds of jumps and jolts in the viewers. And while Mike Flanagan, a man of many talents, works hard in treading that fine line between Stanley Kubrick and Stephen King whilst building on the heritage of ‘The Shining’ left by both, he is at his peak when left to his own devices.

‘Doctor Sleep’ is the most beautiful when it steps away from its source material and predecessor, standing boldly as a cinematic oeuvre. By adding its own flavours into the mix, it expands on the book with deeply fascinating characters—I, for one, find it hard not to sympathize a little with Rose the Hat’s desire to remain young for longer. Of course, the end does not justify the means. Innocent children are tortured and murdered for the most selfish reasons, and so the horror transpires brutally onto the screen. Ultimately, Mike Flanagan follows his creative path and gifts us with a story that does not disappoint.

It has been a while since I’ve gasped during a thriller, yet Leigh Whannell’s ‘The Invisible Man’ (2020) managed to do just that and more. Calling it an adaptation of H.G. Wells’ novel would be perhaps too much, since the film retains only a loose connection to the classic sci-fi story. To compensate for such a departure from the original, Whannell’s version borrows from the Ring of Gyges in Plato’s ‘Republic’, an artefact which is said to grant its owner the power to become invisible at will—leading to a protagonist that can enter any home. No one is truly safe.

The film opens with Cecilia as she carefully goes ahead with an escape plan that she has clearly been working on for a while. It’s almost botched, but her sister Emily helps her with a ride. Only then do we see exactly how dangerous and abusive her successful, ridiculously rich, and controlling boyfriend Adrian really is. What follows is meant to be a slow but steady journey of healing. Or so it begins, at least. News of Adrian’s suicide reach Cecilia, who then learns that she has also been designated as one of his heirs. Tom, Adrian’s brother, handles the estate, and everything about him just feels odd.

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Even so, we’re led to believe better days are ahead. Cecilia struggles with the trauma of both physical and psychological abuse that clearly lasted years, but she’s learning to trust and live again while sheltered in her friend James’s house and in the company of his teenage daughter. Slowly, but surely, Cecilia should eventually heal. Then things go bump in the night. Adrian doesn’t seem to have left her. Not really. He lingers, unseen yet heard and sensed. Like a ghost. What starts out as a mere whiff of paranoia blows into soul-crushing horror as we realize that Cecilia isn’t losing her mind, even though everyone around her thinks she is. Adrian Griffin never died. An expert in the field of optics, he developed a suit that allows him to be invisible, and that is how he proceeds to torment and torture the one woman who dared to get away from him.

If we strip the horror and science fiction elements away, what we’re left with is a gut-wrenching tale of harassment and domestic abuse. Adrian literally gaslights Cecilia, pushing her to think that she is losing her mind before he tears her away from the few people she loves and cares about. We descend into dread and madness when he slits Emily’s throat and slips the knife into Cecilia’s hand before she can even react. Just like that, the heroine is framed for murdering her own sister and confined to a psychiatric facility, where the villain, the concealed terror, continues with his ploy until Cecilia learns that she’s pregnant. She had been taking birth control pills over the course of the relationship and unbeknownst to her, Adrian replaced the pills with something else. Cecilia is now carrying the child of the monster everyone thinks is dead, and it’s his ill-fitting brother that offers her a way out. All she has to do is surrender unto Adrian and return to her old life. A steep price for freedom.

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Don’t let the trailer fool you. You might think it gives away the story. It doesn’t. ‘The Invisible Man’ is brilliantly executed, and most of its strength comes from three key elements: Elizabeth Moss’s extraordinary performance as Cecilia; the powerful screenplay, a foundation for this superb sci-fi thriller; and the simplicity of production with a focus on camera work, since the depiction of the invisible man is only partially done with the help of CGI. Everything else comes from old school trickery.

Let’s begin with Leigh Whannell himself. Better known for the ‘Saw’ franchise and ‘Insidious’ (2010), Mr Whannell is one of the master storytellers of his generation. His youthful energy and appreciation of classical production methods seem to work remarkably well together. It makes him stand out among his peers, since cinema is mostly about our ability to convey a story and make the viewers feel whatever we want them to feel.

