From the moment Rebecca (Margaret Qualley) knocks on Hal Porterfield's (Christopher Abbott) door, there's an off-kilter uncertainty in the air. Presented as an attorney, Rebecca begins an audit of Hal's background in preparation for his ascension to the position of CEO of Porterfield, a chain of luxury hotels previously owned and operated by his recently deceased father. At first, the questions are benign, albeit odd for the proceedings — "How tall are you? How much do you weigh?" — but then things take a turn: "How old were you when you lost your virginity?"
As the dialogue swings, details become noticeable: Rebecca's blonde bob is clearly a wig, their quick exchanges are that of two people who have done this before, and that room service Hal was ordering is for two. And then the other shoe drops. Rebecca goes off-script, revealing their relationship: Rebecca, the dominatrix and Hal, her sub. In this session, Hal has written a scenario for them to act out where he's deemed inadequate to become a CEO of any company and punctuated with him in his underwear on all fours, cleaning behind the toilet.
Unbeknownst to Rebecca, this is their last meeting. Hal, with CEO in his near future, recognizes the potential harm their relationship could cause to his career. Rebecca, though, sees it differently; it's her influence and work they do together that gives Hal confidence and strength. When Hal attempts a cordial and respectful parting, he instead initiates a sequence of events that raises issues about the value of sex work, confidence, nepotism and more. And while Sanctuary may sound like an overwrought exercise in verbal intelligence, there's a physicality to the film that's brash and unexpected.
That initial feeling of uncertainty when Rebecca enters Hal's suite never really goes away. Sanctuary unravels itself in a manner most won't see coming, and not just in terms of of plot. Director Zachary Wigon shifts genre with ease, aided in large part to Micah Bloomberg's script and Qualley and Abbott's performances and chemistry. Qualley, in particular, does the most eye-acting of anyone I've seen this year, conveying every emotion under the sun without uttering a word, despite a film heavy on dialogue (a given for a two-hander).
That the two leads are given names attached to classic characters of cinema is not a coincidence. Hal, while originally content with taking commands, eventually finds his voice, possibly to his detriment; Rebecca, a mercurial presence, is not quite who she seems. Both embody organized chaos and neither is a reliable narrator.
The references to classic cinema don't end there. Sanctuary is Hitchcockian in its deception, jewel tones and dynamic camera work. Ludovica Isidori's cinematography and Ariel Marx's string-laden score play together in a synchronized dance that accents each beat of the film. In most films, these elements altogether may threaten to overwhelm, but the simplicity of Wigon's single-location tête-à-tête ensures that the artistic merits never burden the narrative.
Wigon does a tremendous job with a bare premise and stripped-down production (the pandemic no doubt contributing to the latter). For a love story to be shown through a psychological horror lens isn't particularly unique, but the skepticism and mistrust we colour Hal and Rebecca with lends a fresh take for audiences.
The conclusion of Sanctuary raised many questions for me. Is this another chess move by Rebecca? Is Hal receding back to his starting point before eventually becoming sentient again? Or am I overanalyzing things (again)? It's a tidy conclusion to a messy film, which begs to be explored.
(NEON)As the dialogue swings, details become noticeable: Rebecca's blonde bob is clearly a wig, their quick exchanges are that of two people who have done this before, and that room service Hal was ordering is for two. And then the other shoe drops. Rebecca goes off-script, revealing their relationship: Rebecca, the dominatrix and Hal, her sub. In this session, Hal has written a scenario for them to act out where he's deemed inadequate to become a CEO of any company and punctuated with him in his underwear on all fours, cleaning behind the toilet.
Unbeknownst to Rebecca, this is their last meeting. Hal, with CEO in his near future, recognizes the potential harm their relationship could cause to his career. Rebecca, though, sees it differently; it's her influence and work they do together that gives Hal confidence and strength. When Hal attempts a cordial and respectful parting, he instead initiates a sequence of events that raises issues about the value of sex work, confidence, nepotism and more. And while Sanctuary may sound like an overwrought exercise in verbal intelligence, there's a physicality to the film that's brash and unexpected.
That initial feeling of uncertainty when Rebecca enters Hal's suite never really goes away. Sanctuary unravels itself in a manner most won't see coming, and not just in terms of of plot. Director Zachary Wigon shifts genre with ease, aided in large part to Micah Bloomberg's script and Qualley and Abbott's performances and chemistry. Qualley, in particular, does the most eye-acting of anyone I've seen this year, conveying every emotion under the sun without uttering a word, despite a film heavy on dialogue (a given for a two-hander).
That the two leads are given names attached to classic characters of cinema is not a coincidence. Hal, while originally content with taking commands, eventually finds his voice, possibly to his detriment; Rebecca, a mercurial presence, is not quite who she seems. Both embody organized chaos and neither is a reliable narrator.
The references to classic cinema don't end there. Sanctuary is Hitchcockian in its deception, jewel tones and dynamic camera work. Ludovica Isidori's cinematography and Ariel Marx's string-laden score play together in a synchronized dance that accents each beat of the film. In most films, these elements altogether may threaten to overwhelm, but the simplicity of Wigon's single-location tête-à-tête ensures that the artistic merits never burden the narrative.
Wigon does a tremendous job with a bare premise and stripped-down production (the pandemic no doubt contributing to the latter). For a love story to be shown through a psychological horror lens isn't particularly unique, but the skepticism and mistrust we colour Hal and Rebecca with lends a fresh take for audiences.
The conclusion of Sanctuary raised many questions for me. Is this another chess move by Rebecca? Is Hal receding back to his starting point before eventually becoming sentient again? Or am I overanalyzing things (again)? It's a tidy conclusion to a messy film, which begs to be explored.
