The pinnacle of postmodern genre cinema, here is a film that manages to create a stunning retro-futuristic world by borrowing heavily from the esthetics of 1970s sci-fi, then reinvents itself using elements from 1980s slashers, creating a brilliant hybrid that perfectly befits the central subject matter. With some nearly experimental flashback sequences thrown in the mix with good measure, the end result is... perplexing to say the least, but swarming with unforgettable imagery. But most of all, Beyond the Black Rainbow is a surprisingly gripping film, and a rare example of truly affective horror.
At the heart of the narrative is a beautiful young woman named Elena who was apparently born and raised in a lab as part of an experiment in para-psychological research. While the exact purpose of her "creation" remains hazy, her ordeal is very real, and so are her psychic powers. Opposite Elena is a rigorous and fearsome researcher whom we assume is also her father. The man spends his entire day scrutinizing the girl with utmost interest as he would a very promising lab rat. And strangely enough, he seems to revel in making her cry (which amounts to provoking a sought-after emotional response from the subject). But contrary to the girl, he has a life outside the lab, returning home to the suburbs each night and exchanging nods with his estranged, TV-addicted wife. And while he indulges in memories past, as any suburban dweller would, Elena eventually breaks free from her holding/living cell, and goes on to explore the massive scientific facility she calls home. At some point, at around the 100-minute mark, she even manages to escape into the "wild", where she is tracked down mercilessly by the creep in a white coat, now sporting a monstrous, bald look.
Poor Elena is entrapped even by her hair
And while the experimental "rebirth" sequence will leave you aghast, its contribution to the overall mood of the film pales in comparison with that of the claustrophobic, monochrome settings. Comprised of black, red and white walls with little to no features, naked, empty rooms and endless corridors, the lab comes out as a labyrinthine, living depiction of despair. One can find no hope or no beauty in it, but most importantly, no definite purpose, which is perhaps its most fearsome feature. Just like the underground lab from Shozin Fukui's Rubber Lover (with which the present film shares more than just superficial features), it basks in a dreadful sense of inescapability. But most dreadful yet, it eludes our compulsion to find a reason for its existence. Like the titular cube from Vincenzo Natali's seminal thriller (and another stellar example of how crafty English Canada is when it comes to genre cinema), the horror lies squarely in the existence of the lab and not in the underlying reasons for its existence. Obviously, the victimization of pure, whitely-veiled Elena also informs our reaction to events onscreen. But the true affect derives from the frustrating architecture of the lab and the deceiving whiteness of its walls, which seem to close down on the viewer like an eggshell recovering a helpless chick. Which is how both us and the protagonist are meant to feel in the symbiotic experience that is the film.
The outside world is but a tad less bleak
than the intestinal world of the lab
That is until poor Elena manages to make her way through a series of monochrome corridors filled with monstrous apparitions, all the way to a cozy employee lounge complete with a plaid sofa and a toaster oven. Leaving the oneiric (nightmarish) landscape of the lab per se, our mute heroine suddenly pops up in the "real" world of lunch breaks and radio chatter. This marks a clean break in the narrative, the result of which causes the protagonist to be born again in the mind-numbing normalcy of the 1980s, which abruptly replaces the film's atmospheric, esoteric approach to filmmaking with a very prosaic, pragmatic one. And while this represents a welcome pause from the oppressive atmosphere of the lab, it allows us to see a world only slightly less bleak. Sure, Elena's emergence outside of the medical complex where she has spent her life is a particularly exhilarating moment. The overly luminous, overly sanitary interiors from her past life have been shed like a discarded skin. But the vast, pitch-black countryside she enters next is not the liberating panacea that one would expect. Vastness aside, the high reeds sprouting throughout the open field she now walks make the whole decor out to be yet another inextricable maze. And with the appearance of a stalker, whose impending attack looms over Elena like the proverbial sword of Damocles, it becomes another danger zone as well, where she must pursue her struggle.
Now, when I use the word 'stalker', I do so knowing that the specter of Jason Voorhees and other subpar knife maniacs will likely be invoked. That said, I found the audience's reaction perfectly consistent with the tradition embodied by such laughable figures, into which Barry transforms after shedding his organically-glued wig. If Jason were to suddenly waltz in any other atmospheric sci-fi puzzle, you'd have similar laughs ringing through the theater. Not only does the boogeyman feel somewhat out of place in the world of the film, but his apparition coincides with that of a more open, more familiar setting. Thus, freed from the suffocating constraints of the lab where it was imprisoned along with the protagonist, the audience starts enjoying itself in a carefree kind of way. Just like the raucous audiences of slasher films.
