What is the difference between a scary film and a terrifying film? A scary film convinces you it’s scary; a terrifying film convinces you it’s not. Some of the most dread-invoking films are not the ones that throw horrific imagery at you left and right, leaving you hidden behind your seat, but rather are the ones that mentally hijack you. They trick you into matching their wavelength so that you become just as complicit in its misdeeds, only for your stomach to drop when you fathom the reality of what you’ve seen.

Terrifying films reveal that you’re just as susceptible to being recruited into a cult as Dani (portrayed by Florence Pugh) is in Midsommar (2019). They instill a paranoia so deep into you that it makes you give up on understanding the evil realities of our world, the same way Kunio (portrayed by Masato Hagiwara) does in Cure (1997). And in May December’s case, it convinces you that a story of child molestation and grooming is nothing more than a fascinating camp spectacle.

Director Todd Hanyes’s most recent effort brings to life the story of famous actress Elizabeth Berry (Natalie Portman) visiting Savannah, Georgia, to study the scandalous relationship of Gracie (Julianne Moore) and Joe (Charles Melton), whose relationship started over twenty years ago when she was in her thirties and he was in seventh grade.

Given how sickly the premise is, the story’s presentation shows no interest in telling us how gut-wrenching it truly is. Immediately, the story’s tone embraces more of a campy approach, highlighting the absurdity of the relationship more than the tragedy of it. Even the music is more akin to a soap opera as if to communicate to the audience that this story is taking itself too seriously. Additionally, the time frame in which this story takes place is meant to work against seeing the story’s horrors. Seeing the relationship any earlier in its stages would make the age disparity glaringly unsettling. However, seeing it twenty years later with Joe in his mid-thirties makes it much easier to forget its predatory nature.

All of this tonal dissonance and selection of time framing is working to fabricate the severity of this story, and this approach makes sense once you consider the characters’ mindsets. Elizabeth’s main objective with this story is not to judge it but to study it. Though she recognizes that Gracie, as a person, has made decisions she disagrees with, her priority is to understand Gracie and portray her story in a way that reveals the gray. As for the supporting characters, throughout the town, the story is known, but it is more protected and seen as something to pity rather than to judge. No one in the town takes the situation seriously and, if anything, passively defends it. The neighborhood serves as a safe haven for her as they welcome her as a neighbor, keep her cake business afloat, and even seem to guard her from judgment. 

The best example of these character dynamics is during Elizabeth’s acting Q&A, where she is asked by Gracie and Joe’s child Mary (portrayed by Elizabeth Yu) about her interest in portraying morally ambiguous characters, visibly upset at the thought Elizabeth may consider her mother a bad person. From this interaction, we see two attitudes at play. Elizabeth sees Gracie as morally gray and more as something to find fascination in, and Mary embodies the surrounding mindset of the neighborhood, such that even perceiving her negatively rather than brushing it off is something not to accept. Both of these perceptions, in some way, dismiss the true weight of what happened, and the film operates in a way that tricks us into making the same mistakes firsthand. 

This film’s ability to make us feel as though this story is more complicated than blatantly wrong is where it finds its strength, not because the situation should be understood as morally complicated, but because it is through that ability that it reveals our complicity as a society for these kinds of evils existing. Think of every headline that has made a spectacle of a scandal or has found fascination in tragedy. We see it in tabloids; we watch it in the news; we hear it in true crime podcasts; hell, we even see it in Hollywood. I could point out the irony of Netflix distributing this along with Dahmer – Monster: A Jeffery Dahmer Series mini-series, but that’s another conversation. Additionally, this calls out our willingness to dismiss morality as a factor of who we accept as our friends and neighbors. Based on this film, we must ask ourselves: Do we allow atrocities to disguise themselves as something too complicated to acknowledge, thereby letting them continue without consequence?

