I saw the movie Annihilation a little over a month and a half ago. The film haunted my mind and seized a piece of my soul. Since that time I’ve tried to write an analysis that I thought was worthy of the experience I had. It has been a difficult process trying to write the analysis, I had so many thoughts about the film and I generally wanted to approach it from a somewhat depersonalized perspective that would objectively highlight the successes of the film and add my own thoughts to the fray. However, after several attempts to write that depersonalized analysis, I discovered the endeavor was fruitles. I realized that what struck me about Annihilation is not something I can dissociate myself from. What I actually want to convey besides an in depth review and analysis is too deeply personal to remove myself from. So instead of trying to remove myself from the art I think the best path forward is threefold: to describe why the film resonated so well with me by explaining my experiences with regard to my bipolar; how the film accomplished what it did, particularly how the film understands fear and finally why I think it should be appealing to a more general audience, specifically how unique it is in the context of the horror genre as a whole.
If you haven’t seen the film this is a fairly spoiler free rundown on the plot. Kane, the husband of the main character Lena, returns from an expedition into a strange ecological phenomenon called the Shimmer. He is confused and his physical condition quickly deteriorates, so he is rushed off to a hospital via ambulance. On the ride to the hospital the ambulance is intercepted by a quasi-government agency investigating the phenomenon of the Shimmer and diverted to area X a secret research facility. This is the first time Lena actually learns about the Shimmer as Kane was too confused to tell Lena where he had been for the last year. What she learns is that no one minus Kane has ever left the Shimmer once they’ve entered it, and that the source of the anomaly responsible for the Shimmer is in a lighthouse at the center of the phenomenon. Feeling she owes her husband, Lena joins an expedition into the Shimmer. Over the course of the expedition Lena learns a bit about what happened to her Husband’s expedition, a bit about what the Shimmer is doing, and to an extent what the Shimmer is.
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| The expedition enters the shimmer |
The film is rich with a number of themes, and I wish I could tackle each one. However, for the sake of incisiveness, I think it is best to focus on just one, that theme being self-destruction. I’ve seen a few articles describing how the film resonated with people's own experiences with mental illnesses, especially depression. This isn’t surprising; in fact Alex Garland, the director and screenwriter, has described the film as a reflection on self-destruction specifically how literal cellular and biological self-destruction mimics psychological self-destruction. It’s not hard to see how mental illness slots itself comfortably into that reflection.  |
| Pictures from Annihilation and art inspired by "The Colour Out of Space" by Lovecraft |
Creating atmosphere is difficult and necessary to any film, but in films that are heavily cerebral, metaphoric, and/or thematic it’s an absolute linchpin to success. Atmosphere is like the harmony of an orchestra. It’s an emerging property that is more than the sum of its parts. Annihilation's atmosphere is an interesting mix of the Lovecraftian feeling of the unknown and indecipherable (the film has quite a few similarities to “The Colour out of Space”), the the surrealist feeling of the strange but familiar (more of the Escher variety than Salvador Dali), and the Kafkaesque feeling of an oppressive and invasive force just beyond our senses, but still felt (I’m reminded heavily of Kafka’s short story "Before the Law”). The most obvious components of Annihilation’s atmosphere are its use of aesthetics which juxtapose beauty and terror in a seamless and disturbing harmony, and the audio and soundtrack which uses a strange timbre with an irregular but steady tempo that creates a certain un-relieving tension which tantalizes and mesmerizes without a simple resolution. Low pitches are used to create the feeling of boring into your head, usually followed by high pitches which stimulate a deep instinctual reaction to run or look closer. However, the most intriguing aspect of the Annihilation soundtrack is the degree to which it feels like something is actually trying to speak, but only in an odd imitation of what language should sound like. It feels like language but it is not; it gives the impression of speech but cannot be understood.
A bit of the music from Annihilation
If you were to try and distill the essence of fear from most modern horror movies you would surmise it must have something to do with death, disgust, and surprise. Most modern horror is shallow that way, but the true essence of fear is actually control or rather lack thereof. Every single fear that has ever been had has always been about the uncertainty of being able to control, which is why the unknown is usually correlated with fear. Often representations of fear are directed outward, for example many horror films focus on an unknown or known killer wandering about unleashing mayhem. The experience is intense for the uninitiated who learn not to trust the environment or the other characters in such a film. However, some select works of art refine the idea of fear into truly existential proportions of terror, and focus lack of control inward as opposed to outward.
