I KNOW YOUR ANGER, I KNOW YOUR DREAMS
Cult Status, Part 2 – Examining “Starry Eyes” & “The Invitation”
Article by Mary Gent
California and cults are kindred spirits. Every memorable cult seems to have set up its tent poles here and taken residence. Hollywood in particular is an obvious breeding ground for cultish behavior. Some would say the movie industry itself would fall into this category. It makes sense. A magic land this City of Angels is. The landscape alone is enough to be alluring in its dynamic offerings: it’s voluptuous hills, the mighty Pacific Ocean, the inordinate amount of flora and fauna, those unnatural blue skies and pink sunsets, the constant sunshine, the canyons, the marine layer, the desert, and its moderate climate. It is a literal oasis. But upon closer inspection, the ocean is cold and savage, the plant life isn’t indigenous to this place, predatory creatures roam those beautiful canyons, earthquakes, fires and floods remind us that this place is unstable. The glittering freeways of endless gridlock and the loneliness one experiences in a city who will kick you to a curb you never saw coming behind the spit shine appeal of its surface. This strange land is a dream world. Neverland. The hub of the entertainment industry.
Starry Eyes is an underrated little film about the very idea of wishful stardom and perfection. For those of us who inhabit this city, we recognize the plot line. Sarah Walker is a hopeful, bright-eyed, pretty girl from some midwest state who wants to be an actress, working as a waitress at some misogynistic eatery where the outfits are too small and the spirit is crushed for a measly paycheck. Her living situation is typical Hollywood layout, a bland and shabby two story complex complete with other hungry actors, writers and filmmakers. All waiting to be chosen. Sarah is herded like cattle for every audition, hoping that she stands apart from the rest of the female clones. Her sanity, like so many others in this pursuit of fame, teeters on the brink of destruction every day. We see her examining herself in the mirror, pulling at imaginary fat and the look of disgust echoed back at any flaw she perceives. Her routine dissection comes with a nasty bit of self-inflicted violence. Her life, her failures, her situation, her imperfections are punished by pulling her hair out, not gently but with a viciousness that is shocking. It begs the question: how many of us hurt ourselves for not being perfect?
But then her life changes when she gets a callback. A callback from a prestigious production company looking for a female lead. In a spooky play on the occult, the production company is called Astraeus. Astraeus is an astrological deity and the Titan god of the dusk. Their logo is the top of a unicursal hexagram which is a symbol common among the occult and ritual magic.
This opportunity catapults Sarah into a frenzied glee and her ego does battle with her female peers, all carnivorous to capture that break. What happens at this callback is an old Hollywood story. A predatory male producer would love to give her the role if she can give him what he wants. As the situation becomes clear, Sarah’s world begins to fade and her heart begins to sink. His smile is a bit too wolfish and she realizes what is required. In her desperation for that moment to shine, she succumbs. What she doesn’t realize is that she is being indoctrinated into a cult. We don’t learn its name but in this town of self-serving greed, they are legion. Upon closer inspection, the signs become clear. There is a pentagram branded on the producer’s hand as he pushes her head into her ultimate act of submission. Hooded and masked figures lurk in the shadows as onlookers of this ritual. Their ultimate goal is to find their next star by destroying who she is and rebuilding what they want her to be. A puppet. And the transformation is literal.
Over the next few days her body as Sarah is falling apart, complete with her hair falling out. A sadistic head nod to who she used to be. Not only must she die for this price of fame but she has to offer them a sacrifice of blood and not just her own. What ensues is a grisly body count as Sarah takes the final steps towards her new life, reaffirming that as long as there are those who chase the dream of fame, money and status, this city will provide a multitude of unsavory ways to attain it. All that glitters is the selling of your soul.
A different type of cult is at the core of The Invitation. One that peddles the plastered smile idea of eliminating crucial human emotions from the psyche. Grief, guilt and pain being the dominant focus. Taking place in the serpentine hills of Hollywood, it’s plot is quite innocuous at first glance. A dinner party is being held at the home of Will and Eden, an estranged couple who separated after the tragic death of their 5-year-old son. Although it has been two years since they have seen each other, Eden has kept the house and organized a gathering of their closest friends as a reunion of sorts.
