'Oculus'

Mirror, mirror on the wall, who’s the scariest director of them all?

Writer-director Mike Flanagan showcases his ability to saturate and condense fear into audiences’ pores in his new film “Oculus.” Although the title means “eyes” in Latin, what Flanagan tries to manipulate is not our vision but our minds — the best place for a demon to perch.

The film begins with a flashback of Tim Russell (Brenton Thwaites), who is accused of murdering his parents 10 years ago. When Tim is released from protective custody in his 20s, his sister Kaylie (Karen Gillan) invites him to an experiment designed for unveiling the real cause of their family tragedy, a nefarious mirror with supernatural forces. Haunted by her childhood nightmares, Kaylie tracks down the mirror and discovers many deaths have befallen the mirror’s previous owners. Determined to smash the mirror, the siblings soon realize the demon unleashed by the mirror is adept at distorting the truth with hallucinations.

Kaylie and Tim’s childhood memories in the old house are woven into their movements at present with flashbacks. Truth and illusion are synched by the visceral and violent collision between time and space. As fact and delusion intertwine, Flanagan’s subtle narrative strategy shows its hand. The moment the audiences are confused is the tipping point when they’ll be immersed in the characters’ anxiety, and of course, infinite horror.

Flanagan has written his best script since “Absentia.” “Oculus”’s bone-dry wit, neither twee nor lurid, is a delicate expression of fear.

Unlike usual horror movies, “Oculus” is not awash in chill-driven music. Quite the opposite. It’s sparing in both instrumental sound and the human scream (Yes, we are talking about a horror film). Marvelously, the silence derived from the labyrinthine plot plumps the depths of desperation in a way that is more emotionally compelling.

Visually, the director doesn’t apply any extravagant cinematic embroidery, yet the sensuous and the rich darkness of the film is spellbinding with concrete cuts punctuated by compact rhythms.

Those close-ups seldom focus on the demon, but adhere to the characters’ faces. Their pupil dilation, facial twitches stained with dread and anxiety entwine so vicariously to achieve a poignancy that has less to do with the ghosts than with the fear in the bottom of our mind. That’s the essence of “Oculus,” and that’s where Flanagan flirts with raising the audience’s blood pressure.

Just a friendly tip: take a good look at yourself in the mirror before you go to the cinema, because you probably won’t be willing or able to do it after you get home.