Oscar Madly (played first by Jack Fulton then by Connor Jessup) idolises his father. It is easy to see why; he's an imposing figure, attentive and warm. He's also the parent that stuck around. His mother runs out on them early on. It’s just the two of them against the world. Well, the two of them and Oscar’s pet hamster, Buffy (voiced with dry humour by Isabella Rossellini).
The thing is, Oscar’s father isn’t the model parent we initially see through Oscar’s eyes. The warning signs are slight at first, Oscar certainly doesn’t pick them up, but they are there for those of us who have lived through them. The most glaring are a few less than savoury dose of homophobia pulled out after Oscar witnesses a brutal gay bashing.
We may hear the alarm bells early on but we don’t see just how the relationship has curdled until we’re flung forward into Oscar’s adolescence. Now 16, Oscar is carrying around a heavy load of self-loathing and spends most of his time in his treehouse, prepping monster make-up for his college application folio. His relationship with both his parents is frosty, as are his relationships with just about everyone in his life outside Buffy. It is not until an unexpected fixation sparks up with Wilder (Aliocha Schneider), a sexually ambiguous co-worker, that Oscar starts connecting with the world. Unsurprisingly, this sets his gut a-churning, quite horrifically, and finds him staring down his damaged (and damaging) father.
I’m mindful that this doesn’t sound too out of the ordinary for first rung queer film but the beauty of Closet Monster comes in its delivery. This is a film working on all levels to accentuate Oscar’s identity turmoil and how deeply ingrained his issues are. The performances, especially Aaron Abrams as Oscar’s father, perfectly relate the complexity that Dunn has captured in his screenplay and the editing from Bryan Atkinson and the film’s sound design expertly layer history and memory to reinforce the familial germination of Oscar’s problems.
Visually, cinematographer Bobby Shore strays from greys to neon, using colour to navigate both nostalgia and release. And the score by Metric collaborator, Todor Kobakov, and Maya Postepski back up the images giving Closet Monster a healthy ambient electro pulse. Both will draw comparisons Dunn’s cinematic compatriots and not without reason. Dunn has digested some of his country's foremost practitioners of cinema and bent their influences to his film's stylistic and narrative needs. It would be hard not to notice the debt Dunn owes the body horror of early David Cronenberg or how Xavier Dolan's aestheticism has rubbed off on Closet Monster’s rhythms but at the same time both have been executed so impressively that and integrated so fully that they step beyond homage and into entirely effective repurposing. In fact, when Dunn combines the two is his emotive slow motion climax, the effect is astonishingly satisfying. It is a moment so beautifully constructed and so indebted to the entirety of the preceding film that it is already gnawing at me to be experienced again.
I used to rewatch films for those very scenes. To experience the shiver of excitement, the wallop of happiness or sadness or joy that has been conjured up by director who has hinged his or her film on a single moment. They are rare, especially nowadays. Dunn and Jessup and Abrams and Shore and Atkinson and Kobakov and Postepski and that fucking hamster have delivered one. And it is such a treat.
★★★★
Trailer:
Closet Monster screened as part of the Melbourne Queer Film Festival 2016.
You can check out other films from the festival here.
You can check out other films from the festival here.
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