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"No good movie is too long and no bad movie is short enough." Roger Ebert

Reviews and Criticism

MANDY

In Panos Cosmatos’ 2010 Sci-Fi horror Beyond the Black Rainbow, the year 1983 symbolically loomed large as the setting for that film and its stylistic inspiration. For Panos (whose father George P. Cosmatos directed CobraRambo: First Blood Part II & Tombstone) it is the year he was first exposed to the cluttered shelves of his local VHS rental store and the delights that lay within.

Panos’ Swedish mother, Birgitta Ljungberg-Cosmatos, was a sculptor and visual artist and, by his own admission, he’s heavily influenced by his parent’s artistic leanings, with his own cinematic style vacillating between the surreal arthouse and popcorn-fueled crowd-pleaser.

The film opens in an unnamed forest near the ‘Shadow Mountains’; it is 1983. Forestry worker Red Miller (Nicolas Cage) lives on the edge of the woods in a womb-like golden homestead with his lover Mandy Bloom (Andrea Riseborough). One day, through pure happenstance, a roaming LSD cult catches sight of Mandy near her home and they target her for abduction. The cult leader, Jeremiah Sand (Linus Roache) orders his Manson-family-esque minions to summon a group of disfigured, demonic homicidal bikers to aid them in their kidnapping and, ultimately, the motley Satanic group descend on Mandy and Red’s mountain-top home to enact their nefarious desires, leaving Red broken, traumatised and hell-bent on exacting a righteous, blood-lust fueled vengeance.

In Mandy Cosmatos draws on a similar visual palette to Beyond the Black Rainbow: drenched in ‘80s neon gloss, deep-focus anamorphic lensing with late, great composer Jóhann Jóhannsson (Sicario, Arrival) delivering a final stunning, sonic swansong of diegetic guitar riffs and epic dread-laden soundscapes.

Feeling like that awesome cosmic-horror VHS that you’ve just stumbled across on one of the lower shelves in the horror section, Mandy is akin to legendary fantasy artist Frank Frazetta drinking a litre of LSD, watching The Evil Dead and Hellraiser while listening to Obscured by Clouds by Pink Floyd, then painting an epic cosmic triptych. Finally, they’ve constructed a film that not only can contain Nicolas Cage (as Werner Herzog termed it … “unleashing the hog”) but also work as a curious fusion of modern-day horror tropes, the operatic tone of Wagner’s Ring cycle and epically primal and elemental cosmic dread. It’s a doozy.

Jarrod Walker