The Watcher: A Silent Wrangling with Failure

When viewing Nathan Sellers’ The Watcher it is hard to really be taken in by its serenity. On the contrary, its effect is immediately unsettling, accompanied as it is by a recording of a cultish sermon. But that is only the beginning. 

There is a pronounced attention to textural and sensory detail, from a closeup of hands to the flecks of brown in dying flowers, to the soil clinging to freshly dug up harvest; in almost every instance these details also serve as cumulative emphasis on traditionalism. The frame itself is rounded out to resemble mid-century TV sets, matching the decor within. In the midst of it, Danielle (Sandrine Morin) lives in a state of isolation that will never ease up, even if her sister (Charlotte Rea) shows up. 

The feeling of falsity that the film arouses is partially at the root of its disturbing effect: nothing here obeys expectations while simultaneously providing no explanation. The neatness of the house is sinister. Its dated furniture and fixtures scream artifice even if there is nothing to betray current times. The dead bodies do not ask for simple grief, while the living prepare to die. The aftermath of tragedy is clinically quiet. 

To call it a mystery is unsatisfactory because that would indicate a search for answers. The narrative refuses to elaborate on the morbid backstory. The twisted thirty-second-morning-routine-reel-ness of the first few minutes contrasts sharply with the actual opacity, and the viewer’s thirst to know—to see—the ugly, delicious details is left deliberately unattended. Neither the events nor the character(s) are plainly available to the viewer to slobber over à la true crime. 

It is this that makes The Watcher so unnerving. It sidesteps both mystery and true crime, and only carefully engages with horror: it denies its audience complete gratification. If the protagonist may not get what she wants, neither will the audience. And therein lies the agonising insight. 

Watch The Watcher Short Film