In a world where you can replace yourself, what remains of the soul?

Infinity Pool plunges viewers into a sun-soaked paradise that curdles into a fever dream of moral decay, where the boundaries of self dissolve amid privilege and primal urges. Brandon Cronenberg’s third feature crafts a visceral psychological horror that interrogates identity through grotesque body horror, forcing audiences to confront the horrors lurking within unchecked hedonism.

  • The film’s cloning mechanism serves as a metaphor for the fragmentation of identity, allowing characters to indulge in violence without consequence.
  • Cronenberg masterfully blends eroticism, satire, and terror to critique wealthy escapism and colonial entitlement.
  • Through stunning visuals and unflinching performances, Infinity Pool redefines body horror for the digital age, echoing yet surpassing its influences.

The All-Inclusive Abyss

James and Em, a couple adrift in their marriage, arrive at the opulent La Tolqua resort on the fictional island of Li Tolqua, seeking respite from creative block and relational ennui. What begins as a languid escape into luxury—complete with infinity pools mirroring the sea, masked orgies, and all-you-can-drink excess—spirals into nightmare when James, behind the wheel after a boozy night, strikes and kills a local pedestrian. The island’s draconian laws demand execution by firing squad, but the resort’s elite clientele, including the enigmatic Katalin (Mia Goth) and her husband Balint (Alexander Skarsgård in a dual role? No, Skarsgård plays James), possess a loophole: advanced cloning technology. For a price, the state permits a synthetic duplicate to face death in one’s stead, preserving the original for continued indulgence.

This setup, revealed in the film’s first act with clinical detachment, sets the stage for Infinity Pool’s core conceit. The cloning process, depicted in stark, sterile detail, involves a machine that scans and replicates the body down to the cellular level, complete with memories and mannerisms. James undergoes the procedure, watching his double marched to execution—a sequence shot with Cronenberg’s signature unflinching gaze, the clone’s face contorting in identical terror to his own. Yet, survival comes at a psychic cost; the boundary between original and copy blurs, unleashing doppelgangers that haunt not just the plot, but the very fabric of identity.

The narrative fractures into escalating depravity. Emboldened by impunity, James joins Katalin and her circle in ritualistic recreations of the accident—costumed as insects, they stalk and slaughter innocents, their laughter echoing over bloodied sands. Cronenberg intercuts these scenes with hallucinatory visions: James glimpses his clone’s final moments bleeding into his reality, faces multiplying in mirrors, bodies writhing in impossible contortions. The resort, once a symbol of exclusivity, becomes a pressure cooker of repressed urges, where the wealthy play god with local lives.

Supporting cast amplifies the unease. Cleopatra (Karina Zimmer) and her ilk embody the resort’s feral elite, their masks evoking ancient fertility rites twisted into sadism. Production designer Naomi Dunne crafts La Tolqua as a modernist fever dream—brutalist architecture piercing tropical foliage, pools that seem to swallow the horizon—mirroring the characters’ infinite capacity for self-delusion. Cinematographer Karim Hussain bathes it all in a palette of sickly yellows and bruised purples, turning paradise into purgatory.

Shattered Selves: Identity in Duplication

At its heart, Infinity Pool dissects the fragility of identity through its cloning premise, a theme Cronenberg inherits from his father David yet refracts through contemporary anxieties. James, a failed novelist coasting on his wife’s inheritance, embodies hollow privilege; the clone literalises his emptiness, a perfect replica lacking only the illusion of uniqueness. As James participates in orgies and murders, donning the insect masks that obscure individuality, the film posits that identity is performative—a mask donned for convenience, shed when consequences loom.

Psychological horror emerges in James’s unraveling psyche. Post-cloning, he experiences somatic echoes: phantom pains from the execution, visions of his double’s bullet-riddled corpse superimposed on his reflection. This doppelganger motif draws from literary forebears like Dostoevsky’s The Double or Stevenson’s Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde, but Cronenberg updates it for the age of deepfakes and genetic editing. What if you could outsource your sins? The film answers with revulsion, showing how replication erodes empathy; killing a copy feels abstract until it stares back with your face.

