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There’s an AutoZone in my small Missouri town that I have passed all of my life. I’ve only been inside a few times, but every single time that I pass it, I am suddenly struck by a rather strong malaise. Imagine my surprise, when about halfway through Jane Schoenbrun’s We’re All Going to the World’s Fair, Casey (Anna Cobb, in her feature film debut), focuses her small video camera on an AutoZone. What we can primarily hear is the rush of cars, and what we can primarily see is the blinding haze of the sun shine. What honesty.  An honesty for the multi-media landscape that we exist within is the main hook of We’re All Going to The World’s Fair, which follows a teenager, Casey, as she falls deeper and deeper into a Creepypasta game called, I Want to Go to the World’s Fair. Her quest into the game is often monitored and commented on by JLB (Michael J. Rogers), who starts off as a mentor into the game, but then slowly gets more and more concerned for her safety. The lines between reality and fantasy start to blur, and the lines of the relationship between JLB and Casey start to blur. What I think works terribly well about We’re All Going to the World’s Fair is how calm and quaint it is about the truly heavy topics it decides to capture. The opening shot sits still for minutes on end, never intervening with Casey. Within those opening minutes, she manages to start a video message, stop recording, reset her personality and the room behind her, then start again. She manages to prick her finger open, and rub blood on her computer monitor. What we’re seeing is an intimate understanding of the repetitious and ritualistic ways that some of us interact with our presentation to the world. The number of times you repeat a greeting for Zoom, the pause you take before you turn anything on. It’s within that minutiae that World’s Fair mines nuance.  It is also where it mines horror. The seductive pull of these spaces for comfort is the primary antagonist of the film. I was not necessarily disturbed by the surrealistic elements of the film, even if they are pulled off with style and craft. What disturbed me the most was the different patterns that Casey and JLB use to comfort themselves. When you live in a bustling world, where most of the people have given up on their dreams and your imperative is to work yourself to the bone for 40 years, it’s impossible not to empathize with the characters that sprawl themselves out on their bed and beam whatever content they want into the back of their skulls. Casey’s repeated snuggling of her stuffed monkey, the continued drifting and dissociation of JLB, and even Casey's aimless wandering (her acknowledgement of an AutoZone) all serve to reinforce that world. But that’s where the film’s clever trick reveals itself. It understands that emotional space so well that when the true horror, the disturbing boundaries between Casey and JLB, reveals itself it mirrors the same dissociation that comes with that violation in real life. The whole thing feels at once very certain, and at once very confused. This is highlighted perfectly in the film’s final moments, which are consumed by a monologue that made me feel so scared that I haven’t shaken it. Why do his eyes look like that?  It’s those dramatic moments that work best here, but being about the internet, the film insists on taking on some of the structure of a video essay. A good chunk of it is consumed less by the character’s actions, but more the world-building context. A short Youtube video here, a post-modern pixel art video game there. While I understand the necessary function of these elements, it’s when the film used them that it started to lose me. There’s a craft to the subtle and horrible relationship that develops as Casey and JLB interact, but there’s nothing subtle about these sequences (even if there is craft). One could argue that the indirect approach of showing the media around the characters is subtlety, but as Marshall McLuhan said: “The medium is the message.” As the montage of Casey walking around those dissociated streets continues on and on, bookended by the media she consumes, I couldn’t help but get a bit exasperated. Where Schoenbrun and their collaborators succeed though is in a handful of incredibly deliberate dramatic choices. There are two shots in the film that track the characters with a handheld camera that mirror each other to brilliant effect. The disturbing content of the first shot, its disturbing feeling, feels dissolved over the mundane (yet sickening) tension of the second shot and vice-versa. The same goes with the continued use of the film’s personally designed, “buffer,” symbol. It circles around like a never ending carousel. By layering those different associations, We’re All Going to the World’s Fair stays horribly compelling.  And even when it is not, it’s hard not to think of it as intentional. The frame in which we experience Casey’s walks, or the pixel art game, are probably just as exhausted as we are. If I start to feel nothing, then what is the difference between when I encounter that content here, and when I do in reality? We’re All Going to the World’s Fair explores that question for everything that it is worth. It goes so far that the same malaise I get from passing AutoZone appears. That is not always a good thing, but I have to respect it. What honesty. We’re All Going To The World’s Fair will be released in cinemas nationwide from April 29 and on Digital Download and limited edition Blu-ray from May 9. Follow HorrOrigins on Social Media
1 Comment
Great review. Loved the writing... "it’s impossible not to empathize with the characters that sprawl themselves out on their bed and beam whatever content they want into the back of their skulls." I'm also digesting your perception that the online world-building might have detracted from the character-based drama. Interesting to try to imagine a shift in emphasis. Leave a Reply. |
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