Gore Verbinski
A Cure For Wellness

In short, I would say we don't really care if a scary monster appears on the screen in front of our eyes, but we might be very struck by a scene that shows a particular "image" that is somehow "disturbing" and touches fears embedded in human nature from ancient times. I think, after all, that the great success of Guillermo del Toro's latest film lies precisely in the more titillating aspect that concerns the sexual relationship between the two protagonists, because this is presented to us as something profoundly romantic, like a love that overcomes every possible barrier. Yet it constitutes something grotesque: certainly, the execution is not as "disturbing" as the images in David Cronenberg's "The Fly" (otherwise, it wouldn't have been awarded) but the concept is evidently still very effective on an emotional level across the board.

"A Cure for Wellness" (2016) by Gore Verbinski is a gothic and grotesque film full of mysteries and fundamentally based on a series of images belonging to the aforementioned category. The story is based on a 1924 work by Thomas Mann ("The Magic Mountain") and is rich in references to the imagination of H.P. Lovecraft: it is set in the Swiss Alps in modern times (actually at the spectacular Hohenzollern Castle in Germany and near the Black Forest), where a young NYC broker named Lockhart (Dane DeHaan) is sent by his bosses to retrieve the company's CEO Roland Pembroke at a wellness center so he can sign releases for the merger with another agency.

The spa is managed by Dr. Heinreich Volmer (Jason Isaacs), whose treatment method fundamentally consists of the administration of water (another point of contact with del Toro's film). But not only that: considering its beneficial capabilities, he believes practices such as simple activities in the pool or sauna, up to more extreme activities like prolonged immersion, form the basis of a complete regenerative cure. The truth, which becomes immediately evident, is that the effects of the "cure" are rather deleterious both physically and mentally for the patients. Once there, Lockhart finds himself forced by circumstances to stay, and every attempt to escape proves futile until the end when all the cards are finally revealed.

I have already mentioned the grotesque tones of this film: many scenes have a truly strong scenic and emotional impact. The pervasive obsessive and hallucinatory character and the recurring appearances of eels, the characteristic "sanguisughe," a throwback to antediluvian medical science, which here constitutes the main horrific element, combined with the boldness of the director and the actors, who have experimented with difficult and daring scenes, are all elements that favor a film that is certainly original and perhaps only falters in the "execution" of the final scenes. Adding to this is that all the cast members, starting with the young Dane DeHaan and Mia Goth (still somewhat unknown), make the film worth what was once defined as "the price of the ticket."