Out of Screamfest, Andrés Beltrán’s Postmortem establishes a terror eerily akin to The Autopsy of Jane Doe. Its clearly sketched horror tests the viewer through smoldering subtle scares (i.e., those that occur when the camera is fuzzy or blurred) that get the heartbeat racing. And that fear lingers on your skin. You barely shake off the dread when another cursed background image catapults you back into that terror-fueled daze. The writer/director uses common tropes, fine tunes them, and then smacks you with a thrilling fright fest that just never stops. Sturdy building blocks give the story an unshakable foundation, and as Beltrán extends and adds to it, Postmortem transforms into a tremendous piece of filmmaking.
Helena (Odette Annable) works as a mortician, and she’s used to very long, thankless hours. Her morgue co-worker Pablo (Tony Revolori) is welcome company on those late nights of autopsy reports and pots of coffee. As you can imagine, some examinations stick in Helena’s brain, so much so, that she’s haunted by the dead. When a group of Mexican immigrants commits mass suicide, they’ve got their work cut out for them. The police expect a quick turnaround, and when no one identifies any of the victims, the chief greenlights cremation of all the bodies. One survivor might be the key to unlocking what exactly happened, though, and Helena can’t rest until she figures it out.
After watching footage from a video camera, Helena and Pablo get a glimpse into the suicidal ritual that finds the cult members performing a chant and stabbing themselves with a sharp, rusty blade. A series of mysterious clues leads them down a spiral staircase of death, delusion, and disaster. As they draw closer to the truth, the dead set their sights on Helena’s daughter Julia (Allegra Leguizamo), who could become a new vessel for the cult’s leader to inhabit. Beltrán’s script is a suffocating, claustrophobic descent into the fiery flames of hell itself. Paired with cinematographer Santiago Otoya’s moody visual style, Postmortem delivers the doom and gloom necessary to prick the skin and draw blood.
Annable reliably leads the film with an exploration of grief and letting go. She understands the raw gravity and psychological impact of the loss of Helena’s husband. Her performance appropriately mines the furthest depths and darkest corners of the mind in sharpn jabs and uncovers the intensity of being so overcome with grief that you make dangerous choices. Beltrán is keenly aware of her talents, directing her with stunning looseness that gives her freedom to go to unbelievable places without adhering to strict boundaries.
Andrés Beltrán’s Postmortem not only breaks through the noise of hundreds of festival fare, but it also stands out in the sea of countless similar stories about death, resurrection, and ritualistic sacrifices. It’s smart to focus on the emotion and let the performers guide the story with abandon. Horror often captures the brokenness of the human spirit, and Postmortem achieves rare greatness wrapped tightly in a hell-bounded package that will make you scream.
