Movies are always a reflection of the times, and so it was only a matter of time before we started seeing face masks and hand sanitizer show up in the confines of Hollywood’s fictional mirror. Writer and director Ben Wheatley’s In the Earth is the first pandemic-set movie I’ve seen since experiencing one personally, and if I’m honest, I wasn’t looking forward to the experience. Too soon, anyone?
Though it was filmed in the middle of a pandemic and released during what is (hopefully) the tail end of one, fortunately, In the Earth is not about contagious illness at all – at least not in any traditional sense. Instead, the reality we’ve adjusted to over the last 12 months is used almost as window dressing and a mood amplifier instead of a plot point: this is a horror story that could have been told without the masks or viral tests at all, and as a result, it’s better off for it.
In the Earth follows scientist Martin (Joel Fry) and park ranger Alma (Ellora Torchia) as they venture into the forest to pick up the trail of a researcher who has gone radio silent. Martin has a personal connection to this researcher, Olivia (Hayley Squires), which is touched upon lightly and slowly revealed through the film’s runtime. Upon Martin’s first encounter with Alma, she warns him about some kind of folk myth about a presence in the woods. But their expedition is haunted by something more tangible: after the two set up camp for the night, they’re beaten and have some of their possessions, including their shoes, stolen. As the two struggle to navigate the woods barefoot and stalked by an unseen presence, they run into Zach (Reece Shearsmith), a man who lives in the forest and offers first aid, but has clearly been impacted by his isolation.
In the Earth is a patchwork quilt of influence, from the times it’s set in to it’s theatrical predecessors, including films like Annihilation, Midsommar, Evil Dead, Halloween, Misery, and Texas Chainsaw Massacre. That’s true of any film – that they’re built on reference and what came before – but it feels even more apparent with In the Earth, mostly for better and occasionally for worse.
The reason In the Earth feels like a patchwork of influences is because it swerves from one topic and danger to the next. One minute you’re watching a 70s slasher horror flick, and the next you’re in pure science fiction, and the next – you get the idea. What is there to fear: a pandemic, a myth, our fellow man, or something altogether different? It’s a strategy that keeps you on your toes as the film evolves and eventually becomes something entirely unexpected, and it means the action also never drags. The drawback to that patchwork approach, though, is that sometimes In the Earth doesn’t feel like it’s offering something entirely new: as a whole it’s unique, but its small parts each felt like something I’d seen before.
The mood is elevated tenfold by the dynamic score from Clint Mansell – you’ve probably heard his hypnotic work before in films like Black Swan, The Fountain, Moon, and Requiem for a Dream – and the hazy, trippy visuals that emerge as the film comes closer to its endtime. Much like the way its influences feel both like a plus and a minus, those visuals veer right on the edge of being a drawback: the film relies heavily on pulsing lights and flashing images. It was enough to almost make my head spin, and anyone prone to issues triggered by sensory overload might have a difficult time with it.
I had a good time with In the Earth, and any movie that can remind me of the last year and put its characters through sheer torture without making me feel like I’m being tortured has accomplished something unexpected. Even though it feels like a lot of puzzle pieces I’d seen before, it shapes them in a unique way and manages to feel completely new by the end of its runtime.