The world of slashers is much more easily
intelligible than that of the lab...
But while the film's last part constitutes a sudden departure from the mood so painstakingly established in the first 100 minutes, it marks a very informed decision from the director. The transition from the overly scientific, overly sensual horror from the past to the everyday, supernatural fantasy of the Reagan years acts as a trap meant to catch slasher fans in their comfort zone, leaving them ripe for the stunning finale. But most importantly, it perfectly exemplifies the narrative cleavage between 70s and 80s horror, which happened almost exactly in between the two decades and which seems to have definitely transformed the appreciation of horror cinema as is. Seeing how the audience plays along, erupting from their nearly catatonic quietude to engage loudly with events onscreen, it seems that the film hits its mark in making us react to that cleavage, which is partly responsible for the estrangement of sensibilities between generations. But is that mere reaction to warrant the film a success? Not necessarily, but it does elevate the film a notch, making it aware of itself, like some mutated entity born out of a carefully conducted experiment.
In the end, Elena finally manages to kill Barry, and the weirdly "scientific" tradition that he represents. Only then is she able to hoist herself out of her lab prison and into yet another bleak, labyrinthine setting, 1980s suburbia. In that regard, the very final shot is chilling to the bone. It shows us a lengthy row of perfectly similar modular houses, lit by dim street lights forming bleak halos around the brown-colored buildings. Elena is no longer a lab rat. Far from it. She has now entered the universal sea of sameness. Her mental abilities are now likely to wither and die like the dandelions on the front lawn of her neighbors. She thus comes to a new form of prison, that of her father, that of the everyday tedium of middle class life. Moreover, she becomes not simply a prison escapee, but a final girl, informing us in resonant fashion as to the crucial narrative shift occurring with the popularization of slasher films, and the soon-to-be steady output of prefabricated narratives meant to entrap youths in a comatose stupor.
That said, the film somewhat functions like Ridley Scott's seminal slasher-cum-space ballet Alien, which itself comes at a crucial time in film history, embodying both the atmosphere-heavy tradition of the very first space exploration film and the simplicity of the slasher film. Not unlike Beyond, Alien can be broken down in two complementary parts, one that relies on dark, impressionistic imagery to create affect and the other that simply involves the tension of being chased by a monster. Both films are also akin in their usage of white to depict both the overly sanitary conditions of medical labs and to hint at fetus-like innocence. The imagery of the womb is also important to both films as they chronicle the birth and youth of two similar, albeit different kinds of 'alien' creatures, one being the "perfect" xenomorph beloved by Ian Holm's Ash and the other being young Elena.
Beyond actually goes a step further in its homage to Alien by using a segmented number in its credits. Anybody who has seen Scott's film will remember how the title gradually appears onscreen using an accumulation of straight white lines. Beyond does something similar when printing the current date onscreen, with each of the four numbers slowly spelling '1983'. So you can see how the director plays on expectations, not only likening his film to Alien, but by unveiling a '3' that one thought would be a '4', as in '1984', perhaps a more befitting date for the action of the film. Obviously, director Cosmatos is a clever film buff, and he has a special knack for toying with viewers. And so, one hopes to he leaves us with more than just this film and a handful of clips.
Few people will mention it, but the graphic depiction of vaginas actually helps strengthen the horrific tone of the film. Let me explain. This has to do with the psycho-anatomical textbook I mentioned earlier. This tome is actually uncovered by an unsuspecting orderly who flips through the pages with an increasing unease that mirrors our own. Seeing the multiplication of anatomical drawings involved in obscure diagrams, we are increasingly alarmed with each turning page, imagining alien operations beyond the realm of our understanding, experiments in deconstructing the fragile body of Elena into mere components meant to make her something necessarily more monstrous than what she presently is. Then, we get to the vagina, the depiction of which is uncompromising and the specific involvement of which is made explicit, as if it was intended as a vessel for channeling psychic energy. And given the opacity of the screenplay, this can mean a number of things. Obviously, it would be hard to top Von Trier's Antichrist in terms of repulsive genital mutilation, but one can sure as hell try, insofar as his imagination is left unchecked. Hence, poor white-gowned Elena need not be sexualized for her to be involved in a sexual nightmare. Not unlike the slasher film virgin...
