What if the somewhat tacky cliches used about couples—“become one;” “complete each other;” “my other/better half”—are taken literally? The partners really are parts of the same single organism; their bodies only work when joined; they really do have to cooperate to continue to live, to move their limbs, to open the child lock of a medicine bottle?
It has been a bumper year for superb horror movies. And this weekend, yet another stonking offering leapfrogs over other recent, mediocre releases: “Together” (Neon) is showing now at the Montrose Playhouse. From time to time, the opening moments of a film generate a subconscious reaction in me—to sit up sharply in my comfortable Playhouse seat and really concentrate on the filmmaking. The first five minutes or so of “Together” combine nerve-wracking suspense, sparkling acting and spectacular photography—and this continues without a single weak scene all the way through to the brilliant closing image (which I won’t reveal).
The likeable couple at the heart of “Together”—Millie, played by Alison Brie, and Tim, played by Dave Franco—are reassuringly ordinary. She asks him to marry her during a party with their friends. But things don’t go to plan. He hesitates—awkwardly–just long enough for the guests to deduce that the answer is “no.” Instead, the two of them decamp from the city to a large country house, heading out for a forest walk which abruptly ends when they fall down a hole hidden amidst the fallen leaves into an underground cave. They nap; “Only you could sleep in a wet cave,” says Millie, and when they wake up one of her legs is glued to one of Tim’s; he makes an ominous quip about a “three-legged race.” Other odd occurrences follow. But Tim has previously been diagnosed with anxiety and panic attacks; both Millie and the doctor think he is acting strangely because of worsening mental health, and shortly afterwards there really is a full-blown panic attack on the platform at a train station. One of her friends agrees, “Sounds like he has…lost it.” The remainder of the breezy one hour and forty minutes is constructed from the simple idea (of becoming glued together) and executed flawlessly.
The relationship between Millie and her “boy-partner” Tim is absolutely critical to the movie’s unquestionable success. The two actors have adequate on-set chemistry to enable “love you,” “baby,” “honey” to land perfectly. Together they achieve something marvellous. As they drift apart—because Tim is behaving weirdly and seems to be avoiding intimacy—they seem more in love. Take the scenes where Tim appears as a stalker, spying on her, say, through a neighbour’s window. Millie is cross, yes, and lashes out. “You need me more than I need you,” she says. But the genius of Ms Brie’s cracking performance is that we know that she has already forgiven him. She finds a well of compassion within her heart, creating an unshakeable belief that he is behaving as he is because he is sick. She just wants him to get help to get well.
Brevity only allows me to mention one or two of the thick-on-the-ground shots that made me gasp with admiration. Towards the beginning there is a wonderful segue from a shot of a light fitting from below to an aerial shot of the start of the walk. It’s like being on a rollercoaster—we feel thrown all over the place by the rapidly switching direction of the lens. Later, the feeling returns even more gut-wrenchingly—as if on a higher, faster ride—during one of the best scenes of all when wild-eyed Tim is alone in the shower. As he is violently pulled by his face, as if by a magnet, from one wall of the cubicle to the other, completely powerless, the camera frantically changes direction, doubling the feeling of strangeness and disorientation. It must have been a very complex scene to pull off.
Lighting design is always critical in horror movies. “Together” doesn’t disappoint. Early on, investigating a bad smell, Tim discovers a dead rat in the light fitting. As the suspense builds, scene after scene is lit by a single-bulb overhead light. And then in a much later scene, Tim and Millie sitting on opposite sides of their round kitchen table, once again our eyes are drawn upwards to the ceiling light. As Tim starts to obsessively research a tip he has been given about a couple who previously disappeared in the same forest, the glow from the computer monitor is the only light. And finally when Tim has been banished to the spare room, there is a beautiful shot of his body silhouetted against the open doorframe, lit by a bedside light that we can’t actually see. And then the camera cuts across the landing to Millie, slowly closing the door on him, before suddenly being drawn towards him, hands glued to the floor by the mysterious force. (Many of the later scenes are shot with both actors on the ground.)
Tim is a guitar player “probably self-releasing this time;” Millie a secondary school teacher. They are costumed in down-to-earth clothes—hoodies, university sweatshirts, joggers, unbranded trainers, beanies, denim. She supports him financially, pointing out that “we haven’t budgeted for two new phones,” after the cave scene. She likes the “Spice Girls.” And after the scene with the saw they sit companionably on opposite sides of the kitchen floor, eating snacks. “Tim,” says Millie, ever the sensible woman. “I just sawed through our f arms. We are going to the hospital!”
Adam Poole
17th August 2025
If you are interested in viewing this screening, please book your tickets here
