The bombardment of Netflix documentaries about heinous serial killers and social media clips featuring women casually describing torture and murder is part of society just like superhero blockbusters and network TV sitcoms. This content isn’t causing the majority of viewers to commit murder, but the psychological effects of such content is what Pascal Plante examines with his third narrative feature Red Rooms. Ahead of the French Canadian film’s theatrical release on September 6 through Utopia, Plante discusses the cultural fascination with serial killers and utilizing the absence of visible violence to make a statement about our collective bloodlust. 

In a climactic scene during Red Rooms, two women are in a dark room lit by only the stark brightness of computer screens. They’re watching a disturbing video of violence, and as the clip’s content becomes more depraved, none of the violence is seen by the audience. The horrifying sounds and the reactions from Kelly-Anne and Clémentine are enough to make jaws drop. 

Kelly-Anne (Juliette Gariépy) is a beautiful, clean-cut fashion model living in a high-rise apartment whose polished exterior camouflages her voyeuristic obsession with a serial killer during a murder trial. As she searches the dark web for a missing third video depicting the murder of his third victim, she befriends Clémentine (Laurie Babin), a woman who emotionally attaches herself to the case and her staunch belief of the killer’s innocence. 

Director and writer Pascal Plante’s new thriller Red Rooms haunts us by what we don’t see as much as what is depicted in front of our eyes. We hear the tools used for torture and listen as lawyers describe the murders to a jury, but also watch as the victims’ family members are emotionally overwhelmed in the courtroom and Kelly-Anne stares in amazement. Plante leaves us questioning our fascination with violence head-on and centers on the psychological effects of violence, not just the violence itself. 

Plante took inspiration from films like Michael Haneke’s Funny Games and the 1996 Spanish film Thesis, which encompass horrific circumstances and themes without gore and endless torture filling the screen. 

“He’s a great thinker about the moving image, the impact it has, and he’s a great thinker about what are the urges of somebody who wants to see, let’s say, a thriller or a horror film,” Plante says about Haneke’s veiling of violence on film. “What do we want out of it, and is he going to give us what we want?” Ultimately, no, we aren’t going to get what we want. Plante’s approach leads to a similar question for viewers to reflect on: why do we want to watch the violence in the first place? 

“It’s almost a self-preservation thing I feel like,” he remarks. “You have to be able to look danger in the eye to be able to maybe avoid it for your own life.” Plante spent months researching human trafficking, the lure of true crime, and the psychology behind why women in particular are drawn to dangerous, violent men like serial killers. The endless probing into the dark recesses of societal obsessions left him feeling dejected, but with a newfound groundwork for Red Rooms. “We’re always bending the truth, but I needed to do as much research as possible to know when I was bending the truth and why, and be able to almost defend every single choice whenever I was bending the truth in many ways,” he explains. 

After sifting through so much darkness, Plante was left with a new perspective on serial killers. The alleged murderer (Maxwell McCabe Lokos) in Red Rooms isn’t conventionally attractive or bursting with charisma. He silently observes the trial in his sectioned area of the courtroom and doesn’t have any obvious emotional reactions to the deplorable acts described by the attorneys. None of this seems to matter for Kelly-Anne. 

“It’s not the physical beauty or even the charisma of the killers that attract people… if there is one data that is proven is that the more media attention they have, the more myth that is built around them, the more people are going to come,” Plante explains. “If we treat them like rockstars, there’s going to be fans.” 

Even during his last days, Charles Manson had legions of admirers and women that would send him fan mail and marriage proposals. He has been featured on the cover of Rolling Stone, there are countless articles and documentaries about him, and lead prosecutor Vincent Bugliosi wrote Helter Skelter– a thorough dive into the murders that helped spur the wave of contemporary true crime media that is constantly consumed today. If we feed into the narcissism of these high-profile killers, we’re giving them exactly what they want. Plante revokes heavy screen time for the killer and instead situates the audience into the unique sphere of “groupies.”

Kelly-Anne’s aloof nature and Clémentine’s impassioned justifications represent the complexities of this obsessive phenomenon. As Clémentine becomes more horrified by the details, Kelly-Anne just can’t get enough. “I needed at least two protagonists because I knew it was such a complex phenomenon… just the fans of killers. It was such a complex phenomenon that I didn’t want a single character to endorse this whole kind of phenomenon on her shoulder,” Plante says. 

Juliette Gariépy’s first lead role as Kelly-Anne cuts like a knife through the fervor surrounding the trial. She’s a purposefully cryptic character with little backstory or context for how her dark infatuations began. Gariépy, also a model herself, was given a music playlist, books, and Youtube videos for insight into Kelly-Anne’s twisted reality of a woman whose pretty exterior masks an inner morbidity.

Despite her status as a fashion model,  the glamor was stripped back as Kelly-Anne resides in a polished but bare apartment. The mysteriousness of her obsession only makes her more fascinating. We’re yet again lured in by what we can’t see as much as we are by how far Kelly-Anne will go to feed her obsession. 

Plante didn’t “want to objectify her, sexualize her in any way,” and chooses to instead direct all of the focus on the psychopathic aspects of Kelly-Anne’s fixation. When not on set for a photo shoot or seated in the guest section of the courtroom, she’s diligently online playing poker, day trading Bitcoin, or casually lurking in the dark web for the the video of the killer’s third murder. Just a normal day for a serial killer’s groupie. 

The bright screen of Kelly-Anne’s computer is the source of light in her residence as her gaze is transfixed as if she’s in a state of hypnosis. Her PC is the wellspring of her most emotional moment in the film, but also the source of her most twisted indulgences. As the character’s faceless online persona becomes intertwined with the crimes, Plante explores the anonymity of the Internet as a plunge into the loss of morality.

Managing to be engrossing and enticing without being exploitive, Red Rooms redirects the genre of crime thriller by filtering the perspective of violence and perception of fanaticism. Its unpredictability lies in its refusal to rely on a graphic buildup. The last fifteen minutes don’t need the gore and guts to deliver a punchy conclusion that audiences crave. After all, as Plante remarks, “we want shit to hit the fan.”