Tag: Jane Adams

COVID-19, despite being an ongoing “phenomenon,” is presently something that the masses prefer to “relegate” to “the past.” And, being that it currently feels like an entire year can go by in the span of a month thanks to the societal peddling of information overload, it’s no wonder that so many can view 2020 as “a long time ago.” So long ago, in fact, that Kevin Williamson has seen fit to use that “looking back on it now” potential for Sick, his latest script…co-written with Katelyn Crabb, who went from being Williamson’s assistant on Scream (the 2022 one) to his collaborative writing partner (so maybe all assistant jobs aren’t totally thankless).

More than being a “slasher movie set during COVID,” however, Sick aims to remind viewers not just of the distinct brand of American selfishness during the initial advent of coronavirus (and well beyond), but Gen Z’s selfishness in particular. After all, this was the group known for attending parties just to make bets on who could get corona. And also the group arrogant enough to think it was immune to the contagion at first, grossly referring to the novel virus as “boomer killer.”

With this in mind, Williamson—a Gen Xer bordering on the baby boomer epoch—brings his brand of satire to a “message movie” about both the self-involvement of youths and the “impossible” standards (when actually taking into account human nature) put forth by their “elders.” Directed by John Hyams, Sick often feels like the last movie he released, Alone (an appropriate title for a 2020 film), during which a woman is stalked by a homicidal maniac in the wilderness. In Sick, that wilderness includes a remote lake house, somewhere in the Salt Lake City/Ogden vicinity, where filming took place. But before we get there, we’re given the PTSD-inducing opportunity to remember the chaos of early 2020, when something as formerly “taken for granted” as being able to find the grocery store fully stocked with toilet paper had transformed into a herculean effort. Indeed, the nightmares of most had very much become reality, what with everyone being obsessed with “doing” and “seeing,” only to be told they could no longer keep running around in circles in a bid to achieve nothing but the same unspoken outcome: death. Coronavirus made that inevitable end result all the more apparent. And maybe that’s part of what caused people (read: Americans) to go so crazy during this period.

Suddenly, there was nothing to think about but mortality. So why think at all? Plus, with all the “free time” afforded by stay-at-home orders, there was plenty of opportunity to drug and drink, therefore not think. Particularly for the college set. Rian Johnson, too, saw the rare circumstance of 2020’s collective quarantine as a storytelling opportunity for Glass Onion, also setting his narrative in that “time period.” Yet, in contrast to Sick, Glass Onion is far less preachy, with the former seeking to slap us over the head with a moralizing takeaway: Gen Z is a generation of selfish pricks. More so than the average. And sure, every older generation has thought that about the “au courant” one, but it’s especially pronounced with Z (so who the fuck knows how bad it might get with Alpha?).

In addition to Sick possessing certain Glass Onion elements, there’s also plenty of Bodies Bodies Bodies similarities—except the latter manages to make a single location and a limited plot far more interesting (and satirical in a non-cheesy way). Granted, Sick doesn’t commence with the claustrophobic one-location vibe as Williamson offers a strong start via his modernized take on the original Scream’s opening scene: a mysterious presence texting Tyler (Joel Courtney) in the supermarket until popping out of nowhere in his apartment to brutally stab him. From here, things quickly devolve when we’re shifted to Parker Mason’s (Gideon Adlon) storyline. Seeing her taking blithe selfies amid her college’s stay-at-home orders, the audience is also transported back to that moment when the “youth of the day” was living so devil-may-care/unbothered amid the carnage of corona’s death toll. In part because, for quite a while, they really did believe they were immune and in part because, well, when the world feels like it’s ending, why not indulge entirely in selfish behavior?

