Since the dawn of cinema, filmmakers have marveled at and pondered the possibilities of the future. Golden jetpacks, slick skyscrapers, and hell, throw in some world peace. You look at the films of old and many seemed to hope for a better world. Naive as they were of course, it’s fascinating to look back and see what was predicted and hoped for. Wind the clock forward about a century and we seem to still be looking up at the stars and wondering, hoping for something better than what we’ve got now. What makes film such a special medium is that it can reflect our world back at us in all of its facets and nuances, in ways that open our eyes. As time has gone on and we’ve become more aware of the world and its realities, that reflection looks starker all the time. It’s good that we have abandoned naive narratives of the past that were also largely non-inclusive and abided by American exceptionalist politics that communicated the idea that America, through capitalism, would become a paradise. This is of course not the case and that becomes more clear with each passing day.
The thesis behind much of the tech-horror we see is that something is broken on the way to the future, creating the dystopian hellscapes we see. Spree argues that the system works just as intended and it is creating monsters of us all.
Eugene Kotlyarenko’s Spree follows an aspiring social media influencer, Kurt Kunkle (Joe Keery), who devises a twisted scheme to get internet clout by murdering people in his rideshare vehicle. On paper this immediately reads as hollow and a bit obvious. What follows in the film, however couldn’t be any further from obvious and flies at such a remarkable speed and with such verve and sheer terror, Spree is about as far from yet another Black Mirror ripoff as I’ve ever seen. Keery grabs you by the ears and announces that the future is right now, and it’s just about as scary as any dystopian film you’ve seen.
Speaking of Joe Keery, we are a long way from his lovable goofball performance in Stranger Things, trading in 80s attire for incel-garb, donning a look and aura that is as noxious as it is hilarious. Keery’s performance recalls any number of YouTubers and Twitter meme influencers whose lives seem almost entirely dictated by irony and a sense of self that is stronger online than it is off. Which is what makes Kurt Kunkle our most prescient and immediately impactful horror villain in years. It’s like if Michael Myers had an Instagram and decided to become a Haddonfield Lyft driver. Which isn’t to say that it’s all blood and guts. Spree’s greatest asset is its truly sick sense of humor that refuses to look away from how stupid — and how truly tedious — our culture has become, centered around clout and performance at the expense of our own humanity. From DJs to comedians and gamers, Spree makes the argument that we’re all in pursuit of our next ego boost, in whatever form that might take. Some are better than others at that. Some livestream themselves running people over set to “The Gummy Bear Song.”
What is perhaps most fascinating about the film aside from its remarkably evil lead character is the viewers who watch Kurt and chime in on his activities, goading him into committing even more heinous crimes and “WTF moments” that satiate their own twisted desires. Kurt viciously pursues the goal of being an influencer through nefarious means, but what is to be said about those who watch, comment, and laugh behind their screens at the evil. We see these comments displayed as the film progresses and they are as much of a character as anyone else, moving from sadistic to hateful to supportive and remorseful and back and forth and back and forth. The internet offers a sense of distance that desensitizes us all from what we see on our screens and Spree reminds us that none of us are safe from it. The ability to witness something horrifying on Twitter only to them swipe away and return to your Discord where everyone is discussing the best and worst moments in Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker for the fourth time that week.
It can be hard to talk about these topics and not feel condescended to. No one wants to feel like they’re being duped or that they are the thing being criticized in a piece of media — which is the film’s greatest feat. Spree never once reads as disingenuous or like it’s separate from the problem at hand. We are all the butt of the joke;the joke that when the credits roll and it’s time to return to our screens, is that the future is as normal and boring as it is terrifying. As we begin to unpack the implications of the internet and influencer culture as we enter a new decade, Spree feels like a jolt of cinematic electricity, announcing the next wave of films to come. Let’s just hope they stay this great.
