Portrait of God: True Horror
Photo from Pexels by Juan Palacios
Jarrett Borkowski
“No man shall see Me and live.”
These are the words that first appear in the foreground of a dark room, one that resembles a small theater or a conference room. The text fades as a white projector screen drops down. The next six minutes are of pure, existential horror. Portrait of God is a short film produced by Dylan Clark and, in my opinion, it is the greatest piece of horror ever produced.
The beginning of the film begins with a theater room. The camera stays focused, almost painfully slowly zooming in on the projector screen as a young woman walks in. The clicking of her heels is distinct along with the eerie sounds that dance in the background. As she reaches the center of the frame, the girl turns around and points a remote up. As she clicks a button on the remote, the projector screen lights up. The words appear: “‘PORTRAIT OF GOD’” with “BY MIA REILLY” in a smaller font below it.
The white background lights up the projector screen as the camera pans away from it for the first time. We now see the girl Mia’s hand opening her phone and starting a stopwatch. The remote lies underneath the phone, and a computer keyboard is seen as she organizes a set of notecards. The camera switches again, and we finally see Mia’s face for the first time. The light of her open computer screen brightens her face, along with the projector in the background beaming a picture that is now offscreen are the only visible pieces of light.
Mia begins with a question, “What does God look like?” She goes on to tell an imaginary audience how she is going to show them a photograph of a painting. The camera switches back to the projector screen as it changes from the title screen to one of black. She first asks the audience if they see anything. The imaginary audience, along with the viewer of the film, sees nothing, just black. Mia goes on to explain that she doesn’t see anything either. She introduces the painting as “Portrait of God.” She says that while it seems like a black screen to most, she says some claim they can see a figure in the painting, all with the same vivid detail. The camera changes back to Mia, this time with more light from the background shining upon her. After this moment, the feeling between the viewer and Mia changes dramatically.
The frame begins to periodically switch between the projector screen and Mia. At first, Mia doesn’t seem to be paying much attention as she plays audio recordings of people describing the figure they see. All of them recount how the figure is thin, has an inhuman grin, and how the eyes are huge with a glint in them. Mia, at this moment, begins to touch the cross on a necklace she wears around her neck. A woman says that it is unsettling. Another says it's frightening. A little girl says that she doesn’t like looking at it. A man says it is beautiful. As this happens, two yellow dots appear to the right of Mia whenever the camera focuses back on her. She is no longer alone in the room. By the time the voice recordings are over, the yellow eyes are gone and Mia finishes up her practice presentation and cancels the stopwatch.
Mia decides to run it back, rehearsing the presentation once more. As she flips back through the slides to the title, we cross the black screen again. This time, however, it isn’t black. Though we only see it for a fraction of a second, a figure shows up in the photo. Mia starts over, with slight adjustments in how she presents. When she gets to the photo, she pauses as she looks at it, asking herself, “What do you see?”
The music starts to almost twinkle in the background as she examines the photo. In awe, she looks at it while touching her cross. The camera angle is worked masterfully at this point. By angling the camera downward from a position above Mia, the light seems to be drained from the room. No longer is she practicing a presentation, she is lost in her thoughts and imagination. Slowly, the figure appears on the screen. It is hunched over and shriveled, almost skeletal in nature. The eyes are dark and large, with a faint twinkle in them. The grin is greatly unsettling. It is so naturally… unnatural.
The projector light shines above Mia, seeming to represent the halo portrayed in many pieces of classical biblical art. At first, Mia appears to be in awe, even delighted when facing this being. But as the figure becomes clear, her facial expression changes from one of wonder to one of concern and horror. She stumbles backward, reaching for the remote to control the projector screen. She raises the screen. The white screen slowly raises; the music builds. You can feel her breathing deep in her chest, like a balloon about to burst. The music builds until you hear the clicking of the screen lock into place. Through the raising of the screen, the being remained, like the screen was a window and the painting was in the room the entire time. There is silence for a few seconds, only for it to be broken by the noise the being makes when it turns to look at Mia. She jumps, startled, and rushes for the door. She opens the door, quickly closing it behind her. When she leaves the room, the bright light of the hallway provides a false sense of security. Unfortunately for her, the light quickly vanishes upon the door being closed.
The scene is now of a dark void, barring the spotlight shining down on Mia. She slowly shuffles backward as sounds surround her. She looks around panicked, hoping, or maybe not, to find the creature lurking in the shadows. Suddenly, a wheezing breath is heard behind Mia as she freezes in place. She slowly turns around at a painfully slow pace. The camera stares into the void with Mia, trying to see the source of the wheezing, which is now accompanied by slow walking. Mia continues to shuffle backward, always seeming to step out of the spotlight, yet it continues to follow her.
The creature starts to take shape, as the glint of its eyes is visible, its grey skin catching some unseen light, making the side of its head and shoulder visible for a fraction of a second. Mia quickly turns away, grabbing her cross and indistinctly praying to a God that just so happens to be in front of her. God is now fully visible, though out of focus from the camera. A ghostly hand reaches from the shadow, turning Mia to face God. A hand pulls down the mouth of the being, creating an inhumanely large gape. A light starts to shine from the mouth of God as Mia opens her eyes. Her feelings of fear seem to be washed away as the light grows brighter, filling her eyes with light.
The scene switches back to Mia in the room, with the projector light presenting the halo around her again. Her face is lined with tears from not blinking. She is gripping her cross, with blood dripping from her hand and onto her shirt. The phone is shown, with the stopwatch still running, just passing 3 hours and 3 minutes. The screen is now blank. We get one last look at Mia, as she gives a slight grin before the screen cuts to black.
Upon watching this film for the first time, I knew I was watching a masterpiece. As someone who isn’t religious, I can only get a glimpse of what this film can do to connect with the audience. I can only imagine what a devoted Christian would feel upon watching this short film. From a technical element, it is beautiful. The use of lighting and camera angles is vital in film, especially in a genre such as horror. This short, 6-and-a-half-minute piece, understands that better than any horror flick I have ever seen. The choices that Dylan Clark makes are that of a true artist. “Portrait of God” is a prime example of what can happen when a creative genius is allowed to act freely in the independent film industry. No jumpscares, no cheap tropes, just a genuine feeling of dread that produces the truest form of horror.
