By David Dent
It was only a few years ago that Annabella Rich began appearing, in small roles, in independent British ‘Fantastic’ film productions, so it feels almost generational to watch her directing debut, in which she stars with real life partner Chris Mills, himself no stranger to the independent movie scene.
Rich plays Casey Harper, an artist and mother of 2 year old Tommy, who when we meet her has been left with a friend, Jess (Francesca Louise White) so she can attend the launch of a book written by her husband Danny (Mills). Danny is an ambitious soul, in negotiations with TV and movie companies for a new book; it’s clear that life is moving a little too fast for Casey.
But when the couple return home, tragedy strikes; two men have broken into their home. Jess and Tommy are both dead, and although Danny manages to fight back, Casey sustains serious knife injuries; boldly most of this scene plays under the film’s opening titles.
Casey survives the attack despite having a near death experience in hospital, but the murder of their son and the trauma of the night hospitalises her. When she’s discharged, eight months later, Danny has moved them to a large country residence (afforded by the TV deal) to attempt a new start. But the couple remain raw; the film uneasily settles down to a succession of scenes where the couple talk about their grief, negotiate therapy and the way forward. Trauma and grief are staples of the contemporary filmic horror tradition, but they’re rarely as raw as this (as a self-confessed neurodivergent filmmaker, Rich is clearly exorcising some things here).
But while Danny tries to remain practical, even signing up for the vicar’s talking therapy sessions (where he meets the brusque Joe, a great turn from genre regular Johnny Vivash), Casey succumbs to frightening visions (including one with a demonic Danny, the movie’s most disturbing scene), and becomes interested in the conspiracy theorists and ‘experts’ who have proliferated since the murders happened. Danny acquiesces and invites Reynolds (Nicholas Vince), a self-styled occult specialist, who offers the theory that Casey’s temporary death on the operating table may have violated some kind of devilish bargain.
As one might expect from debut features, The Death of Us is far from perfect, but Rich and Mills give it everything they’ve got as grieving parents trying to pull themselves out of the cycle of despair. It’s a slow burner; boldly Rich is happy to show the repetition of actions that can surround grief recovery. When the film moves into Kill List territory it’s almost a relief. The film is tonally a little uneven and a few of the support performances are somewhat clunky, but The Death of Us nails its core emotions and is an uncomfortable account of the mechanics of grief.
Bloody Flicks 