If you were to try and distill the essence of fear from most modern horror movies you would surmise it must have something to do with death, disgust, and surprise. Most modern horror is shallow that way, but the true essence of fear is actually control or rather lack thereof. Every single fear that has ever been had has always been about the uncertainty of being able to control, which is why the unknown is usually correlated with fear. Often representations of fear are directed outward, for example many horror films focus on an unknown or known killer wandering about unleashing mayhem. The experience is intense for the uninitiated who learn not to trust the environment or the other characters in such a film. However, some select works of art refine the idea of fear into truly existential proportions of terror, and focus lack of control inward as opposed to outward.
We all know to a degree our environment is not reliable or trustworthy: things break, surprises happen; it’s something we learn early enough just as we all learn from the bitter sting of betrayal or neglect that other people are not to be trusted or relied upon. What happens though when the last bastion fails and we learn we cannot even trust, control, or rely on ourselves? What kind of unmitigated horrific tragedy does life become through such a lens?
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| A bear-like creature that takes the final emotions of the things it kills into itself. |
This is the essence of Annihilation: on top of every fear about environment or others the worst fear of all is the fear of a lack of self or self control. The film subverts practically every single horror genre trope and cliche in the book and as a result is one of the most disturbing films I’ve ever seen. Fairly early on it becomes obvious most characters are not going to make it, on top of that the film has few jump scares, and far from being disgusting, the terror of the Shimmer is beautiful beyond words. Instead of the classic peaks and valleys of normal horror, Annihilation feels like a slow unstoppable slide off a cliff into the horrifying abyss of the most broken parts of the human mind.
From the beginning, none of the characters appear to be ideal or perfect; their flaws are on open display even if those flaws don’t seem particularly unique or dire. As the characters journey further into the Shimmer though things grow progressively worse; the inherent inadequacies and self destructive tendencies of each character grow larger and larger, until it seems the person beneath each flaw is swallowed completely by their own pathology. Save for one who through the carnage prevails to the lighthouse. |
| The Lighthouse |
It is incredibly fascinating that a film that detaches itself from primal fear for the characters physical safety evokes such a resonant and emotional response from me. It should not be surprising though considering my own life experiences are usually more of the slow slide into the abyss variety. I hear some bipolar people aren’t capable of telling when they are slipping into mania or a mixed state. I generally have enough awareness to tell when I am moving into my highs and lows or my odd mixed states. That might seem like it would be some marginal favor, but in reality sometimes all it means is that you get a front row seat to your own slide off the cliff. Knowing you’re losing it and being incapable of reeling it in is a terror all its own, a terror mirrored in Annihilation, even as the team becomes aware of what is happening to them the knowledge does nothing to combat what’s happening.
One of the primary reasons I love Annihilation is because it successfully conveys what a mixed episode feels like to me in a way others can relate to. A mixed episode, for those who are unfamiliar with the term, is a phenomenon that occurs in bipolar when symptoms of mania and depression manifest at the same time, it's an incredibly difficult and confusing thing to handle. In my mixed states my thoughts, my emotions, even my choices become a strange kaleidoscope. In most of our day to day lives we have some boxes for thoughts and emotions: happiness and sadness can mingle but generally they don’t interact. They have their own box, and when they do interact it usually isn’t severe. Sometimes though we hit a wall and the contents of the boxes scatter all over and things become confused. The death of a loved one is a lot like a mixed state; in fact it’s almost identical in my experience; happy memories collide with sad realities, unresolved issues conflict with positive thoughts and create pain, guilt, confusion or any combination of the three. Anxiety and depression are never more than a pace away and it’s not uncommon to be laughing and crying at the same time, the feeling that you’ll never be ok seeps into your core, the urge to be alone and the urge to be comforted or loved compete for center stage and what we do is sometimes a coin toss.
Some people, many people in fact, like the simple thrill and rush that a dose of fear can give them which is why the current model of thoughtless jump scare horror is such a successful model. I’m not attracted to the horror genre specifically because of fear, rather fear is sometimes a necessary gatekeeper to other things. I remember when I first started playing horror video games, fear would threaten to paralyze me. “Just pause the game then close out and don’t come back” a tiny little piece of me would beg, hoping I would give in and I always had to consciously push my fear back to gain control of myself. What I found sometimes was there was an incredibly freeing sensation in continuing to move forward even in the face of fear. In the moment that conscious action pushed fear aside I no longer had any reason to fear. I would either be destroyed in the game or I would win which everyone knows, but there is a difference between knowing and truly understanding. In fact it was the simple act of moving forward that removed fear and piqued curiosity. The reason it did this is because it restored some semblance of control that fear warned me might not exist.
