Remarkable and disturbing arthouse horror.

Following a lengthy list of countries including Ireland, the UK and France, as well as numerous independent film production companies and their national affiliates are all detailed in minute font against a plain dark black background, the film commences first with 30 seconds or so of a silent black screen before dissolving into an open chest cavity and the beating of a human heart. With a slow moving camera, director Yorgos Lanthimos retreats the camera backward as an unseen doctor or surgeon begins to stitch the open wound as the simple black and white opening credits of “The Killing of a Sacred Deer” are displayed centrally on screen before, slowly, very slowly, disappearing.
To the strains of an imposing and doom laden Operatic music soundtrack we cut to the still unseen doctor or surgeon removing his blood stained scrubs and gloves, shown entirely in slow motion, before a further cut now demonstrates the first of many shots of almost never ending straight hospital corridors. Here we find “Steven Murphy” (Colin Farrell) and “Matthew Williams” (Bill Camp) ambling along this almost never ending corridor but not talking of the successful heart surgery they have both performed but of the performance of their individual wristwatches and how resistant they are and how well they perform underwater. As is the custom in all Yorgos Lanthimos directed films, the conversation is deadpan, straight, matter of fact and strangely pointed, awkward and with no filter.
We now cut to a reverse view of Steven as he sits alone in a largely empty diner before being joined by an apologetic young man named “Martin Lang” (Barry Keoghan) who offers to get the older man some food from the menu but he simply has to eat as “I’m starving”. He apologises, again, for being late before noisily eating the food purchased and slurping on a drink as Steven is largely silent aside from straight forward pleasantries. A further cut now takes us from the diner to a riverside location on the edge of a large city as both men sit on the bonnet of an expensive looking car. It’s a sunshine filled and bright day as Steven announces “I got you a present” to which the much younger man excitedly unwraps a box containing a wristwatch. “Can I give you a hug?” Martin asks before giving the older man a huge bearhug as a response to an incredibly kind present. A further cut now sees Steven, partly hidden by the younger man’s embrace, smiling. The scene’s final cut shows a much wider view of the two men resting on the bonnet of the car again as the camera zooms in to find Steven talking about the water resistance of the watch as well as buying the “expensive” metallic strap rather than the cheaper leather alternative.
We cut to the exterior of an expensive and opulent looking house and with a slow zoom we find Steven, wife and fellow doctor “Anna Murphy” (Nicole Kidman) and their children “Kimberly Murphy” (Raffey Cassidy) and “Robert Murphy” (Sunny Sulijic) enjoying their evening meal. Affectionately known more simply as “Kim” and “Bob”, the children are perhaps five years apart in age with Kim the older but Bob far more talkative and forthright than his more reserved and shy teenage sister. An almost perfunctory conversation ensues that centres on work for the parents as well as upcoming parties for both their young son and themselves tomorrow. The strange air is heightened as first Anna admonishes her son for his long hair and his promise to get it cut before complimenting everyone around the dining table on their beautiful hair before deadpanning “We all have lovely hair”.
Following the evening meal and with the children in bed, we cut to Anna moisturising and preparing for sleep herself as Steven watches, sprawled out on the nearby bed. “I’ve got that dress you like” she announces ahead of the party tomorrow, before stripping to just her bra and panties and lying opposite Steven but with her head hanging over the edge of the bed. As Steven admires his wife’s almost naked body he pleasures himself as she asks him a question, to which he responds “General Anaesthetic” before slowly dragging his wife to the centre of the bed. He now proceeds to kiss a completely unresponsive Anna all over and as the scene ends, he removes her panties.
“Look, I’ve told you not to come to the hospital without calling me first” Steven chides a remorseful Martin the following morning. The young man had only visited to thank the older doctor once more for the present of the wristwatch and apologises, again, before confirming he’s changed the strap from the expensive one to a cheaper leather alternative. Steven is clearly put out, both by the unexpected visit and by the crass change of the watch strap but lies by saying he approves of the change but no further unexpected visits can be accepted as “It’s safer that way”. Steven lies once more as he explains who Martin is to Matthew, again found wandering along the interminable corridors of the hospital. Seeing that Matthew has the same watch as him, Martin cannot contain his glee at comparing their individual watches before Matthew smiles and leaves the two men to their private conversation. “We’ll talk on the phone to arrange another meeting” Steven announces in an exasperated fashion to the younger man. Martin responds with a simple “Goodbye” and an indifferent shrug of his shoulders before each man walks away in opposing directions along the never ending corridor of the hospital.
Welcome, to the strange world of Yorgos Lanthimos and the opening quarter of an hour of The Killing of a Sacred Deer.


As I detail in my review of The Lobster linked below, I’ve arrived somewhat late to the films of Greek filmmaker Yorgos Lanthimos but I’m rather pleased I have. From the off, his films are dry, methodical and with a dialogue that is spoken almost akin to reading a play aloud and deadpanned with very little, if any, emotion. Next, they are startling, outrageous, unsettling, disturbing and with a constantly building sense of dread from a cast of characters that are dead eyed, distanced and almost out of body. Whereas The Lobster is listed as, and very definitely, a comedy, so too is The Killing of a Sacred Deer, but I found next to zero comedy, darkly black or not, and instead found a highly disturbing surreal arthouse horror that had echoes of Kubrick’s The Shining as well as the final 15 panic stricken minutes of Ben Wheatley’s Kill List.
With only 13 credited roles (and Alicia Silverstone unrecognisable as Martin’s horribly obsessed mother), I jotted in my notebook that the dialogue is delivered akin to reading a play, if the play was being read by a robot, and that’s both a pithy take and a compliment of sorts if, and it maybe a big IF, it doesn’t throw you from the horror being delivered on screen. Don’t expect jump scares or creaking floorboards or ghostly apparitions from the abyss. But do expect an extremely unsettling and deeply disturbing otherworldly hex that descends upon the Murphy family amid some incredibly impressive performances from Nicole Kidman, Colin Farrell, Raffey Cassidy, Sunny Sulijic and especially Barry Keoghan in the same year as his other star turn in Christopher Nolan’s Dunkirk, and five years before another stunning individual performance in Martin McDonagh’s The Banshees of Inisherin.
Stylishly directed by Yorgos Lanthimos and accompanied by a nerve shredding musical score that rips through you like a jagged panic attack (once again, like The Lobster, credited simply to the “Music Department”), get ready for the final 20 minutes of a horrible horror and whatever you do, don’t go downstairs to the “Games Room”.
Highly recommended.
Thanks for reading. There are now over 300 articles with a combined 600+ film reviews contained within my “Film” library here. Alternatively, please see the link immediately below to the aforementioned review of The Lobster and two further reviews recently published:
“The Lobster” (2015)
A Brave New World of dystopian madness.medium.com
“John Wick” — Chapter 4 (2023)
The hitman legend continues.medium.com
“Missing” (2023)
Highly recommended social media whodunit.medium.com