Green Room (2016) - When The Music Stops

There's nothing more punk than punk. Hard-hitting mosh pits full of bald heads and mohawks. The stink of beer and cigarettes in a clouded room of death growls. And the drugs - oh, don't forget the drugs.

Director Jeremy Saulnier definitely understands atmosphere, and how to build tension with it. Green Room is full of squinted glares and suspicious transactions, and if you don't pay close attention you can easily miss something. The well-hidden details back the convincing performances, and it's not hard to get lost in the show.

The editing is masterful too. Julia Bloch's seamless cuts create a pacing that synchronises with each moment. We're never stuck in an unwanted shot and the exchanges all only exist for as long as they need to.

Cinematographer Sean Porter makes some interesting choices here, with serene greens and delicate tones to accentuate the lighter moments. And deep colours with hazy motifs that intensify throughout the peaks and troughs of the story. You could swear there's supposed to be a deeper meaning here with the palette Porter's chosen, but I think he just wanted to let the other elements pop; like a 'less is more' approach.

Regarding the other elements - the practical and make up effects are never over the top or under played. There's a sweet spot when playing with these ingredients and Saulnier's crew cooks up some marvellous magic.

In terms of complexity, Green Room has layers. If you pay attention you're bound to see the individual gears turning incrementally, eventually turning the seconds hand forward to a climax that's satisfying. But it's just as pleasurable letting the bigger moments take you along for a straightforward ride. Do yourself a favour, go in blind. This is an hour and a half you'll be happy you were alive for.