Infinity Pool

Given the strange births and mutations that have populated Canadian horror maestro David Cronenberg’s back catalogue, perhaps it is not surprising that his son Brandon hasn’t fallen far from the tree. In his previous features, he has plunged straight into the full-blooded kind of scrunge and gore that Cronenberg Sr. made famous in Videodrome, Crash, and even last year’s Crimes of the Future. Not the kind of horror to spook or jump, but rather to make you feel thoroughly grossed out: internal identity issues becoming physical and fleshy.

There could be a risk in calling Infinity Pool ‘Cronenbergian’ that it becomes downplayed as old-hat. From its premise, the film appears instead to take a searingly contemporary approach: a black-comic nightmare taking down the toxic culture of the super-rich. Alexander Skarsgård is James, an author stifled by a lack of ideas and the pressure of his wife’s wealth. On holiday at an island resort, their meeting with an actress (Mia Goth, enjoying a fruitful year) and her husband takes a turn when they encounter a shadowy cloning system, which James may have to employ to clear his name of an accidental death. Cronenberg’s previous Possessor took its icy corporations and identity-stealing assassins seriously to explore paranoia and isolation through gross bodily contortions. From early reports, Infinity Pool looks set to be a gutsier - and funnier - experience, and I’m fascinated to see the results.