Culturally, we are usually predisposed to categorize absolutely everything, with our tendency to compartmentalize absolutely every work we come across being one of the many universal quirks that we find throughout the history of art, and something that has driven us to the point where everything has to be considered aligned with a specific set of standards, or be viewed as something of a failure. However, there are those works that are uncategorizable by design – whether it be Queen’s “Bohemian Rhapsody”, Thomas Pynchon’s Gravity’s Rainbow or the expansive world created by David Lynch and Mark Frost in Twin Peaks, all of which are very important works that bear cultural relevance primarily as a result of their inability to be classified under any discernible category, and where attempts to do so usually result in fervent debate, since these were never intended to fit into any of the boxes that we have been led to believe are the only validation for a work of art. It almost seems frustratingly ironic that we have even now created a scenario where there is a category reserved for works that often defy classification, which only makes it more obvious how we are always undergoing the process of placing concepts into broad genres or categories – and one of the more recent entries into this canon is Beau Is Afraid, the perverse and deranged odyssey by Ari Aster, who makes his third feature-length film, and much like his peers in horror Robert Eggers and Jordan Peele, proved that his third production is possibly his most ambitious yet. Telling the story of a painfully mediocre man who tries to make his way back to his hometown, but faces numerous obstacles that stand in his way, the film is a fascinating document that finds Aster doing some of his most audacious work to date, even if it is also possibly his most complex film to date, which could either be wildly exciting or deeply depressing, depending on your perspective and how much you subscribe to Aster and his ridiculous, over-the-top style that is either indicative of a genius artist or someone truly deranged – perhaps a combination of both is an appropriate description.

For anyone who has ever craved spending three hours watching an ordinary man gradually unravel as he comes to terms with the vicious nature of reality, Beau Is Afraid is the perfect candidate, which is both a resounding endorsement and a deeply sincere warning. There aren’t many films that feel divisive from the first moment to the last, but this is certainly one of them, especially since it hails from a director who has always relished in his ability to unsettle and dismantle social conventions, starting at the core and working his way to the proverbial jugular (although his obsession with severed heads is not something that should be ignored as merely an artistic quirk), at which point even the most hardened of viewers will start to feel unsettled. This film is best described as a deconstruction of the human mind, as filtered through the perspective of the protagonist, an ordinary man seeking nothing but peace in his life, but who constantly runs into mishaps and misfortune, which cause him to steadily decline, physically and psychologically. Watching this character quite literally fall apart is an unforgettable experience, for better or worse – and the fact that this is not a film that ever gives us the answers, or even attempts to disclose the thought process that went into this deranged absurdist masterpiece. Additionally, in the process of evoking a spirit of fear and anguish, covered in a layer of absurdist humour, Aster has crafted one of the most accurate depictions of anxiety neurosis ever committed to film, especially since it doesn’t view these as mere eccentricities or quirks, but rather daily struggles for those afflicted with these invisible conditions. This doesn’t mean Aster makes it any easier to understand, and there are very few moments of genuine compassion, which makes those more empathetic scenes so much more compelling, while still being outrageous and terrifying, perhaps two words that Aster himself would appreciate as a description for this film and absolutely everything that it represents – perversion, non-adherence to the status quo and the refusal to justify a single one of his directorial choices, bold but ambitious in a way that feels fresh and invigorating, which is exactly where Aster needs us to be in order to deliver the psychological torment that pulsates at the very heart of this film.

Yet, beneath the surface, even addressing the artistic ambitions and very broad psychological nuances that drive the film, Beau Is Afraid is still a film that harnesses some striking but simple themes, which are woven into the fabric of the film, explored throughout, even when it isn’t explicitly clear. If we view this film in comparison to Hereditary and Midsommar, we start to see common themes, threads that tie the films together, not necessarily in the sense that they are directly related to each other or self-referential, but rather because they contain a very interesting sense of honesty and irony that are shared between them, which seem to have their roots within Aster’s own experiences. There is an argument to be made that all horror is inherently socio-political in some way, and that every one of them has some deeper meaning, usually being drawn from the creator’s personal trauma. It has become a genre in which many writers and directors have actively pursued the freedom of using horrifying imagery and dark emotions as a basis for their thinly-veiled commentaries on any number of subjects, using the medium as a journal on which they can liberally disseminate their own quandaries and insecurities, hiding behind the emotion of fear, a powerful and indescribable sensation. Beau Is Afraid is a film that immediately makes us wonder what maternal trauma Aster suffered in his early and adult life, since between this and Hereditary, his depiction of family (and in particular motherhood) is impossible to ignore, and likely one of the reasons this film feels so unsettling. Considering the bond between a mother and child is seen as one of the most beautiful and sacred, having a film revolving around the journey someone takes to honour his mother, only to have her emerge from the shadows and indicate that he is a disappointment, is immediately a subject that will earn a fair amount of controversy. Whether or not Aster draws from his own experiences, or if this is all conjecture, it is clear that his filmmaking career has been defined by his penchant for unsettling and upheaving common conceptions, and using the medium as something of an abstract visual diary immediately catches our attention, even if not necessarily for the right reasons.