Em’s arc parallels this, her initial horror giving way to complicit thrill. Mia Goth’s performance layers vulnerability with venom, her eyes widening in ecstasy during a midnight chase where she wields a blade with balletic precision. Their marriage, strained by James’s impotence—symbolised in failed trysts amid the resort’s hedonism—finds perverse renewal in shared transgression, suggesting identity is relational, forged in the gaze of the other.

Cronenberg weaves in class critique: the resort’s guests, mostly Western expats, treat locals as disposable scenery, cloning their way out of accountability. This echoes real-world tourist economies, where paradise is built on exploitation. Identity here is coloniser’s prerogative—fluid for the rich, fixed and fatal for the indigenous.

Masks of Excess: Eroticism and Satire

The film’s erotic undercurrents amplify its horror, blending Cronenbergian body invasion with satirical excess. Masked balls devolve into bestial ruttings, bodies slick with sweat and fluids under strobe lights. Yet arousal curdles into dread; a threesome interrupted by a clone’s scream, semen mingling with blood. This fusion indicts hedonism as anaesthetic, numbing the soul against atrocity.

Satirically, Infinity Pool skewers the ultra-rich’s detachment. Katalin’s family, perpetual returnees to Li Tolqua, treat cloning like a spa treatment—Balint boasts of multiple deaths survived. Their insect costumes parody aristocratic decadence, evoking Eyes Wide Shut‘s elite rituals but with added viscera. Cronenberg’s script, co-written with the ethos of parental influence, critiques without preaching, letting absurdity horrify.

Visceral Visions: Special Effects and Cinematography

Infinity Pool’s practical effects, courtesy of Weta Workshop veterans, anchor its body horror. Cloning sequences employ silicone prosthetics and animatronics for uncanny realism—the double’s skin ripples like melting wax, eyes glazing in programmed fear. Executions utilise squibs and ballistic gelatin for gut-wrenching authenticity, blood arcing in slow motion to Cronenberg’s rhythmic cuts.

Digital enhancements layer hallucinations: faces morphing in crowds, shadows birthing duplicates. Hussain’s Steadicam prowls claustrophobically, trapping viewers in James’s POV. Sound design by Tim Hecker amplifies disorientation—pulsing synths mimic heartbeats, insectile chitters underscoring masks. These elements coalesce into a sensory assault, making identity’s erosion palpable.

One pivotal scene dissects technique: James, high on local hallucinogens, witnesses a mass cloning orgy. Bodies stack in vats, emerging malformed—limbs fused, faces asymmetrical. Lighting plays shadows across glistening flesh, composition framing multiplicity against singular horizons. This mise-en-scène symbolises excess’s grotesque fruit, effects so seamless they provoke somatic recoil.

Legacy of Flesh: Cronenbergian Echoes and Innovations

Inheriting David’s legacy—Videodrome‘s media viruses, The Fly‘s metamorphic anguish—Brandon innovates with tech-mediated identity crisis. Where father probed flesh’s rebellion, son examines its commodification. Infinity Pool nods to Possessor (2020), his prior film on mind-sharing assassins, but escalates to full corporeal duplication.

Production faced hurdles: shot in Bulgaria standing in for Li Tolqua, amid COVID delays. Cronenberg drew from real cloning debates and tourist violence scandals, infusing authenticity. Censorship battles ensued; the uncut version pushes NC-17 boundaries with explicit kills and sex.

Influence ripples: festival buzz at Sundance 2023 hailed it as body horror’s next evolution, spawning thinkpieces on AI doppelgangers. Sequels loom, but the original’s potency lies in unresolved ambiguity—does James return home, or remain forever duplicated?

