Mark Fischbach, more commonly known by his “YouTube” pseudonym, “Markiplier,” has taken his first plunge into the world of big-screen cinema with his directorial debut, “Iron Lung.”
Based on David Syzmanski’s videogame of the same name, “Iron Lung” follows Simon, a convict forced into a dinky submarine, surrounded by a rusting hull and sweating pipes.
“Iron Lung” takes place 20 years into a dystopic future. Every planet and star has vanished, gone without a trace. The remaining life in the universe lives on space stations, surviving off of rapidly dwindling resources.
In a desperate attempt to survive just a little bit longer, a convict, Simon – played by Mark – is sent on what is essentially a suicide mission to voyage a literal red sea. The mystery begins to unfurl; coinciding with the disappearance of all life, the orphaned moons have become flooded by oceans of blood.
The vessel is suffocating; devoid of light, scarce of space, and unbearably hot. Inside it’s rusted copper walls is Simon, shedding sweat as quickly as his composure, succumbing to the torture chamber he has been sealed inside of.
The experimental cinematography captures Simon at off angles: from behind dripping pipes, from the inside of a yellow-stained computer screen, from the end of a long black crawlspace.
The film is purposeful in its shot choices. It becomes so jarring, so far away and solitary that it makes the viewer feel like some kind of a stalker – that Simon is being watched.
It is refreshing to see. There aren’t many films in theaters willing to take risks with their camera work. The visual language of mainstream film tends to stagnate – just think of every movie with a boring two-person dialogue scene. They’re chock-full of lazy cuts interspersed between desert dry exchanges.
Then, think of films whose cinematography is just as much of an art as its music or its acting.
“Whiplash” captures every drop of sweat and blood – but is also careful to focus more on expressions than just who is talking. Andrew Neiman’s descent into a co-dependent, groomed, greatness-oriented relationship with Fletcher isn’t just represented by incredible acting – it is visible.
As the film continues, Fletcher’s presence in the screen grows. He takes up more and more space, representing the growing control Fletcher holds over Neiman. Then there is the film’s unforgettable final moments. The last thing it cares to show is Fletcher’s expression – a slight smile and nod, telling Neiman, “good job,” and Neiman’s response: a euphoric glee.
“Iron Lung,” in a similar way, holds complete control over the story’s emotions by its visual aspect. It is a slow and exhausting trudge. Multiple minutes pass of Simon merely looking over a map and operating the submarine’s archaic navigational system.
Alongside that, the film chooses to show a corner of the ship filling with fluid and a pipe dripping what is supposedly coolant. The ship itself is just as much of a character as Simon; it’s a living breathing thing, sweating and dying alongside him.
It too bleeds, over the course of the movie filling with more and more of the outside ocean. It even coagulates and scabs, alongside Simon as he sustains more and more injuries during his perilous task.
It all comes to a head in the utterly chaotic final minutes. Blood pours from the ship’s every orifice, drowning Simon as he tries to complete a desperate final task: save his ship’s black box.
The film is a slow burn throughout, completely claustrophobic and existentially dreadful. Its cinematography is genius in its creativity. It’s a fun and thrilling watch, if a touch too slow in the middle, but as Mark Fischbach’s directorial debut, it is a hopeful, ambitious, and well-executed first step in what is shaping up to be a long career in film.
