And here I thought this was a documentary.
The premise and metaphor of “Honeymoon,” the writing and directing debut of Leigh Janiak, are pretty straightforward: a newly married couple honeymoon at a small cottage by a lake, and upon sleepwalking in the woods one night, the wife begins acting irrevocably strange.
“Gee, who did I REALLY marry?” is intended to spiral into a full-blown horror movie scenario, but I was mostly just concerned for the woman’s health. As she begins exhibiting problems with her memory and inability to do basic tasks like making coffee, it seems pretty clear that she has had a stroke and should probably be taken to a hospital.
But instead, the couple just stays where they are. Why? Mostly just so there can still be a movie. Nothing is actively preventing them from leaving, and the wife clearly just needs a doctor, but nope ... more movie.
As the husband progressively acts more irrational and paranoid about his wife’s obvious health problems, it seems like the movie might be taking a stab at some sort of psychological thriller. Is the wife’s “suspicious” behavior in his head and the audience allowed a first-person insight into his controlling delusions? Or perhaps he’s suffering from the Capgras delusion, which is a real disorder in which the sufferer believes that a loved one has been replaced by an identical imposter.
But no, the writing is bad. What a relief.
There was a lot of potential here for a personal, claustrophobic relationship, but the newlyweds aren’t particularly compelling characters, and I’m not even sure I could describe anything about their personalities if I try, which is unfortunate because the entirety of the movie rests solely with them.
The husband ultimately seems to remove declarative statements from his vocabulary entirely and descends into rabidly questioning everything aloud like a petulant toddler echoing “why?” ad nauseam.
The wife spends her time chiefly denying that things are weird as she continues to act weird.
Repeat.
Largely, “Honeymoon” has the problem of being a mystery box with a looming and ostensive question mark on it. The audience desperately wants to know what’s in the box and, most importantly, it doesn’t even matter what the final answer is. The act of longing is the point in and of itself.
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This method has recently stepped in for a new wave of writing suspense and mystery, such as “Lost,” or really anything within arm’s reach of J.J. Abrams. He’s even given a TED talk on the subject.
The real problem with using the Mystery Box to tell a story is that it doesn’t have any specific dramatic function. It doesn’t build tension with characters, conflict or the change therein that occurs over the length of a story.
It’s more like the purposeful teasing of the audience, wondering aloud, “Gosh, I wonder what’s going on?” This is not to say that stories need to be straightforward and transparent. They don’t, obviously. But the difference lies in the construction of “a mystery” with a clear, central conflict. It lies in the building of tension through the heightening of stakes and connection of information versus “just being mysterious,” which lasts as long as information is withheld until the moment that it’s not.
Even if I explained the final reveal, you probably wouldn’t believe me. It’s pretty banal to the point of being silly. I almost don’t believe it myself.
The fact that it’s a mystery box means that the actual ending isn’t really important anyway. The movie coyly averts its eyes, waving the big question mark in front of you to see. You wait patiently to find out what it is, and once you do, the only real reaction is a half-hearted “Oh.”
It might be time for “Honeymoon” to be thinking about divorce.
Graham Gentz is a theater and movie review for the Daily Lobo. He can be reached at culture@dailylobo.com or on Twitter @DailyLobo.
