‘Else’ Gets Under the Skin with Daring Takedown of Codependency [TIFF 2024 Review]
We often romanticize losing yourself in love, but at what cost? This is the question at hand in Thibault Emin’s Else, a thought-provoking France-Belgium co-production that recently premiered as part of the infamous Midnight Madness lineup at the 2024 Toronto International Film Festival.
Part love story, part existential horror exercise, Else is, for lack of a better phrase, not for the faint of heart. It’s not that it’s particularly graphic or stomach-churning (you know, in a traditional French extremist sense). Rather, it is the kind of film that aims to get under your sagging skin and into your brittle bones by putting relatable characters in out-of-body experiences.
Set during a different kind of pandemic, Emin’s feature debut follows two perfect strangers (Matthieu Sampeur as Anx and Édith Proust as Cass) who go from one-time lovers to roommates after the world suddenly shuts down. With rumors of humans being able to fuse with any material they touch, this odd couple hole up in Anx’s colorful and toy-filled apartment (is that a nod to Skinamarink I see?) in hopes of, you know, avoiding the plague.
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Of course, Anx and Cass can only stay safe for so long. With their unseen neighbors (whom we hear through the garbage chute) unable to contain their own outbreaks, one member of the couple eventually comes down with the tangible sickness. What follows is visually and emotionally harrowing, evoking the works of Guy Maddin, David Lynch, and even Junji Ito.
Else‘s visual landscape is out there in an icky, admirable way. Imagine, for example, what it might feel like to have your bedsheets permanently fused to your face as if they were a second skin, or becoming one with the sidewalk, your lower body brutally invaded by shards of concrete. How would it feel to witness a family pet turn to literal stone before your eyes, effectively cursing you to suffer a similarly slow and torturous death?
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Equally uncomfortable is the dynamic between Sampeur and Proust, which ranges from adorable to utterly awkward. Proust plays Cass as a radical independent, her quirky behavior at once charming and at other times entirely irritating. Meanwhile, Sampeur purposely holds back as the paranoid Anx. Together, they offer an unfriendly reminder of what can happen when an increasingly codependent relationship is left to fester in its juices for far too long.
One thing I wish I could eradicate from Else is the use of AI art at the start and end of the film, which takes away from the otherwise otherworldly practical and CGI visuals. When you’ve got such a sweetly sick concept to work with, why sour it with unoriginal imagery? Also, at what point are we going to move past lockdown as a storytelling prompt?
Ultimately an interesting, albeit flawed experiment in presenting a different kind of downward spiral, Else is not going to be everyone’s cup of twisted tea. However, as a taste of what else Emin might cook up in the future, it is worth a tepid sip.
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Else
Summary
This European experimental horror flick puts relatable characters in out-of-body experiences, using icky imagery to provoke and prod at our relationship anxieties.
