[FrightFest 2019 Review] Spiral is a Thrilling Tale of Paranoia and Distrust

Last year, Colin Minihan’s What Keeps You Alive came out of nowhere and knocked me on my ass with its ferocity. Now, Spiral just had its world premiere at Fright Fest and...he did it again. Co-written by Minihan and John Poliquin and directed by Kurtis David Harder, Spiral is a much more measured psychological thriller than Minihan’s previous written work, relying on tension and paranoia to fuel the scares. It’s a stunning contemplation of class, race and sexuality at a time that still feels painfully and frustratingly prescient.

It’s 1995, a frankly shitty time for LGBTQ people in America. It’s only three years removed from Buchanon’s rant to re-elect George Bush that concludes that America is “God’s Country” and demonizes the Democrats who want things like “homosexual rights” and “radical feminism.” And it’s three years before Matthew Shepard’s brutal murder. It’s right around the time of Don’t Ask Don’t Tell. And it’s a time when an aspiring gay writer named Malik (Jeffrey Bowyer-Chapman) is forced to ghostwrite a biography about bigot who believes in gay conversion.

Malik has just relocated from Chicago to the sleepy town of Rusty Creek with his recently out partner Aaron (Ari Cohen) and Aaron’s daughter Kayla (Jennifer Laporte). Malik and Aaron come from two completely different life experiences and Spiral does a fantastic job of differentiating the lives of the two gay men. Malik has presumably lived as an openly gay man since a violently homophobic event devastated his teen years. Everywhere Malik looks, he sees danger and distrust. These are foreign concepts to Aaron, who comes from a place of money and privilege; a rich, straight and white world that has set him up for success. He’s had that Waspy marriage it and he still sees life through those rose colored glasses.

It’s a privilege Malik has never known. Instead, he painfully understands how the world sees people like him; not only as an openly gay man but a queer person of color. Even in their current family unit, Malik finds himself walking on egg shells. Kayla alternates between seeing Malik as a young, hip friend and as The Other who ruined her idyllic, heteronormative life. He affectionately calls her Booger and they laugh over pictures of her father in drag, but she’s obviously having a rough time. Sure, she harbors typical teenage resentment that comes with her parents’ divorce and their move from Chicago. But class and money also factors into it.

When Malik tells her he was hoping she’d be his assistant, she only half-jokingly asks, “what are you gonna pay me with? My dad’s money?” Later, on the phone with Derek, her now-long-distance boyfriend, Derek is all chipper, kind and polite when Aaron is in the room. But when Derek thinks he’s alone with Kayla, he whispers, “Don’t change because of them.”

“Don’t Change” is the cornerstone of Rusty Creek, the small town where everything feels stuck in time. As the neighbors show up to introduce themselves, we meet Tiffany (Chandra West), who mistakes Malik for Aaron’s hired help. After realizing the two men are together, her response is full of typical othering: “Wow, that’s so exciting! We don’t have any of you in town.” While she means gay people, the unspoken meaning is also non-white people, a fact further established as Malik goes for a run under the uncomfortable stares of the older, white townsfolk. He’s a double anomaly in the small town, and it weighs on him.

But after Tiffany’s awkward introduction, her family welcomes them with open arms. They quickly meet Tiffany’s husband Marshal (Lochlyn Munro) and their son Tyler (Ty Wood), who is introduced, leaning on his red classic sports car and smoking, while watching Kayla ride by; a 50s dreamboy with an edge. Aaron is elated. He sees this move as a chance to start over, but he doesn’t understand that just the act of living out and proud with Malik means that the “normal” and “typical” he’s come to expect just isn’t possible in 1995 America.

So, Malik finds himself semi-protecting Aaron. When someone breaks into their house and spray-paints the word “Faggots” on their wall, he covers it up with a fresh coat of paint to hide it from Aaron and Kayla. But it’s just the tipping point. Soon, Malik hears thumps in the middle of the night and an old man keeps showing up, outside their home and watching them with uncertain motives. But when Malik catches Tiffany, Marshal and a group of neighbors, swaying in a circle and holding hands in some kind of ritual, he starts to see an underlying threat looming just beneath the surface of the polite society of Rusty Creek.

Or does he? The problem is that everything has a reasonable explanation. A warning is just a blank note from a man suffering from dementia. A body on a stretcher isn’t malicious; he died from old age. A ritual glimpsed through a window is a wake that turned into a celebration. But glances are pointed.

And threats can’t be hidden under a coat of paint forever.

Spiral is an enthralling psychological thriller anchored in fantastic characters, writing and acting. Jeffrey Bowyer-Chapman’s performance in Unreal was always entertaining, but it never gave him much to really dig into. Here, he shines and not only carries the film on his shoulders, but gives what could be a career-defining performance filled with pathos. The way he embodies a character who is completely out of his depth, but wants desperately to keep things together because of his past alternates between powerful and heart-breaking. He’s finally found peace and a good relationship. So when the seeds of distrust sprout tendrils of doubt in his brain, his life starts to crumble.

Meanwhile, the script continues to make the viewer (and Malik himself) question everything he sees. He’s recently struggled with blackouts and periods of missing time, has secretive calls with a man from his past and his history of partying has taken its toll. Spiral balances the paranoia so well, it’s easy to question if he’s simply chasing ghosts because he wants things to be bad. When bad is all you’ve experienced, you tend to keep looking for that shoe to drop. So, of course he’s distrustful of the exceedingly nice neighbors. Aaron is tired of Malik looking for danger where there is none and tells him he just invites drama. “What’s the word for an uncle Tom but for gay people?” Malik snidely asks.

I think enterprising gay people today would call them a Milo.

As the paranoia and fear sends Malik on a downward spiral befitting the name of the NIN album released only a year earlier, Kurtis David Harder’s film slowly turns the screws and amps up the horror and thriller aspects. The tension simmers as Malik begins to look for clues and sees spirals and threats everywhere. It becomes a powder keg seconds away from exploding. Minihan and Poliquin’s script goes in some stunning and terrifying directions, with implications that left me reeling. It twists and turns as Malik becomes more and more of an unreliable narrator who feels powerless as he watches his world implode.

When Get Out made such a huge splash in 2017, every socially conscious movie tried to jump on the bandwagon and compare themselves to it. I can’t tell you how many movie screeners or press releases I’ve been sent that compare themselves to Jordan Peele’s classic. But with Spiral, it’s an apt comparison. Never imitative, it’s fantastic and thrilling and one of my favorite movie experiences this year. It may be set 24 years ago, but it unfortunately doesn’t feel far removed from today. A time where those in power are able to manipulate “the facts” to the point where you don’t know if you’d see the truth, even if it’s sitting right in front of you.

Where the only difference between an ally and an enemy is that one is better at hiding.

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