Crushed — Crushed (VOD)
Writer-director Simon Rumley’s Bangkok-set Crushed is a harrowing and unflinching film, curiously so, given the skilful way it often purposefully looks away to explore its tough subject matter. Half mystery, half moral investigation, it’s not afraid to take in the negative space around its dark subject matter and, in doing so, ask some huge and uncomfortable questions. It’s not a gruelling watch so much as an engrossing one, thanks to a blend of brilliant performances and techniques, but its core is undeniably dark.
Crushed spirals from a video of animal abuse—a ‘crush’ video that contributes one of several meanings to the film’s title—shown by teen Marcus to his young sister and her friend Olivia, the daughter of local priest (Steve Oram) and his Thai wife (May Nattaporn Rawddon). The disappearance of Olivia’s cat soon after, and the nightmares that ensue, drive the girl to investigate her cat’s disappearance and soon straight into the lair of the videos’ Stanley (Christian Ferriera). Estranged from his young children, Stanley makes a seedily good living from abuse videos, but the young girl arriving on his doorstep offers horrible new opportunities. As Olivia’s parents are driven apart by the search for their abducted daughter, Stanley’s morals belatedly kick in as he spirals downward.
A disarming sense of unease and questioning is set up in Crushed’s opening scenes. Oram’s priest suggests including The Beatles in his service to modernise them. But they (the band that broke up 56 years ago) aren't Christian? “Does it really matter?” the priest reasons.
Rumley’s background in thrillers and horror is easy to see—his filmmaking is deceptively tricky. At one point, a shot changes colour grade during a pan, from an innocent pet purchase to something more salacious; from innocence to red. At two other key moments, superbly placed in the structure, split-screen conversations break out, keeping an uncomfortable focus on the portraits: Early on, it’s between Olivia and his father; later, and separately, it’s between each parent and the man accused of abducting her.
About that structure… Interestingly, it’s split down the middle. With a major part of the mystery affecting the film’s protagonists wrapped up with plenty of screen time to go, the remainder sees Crushed reach its full potential. It tests the resolve of every character—a haunting exploration of how they deal with what’s happened—and it works more effectively than the more hideous moments (when Jonathan Samson's Mr Jeffreys appears, it’s almost unbearable).
But Crushed doesn’t need to be overly graphic; the implication of built-up suspense is disturbing and hangs in the air. It’s most effective when Rumley intercuts images into scenes, almost creating a montage. Sometimes it’s more abstract; other times it’s pointed. Early in Olivia's captivity, we see her parents eating silently at home, as the captured, starving girl eats outside to the sound of insects.
Making evocative use of the Bangkok suburbs, Crushed’s sophisticated sleight of hand draws in the issues of sex tourism, prolonged abuse, justice and consequence. While there are some horrific moments, the worst of it comes in implication—the real horror rightly falls on the aftermath and not the video itself.
Oram’s tussle with forgiveness in the face of vengeance as he rationalises what happened to his daughter and what it led to may sound like a heavy moral slab. But his affecting and very real portrayal of an Anglican priest most happy with his guitar—calm but pent-up—is central to the uncomfortable status quo left at its bright, silent credits.