The Oxbow Cure (2013)

directed by Calvin Thomas & Yonah Lewis

Canada

79 minutes

3 stars out of 5

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A movie about a woman moving to a remote cabin in the middle of nowhere to isolate away from other people is possibly the most apropos thing to watch in the current situation, but what I didn't expect from The Oxbow Cure prior to watching it was that it is specifically about disability. I don't frequently see films that talk about chronic pain, or if they do they're not as personal as this one. So having something like this where the disability is sort of danced around (ankylosing spondylitis) but definitely legible to those who actually have it is somewhat rare.

This is a body horror film in probably the most literal interpretation of the phrase. I did have a misconception that it would be a more traditional horror movie before I watched it, but it's far more of a look at one woman's contemplation of her own body, her imminent future in it, and what it means to be apart from other people. The horror comes from facing down the knowledge that your future will involve disfiguring pain and stigmatization, and trying to figure out how to mitigate your symptoms while also acknowledging that this thing will come for you eventually. Like an unstoppable It Follows demon of pain and suffering, the lead character's spondylitis manifests in different ways over the course of the film, an unwelcome intruder she can't get rid of.

I'm going to keep this review at least somewhat short, because there really isn't much substance here. I don't think the lead character even says ten words throughout this whole thing. It's really just about one woman isolated in a cabin by a frozen lake, and that doesn't leave much space for monologuing. We never learn much about her apart from her diagnosis and that she's recently had a parent die. One symptom of her disease is a lack of energy, so that's reflected in how she doesn't move around much from the cabin save for one sequence of wandering that is all the more unnerving because it's so out-of-character. The film is shot in an uncomfortably intimate way; at times I could pretty much visualize the cameraperson getting up from a crouch and shifting position because of the way the camera was moving. It feels voyeuristic sometimes, looking in on a woman grieving. She briefly has a dog, but it slips away. She watches videos of exercises that are supposed to help with her pain, and the calming voice and attractive body presenting this information on the tape is cast as alienating, unfamiliar. The whole atmosphere is disorienting and strange. Like I said, this is about a specific disability and sort of also about chronic pain as a whole, but it could easily be mapped onto our current experiences of covid isolation and paranoia.

There is a moment in this movie towards the end that changes the whole tone, and it's difficult to talk about without spoiling because it only works if you don't expect it. Many reviews have already talked about this, but I'm going to avoid addressing it directly. Suffice to say, though, I didn't see that coming. A fairly obvious interpretation would be that it represents the woman coming to terms with her disease, or possibly mourning her dead loved one, trying to hold close either something that repulses her or something that she feels slipping away, and I would tend to agree with that meaning, as I don't really see any others. All in all, I can't say I was thrilled by this movie, but it's something very unique that I did appreciate a lot. It's barely even a movie, it feels more like one long video essay or art piece. 

I'm still troubled by thoughts of where that dog ran off to.