Oooooooh, American Horror Story. You should probably go ahead and calm down. You still have eight more episodes to get through.
On last night’s episode, we learned that Anne Frank wasn’t Anne Frank (or IS she), Kit’s wife Alma is still alive on a spaceship and very very pregnant, and – here there be a GIANT spoiler just in case you don’t want to read any further – Dr. Thredsen is Bloody Face. Insert long Peter Griffin sigh here.
I am 99% done with the writing on this show. That little 1% remains hesitantly optimistic for a big, wonderful reveal like we got last season, but still. I have deduced the “twist” thus far in every episode (and I promise you I am not one of those people that always says “meh, I saw that comin’ a mile away,” because I usually don’t see it coming), and in fact I even took a picture of my note that said “oh Jesus wept Thredsen is the killer” next to my computer clock. But it didn’t turn out very well.
Now that that’s out of the way, let’s talk about the things I love. I’m still on this coded cinematography kick. Whereas last week was all about angles, last night was a study in curves. Central-set 360 shots while Sister Jude met with “Anne Frank’s” husband. Characters framed by Gothic door arches and lighting used to single out a spotlight or cause a halo from behind. None of the sets were square, all were polygonal. There was even a close up of the grip on Arden’s cane, and it all culminated in Sister Jude rejecting her habit, donning a slinky red number, and marching her curves out of the asylum. Speaking of, if I look that good when I’m 63, somebody better peel me a grape.
The scenes of “Anne” and her family were an interesting new texture. Colors were much more muted and the quality looked like 8mm. The score switched up for those moments and everything felt like a doomed sitcom family. If last night’s ending is any clue, we are not done with “Anne’s” story.
And finally, I’d like to ask the readers to call me out on something I might have missed. An earlier comment made mention of homages to classic horror, and tonight I noticed it for the very first time: There was a blatant tribute to “Nosferatu,” and Shelly clawing her poor hobbled self up the steps to a playground was awfully reminiscent of the Exorcist stairs on F Street. What else have I missed? Because quite frankly, I’m just a big sucker for that.