I Saw the TV Glow is destabilising, bleak, and haunting. In many ways, it’s a tragedy, as the narrative takes us to disturbing realms of overindulgent fantasy that obfuscate the hardships of so many people’s realities. Yet, as the late great Roger Ebert always championed, movies are machines for generating empathy, and I Saw the TV Glow generates a vast abundance of it. I Saw the TV Glow is now playing in selected cinemas nationwide.
Nostalgia and one’s place in the world are two of the most blistering themes in Jane Schoenbrun’s I Saw the TV Glow. On their own, each can make for compelling starting points in the exploration of individual or collective humanity. By hybridising them into a chillingly crafted drama with shades of horror, this film evolves from a hauntingly empathetic experience into one of 2024’s best films.
In 1996, Owen (Ian Foreman) is a lonely seventh grader who feels out of place. He has no friends and feels disconnected from his parents, who enforce strict rules and curfews. A chance encounter with a ninth grader, Maddy (Bridgette Lundy-Paine), introduces him to The Pink Opaque, a supernatural young adult TV show in the vein of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Finding solace in the show’s characters and aesthetic, Owen quickly grows obsessed, an obsession that runs in tandem with his slow but gradual friendship with Maddy. However, as time passes and Owen develops into an equally lost adult (Justice Smith), his relationship with Maddy, the show, and his very being become entangled together, forcing him to confront eerie circumstances that blur the line between reality and fantasy.
From its opening moments, Schoenbrun and team waste no time demonstrating the film’s meticulous craftsmanship. Tight framing personifies Owen’s lonely experience, with only his fascination with The Pink Opaque giving him a stable constant. Shadows loom over the characters, from the multiple scenes set at night to the interior shots dominated by darkness, the glimmer of the TV being the sole light source. As Owen gazes into the TV screen, we become voyeurs to his existence, peering into the person’s soul on display. The purple glow of The Pink Opaque bleeds into the colour grading, turning the film’s colour palette magenta. This vivid luminosity generates an ominous atmosphere. Anytime the film incorporates wide shots, often for external locations, the characters occupy the corners of the screen or are placed in the centre with vast nothingness surrounding them. Even the sounds of static incorporated into the soundtrack hint at the crippling emotions of confusion and sadness within the characters’ lives. Just as they feel marginalised in life, so too do they exist in the margins of the craft.
When we find ourselves lost or alone, we tend to look for easy comfort to fill the void. As the growing trend of nostalgic franchise media has shown – think Marvel or Star Wars – films and shows that kept us enthralled in our childhoods are uniquely special. They harken back to simpler, more innocent times or, in Owen’s case, provided escapism from the injustices of life. The Pink Opaque’s production quality reflects this. The show is as if Buffy was made during the era of 80s Doctor Who, as teenagers Isabel and Tara use their psychic connection to battle the mysterious Mr Melancholy, who sends monster-of-the-week minions after the girls. Its incorporation of cheesy dialogue and cheap yet uncanny monster costumes replicates the look and feel of late 20th-century television seamlessly.
But it’s the emotional dynamic between spectacle and spectator that Schoenbrun is examining here. Just as these shows can be our glow in life’s darkness – as the film visualises frequently – so too can their glow become a trapdoor for avoiding the hard truths of identity and placement we all must face. Maddy muses that sometimes fantasy can feel more real than real life, a sentiment that has a ring of truth but is also a dangerous rabbit hole. The film’s eventual blurring between reality and fiction is not just a spooky narrative turn but a reflection on how our fixations with media can become surrogates for real experiences and interpersonal developments. At what point does our love of fantasy become a means of avoiding personal growth? When does it stop being comforting and start preventing us from achieving the development we need, leaving us in a purgatory stasis in which we are unable to brave reality? That The Pink Opaque’s big bad is called melancholy is no accident.
It is in the struggle for placement that the characterisation and emotional honesty of the film become so heart-wrenching. The horror comes not from any creepy imagery or atmosphere, although it has both, but from the disquieting emptiness that a life without self-love entails. Some have read the film as a transgender allegory, a reading that this cisgender critic is inclined to agree with given the film’s colour palette and emotional metatextual connections between Owen and The Pink Opaque’s heroine. Yet, whatever your takeaway, there is no questioning the enormity of the film’s empathy, as, despite its morbid sequences, it strives to actualise the characters’ feelings and experiences.
Schoenbrun’s direction glows so brightly precisely because of this empathy, shining not just on the creative filmmaking but on the central performances, too. After a string of fun roles in blockbusters like Dungeons and Dragons: Honour Among Thieves, Justice Smith comes out swinging with his best performance to date. Trading in his comedic chops for pure drama, Smith radiates a reserved awkwardness and deep insecurity that makes the role of Owen blisteringly authentic. You want to reach into the screen and hug Owen throughout the film, with Smith’s performance humanising the character with chilling results. Lundy-Paine also captivates as Maddy, particularly as her initial role of mentor figure takes on mysterious new dimensions in the film’s back half. As nail-bitingly contemporary as the film’s themes are and as frighteningly enchanting as its filmmaking is, the actors bring the ship successfully to harbour, from its eye-popping opening to its utterly soul-shattering climax.
I Saw the TV Glow is destabilising, bleak, and haunting. In many ways, it’s a tragedy, as the narrative takes us to disturbing realms of overindulgent fantasy that obfuscate the hardships of so many people’s realities. Yet, as the late great Roger Ebert always championed, movies are machines for generating empathy, and I Saw the TV Glow generates a vast abundance of it. Imaginative in spectacle and masterful in craft, it all comes together into a film that fascinates, horrifies, and devastates. It’s by no means an easy watch, but it steadfastly reminds us of the importance of compassion, solidarity and acceptance, things that we are in dire need of in today’s world. Like the unmistakable sound of static, the heart-breaking beauty of I Saw the TV Glow will be lingering on my mind for years to come.
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