Fear is there for a reason though. Sometimes fear warns us about things that really are as bad or worse than we can imagine them. Sometimes when you push beyond the fear you are destroyed, or worse yet you’re mortally wounded and denied proper destruction. By the time the film reached its climax, I hadn’t felt at any point that any of the characters had had much control, and to the degree that they did, that control did them little good. The bit they did have gradually dissolved over the course of the film.
In my two worst mixed states I found little control; ruminating thoughts are nearly impossible to drive out. When they refuse to be displaced they become the lense through which I view all reality. Every small interaction, every detail I notice relates back to the ruminating thoughts no matter how arbitrary, it causes things to become warped and overwhelming. I can’t solve the ruminating thoughts because answers beget more questions and the questions never stop. My anxieties give way to surrender and depression, the problem is that even in surrender nothing stops, I can’t stop the ruminations by surrendering; even in total defeat I am tortured with wakefulness. To a degree I found myself envying every character that had been killed or allowed themselves to die, but I related most to Lena because I still have to move forward like her even though a part of me begged her to let herself die.
Some people, many people in fact, like the simple thrill and rush that a dose of fear can give them which is why the current model of thoughtless jump scare horror is such a successful model. I’m not attracted to the horror genre specifically because of fear, rather fear is sometimes a necessary gatekeeper to other things. I remember when I first started playing horror video games, fear would threaten to paralyze me. “Just pause the game then close out and don’t come back” a tiny little piece of me would beg, hoping I would give in and I always had to consciously push my fear back to gain control of myself. What I found sometimes was there was an incredibly freeing sensation in continuing to move forward even in the face of fear. In the moment that conscious action pushed fear aside I no longer had any reason to fear. I would either be destroyed in the game or I would win which everyone knows, but there is a difference between knowing and truly understanding. In fact it was the simple act of moving forward that removed fear and piqued curiosity. The reason it did this is because it restored some semblance of control that fear warned me might not exist.
Fear is there for a reason though. Sometimes fear warns us about things that really are as bad or worse than we can imagine them. Sometimes when you push beyond the fear you are destroyed, or worse yet you’re mortally wounded and denied proper destruction. By the time the film reached its climax, I hadn’t felt at any point that any of the characters had had much control, and to the degree that they did, that control did them little good. The bit they did have gradually dissolved over the course of the film.
In my two worst mixed states I found little control; ruminating thoughts are nearly impossible to drive out. When they refuse to be displaced they become the lense through which I view all reality. Every small interaction, every detail I notice relates back to the ruminating thoughts no matter how arbitrary, it causes things to become warped and overwhelming. I can’t solve the ruminating thoughts because answers beget more questions and the questions never stop. My anxieties give way to surrender and depression, the problem is that even in surrender nothing stops, I can’t stop the ruminations by surrendering; even in total defeat I am tortured with wakefulness. To a degree I found myself envying every character that had been killed or allowed themselves to die, but I related most to Lena because I still have to move forward like her even though a part of me begged her to let herself die.
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| Plants shaped like humans because they have human Hox Genes. |
Just as Lena though I always survive my mixed states, eventually I get the sleep I need, and I return to normal, even if there is a week or two of recovery time (which is another thing the film manages well: the burn out from such experiences take time to recover from and the lingering feelings and memories I have about those experiences are confused and uncertain). Annihilation isn’t a film with one simple straightforward interpretation. Even though many of us survive our self destructive tendencies and the consequences they make for us over extended periods of time and sometimes are even able to overcome bits of our self-destruction it’s not always clear how we do it. To an extent we murder the bits of ourselves that betray us or we bury the things that actively harm us, even though doing so is in and of itself ironically a minor form of self-destruction, albeit likely a healthy form of self-destruction. ultimately the ending falls into a category of bittersweet.
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| Lena at the center of the Lighthouse. |
While it isn’t exactly an uplifting film, sometimes knowing others struggle in similar ways is enough. I found in the end that it was cathartic; even if it is a somewhat haunting and tragic story, it feels strangely comforting and makes certain taboo or hidden emotions and thoughts less heavy
Besides deeply relating to the movie because of my own struggles with my mental health I think the movie tackles themes we can all relate to, and the artistic skill with which the themes are addressed has few rivals. Annihilation isn’t typical horror because it goes far beyond fear into mystery, into true pain, into identity, and beauty; simply put it has an exponential value that will leave the audience pondering long after the credits are finished rolling. The film has a rare quality that surfaces maybe a couple times each decade, it cannot totally be put into words (though I have done my best at attempting.) It must be experienced to be properly understood and to grasp its eccentric and unique qualities.
