Monolith Review: Filmmaking Triumphs Under Tough Minimalist Conditions

Monolith drops viewers into a sparsely decorated house in the Adelaide Hills, where a disgraced journalist scrambles to rebuild her career after a public scandal. This thriller from first-time director Matt Vesely casts Lily Sullivan (Evil Dead Rise) as the unnamed reporter, referred to only as “the Interviewer.” After getting fired for failing to properly vet a source, she sets up shop in her wealthy parents’ vacation home to develop a new investigative podcast.

When an anonymous tip leads the Interviewer to a bizarre global mystery involving sinister black bricks with strange symbols, she latches on, hoping this eerie phenomenon will be her ticket back to success. As she interviews a string of subjects who have received these ominous blocks, it becomes clear that some malevolent force accompanies them. The Interviewer starts exhibiting paranoid behavior herself.

Monolith largely unfolds through a series of phone calls and virtual interactions as the Interviewer delves deeper down the rabbit hole. With Sullivan as the sole on-screen actor carrying the entire film, Vesely manages to build suspense and atmosphere within the confines of a single setting. The cryptic bricks drive the plot while also enabling an exploration of ambition and ethics in the digital media landscape.

Captivating Visuals Within a Single Setting

Monolith thrives within self-imposed constraints, using a solo location and lead actor to generate tension. Cinematographer Stefan Duscio employs tight shots of Sullivan’s face, allowing her subtle expressions to enhance the suspense. Empty spaces surround the Interviewer inside the cavernous home, the floor-to-ceiling windows revealing the home’s isolation amidst the misty countryside. The striking minimalist architecture echoes the character’s loneliness.

While the Interviewer remains fixed in place, frantic editing and cutaways to phone footage visualize the stories shared by her various subjects. Crackling audio recordings and phone interviews comprise much of the runtime, but rapid intercutting builds momentum. Off-screen voices take on a disembodied, otherworldly quality.

The ominous score from Benjamin Speed relies on industrial pulses and drones, the mechanical sounds mirroring the Interviewer’s ruthless ambition. As she loses grip on reality, jagged synth tones kick in, augmented by digitally distorted vocals. The unique sound design reflects the character’s fraying psyche.

By keeping the viewer locked inside the house with the increasingly paranoid Interviewer, Duscio’s voyeuristic cinematography and Speed’s unsettling score generate an atmosphere of claustrophobia and dread. The technical elements may be simple, but smart creative choices allow Monolith to maximize tension within its single location.

An Ambitious Reporter’s Obsession with Ominous Bricks

The Interviewer’s storyline tackles timely questions about journalism and ambition. After her career implodes, she grasps onto a podcast about peculiar black bricks to regain credibility. However, chasing this mystery soon fuels an unhealthy fixation.

As described by the maid Floramae, these cryptic blocks inexplicably arrive in people’s lives during emotional turmoil. The eerie bricks emit a malevolent energy, causing owners to experience vivid hallucinations and extreme guilt. They seem to feed on human suffering in a supernatural way.

The Interviewer’s investigation into this global phenomenon earns quick success. But as she uncovers more about the bricks through frantic calls with frightened subjects, her journalistic distance erodes. Ominous packages with clues show up unsolicited at her isolated house, implying she’s being watched.

Gradually, the line between hunting a stranger’s mystery and living inside one blurs. The Interviewer drinks heavily while analyzing intricate brick patterns and ominous diagrams late into the night. Her questioning becomes more leading, profit-motivated, even manipulative. She entertains paranoid theories about extraterrestrial surveillance.

So are the bricks truly paranormal…or simply a reflection of the Interviewer’s increasingly warped psyche? The ending leaves it ambiguous. But either way, her all-consuming careerism has alienated loved ones and reality itself.

Monolith marries its bizarre sci-fi premise with deeper insights about ambition’s isolating effects. And in the Internet era depicted here, virtual viral success often disguises underlying dysfunction. The Interviewer’s brick madness symbolizes this.

A Tour de Force Performance from Lily Sullivan

As the sole on-screen actor, Lily Sullivan faced immense pressure carrying Monolith. She more than rises to the challenge with a riveting lead turn. Sullivan depicts the Interviewer across a wide emotional spectrum—from cold ambition to manic obsession to utter devastation. Her panicked eyes and frenzied energy transmit the character’s loosening grip on reality.

While Sullivan dominates each scene, the vocal performances prove essential for building intrigue. Floramae actress Ling Cooper Tang lends an air of uncertainty in the opening interview that hooks the Interviewer. The paranoid art dealer voiced by Terence Crawford rambles incoherently about surveillance. Other callers sound evasive, terrified, or totally unhinged when grilled about their bricks. The disembodied voices heighten the atmosphere.

And through her increasingly unbalanced behavior, Sullivan reveals the complexity lurking beneath the Interviewer’s slick veneer. Her smiling on-air persona masks profound self-doubt. When the brick mystery stokes her ego and validates her reporting skills, megalomania sets in. She loses sight of journalism’s purpose.

This layered descent into mania represents Sullivan’s most impressive achievement yet. Meanwhile, the callers reporting supernatural encounters showcase excellent vocal acting. Together, they sell the film’s central mystery and characterize the Interviewer’s inner demons.

Calculated Storytelling Ramps up the Suspense

Monolith unfolds slowly but deliberately, allowing tension to crescendo. After the cryptic opening interview with Floramae, the Interviewer’s follow-up calls unspool more brick details at a measured pace. The calculated storytelling grants time to study the Interviewer’s reactions as she analyzes each new finding.

We share in her fixation on zoomed-in photos of the brick carvings and technical analyses revealing the object’s abnormal properties. Repeated shots of phone footage playback and audio waveforms visualize the interviews’ creepy disembodied voices. The methodical investigation pulls the audience down the rabbit hole.

As the Interviewer fixates on solving the mystery, drinking and isolation accelerate her mania. The calculated revelations about the bricks continue, but we start to fear for the protagonist’s own sanity. After an anonymous delivery suggests she’s being watched, the paranormal and psychological dread crescendo in parallel.

While the ending’s ambiguity around the bricks may frustrate some viewers, the deliberate pacing carefully manages both the supernatural and personal strains of suspense. We remain invested in the mystery’s resolution while increasingly gripped by the Interviewer’s unraveling psyche at the same time.

An Ambiguous Finale Caps a Compelling Slow-Burn Thriller

Monolith concludes with chilling ambiguity, leaving the Interviewer broken and the bricks still shrouded in mystery. In the end, she discovers apparent evidence of extraterrestrial surveillance related to the bricks, confirming her greatest paranoid fears. Or does she? The finale implies her manic obsession has finally severed her grip on reality completely.

While some viewers may desire more concrete answers, the cryptic ending fuels the film’s lasting impact. By refusing to reveal the “truth” about the bricks, Monolith suggests an unsettling indifference from the cosmos toward humanity’s desire for meaning. And despite achieving virality and career redemption, the Interviewer finds only isolation and madness in the end—a haunting statement on ambition’s emptiness.

As a self-contained thriller constructed around phone calls and a solo lead performance, Monolith crafts suspense remarkably well given its constraints. Much credit goes to Lily Sullivan for commanding the screen during virtually every minute. The ominous atmosphere and themes of ruptured psychology linger after the credits roll.

For some, the ending may disappoint those seeking resolution. But its disturbing implications about extraterrestrial menace and personal disintegration ultimately enhance the film’s effectiveness as a distressed woman’s lonely unraveling. Monolith succeeds as a tightly wound, emotionally resonant sci-fi mystery built around a tour de force acting showcase.