Obsession as a phenomenon is often framed from the viewpoint of the obsessed upon, with the obsessed being viewed as little more than antagonistic monsters with no further insight or development. David Ward’s Lenore inverts this tendency, making the obsessed the POV character, and by doing so turns what could be a generic ghost story into an atmospheric and haunting examination of misplaced devotion, loss of self, and cultish tendencies.
Max is not having a good time. In addition to being recently let go from his job, he’s having trouble completing a documentary on Lenore, an enigmatic influencer that he’s become obsessed with. She’s all he thinks about and this is consuming him. Making things worse, she’s recently gone missing after deleting all her social media accounts. As Max slowly begins to cave under the imagined pressure of this situation, reality itself starts to unwind, and he’s soon struggling to differentiate what’s real and what’s a product of his crumbling mind.
This film is a difficult watch. I mean that in the best way. Nicholas Jaquinot as Max creates a character who comes off as a walking set of nerve endings that hasn’t slept in weeks and is staying awake through the power of caffeine and mania. Like a slightly subdued version of the hitchhiker from The Texas Chainsaw Massacre. He’s a twitchy, irritated mess, giving the overall film a similar vibe. The true horror of the character is how Jaquinot gives the character a pitiful awareness of his situation; he knows his obsession with Lenore is wrong and detrimental and yet he is helpless to stop himself. Like an iron filing in the presence of a magnet, Jaquinot’s Max can only go in one direction. He is drawn to Lenore to the point of the rest of his life falling apart. The result is a film in which the audience is similarly drawn to, unable to turn away as Max deteriorates and his ability to keep it together fails utterly. It is uncomfortable but not transgressive, beyond awkward and straight into unsettling. The film is subtle in its evocation of horror, never shocking but instead slowly turning up the heat and gently nudging the viewer further down the rabbit hole.
Supporting Jaquinot in this venture into despair is Sam Macdonald as Sam, a former coworker of Max’s at a local TV station who has footage for Max’s documentary. Blatantly antagonist at first, Macdonald deftly oscillates between “asshole bully” and “fellow sufferer”, whipsawing from mocking Max’s obsession with Lenore and despising him in general to quietly suffering along with him, tearfully recalling the time he himself met Lenore. In the context of Max’s own unraveling, it’s horrifyingly effective, further enhancing the atmosphere of manic despair.
Lenore is not a film that worries that it’s taking its time. Impatient viewers might view it as meandering and slow, but I’ll instead call it “leisurely”. Ward succeeds in creating a quiet pressure cooker of film, slowly but relentlessly turning up the heat until his characters start to split at the seams, constantly giving the audience reasons to question what’s happening in front of them. It’s an examination on the devastating effects of obsession and influencer culture, at times feeling like a full length behind the scenes making of Ricardo Lopez infamous Bjork stalker tape. It’s creepy without relying on any sort of trope, and instead of shocking it ends up making the skin crawl at a glacial pace.
