The obsession of Curry Barker’s title refers, superficially, to the poor young woman who develops an increasingly unhinged attachment to the protagonist of the film, Bear, after he makes a magic wish that forces her to be “in love” with him. Her name is Nikki, and they are part of a tight-knit circle of friends—involving two others, Sarah and Ian—who work together at a family-run music store.
But the deeper obsession is really Bear’s, which becomes the end-all-be-all of their doomed dynamic, and also that which lies at the heart of all the film’s now notorious moments of horror. Nikki, after all, has her own thoughts and dreams and designs; her own personhood, in a word, and it is that very personhood, that autonomy, that gets in the way of Bear’s idealizations, i.e. his fundamental misunderstanding (willful or not) of who Nikki is, and who he is to her.
You see, Bear likes Nikki (Michael Johnston and Inde Navarette, both relative newcomers). She’s beautiful, artistic, funny, outgoing—the girl of his dreams. Only problem is, Nikki doesn’t seem to like Bear in the same way. She clearly cares for him, and even seems to prize their relationship relative to their other friends—but romantic love? This is decidedly less clear. Much to Ian’s chagrin, Bear commits to confessing his feelings to Nikki at the group’s beloved trivia night; though the death of Bear’s cat from a slip-up involving some old pills puts a damper on the proceedings.
On the way, he stops by some New Age trinket shop in order to replace a crystal necklace Nikki has lost. Something there catches his eye: a One Wish Willow, an odd bar-shaped item that you make a wish with and snap apart, and apparently doing this makes that wish come true. Disbelieving but intrigued, Bear purchases it.
When Bear finally musters up enough courage to begin his confession, nothing goes as planned. Nikki, though she has made small gestures/remarks of intimacy throughout the night, keeps stonewalling his attempts, and even point-blank asks him if he likes her, but in a way that implies any positive answer would result in an outright shutdown. Embarrassed and frustrated, Bear desperately snaps apart his One Wish Willow, with the wish that Nikki would love him more than “anyone in the whole world.”
Cue Nikki, framed in shadow on the porch of her home and staring at Bear in his car, void of all recognizably human features save a girlish silhouette…
Obviously, none of this is going to end well, as is normally the case with Monkey’s Paws. (Barker, funnily enough, was partly inspired by The Simpsons‘ take on that classic tale.) No viewer ought to be surprised by the overall direction of the film, as even its grim (and somewhat sadistic) ending is telegraphed well before its occurrence; but it is how Obsession executes its fabulism that fascinates and repels, deftly bypassing some of the inherent absurdities of the plot through neat technical tricks and a subtler take on relationship dynamics than one a single viewing might at first detect.
It is also, at times, a comedic film (one should not forget Barker’s roots), but it is the kind of comedy that results from awkward juxtaposition: you laugh because no other reaction seems socially appropriate, so off-putting is the behavior exhibited. The party scene being the operative example of this, with Nikki finally publicizing just how deeply odd it is to their social circle that her and Bear have ended up together.
Much of its effectiveness stems from how Barker utilizes this character for both old-fashioned scares and as the non-consenting puppet of Bear’s desire. The aforementioned shot of Nikki obscured by shadow becomes a visual motif throughout; several scenes have Nikki either blotted out through lighting angles (the only visible feature being the eerie twinkling of her eyes) or, in one moment, with a vase of flowers held directly in front of her face—as if she has been reduced to a mere object symbolizing affection.
Perhaps the keystone scenes of Obsession come right after Bear has realized that Nikki’s “love” is really the result of the One Wish Willow, and not from any genuine feelings on her part. Instead of finding a way to reverse his wish, however, the subsequent cut shows Bear fucking Nikki, with her moans of pleasure contradicted by the deadened despair in her eyes—her features, again, dimmed by the room’s weak light.
This signals a clear turn for the film, as well as for Bear, who has been up to this point, for the most part, a sympathetic figure, though he is also your typical Nice Guy, pleasant but lacking in confidence and an unwise judge of character, at least when it comes to choosing a romantic partner. (Sarah, perfectly attractive and a much better choice for Bear, personality-wise, seems to have feelings for him, but so caught up is he in his crush for Nikki that he fails to see this.)
This all comes to a head with the sex scene, and the one right after: Bear wakes up in the witching hour to find Nikki standing in the corner of his bedroom. She has been watching him sleep, but also cannot sleep herself, so disturbed is she by her own dreams. She wails at Bear, castigating him for a lack of mutuality with their love; though the viewer ought to realize that it is actually Nikki’s (the real Nikki’s, not the one forced into being by Bear’s wish) lack that is causing such horrific dissonance.
Much of this scene’s horror is a result of a couple things: 1) Navarette’s acting, which veers from flirtatiously coy to an almost infantile whininess, even enacting a nice little homage to the J-horror cult classic Pulse with some creepy movement(s); and 2) a fusion of Taylor Clemons’s cinematography (everything once again bathed in shadow, and eerily static) and the art department creating a grotesque prosthetic mask for Navarette/Nikki, which the lighting both obscures and disturbingly reveals.
She is and is not herself, and Bear’s refusal to let Nikki live free of the controlling strictures of his longing is what deranges her. The One Wish Willow is simply a plot device (any deeper thought into it brings up all sorts of implausibilities; one must simply suspend disbelief and go along for the ride) that brings this dynamic to the fore. Such is the core interest of Curry Barker’s Obsession, a strong debut that signals the arrival of a fresh, contemporary talent for a genre in growing need of unique spins.
* * *
If you enjoyed this review of Curry Barker’s OBSESSION, consider supporting our film on a great American poet and get patron-only content on Patreon. This will help the growth of this site, the automachination YouTube channel, and the ArtiFact Podcast. Recent episodes include a long-form discussion on Woody Allen’s “Crimes and Misdemeanors”, an analysis of Woody Allen’s “Hannah and Her Sisters”, a deep-dive into Woody Allen’s “Interiors”. You can also follow us on Twitter.
More from Ezekiel Yu: Rude Awakening: On Ermanno Olmi’s “Il Posto” (1961), Remembered Depths: Reviewing Orson Welles’s “The Immortal Story” (1968), His Barbed Vestments: Reviewing Paul Schrader’s “First Reformed” (2017)