Sundance 2021: In the Earth
Writer-director Ben Wheatley's (High-Rise, Free Fire) latest, In the Earth, is a lo-fi sci-fi horror picture that charts the journey of Dr. Martin Lowery (Joel Fry) and park ranger Alma (Ellora Torchia) to research hub ATU37A, deep in the Arboreal Forest. A global pandemic is raging in the background and they set out on their trek as a routine equipment run. It, predictably, spirals out of control from there. Early in their odyssey, the couple is assaulted and left shoeless by an unseen assailant. Later, they stumble upon a raggedy survivor (Reece Shearsmith) who offers aid and shelter. His presence screams danger at every step; from his introduction, crouching amongst a thicket of dew-licked ferns to his hovel, stitched together from a patchwork of torn tents. The film gets decidedly weirder and this is really where In the Earth begins to come into its own, unfurling into something considerably more jagged and interesting than its first half predicts.
Wheatley, here, plays with color and transparency, warped sound and, frequently, ear-piercing stabs (be sure to have a remote or volume key handy by the hour mark). This is the film's best trick. When Wheatley is willing to get weird with it, exploring the kinds of pure visual abstract expressions that more non-narrative, experimental filmmakers like Jordan Belson and Stan Brakhage pioneered, the film is invigorated with new life. And, it makes the back half of the picture—a total hour of its almost two-hour runtime—feel considerably fresher than its front half. It helps then, that the performances from both leads, Joel Fry and Ellora Torchia, are wonderfully grounded. The work is perpetually serious, but never exhaustingly so. And the two manage to imbue their characters with a likability through their perseverance that helps carry the first hour. Gorehounds will also find something to love, and cringe at, in the first half, as convincingly deep lacerations ooze blood with pulsing detail. Wheatley is wise to not lean too hard into the gore, but he has a few tricks up his sleeve that help accent the film's two act structure quite well.
But, Wheatley also leans into tropes that feel either over-utilized or predictably utilized. When the couple reaches the survivor's elongated tent structure, they ask about the zipped up section of his abode and he, casually, notes that it is off-limits. Anyone who has seen or read a lick of horror fiction knows exactly what this means. And, Wheatley does not subvert expectations. He noted, in a post-screening Q&A session, that he was partly inspired by the horror classics of the late '70s and early '80s and it is hard to not see not just the ghost, but the fleshy, breathing form of Tobe Hooper's essential horror masterpiece The Texas Chain Saw Massacre. But, this trope has become such a mainstay in horror fiction in the ensuing four decades that the revelations feel rote and disappointing.
Ultimately, I feel the film lacks an overall thematic anchor point. Wheatley touches on ideas of the schism between modern society and nature, our inability to fully tame the Earth and shape it to our wills and desires, and the unknowability of ever-shifting ecology and biology. But these ideas are fleeting and only glancingly explored. And, given the oddities in pacing, at nearly two hours, the film feels like it has plenty of dead space that could have been used to flesh out these ideas; obliquely or directly. This is still worth a watch for those whose interest is piqued by gory practical effects and culty forests and I commend Wheatley, his cast, and crew for scaling production down and pursuing an artistic vision in the midst of a pandemic safely and efficiently; it's a remarkable undertaking. But, I can't help but present my reservations honestly and clearly: I like the craft and performances far more than its ideas and the film leaves me with a distinct feeling of empty calories, enjoyable in moments, momentarily thought-provoking in others, but with little staying power beyond its runtime just shy of two-hours.
