Caye Casas’ debut feature “The Coffee Table” had its world premiere at Fantastic Fest, where it immediately stood out among the lineup of genre films. On the surface, it appears to be a dark comedy about Jesús and María, a married couple still adjusting to life with their newborn baby. But from very early on, an unmistakable sense of tension and unease pervades every interaction between the pair.
It’s clear Jesús and María have differing tastes when it comes to decorating their new home. During a trip to buy a coffee table, Jesús becomes fixated on an gaudy glass table despite María’s objections. Little does the audience know at this point what purchasing the table will eventually unleash. From there, the film steadily ratchets up the discomfort as Jesús grows increasingly distressed, hiding a dark secret from María and others while cracks in the relationship continue to deepen.
Director Caye Casas masterfully builds an atmosphere of quiet dread, using the intimate spaces of the couple’s apartment to maximum effect. Viewers are left to anxiously speculate what turmoil may be bubbling just below the surface. But nothing could prepare viewers for the gut-punch reveal of the coffee table’s horrific power to forever alter the course of Jesús and María’s lives in the most unimaginably destructive of ways. It’s a moment that cements “The Coffee Table” as one of the most unforgettably disturbing tales of domestic dysfunction you’ll ever witness.
Heartbreaking Decisions in “The Coffee Table”
Jesús and María are a Spanish couple adjusting to life after having their first child. Jesús works as an electrician while María stays home with their newborn son Cayetano. Though they seemed happy at first, it’s clear the stress of new parenthood has put distance between them.
Jesús feels sidelined by María’s dominance in their household. So when she dismisses his choice of a gaudy glass coffee table for their apartment, it becomes a point of rebellion. Jesús is determined to buy the table despite María’s objections.
Their argument in the furniture store sets the stage for what’s to come. We see Jesús is proud but insecure, while María has taken on a controlling nature. Underlying it all is the tension of adapting to their new roles as parents.
On the day in question, María leaves Jesús alone with Cayetano to do some shopping. It’s then that the inciting incident occurs – in trying to put the coffee table together, there’s a terrible accident.
In the aftermath, Jesús is faced with a heartbreaking decision. Locked in the apartment with his cries baby and overwhelmed by the trauma of the moment, he chooses to hide what’s happened rather than seek help.
From here, the film becomes a tense psychological drama. Still in shock, Jesús receives visit after visit from neighbors and family who are unaware of the secret he’s harboring. Each interaction grows more excruciating as Jesús comes under mounting pressure.
We see how one bad decision can spiral terribly out of control. Though Jesús wanted to assert himself, the consequences will haunt him forever. María also played a part through her dismissive treatment, adding guilt to Jesús’ suffering.
Told almost entirely through Jesús’ perspective, “The Coffee Table” delves into the intricate pressures within a relationship already showing faults. When faced with trauma, the cracks threaten to shatter lives in an instant.
Uneasy Humor in Uneasy Times
The Coffee Table tackles some mighty dark themes through its unflinching look at the fallout from a tragic incident. Yet what’s most interesting is how director Caye Casas balances this bleak story with moments of uneasy humor.
The film centers around Jesús and María, a couple still adjusting to new parenthood. Money is tight and tensions run high as they argue over buying a gaudy glass table. Their bickering feels real – like any partnership long past the honeymoon phase.
We see Jesús desperate to assert some control, however small, in choosing the table against his wife’s wishes. María meanwhile has taken charge of most decisions, from the baby’s name to their furniture. Their dynamic shows the everyday power struggles that can strain any relationship.
When disaster strikes while Jesús watches their son alone, it’s the catalyst for the film’s darkest themes to unfold. We experience Jesús’ anguish and guilt as he spirals, hiding the truth from concerned friends and family.
Yet among all this despair, Casas peppers in moments that elicit cringes and uneasy laughs. An obnoxious salesman talks up the “unbreakable” table in ridiculous terms. Well-meaning neighbors make inadvertently crass comments.
Even a brother’s long-winded toy reminisces, meant as comfort, feel pitch-blackly funny due to our context. These bits are never real “jokes” – just hints of absurdity amid trauma that bring brief relief, for better or much worse.
The effect is unnerving. We laugh, then feel instantly awful for finding humor in such bleakness. Casas understands how real family dysfunction can blur into comedy, and he wields this tonal tightrope with remarkable skill.
By bringing levity to even the most dire of circumstances, The Coffee Table reflects how humans cope and carries its weighty themes in a striking, singular manner you won’t soon forget.
Breaking Under Pressure
David Pareja gives the performance of his career as Jesús, bringing an achingly raw intensity to a man slowly crumbling under unimaginable pressure. From the start, Pareja ensures we feel Jesús’ mounting frustrations in little ways, from stubbornly insisting on a gaudy table to the annoyance in his eyes during bickering with Maria.
But it’s after the inciting incident that Pareja’s ability to strip away any defenses truly emerges. He lets us see every overwhelmed thought flickering across Jesús’ tormented face. Whether sweat-drenched or eyes deadened, Pareja makes us live through each nerve-fraying second along with his character.
Estefanía de los Santos equally shines as the perceptive yet distant Maria. Together, the duo craft a relationship displaying subtexts of fading passion colliding with new stresses. Their exchanges, from nitpicking to affectionate, feel unforced. This grounded foundation allows de los Santos to subtly wield concern, curiosity and disbelief with cutting precision once turmoil hits.
Through it all, Pareja remains the emotional anchor. We see Jesús’ panicked mind grasping for any scrap of normalcy even as his guilt eats away resolve. His brother’s chipper reminiscing suddenly feels like torture. Well-wishers’ questions turn accusatory. Every strained interaction chips further at Jesús’ crumbling psyche.
