Thibault Emin’s Else begins with a series of undulating abstract images that suggest microscopic photography, a vaguely organic tapestry that evokes skin under a magnifying glass. The familiar sight of the epidermis instead becomes a vast landscape of peaks and valleys and a variety of textures. It also, perhaps inevitably, suggests a cheap screensaver aesthetic, like the various wooshes of generic shapes and color that play on screen while you use Windows Media Player. The organic and the digital merging and commingling is at the center of Else, a film easily dubbed a pandemic-set, body-horror thriller that is actually much stranger than that description would suggest.
We begin with a one-night stand already in progress; Anx (Matthieu Sampeur) is a quiet, demure man, and is in the midst of a tryst with Cass (Édith Proust), a vivacious, outgoing woman. She’s a tornado of good humor and liberated sexual energy, enlivening Anx’s small apartment and then departing. He quickly resumes what one assumes is his day-to-day routine, scrolling social media and trying to work up the nerve to shush the loud unhoused man who camps out across the street. But Anx is smitten, and seeks out online photos of the party where he met Cass. In an amusing montage, Anx spots himself sitting quietly in the corner of multiple shots while the rest of the guests revel. He also spots an alarming detail — a man shoving his hand into a bowl of snacks who has a visible rash on his skin. Anx begins scouring the Internet for updates on skin conditions, and uncovers some disturbing news reports. But Cass has returned, and his research is interrupted by further sexual escapades.
These early scenes are marked by a jittery, outlandish visual style; cinematographer Léo Lefèvre’s handheld camera darts all over the place, indulging in extreme closeups and stuttering jump cuts. It’s extremely kinetic, matching the energy of this new love affair. The lo-fi digital images are awash in fields of pinks and blues, muted but vibrant. Anx’s apartment feels comfortably cramped, an enclave for the lovers. But that will soon change, as the reports of this mysterious skin condition intensify and quickly become a full-blown epidemic. The living space is transformed into a safe haven, but eventually devolves into a prison. It’s here that we are introduced to the film’s big selling point: this mysterious virus fuses a human host with whatever inanimate object a person comes into contact with for too long. The first victim we see is the unhoused man, spotted from a distance through Anx’s window, and who seems to have fused with his blankets. Soon, the town is on lockdown, with only intermittent access to electricity and the Internet. In response, Anx creates a generator setup that runs off of a stationary bicycle, which he and Cass take turns peddling while the other surfs the web.
From here, the film becomes a series of digital screens within screens, as the couple seeks information from a website that provides live footage streamed from security cameras placed in various businesses and on various streets. One incredibly eerie image sticks out: a group of revelers holing up in a community center is first seen as a series of ghostly white blurs dancing and partying, but when Anx and Cass check the feed sometime later, the white blurs have all merged into the floor of the building. The quarantined duo also glean bits of information from neighbors, who are never seen but have created a kind of whisper network by communicating with each other through vents and plumbing that can carry voices. Indeed, sound design is very important in Else, as viewers are able to chart the virus’s “progress” as voices drop off and the chatter becomes thinner.
There’s not much more plot to speak of, and we won’t reveal here what happens to our star-crossed lovers. There are a couple of nerve-wracking set pieces, one involving a brick-like golem that makes its way inside somehow, and a particularly squirm-inducing sequence that finds a pair of scissors to be no match for skin that has started to meld with a thin bed sheet. Else fully commits to its horrific premise, but Emin also has more on his mind than genre thrills. As the film progresses, Lefèvre gradually drains the color from the images, eventually turning this deforming world into shades of dusty gray. But a new character is introduced, and we hear a long story about the first lungfish to have ventured out of the water and onto land, only to discover a new kind of pain that reveals functional lungs instead of gills. While the physical transitions on display in Else are grisly and tragic, the endgame here is not annihilation but transformation. What that new-look future might be is left tantalizingly opaque.
DIRECTOR: Thibault Emin; CAST: Matthieu Sampeur Dan Cohen Lika Minamoto Toni d’Antonio; DISTRIBUTOR: Cineverse; STREAMING: July 8; RUNTIME: 1 hr. 40 min.
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