Horrible Imaginings Film Commentary: Emily Bennett's "LVRS"

It is time for another Film Commentary, the section of our site where we offer you the chance to watch an excellent short film before reading an interview with the creators!

I have been waiting for Emily Bennett’s latest to be ready for one of these since we premiered it back in September. LVRS is a short film that defies description. It is meant to be seen, heard, and felt. Those senses will be confusing, frustrating, hurtful and challenging—and that is the idea. What makes a person stay in an abusive relationship, and how does that affect the psyche? Those are the questions at play in this work that defies traditional linear storytelling in favor of distilling these feelings to their most visceral.

As usual, we will post the film so you can watch before you read the interview. Thank you to ALTER for continuing to make brilliant curatorial choices! Now, one with the film:

Horrible Imaginings: I'm going to try to phrase these in ways that make them different from other questions you may have been asked. You have made it clear in other interviews, for example, that LVRS is basically created from a nightmare you had after you broke off an abusive relationship. Nightmares are naturally abstract, as your film is. Now that you have gone through the whole process, can you talk about the strengths and hindrances working with abstraction can do to the need to communicate specific emotions and experiences?

Emily Bennett: That's a double edged sword for sure. It's like holding a live fish or a bit of mercury. The harder you hold on the faster you lose it. That makes the process both infuriating and immensely satisfying. Though this film was initially inspired by a nightmare, it was almost impossible to return to the proverbial drawing board when I needed to because I couldn't force myself to dream that nightmare again. And believe me I tried. I tried looking at the paintings of Rene Magritte before going to bed. I tried reliving the relationship in my brain before going to sleep at night. I tortured myself a bit. But thankfully the initial images I dreamt stayed with me. I jotted them down as best I could and returned to my original notes time and time again, hoping I could stay as close as possible to the initial ideas my sleeping brain gave me. Ultimately I believe in a collective unconscious. And I believe in archetypes and the power of imagery. And I believed that my subconscious brain was smarter than my conscious brain and so I simply tried to stay as close to my dream as I could. I felt that was the best way to keep the film universal and hopefully accessible, as abstract as it is.

HIFF: Piggybacking off the last question: It has been six months since LVRS premiered at Horrible Imaginings. Now it is available on ALTER, and heading toward another 100,000 views from people at home. That is a lot of people experiencing a film that is essentially a personal pain statement from you. Can you talk about the challenges and rewards that come from that being out and available? 

The anxiety I felt before the premiere on ALTER was unlike any other anxiety I've ever had. And that's saying a lot. I'm a pretty anxious person. But honestly, once it premiered and people started watching it that anxiety went away. The film was done. It was out there. And everyone was allowed to see it and I couldn't stop it. That brought a huge sense of relief. And it honestly showed me how much I believed in the film and the team behind it. Because ultimately I didn't care if people liked it. What I mostly cared about was that it could reach people who have been through similar situations. And it's reached a lot of people.

Of course there are trolls out there. And there are people who comment how much they hate the film, how nonsensical it is, how pretentious and abstract it is. And those are totally valid comments. Those comments are exactly how I felt about the project at some point. I rolled my eyes at myself more times than I can count. But most of the comments are from people who understand and appreciate the film. Many of the people I've talked to online tell me how much they understand it and see themselves in the film. I'm heartbroken that they can see themselves in this film but I am so glad that they feel heard and seen by my work. This film was created for those survivors. And if other people enjoy the film that's just icing on the cake. 

HIFF: John Carpenter's assessment of horror is often quoted. He says there are two main categories of fear: those fears that come from "out there," the woods, the monsters, the other, and those fears that come from inside. The human heart, the human mind. LVRS is interesting in that is straddles both those categories so completely. It's not just the evils that an abusive partner are capable of, but how an abused person can react to those evils. What facet was most important for you to wrestle with when creating LVRS?

I love Carpenter's description of horror. Though the outside threat of the man with the mirror was extremely important to the story, I was honestly more interested in exploring the inner horror in LVRS. The true horror to me is the self talk that goes on. The quiet justifications for another's violence. The denial of that violence. And the ability to talk oneself into staying in a situation that will eventually kill them. That's what truly scares me.

HIFF: As we mentioned before, LVRS has its genesis in a nightmare you had, but there are lots of images that come from the arts. Can you talk about what those were, at what made them accurate representations of the images in your dream? I wonder if they are so much a part of you that they have been something you dreamed about?

I’m grateful to my subconscious brain for holding on to these images. As I've mentioned in the past Rene Magritte was a huge influence for LVRS. The works of Stanley Kubrick and David Lynch clearly embedded themselves into my brain as well. Movement theory from the Japanese director Tadashi Suzuki and Japanese Butoh dance are inspirations as well. Especially the works of The Sankai Juku company. Just Google them and look at the images you find. They're so incredibly haunting. LVRS is about a plethora of emotions that I felt but didn't know how to describe using language. So imagery and a finely tuned soundscape were the only ways I knew how to tell this deeply emotional story. I'm grateful to borrow from the giants who came before to help me to tell my story. 

HIFF: We screened the film with the volume to a point where the surround sounds became quite immersive. We weren't watching your nightmare so much as living it with you. It is a great achievement from your sound team, and it makes me hope people who watch it at home have a similar experience. Are there any specific stories about creating just the right soundscape for an essentially dialogue-free film?

