Reviews
“AHS: Delicate” Review – The Satanic Endgame Begins to Take Shape in Episode 4
Anna’s lot in life takes an optimistic turn when it comes to fame and family as a sinister force asserts control and ‘AHS: Delicate’ teases its grander plans.
“Is it a boy, Mary?”
“It is a monster.”
Pregnancy horror stories can go down many different directions, whether they’re tales where disturbed individuals attempt to steal a healthy infant, evil offspring scenarios, or any variety of films where a dark pact is made with the Devil or some kind of malevolent magic. American Horror Story: Delicate has kept its audience guessing when it comes to its newborn neuroses, but “Vanishing Twin” pulls back the veil a little when it comes to the dark fate that’s befallen Anna. Answers are appreciated when it comes to any of this seasons’ broader mysteries, but AHS: Delicate’s fable-like explanation feels strangely out of place. It amounts to another installment that’s full of promise, but plagued with bland shortcomings. American Horror Story: Delicate rushes closer to its inevitable birth and “Vanishing Twin” telegraphs a precarious trajectory for the season’s second-half.
AHS: Delicate boldly begins in 1500s England during a fruitful flashback that painfully examines a generational pact across legacies that turns pregnancy into both a source of freedom and a prison. It’s a concept that Anna faces centuries later, albeit in more modern terms. “Vanishing Twin” treats this like a very fairy tale origin for this horror story. It may be effective in some respects, but there’s nothing here that hasn’t been done better through Murder House’s pregnancy dread or Roanoke and Coven’s cursed magical theatrics. A tone-setting vignette of this nature might have actually been a more effective way to start the season–or at least the second episode–rather than a piece of the puzzle that arrives at the half-way point that now feels extraneous. This would help the prologue play more naturally than the heavy-handed manner in which this pregnancy demon pact gets introduced in “Vanishing Twin.”
In not so subtle terms, AHS: Delicate connects the dots between its 16th century prologue and its 21st century clout-chasing. Hamish Moss (Dominic Burgess) seems to have engaged in the same witch curse to turn his movie, The Auteur, into a critical darling. This evil ultimatum is also likely the key to Anna’s recent success through Sibohan’s controversial tactics. None of this is terribly fresh ground, but American Horror Story at least shows its hand for the season. There’s also an easy joke to be made here regarding how Ryan Murphy himself likely entered some Satanic success pact, or at the least has been knocking back the black talent pills from American Horror Story: Red Tide.
“Vanishing Twin” operates like the inverse of past entries. Anna’s inner circle starts listening to her, but she also turns out to be pregnant after all due to a case of “vanishing twin syndrome.” However, the episode still gets lost in played out pregnancy horror set pieces that feel like watered down versions of Rosemary’s Baby and The Witch. Any of the domestic scenes in AHS: Delicate between Anna and Dex become weak links and it’s unfortunate that these two feel so stilted together. There’s such a lack of chemistry between Emma Roberts and Matt Czuchry that’s starting to drag down their scenes together. Maybe the tension between these two is part of this story’s point, but it makes for awkward television.
The Alcott/Harding family face further woes as Virginia (Debra Monk), Dex’s mom, gets in his head and becomes a wedge between him and Anna. Virginia shows zero sympathy for Anna despite the rough lot that she’s faced on all fronts. Her talk about society’s changing views towards pregnancy and motherhood makes for a refreshing reflection until her preaching reaches problematic territory. Nicolette (MJ Rodriguez) is an even more on-the-nose individual who briefly shows up to reinforce to Anna that there’s a sisterhood of women that come together during pregnancies. However, what Nicolette doesn’t talk about is the malevolent, codependent qualities that can also be born out of this cult-like state of mind.
It’s unfortunate that “Vanishing Twin” is such a muddy episode because there’s some material in it that really works. Anna gets a dark preview of the difficult future that may be ahead for her as the parent of a demon baby after she takes in a maybe-dead animal and feels the natural compulsion to nurse this creature back to health. Some of “Vanishing Twin’s” strongest sequences come out of Anna’s uncomfortable attempts to turn roadkill into a progeny…and then dinner. It’s extremely disturbing, both physically and psychologically, in a way that American Horror Story hasn’t been for seasons. It’s genuinely troubling and elegantly captured on the screen in a manner that dresses up this toxic, rancid act to look beautiful, just like Anna’s own confused actions.
For everything that works in “Vanishing Twin,” this episode also introduces Billie Lourd and Leslie Grossman’s characters, a pair of Ashleys that run a PR team together in what’s literally the “PubLIZity” sketch from Kroll Show. What are we doing here, American Horror Story? Is this what now qualifies for camp? This culminates in an absurd PR stunt that’s the most entertaining Roberts has been all season. Inexplicably, this braggadocious video resuscitates Anna’s career, which is the kind of thing that’s possible when Satan is running your press. These Satanic arrangements are treated like recent developments, but Anna’s been afflicted by supernatural phenomena all season. It seems like American Horror Story: Delicate is just playing it fast and loose with its creepy imagery while it coasts on vibes rather than narrative logic. “You don’t need to know…yet,” is given as cryptic, comforting advice in “Vanishing Twin,” but it also reads like the meandering season’s subtext.
“Vanishing Twin” takes some big steps forward, but at the end of the day it’s still just another version of a story where the struggles of fame, independence, and professional success are put in competition with those of parenthood. Next week’s “Part One” finale looks like it will head even further in the Oscar vs. Offspring debate, all of which feels a little defanged after arriving so soon after the comparable subject matter explored in the “Red Tide” section of American Horror Story: Double Feature. “Vanishing Twin” ends on a shocking, unsettling note and AHS: Delicate is likely to deliver even more of this in its mid-season finale. It just doesn’t feel impactful enough; and what could have been a promising opportunity to truly subvert a growing horror trope has instead resulted in a slow, predictable season that’s grown increasingly tired.
