The Killing of a Sacred Deer

Review

Distinguished cardiovascular surgeon Dr. Stephen Murphy lives with his wife, Dr. Anna Murphy, and their two children, Kim and Bob. Stephen also maintains an awkward relationship with Martin Lang, a teenager whose father died on Stephen’s operating table. Out of remorse (Stephen was intoxicated during the surgery), he gives Martin expensive gifts and money during their secretive encounters. As the story progresses things take a horrifying turn, as a curse befalls Stephen’s family, with Martin at the center of it all. Stephen is on a clock to try and save his family members from imminent death.

What a magnificent film!

It did help that I was literally expecting one of those chase-and-run action films about a religious cult enraged over the killing of their sacred deer – lol, how naïve (in my defense though, deer are indeed sacred in the Shinto religion, so I’m not a complete idiot!).

Some critics have criticized the story’s pace, pointing out its slow progression and the minimal plot development. I could not disagree more. OK, the pace was slow, but it served a purpose: to build tension.

The weirdness is there from the outset, but it is not surrealist in the typical sense (e.g., dream logic, magical realism). It is a subtler kind of weirdness. Conversations sound scripted, the dialogue is fast, monotone, almost robotic, with hardly any pauses during interactions. The subject matter – or maybe the timing and relevance – feels completely misplaced. For example, when Bob first meets Martin he asks him about his armpit hairs, and Kim casually tells him she has had her first period. Other moments are equally bizarre, like Martin remarking on how great his mom’s body looks, or Martin’s mother telling Stephen that he has nice hands, and whether he preferred her with brown or dyed hair.

But there is also a certain foothold in the ordinary as well. After all, most conversations are still rooted in everyday banalities, such as two colleagues comparing watches, a father asking about his children’s activities, a surgeon at work, or kids talking about music. And it is precisely this contrast of mundane conversations on the one hand, with unnatural behaviour and odd timing on the other, that tells us there is something unsettling about the atmosphere.

And it works perfectly, because viewers pick up on these discrepancies!

Then, half-way through the movie, when you least expect, bam, the first symptoms start to appear. From then on, it’s a rollercoaster of horror… You feel the anxiety in the air and the desperation of a family powerless to alter their fate.

The mood was constantly eerie, certainly leaning into horror at times. The children dragging themselves across the floor was very Stephen King-like to me and genuinely horrifying to watch!

The self-interest and selfish behaviour of human beings were well-characterised in this movie. At first, Stephen and his family seem happy, even expressing love to each other. But as the tragic events unfold, their behaviour turns somewhat self-serving and manipulative. Without wishing to reveal too much, what sort of mother wouldn’t sacrifice herself for her kids? What friend would demand a hand-job in exchange for information? What sister would treat the imminent death of her little brother with such indifference? These are the sort of questions that will linger for days to come.

Sound design was as formidable as the cinematography itself. The opening scene where we see an open-heart surgery with Schubert’s Stabat Mater playing in the background is just brutal. But it is also one of the most powerful uses of classical music I’ve encountered. Likewise, the finale is accompanied by a powerful and dramatic performance of Bach’s St. John’s Passion (one of my favourite Bach pieces by the way), which fits the themes of the movie perfectly – there is much to say about the inclusion of this piece, but I will leave that for a more thorough discussion of the movie.

Beyond the opening and final scenes, there is hardly any music. Instead, most of the film relies on sparse, dissonant sounds, that augment the unsettling atmosphere. These sounds may appear random to you, but they are strategically well-placed, serving as warnings of something ominous is about to come: for example, when Bob’ symptoms begin to appear, or when Stephen realizes that Martin isn’t what he thinks he is. I watched the movie at night, alone, with headphones on, so listening to those sudden piercing tones made the experience even more unnerving and immersive.