Elena's captivating beauty makes the viewer
At the heart of the narrative is a beautiful young woman named Elena who was apparently born and raised in a lab as part of an experiment in para-psychological research. While the exact purpose of her "creation" remains hazy, her ordeal is very real, and so are her psychic powers. Opposite Elena is a rigorous and fearsome researcher whom we assume is also her father. The man spends his entire day scrutinizing the girl with utmost interest as he would a very promising lab rat. And strangely enough, he seems to revel in making her cry (which amounts to provoking a sought-after emotional response from the subject). But contrary to the girl, he has a life outside the lab, returning home to the suburbs each night and exchanging nods with his estranged, TV-addicted wife. And while he indulges in memories past, as any suburban dweller would, Elena eventually breaks free from her holding/living cell, and goes on to explore the massive scientific facility she calls home. At some point, at around the 100-minute mark, she even manages to escape into the "wild", where she is tracked down mercilessly by the creep in a white coat, now sporting a monstrous, bald look.
Poor Elena is entrapped even by her hairExtremely slow-moving (and a tad overlong), the film tells its story through an accumulation of facts that build up to create a hazy whole. Eschewing synthetic explanations, the narrative is all the more horrific in its depiction of everyday weirdness. In fact, the elusive design of the ongoing experiments makes it all the more unnerving in our appreciation thereof, leaving our perverse mind squarely in charge of imagining the worst, informed as we are only by sudden flashes of ugliness and a truly alarming psycho-anatomical handbook. But most importantly, it uses elaborate, impressionistic images to attack our senses, and keep us wholly involved with the world of the film.
Instead of the usual cables and sparkling white operating rooms from other "laboratory" horror films, Beyond relies on alien organic processes to create affect. In one particularly effective sequence, and the high point of the film, the antagonist is reminded of "simpler times" by his dying mentor, Dr. Mercurio Arboria (itself a name that is almost Asimovian in its perfection). But those "simpler times" are not so simple to grasp for our feverish minds, boggled as they are by the spectacle of evil Barry being used as a willing subject in a hypnotic seance of weird science. Pictured as a white silhouette dipped in a thick, black liquid that seems straight out of The Matrix, he fast becomes one of the strangest entities ever to grace the screen. In fact, rarely has any realist depiction of mad science been so gripping and unforgettable.
Evidently, the literal depiction of science, and especially of para-psychology, can only go so far in describing the actual experience thereof, which is what the film delivers by using symbolism and impressionism, thus proving that even overly rational endeavors need not be framed in a down-to-Earth manner, especially when they concern the inner workings of the mind and its impenetrable depths. Science is boring. But experimental cinema is fun! Which is what the film aims to prove with a very particular, very engrossing storytelling technique that eschews the need for contrived, wordy explanations by making us share the protagonist's experience almost intimately.
Instead of the usual cables and sparkling white operating rooms from other "laboratory" horror films, Beyond relies on alien organic processes to create affect. In one particularly effective sequence, and the high point of the film, the antagonist is reminded of "simpler times" by his dying mentor, Dr. Mercurio Arboria (itself a name that is almost Asimovian in its perfection). But those "simpler times" are not so simple to grasp for our feverish minds, boggled as they are by the spectacle of evil Barry being used as a willing subject in a hypnotic seance of weird science. Pictured as a white silhouette dipped in a thick, black liquid that seems straight out of The Matrix, he fast becomes one of the strangest entities ever to grace the screen. In fact, rarely has any realist depiction of mad science been so gripping and unforgettable.
Evidently, the literal depiction of science, and especially of para-psychology, can only go so far in describing the actual experience thereof, which is what the film delivers by using symbolism and impressionism, thus proving that even overly rational endeavors need not be framed in a down-to-Earth manner, especially when they concern the inner workings of the mind and its impenetrable depths. Science is boring. But experimental cinema is fun! Which is what the film aims to prove with a very particular, very engrossing storytelling technique that eschews the need for contrived, wordy explanations by making us share the protagonist's experience almost intimately.