It may be too late for American Horror Story: Delicate to transform this shit sandwich into a Fabergé egg, but maybe something fancy with gaudy gems on it is still possible.
Reviews
‘The King Tide’: An Island Town Rots with Moral Decay in Canadian Folk Horror Fable [Review]
The opening scenes of director Christian Sparkes’ The King Tide set an ominous tone: a powerful storm takes down the power lines of a small island town as a pregnant woman loses her child while her dementia-suffering mother sits nearby. In the morning, as the town takes stock of the damage and the power is restored, a surprising discovery is found in an overturned boat in the harbour: a baby girl…with the ability to heal.
Writers Albert Shin and William Woods, working from a story by Kevin Coughlin and Ryan Grassby, treat the story as something of a morality tale mixed with a fable. Following the cold open, the action jumps ahead 10 years at a point when the unnamed island (the film was shot in Newfoundland, Canada) is thriving. The fishing is bountiful, the islanders are self-sufficient and have cut ties with the mainland, and most everyone is happy.
As characters are prone to saying, it’s all thanks to Isla (Alix West Lefler), the miracle baby who has grown up worshipped by the islanders. While Mayor Bobby Bentham (Clayne Crawford) and his wife Grace (Lara Jean Chorostecki) endeavor to raise Isla like any other little girl, the reality is that the island’s entire ecosystem revolves around her miraculous powers. It is only because of Isla that they survive; every aspect of their lives – from medicine to food – relies on her.
Each day the citizens line up for their allotted time with the young girl – be it to stave off breast cancer, like Charlotte (Kathryn Greenwood), or recover from another night of heavy drinking like former doctor, Beau (Aden Young). There’s even a predetermined schedule for when she will go out on the boats and use her power to lure fish into the nets.
One fateful day, Bobby succumbs to peer pressure and alters Isla’s schedule at the last minute to accompany cod fishermen Marlon (Michael Greyeyes) and Dillon (Ryan McDonald). A childish game with fatal consequences is played, but with Isla indisposed, a young boy, who would have otherwise been fine, dies. And while the rest of the community grieves, it is Isla who is completely shaken and, unexpectedly, loses her powers.
Suddenly the entire balance of the island is thrown off. Folks like Grace’s mother, Faye (Frances Fisher), who relied on Isla to keep her dementia at bay, suddenly reckon with mortality, while the food security of the town is called into question. Faye’s late-night “support group” meetings take on an urgent and secretive tone and the townspeople claim ownership of Isla’s time despite Bobby and Beau’s protests that she needs rest to recover from her trauma.
Like the best thrillers, the politics and personalities within the community come into play as morals are compromised and the good of individuals vs the collective is played out in increasingly desperate situations. The King Tide excels because it is interested in exploring the competing motivations of the townspeople, while also resolutely refusing to paint anyone as inherently good or bad. These are desperate people, determined to remain independent and free from outside interference, while protecting their trapped-in-amber way of life.
These developments work because there’s a humanity to the characters and The King Tide wisely relies heavily on its deep bench castoff character actors to drive the conflict. Crawford is the de facto protagonist of the ensemble and he’s also the most straightforward character: Bobby is a good man and a loving father, but he’s no white knight. At several points in the film, his willingness to acquiesce to the demands of the community and retain his power causes events to spiral further out of control.
Even more fascinating are Grace and Faye, two commanding women whose capacity for maternal love is matched – or eclipsed – by their own self-interests. A mid-film discovery about Isla’s power reframes Grace’s priorities, ultimately pitting her against her husband. As a result, Grace is incredibly compelling and frustrating (in a good way) and Chorostecki, who has done great genre work on both Hannibal to Chucky, plays the moral ambiguity exactly right. Grace is a fascinating and flawed human character in a film filled with them.
The same goes for Fisher, who deftly balances Faye’s grandmotherly love for Isla with the needs of the community and, by extension, her own health demands. In the hands of a lesser performer, it would be easy to hate Faye for her actions, but Fisher’s performance perfectly captures the fierce determination and fear that drives the island’s matriarch.
Finally, there’s Aden Young, The King Tide’s secret weapon. The ten-year jump reveals that Beau has undergone the most significant transformation: while everyone else has benefitted from Isla’s powers, her presence has eliminated the need for a doctor. With the clinic effectively shuttered, Beau has become an alcoholic; a shell of his former self with no purpose.
Like Bobby, Beau is the easiest character to root for because of his selfless desire to protect Isla, but Young (renowned for his work with Crawford on Rectify) unlocks the character’s tragic pathos and, in the process, becomes the film’s emotional anchor.
Framing the moral decline of the islanders and anticipating the unexpectedly devastating climax is the natural beauty of Newfoundland. As shot by cinematographer Mike McLaughlin, there’s a steely beauty to the geography, resplendent with rocky cliffs, pounding surf, and gusty bluffs that reinforce the islanders’ isolation.
There’s a fierce pride in their struggle to survive independently, evident in the simple lodgings and the antiquated alarm bell that is rung whenever fishing ships from the mainland stray too close. It’s a chilly, atmospheric calling card for one of the most picturesque provinces in Canada, but it is a perfect complement for the folk horror narrative.
Armed with serene, beautiful cinematography, murky moral developments, and a deep bench of talented character actors, The King Tide is a quiet gem that demands to be seen. It’s one of the year’s best genre films.
The King Tide is in theaters April 26, 2024.
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