Love Lies Bleeding Is Just as Hot as It Is Horrifying

Director Rose Glass’s follow-up to Saint Maud—a dreary and daunting “serious horror” that brought Morfydd Clark to the attention of the suits behind The Lord of the Rings: The Rings of Power—appears on the surface to stray from the genre in which Glass debuted. Yet Love Lies Bleeding is, in actuality, a far more effective horror film than Saint Maud. Glass excels at crafting horrific images, moments of pure grotesquery and terror, and she pushes the boundaries of an otherwise grounded thriller-crime drama into something that resembles a gorgeous night terror. Sensuality oozes from every frame for a film that isn’t even terribly gratuitous (at least, in this desensitized critic’s opinion) during its sex scenes. But the physical act of sex between bodybuilder Jackie (Katy O’Brian) and gym manager Lou (Kristen Stewart) equals otherwise non-sexual scenes, such as Lou jabbing a syringe into Jackie’s butt cheek, or Lou Sr. (Ed Harris) whispering in Jackie’s ear before she fires a gun—or even Jackie’s roid rage-fueled murder of JJ (Dave Franco), which plunges Jackie and Lou’s passionate neophyte romance into an explicitly gay Thelma and Louise, where the two lovers must flee the wrath of Lou’s criminal family.
Set in the 1980s, Jackie and Lou first converge in a twisted sort of meet-cute, where a man’s subtle threat of sexual violence against Jackie dovetails into a crack at Lou’s sexuality and a requited punch in Jackie’s face after she casts the first stone. Jackie is a homeless drifter en route to a bodybuilding convention in Las Vegas, and she makes a prolonged pit stop in New Mexico to work on her physique while she works for Lou Sr. at the shooting range he owns. Back in the gym (which Lou Sr. also owns) to ice Jackie’s busted nose, Lou eagerly offers her, free of charge, some of the steroids that the guys at the gym have shipped there in bulk. Just a little bit, just to see how it feels, she insists to Jackie. From the moment the needle pierces the skin of Jackie’s ass, it’s more like Jackie was shot full of love than of steroids—as corny as that sounds. The connection between the two women is desperate, carnal and overwhelming, if simultaneously toxic and even a little superficial. Suddenly, nothing matters to Lou quite as much as her ripped new girlfriend, whom she’s more than happy to continue supplying with body-enhancing drugs that cause Monstar-like eruptions under her skin in sequences of heightened surrealism.
Nothing else matters, that is, until Jackie’s drug-induced fury ignites bloodthirsty wrath against JJ, the man Jackie is seen fucking at the start of the film in order to secure her place at the gun range. JJ is married to Lou’s sister Beth (Jena Malone) and beats her so badly after the four of them have dinner one night that he lands Beth in the hospital, unconscious with half of her face excruciatingly distended (major props to the makeup department here). Lou wants revenge despite how “brainwashed” JJ has made her sister, but Lou Sr. insists that an eye for an eye isn’t the way to get Beth out of this violent relationship. Nevertheless, fueled by substance abuse, Jackie takes it upon herself to enact revenge on behalf of Lou, breaking into JJ and Beth’s home and ramming the former’s head into the living room coffee table until his jaw cleaves, his face left a gnarled mess of blood and bone. Through her shocked paralysis, Lou knows what to do with the body; she’s buried bodies before. She and Jackie cart JJ’s corpse and his car off to a steep quarry filled with the skeletons of other poor souls who happened to cross Lou’s father. The hope is that the smoke from JJ’s vehicle, which Lou set alight with a Molotov cocktail, attracts cops who will discover evidence which solely incriminates a more pressing suspect.
Easier said than done, between Jackie’s progressing mania and Lou Sr.’s ruthlessness not limited to those outside his own family. And then there’s the issue of a lone witness, Daisy, an eager young lesbian with an off-putting fixation on Lou. Daisy is played to unsettling effect by Anna Baryshnikov, who chews the scenery by the mouthful with her tar-stained chompers; it’s a performance that admirably induces enough second-hand embarrassment to tranquilize a horse.