Robert Wiene's 1921 masterpiece, The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari, was arguably the first psychological horror movie to feature skewed sets and sharp shadows to reflect consumption by nightmares, deterioration of the mental state and the duality of human nature. A parable for war itself, Wiene would showcase such a profound meaning of the psychological aftereffects and the infinite lives of soldiers who sacrificed themselves for people in positions of power. What really defines a monster? Is it the person themself, or the bleak and sometimes surreal nightmares that enter one's thoughts and dreams and control the desires of such individuals?

Director Hayden Hewitt explores a pitch-black perspective of paranoia in psychological horror in his latest project, Cara. However, Cara is more than just a study of a woman in psychological turmoil, it is a dark and seedy dive into the twisted world of sex work, self-worth, abuse, and mental illness.

From the start, Hewitt draws an intriguing image of a lady who has experienced violence and neglect on various fronts. Hewitt chronicles Cara's hardships as she interacts with her friend Ashley, who is also falling apart, a failed profession in online sex work, a father who can no longer speak and a mother who reaches out but says nothing. Almost like dry-swallowing a pill, Hewitt tells a raw story of abuse existing in the mental and physical world and the barriers that exist within each that ultimately lead some down a path of self-destruction.

This picture of disconnect between what others see, Cara's reality and what she sees is further extended in moments where there are metaphorical walls between her and those who communicate with her. The laptop is one of the many examples in which these walls are represented, where her viewers consume her body and social identity for sexual pleasure. This type of voyeurism is further impacted by the dark imagery we see in the first few scenes, a silhouette of her figure in darkness, with only the dim afterglow of her table lamp to show any kind of life in her in the moment.

Hewitt further displays this level of disconnect and separation with the cinematography; the use of saturated dark colors and grimy and grainy effects accent the state of her mental health and the tenebrous reality that is known only to her, as she dives into her memories and induced paranoia from the violence and abuse she experiences. Sequences throughout the film open doors to explore, from Cara's perspective, her pain and isolation, which gradually improves in its representation as the film progresses.

From her friend and roommate, Ashley, who is dealing with her own set of problems, her visits to group therapy, to otherwise normal interactions with people, to interactions within her toxic situationship with married man Paul, Hewitt keeps this dividing line of tension through use of muted and dark colors and gritty contrasts of her distorted reality. Emotionally or physically, there is always a point where others are kept a distance from her problems, accentuating her breaking point of loneliness and despair before the film comes to a dramatic close.

In many ways, each human interaction details a further loss of innocence, as Cara’s connections, who are supposed to hold some emotional weight and meaning in her life, have all been toxic and devoid of human compassion, turning her into the individual she later becomes in the unfortunate final moments of the film.

While Cara is indeed a psychological study of one's mental decline from traumatic experiences, its moments of practical gore effects are used tastefully to build this world of pain and emotional struggle the character is forced to endure. Cara is definitely not for everyone, but for those that enjoy the realism that films like The Last House on The Left bring to horror, this raw twist on such real and traumatic experiences is sure to be a memorable one.