Longlegs review - like its titular killer, this summer's most hyped horror film leaves no trace

Apparently when actress Maika Monroe first saw Nicolas Cage in his full Longlegs get-up, her heart-rate skyrocketed to 170 bpm (her resting heart rate is 76). Or at least so a promotional video tells us.

Whether true or not, it’s an example of the savvy marketing campaign, courtesy of distributor NEON, that has drummed up a genuine sense of anticipation for Oz Perkins's latest film. A handful of glowing early reviews and whispers from early screenings confirmed that Longlegs was the summer’s must-see horror film. 

I can confirm that a movie inspiring such overblown rhetoric does, well, have legs. Perkins, whose previous films (including The Blackcoat’s Daughter and Gretel & Hansel) have struggled to leave a mark, delivers the goods here. Longlegs is a fantastically tense, peeking-through-your-fingers experience, the kind that you either avoid like the plague or can’t get enough of. But don’t get it twisted – this is a ridiculous and insubstantial film that doesn’t match the 1990s serial killer procedurals it tries to emulate.

When we are first introduced to FBI agent Lee Harker there is a sense of dread in her eyes that will remain there for the next hour and 40 minutes. Monroe, who plays her, is unfortunately not given much to work with. Harker is no Clarice Starling, though Monroe's angsty performance draws us in – during the film’s second chapter I realised I had been mimicking her clenched jaw for an hour straight. 

Harker is put on a cold case involving a series of grisly murder-suicides all involving a husband turning on his family, Amityville-style. They have been occurring since the '70s, and the only thing connecting the murders is a series of satanic ciphers (pictured above) left at the crime scenes and signed off in spindly handwriting: "Longlegs". "What aren’t you telling me?” asks Lee’s whiskey-swilling colleague Agent Carter (Blair Underwood) as the case heats up again. Quite a lot, it turns out. 

That’s about as much plot as I can give, since being strapped in for its twists and turns, even as it veers unsteadily into supernatural territory, is part of the fun. Sadly, the story's flimsiness puts comparisons to Silence of the Lambs and Se7en to bed. It is clear that the film is just a vehicle for Nicolas Cage’s latest creation. 

Of course, Cage commits to the role as only he can, giving one of his most gonzo performances. The film is most disturbing when Longlegs exists on its margins, as Perkins crops and blocks him out of shots in clever ways. The problem with the big reveal fror the viewer is that not knowing what exists outside the frame is always going to be scarier than what a team of make-up artists can conjure up. When we finally see Longlegs with his blotchy pale skin and stringy hair, it is unsettling, but not the kind of terrifying that gets lodged in your unconscious. 

Longlegs then, is not dissimilar to its eponymous killer. It's creative in its methods and fiendishly effective, but ultimately it leaves no trace.

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