Image Credit to Netflix

On top of this, the film finds ways to give you glimpses of the story’s true severity and weight occasionally. At one point, Elizabeth watches auditions of the child actors who could play Joe. This is the first time we get a visual reference of what age Joe was when he met Gracie, and at that moment, your heart sinks as the guilt of any preluding uncomfortable laughing sets in. 

Another way the film reveals the weight of its underbelly is through showing the consequences of its atrocities. Though seemingly mature and adult, Joe shows his true colors as a traumatized child forced to grow up too quickly. And on top of showing the facade falling through its own cracks, it is accompanied by the reminder of his inability to escape this world. After Elizabeth nears her transformation into a version of Gracie that is age-appropriate for Joe, they sleep together. At this moment, as he resorts to a child-like state, she tells Joe that he is still young enough to start over, teasing hope for this tragedy. Alas, this hope is quickly dismissed. Returning to his morning routine of checking on his caterpillars, he sees it has grown into a butterfly. While this would typically symbolize change and transformation, he lets it fly off and watches it go, watching any chance for change fly off with it. We end with knowing Joe will always be a caterpillar.

As Joe’s cycle remains unbroken, it is important to note how the film implies cycles of abuse. Rumor has it that Gracie was molested at a young age by her brothers and that her abuse of Joe stems from her being stuck as a child as well. Some have even speculated that the person Joe was texting throughout the film could be a younger person and that he is continuing the cycle of grooming and abuse. So, with this cycle continuing with no brakes in sight, who is to blame when every abuser has had a past of abuse that can be pointed to? While, of course, abusers should be held accountable for their actions, at what point do we, as a society, become just as complicit when we undermine its severity?

The film ends with Elizabeth acting out a scene as Gracie. And as the director calls to cut, she begs for one more take, exclaiming, “It’s getting more real.” In a way, she feels so close yet so far from understanding Gracie, and we feel the same way by understanding the true depths of this tragedy. Simultaneously, though, while Elizabeth tries to understand the reality of Gracie more, this depiction they’re recording is not even close to reality. Though it’s easy to just focus on Elizabeth in this scene, it is worth noticing that the actor playing Joe at this moment is a teenager and much older than the actual age when it happened. Here, the pursuit of reality is shown as a facade of its own. The production has created a more digestible story, and Elizabeth’s desire for this to be real is more for the benefit of her own portrayal than her truly caring about what happened. We will never know the true weight of this story, not because it is not worth understanding but because the occupants are more interested in it as a spectacle than a tragedy.

This cryptic story is enhanced by some of the most nuanced and layered performances to hit the screen this year. Portman and Moore together deliver a Rorschachian dynamic worth comparing to the duo of Bibi Andersson and Liv Ullmann in Persona (1966). But the surprise show-stealer is Riverdale’s Charles Melton, who balances the layered performance of a broken child putting on the face of a grown man. Within a sea of facades, his is the one that breaks the most, revealing the true pain of this story and being the emotional core that elevates this mystery to its fullest extent. 

As for the technical ends, the melodramatic music accents the tonally challenging landscape in a way that would not be understood on paper. As for the cinematography, it is quietly brilliant, setting up shots that communicate so much within a single sitting. The stillness of the camera even encapsulates the mindset of the film wholeheartedly – not pointing out anything to us directly to see but rather making us work to discover it.

As for this film’s Oscar potential, it is entirely up to interpretation as the film itself. Netflix’s backing still seems to be behind Maestro (2023) as their primary push, but with the excitement this film has gained along with Maestro’s ranging reactions, we may see a potential shift in gears. However, this film should hopefully be properly recognized in categories such as Original Screenplay, Supporting Actor, and Supporting Actress.

When a world is willing to put on a facade and turn a blind eye, the biggest terrors do not exist in the shadows but instead next door. May December not only brings to life an intellectually invigorating script with a singular direction and stellar performances but also challenges the audience not to buy into the casualization of tragedy: a message as prominent as ever today. 

Review Courtesy of Eugene Rocco Utley

Feature Image Credit to Netflix