If the camera lingered just a little more lasciviously on the opening sex scene, or if we got to ogle the bondage-clad ladies writhing in their glass booths in the underground strip club sequence longer, Chloe Okuno’s smart little feature debut might be said to herald the longed-for return of the lost, lamented erotic thriller. Without that skeevy edge “Watcher”must settle for plain vanilla “thriller” designation that doesn’t really do justice to its throwback qualities, nor to the enjoyable way it reworks its many cinematic references into an understatedly stylish commentary on modern womanhood, #NotAllMen and the latest incarnation of the concept of gaslighting.
There’s a little bit of “Repulsion”A dash of “Rear Window,”Obviously, but a subtle nod to “Lost in Translation,”But not always “Watcher”It plays in a more humble sandbox. Its most overt homage is to 1993’s “Sliver,”With the important disclaimer “Sliver,”It’s already a horrible movie. Without the hilarious sex stuff it would be almost impossible to watch. “Watcher”Actually, it’s pretty damn good. That’s thanks in large part to a terrific Maika Monroe, who gets the mature, psychologically rich showcase she’s fully earned with all the running and bleeding she’s done heretofore as a horror heroine.
Monroe portrays Julie, an ex-actor who is happily married to half-Romanian Francis. (Karl Glusman) She has just arrived in Bucharest to take up a promotion. Already in the taxi from the airport we’re put into Julie’s disoriented, struggling-to-keep-up point of view: Francis and the driver natter away in unsubtitled Romanian, of which Julie does not understand a word. To one salty remark, Francis takes offense, but, not for the last time, he translates a sanitized version for Julie’s ears. Okuno and Zack Ford co-wrote the script. One of its most genius aspects is Francis’ portrayal. Bad guyJulie and who loves her sincerely, but who treats her as if she were a reflex.
Large windows overlooking the darkened buildings are a feature of their large apartment. Immediately, Julie notices a shadowy figure looking in at them from an apartment opposite, but her unease doesn’t flare into all-out alarm until she becomes convinced that the figure is the same man following her when she’s wandering the city while Francis is at work. News about a serial killer on the loose doesn’t help her mounting suspicions, which are a little allayed when she befriends her next-door neighbor, Irina (Mădălina Anea), and they agree to look out for each other. However, this will provide cold comfort for anyone who recognizes that the victim is real. “sexy brunet neighbor who becomes the new arrival’s only friend” trope from the aforementioned Sharon Stone vehicle, and guesses where that’s all heading.
Given the recycled archetypes and often predictable plotting, it takes quite some skill, and Nathan Halpern’s fine, suspenseful score, to preserve a sense of eeriness. Benjamin Kirk Nielsen’s unshowy photography is a stealth virtue here too, remaining in such a naturalistic register that the few jump scares land and the genre-mandated minimum of bloodletting is queasily effective. It also hides the joins of the trickery required to keep the sinister man’s identity fluid: His face is usually glimpsed in peripheral vision or backlit or in a hurried sidelong glance that stops fearfully short at his chin. His features are a permanent blur, like a hazy memory or an incomplete photofit, an uncanny effect that doesn’t fully dissipate even when we do get a good look at him (it helps that he’s played by Burn Gorman bringing Crispin Glover levels of weirdo realness).
Right from the start, we’re cued to wonder just who is stalking whom. Julie accuses the man of always being at his window, which she only knows because she’s always at hers. She follows him because she thinks he’s following her. She feels vindicated after she finally gets a partial image of him using CCTV footage. “Look!”She says it to Francis. “He’s staring right at me!” “Or maybe,”Francis responds with the kind reasonable-guy logic that makes it tempting to kick him in his reasonable and logical nuts. “he’s staring at the woman who’s staring at him?” Pretty soon, the tables have turned so many times it’s hard to remember which chalice the poison is in.
Except that this is 2022 and Okuno and the effortlessly relatable Monroe have invested too much in Julie’s perspective to betray her, and by extension every woman who’s ever been forced to wonder if she’s “just being hysterical.” The vulnerability Julie feels is an exaggerated version of a vulnerability recognizable to every woman who’s ever pretended to be on the phone on a walk home or gripped her keys in her hand on her way to her car. Her self-doubt is a reflection of the inner voice that shames us for reacting too quickly when danger passes. “Watcher,”If it has an agenda other than being a fun, shishy, fish-out of-water chiller, it is not so much a manifesto for Believe All Women as it it is a reminder for all women who are watching to believe Ourself.