As the film opens, you are taken through the precarious twists and turns of the hills as Will and his girlfriend Keira are on their way to the party. This is not the typical landscape of a sprawling, wild Los Angeles but of a claustrophobic nature. The beautiful hills and canyons can become a unnerving labyrinth and what you thought was a pleasant drive, can turn quickly into panic. Logan Marshall Green plays Will. He is one of those actors who flies under the radar (for now). Truly gifted, one can hope that he is Hollywood’s little secret who the industry will soon discover. He inhabits Will with the haunted intensity of a man who hasn’t come to terms with his son’s death. He is almost ghostlike amongst the other characters who shine a bit too bright. All the guests are his old friends and, like many humans, they didn’t know how to deal with the tragedy of loss and have avoided Will when he needed them most. Eden and her boyfriend David are effusive and overbearing with their friends. Smiles and empty words surround the walls of a house that once was alive with a different energy in a very different time.
The obvious discomfort involved in this reunion is more than just the weak attempts at small talk and inane humor. Will, the silent sentinel, stands to the side, observant and suspicious. He is watching his ex-wife be gracious with a vibrancy that feels off and unnerving. She and David flit around in this kind of bohemian peacefulness, grateful to their friends for being there but creating an unease that is palpable. As the night progresses, David and Eden explain that they have been in Mexico for the past two years extolling the wonders of this new life they have discovered. Further adding to this awkward night, they introduce two strangers to the group whom they met while in Mexico. Sadie is a Manson-like waif who happens to be staying with them and Pruitt, a quiet figure played with delicious menace by John Carroll Lynch. They were all part of an organization “The Invitation”. Upon hearing the name, the friends chuckle and acknowledge others they know who are a part of this, calling it a cult. David and Eden’s passive persistence that it is not a cult seems to push Will further into a state of surrealness. He begins to lash out with a paranoia that seems unreasonable. He notices bars on all of the windows and a front door that is locked from the inside. Once his home, it now feels like a prison. The house is a cemetery of memories for Will as he wanders through it with caution. Flashes of his life before his child’s death force tears to his vacant eyes. He questions the strangeness of the evening and is treated with concern by the others. His grief is manifesting while the others are wearing masks of politeness. During dinner he wanders off into his son’s room, a poignant and heartbreaking moment. He envisions it as it was but comes to the reality that it has been cleared of any idea of that ever existing. As he sits there surrounded by the pain of a life he doesn’t understand, he notices David outside hanging a lantern and then lighting it in a very solemn manner.
As dinner ends, Eden and David pontificate about their love and gratitude for this special evening and the friends they have gathered to celebrate. Will’s fear deepens with the certainty that something is very wrong. His anxiety is relentless and the others try to soothe him. A soothing that feels insincere, falling in line with the idea that most humans who are untouched by trauma have difficulty comforting those who have. Will’s palpable loneliness and rawness are turned against him, his paranoia dismissed as frayed nerves. He questions the strangeness of the evening and is treated with false concern by the others. His grief is manifesting with a quick chaos, while the others are wearing masks of politeness. The thing about those who are touched by unbearable darkness is that they become hyperaware of everything. They are cursed with becoming an empath. Unwilling hosts to the energy of others. They operate on an animalistic intuition of flight or fight. They are on high alert. Feral instincts on the ready. As the others continue to carry on with their phony niceties flowing, they are oblivious to the gruesome danger that is lurking behind the eyes of their hosts. Only Will can FEEL the truth of what is about to unfold but it is too little and too late.
The appeal of the cult is to become something else. To be seen. To be accepted. To be joined in defeat or some promised glory. It begs of you to abandon who you are in the hopes of stepping off the path of pain and being lost. Los Angeles is the calm coin flip of success or failure.
Narcissists from all over the globe find themselves drawn to her mystery promise of fame and beauty and fortune and stardom. But Los Angeles is a patient city with no immediacy like it’s brotherly New York. She will welcome the thousands that come here daily. With open arms. And when you don’t offer up your respect and humility, she will cross those arms and wait. Wait for you to fail. To fall on that pretty face. To grovel at the foothills of her industry until you are nothing. You are nobody. You are not special and you are one in a million.