By now, Joaquin Phoenix has done more than enough to prove himself as a very gifted actor, and while his style may often be quite divisive (as he is one of those actors who will put himself through immense psychological and physical torture for a role), they often result in very effective performances, even if they may not always be to the taste of every viewer. Beau Is Afraid is yet another feather in his proverbial cap of challenging roles, and it is perhaps his most unsettling on an emotional and psychological level, since his physical transformation, while evident, was clearly not as challenging as some of his other roles. His performance in this film is deeply disturbing and profoundly unnerving, but yet still feels so genuine, which is one of Phoenix’s greatest traits as an actor – regardless of the role or film in which he appears, he is always unquestionably present, and more than willing to challenge himself to the point where it becomes a journey just to watch him. Playing the titular part of Beau Wasserman, he is exploring a deeper set of emotions, which have remained previously untouched for him in the past – he has experience playing psychologically-disturbed characters, but nothing he has done previously reaches the level of self-imposed torment that he has to find throughout this film, which pushed him to his limits, as evident throughout the film. The question of why an actor as gifted and well-established as Phoenix continues to do such laborious and taxing work is a question that can only be answered by realizing that he is simply very good at it, and that his entire career is driven by doing the work his less-adventurous peers would be willing to take on, which is in itself quite an extraordinary achievement, since it has allowed him to carve his own niche within the industry while never neglecting the aspects that make for a very effective actor. He is able to go to some very dark places psychologically, and while this can sometimes make a few of his performances overwrought, it is perfectly appropriate for a film like Beau Is Afraid, which plays on Phoenix’s natural quirks as an actor, while still being engaging, funny and complex in the ways that only a truly gifted actor can convey without it becoming overwrought or unnecessarily convoluted at the best of times.

As much as the film may be focused squarely on Phoenix, Beau Is Afraid is not entirely defined by him – in fact, much of the story revolves around Beau reacting to other characters, who are woven into his life at different moments. The picaresque journey that the protagonist undergoes is entirely defined by the film’s ability to bring in a wide range of additional characters, each one playing a different kind of role within the story and either serving as guides or obstacles to his odyssey, which contains some of the film’s most intriguing concepts. The cast consists of a cavalcade of incredible actors, and the most admirable aspect of this ensemble is that despite having a considering high profile that would allow him to cast the most recognizable actors, Aster chooses to instead choose the right people for these roles, which doesn’t necessarily mean any of them are obscure, but rather not the ones would expect to occupy these roles. Choosing a standout is difficult – theatre legend Stephen McKinley Henderson has a small but substantial role as Beau’s psychiatrist, who turns out to play a major role in the final twist, while the always reliable Richard Kind and Parker Posey have incredible moments in the latter portions of the film. Amy Ryan oscillates between sympathetic and terrifying, and as the animalistic Jeeves, the brilliant Denis Ménochet makes good use of his hulking physicality and striking expressivity to infuse the film with a sense of foreboding danger. Yet, it is unsurprising that the two standouts of the supporting cast are Nathan Lane and Patti LuPone, who are actors so incredibly comfortable with their craft, taking on these roles doesn’t seem like a challenge to them, but yet they still turn in performances that are far more complex than we’d initially expect. Lane makes the best of every moment, possibly playing the only genuinely good character in the entire film (although the validity of this is entirely a subject of interpretation – his sickly sweet kindness often feels like it is concealing something much darker), while LuPone, who appears in brief sporadic bursts during the film’s first two hours, makes her entrance towards the end, and manages to employ her distinctive style of playing to the rafters, but still making us believe every word she is saying. Special mentions should be given to Zoe Lister-Jones for playing the younger version of LuPone’s character, and Maev Beaty, another solid stage actor who doesn’t appear on screen, but whose narration during the film’s most surreal sequence is truly unforgettable, a term that can be used to describe every one of these performances.

