In an unparalleled cinematic experience, the South by Southwest (SXSW) festival has witnessed the startling arrival of extraterrestrial themes, particularly in Flying Lotus’ directorial debut, “Ash.” Starring Eiza González as Riya, this film thrusts viewers into the enigmatic and terrifying expanse of space, where human endeavors to conquer the cosmos lead to catastrophic revelations. Riya’s awakening on a desolate planet, stripped of her past and company, embodies the quintessential struggle with identity and survival against an unseen threat.
The film opens in a moment of sheer horror, a bloodied Riya who knows nothing more than the stark chaos that envelops her. It mirrors our often-fractured comprehension of the world—life, death, and the aftermath of human actions. The urgency of the narrative, aided by a malfunctioning computer system and dwindling oxygen supplies, effectively draws the audience into a vortex of dread where even technology feels alien and menacing.
Colonization and Consequences
Yet beneath its thrilling facade, “Ash” delves deeper than mere cosmic horror; it manifests reflections of our real-world predilection for colonization. The film cleverly contrasts Riya’s memory void with the historical context of humanity’s tendency to overshadow indigenous cultures in pursuit of expansion. Themes of misinformation and division among disenfranchised groups serve as striking metaphors for society’s current challenges. Riya’s plea in a flashback, “Let’s not f*ck it up this time,” resonates with viewers who have witnessed the cyclical nature of history and its grim repetitions. From its core emerges a palpable warning: our quest for exploration can sometimes lead us into morally precarious territory.
Visions of Dread
Visually, Lotus pays homage to classic horror through crafty stylistic choices reminiscent of Ridley Scott’s “Alien” and John Carpenter’s “The Thing.” The film’s aesthetics cleverly blend retro and contemporary elements, serving to heighten the suspense while proffering a discontenting sense of nostalgia. The inclusion of trippy flashbacks featuring first-person perspectives solidifies the chaotic essence of memory in the face of unrecognized trauma.
Lotus also interweaves his musical expertise to craft a chilling score, enhancing the film’s immersive experience. The sound serves as an instrument of tension, morphing the art of storytelling into an auditory journey that lingers long after the credits roll. However, the utilization of AI-generated effects fractures some continuity in the visual narrative. This choice, while appearing intentional, raises questions around authenticity in film and how technology is leveraged in the service of artistic expression yet also risks eroding the uncertainty that defines great horror.
A Nightmarish Reflection
Ultimately, “Ash” challenges audiences to confront not just fear of the unknown in space, but also our deeply ingrained fears about ourselves and the paths we choose. As we overlook lessons from our past, we risk perpetuating a cycle of oppressors and oppressed. While this movie knocks at the door of intergalactic horror, it uproots a far more grounded narrative: our ambition, our ignorance, and the haunting echoes of a history we perhaps choose to forget. “Ash” isn’t just a quest for survival—it’s a stark reminder of the darkness that can reside within our pursuit of greatness.