Coming soon!
Cast:
Neel R¯nholt as Katrine
Mikkel Arendt as Rolf
Julie ÿlgaard as Sanne
Mira Wanting as Lena
Jon Lange as Lukas
Directed by Martin Barnewitz
Review:
No matter where in the world you go, college dorms are essentially the same. Cramped quarters, communal kitchen space, and coin-op laundry all come with the territory, as do the emotional drama and hormonal surge of young adults living on their own for the first time. But in the Danish shocker Room 205, residents of one particular dorm have far greater worries than the underwear they left in the dryer. As if a hostile social climate werenât intimidating enough, these thinly constructed walls also harbor a nasty supernatural force. Director Martin Barnewitz earns his room and board with a striking visual essay on alienation, but needs a better roommate than scriptor Jannik Tai Mosholt.
Eager for a fresh start following the death of her mother, aspiring young English major Katrine (Neel R¯nholt) moves away from the provincial comforts of her family home and into a densely populated dorm at her Copenhagen university. Sheâs quickly introduced to Sanne (Julie ÿlgaard), the snide, self-appointed authority of the floor who maintains rule with a unique brand of social Darwinism. Sanne leaves little doubt that sheâs responsible for squeezing out room 205âs former tenant, not-so-subtly threatening the same fate for Katrine if she chooses to opt out of Sanneâs caustic circle. Katrine tries her best to adapt to Sanneâs bitchy world order, but a late-night tryst with Lukas (Jon Lange), Sanneâs ex, makes her the passive-aggressive predatorâs top target.
If it werenât for a few spooky hallway shots, I might have assumed at this point that Denmark defines âhorrorâ as Melrose Place. The set up of Room 205 has all the vapid characterization and contrived tension youâd expect from a WB drama, albeit without, blessedly, the achingly bad power-pop soundtrack. And unlike most prime time tripe, this Ringish revenge tale does actually get better.
Or, at least it looks better.
Sanneâs clique enacts a scare prank on Katrine, unleashing an imitative ghost story steeped in horror clichÃs: a victimized girl, a haunted mirror, a search for the truth, etc., etc. When the mean kids start dying gruesomely, Sanneâs accusatory finger forces Katrine to seek help from Rolfe (Mikkel Arendt), the young man who vacated room 205 just prior to her arrival. Together they attempt to draw out the ghost and put her back in her place.
On paper (in this case, a Mosholtâs tepid screenplay), the premise is about as engaging as a correspondence course in conversational Danish. But director Barnewitz knows how to use his camera to compensate, creating a fresh, complex visual experience. He employs mirrors, glass, and shadows to great effect, overlapping film and taking images out of focus to build atmosphere and provide the scares the script canât summon. His use of natural light gives the film a hazy, ethereal vibe, paired with a persistent grain that leaves you feeling dirty and violated like the specter at the heart of the story.
Said specter is one pissed-off phantom. Though her vengeance appears to be motivated more by weak plotting than the tragedy at her core (conveniently, her choice of victims implicates Katrine in the killings, as though sheâs trying to frame the girl for no explicable reason), her methods are delightfully vicious. Broken glass and an elevator car become blunt weapons, accompanied by just enough splatter to register an impact. Barnewitz again makes the most of what heâs given, lending the killings a sense of rage and aggression. Thereâs a bit of a shakey-cam stigma to his work in spots, but itâs never overbearing. Instead, he and editor Benjamin Binderup alternate between subtlety and shock. The pace increases as the revenant threat grows stronger, and a potent sound mix adds another visceral layer. The results arenât as scary as they could be, but present a dynamic style that keeps the film entertaining in spite of its shortcomings.
There are better haunts to be had, but Room 205 is not the worst of its breed. Let Barnewitz’s steadicam tug you along, and ignore the feeble narrative that trails behind.
