Alpha

Bursting onto the scene with a strong voice, a distinct style, and a fresh tale is a fantastic way to get yourself noticed. But if your follow up repeats (or even deepens) the same beats and style, you risk pigeonholing yourself as a certain kind of director. Some are perfectly content to explore the same themes repeatedly, and can do so in unique ways: see David Cronenberg's career-long obsession with the relationship between humans and technology. But many quickly seek a change, and garner immense backlash as a result. Ari Aster is a recent, clear example. After bursting out of the gate with two horror classics, he pivoted hard into a three hour panic attack, and followed it up with an incisive COVID Western/comedy. Aster's success was made possible by never second guessing himself, nor feeling obligated to slide back to the genre in which he made his name.

The same cannot be said for Julia Ducournau.

Raw and Titane established her as one of the pre-eminent body horror filmmakers working today, the latter of which won her the Palme d'Or. Not content to sequester the grotesqueries to an element of the plot, the transformation of her protagonists' bodies is a key element of their stories, which progresses in fascinating ways throughout the films, mirroring their inner journeys. Like Aster, for her third feature, she pivoted to a more dramatic story, a more personal and grounded one. But unlike the American's swing, Alpha is not fully divorced from her prior work, weighing down its drama with an background element of body horror that informs the naked allegory but never plays a strong role in the experiences of her characters, leaving you feeling as cold as the infected.

Read my full review at Pop Culture Maniacs.