Mandy follows couple Red Miller (Nicolas Cage) and Mandy Bloom (Andrea Riseborough) who live in the remote wilderness of the Pacific Northwest in 1983. Their tranquil existence is upended when cult leader Jeremiah Sand (Linus Roache) drives past Mandy one day and becomes enamored with her. After Jeremiah attempts to make Mandy his greatest muse and kills her when he is unsuccessful, Red is forced into a bloody campaign of vengeance that could threaten his sanity.
On its surface, Mandy is a simple revenge tale; a hero protagonist seeking to vengeance for the death of his murdered lover at the hands of a group of evil antagonists. But director Panos Cosmatos’ execution and presentation results in anything but a conventional tale. From the dialogue to how the film is shot, to its use of imagery and color, Mandy hearkens back to 1970s Eurohorror, full of excess, abstraction, experimentation and much of the same eschewing of a traditional and easy to digest narrative. The unique style of storytelling and visual flair result in a film that achieves greatness through its presentation rather than a weighty moral or complex narrative. As a reviewer that prefers thematic depth in the films he loves, Mandy served as a welcome reminder that cinema is at its core a visual medium and that good visuals can aid and advance storytelling as much as metaphoric meaning.
The film is not totally devoid of any deeper examination of the world we inhabit, however. Mandy offers viewers a subtle statement on the issue of toxic masculinity. What sets its events in motion is an unhealthy obsession and God complex of our main antagonist Jeremiah. His determination that Mandy is meant to be his no matter what must be done to obtain her, and whether or not she agrees, is an example of the very deadly entitlement that men feel to women’s bodies that our society continues to grapple with heavily. The impetus for Jeremiah’s subsequent murder of Mandy, her pointed rejection where she laughs upon Jeremiah exposing himself to her is reminiscent of Margaret Atwood’s infamous quote regarding the threat imbalance between men and women; “Men are afraid women will laugh at them, women are afraid that men will kill them.” Jeremiah’s deadly reaction to the humiliation Mandy imposed on him in front of his flock is the perfect encapsulation of this idea.
Nicolas Cage performs capably as the film’s lead, his crazed quest for revenge on behalf of his love feeling completely genuine. His performance continues his modern renaissance of sorts as people come to appreciate his acting overall instead of the memed zaniness he come to be parodied for during the previous decade after his work in the National Treasure franchise. Linus Roache, however, was the main standout with a great performance as crazed, manic cult leader Jeremiah. Roache switches from calm to insane ably and at the drop of a dime, with his vocal tone and inflection changing along with his mood to compliment what he’s displaying onscreen. The play against type for him will hopefully lead to more well-deserved opportunities for the actor post-Law & Order. Andrea Riseborough also excels as the titular character, portraying Mandy as a mysterious woman with a tortured, complicated backstory that is just bubbling underneath her calm, yet sweet surface personality. Riseborough gives a woman who is obviously strong and resilient, with the physical scars to show it, despite it never being clear what exactly she has recovered from. It provides the character with a quiet strength that elevates her from being a simple damsel whose death progresses the story of Cage’s character into an entity all her own.
Mandy has the distinction of being one of the last works of composer Jóhann Jóhannsson before his untimely passing earlier this year. The atmospheric sounds that he provides fit each scene like a glove, from the melancholy synth early on in the film during moments of tenderness between Red and Mandy, to roaring guitars and drums as Red sets about getting his revenge. The ambient Mandy Love Theme in particular stands out among Jóhannsson’s compositions, but as the best song composed for a film so far this year. The film’s score perfectly complements the emotions and tone that accompanies it onscreen, with Jóhannsson’s skills on full display. His work here makes the impact that his loss will have on film all the more clear. The cinematography in the film is outstanding, with its use of vibrant color also reminiscent of 70s horror gore like 1977’s Suspiria, which is experiencing a bit of modern resurgence due to the remake due in theaters later this year. Mandy notably was shot digitally using the Arri Alexa camera with the Panavision anamorphic format in order to achieve its older look. Cinematographer Ben Loeb brilliantly uses color and imagery in the film to communicate to the viewer. For instance, in an early scene, Red and Mandy lie together discussing their favorite planets. During the conversation, the color grading in the scene shifts constantly, alternating between different hues on the red through purple segment of the color with the light’s brightest sheen focused exclusively on Mandy. I took this choice to represent the light that Mandy embodies within Red’s life, informing his choices later on in the film. In another scene, as Mandy tells Red a traumatizing story about her father beating a bag baby birds in front of her and a group of children, the scene’s red and blue hues slowly darken into just an eerie black and blue hued color grade to match the darkness of the story as the camera slowly zooms toward Mandy’s face. The use of fade out/fade in for scene transitions took some getting used to, feeling slightly less than cinematic at first, but the aesthetic eventually fit into the film’s overall standout feel.
Mandy is a distinctly unique film, one that this era of formulaic, generic film-making often makes you feel like no longer exists. Mandy is weird, different, and out there, but in a delightful way. Its unconventionality is a reminder of what makes film special; the ability to push boundaries, test limits, and provide an experience that viewers didn’t know was possible, but also didn’t know that they wanted. What Panos Cosmatos has crafted feels like a breath of fresh air as audiences gravitate more and more toward film-making that offers barely updated versions of films that premiered in theaters just six months earlier. To match the story that we see play out onscreen is one of the most uniquely shot films not only of this year, but that many viewers will ever see. Ben Loeb’s excellent use of color and imagery to assist in storytelling makes this the standout in cinematography so far this year. The comparison of Mandy to 1970s horror overall is also a compliment of the highest order, supplementing the thoughts that began this paragraph as that decade was notable for the creative freedom and power given to the young auteur directors of the era like Francis Ford Coppola, Steven Spielberg, Martin Scorcese, George Lucas, and Michael Cimino. While the bounds of creative freedom then came to a head with the flop of the latter’s Heaven’s Gate in 1980, one can’t help but think film today could benefit from directors being given a little more leeway and independence from the producers whom now rule the roost. Despite its lack of any complex or in-depth narrative, its stylistic approach and unconventionality offers a movie-going experience that differs from anything else in cinemas and allows Mandy to stand out as an example of exceptional film-making. This film was given a very limited theatrical release; I had to watch it at home through a streaming service rental. That fact is disappointing as strong, independent cinema like this film serves as the industry’s lifeblood and should be given the chance to be seen on the big screen with the all of the technical bells and whistles that exist in modern theaters. Mandy and the quality it puts forth is such that the film demands our attention, and dollars, at the box office.
Image: RLJE Films
