Barbarian, written and directed by Zach Cregger, delivers an effective horror experience via the careful building of tension and a willingness to defy narrative conventions. Some have already called it a modern horror classic. I’ll reserve judgment on that front, but the film’s Jordan Peele-esque social themes demand an explanation, and that’s what this short analysis will provide.
In summary, Barbarian is a movie about everyday misogyny. It presents three major male characters in escalating order of disrespect toward women, thereby subliminally connecting the behavior of the most innocuous with that of the most evil.
I’ll elaborate by going through the film in reverse.
The last male character introduced, known as Frank (Richard Brake), is simply a monster. He imprisons women in his basement, rapes them, and imprisons the offspring—only to rape the offspring, as well. He also films the rapes and keeps the footage to entertain himself. Uncomplicated and evil, Frank appears to be the “barbarian” of the movie’s title.
More complicated is the male character to be introduced just prior to Frank: actor AJ Gilbride (Justin Long). AJ has recently been accused of rape by a costar, thematically linking him to Frank. But AJ isn’t quite the monster that Frank is. He feels that the allegation misrepresents what actually transpired, characterizing his actions to a friend as only those of a “persistent dude.” And when he discovers Frank’s trove of rape videos, he recoils in revulsion, asking Frank: “What the fuck is wrong with you?” In another scene, AJ drunkenly calls his costar to apologize, not something Frank would ever undertake.
But despite his basic moral grounding in those scenes, a sinister undercurrent to AJ’s behavior reveals itself in other moments. Firstly, despite his denials, the rape allegation looms. AJ’s aforementioned description of the encounter, in which he emphasizes his “eye of the tiger” mentality, hardly reassures us that his actions were sound. Indeed, AJ himself evidently lacks conviction in his stated version of events, as he later wrangles over whether he is a “bad person” or merely a “good person who did a bad thing”—not something he would need to struggle with if, in fact, he acted purely.
Secondly, near the end of the film AJ selfishly sacrifices Tess (Georgina Campbell) in an effort to save himself. He subsequently justifies his actions with bogus claims that she was “slipping” anyway and that he “had no choice.” This willingness to use false narratives to justify immoral actions calls into further question his “persistent dude” defense against his costar’s accusation.
Remember also that AJ is an actor by trade—perhaps a reference to his tendency to “act” the part of a good guy while covering up selfish and harmful behavior toward women. This sexist disrespect appears to start with his own mother: he speaks rudely to her on the phone and hangs up on her mid-call, even while demonstrating great interest in spending time with his apparently distant father.
Continuing our reverse chronology, the first male character to appear in the film is Keith Tosko (Bill Skarsgard). Unlike Frank and AJ, Keith has never raped anyone or been accused of rape, as far as we know. He’s a fairly awkward, normal guy; nothing seems noticeably off about him. In addition, while he’s quickly attracted to Tess, he doesn’t take advantage of her. He even displays a chivalrous streak, insisting on sleeping on the couch despite, as we (and she) can easily see, preferring to be in bed with her. His deference, quirky humor, and artistic interests win Tess’s affection: at her job interview, she dreamily looks at a picture of his driver’s license.
But there’s something unsavory about Keith, too. We have to look more closely for it than with AJ, but in certain moments he behaves aggressively or passive-aggressively toward Tess. The most notable example comes after he unlocks Tess from the basement and reacts negatively to her insistence on fleeing the house immediately. Physically blocking her from leaving, he dismisses her concerns (“You’re not making any sense!”) before settling on a plan that involves her waiting for him upstairs while he investigates.
This hardly fits the chivalrous image that Keith had cut for himself early in the film. “Chalk it up to my upbringing,” he had declared regarding sleeping on the couch—an admirable sentiment, but this later behavior calls into question whether his “upbringing” instilled real principles or only empty decorum. Plus, as with AJ, Keith’s worst qualities reveal themselves under pressure, suggesting that they’re closer to the core of his person.
Finally, we can damningly infer that Keith’s refusal to allow Tess to leave the house springs from his desire to have sex with her. He probably expects it to happen that very night. No other reason for his stubbornness in this scene makes sense, as he could easily get her number and reconnect with her later. Keith, then, like AJ, appears to be a rather “persistent dude.”
Thus, in summary, Barbarian cleverly draws a line from Keith to AJ to Frank that links commonplace male behavior (Keith) with the dark, savage heart of male brutality toward women (Frank). AJ serves as the mediator that allows that linkage.
Is Frank, then, really the titular barbarian? Could AJ be described as one, too? Could Keith?
Only one character defends Tess from the selfish men around her: “The Mother.” This deformed creature, a result of repeated incest in Frank’s unspeakable dungeon, only wants a “baby” to protect, and Tess unintentionally assumes the role.
Based on this maternal instinct, The Mother reacts brutally toward the men who mistreat Tess. First is Keith, who, when Tess attempts to retrieve him from the dungeon, stubbornly claims that she has her directions wrong—again assuming an arrogant, belittling posture toward her. Second is AJ, who, as previously mentioned, attempts to save his own skin by throwing Tess off a tower. While AJ’s act is far more extreme, both situations involve a man behaving selfishly toward Tess. The Mother punishes both with grisly murder.
Even a homeless man who advises waiting until morning to find medical care for Tess is almost immediately clubbed to death with his own arm. This may be a riff on the term “strong-arming,” which adequately captures the behavior of the various men, including the homeless man, who interact with Tess throughout the film. (Escaping justice, though, is the haughty police officer—read into that how you will.)
I hope this essay has helped in further enjoying a well-made movie. With Jordan Peele and Ari Aster leading the way, the horror genre has become one of today’s main cinematic sources for meaningful social commentary. Zach Cregger is the latest to follow their leads in constructing a thought-provoking and memorable film. Here’s hoping for more in the years ahead.
–Jim Andersen
For more horror movies explained, check out my analysis of Jordan Peele’s Nope.