Nothing busts canons quite like living in interesting times. In our ongoing Inflection Point series, we look back at the films that have taken on new relevance due to our ongoing cultural and political upheaval. Some beloved, some undiscovered, these titles deserve newfound consideration as film criticism evolves to meet the moment.
As America adjusts to life in the age of social distancing, it seems that everyone has developed their cinematic apocalypse of choice. For many, it’s “Contagion,” Steven Soderbergh’s 2011 not-so-science-fiction take on a global pandemic. Others have retreated to the relative comfort of the zombie genre, returning to beloved standbys like “The Walking Dead” or “Shaun of the Dead” for support.
But while each of these films offers some form of escapism, they also portray communities as sharing a singular enemy. Governments and survivors work together to overcome the odds, with everyone aware of the dangers. In a world where talking heads and world leaders downplay the severity of the COVID-19 virus with alarming regularity, a film about people banding together to stop the apocalypse seems almost quaint. We deserve a film that treats our collective doom with a degree of anxiety that would make the Safdie Brothers proud.
In other words, we deserve “Take Shelter.”
Equal parts psychological thriller and a Malickian exploration of man and nature, Jeff Nichol’s “Take Shelter” follows Curtis (Michael Shannon), a loving father and husband who is overcome with an existential fear that something terrible is on the horizon. Thanks to his family’s dark history with mental illness, Curtis is reluctant to share his anxieties with his wife, Sam (Jessica Chastain). Soon, though, he succumbs to an inexplicable urge to build out his family storm cellar. As Curtis’ behavior becomes more erratic – threatening the family income and the health of his deaf daughter – husband and wife find themselves struggling not to lose what little happiness they have together.
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In just his sophomore feature, writer-director Nichols created one of the most complex films of the decade. Much has been written about the ways “Take Shelter” works as a contemporary religious allegory or the way Nichols captures the uncertainty of mental illness; I’ve suggested in other places that “Take Shelter” is an essential representation of schizophrenia on film. But both of those interpretations presuppose Curtis’ behavior is irrational and not, as is too often the case these days, an all-too-healthy response to existential dread.
While the film was released in 2011, Nichols wrote the original script during the darkest days of the financial crisis. “When I was writing this in the summer of 2008,” Nichols told IFC’s Matt Singer, “it felt like everything was going wrong: our government was going to collapse, the dollar was going to go in the toilet, Iceland was bankrupt, not to mention constant reminders of polar bears leaping off icebergs that are melting. It just felt like there was this dull, gnawing dread, that I thought was palpable.”
Not much has changed. Those who sit down to watch “Take Shelter” this week will do so during a period of unprecedented economic uncertainty, sparked in part by a global pandemic that threatens to kill hundreds (or thousands) of people across the country. Just this week, elected officials flooded the airwaves with misinformation about the need to value American jobs over American lives. For many, staying informed means subjecting yourself to the anxieties of a world beyond your control. That sense of dull, gnawing dread that drove Nichols to write is being felt in homes and apartments everywhere.
READ MORE: Steven Soderbergh’s ‘Contagion’ Is Especially Sobering In Light Of Current Events
If you’re feeling glib, there’s an argument to be made that “Take Shelter” is the most accurate depiction of social media ever depicted onscreen. One person, haunted by visions of a coming apocalypse, grows to resent those around him who refuse to take the threat seriously. Because of this, the most potent images in “Take Shelter” are not the moments where we see the coming storms through Curtis’ eyes, but the times when Curtis hears thunderclaps from seemingly blue skies. Open a window or step into your backyard today, and it’s easy to forget the shelter-in-place orders affecting many major cities. How do you convince everyone that death is everywhere when it’s something nobody can see for themselves?
For those who – like Nichols – prefer their apocalypse to be more understated, there are little touches peppered throughout “Take Shelter” that hint at the darkness of the world these characters inhabit. Note the H1N1 signs in the free health clinic or the lack of essential services available to Curtis and his community. Consider that the outdoor shop Curtis buys his gas masks from does not bother to carry children’s masks, suggesting that one man’s doomsday survival kit is little more than post-apocalyptic cosplay for others. “Take Shelter” takes place in a world that has not broken, not yet, but look closely, and you can see little fractures in the American dream. Everything is just a little tighter than it needs to be for the LaForche family, even as they are continuously reminded – from friends and family members – that they’re doing great because they own a home and two cars.
And within this mood of impending cataclysm is a smaller and more systemic failure, one that echoes just as painfully in 2020 as it did in 2008. Despite their best efforts, Curtis and Sam are betrayed by the American healthcare system. From Sam’s struggles to secure a cochlear implant for her daughter, to the unannounced departure of Curtis’s counselor, “Take Shelter” frames its rural Midwestern community as a place where essential healthcare coverage is both grudging and insufficient. Once Curtis recognizes his warning signs, he immediately contacts his physician, only to be told that the best psychiatrist – one who could help him manage schizophrenia diagnosis – is in Columbus, Ohio. For the LaForche family, that may as well be the other side of the country.
Ultimately, “Take Shelter” suggests that life shouldn’t have to be this hard. One hard-working family shouldn’t be a mental health crisis away from losing everything they’ve worked to accomplish. Every conversation around the dinner table shouldn’t have to be about the limits of healthcare coverage. While the LaForche family might be everything we celebrate as Americans – open, tough, and willing to see each other through the hard times – they also show what happens when even the most put-together suffers a few bad breaks. And for many families, these tough choices are far more terrifying than any doomsday scenario.