Studio: Magnet Releasing
Director: Prano Bailey-Bond
Writer: Prano Bailey-Bond, Anthony Fletcher
Producer: Helen Jones
Stars: Niamh Algar, Nicholas Burns, Vincent Franklin, Sophia La Porta, Adrian Schiller, Clare Holman, Andrew Havill, Felicity Montagu, Michael Smiley
Review Score:
Summary:
During Britain’s ‘Video Nasties’ era, nightmares and reality blur for a film censor reviewing a horror movie that awakens memories of her missing sister’s childhood abduction.
Review:
The USA had ‘Satanic Panic.’ The UK had ‘Video Nasties.’ While paranoid pearl-clutchers in America blamed metal music and Dungeons & Dragons for imaginary devil worship, people across the pond worried fright films were inspiring actual acts of vile violence. In addition to prosecuting multiple movies for obscenity, Britain tasked their ratings board with taking a big pair of scissors to videocassette horror and snipping out anything deemed too bloody, too depraved, or too nasty for uncorrupted eyes to see.
Enid Baines works as one such censor during that period. It’s her job to classify films with appropriate ratings and to dutifully document which objectionable scenes need to go in the garbage. It’s a job in potential jeopardy too. She recently approved a movie that depicted a man eating a woman’s face. When an actual killer does the same thing to his wife, the press points a finger at the film and Enid takes the heat for letting it through.
Enid mulls morbid matters of a different sort, however. For years, she has been unable to escape the guilt of a childhood incident where she and her seven-year-old sister Nina went into the woods together, and Enid returned home alone. No one knows exactly what happened, not even Enid. To this day she remains haunted by the mystery of Nina’s disappearance and what she could have done to potentially save her sister.
Enid’s missing memories get jogged in unexpected fashion when she reviews a horror film featuring two girls at a cabin in the woods, an ax, and a terrifyingly towering man. Erratic flashbacks trigger realistic nightmares that continue to crack Enid’s fragile psyche. She’s sure this movie mirrors the circumstances with her sister, yet how can that be? Enid hopes to uncover the answer by diving deeper into the film, except she doesn’t realize how this new obsession may be further marring her traumatized mind.
A major reason why many critics dislike review scores is because numerical values have a tendency to reduce hours of work into a binary yea or nay. Instead of digesting well-thought ruminations that explain nuances behind an arguably arbitrary number, some readers may only scan a score quickly and invent their own assumptions based on snap judgments.
I don’t care much about that concern because scores are simply a part of criticism culture whether or not anyone agrees with the practice. However, I am occasionally averse to assigning numbers in cases where scores are incapable of telling anything close to a complete story about a film, and may be even more useless as a gauge for what any individual person might think of a movie.
I’m speaking about situations such as “Censor,” which belongs to a specific classification of horror. Psychological suspense surrounds the story. “Slow burn” describes the pace. Although a tangible plot exists, we’re talking about a mood movie that uses mesmeric music, hypnotic hallucinations, and a sense of perpetually suggestive dread to create a pulsing dreamscape that’s ripe for interpretation yet palpably eerie at the same time. If you’re picking up what I’m putting down, I’ve already said enough for you to know if this film falls in your wheelhouse with no number being necessary.
“Censor” bears the additional burden of being Sundance 2021’s breakout buzz film in the genre category. There’s one at every major film festival. Earning those titles ensures that, once the movie makes it to the general public via wide release, ‘TruHorror’ trolls who have no appreciation for arthouse atmosphere will slither out of the woodwork to complain about that movie being “overhyped” and “not scary at all.” It happened with “The Babadook” (review here). It happened with “Hereditary” (review here). It will happen with “Censor,” and that’s another clear indication of what kind of horror movie this really is.
Of course, everything I’ve said about scores only applies when a reader comes to a review for a consumer report that will inform a decision about whether or not they want to watch a movie, which is where this primarily descriptive “review” comes in. Other critics may be more interested in unpacking a movie’s meaning with academic perspectives focused on thematic intricacies. For instance, “Censor” contains some subtext about passive-aggressive workplace harassment, particularly how it affected women in the early ‘80s. One scene depicts Enid being objectified when a studio suit openly ogles and hits on her in a casually disrespectful manner. Another scene shows a coworker slipping in “how about a drink?” during a shoptalk conversation. Someone else either has or will write a brilliant breakdown about that topic. I’m not the right person to do so. Instead, I’d prefer to talk about “Censor” in informative terms.
What did I think about “Censor” personally? Well, I’m still thinking about it, which is generally a good sign when it has been hours since end credits rolled and your mind’s eye can still see the screen (UPDATE: I’m posting this review two weeks after writing it and I can still feel the film in my head). The movie stutters from typical slow-burn stumbles. Several scenes don’t amount to much, neither in the moment nor in retrospect when the full story falls into place, so patience is very much a must.
“Censor” doesn’t always drag through its quiet drama though. As a portrait of a woman possessed by unreliable memories, “Censor” taps a vague Fulci/Argento vein capable of evoking that distinctly “evil” 1970s horror film feel. Low rumbles and drawn-out sounds of single notes populate the purposefully droning musical score. Rich colors visually echo the blurring Enid experiences between reality and dreams. Narrative faults then end up partially forgiven by a shock ending that’s as bonkers as it is bleak. “Censor” doesn’t always have the substance, but director Prano Bailey-Bond, cinematographer Annika Summerson, and production designer Paulina Rzeszowska definitely supply the style.
What does that mean for a review score? Does it matter? I settled on 60 since that number denotes a notch above average, which “Censor” certainly is at a bare minimum. Whether you want to add or subtract 20-40 points is entirely up to personal perspective. If anyone somehow still doesn’t know what their own number might be, I’m not sure what else there is to say.
Review Score: 60
If you want to see impossible amounts of blood explode crimson colors like the world’s worst version of a gender reveal, well, “Abigail” at least has that.