Went Up the Hill

To make things clear: co-writer/director Samuel Van Grinsven’s sophomore feature, Went Up the Hill, is not a horror retelling of the Mother Goose nursery rhyme “Jack & Jill.” Yes, its two tormented protagonists are named after the hapless heroes, but they tumble down their own proverbial hill, one made up of grief and unresolved familial issues. Despite the original premise, some stunning visuals, and a committed cast, the film can’t help but feel overwrought, not to mention painfully tedious.

From the get-go, this feels like (it wants to be) an A24 production: bleak, crisp, symmetrical visuals courtesy of cinematographer Tyson Perkins; a minimalist score courtesy of composer Hanan Townshend; a straight-out-of-a-painting New Zealand location; and a duo of torn queer leads entangled in an incestuous, paranormal affair. It’s all artfully done, and kudos to the filmmaker for studying up on his lore – but it seems like, in aiming to copy so many of his idols, he’s failed to find a voice of his own.

When Jack (Dacre Montgomery) returns home for his mother’s funeral, he discovers that her ghost can now easily possess both him and the widow, Jill (Vicky Krieps). They bond at first, albeit squeamishly so: when mom’s “in Jack”, they become lovers; when she’s “in Jill”, they delve into unresolved trauma – like, why did Jack’s mom leave him in the first place. “Did she fight to keep me?” Jack asks at one point. “No,” is the blunt answer he receives. The film ends in a violent showdown that should feel cathartic, but despite the absolutely gorgeous visuals, it manages to somehow fall flat. Probably the fatigue leading up to it.

“…discovers that her ghost can now easily possess both him and the widow…”

Went Up the Hill navigates controversial currents without turning the whole affair vulgar, though silliness is another matter. Depending on your tolerance for all things highfalutin, you’ll either buy into the whole concept or you’ll find it comical. The lovemaking sequence, for example, is artfully shot (as is the rest of the film), but one can’t help but giggle at the icky implications. There’s a nighttime scene that takes place on ice, similarly beautiful and overdone. It induces whiplash, all this back-and-forth between the genuinely artful and the pompous. (Also, the fact that the characters don’t get hypothermia is hysterical.)

There’s something missing in this concoction: self-aware humor, a courage of its convictions, a driving force that propels the plot forward. What should have been spicy turns out kind of bland. It’s too bad, as both Krieps and Montgomery bring their A-game; Grinsven’s an ace at framing shots; and yes, once again, the cinematography throughout Went Up the Hill is killer. Perhaps it was all just too steep a hill to climb.