Who'd have thunk that a photograph of a yellow empty office area of a building, construction in progress, in Oshkosh, Wisconsin would be the prompt for such freakiness?
Chiwetel Ejiofor leads a mind-bending flick as a dude who pretty much steps in turd soup with his life decisions. He regrets this aspect of his personality as he engages in it. A would-be architect, albeit one who deals in furniture, has perhaps decided to take his quasi-underachiever nature out on everyone else.
Until the universe comes along.
He discovers a sliver of light peering back at him from the wall of his sub-floor section in his furniture dealership.
Once Ejiofor literally slips into the backroom, Backrooms never lets up. His melting aloofness gives way to a sweaty, out of control obsession as a result.
An eternal confection of a banana colored, horribly fluorescent lit, shag carpeted galaxy is laid out before him. Albeit one with things in it. Living and inanimate. As he works his way through the labyrinthine expanse of awful Joe Versus the Volcano workspace devoid of work, the film starts to.....
collapse in on itself?
In a good way, bro.
It's up to you to decide what exactly is going on here. The movie provides enough line to satisfactorily trip over for your own answers to the questions presented. As I've said in an annoyingly disclaimerish fashion; I don't mind ambiguous endings, I hate nonsensical.
Youngster director Kane Parsons has delivered neither. I loved watching Chiwetel Ejifor and his psychiatrist, played with sharp disassociation by Reinate Reinsve, approach the blurriness of existence from two different angles.
An amazing score here that seems like Goblin fell into a quasar dish with Tangerine Dream and Boards of Canada make this shit even more creepy than it would have been anyway. And that's pretty creepy
Mark Duplass also pops up here to put an unraveling tie-up on things that gives the film's denouement all that is left that it needs. Because in Backrooms, it's better to be a door than a window.
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