Motherhood is a subject ripe for horrific extrapolation. Some might regard their offspring as hopeful mirrors, wishing them to be an improved reflection. Disappointment, when it unavoidably comes, is a spiky cruel monster. There are others for whom birthing a mirror is the worst possible fate, the child a magnifying glass of perceived faults. Moreover, the similarity can feel draining, a youthful leech sucking out its mother's lifeforce, a constant reminder of mortality. Hanna Bergholm's Hatching takes these perceptions of motherhood and mixes them with body horror, cranks them up to eleven, and ties everything up in a pink satin bow that reeks of vomit and discarded flesh…
It all starts in a nauseating pastel living room, a salon of Instagram-ready décor full of tacky Classical statue dupes and crystal chachkies. This is the kingdom of one icy queen, a social media maverick who has made her family the hottest product to sell online. She's a nameless matriarch ruling over the suburban castle, joined by a feckless husband and two perfectly blond children. Little Matias is a nightmare of self-centered tantrum-prone boyhood, a tiny summation of his mother's digital egotism. Tinja is more subdued, a doll-like adolescent gymnast whose athletic hopes seem more driven by her mother's failed ice-skating dreams rather than a personal affection for the sport.
We find them in that pastel abode, shooting a new intro for the mother's Youtube channel on idyllic Finnish family life. Suddenly, the flowery picture is marred by a splash of black as a wounded bird crashes into the room. Panicked beyond belief, the creature slams against the shiny surfaces, wreaking havoc on the domestic scenography. No soon as Tinja subdued the thing, wrapping it in a blanket like a baby, her mother breaks its neck without a second thought. Mayhap inspired by her progenitor's ruthlessness and fueled by repressed anxieties, the girl acts with similar violence when she runs into the animals' mate in the encircling woods. Two birds down - one broken neck and one bloody stone - leaving behind an orphaned egg.
Moved or maybe just curious, Tinja keeps the egg under a giant teddy bear in her room. Soon, it grows, and she transplants it into the plushie's chest until it grows even more, taking over the whole bed. Then, one night, it cracks open, revealing a hideous hatchling that only a mother could love, and so unfolds the mutating tale of this bizarre movie. All that was described, so far, occurs in the first act of Hatching, a film that takes countless wild turns in the path to an ending that, in retrospect, feels inevitable. Nevertheless, it comes off as abrupt, somewhat anemic when it does arrive. For a flick so full of surprises, the shape of its narrative arc feels perfunctory, drab and sad. What saves it is those middle chapters of gross wonderment, the fascination of a newborn and its adoptive mother.
Well, that and the design of the whole thing. Director Bergholm has devised a world on the crest of fantasy, where digital age aesthetics clash and merge with folkloric terrors. Jarkko T. Laine shoots Päivi Kettunen's sets, emphasizing their curated rigidity, bringing to mind a stuffy dollhouse. Indeed, there's one such miniature in the corner of Tinja's room, right next to the mirrored doors of a wardrobe that often functions as a crib and hiding place. One seldom sees horror cinema exploring the disquieting possibilities of hyper-feminine visuals, making Hatching's visual games, its vicious metaphors, feel refreshing, almost new. What's more, such manicured spaces and lacey fashions end up reframing what, in other movies, would be one-dimensionally repulsive.
The intrusion of black-feathered monsters and regurgitated goo into this flowery order feels almost liberating. Through the balances and counterbalances in design, we're gradually immersed in Tinja's curiosity, attuned to her shifting alliances and doomed choices. The actors' broadness also gains from the stylization of the setting, finding a home amidst the excess, be it young Siiri Solalinna's terrified star turn or Sophia Heikkilä's study on monstrous motherhood. While all these factors make me recommend Hatching, I must warn the prospective viewer. Even those who love gore may find themselves queasy at some of this nightmare's sights. I know I felt bile rise in my throat at some key moments. In summation, Hatching is not for the faint of heart.
Hatching is playing in the Midnight Section at Sundance and will be released by IFC Films in the US