HIGH RISE — Film Review
The brief description on the back cover of the DVD doesn’t even come close to conveying the kind of psychological debauchery contained in this film. What did I just experience? It’s hard to really say. It felt less like a 2-hour movie, and more like a 3-day acid trip. The unexpected brilliance here requires one to go into this journey with little to no background knowledge. Of course, if you have read the novel it was based on by J. G. Ballard that simply won’t do. Still, I feel compelled to share my thoughts and feelings.
I came across High Rise (2015) at a thrift store awhile back. For $2, I purchased the unopened copy and placed it on a shelf in my home. I remember reading something about the film online and the reviewer had good things to say. I was familiar with Tom Hiddleston as a talented actor and took a gamble. For $2, if it was garbage, I could donate it back to the same thrift store and still feel okay about the whole thing. Weeks turned into months as the cover collected dust. Not that I didn’t have the time, but because I was unsure. I stopped at a Red Box to check the selection. Finding nothing but straight-to-DVD trash from washed up B-list stars and more of the same movies I had avoided seeing in theaters this year, I remembered the DVD on the shelf at home and decided tonight was the night. Long story short, it was not to be. I awoke the next morning with a terrible headache, popped some aspirin, brewed some coffee, peered through the blinds at the overcast grey skies and crawled back into bed.
I hit the play button. The intro to the film greets you with a blaring classical symphony as Hiddleston’s character, Dr. Robert Laing, settles into his new apartment in the aforementioned “high rise”. This may have been a mistake, I remember thinking, but as the aspirin and coffee started working, so did the film. There was something off about this place I thought, this Dr. Laing, a brain surgeon no less, was in for it. I couldn’t have imagined how right that proved to be. As we begin to meet the other tenants of the high rise, things go from a bit strange to totally bizarre.
The building’s floors and its inhabitants are classified by social status. The lower levels are for the regular folk, the higher you climb on the “lift” the more deranged people to seem to be. The elite live above the rest, topped off by the building’s architect Mr. Royal, played perfectly by Jeremy Irons. Royal lives on the top floor penthouse with his wife, and is a mad scientist of sorts. The affluent residents at the top look down their noses at the people in the lower levels, yet it is hard to discern any real difference between them save for their own askewed image of themselves. Down below it’s the 1970's in every way, with the free-love, cocaine, plenty of booze and dancing from apartment to apartment. Children run around unattended and nobody ever seems to go to work, or even leave the building for that matter. Not that anyone really needs to, the building has its own grocery store, gym, pool, and all the apartments have balconies for the occasional breath of fresh air and vitamin D. The balconies also serve as a great way to spy on your neighbors, as everyone seems to be doing. There are no secrets in the high rise.
The dynamic between the two-sides reaches a boiling point based around a pool party and a dead dog. As the ashtrays overflow, sex and violence prevail. A line in the sand is drawn and each side descends into this chaotic and psychotic party mode that does not quit. Watching this unfold is surreal. Think “Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas” meets “Apocalypse Now”. The violence is real and unexpected but the circumstances warrant it and somehow it all makes sense. Its total anarchy, unapologetically demented and wickedly beautiful at the same time.
It didn’t feel like I was watching a film unfold, it felt like I was part of it. That’s an accomplishment for any filmmaker, and the director Ben Wheatley does an outstanding job. As a viewer we’re not sure whether to vomit or break out in dance. Should we feel guilty for going along for the ride? You decide. I think I’ll put this one back on the shelf for another viewing down the line. Now, it’s time to go take a shower…
