“The world of love wants no monsters in it, so let me help you out of it.”

What defines a monster? Is it physical deformity that separates one from the rest of society based on traits that terrify rather than attract? Could it be behaviour that goes against common social and cultural standards and places an individual in a position where they are constantly being questioned for their actions? Perhaps the most simple solution to these questions is that monstrosity is often difficult to fully define – several writers and philosophers have approached the subject in the field of study known as monster theory, where they question the different aspects of culture, particularly those designed to place individuals who don’t conform into social systems in the most extreme way on the outskirts, labelling them as monsters – and while such a categorization is often not unjustified (especially since many of their case studies are legitimately worth of this classification), it makes it a truly compelling field of study. Luca Guadagnino is one of our most ambitious filmmakers, and when he opted to adapt the novel Bones and All by Camille DeAngelis, a love story that follows a pair of young cannibals making their way across the United States throughout the 1980s, he was once again making a series of very bold decisions, which is essentially the quality that best defines him as a filmmaker, setting him apart from his contemporaries in a way that has purpose, pushing boundaries that many of us didn’t even know existed until he set out to challenge them in increasingly strange and hypnotic ways. His first film set in the United States, but one that fits in beautifully with everything else he has made to date, Bones and All is an immense achievement, a horrifying but alluring provocation of both form and content, which takes a challenging story and translates it to screen with depth and complexity. This film is never focused on softening the blow of DeAngelis’s stunningly horrifying words, but rather reconfiguring them into a poignant existential odyssey in which Guadagnino ultimately tries to define monstrosity in his own way, and in the process crafting one of the year’s most unconventionally poignant character studies.

The foundational premise of Bones and All is essentially asking about the possibility that the monsters that exist in our society are not mangled, physically hideous entities that reside in the shadows, but rather those that walk freely among us, existing in the same social settings, and simply just expressing their monstrosity in ways that are more internal. The concept of the psychological monster is evoked in any piece of media that looks at serial killers or psychopaths, so there’s nothing particularly revolutionary or pioneering about this idea. Instead, the difference is in how this film presents these themes, going in search of some deeper meaning beneath the shocking content. Guadagnino is not a filmmaker who is known to show restraint – he’s a very gifted artist, but a lot of what makes his films so captivating is how they represent the idea of excess, both as a narrative theme and an artistic choice, which is present in nearly every choice he makes bringing this novel to the screen. Bones and All skirts the edges of decency, developing a method of unsettling the audience and placing us in a position of pure terror, which is almost entirely the purpose of the film. While the term “cannibal” is not mentioned anywhere in the film, it openly and explicitly centres on the concept of consuming human flesh, with some of the moments where we see it happening (which are quite rare – Guadagnino may have a fondness for excess, but he also knows the virtue of moderation) being outright horrifying. There is a version of this story that doesn’t show these acts on screen, and instead relegates them to the realm of implication, which is not a bad choice, but it would remove some of the most effective imagery that this film depends on, with the vivid depiction of cannibalism tying directly into the metanarrative around exploring one’s identity and surrendering to the urges that tend to consume a subset of the population. Importantly, Bones and All never condone these actions, nor does it even dare to romanticize them (despite the film being constructed as a romance between the two main characters), but rather uses them as the foundation to provoke a few deeply unsettling ideas that are ultimately interwoven throughout this narrative.

Desire is a concept that lurks beneath many works of art – what is artistic expression other than the impulse to represent something deep within us in a way that is creative and plays on one of our five senses? This is the driving factor behind Bones and All, which is a film about desire in multiple different forms, which is a common thread that we find running through every one of the director’s films, almost as if his entire career is a series of projects that explore the theme, each one a distinct and layered examination of these primordial urges. This film looks at the concept of carnal lust in both a metaphorical and literal sense – taking its cue from the Bonnie and Clyde trope of two lovers on the run, committing heinous crimes along the way to satiate their inner desires while still being inextricably bonded by their shared passion, both for these acts and for each other, the film is in constant pursuit of their psychological state, attempting to understand what can compel individuals to act out with such latent disregard for human life, which is taken to an entirely different level with this film, in which we see our star-crossed lovers engage in one of the most universally taboo activities known to the vast majority of cultures. The manner in which this film represents desire is extremely unique – it is truly unnerving, and it is framed to evoke the most visceral reaction of pure repulsion imaginable (and it would be concerning if any viewer saw this film and found those sequences to be anything less than purely horrifying), from which the story is able to develop, looking at the carnal impulse that drives these characters to a place of such enormous moral and psychological corruption. It employs an almost animalistic approach to desire, where these characters are constructed as momentarily losing all human composure, becoming scavengers feeding off the bodies of the dead – we notice how “feeding” entails characters descending onto all-fours, eating from the freshly-deceased victims like predators, rather than the more common depiction of cannibalism, in which these bodies are treated like butchered meat, to be prepared and eaten like any other food. It’s one of the many captivating ideas that anchor this film and make it such a peculiar but enticing horror-driven romance.

