She Dies Tomorrow

She Dies Tomorrow

“I hate exposition,” author/director/actress Amy Seimetz mentioned in a 2013 interview with Filmmaker Journal. This hatred is on show in her first full characteristic, “Solar Do not Shine,” the place a nightmarish situation is offered with an nearly blasé deadpan tone. “Solar Do not Shine” thrusts us into the world of the 2 foremost characters, and we’ve got to piece it collectively as we go. Seimetz’s newest characteristic, “She Dies Tomorrow,” additionally rejects exposition. Fragments are pieced collectively, interrupted by seemingly random insert pictures of the solar setting, a molten ball of sunshine, or microscopic cells swimming in a primordial sea. “She Dies Tomorrow” strikes a very haunting chord. By withholding exposition, Seimetz permits the premise to resonate in disturbing methods. That includes a assassin’s row of expertise—Kate Lyn Sheil, Kentucker Audley, Jane Adams, Chris Messina, Tunde Adebimpe, Jennifer Kim—”She Dies Tomorrow” has the texture of a horror movie, and is typically scary, nevertheless it’s actually an existential meditation on mortality.

The movie begins with an excessive closeup of Kate Lyn Sheil’s ice-blue eyes, surrounded by smudged mascara, eyelashes moist along with her tears, eyelashes caught collectively, her eyes staring unblinkingly into … one thing hypnotic and scary. The skin world doesn’t exist. This opening picture orients the viewer into the movie’s modus operandi. Buckle your seatbelts. Sheil performs Amy, maybe a clue to the movie’s private origins. Amy wanders via her home like a somnambulist, ingesting profusely, urgent her physique into the floorboards, the Mondo Boys’ cowl of Mozart’s “Lacrimosa” on repeat on the turntable. No matter is happening along with her, she is deep into it on the movie’s opening. Coloured lights magically emanate from one of many empty rooms, and Sheil glides in the direction of them, her face suffused with mild as she stares straight into the digital camera, at what we have no idea.

Different characters emerge. There’s Jane (Jane Adams), irritated from coping with her pal Amy’s relapses. This time, although, Amy is virtually in a fugue state. crawling via the dust exterior her home in a glittery robe, researching urns on the Web, and whether or not or not native leather-based retailers would make a jacket out of her pores and skin when she’s gone. She informs Jane matter-of-factly “I will die tomorrow” and Jane is, understandably, alarmed at this seemingly suicidal assertion. However later, dwelling alone, Jane is so overwhelmed by dread for no obvious motive she flees the home in her pajamas, and crashes a celebration hosted by her brother Jason (Chris Messina). Amy’s consciousness of imminent demise is handed on to Jane. Jane, in flip, passes it on to Jason, his spouse Susan (Katie Aselton), and their two visitors (Tunde Adebimpe and Jennifer Kim).

Worry is current in each visible alternative Seimetz makes: the digital camera placements are alarming, with sudden shifts of perspective. The digital camera strikes to flooring stage or peeks via {a partially} closed door. The model is experimental but coherent. “She Dies Tomorrow” jumps backwards and forwards in time with no warning, skips from night time to day and again, and though typically this method is unnecessarily distracting and self-conscious, it provides to the sensation of disintegration, every thing breaking down: norms, linear time, relationships.

The temper—with its unnameable sense of doom—is just like Lars von Trier’s “Melancholia.” In that movie, the rogue planet approaching the earth impacts every character otherwise: some are ready, others collapse. The lady you suppose may crumble is definitely the strongest, and vice versa. This performs out in “She Dies Tomorrow” too. Watch how every character seems to be into their very own private coloured strobe. Everybody sees one thing completely different: it makes them grieve, or tremble, or say what they should say instantly. Most of all, “She Dies Tomorrow” evokes the creepy method worry spreads, the best way contagion works on the subterranean stage, similar to these swimming microbes seen via Jane’s microscope.

The appearing is superb however I will pull out Sheil for explicit reward. I’ve admired her work for years. I first seen her in Sophia Takal’s “Inexperienced” and was riveted by what she dropped at the desk, her confidence, ease, and depth. She works on a regular basis, from “Solar Do not Shine,” Alex Ross Perry’s “Pay attention Up Philip” and “Queen of Earth,” the little-known terrific “The Coronary heart Machine,” and Robert Greene’s “Kate Performs Christine.” She goes deeper than most actresses go, typically into inexplicable wordless states (as in “Inexperienced,” as in “She Dies Tomorrow”). When she gazes into the coloured strobe in her home, Sheil exhibits how she will embrace the thriller of a second with every thing in her. Her face is lit up with transcendence and utterly mad, concurrently.

Unanswerable questions hang-out “She Dies Tomorrow,” questions most individuals do not need to have a look at. If you happen to knew you’ll die tomorrow, what actions would you select to take? What unfinished enterprise would you handle earlier than the bell tolls? Issues have a method of clarifying within the face of imminent demise. In “She Dies Tomorrow,” there is no such thing as a collective expertise. Folks don’t huddle collectively for consolation. Contagion brings isolation (this has eerie resonance with what the world goes via proper now). Whenever you face demise, you face it alone. In Hamlet’s “to be or to not be” soliloquy, he faces this fact head on:

However that the dread of one thing after demise,
The undiscovered nation from whose bourn
No traveler returns …

“She Dies Tomorrow” stares into the “undiscovered nation” of dizzying coloured strobe lights and makes you marvel what’s on the market, what comes subsequent, why are all of us so alone?