Bones and All (2022 | USA | 130 minutes | Luca Guadagnino)
Luca Guadagnino has never shied away from heightened depictions of the pleasures or torments of the flesh. With his adaptation of Bones and All he confronts an entirely different sort of misunderstood passion and hunger in the form of a cannibal love story. Our first sense of new-girl-in-town Maren (Taylor Russell) comes as she sneaks out of the shabby trailer home she shares with her seemingly overly-strict father. Her new friend has pleaded with her to make an appearance at a sleepover so they can get to know each other after school hours and Maren reluctantly agrees. Her quiet nervousness shows, but things are going well. Filmed from above through a glass table, a bonding moment between two girls sharing stories is sweet and ever-so-slightly romantic. That is, until it takes a sudden turn from teen dreams to gnarly graphic gore. The camera doesn’t show too much, but it’s more than enough: a revolting cue to the audience to buckle up and expect nothing other than “full sicko” from the ensuing love story.
Taylor Russell plays the role of a bloodthirsty teen with a mix of fear and revulsion. Incidents like this gory slip-up have too-frequently set her and her father (Andre Holland, wearily devoted) on the run. Soon, she finds herself on her own in search of her long-absent mother. A freshly-legal adult, albeit with limited resources, she embarks on cross-country journey by Greyhound bus. There’s a dreamy quality to her escape, bouts of false confidence, anxiety, and the country melting by through a reflective window. By way of a Walkman, she hangs on every word of the audio farewell note left behind by her father. Through this convenient source of exposition, she gleans further knowledge of her own history. With the story set in the early 1980s, there’s no Wikipedia or fan-sites to consult regarding tips & tricks for the recently cannibalistic teen. What she finds instead are more of her own kind: “eaters” whose biological need for human flesh makes them societal outcasts both gifted and cursed with superhuman senses of perception.
One, played by a singsongy Mark Rylance in a bedazzled blazer and creepy braided ponytail, attempts to teach her the unsettling ways of “ethical eating”. It’s a queasy lesson that tests the audience’s gag reflexes and her tolerance for extreme creepiness in a desperately needed mentor. Later, she meets Timothée Chalamet as Leo, a scrawny damaged punk with pink highlighted hair, ripped jeans, street smarts borne from years of grisly experience, and a quiet seductive air that he employs to frightening effect. Alongside an eighties soundtrack and a melancholic yet menacing score written by Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross, the two forge a friendship of necessity and occasional repulsion on a road trip peppered with unsettlingly grotesque encounters.
As their relationship deepens, the film challenges notions of radical acceptance and definitions of love. Amid jump scares and unsettlingly bloody sequences, it’s a showcase of menace, terror, and regret. As they bounce around the country in a beat up pickup truck, the pacing stops and starts like kids on the road with nothing but time. It’s not always perfect, but it finds room for magic hour stillness in the bleak wide open landscapes and the claustrophobic perils of small towns and woodsy campsites. As they quest for a version of normalcy, the film challenges assumptions (like, why are vampires cool but cannibals are so much grosser?) while keeping its audience on edge for the next revolting revelation. Of course, Timothée Chalamet and Taylor Russell convincingly go for it in conveying the curse of persistent hunger for human flesh, but you’ll truly never be able never to see Mark Rylance the same. His utterly unnerving performance is one for the ages.
A previous version of this review was published when Bones and All had its North American Premiere at the Telluride Film Festival. It opens in theaters on Nov 23
Header image, Yannis Drakoulidis / Metro Goldwyn Mayer Pictures.