Fantasia Fest 2020: ‘The Dark and the Wicked’ ravages with grief and death

Natalie Erika James’ Relic arrived earlier this summer with artful devastation. Its intersection of demonic possesion and real-world fear wrought of dimentia allowed for a vehicle of “humanity’s grimmest, most troubling experiences,” as we reviewed. Now, with Bryan Bertino’s The Dark and the Wicked, playing this year’s Fantasia Fest, suffering and its outward seismic aftershocks play a key role in one family’s downward spiral.

The Dark and the Wicked follows two siblings, Louise (Marin Ireland, Hell or High Water, The Umbrella Academy) and Michael (Michael Abbott Jr., The Death of Dick Long), as they return home to care for their dying father (Michael Zagst, Divine Access) and a mother (Julie Oliver-Touchstone, Preacher, Backroad) who’s unravling at the seams. Grief can do downright bizarre things to a person; such a tremendous feeling of loss often causes family to become total prisoners to the emotion and the inevitable. Lying comatose and barely breathing, the father’s presence hangs like thick sap over the entire picture, and it is often in the softer moments that ring the most terrifying. Death itself is the most frightening experience a human being will ever face.

Bertino, known for such films as The Strangers and The Monster, tricks you into becoming complacent. You think what you’re witnessing is your usual, run-of-the-mill posession story, but within the first 17-18 minutes, the writer/director brings the viewer to their knees. The first act’s violent trauma burns like hot embers that’ll never die, and this set-up can never be erased from memory. When other mudane things start to go amiss, like a kitchen chair moving on its own or the front door standing wide open, sorrow and mental exhaustion spill like glasses of milk into the real world. Louise and Michael soon must confront their own grief, whether they’re ready to or not, and combat against the natural inclination to be consumed by it.

The Dark and the Wicked swings its pendulum across to a distinctly constasting approach than Relic, one fully beholden to a literal interpretation ⏤ yet the malevolent entity, whatever it might actually be, still takes a backseat. Rather, it’s very existence looms over the characters but rarely in its own unique form. And that’s essential to its thrill. This catastrophic epic ⏤ anchored with a powerful lead from Ireland ⏤ wields a sharp blade around how death ravages an entire family. It’s not just about a spouse or child grieving; it’s the deep, inescapable imprint of trauma itself.

Follow B-Sides & Badlands on our socials: Twitter | Facebook | Instagram