Us — Outline Norwich

From the beautiful and deranged mind that brought us Get Out, comes a brand-new terror to give you sleepless nights and an unreliable bladder.

When we moan to our friends about being our own worst enemy, we’re not usually referring to a cohort of red boiler suit-clad, gold scissor-wielding doppelgangers exacting a gory and eerily philosophical revenge during an idyllic summer holiday, but that’s exactly what happens to the Wilson family in this fresh metaphysical freight.

In 2017 Jordan Peele hit the film industry like a Richter 9.0 quake and has shown the limitless potential of the horror genre (which had grown as stale and knackered as that crust of bread you dropped down the back of your oven two years ago and have never quite been able to reach) ever since. The fruit born from his grey matter has been likened to the creative pizazz of none other than the double-chinned, king of cameo himself Alfred Hitchcock and whilst this comparison is the icing on the cake for Peele’s time in the limelight, he really seems to have created an entirely new type of film deserving of its own gimmicky adjective that Blumhouse can in turn stick in their rapidly-growing trophy cabinet. You might think it impossible to make a film canon out of just two flicks, but by Jove he’s done it with Get Out and Us, creating a signature blend of political satire, horror homage and noir comedy that manages to be stunning yet modestly rough and ready around the edges.

Comedy and horror are a match made in hell here as giggles marry themselves with gore and side-tickling shacks up with slaughter. Drawing on his sketch show roots from Key and Peele, Jordan helps lighten the darkest moments with sharp quips, whilst the horror adds the perfect counter-weight to Winston Duke (Gabe Wilson)’s terrible dad jokes.

I’m still not entirely sure how Lupita Nyong’o has gone this far without being the lead of a single movie, but the moment is finally here and, in a bid to make up for the outrageous oversight, she plays two. Offering one of the most chilling “I will rule the world mwahahaha” villainous moments since Hans Gruber, Cruella De Vil and the White Witch, Lupita alternates psycho and innocence in the alter-egos of Adelaide/Red, simultaneously channelling Annie Wilkes and Paul Sheldon from Misery like a possessed psychic.

There is also enough child acting here to give Stranger Things a run for its money and sumptuous choreography that would make even the most distinguished of modern dance troops blush and stare shamefully at their plimsoles.

Beyond the technical wizardry of his camera-work, JP (as he shall now be known) has also in some burst of pure prodigal talent managed to tap into the American cultural zeitgeist the way one taps a maple tree. Though the whole way through, Us is obviously arm wrestling with the concept of identity and selfhood, there is also some delicious play between ‘Us’ and ‘U.S.’, with one of the highlights arising when Adelaide asks her satanic twin “Who are you people?”, to which evil Nyong’o offers a dry chuckle and answers “We’re Americans”.