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Leading the movie through its carefully designed twists and turns is Elizabeth Moss. Her talent has already garnered heaps of applause and critical appreciation. She has already won two Golden Globes—one for ‘The Handmaid’s Tale’ (2017) and one for ‘Top of the Lake’ (2013), while many might remember her from even farther back as Peggy Olson in ‘Mad Men’ (2007-2015). In an interview, Mr Whannell said that he has worked with incredibly talented actors before, ‘but working with Elizabeth Moss was just a revelation for me. She can do anything.’

Her character’s name, Cecilia, is derived from the Latin ‘caecus’ (‘cecco’ in Italian), which means blind. She’s often called ‘C’ in the film, which is clearly pronounced like ‘see’, and that is but one of the things that stand out about her. C’s journey is one of growing strength, of ascending from a lower place of fear and trauma to a higher ground where she is able to completely let go and say ‘enough’. And Moss delivers a visceral performance with a rare ability of truly becoming Cecilia, of removing her true self from the screen altogether. What we are left with is this terrified woman who is desperately trying to make sense of things. Why won’t anyone believe her? It sounds crazy, yes… but it happened. It’s still happening!

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Oliver Jackson-Cohen of ‘The Haunting of Hill House’ (2018) plays Adrian Griffin. We don’t see him much, but Whannell does such a good job of ‘showing’ him, still, that whenever he is visible on screen, we can’t help but recoil from what a heartless, demented monster lurks beneath that dashing, charming façade of his. Michael Dorman of ‘Patriot’ (2015-2018) and ‘Daybreakers’ (2009) does a marvellous job of portraying Tom Griffin, a character that immediately arouses suspicion and concern even when he’s simply telling Cecilia that she has inherited a fortune. To amplify that sensation of Tom not quite ‘fitting’, Whannell had him wear suits that were two sizes too small. The end result is chilling because Tom devolves into a sublime patsy.

Acting as a counter-balance of normalcy and discipline, Aldis Hodge’s James Lanier feels like a steady thread that we can hold on to for a semblance of comfort while the rest of Cecilia’s life crumbles before her own eyes. Storm Reid’s Sydney Lanier is supposed to represent hope and compassion. So, when both are viciously attacked by the invisible man, it tears us apart. The very idea of freedom and happiness are trampled and beaten bloody. We are thrust into the same nightmare as Cecilia, and she is the only one who can get us out.

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Where the screenplay is concerned, Mr Whannell offers a variety of praiseworthy points. As soon as the film starts, we’re dumped right into the middle of Cecilia’s escape with zero prior exposition. There is no opening to offer a more detailed account of how it got to this point. ‘I wanted to just drop the audience into Cecilia’s situation without a back story and make them feel everything through her, and luckily I had Elizabeth Moss who is very good at communicating a lot to the audience without saying anything.’

Respectful of ‘cinematic language’, the Australian director kept track of what he envisioned the camera doing whilst penning each scene in the script. Through that process, his directorial vision led to the camera moving away from the actors during production, as if it had a mind of its own. The overall effort is translated into a silver screen oeuvre that borrows visual impressions from David Fincher’s ‘Zodiac’ (2007) and startling beats from his own notorious ‘Saw’ (2004).

‘The Invisible Man’ was initially attached to the Dark Universe, with David S. Goyer set to pen the script. Later on, it had Ed Solomon replacing Goyer and Johnny Depp suggested for the titular role before the project was finally given to Whannell. Yet I doubt anyone would have been able to exploit and express dread and spine-freezing terror like he did. Part of the film’s success should be attributed to Jason Blum’s involvement, as well. The founder of Blumhouse Productions brought his own experience to the table where chills and goose-bumps are concerned, since ‘Get Out’ (2017), ‘Paranormal Activity’ (2007) and ‘The Purge’ (2013) are just three of his insanely successful genre-related credits.

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The true stroke of magic comes through its cinematography. ‘The Invisible Man’ features the impressive camera work of Stefan Duscio, a relatively new name in Hollywood with barely a handful of feature credits to his name—chief among them being ‘Backtrack’ (2015) and ‘Jungle’ (2017). But it is here that he proves just how much can be accomplished through the camera, alone.

