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Perhaps the most unfortunate reality of Longlegs is that it’s simply more of what I have come to expect from Osgood “Oz” Perkins.
That’s neither a complete condemnation of Perkins as a filmmaker nor a resolute recommendation to avoid Longlegs. All told, it’s not a bad way to spend an evening at the movie theater. I was entertained enough.
But Perkins seems to be limited in the kind of horror experience he is able or willing to offer. Once again, his knack for developing an unsettling visual palette and soundscape is as present here as ever; unfortunately, so are his apparent inabilities to create interesting characters or drum up earnest scares. Just like The Blackcoat’s Daughter and Gretel & Hansel before it, Longlegs is an effectively eerie caper that, ultimately, cannot live up to the impeccable atmosphere it builds for itself.
It’s grimdark Goosebumps, in a way.
Perkins presents a pretty straightforward serial killer mystery this time around—essentially a bleaker, stripped-down, vibes-focused pass at Silence of the Lambs. Young and green FBI Special Agent Lee Harker (Maika Monroe) is assigned to the confounding case of the “Birthday Murders,” a series of incidents in which entire families are brutally killed on their daughters’ birthdays.
In all cases, the father seems to kill his wife and children before committing suicide, all without an apparent motive. There are no signs of forced entry. No evidence of anyone else being present. But at each scene, a note is left, written in code, signed, “Longlegs.”
Harker was selected for the job after showing a near-supernatural instinct for detecting patterns and predicting outcomes. She’s stoic and inexpressive, to the point of seeming half-dissociated at all times, and extremely focused on her work at the expense of any social life. Monroe (ever the perfect fit for this kind of movie) imbues her with an undercurrent of steeled fragility—an appreciated touch as, otherwise, Harker would likely feel too barebones to connect to.
From the start, Perkins sets to creating the vibe—we open with a flashback sequence framed in a rounded square, as if looking at raw, uncropped film. The lighting and composition throughout the film are perfect. Absolutely stunning. Perkins somehow sets up every shot to make you feel as though something hideous could enter the frame at any time. For the first act, I was hooked.
As Harker pores over clues and visits crime scenes to gain a sense of the perp’s trajectory, the film periodically shifts perspectives to show us Longlegs himself, played by Nicolas Cage, going about his routine. Decidedly, Cage is doing a more “classic wacky Cage” performance than most might expect, leaning toward gleeful frivolity over brooding intensity.
It’s a fine line to walk, and I can see the appeal of what Cage and Perkins are aiming for—uncanny valley, rather than outright monster—but this is where I started to feel the film’s aesthetic pull apart. More often than not, Cage registers as silly more than scary. I do think Cage is a compelling choice for a serial killer, but in a movie so drenched in stolid unease, his goofy antics and immediately recognizable vocal patterns stand out in the wrong way.
The film is modest about showing his face at first, but pretty much gives it free rein after the halfway point. I won’t do you the disservice of describing his prosthetics-laden appearance, but reactions are likely to range from “deeply unsettled” to “mildly amused”—perhaps both, at different times.
I’m disappointed to report that my response was closer to the latter. In the split-second flashes early on, it’s creepy; once we’re seeing long, brightly-lit shots of him, it’s just Nic Cage in makeup.
The film’s marketing smartly avoided showing any but the most fleeting glimpses of Cage’s distinct look, luring us in to try and sneak every peek we could. Call it “manipulative,” but it’s a fun bit that invites audience engagement. I feel the film could have benefitted from committing to this approach, saving a full reveal for only the most unpleasant opportunity, if at all. But, as it stands, Perkins very nearly shows us Longlegs’ face in the first scene, and ultimately displays it in-full far sooner than one could even have time to build sufficient anticipation.
And where does all this anticipation lead? Pretty much exactly where you expect. There’s nothing inherently wrong with an easy mystery, and I’m not even sure that the film’s foreshadowing is one of its biggest issues. But it is frustrating to watch a film set up an air of disorienting madness only to play out so conventionally. It also makes the classic mistake most mediocre horror movies do, in which it sets up arbitrary internal logic that isn’t really used other than to cheat its way to an overly simplistic ending.
I count myself among the many who were very excited for this film—I don’t claim to be above biting when a movie’s marketing team dangles a tasty hook. Anyone who knows me or regularly reads my writing knows I’m a lifelong fan of Nic Cage—for his honest-to-God talent and staggering versatility as much as for his tirelessly memed over-the-top stuff. But I just don’t think Longlegs makes effective use of his talents. It’s the wrong movie for this performance, or maybe the other way around—but it just doesn’t work.
Much fuss has been made around the Internet about how deeply Longlegs will crawl its way under your skin and make you feel like you need to take a shower just to wash off the existential dread. I suspect this fuss is mostly the result of easy marks and film-culture-addicted Twitteroids getting to see the film early and desperately wanting the film to be everything that the admittedly clever marketing campaign promised.
I’m as surprised as anyone that I’m not warmer on it. Two of my favorite psychological thrillers of all time are David Fincher’s Se7en and Kiyoshi Kurosawa’s Cure—both slow, methodical mysteries steeped in grim violence and jet-black hopelessness, anchored by stellar performances from both their heroes and villains—both of which seem to have served heaping helpings of inspiration to Longlegs.
But I suppose the key difference is that those films spend time earnestly developing their protagonists’ lives and personalities, so that when they inevitably face the descent into madness that comes with hunting genuine evil, you share in the sense of dread that runs down their spines. That, and you genuinely can’t predict where their nightmarish cases will take you.
By contrast, Longlegs seems content to rely solely on Perkins’ vaguely spooky style and a madcap villain performance to pull you along. It’s just another Oz Perkins movie. And that’s not some terrible thing, but it is markedly short of the “all-timer” status it’s been thrown.
It’s fine. It’s creepy at times, and darkly pretty throughout. Unfortunately, there’s little else worth writing encrypted letters home about.
Wishes he could forego sleep to watch more movies. Besides co-hosting Odd Trilogies and writing reviews, Andy builds Gundam models, loves on his three cats, and spends way too much time managing his Plex server. You can follow his movie-watching habits on Letterboxd.