Taking her best friend, Miri Woodlow (Bethlehem Million), along for the quarantine, Parker acts as though it’s a fun road trip/getaway as Miri reminds, “This isn’t a vacation, it’s a quarantine.” Parker corrects, “A quarantine in style.” And yes, that’s how many an affluent person felt as they retreated to their convenient second homes somewhere far away from the proverbial city. In Parker’s case, that second home is her dad’s lake house that he apparently never uses. On the way there, attempts at a slow, ominous buildup before Parker and Miri’s arrival are made through long overhead shots of their drive through the woods to get to the location. And it might have been effective, sure, if there was actually something truly “scary” about Sick—but, in the end, what’s meant to be scariest of all is the human capacity for selfishness. Especially the young human’s capacity for it… even though that’s kind of rich considering what all the previous generations have done to fuck over the planet.

And yet, who knows how much unnecessary illness was wrought by such gatherings as the one that Parker found herself making out with a guy named Benji (Logan Murphy) at (immortalized by a video posted by @LoriLegs21 featuring the hashtags: #EndoftheWorldParty [very The Rules of Attraction by Bret Easton Ellis] #FuckedUp #CovidOnMyFace #2020SucksDonkeyDick #FuckCovid). The video of said “kiss of death” ultimately serves as the entire catalyst for why Parker and Miri find themselves being stalked at the lake house, along with Parker’s sort-of boyfriend, DJ (Dylan Sprayberry—a very porn-ready name). The latter rolling up out of nowhere to express his love and devotion for Parker, who has commitment phobia (like anyone in their early twenties). But his bid to show that he cares will only backfire, as the multiple killers (the Kevin Williamson way for “twists”) unveil themselves to be Pamela (Jane Adams), Jason (Marc Menchaca) and Jeb (Chris Reid) a.k.a. the family of now-dead-thanks-to-corona Benji, who was used as a pawn in Parker’s game of making DJ jealous.

Unfortunately, she picked the wrong guy to “be slutty” with as she finds herself defending the social media-posted kiss to Pamela with, “Benji’s just some guy we met at the party.” The slut-shaming then arrives with, “You’re very intimate with someone that you just met.” Parker counters, “So what? I made out with some guy at a party. It didn’t mean anything.” Pamela replies, “Maybe not to you.” Parker is then suffocated with a plastic bag by Jason for a few seconds, after which Pamela scolds, “So selfish your generation. I mean, heaven forbid you miss a keg party or spring break.” Of course, Williamson’s more underlying point is that selfishness can’t be blamed on any one person, for everybody in the human race is guilty of exhibiting it. Which is why a double standard (and arguably a sexist one) is conveyed in Jason and Pamela trying to blame the asymptomatic Parker for their son’s death, with Pamela accusing, “This didn’t have to happen. I mean, where was your fucking mask?” Parker shouts back ferally, “Where was his?!” Jason, refuses to accept her logic as he slaps her and screams, “This is your fault, you hear me?! You did this!” Pamela reminds, “Hon, your mask” as he gets too close to her.

Increasingly incensed over being punished by these vigilantes for COVID justice, if you will, Parker demands, “What about DJ? And my friend Miri? What did they do?” Pamela responds glibly, “Well, per CDC guidelines, you were meant to quarantine alone. So, that is on you.” But again, pretty much no one did that, with many seeing it as an opportunity to form “quaranteams” or “pods” as they soldiered through the lockdown phase.  

Regardless, Pamela insists to Parker, “Take responsibility for your selfishness.” To her, that means an eye for an eye: she must die. But Parker, a privileged white girl (with Gideon Adlon herself being the nepo baby of Pamela Adlon), isn’t likely to suffer too many consequences. Not just because that wouldn’t be “realistic,” but because the other side of the plot’s cartoonishness is meant to highlight the hypocrisy of those constantly policing others about their behavior when they themselves are “allowed” to do the same thing.

With the tagline of Sick being, “If you have to scream, cover your mouth,” Williamson accents the parodiable expectations demanded of a population convinced it deserves whatever it wants, whenever it wants—contagion circumstances be damned. This doesn’t apply solely to the blanket demographic of “Americans,” but “youths” in particular. However, as Sick posits, it’s the selfish ones who will still come out ahead in the end.