Elizabeth Moss’s performance wouldn’t have had the same impact without his craft and mainly without the abundance of pan-out movements that make the viewers wonder whether Adrian is there, albeit invisible. The terror is basically fuelled by Duscio’s use of negative space. Plenty of spaces around the characters are included into the story, suggesting that Adrian is, in fact, there. The camera lingers after a line is said, too—a thought provoking gesture that further builds tension because all Cecilia has is this feeling, this sensation of hairs rising on the back of her neck, while we’re watching from the outside, analysing every inch of empty space around her and other characters as we try to guess where Adrian will attack from.

Accompanying the exquisite cinematography is the modest use of VFX to create the invisible man, while Duscio and Whannell’s analogue work of framing and writing, respectively, reigns supreme. The attic scene is particularly memorable not only because of the story-related elements that it reveals, but also because it’s one of the few moments where Duscio was given enough darkness to play with. Throughout the rest of the film, everything is thoroughly illuminated—thus making the challenge of ‘showing’ the invisible man even more daunting.

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Ultimately, the film succeeds where others portraying the ‘apparently crazy woman no one believes’ often fail. We believe Cecilia because we are not given another choice. The way in which the tension is built, Adrian’s punching of the passenger door window, the steamy breath rolling behind her in the middle of the night. The medicine bottle she’d left behind. Moss’s performance alone translates everything that Whannell wanted to portray into a living being, into a woman who is desperate to live freely and unafraid.

The lengths that she is willing to go to in order to achieve that offer an unexpected conclusion to ‘The Invisible Man’. But beyond the floating knives and pulled blankets and peculiar whirring and clicking sounds in an apparently empty room, one truth lingers in the audience’s collective mind: how far will one go to escape and survive their relentless abuser? Leigh Whannell answers with superlative writing and direction, putting a fresh new spin on a timeless tale.

The sci-fi genre has been a staple of cinematography from the moment filmmakers were able to portray futuristic scenes and special effects. Naturally, when we think of sci-fi feature films, we’re inclined to balk at the budgets that are usually associated with such endeavours. These are stories that happen in alternate universes and in near or distant futures, and that means a lot of expensive worldbuilding.

‘Waterworld’, starring Kevin Costner, cost $175 million to make. J.J. Abrams’ ‘Star Trek’ almost $150 million. James Cameron’s ‘Avatar’ required a whopping $240 million to make. Even cult classics such as Stanley Kubrick’s ‘2001: A Space Odyssey’ and Ridley Scott’s ‘Blade Runner’ racked up budgets of $10 million and $23 million, respectively. I could keep going, but surely the point has been made. Science fiction on the silver screen is not easy to produce. 

Sets. Costumes. Special effects. Make-up. CGI. Stunts. Models. Any good sci-fi implies a gargantuan amount of money and work—or does it?

Many independent screenwriters and directors rise against the current and defy all odds in order to create exceptional films within this genre, without spending much. Granted, not all of them succeed, but great things can be accomplished on micro-budgets, provided the screenplay is realistically crafted to adjust to its limited production sources.

CREDIT: SONY PICTURES CLASSICS

‘Moon’, by Duncan Jones

In his debut feature film, Duncan Jones, otherwise known for ‘Source Code’ (2011), ‘Warcraft: The Beginning’ (2016), and ‘Mute’ (2018), managed to produce an astonishing story with very little money. It got him a BAFTA Film Award in 2010 for Outstanding Debut by a British Writer, Director or Producer, and for good reason.

In ‘Moon’, Sam Rockwell masterfully portrays Sam, a miner on a lunar base whose sole purpose is to extract helium-3. The story takes place in a distant future, when Earth’s people are struggling to find a source of clean energy, and Sam is one of the brave individuals who dedicates three years of his life to helping mankind on this mission. With only a talking computer to keep him company—that Space Odyssey nod is duly noted, by the way—Sam’s existence seems rather simple, linear and repetitive.

Everything comes to a sudden halt when he stumbles upon… another Sam. ‘Moon’ explores the mystery by keeping us anchored in Sam’s point of view. The décor, the special effects, the moon-walking suits, the gadgets—they all serve as anchor points to make the story real, which is exactly what ‘Moon’ feels like.

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We’re trapped here, on Earth’s satellite, baffled by the existence of two Sams. We struggle to untangle the mystery, to make sense of what is going on. And by the time the end credits start rolling in, we find ourselves in awe of how much was done with only $5 million. While this figure doesn’t exactly qualify for a micro-budget, ‘Moon’ must be mentioned because it’s a master stroke among its costlier peers.

