Grief. The melancholic turmoil of loss. A catalyst for unwanted prominent personality alterations that change the very fabric of who we are. Each individual experiences sorrow and subsists through a variety of different methods. Some forgive and forget. Others harness the inability to progress, experiencing a stumbling block of anguish as they continually inflict psychological suffering upon themselves. It is irrefutably the most difficult emotion to overcome, and can overwhelm the strongest of personalities. Kusama's thrilling episode of 'Come Dine With Me' gradually explores the weight of life itself, simply by allowing a group of long-time friends the chance to discuss such a topic. Yet, what enables Kusama's slow-burn thriller to elevate itself into the top echelon of effective profoundness, is its simplicity.
There are no extravagant plot devices. No sublimely utilised twists. And certainly no misplaced character conveniences. By equipping grief and depression as a manifestation of the narrative, Kusama was able to demonstrate her incredibly astute direction through natural plausibilities. Will, portrayed accurately and captivatingly by Marshall-Green, exhumed indications of paranoia. A heightened consequence of his raging anguish. Constantly questioning the actions of other characters, such as locked doors, barred windows and unknown guests, he assumes the role of the audience's perception. We, as the viewer, examine and query each character reveal and emotional complexity simultaneously to Will's interrogative persona. He, essentially, is us. Instantly allowing viewers to relate to him in this unusual circumstance.
Something is not right with this dinner party. He feels it. We feel it. But his instincts are muted by the other guests, naturally due to his heightened state of sorrow, in order to maintain a civilised appearance. That, right there, is the representation of depression. Forced to hide what we really are enduring, with despondent thoughts circling our synapses. It's abundantly intelligent on Kusama's part, who elevated the screenplay to the stratosphere of uneasy, anxiety-inducing storytelling. With the assistance of Shore's cinematography, constantly blurring the outskirts and backgrounds of frames to enhance personable abandonment and solitude, Kusama hosted one of the most engaging dinner parties I've ever attended. Inviting a naturally diverse cast of actors, ranging from different ethnicities to sexual orientation, who inhibit their own character qualities.
An array of components culminating in a third act that switches from first gear to a gear with incalculable speeds. The wine was served, my heart rate increased. I required a towel, I was sweating that much from anxiety. Ignoring the last minute of the feature, which was an eye-rolling moment to say the least, a slow-burn thriller such as this utilises a substantial amount of foreshadowing as its narrative device. Unfortunately, it is inescapable. However, Hay and Manfredi do their utmost best to keep the conversation flowing during times of prognostication. Shapiro's score is also worth mentioning for its sharp string-based chords that increase the chance of sweaty palms.
The Invitation, from the offset, is an incredibly simple thriller. Games are played, wine is served and a few arguments are bound to occur. However, if you cut through Kusama's simplistic exterior, you'll find an extraordinarily intelligent dinner party that evokes a powerful emotional connection. Just, y'know, think twice before accepting an invitation...
