Flasz On Film

When Mia Goth wandered into Ti West’s life, I am pretty sure the filmmaker instinctively knew he’d end up making a whole string of movies with her in the lead. Therefore, it was probably not entirely coincidental that the pair painted themselves into a film series the minute they decided it would be a good idea for Goth to play both Maxine, the porno-actress-turned-final-girl, and Pearl, the pitchfork-wielding dementor in their first collaboration, X. Consequently, it became a natural extension of the narrative to explore Pearl’s backstory and complement the 70s-inspired slasher X with a Disney movie from hell that was Pearl.

Naturally, because Hollywood thinks in trilogies, Ti West must have felt the need to add another chapter into the story, and thus MaXXXine was born, an 80s-set slasher reuniting the audience with Maxine Minx, who is no longer just a survivor of a veritable Texas chainsaw massacre, but a driven actress on a path to stardom, vindicated and empowered by her past traumas. However, in line with canonical expectations of a trilogy, we aren’t so much as latching onto Maxine’s shoulders as she embarks on new adventures, but we are rather following her as the past folds back upon her life. Thus, as she scores her big role in a slasher sequel The Puritan II, she must also face off against demons she wishes to have forgotten. And it all coincides with a series of brutal murders taking place in Hollywood, a Chinatown-inspired private investigator following Maxine’s footsteps (played here by the wonderfully camp Kevin Bacon), and a pair of detectives plucked straight out of an 80s cop drama asking uncomfortable questions (Michelle Monaghan and Bobby Cannavale).

Arguably, this is a lot to process and indeed, it would be fair to accuse MaXXXine of being excessively dense, especially since Ti West continues and further reinforces his proclivity to relish in aesthetic flourishes ripped off (occasionally verbatim) from era-appropriate filmmakers. Hence, this 80s-inspired lurid and sexy slasher-thriller is simply teeming with expected references to Brian De Palma, Joe Eszterhas, Paul Schrader and others, while the narrative itself assumes an openly meta-relationship with the audience that someone like Quentin Tarantino would vibe with most profoundly.

In fact, I don’t think I’d be particularly original if I pointed out that Ti West has been consistently looking up to genre mish-mashers like Tarantino, Rodriguez and De Palma and that not only this entire trilogy has been built on the concept of a fetishized homage bordering on visual plagiarism, but that the man’s entire career fits this description as well. At this point it becomes the viewer’s responsibility to make an informed choice and either get with the program or leave the cinema and perhaps go watch something completely different, because I am not prepared to defend West’s visual toolbox or his working philosophy of cinema by collage. It is what it is.

However, as I may have pointed out while discussing the recently released Sting, a movie that uses homage as its main set of aesthetic crutches must offer something in addition to the veritable where’s Waldo of movie references. It has to work as a story and/or be fundamentally entertaining. Think Scream movies. Think Abigail. Think Thanksgiving and Malignant.

Think X. Think Pearl. Think… MaXXXine.

Yes, Ti West’s latest opus effectively functions as a Tarantino-esque opus of homage, rip-off and aesthetic collage set upon a skeletal framework made up of movies that are both great and visually distinctive, so it is easy—for those skilled in the art of cinematic where’s Waldo—to pick out exactly where Ti West’s mind was when he was assembling this movie. A keen observer will quickly identify De Palma-esque split screens and visual nods to Dressed to Kill, Body Double and Blow Out, just as it will be effortless to find many other pieces of connective tissue. In fact, the filmmaker himself wants us to immerse ourselves in the Hollywood-adjacent sleaze we most assuredly remember from the time when six years ago Quentin Tarantino did it too. Maybe with a tongue pressed in cheek you could call this movie Ti West’s Once Upon a Time in Hollywood, but I believe this would be woefully inadequate and perhaps unnecessarily provocative. Nobody wants a pitchfork mob of well-actually cine-nerds to spontaneously coalesce around them, so let’s leave it there.

However, the fact remains that West’s conclusion to the “X Trilogy”, which I personally prefer to call a “Hollywood Collage Trilogy,” is an incredibly dense piece reliant on the viewers ability and inclination to vibe with the filmmaker’s ideas, which could be called scattershot by those unable and unwilling to get on board with what’s on offer. Meanwhile, those of us fortunate enough to locate the movie’s pulse will see this story as a neon-washed experiment in camp that only looks as though it was going through a serious identity crisis… and perhaps only because it reflects back at us the simple fact that Hollywood of the time West imbibes on this occasion was itself in throes of despair, aimlessly wandering in search of its own identity, unable to recognize its own reflection in the mirror.