The acting is otherworldly, featuring only ten performers and Sam Rockwell taking up most of the screen time. The cinematography, executed by Gary Shaw, who also worked with Duncan Jones on ‘Mute’, is flawless. The film editing is signed by Nicholas Gaster, best known for ‘Coriolanus’ (2011) and Neil Gaiman’s ‘Mirrormask’ (2005). The score, penned by Clint Mansell, is exquisite, and it’s yet another building block, an integral part of the superb whole. 

‘Moon’ manages to entice and thrill its audience through its cleanliness and simplicity, proving that big stories don’t always need big money to come to life.

CREDIT: HARVEST FILMWORKS

‘Pi’, by Darren Aronofsky

With only $60,000 for his first feature-length film, Mr Aronofsky created a masterpiece. ‘Pi’ tells the story of a paranoid mathematical genius who lives in isolation, working on his homemade computer. Upon discovering a 216-digit number that seems to have serious implications for stock market fluctuations—as well as holding the pattern of a Nautilus shell and maybe even the name of God himself, Maximilian Cohen finds himself under siege.

Crippling headaches take over, while Wall Street figures try to get this number from him so they can use it for profit. It’s filmed in black-and-white, the start contrasts and the manic editing further contributing to the swelling paranoia that begins to take over Max. A mixture of conspiratorial surrealism and highly evolved mathematics, ‘Pi’ gives us a startling glimpse into a brilliant mind that is constantly pressed by its own human condition. Shot from Max’s perspective, it tells us about the dangers of searching for absolute order in the midst of our chaotic existence.

‘We didn’t want it to end up looking like “Clerks” and be all grey. We wanted it to be black or white. We were inspired by “Sin City” by Frank Miller—he just does white scratches on black ink’.

Matthew Libatique, best known for his camera work on ‘Black Swan’ (2010), ‘Requiem for a Dream’ (2000), and ‘A Star Is Born’ (2018), brought his cinematographic vision to ‘Pi’ whilst drawing inspiration from Frank Miller’s ‘Sin City’ graphic novel. Using Reversal film, which is frequently preferred in film schools, Mr Libatique was able to produce that absolute black versus white effect that makes ‘Pi’ so unique and powerful in its construction.

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‘We didn’t want it to end up looking like “Clerks” and be all grey. We wanted it to be black or white. We were inspired by “Sin City” by Frank Miller—he just does white scratches on black ink’, Mr Aronofski said in a 1998 interview with IndieWire. Needless to say, ‘Pi’ was a mission accomplished in that respect.

Moreover, it was the launchpad of three cinematic modern masters. Mr Aronofsky went on to receive an Academy Award nomination, giving us masterpieces such as ‘Requiem for a Dream’, ‘Black Swan’ and ‘The Fountain’. He worked with Matthew Libatique for the first two, further pushing him into the spotlight, as ‘Black Swan’ eventually earned the cinematographer an Academy Award nomination of his own. Last, but not least, composer Clint Mansell got his career start with the score he created for ‘Pi’, later working with Aronofsky again on ‘The Fountain’ and ‘Black Swan’.

A little-known fact about ‘Pi’ is that Aronofsky took about five years to get the minuscule budget together. He raised money mostly from friends and family, after earning his MFA in film directing from the AFI conservatory. He and the crew filmed illegally in certain public spaces, since that normally required costly permits, which their micro-budget could not support. On top of that, post-production cost Aronofsky another $68,000, but it was well worth it. ‘Pi’ was a resounding success, and it was eventually bought by Artisan Entertainment for more than $1 million.

CREDIT: THINKFILM

‘Primer’, by Shane Carruth

Former engineer and mathematician Shane Carruth made his debut into the cinematic universe with a very complex but exceptional feature film. ‘Primer’ tackles the accidental creation of a time machine, its story being led by two friends and inventors who end up in a web of their own making—doubles, paradoxes, deeply existential questions that desperately require answers.

It is also a sincere and quite unflattering portrait of mankind as a whole, as we’re often driven by needs but frequently giving into our wants. The invention of the time machine itself is an extraordinary feat, albeit the work of mere fortune. Its use, however, is driven by the characters’ personal desires. Mr Carruth’s study of them is compelling and ingenious, as each brushstroke serves to tell their innermost longings.