By the film’s shattering conclusion, Pareja has laid himself raw before us, inviting us to share in Jesús’ sheer anguish. Yet not once does he allow his character an ounce of self-pity – only searing accountability for deeds that can never be undone. It’s a gutting watch, thanks to Pareja finding profound humanity even in depths of horror and remorse.
For delivering visceral trauma with such authenticity, Pareja rightfully stands out as giving one of 2022’s most unforgettable leading performances – and ensuring The Coffee Table will trouble minds long after viewers have hit play for the final time.
Intensity Through Intentional Imagery
Caye Casas brings an adept visual command to The Coffee Table. His strategic camerawork and coloring conjure an unsettling tone from the start, pulling viewers straight into Jesús’ unraveling mental space.
Casas focuses on closeups that emphasize the smallest shifts in Pareja’s performance. Through eyes reddened or facelines tensed, we live alongside every escalating worry flickering across Jesús’ tormented face. It’s an intimate viewing experience, one that rattles us as much as any explicit content could.
Casas pairs these moments with restless handheld shots, trailing Jesús during harried errands or tense exchanges. We’re never allowed to sit back–the camera movement keeps unease stirring. It makes a simple domestic scene feel disturbing, the calm before an ever-heightening storm.
Alongside cinematographer Alberto Morago, Casas crafts a ‘hyperreal’ look using saturated shades. Colors feel overstimulated, reflecting Jesús’ fraying mental state. Surroundings appear uncomfortably vivid, from ruby reds to sunny yellows that somehow seem ominous.
It enhances the sense that we’re experiencing Jesús’ worsening torment in visceral Dolby vision. Each interaction or setting contributes to his mounting distress in a way standard filmmaking wouldn’t achieve. The unnatural coloring adds psychological weight, keeping us as unbalanced as the protagonist.
Casas’ direction understands that much of horror derives from what’s suggested, not shown. By ramping up tense atmosphere through considered visual means, The Coffee Table proves equally disturbing as overtly graphic films. It’s a masterclass in constructing discomfort through intentional imagery, never letting viewers settle while ratcheting unease to unthinkable heights.
The Coffee Table’s Grip: Tight Pacing vs Wandering Punches
The Coffee Table excels with its slow simmer approach – you feel Jesús’ mounting dread with every scene. But some factors dilute this grip.
Casas takes his time unwinding the reveal, and rightfully so. Drawing out unease through Jesús’ errands and tense exchanges ramps the suffocating air. But minor storylines, like Jesús’ bond with Ruth, feel tangential instead of deepening character. Their scenes offer respite from mounting pressure, releasing intensity when we crave another turn of the screw.
Similarly, the supermarket trip stalls momentum. While emphasising Jesús’ loneliness, more could be said with less. Trusting our imagination fills gaps better than drawn-out depictions.
By trimming distractions, Casas could tighten his grasp. As is, pacing slackens when attention wanders before the all-consuming finale. More selective editing keeps viewers in Jesús’ fraying grip until the crushing climax.
This isn’t to say subplots lack merit – fellow parents will relate to Ruth’s perceptiveness, for example. But their presence feels disproportionate to Jesús’ escalating inner turmoil. A tighter structure highlighting only the most pertinent elements intensifies The Coffee Table’s nerve-shredding effectiveness.
Overall Casas builds discomfort into an unforgettable crescendo. But marginal tweaks amplifying Jesús’ simmering mental state through streamlined focus strengthen what’s already a haunting descent into madness. When dread is the main course, lesser dishes only dilute the impact.
Eager for Unique Cinematic Suffering? The Coffee Table Leaves Its Mark
Caye Casas’ The Coffee Table offers a cinematic experience like no other. Relentlessly bleak yet darkly comic, its unflinching descent into tragedy demands viewers’ endurance.
Jesús and María’s troubles over a coffee table purchase evolve into a psychologically fierce endurance test. David Pareja gives a towering turn as a man crumbling under unspeakable burdens, while their neighborly calls stoke mounting unease. Casas’ queasy close-ups ensure no momentary reprieve from the emotional vice grip.
The film’s ambitions divide audiences. Some see its miserable turns as meaningless; others find black humor in human frailty. But none will forget its harrowing face of parental anguish. With technical finesse magnifying emotional punches, Casas shatters expectations at every juncture.
This is not Saturday night popcorn fun, but one of cinema’s bravest confrontations with despair. Those risking the descent may emerge radically disturbed or viewing relationships anew. Either reaction proves The Coffee Table leaves its mark.
Ultimately, its challenges require willing participants. But for the open-minded, such a grim yet compelling story reveals much about human breaking points. Just know the stay promises no joyful escape. Only those ready to face life’s deepest shadows will find what The Coffee Table offers – a truly haunting dramatic experience.
The Review
The Coffee Table
Caye Casas' The Coffee Table is a harrowing cinematic endurance test that will divide audiences with its pitch black descent into human misery and madness. ThroughDavid Pareja's tour de force central performance and its unflinching handling of trauma, the film confronts suffering with brazen artistic courage. Though not an easy watch, this distinct work has staying power through its unsettling reflection on the fragile nature of relationships and family.
PROS
- David Pareja's raw and intense lead performance
- Unflinching exploration of mental health issues and familial stress
- Relentlessly bleak tone that lingers with viewers
- Thought-provoking examination of human fragility
- Memorable and disturbing character drama
CONS
- Relentlessness may become oppressive for some
- Dark humor doesn't always fit the disturbing tone
- Side plots remain underdeveloped
