A Quiet Place

I have a problem with bare feet. The feel, the sound and the sight cause my hackles to rise. It’s a longstanding phobia that isn’t rational but does make some films uncomfortable viewing. Imagine my dismay, therefore, when it became clear in the opening minutes of A Quiet Place that all the characters were barefoot all the time, as a family move cautiously and silently through a world overrun by vicious predators that prey on the slightest sound. This central conceit of silence shapes the film’s world-building, from the family’s constant use of sign language along with a few moments of spoken dialogue, to their enthralling physical performances where expressions and tiny gestures speak volumes, and the family’s methods of day-to-day life without sound but shot through with constant fear. At times, the silence becomes defeaning before it is overwhelmed with Marco Beltrami’s crashing score that echoes those of Hans Zimmer and the late Jóhann Jóhannsson. In addition, there are moments of complete silence that express the perspective of a deaf character, where the superb visual storytelling of writer-director-star John Krasinski is especially apparent as the world is expressed through motifs and clues, rather than expository dialogue or voiceover. The constant threat of attack and the danger of sound leads to nerve-shredding suspense, and the post-civilised world is shown to be merciless from the outset. Some aspects of this world are annoyingly unexplained, such as how the creatures have apparently overrun Earth and how there is still electricity. But these are minor quibbles in what is a gripping and often terrifying ride, and proves that horror is an ideal genre for directors to develop their skills.