The Shrouds

In a weird way, I was glad Cronenberg shared this with us.

It’s Cronenberg’s Finnegans Wake. He’s speaking his own cinematic language now.

The Shrouds’ true center is Kassel’s performance. He translates grief into a restless electrical energy; you can practically feel it vibrating through his agile, lanky frame.

The pace feels deliberate throughout, almost at times ceremonial. Karsh describes himself as “a non-observant atheist.” The Shrouds is a bit like that, too.

Cassel and Kruger give haunting, strangely electrifying performances in this flawed but affecting work. "The Shrouds" casts an odd spell: Its details fade away, while its essence lingers.

At its best, [The Shrouds] throbs with raw, human, horrific honesty.

Despite strong performances from everyone, but particularly Cassel and Kruger, this is a strikingly inert film, spending loads of time with extremely bougie people having lengthy, dry conversations in sterile environments.

The Shrouds splashes around in the deep end of a lonely pool, the frustration of loving, longing for, and feeling left behind by a partner who’s passed on.

The master of “Body Horror” once again goes deep into the mutilation of the body, the intimacy of death and spiritual resurrection of a loved one. It is fascinating and macabre. 


Despite its dreamlike visuals and ambitious premise, its disjointed execution and narrative swings makes it frustratingly uneven. [Full Review in Spanish]