While randomly trawling the streaming apps after New Year’s exuberance, I happened upon psychedelic sci-fi thriller Cosmic Dawn (2022). Allegedly inspired by the experiences of writer and director Jefferson Moneo, this Canadian production is captivating from the get-go.
Lost and yearning, Aurora (Camille Rowe) is a troubled woman. Haunted from childhood by the unusual disappearance of her mother on the Blood Moon, she self-medicates in a fugue of nightclub narcotics. Wandering aimlessly after hospitalisation, she is drawn by hallucinations to an esoteric bookstore – Equinox. (A cheeky nod to Jimmy Page.)
There she is introduced to the ‘Cosmic Dawn’ cult, and their leader Elyse (Antonia Zegers). A collective of alien abduction witnesses from around the world, each sharing a similar experience.
Invited to the cult’s underground compound in the wilderness, Aurora is drawn into their charismatic kindness and rainbow overalls as they imprint on her a sense of belonging. Her reality reprogrammed (or revealed?) by starvation, tests of faith, and shamanic plant medicine. One emotive scene contrasts the cold extasis of her former life with the tactile warmth of the cult’s collective sing-along.
Playing on this dissonance, the film delivers a dual narrative. Existing in the now, and four years later after inevitable tragedy breaks the covenant. Characters are introduced out of expected order as we see how the survivors return to the outside world.
With Ari Aster’s Midsommer (2018) a cinematic watershed for sinister cult dynamics, this film takes a different tack. The Cosmic Dawn are presented ambiguously, their truth obscured until outside intervention. The members shown to be good people who have lost their way, responding with shock and disgust to acts of violence.
Visually stunning, and cribbing from the octarine hyper-reality of Richard Stanley’s Color out of Space (2019), scenes are awash with an otherworldly glow. Reality shifts around Aurora in a kaleidoscope of colour as her emotional state evolves.
The breathtaking visuals are matched with an standout soundtrack by synth luminary and John Carpenter collaborator Alan Howarth. Everpresent and relentless, this pulse adds to the timeless unease of the film.
There are few contemporary gimmicks in this movie, with effects seeming both analogue and organic. The ‘retro’ label is overused, and everything feels fresh for not trying to be modern.
Well worth a watch, and available to stream on Tubi.