The Dark Movie Exposing Jeffrey Epstein’s House of Horrors

Jeffrey Epstein was a monster, and his cursed spirit lives in The scary of the sixty-first, a wild indie comeback (December 3 in LA; December 17 in New York; December 24 in VOD) that skillfully straddles the line between serious giallo homage and wacky topical joke. Directed and co-written by Dasha Nekrasova (from Succession glory), it uses the crimes of the late pedophile financier as a launching pad for Italian-style Sapphic horror, offering an odd mix of sincerity and silliness that makes Nekrasova a talented filmmaker to watch.

Account Suspiria, The beyond and Repulsion like some of his many touchstones, The scary of the sixty-first focuses on friends in their twenties, Noelle (Madeline Quinn) and Addie (Betsey Brown), who move into an Upper East Side apartment in Manhattan that includes glitzy old furniture from the previous tenant, as well as a Murphy bed whose mattress, we shall soon learn, is covered with mysterious stains. While cleaning up the place, they find a collection of rotten and stale food, which prompts Noelle to criticize Addie for her “poverty state of mind” (because she rejected her wealthy father’s monetary aid), and pushes Addie to cleanse her room of bad energy. by burning incense. More ominously still, Noelle stumbles upon a tarot card from “The Sun” in her bathroom cabinet, while Addie spies the claw marks on the interior walls of her closet and uncomfortably stares at the mirror on the ceiling just above. above his air mattress.

Something is seriously wrong with this abode, and that impression is amplified from the start by Nekrasova, whose opening credits sequence is a collection of spooky close-ups of carved gargoyle faces and cherubic angels on the facade of the house. ‘an apartment building in New York City, and upward panoramas (and aerial shots) of the city’s gray streets and skylines. In a way not unlike Peter Strickland (Fabric), the director operates in a transparent Dario Argento mode, filled with false 16mm printing imperfections and a synthesized score to give the debates a vintage vibe. This is further underscored by the tale itself, about two young beauties moving into an alluring new residence full of bizarre doorways, creepy hallways and creepy basements, to find out – with help from an enigmatic stranger – that something supernaturally sinister is going on. there and fit to devour them whole.

The intruder in Addie and Noelle’s life ends up being an unnamed woman played by Nekrasova (here credited as “the girl”), who breaks into the duo’s apartment while Noelle is at home and immediately reveals that it was a “flophouse orgy” owned by none other than Jeffrey Epstein. “Maybe he lodged his slaves here,” she opines a few minutes after meeting Noelle, and the frankness with which she introduces that twist – and begins to give all sorts of details about her “investigation” into Epstein’s Sex Crimes – is both funny and in keeping with the general dreamlike atmosphere Nekrasova conjures up. In truth giallo form, The scary of the sixty-first exists in an unreal landscape of terror and desire, foreboding and paranoia, and so the bonkers quality of this Epstein bomb doesn’t seem out of place at all; on the contrary, it turns out to be a natural fit, given Epstein’s own connections to the kind of crazy Satanic Pizzagate panic that often leads to thrillers like this.

With a strangely impassive face, Nekrasova’s daughter proclaims: “I’m not like normal people. I am obsessed with political struggle. Turns out she’s also a source of Epstein’s conspiracy theories suspicious of the federal government, convinced the financier was murdered rather than committed suicide, and curious about the Caribbean ‘pedophile island’ that he owned, which YouTube videos indicate boasted of a square structure covered in suspicious white and blue lines. Such patterns will reappear later in The scary of the sixty-first, which becomes more and more sinister once Addie falls under the cursed spell of his apartment. Having been rejected by Noelle (who she had previously had a college date with), Addie seeks solace in the arms of her losing boyfriend Greg (Mark Rapaport), whom she annoys during sex by asking him to pretend she is underage, culminating with the demon. expressed request: “Fuck me like I’m 13!”

Epstein’s pedophile evil has plagued Addie, who begins to masturbate frantically on the steps of the billionaire’s other New York City properties, sucking her thumb like sucking on something else entirely and furiously rubbing her crotch with items and pictures of Prince Andrew. Finally flooded with screaming red light, The scary of the sixty-first is a cheeky yet ironic censorship of Epstein and Andrew as pedophile predators who apparently carried out their illicit activities in five apartment buildings whose locations together create a Satanic geographic pentagram. Between episodes of love and espionage, including the discovery that Addie ordered a silver spoon commemorating Andrew and Fergie’s wedding! “It’s an exaggeration of hilarious absurdity, with Nekrasova confusing fantasy and reality, solemnity and schlockiness, for an ace effect.

“Epstein’s pedophile evil has plagued Addie, who begins to masturbate frantically on the steps of the billionaire’s other New York City properties, sucking her thumb like sucking on something else entirely and furiously rubbing her crotch with items and pictures of Prince Andrew.“

A visit to a magical apothecary that results in the acquisition of an obsidian stone is also taken into account in this sordid story, so sexualized that it achieves the significant feat of raising her temperature and making people laugh. the same time. Hearing that Addie likes everything British, Nekrasova’s daughter remarks, “Anglophilia is one thing, but pedophilia …”, to which Noelle replies, “What kind of fucking bootlicker cuck is. even in the royal family? ” Nekrasova and Quinn’s script flaunts Andrew’s supposed guilt across the audience’s face, via Addie behaving profane with her image, and with an unholy ritual sacrifice and murder finale that marries old-school elegance with the modern spirit.

Clearly, The scary of the sixty-first won’t go well at Buckingham Palace, but her use of real-world malice and scandal for kicking B movies is assured, in large part thanks to the stewardship of Nekrasova, who has a knack for the disorienting nightmare irrationality of the 70s and 80s exploitation efforts. Her directorial debut can come across as a lustful lark at times, but it’s nonetheless an accomplished film that suggests she has even bolder work in her future.

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