The post-apocalypse combined with the family nucleus (se) sells well, among other things, in cinema. Among its star products of recent years: Bird Boxby Susanne Bier, and A Quiet Placeby John Krasinski. In the first, the survival of a mother and her children depended on being blindfolded. In the second, the Abbotts’ depended on their ability to make no noise.
After “you will see nothing” and “you will not speak”, comes Never Let Go (Never give up in VF), by French director Alexandre Aja (HornsTHE remake of The Hills Have Eyes), where a woman and her twins inherit a new commandment: “You shall not let go.” No, not the folk potato, but a rope. The question remains whether it is the one to hang yourself with or whether it is the umbilical cord that we refuse to cut…
A dilapidated house in the heart of a dense forest is home to June (Halle Berry) and her sons, Samuel and Nolan (Percy Daggs IV and Anthony B. Jenkins, both very accurate). The kids and their mother can only leave—to hunt and gather—after attaching themselves to a rope that connects them to the family nest. Otherwise, Evil will take hold of them. At the slightest touch, this Evil, which has decimated humanity, “makes people do bad things.” The threat, although imprecise, is significant. It works with the boys. Until one of them begins to ask (himself) questions. Moving away from his brother. Worrying his mother.
Halle Berry’s ambiguous performance perfectly reflects all the danger that emanates from this fracture. The actress creates with aplomb and credibility a woman who is both protective and unstable, fierce and uncompromising in the application of the rules, ready to do anything for her loved ones but haunted by past traumas with hints of religiosity. June has seen Evil in action. And she sees what results from it today, embodied by these figures from the past that are her parents and her husband, wandering in the woods like zombies.
His character is one of those in front of whom it is difficult to know which foot to dance on. This is intentional. Too bad the story does not follow.
Ambiguity thus gives way to a non-artistic vagueness. Are we lost in the forest of (horror) tales or in the meanders of a sick brain? Are we where the The Village by M. Night Shyamalan and 10 Cloverfield Lane by Drew Goddard? After many twists and turns and changes of direction, we come to think that even the screenwriters Kevin Coughlin and Ryan Grassby were unaware of it. Especially since out of these uncertainties come far-fetched coincidences. (Oh, how fortunate, this Polaroid camera that came out of mothballs!) Sigh.
In short, despite the fairly classic jolts, but well served by Robin Coudert’s soundtrack, despite the tension and unease generated by Alexandre Aja, it is impatience and the impression of marking time and/or wandering that quietly impose themselves on the side of the room. And, at the end of the too many minutes of the feature film, it is boredom that ends up triumphing.