by Eric Lindbom
In Soft &Quiet (in theaters or for rent/purchase on Apple TV, Google Play), a swastika carved into her cherry pie signals that Emily (Stefanie Estes), a charismatic kindergarten teacher, won’t use euphemisms while recruiting other white women to her far right, racist organization. The small group gathering has a PTA vibe before Emily eggs the women on to vent their spleens about opportunities supposedly lost through diversity efforts. Mufflers off, their complaints turn more hateful.
Before the night is over, three of the women will join Emily in a wine-spurred home invasion against a mixed-race woman (who Emily despises) and her daughter. The four plan this intended ‘prank’ to scare their captives. Our dread escalates as we view mob rule in miniature. Without a manifesto or even a game plan, the nasty encounter (like so many hazings) spirals tragically out of control.
In a typical horror film, this quartet of despicable extremists would face poetic, gory justice at the hands/claws of say a vengeful psycho or a supernatural force. In Soft and Quiet, an estrogen-fueled nightmare, we’re riding shotgun with the monsters. The real time structure demands that we make the leap that these women can go plausibly ballistic; it helps that one of them (a vivid Olivia Luccardi) recently did time and believably turns dangerous. With a mess of their own making to clean up she and Emily lock horns in a power struggle.
Writer/director Beth de Araújo was inspired to write the screenplay by her anger over Amy Cooper (an infamous “Karen”) who falsely accused a Black birdwatcher in Central Park of threatening her. Miraculously shot in four days with only a handful of cuts, Soft & Quiet has a jarring immediacy accented by the hand-held camera work of cinematographer Greta Zozula.
Loud, disturbing and void of nuance, it’s certainly well timed (considering the recent, appalling assault on Paul Pelosi, Nancy’s husband). Because Soft & Quiet wields social commentary as a blunt instrument, it won’t be mistaken for high-minded indie drama. Instead, it fits the Blumhouse brand. Besides producing some of the most provocative horror films of the past two decades, Blumhouse has championed the smart use of metaphors to insert social relevancy angles in films from Get Out to The Purge series.
Some cultists may question if Soft & Quiet is even a horror film (was the Oxbow Incident? In Cold Blood?). I say yes since a key part of the genre’s appeal, from the slashers onward, is enabling a rapt audience to question if they have the resilience to survive a horrific situation – entertainment not as thrill ride but escape room. Soft & Quiet turns that immersion on its head forcing viewers to wonder if they would have the courage to step in before a wrongheaded, ugly misstep turns heinous.
Eric Lindbom is a hardcore horror buff with a strong stomach, weaned on the Universal classics from the ’30s and ’40s. He’s written film and/or music reviews for City Pages, Twin Cities Reader, LA WEEKLY, Request magazine and Netflix. He co-edits triggerwarningshortfiction.com, a site specializing in horror, fantasy and crime short stories with illustrations by co-editor John Skewes. He lives in Los Angeles.
