Eight is an Australian low-budget drama written and directed by Peter Blackburn in what remains its only feature. It’s still pretty dark, but at the time of its release in 2016, it received some attention from various film festivals. Its obscurity is unfair, however, as it offers a unique and heartbreakingly realistic glimpse into one woman’s crippling mental health. Filmed in one riveting shot, the result is a stressful, anxiety-inducing eighty-one minutes. A huge factor in making the movie so effective is how simple it is: there’s little dialogue, mostly one person on screen the entire time, and it takes place in one place. The plot follows Sarah Prentice (Libby Munro) just trying to get out of your house, but excruciating OCD and anxiety prevent you from doing so. The title comes from Sarah’s compulsion to do everything in eight, whether it’s eight taps with her foot before putting on her shoes or eight clicks on the door before opening it. She is held captive in her house by her own mind, and what makes the dramatization of Sarah from Blackburn’s story so effective is the way she borrows from the horror genre.
In the foreground, the camera shows Sarah awake in bed staring at the ceiling as the alarm clock rings. The camera movements are deliberately slow to match her wariness. Everything that she does of her, except washing her hands or scrubbing surfaces, she does it meticulously. However, whenever she is cleaning, she is frantic and desperate, which shows one of her greatest fears within her condition. The film emulates Sarah’s feelings in the audience with its almost constant intensity, even when it can feel like very little is actually happening. Even when her panic seemingly comes out of nowhere, when her breathing goes from a normal speed to a fast one, it’s hard not to imitate this, particularly for those who have been in a similar position as her in the lives of others. she. It’s her sudden inclination towards her downfall and her ups and downs that she goes through that keeps the tension high. A large part of the film is reminiscent of the hallway scene in the glow. Every time Sarah turns a corner, she feels like something horrible is waiting for her. That’s the kind of tension the movie manages to maintain every time she moves through the house.
The normal-looking house becomes claustrophobic and uninviting as Sarah walks through it with extreme caution. The camera follows her closely, causing an invasive and uncomfortable atmosphere at all times. It has the aesthetic of a horror haunted house with dark, shady corners and limited lighting. Essentially, it’s a haunted house movie with no ghosts because the real horror is so much more authentic and out in the open. Because there isn’t much dialogue, particularly in the first half, every sound is intensified. We hear every rubbing of your hands that brings chills when you wash them and can be painful to bear. This is most apparent in the first half of the film, and while it gets annoying, it’s exactly the effect Blackburn wanted to create.
The second half of the film features more dialogue and further develops the central character through interactions with others. These include his daughter, husband, therapist and a delivery man. A series of sporadic voicemails are left to gradually reveal more about Sarah’s life, and some of these voicemails leave a creepy and momentous impression. It’s like Sarah’s audible thoughts as she struggles with her inner guilt and fear. Blackburn is capable of creating terror out of things that most people wouldn’t question for a second. Along with voicemails from her, Sarah is deeply disconcerted by the laughter of the schoolchildren coming from her window, and there are frequent knocks on her door that sound deceptively aggressive.
One could argue that the film is plotless and doesn’t tell a story as much as it demonstrates an in-depth study of a character. As this is only an hour and a half of Sarah’s life, Blackburn cleverly allows the audience to piece together what happened earlier in her life and there are many unseen characters playing vital roles. Sarah’s daughter and husband are heard on the phone and on the other side of her door in some of the film’s harshest scenes. Sarah’s devastating longing shows a tragic side of mental illness that can break families apart. By keeping them off screen and not revealing too much about them, Blackburn allows the focus to remain on Sarah, and we see how she is haunted by her previous life as a wife and mother. The guilt she feels when her daughter begs to see her is shown in a scene where she collapses against the door and collapses.
Munro’s performance heightens the tension and awkwardness that the film seeks. She creates such a likeable character in Sarah and, more importantly, she doesn’t overreact at all. Her brilliance in this role is amplified by the film’s documentary approach. It is as if a hidden camera is following her, and this perspective of flying into the wall makes the film even more raw and disturbing. Her conclusion feels appropriate and justified as well. She doesn’t intend this to be something that can be quickly resolved without any difficulty, and while Sarah’s journey doesn’t end at the end of the film, she leans toward something hopeful for her in the future.
Eight it’s a chilling look at a condition that isn’t talked about or understood enough. It’s as horrifying as it is heartbreaking, but he plays the role of him in the successful dramatization of a day in the life of Sarah. Although it is not easy to see, nor is it pleasant, it is an essential visualization and acts as a reminder to all of how the dark side of life can be so simple and yet so terrifying. Scattering in ashes of horror, Blackburn makes sure this drama is told in the most heartfelt and painful way. Combined with a committed and flawless performance from Munro, there are few explorations of mental health that are more terrifying or heartbreaking.
