Pearl: A Perfectly Cromulent Horror Movie
I have nothing to say about Pearl, which is problematic.
I’ve always been a go-along-to-get-along kind of person1. Even as a kid, I pretty much ate whatever was put in front of me2, wore whatever my parents bought for me, and did my chores with the cheerful oblivion of the slightly stupid. I used to think that this easygoing attitude made me, well, easy, but I’ve come to understand that never having any strong opinion about stuff is actually quite annoying and difficult. Growing as a human being kind of sucks.
This practice of navigating my life with a shrug has long extended to my film viewing habits; I’ll pretty much watch anything that comes my way3. If it’s a mediocre horror movie I’ll watch it twice, which is how I came to watch X a few months ago (I wrote about it in a previous issue of this storied newsletter, in fact) and why I came to watch that film’s prequel, Pearl. It’s almost certainly why I will watch the next entry in the trilogy, Maxxxine, when it comes out unless I have died of some mysterious ailment or civilization collapses and my television no longer works4. Which, considering the state of the world and my advancing age, are both disturbingly possible scenarios.
Most works of fiction land somewhere on the spectrum of entertainment and artistic value, giving bloviating blowhards like me something to write about5. Bad movies can generate a lot of commentary as you dissect what went wrong, and great movies give you plenty to yammer on about detailing what they did right. But Pearl is a movie that sits more or less at the exact center of that spectrum. It’s not a bad film. It’s not a particularly good film. It’s ... a film6. And as a result it’s one of those rare creations: A movie I have almost nothing to say about.
It Has to Be Me
Pearl is the origin story of X’s murderous Pearl, played by Mia Goth in both films (Goth also portrays Maxine in X). In X, Pearl is an elderly woman who creeps on the younger characters, clearly coveting their youth and sexual freedom, before savagely murdering most of them7. In Pearl, she’s an unhappy young woman in 1918 Texas living on the family farm with her strict, fun-hating German parents. Her father is an invalid in need of constant care, and her mother is a grim survivor of a woman who shits on any and all of Pearl’s dreams, which mainly involve becoming a famous actress. Pearl’s misery rises and rises as she wrestles with her attraction to a local film projectionist and the absence of her husband, who is serving in World War I.
And ... that’s really about it. Pearl becomes increasingly unhappy and deranged, murder ensues, and it ends8. Is it bad? No! It’s quite enjoyable, and there are some layers to the narrative as it deals with Pearl’s conflicted sexuality, loneliness, and sense of being trapped by the limited opportunities for women in the early 20th century. It is a perfectly cromulent film.
Which means there isn’t much to say about it. The themes are right there, pretty obviously on the surface, and the story itself is broad and well-telegraphed. Since it’s a prequel, we know exactly where Pearl ends up about 60 years later, so there’s not much mystery there. Goth’s performance is very good—the final smile she holds for what seems like forever over the ending credits should win a special Oscar for Most Disturbing Facial Expression9—and Ti West’s direction is confident and occasionally graceful.
But there’s nothing surprising here.
Surprise! You’re Dead
Surprise in storytelling isn’t necessarily plot twists and shocks. More often, actually, the most potent form of surprise in a work of fiction is when a story isn’t quite what you expected. Consider the humble situation comedy on television: With a few exceptions, the whole point of a SitCom is to deliver the same experience over and over again with only subtle and largely transient variations10. There’s nothing wrong with that, but it’s a limitation, and it’s one reason why we don’t spend a lot of time discussing sitcoms (and when we do, it tends to be the sitcoms that actually surprised us, like Community).
It’s easy to make a few assumptions about a film like Pearl after you’ve seen X. And you’re right about just about all of those assumptions concerning the plot, the tone, and the characters. That doesn’t mean the film’s not enjoyable—heck, we all re-watch movies multiple times, and we still enjoy them even though we’re not terribly surprised when the story is exactly the same on our fifth re-watch as it was on our fourth. But it does mean there isn’t much to say about this movie, and that is not exactly something any writer should aspire to. The thing is, even bad movies often inspire discussion because of their bizarreness, their specific brand of awfulness, or because there’s a ghost of something better peeking out between the cracks. Having absolutely nothing to say about a movie implies a bland sort of dull competence11.
Or, of course, it might imply that the person writing these essays has a bland sort of competence and is missing something. Which is entirely possible; I haven’t slept in sixteen days and my diet consists of peach schnapps and Social Teas, the greatest tea biscuit in the world12. It might be entirely my fault that I saw nothing to write about in Pearl, in the same way that it’s entirely my fault that back in college I used to argue that Shakespeare was an over-praised hack simply because I enjoyed the way people’s eyes bugged out of their heads in my English classes.
Of course, I have magically generated 1,000 words on the subject of having nothing to say about Pearl, which means I am either a genius, a magician, or a hack13. Shut up.
Next week: Triangle of Sadness and losing faith in your story.
My time is valuable. Complaining about stuff just wastes it.
Luckily, I grew up the olden days, so my mother fed me a steady diet of butter, salt, and red meat, so I had nothing to complain about. When the heart attack hits in a few years, though, believe you me Mom’s spirit will get an earful.
This explains how I came to see Who’s Harry Crumb in the theater.
I keep thinking I should buy a new television, and then I remember that when I was a kid I had a 13-inch black and white TV and I opt for a nap instead.
Must … keep … writing … or … what … is … even … the … point … of … me.
This also basically summarizes my retirement plans.
Forget the title, that more or less describes the narrative arc of my memoir.
I will see that expression in my nightmares for years to come, so I suppose the film works at least on the level of slowly driving me insane.
This is also how I choose to live my life, and the subtler and more transient those changes are, the better.
Is “A Bland Sort of Dull Competence” the title of my memoir? Sadly, yes.
When I was a wee one my grandmother would make tea when I came home from school for lunch and I would eat an entire box of Social Teas and she would get very angry and that’s the relationship I had with Nanny in a nutshell.
Why not … all three?
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