“The world of love wants no monsters in it.”
It should come as no surprise that director Luca Guagdagnino would be interested in working on an adaptation of Camille DeAngelis’ novel “Bones & All,” considering that his resulting vision combines the best of the gentle romance found in Call Me by Your Name with the blunt horror of his Suspiria remake. It’s rare to find a film with such a high quantity and intensity of blood and gore that’s otherwise so soft and serene, but in Bones and All, Guadagnino finds a perfect balance by taking each genre to its extreme, resulting in a magnificently intimate cinematic experience that satisfies as both a tragic love story and genuinely unsettling horror tale; the stylistic sensibilities of an art film paired with the genre twists and thrills of a mainstream blockbuster.
In an introduction that establishes itself under the disguise of a typical coming-of-age film, we first meet Maren (Taylor Russel) in 1988 rural Virginia as she tries to fit in with a group of girls from her new school by sneaking out at night for a sleepover. When one of the girls begins to show off her new nail polish color, the atmosphere takes a turn for the grisly. After being thrown out of the nest by her knowing father (André Holland), Maren embarks on an Odyssean journey across the American Midwest. Alone and with no obvious destination in mind, Maren seeks answers by searching for the mother she was too young to remember. While on the road, she encounters a series of strangers who guide her through the subculture of “Eaters,” which surprises Maren as she previously thought she was the only one. Maren soon meets a stranger called Lee (Timothée Chalamet), a tormented vagabond and fellow Eater, whose arrival ignites a cautious companionship between Maren and Lee that’s based on a shared understanding of this rare experience that used to be private.
Amidst the rise of “elevated horror,” this cannibal love story (which is purposeful in never using the actual word “cannibal”) instead offers a straight-forward structure that feels refreshingly classic; it finds clarity in exploring its ideas through thought-provoking dialogue, rather than in layers of symbolism and abstraction. Still, the film’s genre lens allows for personal interpretation of this material, which could easily be an allegory for any number of things. While its story world is heightened and grotesque, Bones and All gives so much breathing space to a deeply human exploration of generational trauma, alienation, and the lengths to which we’d go to protect the ones we love. Together, Maren and Lee ache for an impossible sense of belonging, some new freedom in a world of love that wants no monsters in it. Attempts at settling down quickly become thwarted by the carnal necessity, which forces the pair to keep moving, and Maren begins to question the morality of her actions, in addition to the worth of living an entire life in such a horrific way.
It’s here that Bones and All differs from most other films in this sub-genre as a majority of these characters aren’t shown to get much enjoyment from their actions. Instead, their “feasting” more closely resembles a disease in the way this particular need can be genetically passed along; a necessity that very few people are stuck with and then forced to learn how to live with, and how isolating that very quickly becomes. Along the road, we meet an older and more experienced Eater, Sully (Mark Rylance), who always tries to commit the act as ethically as possible. He uses his astute ability of smell, a skill that many Eaters develop, to sniff out someone who’s already nearing death, and then waits for them to die before feasting. We later meet Jake (Michael Stuhlbarg) who lives on the opposite extreme: a killing machine who devours his victims “bones and all,” for the pure purpose of intense pleasure.
Audiences will likely come for the cleverly self-aware casting of movie star Timothée Chalamet, who gives another emotionally vulnerable performance for Guadagnino, but it’s Taylor Russel whose star-making performance truly carries the film. Mark Rylance gives a chillingly creepy, slightly sad, performance while Chloë Sevigny and Michael Stuhlbarg are nearly unrecognizable. The visual language of Bones and All combines the aesthetic beauty of traditional “lovers on the run” cinematography with sequences of disturbingly realistic body horror effects, while Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross’s score features a minimalist guitar motif that’s ominous and full of great yearning.
Movies have always been a home for those who feel like outsiders, both in the personalities of characters often explored, and in the viewer desperate to find a piece of themselves on screen. We all long for a real connection with someone who understands us fully, an aspect of the human condition that unveils itself so rarely that it’s worth clinging to whenever we find it. Bones and All reminds us that these moments are dangerously fleeting, with the film choosing to stay forever in the comfort of a warm embrace. Perhaps then, we too may find some comfort in what makes each of us different.