Aster’s style is intriguing because not only is he a great storyteller, but his visual prowess is also exceptional. Even those who are not particularly fond of his tendency to go too far in disturbing audiences will usually note how profoundly beautiful his films are, with their design and composition being extraordinary, if not his defining factor as a filmmaker. Beau Is Afraid not only continues this streak of making extremely disturbing films that are gorgeous to look at, but it actually may be his most striking film. At exactly three hours in length, there is a lot of space for Aster to explore a number of themes and subjects, which he does through that distinctive and often quite surreal directorial approach that he usually employs, and working with cinematographer Pawel Pogorzelski (who has worked with Aster from his very first short film), he creates a landscape that is both terrifying and oddly captivating – this is not a world that we particularly want to explore, but we still find ourselves forming a morbid curiosity as the film progresses, with the blend of artifice and grandiosity (often occuring together) making for a film that looks far more inviting than the story actually would imply, the oscillation between styles being one of the most significant factors behind this film and its radical, profound success. There is a lot of nuance in what Aster is doing, even if the arguments that this film is too long and overly excessive for the story it tells do hold some merit (although if you are going to make a film of this length that covers so many philosophical and psychological subjects, you might as well go to all lengths to ensure that it is memorable, for better or worse), and it is a divisive film by design, which is precisely why it manages to be so intriguing for those who can leap onto Aster’s wavelength and agree to go on this journey with him, which is never particularly pleasant, but at the very least holds some artistic merit, the effectiveness of which may vary between viewers. Audacity does not always mean the work has to be awe-inspiring in the traditional sense, and a harrowing psychological horror that seems to be bursting at the seams with profound and shocking ideas, tied together by various artistic threads, is ambitious enough to catch our attention and maintain it, even if it isn’t always particularly pleasant.

While it is logical to view a film as being a series of components (and our response is usually based on how well we think these various elements work together), it is also important to look at the cumulative impact, which is often the area in which we find the most profound commentary, as well as make up our mind as to how we feel about any given work. Beau Is Afraid is a series of disturbing elements – whether in terms of the story, its visual manifestation or how the actors bring these characters to life – but its true impact comes when we step back and view it holistically, which is the moment we see this as a work of pure, unhinged chaos, the likes of which is incredibly rare to find, which is perhaps an ideal scenario, since one has to be truly perverse to want to experience films like this with any sense of regularity. I found Beau Is Afraid to be exceptional and brilliant, but also deeply unpleasant and challenging to sit through, which is the kind of inner conflict Aster seems to relish in inspiring, since he knows that the most effective films are those that can stir multiple different sensations – the only difference is that he tries to evoke wildly conflicting emotions, which begin to create a hostile and disturbing atmosphere, the apex of which is where the most impactful moments reside. The accumulation of pure tension and terror, combined with the satirical, pitch-black comedy and sense of philosophical profundity, are enough to instil a sense of dread and confusion in the viewer, who will walk away feeling a mix of emotions, each one valid and bewildering, under the hypnotic trance of having just experienced a film that’s primary motivation was to not only play on our emotions but manipulate our psychological state. This is not an easy film, and it comes very close to being an ordeal, since it is likely that even the most cynical of viewers will leave the theatre repulsed, unsettled and deeply disturbed – and while this may inspire an endless stream of vitriol towards Aster, inspiring such extreme reactions that come from a profound sense of internal despair can only mean he succeeded in manipulating and challenging the audience.

It isn’t clear what the future holds for Aster, particularly since every film he makes seems to elevate his style and ambition, almost to the point where it becomes a challenge to just witness how he goes about telling these stories, since no artist can continuously make films that sit right on the bleeding edge of the industry. Ultimately, I don’t think we have reached the point where he has made his best work, both narrative and visually, and therefore we can’t view Beau Is Afraid as the accumulation of everything he stands for as a filmmaker, but rather an essential step in his own creative journey as he continues to explore themes that are both very personal to him as an individual (to the point where it feels like his entire impetus as a filmmaker was to use the medium as a way to work through his own trauma and existential quandaries, which is valid in terms of art being primarily a form of self-expression, long before it is a source of entertainment, a detail of which many should be reminded when criticizing any director for using their own past as the propellant for a particular story), and artistically resonant in a way that is never anything but haunting and beautiful, often at the same time. It is fascinating to consider that every basic emotion – fear, sorrow, happiness, disgust, surprise and anger – are all embedded in this film, which works through each one, making sure the entire film is reflective of the shared experience we have as an audience. We may not see ourselves represented on screen (although I suspect some aspects of this film will resonate with every viewer), but this doesn’t prevent us from engaging with the story, which is fascinating and unsettling in equal measure. It is not an easy film, and those who are faint of heart or in any way not enamoured with Aster’s style will probably find this to be unbearable. However, there is merit to exploring polarizing cinema, especially when it is this compelling. The idea of universal acclaim is overblown and unnecessary, since this leads to placid viewership – we instead need to embrace directors like Aster, who set out to convey a particular message that may be difficult to hear, or inspire emotions that many would prefer not to feel, which is why it is important to know what this film entails. Darkly comical, highly disturbing and always captivating, Beau Is Afraid is a fascinating work, and quite simply one of the most original and captivating films of the decade so far.