To Quote One of the Main Characters, 'The Front Room' Is an Em-Ee-Ess-Ess Mess

By Seth Freilich | Film | September 10, 2024 |

By Seth Freilich | Film | September 10, 2024 |

We all know that going to the movies isn’t what it used to be; tickets are more expensive, concessions are preposterously overpriced, and many screens and seats are so poorly maintained that we feel like our home setups are better. But worst of all, as with many things in life, are the other people. It’s not as bad as stage theater, which has serious audience behavior problems. But still, so many moviegoers feel entitled to talk and have their phones out and generally act like they are at home rather than in a shared public experience. The flip side is that some movies are best experienced with a great audience, and we cannot replicate that at home without inviting over thirty of our closest friends.

Horror movies are one of the best examples of this, and while I still love going to the movies despite that list of complaints, I especially love seeing a horror flick on opening weekend. When the whole audience is keyed in and we can jump and shriek together, it’s the goddamned best. But the vibe and the energy I experienced while thirty seven-or-so strangers and I watched The Front Room was something else entirely. We’ll come back to this point.

The Front Room is about Belinda (Brandy Norwood) and her husband Norman (Andrew Burnap). The young couple, expecting a daughter, are happy together even though life isn’t perfect — Norman’s public defender job is stressful and does not pay enough, and Belinda’s job as an adjunct anthropology college professor is … well, same same. But things get much worse after Norman’s father suddenly passes away. This is inexplicably when Belinda learns about Norman’s upbringing for the first time. His stepmother, Solange (Kathryn Hunter), is a member of the Church of Light, the kind of cuckoo cult that has people speaking in tongues and talking about alleged personal miracles, so-called “signs and wonders.” Norman and Solange have not spoken in decades, but very quickly, he and Belinda are moving Solange into their home’s front room, the room originally meant for their daughter. At least we can understand why they’re letting her stay with them, which is probably the last decision either of them makes that makes a lick of sense.

Things go from bad to worse as Solange begins to (intentionally?) stir things up. There are conflicts between her and Norman, and then between her and Belinda, and then between Norman and Belinda. Oh, and also between the film and the viewer. Again, throughout this film, these characters make preposterous decisions for no reason other than plot. It’s one thing when a horror movie has the characters split up and do the kind of stupid things that make us yell, “No, don’t do that!” at the screen. That’s having fun with tropes. But this film portends to be about something, dipping its toe into themes of motherhood, the goddess, religion (obviously), historical racism, and upbringings in general. But what is ultimately made clear, and one of the few things that’s clear, is that Max and Sam Eggers, twin brothers of Robert Eggers and directors and co-writers (along with Susan Hill) seem to have inherited half of their brother’s visual flair and none of his storytelling ability. The film is well-shot and decently paced, but the script is dee-you-em-bee dumb. I’m sure they were going for the movie that artfully walks the line between scary and funny, which they tip off with the opening theme, classical music coupled with a theremin. But they wildly miss the mark most of the time.

Take Norman’s name. His middle name is Jean. His name is Norman Jean. I think that is supposed to be funny, but it’s not presented that way, nor is it ever explained or questioned. So it’s just dumb. Belinda has nightmares for no reason other than to let the Eggers present some nice visual pastiches. She doesn’t seem to question why she is sleepwalking and having these nightmares because … why question things? And worst of all are Norman’s decisions, which make no sense other than to create tension and visual effects, and one of those pastiche images.

The biggest problem with this horror/comedy balance is Hunter’s Solange. Hunter’s performance is almost great (Brandy’s performance is great, and … well, Burnap is also there). And at times, she is terrifying. But then there is this preposterous voice and accent. And incontinence. So much incontinence. It’s gross. Intentionally gross, sure. But it’s not scary or funny, just mean and unnecessary. And Hunter ultimately comes off as ridiculous. This culminates in a scene that could have been something, only to be undercut when she half-growls and half-coos, “I’m a racist baby, goo.”

This brings me back to that collective theater experience. There we were, seven strangers united in our bewilderment, all silently thinking, “What the hell is happening? Am I supposed to be laughing with this or at it?” (We were definitely laughing at it.)

Brandy deserves better.

There be spoilers in this final paragraph so just leave now if you care. But you shouldn’t. Brandy especially deserves better than the ending. From about halfway through, it becomes apparent that the plot is unfolding like a bad game of Clue — it was Belinda in the Front Room with a Pillow. Yes, the movie ends with a “twist” in which Belinda snaps and kills Solange, which is warranted, and the biggest “so what?” There’s no point to that ending, nothing earned. On paper, I guess it’s Belinda taking back control of her family and destiny or something? But even that is barely on the paper. In a movie full of piss and shit, the biggest turd is left in the audience’s lap.