And while the experimental "rebirth" sequence will leave you aghast, its contribution to the overall mood of the film pales in comparison with that of the claustrophobic, monochrome settings. Comprised of black, red and white walls with little to no features, naked, empty rooms and endless corridors, the lab comes out as a labyrinthine, living depiction of despair. One can find no hope or no beauty in it, but most importantly, no definite purpose, which is perhaps its most fearsome feature. Just like the underground lab from Shozin Fukui's Rubber Lover (with which the present film shares more than just superficial features), it basks in a dreadful sense of inescapability. But most dreadful yet, it eludes our compulsion to find a reason for its existence. Like the titular cube from Vincenzo Natali's seminal thriller (and another stellar example of how crafty English Canada is when it comes to genre cinema), the horror lies squarely in the existence of the lab and not in the underlying reasons for its existence. Obviously, the victimization of pure, whitely-veiled Elena also informs our reaction to events onscreen. But the true affect derives from the frustrating architecture of the lab and the deceiving whiteness of its walls, which seem to close down on the viewer like an eggshell recovering a helpless chick. Which is how both us and the protagonist are meant to feel in the symbiotic experience that is the film.
The outside world is but a tad less bleakthan the intestinal world of the lab
That is until poor Elena manages to make her way through a series of monochrome corridors filled with monstrous apparitions, all the way to a cozy employee lounge complete with a plaid sofa and a toaster oven. Leaving the oneiric (nightmarish) landscape of the lab per se, our mute heroine suddenly pops up in the "real" world of lunch breaks and radio chatter. This marks a clean break in the narrative, the result of which causes the protagonist to be born again in the mind-numbing normalcy of the 1980s, which abruptly replaces the film's atmospheric, esoteric approach to filmmaking with a very prosaic, pragmatic one. And while this represents a welcome pause from the oppressive atmosphere of the lab, it allows us to see a world only slightly less bleak. Sure, Elena's emergence outside of the medical complex where she has spent her life is a particularly exhilarating moment. The overly luminous, overly sanitary interiors from her past life have been shed like a discarded skin. But the vast, pitch-black countryside she enters next is not the liberating panacea that one would expect. Vastness aside, the high reeds sprouting throughout the open field she now walks make the whole decor out to be yet another inextricable maze. And with the appearance of a stalker, whose impending attack looms over Elena like the proverbial sword of Damocles, it becomes another danger zone as well, where she must pursue her struggle.
Now, when I use the word 'stalker', I do so knowing that the specter of Jason Voorhees and other subpar knife maniacs will likely be invoked. That said, I found the audience's reaction perfectly consistent with the tradition embodied by such laughable figures, into which Barry transforms after shedding his organically-glued wig. If Jason were to suddenly waltz in any other atmospheric sci-fi puzzle, you'd have similar laughs ringing through the theater. Not only does the boogeyman feel somewhat out of place in the world of the film, but his apparition coincides with that of a more open, more familiar setting. Thus, freed from the suffocating constraints of the lab where it was imprisoned along with the protagonist, the audience starts enjoying itself in a carefree kind of way. Just like the raucous audiences of slasher films.
The world of slashers is much more easilyintelligible than that of the lab...
But while the film's last part constitutes a sudden departure from the mood so painstakingly established in the first 100 minutes, it marks a very informed decision from the director. The transition from the overly scientific, overly sensual horror from the past to the everyday, supernatural fantasy of the Reagan years acts as a trap meant to catch slasher fans in their comfort zone, leaving them ripe for the stunning finale. But most importantly, it perfectly exemplifies the narrative cleavage between 70s and 80s horror, which happened almost exactly in between the two decades and which seems to have definitely transformed the appreciation of horror cinema as is. Seeing how the audience plays along, erupting from their nearly catatonic quietude to engage loudly with events onscreen, it seems that the film hits its mark in making us react to that cleavage, which is partly responsible for the estrangement of sensibilities between generations. But is that mere reaction to warrant the film a success? Not necessarily, but it does elevate the film a notch, making it aware of itself, like some mutated entity born out of a carefully conducted experiment.
In the end, Elena finally manages to kill Barry, and the weirdly "scientific" tradition that he represents. Only then is she able to hoist herself out of her lab prison and into yet another bleak, labyrinthine setting, 1980s suburbia. In that regard, the very final shot is chilling to the bone. It shows us a lengthy row of perfectly similar modular houses, lit by dim street lights forming bleak halos around the brown-colored buildings. Elena is no longer a lab rat. Far from it. She has now entered the universal sea of sameness. Her mental abilities are now likely to wither and die like the dandelions on the front lawn of her neighbors. She thus comes to a new form of prison, that of her father, that of the everyday tedium of middle class life. Moreover, she becomes not simply a prison escapee, but a final girl, informing us in resonant fashion as to the crucial narrative shift occurring with the popularization of slasher films, and the soon-to-be steady output of prefabricated narratives meant to entrap youths in a comatose stupor.
