Attachment

Imagine the stereotype of an overbearing Jewish mother, with all her inherent neuroses.  “Stay at home.” “Call your mother.” “Observe the Sabbath.” (Essentially Mike Myers’ old Jewish lady from the classic SNL ‘coffee talk’ sketches: “I’m verklempt.”) Now imagine if all of her fears and neuroses were real, that there really are things that go bump in the night that she’s trying to keep us safe from.  That’s the premise of Gabirel Bier Gislason’s Attachment, a slick updating of the standard possession horror story through the lens of Jewish folklore and LGBTQ+ romance.

Maja (Josephine Park), who’s Danish, is a former kids’ television actress who’s now relegated to making appearances at a library in Copenhagen as the Elf Princess Carla. It’s here that she has a meet-cute with Leah (Ellie Kendrick), a Jewish academic from London.  They hit it off immediately, but their time together is cut short when Leah has a seizure.  Maja decides to accompany Leah back home, where she lives downstairs from her Orthodox Jewish mother, Chana (Sofie Grabol), in a Hasidic neighborhood. Maja makes it her mission to win over the extremely religious Chana, who doesn’t approve of her daughter dating a “Goy.” However, creepy things begin happening in the apartment—a candle lights by itself, she hears mysterious footsteps at night, and she finds various items in the apartment that Chana tells her are meant to ward off evil. She meets Maja’s uncle Lev (David Dencik), who helps her make sense of all this Jewish folklore and teaches her about golems and dybbuks and the like.  And off our story goes.

Gislason does an excellent job of gradually cranking up the dread throughout, making this a genuinely creepy film.  As Maja walks around the flat at night, blurry, indistinct shapes move behind her in the background.  The sound design is excellent, as Maja (and the viewer) constantly hear things just out of frame.  When Maja gets up to extinguish the bedroom candle that’s mysteriously been lit, she lays back down in bed.  The camera stays on her and from off-screen, you see a light flicker back on, illuminating her face.  If nothing else, the atmosphere here is masterfully done, and once the creepiness starts in, it does not let up.

The oppressive atmosphere is also assisted by the excellent production design.  This is not a movie defined by wide-open spaces but rather, confined, twisty, claustrophobic sets.  Leah’s flat is full of old furniture and muted colors, making the space seem even smaller than it already is.  It’s almost as if the characters are in a prison, and the overall effect is genuinely unnerving.

The counterpoint to this is that the plot beats here, for the most part, are fairly standard.  The Jewish folklore angle keeps things feeling mostly fresh, as does filtering the events through the lens of a lesbian relationship.  And there are a few genuinely surprising, fresh twists.  One third act development, as well as the ending itself, are both refreshing in how they subvert your expectations of how a horror movie should play out. 

For the most part, however, many of the machinations are fairly standard and borrow from any number of classic (and not-so-classic) horror movies.  Throughout the film, it’s increasingly implied that there is something not quite right with Leah.  This, combined with certain body horror elements, brings to mind films such as Rosemary’s Baby and The Exorcism of Emily Rose. Even the possession scene, which is theoretically supposed to be the most intense scene in the movie, feels rather uninspired and by-the-numbers (and marred by some truly unfortunate CGI). Also hindering the movie are story beats which require significant suspension of disbelief.  For one, it’s hard to believe that Maja and Leah would fall in love so quickly.  It’s possible this is a commentary on codependence in lesbian relationships, a theme which grows stronger throughout the film, but it feels more like sloppy writing than anything intentional. Further, you’ll likely find yourself exasperated as Maja inexplicably decides to stay despite the increasingly creepy events happening in the flat.  There are a few other false notes as well, such as the obligatory scene where Maja (finally) pleads with Leah to leave.  It leads to a disingenuous confrontation between the two that feels entirely unearned and out of character for Leah.

Anchoring the film, however, are the truly excellent performances.  All the central roles were written with the specific actors in mind, except for Leah’s, which shows.  Kendrick nails the physical transformation of her character, but otherwise isn’t given that much to do.  Park is excellent in her portrayal of the outsider determined to ingratiate herself, and genuinely loves Leah.  Her committed performance, and her genuine chemistry with Kendrick, help smooth some of the writing’s rough edges. Her scenes opposite Grabol are also one of the movie’s pleasures, as they gradually let down their defenses around each other.  Grabol in particular is excellent as a mother who appears to have the weight of the world on her shoulders, and is doing her best to keep her daughter safe. There’s some ongoing is she/isn’t she mystery as to her character’s true intentions, and Grabol expertly nails the ambiguity, her piercing blue eyes rarely betraying her inner thoughts. Dencik is also a delight as the standard “guy who runs an obscure bookshop and happens to know everything that’s going on.” As with much of the film, the Jewish heritage gives the character a fresh take. He grimaces when Maja asks if Kabbalah is “the Madonna thing.”  And when he meets Maja in the forest at one point, he repeatedly, amusingly, complains about how it’s not an ideal place to meet, to satisfying comic effect.

Partly inspired by Isaac Bashevis Singer’s short story, “The Dead Fiddler,” as well as Josephine Park’s own amusing anecdote regarding a time that she and an ex-girlfriend had to stay with the ex’s mother, the film doesn’t entirely reinvent the possession tale, but does breathe some new life into it.  And it’s ultimately a satisfying look at the well-worn stereotype of the overbearing Jewish mother, who makes seemingly questionable choices in order to keep her family safe.  Interestingly, despite the critical eye the film casts at Jewish tropes, it also seems entirely beholden to them.  At one point, Lev so bluntly states the movie’s message—he literally says that Leah’s troubles stem from leaving home--that you expect him to directly address the camera: “be good to your mother.”

Despite its unironic messaging, the film, even more interestingly, also acknowledges the limits of the Jewish mother trope in the modern world. As Maja steeps herself more in the folklore and tries to learn what’s wrong with Leah, she increasingly finds herself taking the reins from Chana.  Ultimately, she and Leah form a bond that’s at least as strong as Leah’s bond with her mother, if not stronger. The role of protector ultimately is handed down from Chana to Maja.  And in the end, isn’t that all that we want—for someone to love us and keep us safe?