This is the infamous gluttony scene from Seven,
a boschian nightmare trip into a waking hellscape,
the likes of which most police thrillers don't even
attempt to come close to.
However, the atmospheric tension, penetrating darkness,
and true horror on display in this scene
are exactly what makes Seven so terrifying.
Released in 1995, Seven is a neo-noir psychological
thriller, centering on two detectives,
the young and impulsive David Mills, played by Brad Pitt,
and the on-the-brink-of-retirement
restrained and calculating William Somerset,
played by Morgan Freeman.
We follow them on what initially appears
to be a string of unconnected murders
that eventually dovetail into a truly shudder-inducing plot.
The scene in question serves as a perfect synecdoche
of how Seven stands apart from every other police
procedural ever made.
Mills and Somerset are called to a crime scene
where they're told that a man has been found dead.
This is the first victim that they're
going to investigate as a team.
Mills has just transferred into the Department,
and Somerset is none too pleased of being
assigned this brash partner.
I want you to look, and I want you to listen, OK.
Now, I wasn't standing around guarding the Taco Bell.
I've worked homicide five years.
Not here.
I understand that.
As they're walking in, Mills gets
into an argument with a beat cop whether they've properly
investigated the scene and inspected the body
to make sure that the victim is, in fact, dead.
Somerset is annoyed by this.
As he's become accustomed to the corruption and lack of care
the police have sunk to.
This immediately shows you who these characters are,
how they rank on the internal hierarchy of the police force,
and how they relate to each other.
It also immediately heightens the tension of the scene
because we know the characters we're following,
while technically being on the same team,
aren't in agreement with one another.
Additionally, the brilliance of this scene
is that, as an audience member, we
see Mills asking if the character in question
is actually dead--
Wait a minute.
No one bothers to vital signs.
Did I stutter?
--as a setup for the jump scare within this scene.
However, after watching the movie again,
we realize that this was a setup for the sloth jump
scare much later in the film.
Andrew Kevin Walker's script is a masterclass
in subtle structural elements that
work to increase the uneasiness within a scene.
As Mills and Somerset into the crime scene,
we instantly realize that this isn't
going to be a conventionally executed story.
We've all seen crime scene investigations and exposition
dump sequences in movies.
They're all the same.
It's a bunch of people in ill-fitting suits,
poking around a well-lit room and going, well,
it's definitely homicide.
However, Director David Fincher and Cinematographer Darius
Khondji don't take the conventional way
into the scene.
They use the crime scene as a murky interior,
a well of blackness.
They choose to light the majority of the scene
exclusively with Mills and Somerset's flashlights.
There could be anything lurking in this apartment.
It's already been established that the beat
cops don't care enough to thoroughly investigate.
And now, we're following two men,
who have a rocky relationship at best,
into a completely unknown pit garbed in shadow and death.
The tension ratchets up almost as soon as Mills and Somerset
enter the apartment.
The choice to light the scene almost exclusively
with their flashlights serves as both a visual metaphor
that these two characters are literally
illuminating the darkness and also subconsciously bonds them
together for the audience.
They're the only thing pushing back
against the evil that's surrounding this story.
It also helps to subconsciously bond the audience to them
and increases the audience's fear of the unknown.
Everything about the film is thought out
to the precise detail.
Just like the antagonist in the film,
the filmmakers needed to make sure
that nothing was out of place.
The difference between the two protagonists in the story
is represented in their costuming.
Somerset, a classically methodical character
who represents a more mature thoughtful approach
to crime fighting, is wearing a traditional film
noir inspired costume.
He has a fedora, trench coat, and a dark suit.
He looks more like he'd be at home in the Maltese Falcon
or Blast of Silence, while Pitt's Mills looks modern.
No hat.
Just a well-tailored suit and dark overcoat.
As they continue into the crime scene,
the film unfurls itself and presents
a case for why it's unlike anything else.
Insert shots of cockroaches, filth, and grime
rapidly established the visual tone
of what the rest of the film is going to have.
As Mills and Somerset move from room to room,
the tension builds.
We're all waiting for the payoff of the beat cop altercation
that opened the scene.
We're waiting for a cheap jump scare
because something has got to be in this scene that's
unexpected, right?
Anything could be lurking in the untamed darkness
of this hellhole.
Eventually, they discover the body
of a balding man tied to a table, dead.
He's eaten himself to death.
The dingy interior covered in bugs
the atmosphere of the shadows and
this newly-discovered cadaver all work in concert
to manipulate the viewer into being genuinely uncomfortable.
The scene is constructed with prolonged takes that
make the audience peer out into the darkness,
trying to get ahead of the two investigators.
And then it gets even worse.
The detectives quickly discover that whoever
is killing these humans is doing so
in a deeply methodical and planned out way.
And they're ritualistically killing them in accordance
to the seven deadly sins, gluttony, pride, greed, lust,
envy, wrath, and sloth.
This setup sounds like a million different serial killer
procedurals, or it could be an episode of Law and Order
or a buddy cop comedy released in the '80s,
but it's far from that.
Fincher was able to orchestrate every aspect
of the filmmaking process to turn the horror up to 11.
He uses editing, sound mixing, costume design,
and production design to take a well-written script
with a somewhat standard premise into a classic.
In the gluttony scene, the sound of pattering rain, the creaking
house, and eerie footsteps are all played for horror.
Additionally, the soundtrack has a pulsing rising and falling
tone that throbs through the scene,
giving every minor action the detectives
take more and more importance.
As they move further and further into the apartment,
the soundtrack increases in half-step octaves
every few seconds, using a minor scale
to increase the atonal tension.
It takes a director who is enthralled with the subject
matter to make something like this happen.
Even though the film was released in 1995,
it has a classic feel to it.
There's none of the stylistic hallmarks of '90s cinema.
There's no fish eyes, bucket hats,
or dudes talking about how extreme something is.
Check it out, extreme cheddar.
Why is that?
Because Fincher was desperate to prove himself as a director.
And he knew Seven was his only shot at redemption.
After cutting his teeth in the world of music videos,
Fincher made the jump into feature films.
However, it wasn't a smooth transition.
After Alien 3, Fincher knew that if he was lucky enough
to get another shot at directing a feature film,
it would be his last.
Every element of the film is so finely-tuned,
it rewards repeated viewings.
Even the film's opening title sequence with its creepy dirty
handmade quality, the credits instantly
set the viewer up for what the rest of the film
is going to feel like.
Designed by Kyle Cooper, they are arguably the most imitated
main title sequence ever made.
The film grain, the overexposed photos,
the inconsistent shutter speeds, and the creepy hand-written
credits were revolutionary at the time.
The horror on display in the film is its key to success.
Fincher's vision to see past the genre tropes
and imbue every element of the film
with a creeping sense of dread is the reason why
it's so terrifying to this day.
The film practically vibrates with malice and antipathy
toward both its characters and its setting in the best way
possible.
The film might just be the most Catholic film production
ever made.
Every sequence is ballooning with guilt and fear.
The gluttony scene is a perfect example
of how Fincher uses every tool in the toolbox
to instill a scene with mood, atmosphere,
and terrifying ambience.
Every element of the filmmaking process
works in concert to push the audience
to a tangible sense of unease.
Ultimately, what makes Seven so terrifying
is a culmination of a million small decisions
that Fincher had to make.
And each one of those choices was
governed by the principle of, how
do we make this moment feel even more oppressive?
Well, that's all for today's episode.
What do you think?
What's your favorite David Fincher project that
centers on a serial killer?
There's a lot of them, so you have some tough choices.
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