As Above, So Below, directed by John Erick Dowdle, is one ambivalent piece of work that tows the line between wanting to satisfy as a horror movie and wanting to legitimize the narrative itself.
It’s a movie that tries to teach viewers the philosophy of alchemy and magic more than it tries to scare viewers about what lurks in the catacombs of Paris. But even that might be giving Dowdle too much credit.
To quote the inscription above the Hell’s doorway that the characters encounter, “Abandon all hope ye who enter here.” Viewers should prepare to abandon hopes to escape complete disintegration into horror norms. Despite its interesting setup, the film fails to bring anything new to the genre.
To have fun with a horror film like this, try to identify the one crucial question made about the state of things that the characters completely overlook.
For As Above, So Below, the winner is, “Should we be following him?” “We” as in the six that sneak into the catacombs, and “him” as in the guy, who they’ve known to be missing for two years, that they just happen to come across. What a great question to ponder over. But, of course, it isn’t pondered. There’s a heavily French-accented “I don’t know” response and they continue on.
However, the entire first half of the film is nothing like a conventional horror. It’s more a reimagining of National Treasure (Jon Turteltaub, 2004) without Nicolas Cage.
The Cage replacement is Scarlett (Perdita Weeks), who holds multiple degrees in chemistry and symbology, speaks four languages and is trained in Krav Maga. The handheld camera, documentary feel of the film is explained by the actual documentary being made of Scarlett’s quest to realize her father’s work of finding the philosopher’s stone.
I love this character; she’s one of those people who has no boundaries and sees rules more as formalities. At the very beginning, viewers see her sneak illegally into Iran just to investigate a cave-sized hole-in-the-wall that contains an ancient statue with Aramaic engravings. Even as alarms start alerting the impending explosions, Scarlett refuses to leave until she captures every symbol.
The fervent yet reverent way in which she talks about the elixir of life, her and her father’s life work, is the only fully successful piece of the story. Her motivations feel true, and her single-mindedness is refreshing.
It’s the second half where everything takes a 1,000-meter southerly turn for the worse. It is the brick-and-mortar heft of horror. Claustrophobia and paranoia run deep in the catacombs, where hundreds of miles of underground tunnels contain millions of bones.
As the group makes its way through this city of the dead, sounds of primitive horns and deep trumpets resound through the confined spaces as we languish in a landscape of browns and grays, with the occasional hellish oranges and reds.
Cultish figures chant in the distance. Nooses appear in one second and disappear in another. Stone faces on the wall come to life and attack. But under Scarlett’s leadership, finding the stone leaves no room for chickening out.
This entire scenario isn’t altogether scary, especially with the unnecessary, borderline laughable, romantic inserts. It comes across more as a slightly nail bite-worthy adventure that just gets incredibly confusing and creepy toward the end. The hows and whys scatter all over the place. What you’re left with instead is, well, ambivalence.