The Shrouds

David Cronenberg is one of the pioneers of the horror genre whose films and ideas have been parodied, referenced and adapted by all sorts of filmmakers in the five or so decades since he began his career. He is one of those filmmakers a lot of people would be surprised to know is still making stuff, as his most known work is far behind him. However, that doesn’t mean his current output isn’t still worthwhile. Modern Cronenberg is fascinatingly introspective and esoteric, leaning more into the dryness of his style rather than the gore and horror that perhaps garnered him most attention. 

While he still puts out work in line with his most iconic, The Shrouds may be his most isolating work yet. After being somewhat panned at last year’s Cannes film festival, the reception to the horror master’s latest has been nothing short of a roller coaster. It seemingly gains more fans with each new audience it meets. The film is his most personal as an ode to his late wife, marking a level of reflection and intimacy people may not be looking for in Cronenberg’s work. Yet I think it lays a foundation of empathy that bleeds through all the messiness and confusing decisions of The Shrouds. Because yes, The Shrouds is messy and borderline incoherent at points, but it is always engaging, fascinating, and authentically Cronenberg. 

The film offers an array of interesting ideas all explored to varying degrees: the concept of graves that allow you to converse with deceased loved ones, the misuse of AI, and the struggle to move on from grief. The way these core thematic concepts intersect and notably don’t interact is perhaps the most interesting part of the film, even if this isn’t always fleshed out to the fullest. In the end, the portrait of our lead character (a clear Cronenberg stand-in) feels rather lived in, and I do love how it handles the cross between his grave business and his personal grief. 

The issues arise with the Guy Pearce subplot, which feels incoherent with the other storyline and unintentionally ridiculous. While Pearce’s character is important to the story, his motivations and plans lean far too much into supervillain territory and detract from the film’s handling of grief. A much smaller gripe I have is Cronenberg’s patented stilted and awkward dialogue, which still mostly works with the film’s cold tone, characters, and subject matter. 

Truly, any problems I have with The Shrouds pale in the unmistakable truth that it’s a blessing to have a master of his craft still putting out singular visions this late in his career. In a way, it reminds me of last year’s Megalopolis, as both have fundamental flaws that fall away in the face of the ambition and artistry of the core ideas. At the end of the day, I’d much rather we get messy but unmistakably unique films from cinema’s greats than pale imitations of their former glory or nothing at all.

6/10