“Enys Men” and the Art of Misleading Marketing
This piece can also be found in the Blog of Scare U, the podcast I co-host, which is currently in its third season.
This space has become an intersection for my thoughts on culture and marketing, two of the primary forces that have motivated my career thus far. So it’s probably appropriate that I devote a few more column inches to the subject, now that one’s basically fallen into my lap.
As many of you know, I co-host a horror podcast, Scare U, and have been dipping my toes into the horror genre more and more in recent years. I won’t go into the why — this essay explains it better than I could at the moment. Let’s just say I’m a lot more game than I used to be when it comes to horror, even venturing outside the scope of films recommended to me by my podcast co-creator.
One such film that crossed my radar this past spring was Enys Men, a curio by Cornish filmmaker Mark Jenkin whose previous film, Bait, had won him some acclaim on the festival circuit. Shot in 16mm black and white, there is apparently a story in Bait (I haven’t seen it yet) but what it’s primarily known for is Jenkin’s use of grainy film stock and sound— which is to say, it’s entirely overdubbed using something called post-sync sound. The same effect is used in Enys Men, and I can attest to its effectiveness. It creates a spooky, otherwordly quality, a sense that characters are there but not really there.
Now’s the point at which I must ask you to take a step back and watch a trailer. It’s less than 90 seconds, so don’t complain.
Think about what you just saw. What does this evoke for you? Does it feel like a horror film? (Genre fans: does it make you think of gems like The Wicker Man, Midsommar, or Kill List?) This was most certainly the feeling I got after watching the trailer and reading the various pull quotes deeming Enys Men “an unnerving horror unlike any other.” (The irony being that this quote comes from Awards Watch, a website whose sole purpose appears to be to predict which films will win awards, something Enys Men assuredly will not do.)
Enys Men comes to us from Neon, the production/distribution company that seems hellbent on releasing as many offbeat award-winners as possible (they’ve been responsible for distributing the last three Palme d’Or winners: this year’s Anatomy of a Fall, last year’s Triangle of Sadness, 2021’s Titane, as well as Crimes of the Future, Portrait of a Lady on Fire, In the Earth, Pig, Spencer, Possessor, The Worst Person in the World, Parasite, and Infinity Pool. Like A24, Neon trods a road paved with good intentions, and like A24, Neon can release a film and generate interest on the basis of its logo alone.
Back to Enys Men. Let’s see how the film performed on Rotten Tomatoes.
As you can see, Enys Men garnered respectable reviews; these included a Critic’s Pick from the New York Times’ Jeannette Catsoulis, who stated, “Cryptic and beguiling, Enys Men is a slow, seductive meditation on place and memory. Shaped by the woman’s excursions, the movie builds a repetitive, hypnotic rhythm.”
Catsoulis is correct in this assessment. The film is cryptic, meditative, slow, and repetitive. Unfortunately, that’s all it is. There’s no plot to speak of, which means there is no arc, no character development, no sense of change or stakes. What I saw, and this is just my experience, was a character (Mary Woodvine) tending to and making notes about plant life on an island off the coast of Cornwall, accompanied by imagery of flowers, a man lying face down in the water, standing stones, gulls, people falling off roofs, lichen appearing on skin, and maidens chanting. It’s certainly not scary.
Which reminds me of another film that bowed in 2023, Skinamarink, which I attempted to view when it arrived on Shudder in the spring. Again, here’s a film whose trailer placed it squarely in the horror realm — and don’t just take my word for it.
Skinamarink may have caused a minor sensation upon its release and brought some attention to director Kyle Edward Ball, but the film’s pacing was so somnambulent, so slack, that I’ve started using it as a sleep aid on nights when I‘m tossing and turning. Still, critics couldn’t get enough of it. Catsoulis handed the film another Critic’s Pick, stating, “Resembling a long-buried V.H.S. tape, Skinamarink, with its scratchy silences and piggy bank-budget aesthetic, is chillingly surreal and infuriatingly repetitive… Skinamarink is as difficult to penetrate as it is to forget.”
A fact that was not lost of the public. Over on horror Facebook and Twitter, fans were heaving a collective sigh and wondering just what the hell the hoopla was about. Again, notice the split on Rotten Tomatoes.
Like Enys Men, Skinamarink was marketed as a horror film. Like Enys Men, Skinamarink is more of a feeling, a vibe, than coherent storytelling. Which is fine, in the grand scheme. There’s a market, albeit small, for films like these; once upon a time they were known by the somewhat derogatory term “arthouse.” The thing is, arthouse films play to limited audiences and make limited dollars. So why not market these films as horror? The definition of the genre is forever expanding. Maybe it’s time for a new subgenre: mood horror.
You can’t fault the marketing department at Neon for doing their jobs, getting Enys Men into more theaters, and building a palpable sense of excitement. I was hyping this film on the Scare U Instagram feed for months, and when it arrived on VOD, I rented it straightaway. Like their counterparts at A24, Neon had me at the first sign of their logo.
Then I saw the film.
Let me say this. Mark Jenkin is a smart, talented filmmaker who deserves attention. He has a vision and he executes it. It may not be commercial, but that’s not the point. I have no doubt that he, like Rob Savage (Host, Dashcam, this summer’s The Boogeyman) and Ben Wheatley (A Field in England, In the Earth, this summer’s The Meg 2), will earn their paycheck before heading back to more personal projects. But Enys Men, horror? I don’t think so. And there’s the rub. Had this film been marketed for what it is, a plotless meditation, a tone poem about death and rebirth, by a company other than Neon, I doubt it would have seen the light of day — and if it did, it would have gone straight to streaming or played a week in obscure movie houses in major metropoli.
So. Did Neon do Enys Men any favors? Yes and no. The point of marketing is to make something seem appealing, even when the subject matter may be hard to parse or unpleasant. I know this. I’ve done plenty of it in my life. But what happens when marketing builds an expectation that can’t be met? Does this help the product, or does it put the product in the uncomfortable position of having to go on podcasts and defend itself as “not really horror, but…” in an effort to please its corporate overlords?
Spoiler warning: I’m not here to answer the question, just raise it. Bringing the work of directors with singular visions like Jenkin or Bell to wider audiences will never be a bad thing. But how many of the folks who flocked to Enys Men hoping to see the next Wicker Man will rush to Jenkin’s next film? They will undoubtedly see whatever Neon is putting out. But Jenkin? It’s hard to say. And that’s a shame.