Darren Callahan and Derek O’Rourke (composer and designer) are some of the most patient people I've ever known. The process of creating the soundscape took months. But they never wavered in their commitment or interest in helping me create the soundscape of LVRS. I don't know that there's any specific story to tell about the process. Darren lives in Los Angeles and Derek lives in Germany so it was a long process of emailing files back and forth and listening. I remember reaching the final audio cut and we unanimously agreed that it was finished. That was a very special day.

HIFF: During our Q&A, you talked about the relationship between "Boy" and "Man" in this film. Can you talk about that here?

I never want to make that relationship too specific. I know what that relationship is in my brain but I often fear talking about it too much because it might rob the audience of their perspective. Ultimately the boy represents innocence, an outside perspective, and potential. The moment at the end of the film it's so important to the story because it shows the potential for this violence to continue in another generation. I'd rather not get more specific than that. But I always always love hearing different points of view about what that relationship is and means.

HIFF: Can you talk about directing yourself as also the lead--especially when you essentially have to play yourself re-living genuine terror. What was it like filming some of the physical abuse on screen? What looks traumatizing in the final product very different for your cast/crew on set?

I thankfully never experienced any of this specific violence in real life, but each moment of violence in the film helped visually tell the story I was hoping to tell. Each moment is meant to be shocking and memorable and visually affecting. But performing each of these moments had to be emotionally real for me. And yes they were very difficult. As the director on set I had to be communicative and logical. I had to talk endlessly with my incredible DP John Klein and my amazing producer Keaton Wooden to make sure we were on track and that I was giving them the direction they needed. And I had to solve problems and work with each department to make sure the film was on the right track.

But I remember when it came to the scene where the camera dollies closer to my face just before the man rips my hair out. The day was going well and the crew was in high spirits. And I just stopped talking and sat there for a minute, getting into the right headspace. Eventually the room became quiet and everyone realized I wasn't directing anymore. I had switched over. And they were amazing and respectful and gave me the room I needed to dive in as a performer. It was a safe room with good people. I couldn't have made this film without each and every one of them. 

HIFF: In my opinion, when LVRS has such a strong effect on people--myself included--it is because it is imbued with the sincerity of your experiences. The purpose of the art is clearly on display. This feels like a double-edged sword. When people tell me they love my festival, my biggest true reaction is terror that, one, I have somehow pulled a fast one and, two, how will I live up to this going forward. I know you and Justin Brooks are working on some big projects, but I wonder if you have similar challenges with successes. 

Justin is an incredible cinematographer and filmmaker in his own right. I'm so grateful we found each other. Not only because I love him but because he's just really amazing to work with. I couldn't imagine a better partnership, in every sense. Regarding LVRS - I'm so grateful and humbled for the reception it has had. I'm so proud of the film and will always hold it very close to my heart. But I often think… “Did I just stumble into this? I trained as an actor and a writer but how dare I call myself a director? One successful short film doesn't mean I know what I'm doing…” That negative inner monologue is always there. But ultimately life is very short and frankly… Fuck it. I have stories to tell and I'm going to tell them. Maybe people like them and maybe they don't. But I have a point of view and a work ethic and a drive that won't let me stop.

And now I have a partner who is brilliant and encouraging. And we're about to make a feature film together that I couldn't believe in more than I do. I think I’ll always feel like a fraud at certain times. But there's a great saying I'd like to remind myself of - “Bigger dummies than me.” Bigger dummies than me make films all the time. So I'm going to keep making them. It's a big sandbox and I have to constantly remind myself I have permission to play in the sandbox. So Justin and I are going to go play and we'll see what happens. 

HIFF: One last thought I would like to get from you. You have been a classically trained actor with a lot of stage experience. It seems a lot of what gets termed "elevated horror" recently comes from misunderstanding of the genre's potential, but also it comes from merely not separating making a horror film from making a "good" film. Would you agree? Would you say your work on more stereotypically sophisticated material informs what you try to do with films like LVRS, even though you are expressing fears/anxieties through a horror?

My training absolutely informs the way I tell stories. I performed Shakespeare and Chekhov and Ibsen nonstop for years. I learned about classical story structure, both as a performer and as a writer. And even if I don't always write brilliant stories I know what they are. I know their structure. I know how they work from the inside. I can recognize great stories when I see them. And that's true for every genre, horror and otherwise.

The term elevated horror is kind of funny to me. We don't often talk about elevated comedy or elevated drama, but for some reason we need this qualifier sometimes for horror. Is The Shining elevated horror? Is Alien or The Thing? I guess you could call them that. But they’re frankly just great films. I think people get too stuck in the idea of a genre. They let it dictate how they enjoy certain films. I think it's a trap. I never set out to make a horror film with LVRS. I set out to tell an emotionally raw, honest and heart wrenching story. One that would convey what was in my brain and in my heart. It just happens to be a horror film.

And most of my favorite films happen to be horror films. The horror genre is often so misunderstood and looked down upon. So if some people need to call the horror they like "elevated horror” in order to enjoy it that's totally fine. You might even hear me say it sometimes. Does that mean “elevated horror” is better than “other kinds of horror”? Absolutely not. I'm still not completely sure what that term means, honestly. But ultimately my goal as an artist is to tell a great story that can affect an audience and take them on a journey. The stories I like to tell are usually horrific in some way and explore the base parts of human nature, hurtful relationships, trauma, addiction, ambition and the darker parts of what it means to be alive. I think the move towards “elevated horror” is simply an attempt to bring sound story structure and well-rounded characters to my favorite genre. And even if the term is a little silly, if it can drive filmmakers to dig a little deeper into themselves, to really challenge themselves as storytellers, I don't see how that can be a bad thing.