By James Rosario and Edwin Arnaudin
Edwin Arnaudin: I don’t know about you, but my brain is still pretty scrambled three days after seeing Alex Garland’s Men. By comparison, his previous directorial efforts, Ex Machina and Annihilation (still his greatest hit), left me shaken but at least able to recount with confidence what I’d just seen. Has the picture grown much clearer for you in the interim?
James Rosario: Yes and no. I think trying to decipher one specific meaning or metaphor out of Men is a fool’s errand. Personally, I gave up trying to glean a literal interpretation from it and instead resigned to the belief that Garland has made a conversation piece rather than specific statement. He’s inviting us — perhaps even challenging us — to bring our own baggage and experiences to the table and filter what we’re seeing through both our own distinctive positives and negatives. The results will vary from viewer to viewer, and I think that’s the point.
EA: I tend to agree, but as you noted after our press screening, it’s especially difficult to interpret the story of Harper (Jessie Buckley) attempting to move on from the accidental (?) death of her ex-husband James (Paapa Essiedu, I May Destroy You), seeing as Garland’s other films are meant to be taken literally. Yes, they concern advanced AI and advanced ETs, but the storytelling in both are clear.
But to piggyback off your other astute post-film observation, it’s not like the bulk of David Lynch’s work has singular interpretations, either, and comparing the two filmmakers feels like a constructive path forward. Like Garland’s first two films, Lynch’s ’80s features are imaginative but fairly straightforward. But everything outside that decade resists black-and-white analysis, and it feels like Garland is carrying a similar torch here.
JR: He’s definitely working off the same kind of esotericism we all love about Lynch, but there’s a lot more at play here than just his recognizable odd and off-kilter style. Lynch certainly remains a factor throughout, but Men goes through a number of changes during its runtime — from the grounded story of a woman’s grief and guilt, to an increasingly terrorized siege drama a la Straw Dogs, and finally into the shocking realm of E. Elias Merhige’s Begotten and Shinya Tsukamoto’s Tetsuo: The Iron Man.
No matter how you slice it, this kind of filmmaking is rife with possibility for interpretation. I’d like think it will be a heated topic of argument at this years’ Thanksgiving dinner tables, but I have a feeling it will be outshined by the usual fare.
EA: When the going gets weird, I kept returning to the title and how everything relates to Harper recovering from life with the pushy, manipulative James, whose qualities manifest in the uncomfortably polite Geoffrey (Rory Kinnear), the landlord of the country estate four hours outside of London that she rents for a fortnight. But when a naked man who resembles a bald version of Geoffrey attempts to break into the cottage, and a policeman arrives on the scene who — wait, isn’t that Kinnear again? And the snotty schoolboy outside the church (hello, uncanny valley!), And the line-crossing vicar, and, goddamn, everyone at the pub…and yet Harper doesn’t act like she’s been dropped into an episode of The Twilight Zone, logic flies out the window and emotions take over.
I kept trying to put myself in Harper’s position, but being titular entity, my comprehension of her predicament and its representation of what it’s like to be a woman on a daily basis only goes so far. Perhaps all male viewers wanting to see this film — written and directed by a man, no less — should bring along a female companion to better understand what’s going on?
JR: Perhaps, but I found myself in a different boat altogether. Instead of trying to put myself in Harper’s shoes (a near-impossible task, given my white male privilege), I instead uncomfortably analyzed my own past and present faults through the many faces of Kinnear.
I have no doubt the lunk-headed “not all men” crowd will entirely dismiss Men as feminist “woke” nonsense without bothering to give it even an iota of critical thought, but that in itself helps encapsulate its meaning for the rest of us. Is it a film about the insensitive and dehumanizing ways men are conditioned from birth to treat women (perhaps referenced in the extended and cyclical birthing sequence near the end of film, which begins with primitive man and finally ends with her husband)? Yes, of course it is. But with just the slightest bit of digging and self-reflection much more can be gleaned.
Even the title can be a clue. On its surface, one could argue it’s telling us that “all men are pigs,” or something similar, but what if it’s saying something different? What if the title isn’t a statement but a question: “Men, do you recognize yourself?”
EA: And then there’s Kinnear’s incarnation as the Green Man, the ancient symbol of rebirth, which adds another layer of mysticism and centuries-old tradition suggesting that such male behavior has endured for ages. Whatever the message, stretching Kinnear to play so many parts puts him on compelling equal footing with Buckley, who again holds her own with another meaty lead role. Essentially a two-hander, the film makes intelligent use of pandemic restrictions and ultimately feels like a far grander production than it really is.
JR: Quite true. It’s actually very small film, but the way it seethes with ever-increasing dread and grotesque body horror makes it feel like a living, breathing entity.
But the dread really is palpable — at least it was for me. It’s very easy for a film to be gross or gory (and Men is certainly that), but it’s another thing entirely to fill viewers with such a profound sense of foreboding and utter menace as it did for me. I was terrified for Harper from the moment she approached the tunnel in the woods, and remained so until her final smirk. I absolutely loved Buckley in I’m Thinking of Ending Things, and she once again shows her penchant for the bold here, but this is a different animal altogether. She brings the hurt in more ways than one.
EA: Not to one-up you, but I felt bad things were coming for Harper during her initial skin-crawling talk and condescending house tour with Geoffrey. Hell, maybe even those first images of her with a bloody nose, watching a man fall past her balcony like human rain. There’s also something unsettling about the early use of Lesley Duncan’s little-known original version of “Love Song” — which most people assume is a Bernie Taupin/Elton John original — then closing the film with their famous cover, as if to say men will continue to dominate history, even when society knows better.
As such, the dread is there from the start, but like we said, the approach is such a departure for Garland that it’s tough to properly process on one sitting. I’ll give it a B-plus for now, but could see that grade rising on subsequent viewings.
JR: Oh, don’t get me wrong: I was unnerved from the start, but for me there’s a very defining moment when that next gear is engaged. Who would of thought something as simple and elegant as a distant silhouette at the end of a tunnel would be the impetus for such nightmare-inducing horror? I can’t shake this film — it seriously won’t leave my mind — and for that, I’m starting at a solid A. But, like you, that may go up with another viewing and a more refined and congruent mind/eye combination. I’m desperate to unlock more of this very unique and unsettling film’s secrets.
Originally published by ASHEVILLE MOVIES.
James is a writer, skateboarder, record collector, wrestling nerd, and tabletop gamer living with his family in Asheville, North Carolina. He is a member of the Southeastern Film Critics Association, the North Carolina Film Critics Association, and contributes to The Daily Orca, Razorcake Magazine, Mountain Xpress, and Asheville Movies.