Writer-director Justine Bateman’s new film “Violet,” which premiered at South by Southwest Online on Thursday, is anxiety-inducing, infuriating and ultimately freeing. It is experimental with its use of sound and image and refreshing in its creativity and depiction of mental health. 

The film follows Violet (Olivia Munn), a film development executive, who comes to realize the voice inside her head that dictates her life has been lying to her. She desperately wants to be her own person, but she struggles to break away from the “safety” of the life the voice has forced her to lead. 

After an initial montage of disgusting time-lapses of decaying dead animals, brain scans and black splotches across baby pictures, the first thing viewers will notice is the conflict between what they see and what they hear: The voice in Violet’s head is a man who comments on everything she does or says. What Violet is actually thinking is displayed in the curly white scrawl across the screen. The two commentaries are almost always at odds with each other. 

When Violet admits to her friend that she has a “committee in her head,” also known as “the voice in your head that tells you you’re a piece of shit,” her friend tells her it may be lying to her. This scares Violet and the voice, and she lashes out, causing her friend to leave. All the while her written thoughts say, “Please don’t go” over and over. 

The voice insults and degrades Violet throughout the film, calling her a pig, a baby and a freak. Every time it speaks, flashes of the same harrowing montage from the opening flicker across the frame as a dull vibrating sound grows louder. A red tint over the image appears and intensifies to demonstrate the anxiety building and eventually overwhelming Violet — the screen now entirely red. 

The result is a physical and visceral experience for the audience, who will simultaneously be outraged at Violet’s behavior toward those she loves and empathize with her.

As Violet starts to confront her demons and apologize to her friends, her written thoughts say her skin feels like it is being peeled off. She admits she wants to be free, unafraid of some terrible outcome the voice has always promised would befall her should she disobey it. After this confession, the writing says her new skin feels red and raw. 

This is Violet’s turning point — she begins to fight back, calling out the voice for its lies and finding her agency. 

After immersing viewers in the violent sounds and images of Violet’s anxiety, the director offers some reprieve – the imagery of death and decay is slowly replaced by a bright and sunny wheat field. 

At first it is unrecognizable – the shots are so quick it almost looks like sparks. The light is blinding, and the sound of the wheat slapping against the camera is loud, signifying the fear Violet feels stepping into the light and taking control. But when she fully lets go, the white cursive appears over the wheat field: ‘I am going over that line.’ 

For those viewers who are familiar with anxiety and self-deprecation, “Violet” is hard to watch at times, but it is also cathartic to see and hear a manifestation of those thoughts and feelings. After such a palpable experience, the conclusion is a tremendous physical and emotional relief. 

While the images of decay, loud noises and flashes of light are sometimes overwhelming, “Violet’s” use of cinematography, sound and editing to illustrate a woman’s battle with the voice in her head is effective, and for this viewer, gratifying. 

Rating: 4 out of 5 stars