CREDIT: THINKFILM

‘Primer’ would require multiple viewings, mainly because the engineering aspect is quite heavy in the script. The dialogue, rife with technical jargon, might be just as difficult to follow as the ensuing plot twists. Its end, however, brings with it a certain sense of reward. Watching ‘Primer’ more than once also gives us an opportunity to peel away at the layers of the story, as we discover details that we might miss at first. 

But the most impressive aspect of ‘Primer’ comes from its ridiculously low budget. Production cost Carruth only $7,000, and it earned him the Grand Jury Prize and the Alfred P. Sloan Feature Film Prize at the Sundance Film Festival in 2004. Considering the story it conveys, along with its execution and editing, we can’t help but marvel at how much Mr Carruth was able to achieve with such a measly budget.

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‘Resolution’, ‘Spring’, and ‘The Endless’, by Aaron Moorhead and Justin Benson

The focus of a good sci-fi film that can reach excellence, without millions of dollars’ worth of production money, is on compelling characters. It has always been about the people in the story, as already evidenced by the aforementioned low-budget oeuvres. 

But there is no other film that better conveys the value of characters as well as ‘The Endless’ and its predecessors. It’s the third in a seemingly unrelated series of independent feature films in the sci-fi genre, written and directed by Aaron Moorhead and Justin Benson, and it is their best so far.

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‘Resolution’ was their first project, back in 2012, and it cost the duo merely $3,000 to produce. It also captured the attention of genre fans thanks to its multi-layered screenplay and its character construction. ‘Resolution’ follows two friends, Michael and Chris, who inadvertently find themselves drawn into the script of an unseen entity that already has an ending in mind for them, deep in the heart of an Indian Reservation land near San Diego. 

What starts out as one friend’s well-meaning attempt to force the other into sobriety ends up as a melange of strange happenings and eerie characters, all part of a story they cannot control. Simple in its production but extraordinary in its writing, ‘Resolution’ marked the beginning of a new era in sci-fi micro-budget features.

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‘Spring’ followed in 2014, and a certain stylistic evolution could be observed, even though the film was made with small funds. Described as ‘”Before Sunrise” with a supernatural twist’ by Toronto-based programmer Colin Geddes, ‘Spring’ tells us about an American tourist and an immortal woman—Evan and Louise, who fall in love in a small village in Italy. 

It fascinates through its charming simplicity, addressing love in the strangest of circumstances. At its core, it echoes the same concept that made Jerome Bixby’s ‘The Man from Earth’ (2007), a cult classic that we will lovingly address another time.

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‘The Endless’ made it to Netflix after its release in 2018, and it was the very first time that a feature film bearing Mr Moorhead and Mr Benson’s signatures was made available to such a wide audience. Also marking their cinematic evolution, ‘The Endless’ is an exquisite blend of Lovecraftian horror and science fiction that might not dazzle with visual effects—it offers an incredible story instead, heralded by sincere characters.

Moorhead and Benson convincingly play the lead roles, as brothers with their own first names, who decide to go back to the UFO-cult that once raised them. After years of simply drifting through life, Aaron and Justin agree that it’s time to revisit the people that they used to call ‘family’, only to find that nothing is quite like it seems, and that there is something strange going on. With a clear connection to ‘Resolution’, the director duo has taken the unseen entity behind Michael and Chris’s ordeal and given it a whole new dimension.

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We even see the two friends again, right here, in ‘The Endless’, which further serves as proof that Mr Moorhead and Mr Benson are able to effectively wow their audiences with little to nothing in terms of production value but so much where the screenwriting, the performances, the cinematography, and the editing are concerned. 

Its production was more or less as much as one year’s tuition at an Ivy League college, roughly around the $40,000 mark, which is incredibly small given what this amount was able to produce. ‘The Endless’ was the absolute darling during its launch at the Toronto Film Festival, and it has earned every single glowing review—including its 93% Fresh score on Rotten Tomatoes.

There are many other indie sci-fi films out there that deserve our attention, and more are produced every year. The charm of Hollywood titans sometimes fades in comparison. Once in a while, a stunning piece of science fiction comes along, proving that one does not need millions upon millions of dollars in order to deliver excellence in futuristic storytelling.