The Code

The language of cinema is constantly changing. It’s one of our consistently most up-to-speed, relevant, and modern art forms. To watch the history of cinema and how it has evolved through the years and across the globe is to watch how various cultures have reacted to various time periods and political landscapes. For instance, the films of post-war Japan drastically differ in tone, style, and subject matter from the films of the French New Wave. It’s no surprise that there’s a distinct tone apparent in modern American films; the early 2020s have been inundated with the “eat the rich” trend in a number of decently acclaimed independent films and even a handful of the big-budget political satires in the vein of Don’t Look Up, all likely stemming from an anger about the absurd state of the world in a post-Trump, post-COVID world. But in the landscape of reactive American cinema lies something that feels far more under the radar and off the beaten path. If you thought you had time before the terms “brainrot”, “NFTs”, “Niche Internet Microcelebrities” and “gooning” entered the cinematic lexicon, you were sorely mistaken. Enter Eugene Kotlyarenko’s The Code, a film that is so absurd that it could only have been made for the chronically online by the chronically online. 

The first 20 minutes of The Code are deeply troubling. They establish the core couple, Jay and Celine, played by Peter Vack and Dasha Nekrasova. If you’re not aware of who Peter and Dasha are, there is no other way to describe them other than “internet edgelords.” Dasha is most famous for running the Red Scare podcast, where she gleefully makes problematic comments and then repeats them on her X account. Peter, while having more of a career in directing, also tends to find himself shitposting and making content that answers the age-old question “How can I be the most edgy version of myself today?” They’re both grating people (Dasha especially) and I spent those first 20 minutes worrying that I just put on a movie that was about to annoy me to the point of ripping my own hair out. Dasha’s Celine announces she’s going to make her own documentary about COVID-19 in the wake of her and Jay’s lack of a sex life. Jay tries to get Celine to have sex with him while she focuses on taunting him and filming him. The story is beyond obnoxious… yet it has a savior. 

That savior arrives as Celine and Jay arrive at their new house, and it is Eugene Kotlyarenko’s directorial prowess. The film is now contained to just one location, and a new central character is introduced: the technology they use. Similar to those TikTok movie clips, Kotlyarenko alternates between split-screen clips of whatever devices the character is using at that moment. The narrative then morphs into a modern take on Cruel Intentions. How can Jay and Celine use phones, computers, and the documentary Celine is making to finally have sex again? This erupts into psychological warfare on both sides; they are both frustrated at the lack of intimacy but refuse to actually do anything about it. This leads to Celine filming TikTok videos every night where she gives Jay Viagra and Jay taking Celine to an escape room just for sex (where an expertly shot 360 POV camera experience proves Celine is taking it far too seriously for any moments of distraction). In the best-edited moment of the year so far, the film quick cuts between split screens of Celine on her boyfriend’s phone discovering that he has an abundance of screenshots of scantily clad women in revealing positions and Jay on his girlfriend’s phone discovering that his girlfriend is watching animated pornography and just might be on OnlyFans. In the funniest moment of the year so far, Jay tries to manipulate Celine into saying racial slurs in her own documentary and admitting that his sexual abuse allegations were actually real. Is there a reason for his anger? It’s not explicitly stated, but the implication seems to be a combination of the paranoia “that damn phone” induced and the insanity the pandemic caused.

It is truly Kotlyarenko that makes the film, as funny as his actors can be. He has already proven himself a master of internet culture with Spree, one of my personal favorite films of recent. However, he’s on another level here. This film about ADHD brains is directed in such a distinct, over-the-top way that it surely appeals to them. He makes use of some batshit directorial techniques, alternating between mockumentary-style moments, low-quality cameras, iPhone cameras, TikTok videos, and 360 techniques, to name a few. There are plenty of mundane films about the failure of a relationship, but this one is bursting with energy from every camera angle and every split screen. Even star Peter Vack has commented that he’s never worked with someone like Eugene, and that he’s so focused technically on making sure every aspect of this film accurately reflects what he sees on the internet. 

After yet another notorious internet edgelord (Ivy Wolk as Celine’s cousin Colette) is introduced, there’s another moment of worry about how insufferable this film is going to get. However, Kotlyarenko saves this film once more by adding just enough humanity in his writing. Because at its core, even with the brainrot, blowjobs, and goblin porn, The Code is about relationships and humanity’s desire to be loved. Despite my concerns, Colette proves herself as yet another addition to this theme after abruptly marrying a friend of Celine and Jay that is significantly older than her out of fear that the pandemic is going to take away her ability in the future to meet anyone else and fall in love. It’s a rare moment of humility in a movie that’s strived off of absurdity and envelope pushing. It is unexpected, but definitely appreciated.

Like the relationship between Celine and Jay, this movie is far from perfect. The final act of the movie falters after Celine sends Jay on a puzzle to find her to prove that he still loves her. The series of quests are rather cliché for a movie that’s been so creative throughout its runtime; he goes back through events that have already happened to look for the clues Celine has given him. While it is nonetheless fun to watch and continues the ever-growing list of new ways the film incorporates technology, I can’t help but think there would’ve been a better way to get to the resolution between Celine and Jay. There's also moments where I can't help but think the messiness works in the films favor, that Jay and Celine need this ADHD-core nightmare to bring them together. If it's sex scandals and Instagram feeds that separate them, the same level of chaos is needed to heal the rift. When Jay does reach Celine, however, there is a beautiful fisheye shot that makes it all worth it. The actual ending of the film is quite beautiful and tender, even though the film previously strived to be anything but. It left me feeling quite warm inside, and I appreciated the film’s sincerity. 

Much like the era we’re in, The Code is flawed but exciting. There is so much to love and so much to hate. It’s excruciating, entertaining, and full of people you absolutely despise but also can’t stop watching. And while I can’t say this is a masterpiece (even if it's damn close) or even the best film to come out of the internet era (Do Not Expect Too Much From The End of the World reigns supreme, but if you liked that, this definitely strikes some similarities), it is a remarkably fun look at what it's like to be young, messy, and chronically online. 

PS: The end credit sequence of this film is one you absolutely must stay for, as it overflows with creativity and life and solidifies its place as one of my favorites that I’ve ever seen.

9.5/10