I suppose if this is not your bag, you won’t be helped by the fact that MaXXXine has its own story-related obligations to fulfil as it is supposed to serve as a bow to be put on a triptych of movies, so naturally its own meanderings need to fall back upon its own narrative ideas, bring back aspects of at least one of the previous movies and tie it all together… all the while West is thoroughly ensconced in his mission of hybridizing the myriad disparate genre tropes that all added up to the 80s Hollywood experience. Therefore, I think it is fair to call this movie the least accessible of the three and perhaps the least coherent. But it does not mean that it is a failure either. No, sir.

MaXXXine has plenty to offer for those who know how to approach this monstrosity and who are equally prepared to concede that what they are about to experience veers decisively from the more straightforward vibes emanating from its two predecessors. It’s a messy film I had a lot of fun watching and the experience of doing so was more akin to David Robert Mitchell’s Under the Silver Lake than any previous Ti West productions I am aware of, as it flip-flops between tropes, meshes ideas and maintains a decisively tongue-in-cheek tone that is also somehow—cognitively dissonantly so—luridly serious, if that makes any sense.

And at this point you are free to throw in the towel and refuse to boogie with Ti West’s MaXXXine, its meta-Hollywood behind-the-scenes shenanigans, Kevin Bacon’s awkward gait, or subtle nods to John Carpenter’s Christine (a Mars bar to those who notice it). The movie’s not for everyone, that’s clear as day. It wallops and slams around the frame with the grace of a bull in a china shop, that’s for blooming sure, but the spectacle this bull produces is still worth seeing if you’re into genre destruction derby as much as I am. Violent kills, check. Mia Goth hiding from Kevin Bacon in Norman Bates’s house, check. American puritanist tendencies getting their metaphorical brains smeared on the screen in the long shadow cast by the iconic Hollywood sign, check. 

Camp, cheeky and self-aware to the point of obnoxiousness, MaXXXine executes on the mission of relating how stylistically and aesthetically incongruent the 80s were as a decade that housed the they-won’t let-you-do-it self-censorship neo-puritans, the rebound post-70s sleaze peddlers, the continuity grit sellers and the disco-washed mavericks who tried to make sense of it all, all under the same roof. Think about it. The 80s had something for everyone, from tonally inappropriate sexy comedies and the emergence of SNL supremacy to roided out action men, steamy thrillers, post-giallo slasher galore and even the continued presence of tofu-flavoured prestige schlock courtesy of studio octogenarians hoping to keep the Academy voters pacified. And Ti West successfully captures this total cacophony with glee. But to the outside observer it will look as though the filmmaker had a bit of a mental breakdown after putting together not one but two tonally more straightforward pictures… both of which reflected more tonally straightforward eras in Hollywood history, one caked in Technicolor schmaltz and the other smothered in New Hollywood mud.

Yes, MaXXXine is dense, oppressive and melodically out of step with what came before it. It’s a John Zorn-esque free jazz meets disco experiment recorded by a band who previously released a 70s-like proto-heavy metal album and a 50s-inspired prog rock piece disguised as a Disney-esque musical suite. But I promise you it has a lot happening underneath its shouty demeanour. It’s a fun spectacle for those who know how to attune themselves to what the movie offers and who understand that this entire trilogy was never snapping to the tune of its first instalment. All three chapters were supposed to collectively tell a grander story of Hollywood, all in their own unique ways, using the visual means of a post-Tarantino genre mashup spiced up with Ti West’s own directorial proclivities he most assuredly borrowed from Eli Roth and seasoned to perfection with Mia Goth’s unmatched presence.

So, in closing, I am not sure I can recommend this movie to anyone because chances are you won’t get it. You’ll find this movie obnoxious, aimless, and dense. Or maybe you won’t but do I want to take this responsibility upon my shoulders? You’re a grown-ass adult. Make up your own mind.

I found it fun and here I am telling you to zoom out, look at this entire trilogy holistically and sit down to watch MaXXXine knowing it will allow you to experience the identity crisis of the 80s in living colour. But it doesn’t mean the movie has no idea what it is. It does. Oh, it does. Therefore, against your better judgment feel free to venture out and vibe with Ti West’s disco splatter and its cacophonously gleeful nuance.