Fresh (2022)

I highly recommend watching this movie before reading this (or anything else) about it. It’s a wild one, and I think even watching the trailer before seeing it could impact the rollercoaster ride that is Fresh. So I’m throwing up an additional spoiler warning here: it’s on Hulu in the US and Disney+ in the UK (as of March 20, 2022) go and watch it before proceeding!

^{First off, how great was this credit sequence—33 minutes into the movie!}

I didn’t even know where to begin with this write up, because there’s just so much depth to the film. After talking with someone about it, and finding out they didn’t care for it, I’ve decided to respond to their primary criticism: “it’s just a rape revenge movie without the rape.” This is almost criminally reductive, and though this isn’t a critique that’s been widespread, there’s at least one person for whom this was the takeaway and I feel the need to challenge that.

Setting aside the fact that rape revenge stories are not all the same and don’t carry the same themes, ideas or aesthetics (see for example the differences between Irreversible and I Spit on Your Grave—arguably the most well known of the sub-genre), Fresh most significantly diverges from rape revenge films with the inclusion of Steve’s wife, Ann, as a character and secondary antagonist. Through Ann, the power structures in our society are more thoroughly explored. It’s clear that one doesn’t have to be a cis man to perpetuate and uphold patriarchy. The exploitation of women isn’t just something that cis men are responsible for maintaining. Women, particularly white cis straight women, many of whom have been negatively impacted by it (as we later see, Ann was likely one of Steve’s prior victims) carve out their own place within this power structure, rather than resisting it. It’s likely no accident that Ann resembles a Fox News contributor; she’s an attractive, thin, white blonde woman, and she actively defends the patriarchy—right up to her brutal death. Ann presents the “I worked my way up” attitude, and as a result works to keep other women down. I take issue with how her arch is resolved, but I’ll get into that later. Nevertheless, her existence and role in this narrative creates a significantly more thorough and well-rounded critique of societal treatment of women, such that reducing this film to “just a rape revenge,” is offensively dismissive.

There’s also a twofold reading on the inclusion of Paul, who is a Black man, a bartender and a friend of Mollie’s. He provides some good comedic relief, specifically as he travels to Mollie’s phone location: talking to himself about having seen this horror movie before, ultimately turning around and leaving when he pulls up to the house. The struggles between the women at the house are cut together with Paul’s arrival and refusal to participate. This is both funny, as well as a critique of horror films. For decades, Black people had been killed off quickly in the genre, so Paul’s best chance at survival is to exit the film as soon as possible. We never see him again after he drives off. His line “nah fuck this shit,” is funny, but also reminds us of what’s required for him to survive. But his departure also brings to mind his occupation. He has very clear reason to believe that Mollie, an ex of his he’s still holding a flame for, and Noa, are in danger in this house, but he turns and leaves thereby enabling predatory male behavior. Paul’s actions are no different than a lot of bartenders all across the country probably every night. As a bartender, Paul facilitates Mollie and Steve’s encounter, and when Steve becomes a danger to Mollie, Paul abandons her. His job adds to that conversation. He’s not just a man and an enabler, but is also uniquely positioned to intervene, yet he does not.

^{Nah, fuck this shit}

When Paul leaves, he leaves the women to fend for themselves, which they absolutely do, but not without a significant fight. At first, in the kitchen when Noa, Mollie and Penny attack Steve, I was reminded of Death Proof. But due to their injuries, which are significant, Steve manages to hold his own, and it becomes a prolonged battle of wills. It’s such a scrappy sequence, and it really feels like every character is fighting for their life—which of course they are. But Steve just won’t die. They make it outside and he chases them down, shooting his gun and verbally threatening them. Despite all of their injuries, they ultimately they manage to take him down and shoot him in the face. They save themselves, without Paul’s help.

^{Come on, give me a smile.}

There’s an amazing scene where Noa is talking with Penny through the vent in the wall between their rooms, and she tells Penny about how stupid she feels. I love this scene because it ends with Penny telling her that no, it’s not her fault: “it’s always their fault.” This is an indictment of patriarchy at large, and a common retort to the standard “what was she wearing,” question that follows rape or sexual assault allegations. It is always cis men’s fault. I even found myself thinking, “oh come on, Noa, you should know better,” during the first act—the straight forward rom-com section. This attitude essentially places the blame on her, and ignores the fact that she’s the victim in the situation.

Unfortunately, the ending takes a little away from this sentiment. Though it’s funny to hear Mollie shout: “bitches like you are the fucking problem,” while bashing Ann’s head in with a shovel, it confuses the essential message of the film. While it’s true that some women act in ways that uphold patriarchal values, it’s not true that they are THE problem. Just as Black cops uphold white supremacy, they aren’t THE problem. I wish that Penny’s statement about how it’s never our fault had been echoed yet again towards the end of the film, rather than making Ann out to come off as “the big bad.”

I wish that the film had split the fight with Steve in the kitchen and then in the woods up, and inserted the fight with Ann in between the two. Steve is unconscious on the kitchen floor; Ann and their employee discover him; Ann goes out and gets beat down with a shovel; Steve comes to, and goes outside shooting his gun and shouting at the girls; he’s then beaten down. At which point Penny could yell something at him right before he’s shot like, “this is all your fault” or something—restating the essential theme of the film, which is that patriarchy is fucked and it’s cis men who are the problem—rather than undermining it with Ann’s death. 

Nevertheless, this is an absolutely phenomenal movie that’ll make you laugh and then it’ll make you feel uncomfortable for laughing. I absolutely loved the way that Fresh blends absolute terror with cheeky comedy and layers into its depths serious gender politics and critiques. Fresh manages to terrify, grip and amuse, mixing together bitter with salty and sweet, like a piece of bacon dipped in dark chocolate—it shouldn’t taste so good, but it does. It really does.

^{_{Big “A Skull in Connemara” vibes}}