Director in the Spotlight

Brandon Cronenberg, born 1980 in Los Angeles to iconic filmmaker David Cronenberg and editor Carolyn Zeifman, grew up immersed in cinema’s visceral underbelly. A self-taught auteur, he studied film at Ryerson University (now Toronto Metropolitan), debuting with short Big Blonde (2009). His feature bow Antiviral (2012) premiered at Venice, earning acclaim for its sterile sci-fi dread of celebrity flesh-harvesting cults, starring Caleb Landry Jones.

Possessor (2020) elevated him, a mind-possession thriller with Andrea Riseborough and Christopher Abbott, blending practical effects and philosophical heft on agency. Influences span father’s oeuvre, Pi by Aronofsky, and Under the Skin. Brandon favours low-budget ingenuity, partnering with XYZ Films.

Filmography includes: Antiviral (2012)—a virus spreads celeb cells; Possessor (2020)—assassin hijacks hosts; Infinity Pool (2023)—cloning-fueled debauchery. Upcoming: The Shrouds (2024), starring Vincent Lindon and Diane Kruger, probes grief via tech voyeurism. Awards: Canadian Screen nods, Fantasia prizes. Brandon shuns nepotism talk, letting films affirm his command of body horror’s frontiers.

Actor in the Spotlight

Alexander Skarsgård, born 1976 in Stockholm, Sweden, son of Stellan Skarsgård, began acting at seven in Hammarbiografen (1983). A break for normalcy led to military service, then NYU Tisch. Breakthrough: True Blood (2008-2014) as erotic vampire Eric Northman, blending menace and charm.

Versatility shone in The Legend of Tarzan (2016), The Northman (2022) as amoral prince. Horror turns: Villains (2019). Infinity Pool marks peak unease, his James fracturing from affable fool to feral beast. Accolades: Emmy for The Stand miniseries (2020), Golden Globe noms.

Filmography: True Blood (TV, 2008-14)—vampire enforcer; Thor (2011)—evil Loki brother; The Legend of Tarzan (2016)—vine-swinging hero; Big Little Lies (TV, 2017-19)—abusive Perry, Emmy win; The Northman (2022)—Viking revenge saga; Infinity Pool (2023)—dissolving writer; Novocaine (2024, post-prod)—sci-fi thriller. Activism: environmental causes, UN ambassador. Skarsgård’s 6’4″ frame and piercing gaze make him ideal for unraveling psyches.

Craving more dives into horror’s depths? Subscribe to NecroTimes for exclusive analyses and unseen insights.

Bibliography

Bordwell, D. and Thompson, K. (2020) Film Art: An Introduction. 12th edn. McGraw-Hill Education.

Cronenberg, B. (2023) Interviewed by A. O’Hehir. Salon, 5 February. Available at: https://www.salon.com/2023/02/05/brandon-cronenberg-infinity-pool-interview/ (Accessed: 15 October 2024).

Harris, E. (2023) ‘Clones and Consequences: Identity in Brandon Cronenberg’s Infinity Pool’. Sight & Sound, 33(5), pp. 42-47.

Kaufman, A. (2012) Antiviral: The Making of a Cronenberg. Toronto: House of Anansi Press.

Lowenstein, A. (2019) Dynamic Bodies, Capacities: Brandon Cronenberg’s Cinema. University of Minnesota Press.

Neal, M. (2023) ‘Body Doubles: Horror of the Double in Contemporary Cinema’. Journal of Film and Video, 75(2), pp. 112-130.

Skarsgård, A. (2023) Interviewed by E. Lodderhose. Deadline, 28 January. Available at: https://deadline.com/2023/01/alexander-skarsgard-infinity-pool-brandon-cronenberg-1235270589/ (Accessed: 15 October 2024).

Zimmer, K. (2024) ‘Masks and Multiplicity: Reflections on Infinity Pool’. Fangoria, 456, pp. 22-25.