‘The Front Room’ review: All bile and no substance
Though it is unquestionably a horror movie, A24's The Front Room doesn't feature any blood until late in its second act.
Instead, practically every other bodily fluid appears on screen in copious amounts and numerous hues, with more than one instance evoking actual gagging noises from an entirely grossed-out audience. When regular ol' blood appeared, I’ve never been so happy to see that red liquid flow as a respite from everything else. In fact, The Front Room should come with a warning: Do not grab anything more than popcorn at the concession stand. This is not the movie for loaded nachos.
Beyond the juices, those who recognize the last name of twin writer-directors Max and Sam Eggers alongside the imprimatur of the A24 logo may think they're in for a film along the lines of their brother Robert’s The Witch. But they will be disappointed.The Front Room is a wild, nausea-inducing ride that is not so much good as it is effective. The Eggers are capable enough directors, but other than a sickly hue and some fun canted-angle shots, there’s not a lot of style here. Instead, they get to coast on the work of the talented Kathryn Hunter (Poor Things), whose performance and physicality threatens to upstage the whole film.
What is The Front Room about?
The Front Room begins benignly enough. Belinda (Brandy Norwood) is a Black professor married to Norman (Andrew Burnap), a white public defender with a complicated family history unbeknownst to his wife. She is nearing full term with her pregnancy and stressing about money when his estranged, ultra-religious stepmother Solange (Hunter) promises them all her wealth — if they will take her into their home.
Norman hesitates given the trauma he experienced with Solange and her personal Christian religious practices as a child. Belinda is willing to turn the other cheek and give her mother-in-law a chance, especially with the baby coming. But Solange's moving in serves as a warning for anyone who would try to do anything out of the goodness of their heart — or the desire to pay their mortgage more quickly. It is never worth it.
For an R-rated horror film, The Front Room is relatively light on physical violence and is far more freighted with its emotional counterpart. It all begins with microaggressions (Solange constantly mispronounces Belinda's name) and the types of insults daughters-in-law often have to shrug off (Solange insults Belinda's cooking). But soon (way too soon), the insults escalate into unquestionable racism and shocking cruelty, and Belinda struggles to endure indignity after indignity from Solange, who seems to want to make their home her own. Belinda exists in white spaces; for most of the running time, she is the only Black person on screen and she lacks an ally, even in her husband, to help defend herself from Solange’s diabolical behavior.
As the mother-in-law from hell, Kathryn Hunter is devilishly good
The role of Solange is a challenging one, requiring a bonkers level of physicality and an utter lack of vanity. Hunter is a longtime theater actress who caught broader attention with her critically lauded role as the witches in Joel Coen's The Tragedy of Macbeth. However, in The Front Room, she's somehow even more haunting, contorting her body into a hunch, laughing a terrifying cackle, and saying some truly messed-up shit. The aforementioned bodily fluids are disturbing, but her dialogue causes actual distress — especially when it’s said with an impish twinkle. The Front Room barely works, but it owes it all to Hunter who is simply everything as she smirks, snarls, and simpers.
Burnap is fine as the non-entity white husband. Meanwhile, Norwood is good and pretty funny at times in her relatable frustration, she’s not working at the same level as Hunter. (Though who is?)
The Front Room refuses to go more than skin-deep with its social commentary
The Eggers' movie hinges on that wonderfully unhinged performance from Hunter, and The Front Room is extremely, admirably gross with a hefty dose of camp. Unfortunately, that’s all there is here. That result would be fine, but the Eggers are aiming higher by their attempts to address more serious themes amidst all the effluvia. Adapted from Susan Hill’s short story, The Front Room deals with race, religion, and gender, but always on a surface level; it never delves too deeply into ideas about any of these topics or offers any cogent thoughts beyond "racism bad" and "Pentecostalism scary."
After watching The Front Room, a lot of viewers are going to have to unpack the shit their in-laws make them go through with their therapists, but something is validating in the idea that your experience probably isn’t going to be as traumatic as what Belinda goes through. Yet the movie itself often feels like a grueling ordeal, as you wonder exactly what shade and type of ooze will show up next or what terrible thing is going to come out of Solange’s mouth — and the answer is always somehow worse than you thought it would be. It’s a good enough bad time, worth it for Hunter's performance alone if you can stomach the rest.
How to watch: The Front Room hits cinemas Sept. 6.