At first glance, Flying Lotus’ film “Ash” emerges as yet another entry into the growing pantheon of cosmic horror. However, as the narrative unfolds, viewers are confronted with deeper, more unsettling truths intertwined with the genre’s convention. Eiza González stars as Riya, an astronaut thrust into an alien landscape devoid of identity and haunted by her crew’s gruesome fate. The brilliance lies in how the chaos around her mirrors contemporary issues, crafting a tale that is not merely about survival but about the implications of our very existence in the universe.
The ambiance of “Ash” is distinctly chilling. From the very first frame, the audience is jolted into an atmosphere layered with dread and uncertainty. Yet, the film transcends mere horror by weaving in the trope of colonization, cleverly serving a critique of humanity’s propensity to impose itself where it does not belong. This cinematic endeavor shifts from horror films’ superficial scares to become a reflection on historical parallels—exploring themes of disinformation and systemic marginalization. Riya’s initial amnesia serves as a fitting metaphor: much like society’s amnesia regarding its past transgressions, she’s left in a state of oblivion, wrestling with the specter of what humanity has done to itself and others.
Visuals That Resonate
The film’s aesthetics contribute significantly to its impact. Lotus has crafted a visually arresting world, where vibrant colors clash with ominous undertones, making space both alluring and terrifying. The desaturated, AI-rendered effects evoke a sense of disconnection, possibly an intentional choice that brings forth a central question: How can reality be perceived in an era dominated by artificiality? The striking visuals are not just a spectacle; they subtly invite contemplation about the fragility of truth in a world increasingly muddied by misleading narratives.
Moreover, the auditory experience, enhanced by Lotus’ own score, elevates the tension to a fever pitch. Each sound serves as a stark reminder of impending doom, pushing the narrative forward as Riya grapples with her collapse of memory and reality. Instead of merely relying on jump scares, “Ash” evokes anxiety through mastery in sound design, reminding viewers that fear can often be more psychological than physical.
Parallels to Our Own Reality
As the story progresses, the revelations about other inhabitants on the alien planet highlight the destructive colonial mindset that plagues both fictional and real worlds. The film’s subtext about being pitted against one another serves as a microcosm of society’s existing schisms, prompting reflection on how disinformation and division have paralleled humanity’s darkest chapters. Riya’s struggles can be seen not just as personal but as emblematic of a universal fight—not just for survival but for understanding and reclaiming history.
As she recalls idyllic moments with her crew, the phrase “Let’s not f*ck it up this time” resonates deeply. It serves as both a rallying cry and a somber reminder that rejuvenation often comes hand in hand with the risk of repeating historical atrocities. The narrative laps between memories and current horrors, leaving viewers to ponder whether humankind can ever truly evolve beyond its past mistakes or if we are doomed to relive them on distant planets.
“Ash” captures the unsettling essence of our relationship with the cosmos and one another, artfully balancing horror with biting critique of humanity’s hubris. The film’s commentary on history, memory, and the pervasive threat of disinformation grounds its otherworldly narrative in stark reality, leaving an indelible mark on the viewer long after the credits roll.