Jaxon Safian's Film Reviews

To film a Lovecraft tale as it was written is to be uncinematic, and to film it cinematically is to be unLovcraftian. To portray a Lovecraftian story visually is to betray it, so to make an effective movie adaptation of a Lovecraft story is, on every conceptual level, impossible. Writer/director Richard Stanley attempts to challenge that impossibility, and while he certainly does not succeed, or even manage a cogent take on the Lovecraftian themes, he has a lot of fun trying. 

The Color Out Of Space, the 1927 H. P. Lovecraft short story, is about a family whose farm is attacked by an indescribable color emerging from a mysterious meteorite. In Color Out Of Space, the 2019 film, that family is attacked by the very easily describable color, magenta. Though this issue may seem de minimis, it’s emblematic of the aforementioned larger problem with adapting a Lovecraft story to the screen – images have an inherent literalism that cannot be shaken by metaphor, and vital to the tone and very narratives of Lovecraft is the absence of tangibility. In fact, Stanley seems to realize this issue with his antagonistic hue, opting to have the characters be inexplicably amazed and perplexed by a color we the audience can plainly see is a shade of purple, privy to a complexity or depth that we the audience are not. Nicolas Cage’s character, patriarch Nathan Garner, marvels that the color is “like a pink light. Or, actually, I don’t even know what color it was. It wasn’t like any color I’d ever seen before.” By contrast, Lovecraft recounts the color as having a glossy texture, and as appearing both brittle and hollow upon contact. Most notably in terms of our comparison, he prefaces his description by saying, “it was only by analogy that they called it a color at all.” As here, much of Lovecraft’s flowery omnipotent narration, necessary to understanding – or to not understanding – the force of evil, is replaced by clunky expositional dialogue that overexplains what should be left vague.

Despite the poor writing, Cage is, as always, able to make his lines feel natural. That is perhaps his greatest feat as an actor – he can project his gravitas and artistic purpose onto any screenplay. Here, it may also be a shortcoming, for a character without depth performed so earnestly becomes tantamount to parody. Cage’s character isn’t given nearly enough characterization in the first half, from much of which he is absent. This taxes the emotional weight of the plot, which relies on Cage’s descent into madness. As a result, Cage’s performance can be seen through like glass (unless this is what it looks like when he phones it in – not bad), appearing in all his classic moods as he normally does, the differences falling away: manic anger, romantic lust, frustrated depression, crazed joy. He’s animated, but two-dimensional, and though I’ve seen him do better with worse, he can hardly be charged with his character’s flatness. The plotline, already somewhat oversaturated in today’s horror scene, is bogged down by trope after trope. Fingers are cut off alongside carrots, the youngest child has an increased understanding of and connection with the supernatural, and there is an old hippie harbinger who seems crazy, but might just be onto something. A few of these trite beats were taken from the short story, but many are new additions, creative liberties which largely serve to tax the already-hollow sense of comic horror that the plot beats and cinematography can barely maintain.

Cinematographer Steve Annis shoots with wide angle anamorphic lenses and shallow focus to create a fittingly otherworldly-but-sickeningly-familiar image. While the camerawork and images are nothing special, the cinematography is a standout look of the year, a rare positive example of the trend of nauseating neons popularized by shows like Euphoria and movies like Baby Driver that use them as expressions of their characters’ emotional and physical state. The conflicts in Euphoria and Baby Driver are personal or criminal, on a small-scale. The exaggeration of the images is in contrast to the simplicity and internal nature of the threats and prospects faced, creating an overemphasis, from the characters’ perspective, on their own problems, and an indictment of their self-absorption. In Color Out Of Space, the conflict is one of terrestrial versus extraterrestrial, an external clash of extremely high stakes. It cannot be taken as visually overstated, because its story is as exaggerated and consequential as can possibly be. 

Unfortunately, the intriguing surface image of the film cannot make up for what it ultimately represents. That is, the tarnishing of the mysterious by way of unnecessary illumination. A written classic of terrifying uncertainty is relegated, albeit with undoubtedly good intention and perceived loyalty, to a smoke-and-mirrors variety show of horror stereotypes and John Carpenter’s best hits. By the time it finally insanity, Stanley’s screenplay has exhausted its entire bag of tricks and throws the bag at the wall. By its overwhelming and downright confusing climax, the movie is most comparable to slasher reboots, of any horror adaptations: a pretty, unoriginal, loud CGI mess.