Guadagnino is a director who has always prioritized giving his actors meaningful work – his films may be driven by concept and spectacle in many instances, but he never neglects to ensure that the characters that populate these stories are fully-dimensional, well-constructed individuals who are both interesting and compelling, even if they veer towards villainy. Much of Bones and All is centred on the theme of identity, focusing on two young adults who find themselves questioning not only their individual desires, but also their humanity, which is called into doubt as they realize the scope of their lust, which goes beyond simply being impulses, developing into inextricable parts of their psychological and physical composition. Taylor Russell and Timothée Chalamet are exceptional in this film – it is the first time the former has worked with the director, and the second collaboration with the latter (Chalamet having one of the most extraordinary breakthroughs of the past decade with Call Me By Your Name, which remains Guadagnino’s greatest achievement), and despite having been present in the industry for a few years now, Bones and All feels like a reintroduction to both actors, who turn in astonishing performances as these young cannibals that travel across the country, doing their best to lead a normal life, avoiding the urge to take another person’s life unless it is absolutely necessary. The leads had quite a challenge ahead of them with this film – not only did they have to convincingly play these conflicted anti-heroes that exist on the margins of society, but needed to portray the deep passion that simmers beneath their relationship. The film is built on their performances, and both feel genuinely quite unnerving, while still capturing the distant complexity that underlies these characters. The supporting cast is populated by a range of tremendous actors that have small but pivotal roles – Sir Mark Rylance (as the central villain of the film), Chloë Sevigny, Michael Stuhlbarg and Andre Holland all appear throughout the film, contributing to the mosaic of complex characters that make up the story, which is constructed as a cross-country odyssey defined by both people and places, each one an addition to this complex psychological tapestry that Guadagnino is compelled to construct.

The world in which Guadagnino’s films take place are so distinct, since they possess such an unconventional beauty. Most of his works have been set amongst the higher class in their palazzi or summer homes, but he has occasionally voyaged into the slightly less-wealthy echelons of society, showing their terrain in just as much vivid detail as the rest. The key to understanding his approach to capturing the spirit of a time and place comes in realizing that hideosity simply does not exist in Guadagnino’s directorial vocabulary – everything has the potential to be strikingly beautiful, granted we are capable of spending the time unpacking his reasons for whatever setting in which his films take place. He had a slight challenge with Bones and All, which is his first film that does not take place primarily in a single location, or in roughly the same area – instead, it’s his version of a road film, following the protagonists as they travel through the United States, visiting many different towns, each one momentarily serving as their home. The director finds so much unconventional beauty in the locations they visit, which is astonishing considering how there was a concerted effort to set the film within communities and towns that were not known to be particularly alluring or known for their idyllic landscapes. Most of the film is set in working-class neighbourhoods throughout the Midwest, and Guadagnino intentionally showcases the rust-coated, overgrown locales, an America frozen in time. He finds so much complexity in the world he is exploring, demonstrating the beauty beneath the squalor, and actually managing to quite effectively reflect the darker tone of the film. There’s an ugliness that underpins the story that is factored into the visual landscape, and so many images in Bones and All are absolutely spellbinding, presenting one of the most unique depictions of American culture, both in the landscape and socio-cultural structure, which instantly elevates this film from just being a shocking psychological horror, with the sense of despair embedded in the locations playing into the sense of entrapment felt by these characters – how can they ever be expected to escape their own impulsive urges if they can’t even move beyond the most ramshackle, neglected regions of a country and culture in which they are unquestionable outsiders.

Nearly everything Guadagnino has made in recent years has been adapted from previous sources, whether being literary adaptations or reimaginings of classic films. Yet, despite coming from existing sources, these films never feel like they are merely adapting other works – they’re instead wholly original in every way other than the underlying ideas that propel the narratives, taking on an entirely new life under the director’s guidance. Bones and All takes a very simple young adult novel and transfers it to the screen in a way that is undeniably vibrant and meaningful, going in search of the deeper themes that underpin DeAngelis’ fascinating but disorienting story of desire and identity, the primary themes that drive this story and its many complex ideas. Guadagnino is a true original – his filmmaking is sumptuous but bleak, harrowing but deeply beautiful and captivating in a way that makes us feel both repulsed and fascinated, especially since he refuses to resort to pure shock value just to unsettle the audience. Every moment of terror and unnerving dread is intentionally placed in this film, designed to stir a plethora of emotions, which Guadagnino directs into a series of effortlessly beautiful and outrageously disturbing moments. Comfort was seemingly never a concern for anyone involved in this film, and there is a certain level of admirability in being able to deconstruct the filmmaking process to the point where the viewer is both terrified and entranced with the narrative, which explores questionable territory without ever condoning or justifying it. We peer into this horrifying world like passive voyeurs, following the journey of these two young psychopaths who cannot help but feel compelled to act on their urges, which is somewhere between an addiction and an intrinsic trait. It paints a haunting version of the world, and while it may take some liberties for the sake of artistic expression, there’s a fragile complexity that underpins this film, creating a harrowing but hypnotic version of the world. Grotesque and encapsulating, Bones and All is quite an achievement – and whether it is one that makes us feel disgust or provokes thought, it certainly isn’t anything one is likely to forget.