This is a great film, and I absolutely hate it. It's one of the most unsettling movies I've seen in years. From the opening scenes it creeps beneath your skin and itches like a tick. I sat there feeling uncomfortable and got increasingly weirded out until the credits rolled. It is precision engineered to make the audience feel sick to the core and left me squirming and nauseated. It's brilliant, but I never want to see it again.
It stars Colin Farrell as Steven Murphy, a heart surgeon who forms an unlikely relationship with a teenager, after a botched operation leaves him orphaned. On the surface, Martin (Barry Keoghan) is a nice and polite, if rather awkward, young man and the two get along. Murphy gifts him a watch and mentors him, then invites Martin to his home for dinner. But there's something off about their relationship. There's an iciness in every word they exchange, and while it's difficult to put your finger on why, there's something very 'off' about Martin. Then one morning, Murphy's young son is struck down by a mysterious illness and things get worse.
From there, The Killing Of A Sacred Deer turns into a two-hour nightmare. It's a classical Greek tragedy transplanted into the modern world, but while it's recognisable, it's also...wrong? The characters speak with a detached, emotionless delivery, as if they're watching their own lives through a glass window. They casually discuss bodily functions in monotonous, matter-of-fact ways and all seem to possess a chilling lack of empathy. Nobody in this squeaky-clean environment seems to know how to interact with one another. They're all selfish, corrupt and robotic.
And at the centre of it is Keoghan, in a frankly brilliant performance. Martin is a mixture of teenage awkwardness and what can only be described as "innocent malevolence." He's a manipulative, repulsive little scumbag who can make eating a plate of cold spaghetti utterly chilling. He's an unlikeable, malignant presence with a frightening disregard for the lives of everyone around him, including himself. Keoghan is terrific in the role, and while it now feels like an extended audition for his future casting as the Joker, Martin is just as psychotic as the clown prince of crime. And arguably more terrifying because you never quite know how he's doing it.
But lord almighty, I'm glad I never have to see this film again. It's masterfully constructed and everyone involved deserves all the credit in the world, but it's akin to staring into a bleak void for two straight hours. There's no light-hearted moments to break the mood, just an escalating sense of helplessness and inevitability. I've never wanted to bury a film at the bottom of a mine shaft before, but The Killing Of A Sacred Deer is the one.
It stars Colin Farrell as Steven Murphy, a heart surgeon who forms an unlikely relationship with a teenager, after a botched operation leaves him orphaned. On the surface, Martin (Barry Keoghan) is a nice and polite, if rather awkward, young man and the two get along. Murphy gifts him a watch and mentors him, then invites Martin to his home for dinner. But there's something off about their relationship. There's an iciness in every word they exchange, and while it's difficult to put your finger on why, there's something very 'off' about Martin. Then one morning, Murphy's young son is struck down by a mysterious illness and things get worse.
From there, The Killing Of A Sacred Deer turns into a two-hour nightmare. It's a classical Greek tragedy transplanted into the modern world, but while it's recognisable, it's also...wrong? The characters speak with a detached, emotionless delivery, as if they're watching their own lives through a glass window. They casually discuss bodily functions in monotonous, matter-of-fact ways and all seem to possess a chilling lack of empathy. Nobody in this squeaky-clean environment seems to know how to interact with one another. They're all selfish, corrupt and robotic.
And at the centre of it is Keoghan, in a frankly brilliant performance. Martin is a mixture of teenage awkwardness and what can only be described as "innocent malevolence." He's a manipulative, repulsive little scumbag who can make eating a plate of cold spaghetti utterly chilling. He's an unlikeable, malignant presence with a frightening disregard for the lives of everyone around him, including himself. Keoghan is terrific in the role, and while it now feels like an extended audition for his future casting as the Joker, Martin is just as psychotic as the clown prince of crime. And arguably more terrifying because you never quite know how he's doing it.
But lord almighty, I'm glad I never have to see this film again. It's masterfully constructed and everyone involved deserves all the credit in the world, but it's akin to staring into a bleak void for two straight hours. There's no light-hearted moments to break the mood, just an escalating sense of helplessness and inevitability. I've never wanted to bury a film at the bottom of a mine shaft before, but The Killing Of A Sacred Deer is the one.