That said, the film somewhat functions like Ridley Scott's seminal slasher-cum-space ballet Alien, which itself comes at a crucial time in film history, embodying both the atmosphere-heavy tradition of the very first space exploration film and the simplicity of the slasher film. Not unlike Beyond, Alien can be broken down in two complementary parts, one that relies on dark, impressionistic imagery to create affect and the other that simply involves the tension of being chased by a monster. Both films are also akin in their usage of white to depict both the overly sanitary conditions of medical labs and to hint at fetus-like innocence. The imagery of the womb is also important to both films as they chronicle the birth and youth of two similar, albeit different kinds of 'alien' creatures, one being the "perfect" xenomorph beloved by Ian Holm's Ash and the other being young Elena.
Beyond actually goes a step further in its homage to Alien by using a segmented number in its credits. Anybody who has seen Scott's film will remember how the title gradually appears onscreen using an accumulation of straight white lines. Beyond does something similar when printing the current date onscreen, with each of the four numbers slowly spelling '1983'. So you can see how the director plays on expectations, not only likening his film to Alien, but by unveiling a '3' that one thought would be a '4', as in '1984', perhaps a more befitting date for the action of the film. Obviously, director Cosmatos is a clever film buff, and he has a special knack for toying with viewers. And so, one hopes to he leaves us with more than just this film and a handful of clips.
Few people will mention it, but the graphic depiction of vaginas actually helps strengthen the horrific tone of the film. Let me explain. This has to do with the psycho-anatomical textbook I mentioned earlier. This tome is actually uncovered by an unsuspecting orderly who flips through the pages with an increasing unease that mirrors our own. Seeing the multiplication of anatomical drawings involved in obscure diagrams, we are increasingly alarmed with each turning page, imagining alien operations beyond the realm of our understanding, experiments in deconstructing the fragile body of Elena into mere components meant to make her something necessarily more monstrous than what she presently is. Then, we get to the vagina, the depiction of which is uncompromising and the specific involvement of which is made explicit, as if it was intended as a vessel for channeling psychic energy. And given the opacity of the screenplay, this can mean a number of things. Obviously, it would be hard to top Von Trier's Antichrist in terms of repulsive genital mutilation, but one can sure as hell try, insofar as his imagination is left unchecked. Hence, poor white-gowned Elena need not be sexualized for her to be involved in a sexual nightmare. Not unlike the slasher film virgin...
Elena's captivating beauty makes the viewerparticularly adverse to vaginal mutilation
Beyond the Black Rainbow is a film that you will either love or hate. But it shan't leave you unmoved. Its weird, oppressive atmosphere will clamp down on you like the metallic jaws of a bear trap, its mysterious characters will make you wonder about their unseen depths and the impressionistic sequences of tar-bathing will make your brain overheat. Now, whether you just go with the flow and accept mood as the film's primary driving force or you rather question, and eventually get frustrated with the opacity of the narrative will directly influence your appreciation of the film. As the credits rolled, very few people applauded, as if too shocked to straighten their arms and bring their hands together. I guess these people all took the latter approach, and found themselves struggling to find a grasp on the film. If they had considered retro-futuristic parapsychology for what it is, namely something that one cannot possibly grasp, they could have allowed themselves to sink into the world so painstakingly crafted by Panos Cosmatos. Then again, maybe these people who didn't applaud actually liked the film, insofar as they were totally glued in place. That, my friends, is yet another question in a frenzy of questions begged by the film. But in the end, one should always remember the primary rule of fiction cinema and suspend their disbelief for the duration of any given film. Then, and only then can the mind let itself open to the sensory attacks from which horror best proceeds. And, if anything, Beyond the Black Rainbow is a prime example of horror cinema's power of affect. An immense achievement.
3,5/5 Savvy and effective, this atmospheric entry in postmodern horror is not only an unforgettable sensory experience, but a brilliantly self-reflexive exercise in retro-futurism.
3,5/5 Savvy and effective, this atmospheric entry in postmodern horror is not only an unforgettable sensory experience, but a brilliantly self-reflexive exercise in retro-futurism.
