I promised to tackle some further thoughts about Midnight Mass as soon as I settled down, following the end of the last episode of Saturday night. It's taken me four days to regulate my sleep cycle, for instance, not because I was "too scared to sleep," but rather because those days following the viewing were like swimming underwater, emotionally, in a lake where a tremendous impact, or a storm, had stirred up the loam and rendered the visibility—in this case, emotional visibility—nil.
Colloquially, I was utterly wrecked. And for all the best resons.
I've never seen issues of faith, or lack of faith, handled as deftly and searingly in horror, in either fiction or film, as well as Flanagan handled them in midnight mass. Entirely absent is any hint of shrillness or can't, and the various questions regarding faith and humanity open into each other like the jewel tones of a kaleidescope. I was deeply moved by the existential question of whether being alone in the universe was something beautiful or something terrifying.
And as a recently self-identified agnostic, I was chilled by the eternal question of what religion truly is, what separates harmless religion from fanaticism, and whom we would be if all the cages in which we contain our true selves were suddenly unlocked.
Sourpusses and snobs can say "it's all been done before," but it has absolutely never been done quite this way, or with this power.
And as a horror fan, I was particularly gratified, because it's occasionally scary as fuck.
Like a lot of people, I seem to have "discovered" veteran actor Rahul Kohli in Midnight Mass, even though I had seen, and loved, his performance in Bly Manor. As I'm not a Muslim, I will leave to the many Muslim fans on Twitter and FB the descriptions of how moving was his performance as a Muslim sheriff on an island full of Catholics, or how beautifully and subtly he showed what it's like to be a minority in an environment where your every natural thought or action, or moral impulse, is subject to the approval of a committee of the majority, and what a modern, current, searingly accurate portrait it actually is.
Likewise, the multideimenisonal performances by Zach Gilford, Samanthal Sloyan, and the epic Annabeth Gish, all of whom were tasked with playing characters that could have easily slipped into caricature in less deft hands.
And Kate Siegel made me cry, quite unabashedly, twice. One of her scenes in particular tore me to pieces. Can we just give her the Emmy now? Thanks in advance.
It's impossible to go any deeper without spoilers, and I've sworn not to. I unfollowed a horror page today to which I was quite devoted, because the only people more annoying than the ones who use the phrase "slow burn" negatively, without really knowing what it means, are the ones who are so stupid that they reveal key plot points without even realizing it, and feel virtuous about their cleverness.
I'm looking forward to one-on-one talks with friends who have seen it later, but my page is a spoiler-free zone.
How's this? Midnight Mass is one for the ages. It contains some of the most beautiful writing I have ever seen or heard in film, and it was directed by a man who knows how important it is for characters are open and transparent and real enough for the audience to care about them, so they can mourn them authentically—a man who understands anguish, which is subtly different from almost any other kind of pain.
It is, frankly, a masterpiece. I feel both renewed in my dedication to beautifully crafted writing, and subtly changed by what it's taught me, or reminded me, about the possibilities, both negative and positive, of being human. And of being afraid. And of being redeemed.
Kudos to the entire team, particulary my friend Jeff Howard, who co-wrote my second-favourite episode.
If you haven't watched this yet, run to your television now, and add Midnight Mass to your Netflix queue. You won't regret it.
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