by David Aaron Tripp
It Comes At Night is a simple story which paints a visceral image of the capricious nature and savagery that resides just under the surface of every human being. There is a lot to say about this film, but I would like to address one specific story element it accomplishes with expertise; prioritizing the central questions and leaving unimportant questions unanswered. Filmmakers often fret over these types of decisions for fear of aggravating, confusing, misleading, or teasing the audience, but it’s simple; plot exists solely to serve the story, and if it doesn’t, leave it out. This film exemplifies a crafty and balanced approach to tackle the broad thematic content the film seeks to explore while avoiding the plot-laden pitfalls and clichés of high-concept world-building.
The fantasy world in which the story takes place (a post-apocalyptic plague-ridden living nightmare), the life-or-death stakes, and the menacing tone are all laid out for us in bold, effortless fashion within the first few minutes. While gliding over those formidable hurdles, it begs many questions right up front; What the hell is wrong with grandpa? What the hell is going on? Why the hell did they burn his body?! This plague guarantees death and is extremely contagious, but what the hell is it? Where did it come from? How do you catch it? Where is everyone else? Is everyone else dead?! What the hell is going on here?! Finally, we get the central question in the form of a stark, bright title card; “It Comes At Night.”
Damnit!
What comes at night?!
The answer becomes apparent as we familiarize ourselves with our cast; fear is what comes at night. Our protagonist, Travis, has been raised in an environment of fear and paranoia ingrained by the persistent state in which his parents exist and operate. In this world, firing a bullet through a pillow into the head of a dearly loved family member becomes a routine matter of survival akin to looking both ways before crossing a busy street or avoiding Chipotle. It’s clear; become infected, and you’ll be set ablaze in a shallow grave just as soon as we can heave you into this wheelbarrow.
Ladies and gentleman, we have some incredibly high stakes here, and all without over-encumbering the story with irrelevant plot clarification. Does it matter why any of this is going on? Does it matter where everyone else is when our characters are right here in front of us? The situation is clear, the stakes are established, and now our characters are left to deal with the fallout. The unknown, the isolation — that’s scary enough all by itself, and those intentionally unanswered elements create palpable tension while maintaining focus on the characters and the questions that matter to the story.
When Will’s family is offered a room in the house, Travis’ mistrustful upbringing is challenged by his natural instinct to be social and civilized. This conflict is the essence of the story, and none of it hinges on what exactly led to these circumstances. Travis badly wants to trust the visitors, but can’t overcome his deep-rooted fear and paranoia. In fact, we see his subconscious gruesomely tearing itself apart trying to reconcile these conflicting feelings through his nightmares. All of these individuals crave community, but the fear is so critical to survival that they can’t see past their tribal instincts to ruthlessly protect what is theirs. They enjoy brief moments of joy and civility, but neither side can be entirely at ease in these delicate conditions. At any moment the fear threatens to spring back and contaminate any accumulated goodwill.
The central question, therefore, isn’t about what comes at night. It is about how we react when it arrives. How do any of us respond when fear strikes us and locks us out of our rational minds? Are Travis’ nightmares trying to warn him of the inevitable tragedy to come? Will he heed the warning? Is it merely his cautious worldview trying to recalibrate to this unfamiliar yet cathartic circumstance? Is this display of humanity and community worth the wager in this primitive world? These are the questions that the film seeks to answer, and we need only know the bare essentials of the present world and how it came to be to sufficiently answer.
In the end, it is Travis’ rejection of fear, his humanity, which gets him and his family killed. Travis’ subconscious repeatedly warns him in chilling efforts to rid his home of these invaders and return to the safety of the status quo — to lock himself behind the known security of the red door and block out his humanity. But this loss of humanity is what he truly fears above all else, so he rejects the warnings and bets all his chips on a life in which humanity rules over fear. As his parents slay their house guests in their backyard, that humanity is finally snuffed out inside Travis and his parents for good.
Say goodnight, humanity.
It Comes At Night provides a sobering instance of the cataclysmic dangers of allowing fear to dominate us. It is clear that when we revert to a state of tribal beastliness, one in which compassion is deadly, and murder is justifiable, it may not be possible to return. Paul, the patriarch, says it best in the final sequence; “You’ve seen people when they get desperate.”
We’ve been warned.
Now, tell me; does it matter how the plague started?
Other Script Gods articles by David Aaron Tripp can be found here.
David Aaron’s Tripp’s website can be found here.
