Tarantula rays… A golden boot tinting its color across the city… A shimmering platter enclosing the repressed, intimate cerebral… Infidelity, bad faith and grief; a psychological depressed state of mind, unraveling its mysterious and perplexing shades of obscurity into heavy doses… The surreal and fragile inner wonders of the subconscious… Denis Villenueve’s moody piece on one’s essence and subliminal self.
Enemy involves a pattern; a boring pattern that one’s self conforms to with unhappiness, and the next breaks it by secretly changing it. The pattern is altered and adjusted to its new surrounding, but, it doesn’t fit. In fact, it disturbs the things close to it, until, the pattern is broken. It’s troubling to fully understand as a whole, but its wicked not to comprehend the central gist. This is subconscious fizzling under heat.
Jake Gyllenhaal is of course great and his performance seeps of mystery within his own one. Towards its third act the film can yonder from one’s mind; it’s murky and it loses touch of real entertainment. For the most part, Enemy is hypnotic to watch unfold with obscurity, but, its psyche is perhaps too much to conquer, and it doesn’t help that it vanishes within a seemingly uneventful third act.