But it’s in the service of a story that grows frustratingly conventional. Morano’s imagery remains vivid and often quite haunting a long tracking shot of a corpse in a colorful comforter being dragged along the ground to its destination, thump-thump-thumping over dirt and rocks along the way, is a standout. “I Think We’re Alone Now” shifts from being an artful meditation on the nature of isolation to a more traditional study of contrasting characters before ultimately taking a hard turn and becoming a totally different piece of paranoid science fiction. Or to borrow from another famous song, it’s the end of the world as we know it, and he feels fine.īut the arrival of another survivor of this unnamed apocalypse shatters his reverie, and ours. He’s alone-or at least he thinks he is, hence the title-but he isn’t lonely. At the end of his arduous days, he fishes and cooks what he catches, enjoying his nightly meal with a glass of wine at sunset from the comfort of the library where he worked. (Truly, he can do no wrong.) Del, as we’ll later learn his character’s name is, seems to thrive within this eerie solitude. Much of that has to do with Dinklage’s grounded, steely presence. The lyrical ambiguity of the film’s early moments is far more intriguing than the literal philosophizing of its conclusion. Working from a script by Mike Makowsky, Morano lets some of those questions linger while overly explaining others. We wonder to ourselves: What happened to everyone in this upstate New York town, who is this man, and why didn’t the same deadly fate befall him?
As director and cinematographer Reed Morano intimately observes this daily routine, she builds a steady, gripping mystery. Watching Peter Dinklage repeatedly go through this process at the start of “I Think We’re Alone Now” is subtly mesmerizing.
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