See how much fun it is to move the camera, Oz?

Hanging Milk Tits? Finally, Perkins’ bizarre turns of phrase can be essential to a plot as mysterious as it is twisted. Easily his most enjoyable film from a purely entertainment standpoint, Longlegs finds the usually muted, grim filmmaker delving into a familiar, albeit slightly supernatural variation on the ‘FBI Tracking a Serial Killer’ subgenre. Opening with a T.Rex quote and allowing Cage to do his Cage thang as a cross between a shrieking Ronnie James Dio and an albino Tiny Tim, LL is often hypnotic and despite a significant lapse in momentum around the halfway mark, manages to come roaring back with a cruel twist.

“He murders them, but not in person.” Those coming to see Cage play a serial killer...yes, you’ll indeed get that, along with a startling introduction, but it’s entirely Maika Monroe’s movie and once again, somebody’s following her; though she herself is also doing her fair share of following, so...progress? Divided into parts, Perkins dreams up a terrific, absorbing procedural reminiscent of Twin Peaks with Monroe doggedly pursuing a killer whose presence has only been felt via coded messages. As Monroe runs her gloved finger over a card she’s personally received from ‘Longlegs,’ the telltale smudge of fresh ink means she just barely missed him. Actions shifts between a Clinton-era mid-90s and flashbacks framed in a 4:3 ratio with curved edges resembling a clunky slide projector illuminated against a grubby “white as a fish’s throat” wall. That’s just one of the many bizarro utterances to be found here, along with “happy as peaches” and “dirtsy flirtsy angel bitch.”

“The bureau doesn’t have a division on nice things.” Creeping zooms and a harsh, crushing soundtrack prolong a symphony of dread as Monroe and her affable boss Blair Underwood travel under grey Oregon skies to retrieve evidence, including a porcelain doll which arouses quite the response from an FBI coroner. Monroe holds the screen extremely well and she delivers a pinched-nerve performance rife with a suppressed emotional underbelly just aching to burst forth from severe trauma which she may or may not be psychically aware of. It’s somehow adorable that she’s supremely uncomfortable relating to people, even a kind child. I suppose being raised by religious extremist Alicia Witt might leave a few lasting impressions and Witt’s hoarding, slightly-off persona is just bizarre enough to keep her involvement unpredictable. Cage’s energy is initially detrimental as it clashes against the moody, somber tone and it appears Perkins does allow the iconic wild man a bit too much leeway to “get weird” for the sake of discomfort and showy scenery-chewing. Fortunately, he savors his dialogue about “Mr. Downstairs” and “I wore my long legs today,” and his glorious final scene redeems some of his more questionable choices.

Investigations often come off as compelling when realized with skill and precision, so elements like an algorithm or hidden messages work to weave a complex mystery. Murders are staged simply and with little flourish and while the story feels as though it veers off into cloddish musings about satanism and collecting, Longlegs works very well as a creeper with a brain. It just goes to show: NEVER accept a gift from the church. EVER.