'Beau is Afraid' Review: All Sound and Fury, Signifying Nothing
There comes a time in many filmmakers’ careers when they are flying high on their success, demanding full creative control for themselves, as well as a budget that’s big enough for each and every one of their ambitions. But if they’re not careful, they propel themselves too far too quickly, biting off more than they can chew, only to come crashing back down to earth. It’s happened to Francis Ford Coppola, Bernardo Bertolucci, John Woo, and now Ari Aster has proved that he is no exception to this cautionary tale.
Beau is Afraid is Aster’s third feature film, and also his third horror. In this case, there is a much heavier focus on tragicomedy, presented in the broadest and most absurd ways that Aster could think up. Sadly, the film fails to justify its hefty three-hour running time. It is the exact sort of film that one might imagine Sigmund Freud dreaming up while trying to sleep off taking too much cocaine.
We are quickly introduced to Joaquin Phoenix as Beau, in an opening act which makes the world of Joker look like subtle social commentary. He lives in the neighbourhood from hell; it’s a place that personifies a middle class person’s nightmare of what a dangerous city block looks like. One might even be tempted to accuse this film of fetishizing a classist’s idea of the “poor dangerous people”, but it’s too ridiculous for even that. It’s clear that Aster just wanted to give Beau the most miserable existence possible. He is crippled with mental anguish while dodging homeless people who are either crazed, desperate, malicious, or all three. The water in his apartment goes out just when he needs it most, his belongings are stolen when he turns his back for three seconds, and at one point, half the neighbourhood randomly breaks into his home and trashes it while he cowers in the fire escape.
On top of all this misery, Beau finds out that his domineering mother (Patti LuPone) has died a random and grisly death. He is determined to get back for her funeral, but the film proceeds to sidetrack him with a variety of obstacles who are occasionally human. There is the unsettlingly cheerful and accommodating couple (Amy Ryan and Nathan Lane), their sadistic and unpredictable teenage daughter (Kylie Rogers), and a deranged war veteran (Denis Ménochet). There is also a point in the film where Beau stumbles his way into a cult-like theatre company, and all action grinds to a halt for some meta-storytelling. Sadly, as brilliantly filmed as these sequences are, they add nothing to the overall story except extending the film’s running time. Flashbacks to Beau’s childhood add backstory, but the scenes leave us with more questions than they answer. The film also tries building to a profound conclusion, but it plays out like a much less interesting version of Pink Floyd - The Wall.
It’s a real shame that so many talented people’s efforts are wasted on this bloated, impenetrable, and pretentious story. Phoenix clearly believed in the script, because he gives one of his most gripping performances yet. He does a phenomenal job portraying a man who is tortured, tormented, guilt-ridden, angry, and utterly afraid. But no matter how good Phoenix is, Beau’s predicament is too absurd to take seriously as a horror, and too random and repetitive as a comedy. There are certainly hints at themes around his struggles and his issues, but the film fails to do much with those themes. Phoenix isn’t alone, either; every one of the supporting actors tries their darndest with what they’re given, but whatever good they do is often in spite of the film’s writing rather than because of it.
As for the film’s structure, it is both random and predictable. One struggles to see the point of half of what’s going on, only to be forced to give up by the second hour. Sadly, even where the comedy is concerned, one might end up laughing at the movie moreso than with it. While viewing this film as a comedy might redeem it in some strange way, Aster clearly wasn’t comfortable enough committing to that. There are scenes which aim to be grandiose, artsy, and occasionally meta, but it all rings hollow. Precious little is funny, and almost nothing is scary.
Aster has apparently described his film as a “nightmare”. To give him credit, that is an apt description, but not in the way that he probably intended. Beau is Afraid feels exactly like one of those incoherent fever dreams which you only half-remember after it’s over, and quickly forget as you go about your day. Someone should have reminded Aster that those dreams don’t necessarily make for compelling cinema. Beau is Afraid tries - and fails - to blend horror and absurdism to portray a man struggling with anxiety, mommy issues, mental abuse, PTSD - but any coherent message that the film might have had is drowned in hyperbole. I am compelled to paraphrase a line from Community where another filmmaker realizes just what a film his pretentious meta-obsession has wrought: Beau is Afraid is a self-indulgent adolescent mess, and I could barely sit through it.