Film Review: Under the Silver Lake (2018)

In an era of increasingly fragmented popular culture, where niche audiences scatter across streaming platforms and viral trends, the attainment of genuine cult status for a film has become a remarkably elusive feat. Such status is now almost invariably conferred despite a picture’s commercial performance or mainstream fame, emerging instead from a potent alchemy of obscurity, idiosyncrasy, and obsessive fan engagement. A quintessential example of this modern cult phenomenon is David Robert Mitchell’s 2018 opus, Under the Silver Lake. A sprawling, paranoid mystery-thriller that baffled distributors and divided critics upon its release, it has since fermented in the darker corners of cinephile discourse, evolving from a misunderstood box-office casualty into a revered object of fascination and fevered decipherment.

The plot, set in a sun-bleached Los Angeles during the summer of 2011, follows Sam (Andrew Garfield), an aimless thirty-three-year-old man subsisting on pop culture detritus and conspiracy theories. So engrossed is he in these shadowy narratives that he neglects to pay rent, facing imminent eviction from his apartment complex, a microcosm of Los Angeles eccentricity populated by figures like a perpetually topless neighbour (Wendy Vanden Heuvel) who tends to her parrot. Sam’s listless existence is jolted by the arrival of Sarah (Riley Keough), an attractive young woman who becomes the object of his sudden, intense fixation. Their nascent connection is abruptly severed when Sarah and her roommates vanish overnight, leaving Sam with a void he feels compelled to fill, thus igniting the film’s central mystery.

Sam’s investigation begins with the only clue: a man (Don McManus) seen removing items from the vacated flat. This leads him to a decadent party attended by Millicent Sevence (Callie Hernandez), daughter of a recently disappeared millionaire, and the enigmatic Balloon Girl (Grace Van Patten), a member of the band Jesus and the Brides of Dracula who knew Sarah. The mystery deepens grotesquely with the news that Jefferson Sevence allegedly died in a car crash with three women, all burned beyond recognition—one potentially being Sarah. From here, Sam descends into a rabbit hole of cryptic clues scattered across Los Angeles landmarks, piecing together a baroque conspiracy involving urban legends of dog killers, a supernatural nude assassin known as the Owl’s Kiss, and subliminal messages encoded within popular music.

Mitchell arrived at this project with considerable expectations, having achieved critical acclaim four years prior with the low-budget horror film It Follows, a masterful blend of genre tropes and contemporary anxieties. Under the Silver Lake was a deliberate and radical departure: a far more ambitious undertaking with a significantly larger budget and a cast headlined by former Spider-Man star Andrew Garfield. The supporting roles are peppered with recognisable faces, including Topher Grace, Jimmi Simpson, and a pre-Euphoria Sydney Sweeney in a small role as an escort. This elevation in scale underscores Mitchell’s clear intent to craft a major, statement film.

That ambition manifests most palpably in the film’s reckless genre synthesis. On a basic level, it functions as a neo-noir mystery thriller, but it persistently destabilises this framework with intrusions of supernatural horror, biting satire, and pitch-black comedy. Further setting it apart from typical Hollywood fare of its time is its unabashed, often confrontational eroticism. Female characters are frequently nude, and sexual acts are depicted with a matter-of-factness that feels both of-a-piece with the film’s seedy milieu and deliberately provocative. This carnal atmosphere is punctuated by scenes of graphic violence and visceral biological humour, creating a sensory experience that is as grubby as it is mesmerising.

Mitchell’s desire to distinguish his work extends to a pervasive surrealism and a deliberate embrace of anachronism. The production design is a clutter of obsolete gadgets and retro aesthetics, while the narrative is steeped in references to Hollywood’s past. Homages range from the silent era to the angsty teen landscapes of Rebel Without a Cause (1955). A particularly striking sequence features Riley Keough explicitly channeling Marilyn Monroe’s final, unfinished film Something’s Got to Give. Complementing this time-warped visual grammar is the superb score by Richard Vreeland (Disasterpeace), which eschews contemporary sounds for the lush, romantic strains of a 1940s or 1950s thriller, further heightening the sense of disconnected nostalgia.

However, as with many films that prioritise stylistic bravura, Under the Silver Lake frequently threatens to buckle under the weight of its own affectations. At times, the dedication to quirky mystery overwhelms narrative coherence, emphasising style over substance. Sequences such as Sam’s bizarre audience with a reclusive, paranoid songwriter (Jeremy Bobb), who explicates the secret codes in pop hits, or the over-stylised moonlight skinny-dipping encounter with Millicent, feel like indulgent digressions. They are fascinating vignettes in isolation but contribute to a middle section that sags under its own eccentricity. The film is ultimately rescued by Mitchell’s conviction; he wisely avoids a conventional resolution, opting for an ending as ambiguous, melancholic, and strangely poetic as the journey itself, providing a payoff that validates the viewer’s patience.

The film’s path to audiences was as unconventional as its plot. It premiered at the 2018 Cannes Film Festival to a mixed reception, but its US theatrical distribution was delayed for nearly a year. When it finally saw a limited stateside release, it was pulled from theatres after a mere handful of days, quickly transitioning to video-on-demand. This fate rendered it one of the more obscure major studio releases of its time, yet this very obscurity became part of its allure, lending it an additional layer of mystique for the dedicated few who sought it out.

The reasons for its commercial neglect are multifaceted, but one can speculate that its central theme—the systemic exploitation and mysterious disappearance of young women in Los Angeles, orchestrated by a cabal of wealthy, powerful men—struck a nerve far too raw for comfort. Released in the wake of the burgeoning #MeToo movement and on the eve of the Jeffrey Epstein scandal becoming mainstream news, the film’s conspiratorial cynicism perhaps felt less like absurdist fiction and more like a grotesque reflection of a reality the industry was not yet ready to confront so directly.

Paradoxically, it is this very quality that has cemented Under the Silver Lake’s cult status. In a rare and remarkable achievement for a modern film, it has inspired a devoted fringe of viewers who treat its labyrinthine cluesas a genuine puzzle to be solved. Online forums are dedicated to deciphering its symbols, maps, and codes, with some devotees attempting to apply its logic to real-world mysteries. This transference of the film’s paranoia into the audience’s reality is the ultimate testament to its unique power. It failed to conquer the box office, but it succeeded in creating a self-sustaining mythos—a rare and precious artefact that proves cult cinema, in its truest sense, is very much alive, lurking just under the surface.

RATING: 7/10 (+++)

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