Into the Dark‘s New Year’s Noir Is More Scooby-Doo Than Sunset Blvd.
Photo: Richard Foreman/Hulu
Few things are more film noir than a dead body in a swimming pool, with shattered memories resonating out from her corpse and onto the screen. Gruesomeness inside of luxury, with a healthy psychological kicker that lets the audience in on the mix of wry and macabre, is what makes the genre tick. Into the Dark’s New Year’s Eve episode, “New Year, New You,” operates slightly differently: It approaches the moments leading up to its opening image with the sloppy, vapid gaze of a lazy slasher rather than the nicotine-wrinkled eyes of noir.
And as Ingrid Goes West and others have shown, the world of social influencers is more than ready for its moment in the psychological thriller sun. The self-actualization rhetoric of Instagram health hawkers may have gotten Gwyneth Paltrow’s near-parodic Goop into the world, but it’s also so close to its antithesis (self-doubt) that it proves a natural arena for noirish cynicism and spite. In “New Year, New You,” Sophia Takal directs Suki Waterhouse, Carly Chaikin, Kirby Howell-Baptiste, and Melissa Bergland, with a script from Takal and Adam Gaines that is uncomfortably edited, itchingly paced, and deliciously throwback. But as fun as its reconfiguration of influences is, the episode is far from perfect, due to a problem several installments of Into the Dark have had thus far. No matter how unique the approach to the various TV movies, the Hulu anthology always has an undercurrent of camp that rarely fits the aims of those telling the story. A few hokey elements haunt the tale of Waterhouse’s jilted babysitter, Chaikin’s famous influencer, and Howell-Baptiste and Bergland’s scene-stealing side characters—old school pals, all—who come together for a cathartic New Year’s Eve.
While constant references to that event, that unspeakable event, test the stability of their relationship, an overactive camera loves focusing myopically on details, never seeming to know when to stop zooming—it has the energy of a personal space-invading stranger on the train, leaning in to peep your phone screen. The mirror quota for “New Year, New You” must only have been outpaced by the crossfade quota, both of which contribute to the jarring juxtaposition between the hyper-modern social media space dominating one friend’s reality and the petty, bitter nostalgia of the others’, giving us enough visual clues to know that nobody has really moved on.