Yorgos Lanthimos has a weird way of making you feel like you've forgotten how to be a person. You're sitting there, watching The Killing of a Sacred Deer, and the dialogue is so stiff it feels like everyone is reading from a grocery list. But that's the point. It’s unsettling. Honestly, the first time I saw it, I spent half the movie wondering why everyone was talking like robots and the other half gripping the armrests because the tension was just... suffocating.
It’s been years since it hit theaters in 2017, but people are still arguing about what that ending actually means. Was it supernatural? Was it just a metaphor for medical malpractice? If you’ve ever felt a lingering sense of dread after a movie, you know exactly what I’m talking about.
The Myth Behind the Madness
You can't really talk about the plot without looking at Euripides. Specifically, Iphigenia in Aulis. Lanthimos isn't exactly subtle about it—there’s even a scene where a character mentions Iphigenia. Basically, the Greek myth follows King Agamemnon, who accidentally kills a deer sacred to the goddess Artemis. To make things right and get the winds blowing so his fleet can sail, he’s told he has to sacrifice his own daughter.
It’s brutal.
In the movie, Colin Farrell plays Steven Murphy, a successful cardiothoracic surgeon who has this bizarre, almost paternal relationship with a teenager named Martin, played by Barry Keoghan. Keoghan is terrifying here. He eats spaghetti in a way that will make you never want to eat pasta again. Eventually, we find out why they’re hanging out: Steven operated on Martin’s father, and the father died. Martin isn't looking for a mentor; he's looking for a life for a life.
The curse—if that's what you want to call it—is clinical. Martin tells Steven that his family will start dying in stages. First, they lose the use of their legs. Then, they stop eating. Then, their eyes bleed. Finally, they die. Unless, of course, Steven chooses one of them to kill.
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Why the Dialogue Sounds So "Off"
A lot of critics call this "Lanthimos-speak." It’s a signature style he used in The Lobster and Dogtooth. Every line is delivered with zero emotional inflection.
"My daughter started her menstruation last week."
Who says that to a colleague? Nobody. But in this world, it strips away the "movie magic" and forces you to look at the cold, hard logic of the situation. It’s a distancing effect. It makes the horror feel more like a math equation than a tragedy. When Steven’s kids, Kim and Bob, realize they might be the ones to die, they don't scream and cry like normal teenagers. They try to bargain. They try to be the "favorite" child so they won't get picked. It is deeply cynical and, frankly, kind of hilarious in the darkest way possible.
The Cinematography of Dread
Thimios Bakatakis, the cinematographer, uses these long, slow zooms and wide-angle shots that make the hospital hallways look like the intestines of some giant beast. It’s very Kubrick. If you watch The Shining and then watch The Killing of a Sacred Deer, the DNA is everywhere. The camera often lingers just a second too long. It makes you feel like a voyeur.
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There is one shot in particular—the "basement scene"—where the camera sits high up, looking down on the family like a god. Or a judge. It reinforces that idea of inevitable fate. You’re trapped in the frame with them.
Is it Actually Supernatural?
This is the big debate. How does Martin make the kids' legs stop working? He’s just a kid. He’s not casting spells or waving a wand.
Some people think it’s psychosomatic. The idea is that Steven’s guilt is so heavy, and Martin’s presence is so manipulative, that the family literally shuts down. But the eye-bleeding part? That’s hard to explain with just "stress."
Most film scholars agree that Lanthimos is operating in the realm of "Magical Realism." In this universe, the rules of Greek tragedy are physical laws. If a "sacred deer" (the father) is killed by a "king" (the surgeon), the universe demands a rebalancing. It doesn't matter how it happens; it just does. Martin isn't a villain in his own mind; he's a force of nature. He’s the personification of a debt that has come due.
The Spaghetti Scene and Barry Keoghan’s Rise
We have to talk about Barry Keoghan. Before he was in Banshees of Inisherin or Saltburn, he was the weird kid in this movie. The scene where he explains the "mathematics" of the curse while shoveling spaghetti into his mouth is legendary. It’s messy. It’s gross.
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It contrasts the sterile, clean life of the Murphys. Steven and his wife Anna (played by Nicole Kidman) live in this pristine, architectural digest home. They are powerful, wealthy, and controlled. Martin is the chaos that breaks through that veneer. He’s the reminder that no matter how many degrees you have or how much money you make, you can't outrun a mistake.
The Choice No One Wants to Make
The climax of The Killing of a Sacred Deer is one of the most stressful things ever put to film. Steven ties his family up, puts bags over their heads, and spins around in a circle with a shotgun while wearing a blindfold. It’s his way of leaving it to "fate" because he’s too much of a coward to actually choose.
It’s a pathetic moment for a man who spent the whole movie trying to act like he was in control.
Earlier in the film, he lies repeatedly about having a drink before the surgery that killed Martin’s father. He can’t admit fault. Even when his children are literally dying, he tries to find a medical explanation. He looks for a "cure" for a curse. The ending shows us that justice, in the Greek sense, isn't about being fair. It’s about being equal.
Real-World Takeaways
Watching this movie isn't just about being entertained; it's about checking your own ego. We all like to think we're the heroes of our own stories, but sometimes we're just the guy who messed up and is trying to hide it.
- Own your mistakes early. Steven could have potentially avoided the entire escalation if he had just been honest from the start. Instead, his denial fueled Martin's obsession.
- Watch for "The Lanthimos Effect" in other media. Once you see the stilted dialogue and clinical framing here, you'll start seeing it in shows like Succession or other "prestige" dramas that use discomfort as a tool.
- Context matters. If you're going to watch this, do it when you're prepared to feel uncomfortable. It's not a "popcorn and chill" movie. It's a "stare at the wall for twenty minutes after it's over" movie.
If you want to understand the modern wave of "Elevated Horror," this is a mandatory watch. It moves away from jump scares and focuses entirely on the horror of choice and the weight of the past. Go back and watch the scene where Kim tries to walk to the window. It’s a masterclass in tension without a single drop of blood on screen.
Next Steps for the Curious
If you’ve already seen the film and want to go deeper, your best bet is to read a summary of Euripides' Iphigenia in Aulis. The parallels aren't just surface-level; they're the entire skeleton of the film. You’ll notice things about the daughter’s behavior that make way more sense when you see her as a sacrificial figure from a 2,000-year-old play.
Also, check out Lanthimos’ earlier work, The Lobster. It uses the same deadpan style but applies it to the world of dating and relationships. It’s a bit more "fun" but equally biting.