Every Heavy Thing

Mickey Reece is one of the most prolific directors of his generation, and yet every one of his films is gorgeously crafted, with impeccable attention to detail. Even with this in mind, Every Heavy Thing, his contribution to Fantasia 2025 and BeyondFest 2025, feels special. Perhaps it is, in part, due to the loss of David Lynch, and the fact that Reece is one of few people capable of creating the kind of atmosphere that he was so good at. Many try, of course, but they get distracted by trying to be quirky. It’s that deep, immersive quality that is so hard to match.

There are echoes, too, of the work of Brian De Palma in this one – in the choice of colours, the slow-flowing camera movement and the scuzziness of the world it establishes early on, before Reece’s more overt humour provides some relief. In its opening vignette we see a woman called Birdie (Bethany Jester) lounging topless in her bed in the semi-darkness, her heavy breasts glistening with sweat. There’s something troubled, troubling, about her gaze, even as she talks casually on the phone. She wants to get out of Hightown City. Within minutes, she will be dead. Though we see her for barely five minutes, Jester makes us feel her presence, and her absence hangs over what follows.

Joe (Josh Fadem) sells advertising space in his local paper, Metro Weekly. He’s a man who knows everyone, can talk to everyone, but still seems somehow uncertain of his own identity. He lives quietly with his wife Lux (Tipper Newton), or at least tries to; she has a bit of an edge to her, a restlessness, and seems happiest when the two of them are arguing. They agree to name their first child Commando. Will Joe live long enough to become a parent? These are dangerous days. He sees news reports on the disappearances of at least five young women. Soon he will find himself a witness to murder, held at gunpoint by tech magnate William Schaeffer (James Urbaniak), terrified into keeping his mouth shut.

Silence quickly spills over into a sort of complicity. He gets more and more nervous as a new colleague, determined young reporter Cheyenne (Kaylene Snarsky) investigates, beginning to uncover secrets. She’s tenacious, not the least moved by his efforts to put her off. Schaeffer has plans not just for its citizens, but for the town itself. Meanwhile, he discovers that an old friend (Vera Drew) might have known Birdie. Still, the film isn’t concerned so much with the murder mystery – which, one way or another, we’ve all seen before – as it is with Joe’s gradual mental disintegration. The more he loses control, the more aspects of his life fall apart, revealing the fragility of civilisation as he perceived it, exposing him to glimpses of the howling void beneath.

Most of Reece’s works are first and foremost character studies, so it’s not surprising that his adherence to plot doesn’t last; the film is better for it. There’s a Lost Highway quality to its shifting structure. Joe’s dreams incorporate the sort of VFX thought super-futuristic in the late Eighties, and the director’s preferred highly textured, grainy film sometimes looks so rough that older viewers will expect white streaks to appear across the middle of it. There are hints of shared dreams – but is that a dream in itself? Just what is the product that Schaeffer’s company is developing? We see the advertising: New Future LLC – live your dreams. With a distinct Strange Days vibe, it feels close to something that’s being heavily pushed at us already, only scuzzy and human enough to have some value.

There’s an amusing appearance by Reece regular Ben Hall as Joe’s gun-toting father. Nicholas Poss, also a stalwart part of the team, creates an immersive soundscape which recalls Videodrome in its use of the auditory textures belonging to film industry processes themselves. The soundtrack is magnificent. And then there’s Barbara Crampton as you’ve never seen her before, dressed in black sequins like the blue lady, shimmering and sensational as torch singer Whitney Bluewill. Though her appearance is brief, it, too, leaves an indelible mark on the film. Indeed, you may never get it out of your head.

Reviewed on: 28 Sep 2025