From there, the narrative settles into a less radical groove as Pernilla abandons her life and partner in New York for the rundown squalor of Patrick's Louisiana life. Cinematographer Ryan Foregger shoots proceedings with a magic hour quality - the surroundings may be dirty and kitsch but they're bathed in luminous golden light. This may seem like the filmmakers' submitting to the clichéd splendour of bucolic poverty, but has the film truly left the perspective of Pernilla? "I miss you like hell," she keeps stating on his answering machine before they're reunited and the happy glow could just as easily be projected by her as by the filmmakers. Pernilla and Patrick appear to pick-up where the left off years earlier - both Bennett and Louison precisely tread an uneasy tightrope between emotional naivety and physical maturity. At times they can be inscrutable, and the drama sags in the stale air of their psychological stasis but this actually enhances the creeping disquiet. What begins as playful childishness soon reveals itself as something far more sinister, only emphasised by the flashbacks to the innocent costume-clad Bill. Pernilla and Patrick are like tortured soul-mates; they've seen the darkness that lies at the end of this path, but their powerless not to walk down it anyway. Bennett and Richard-Froozan's choice of title conjures Bill, stood in at the path's distant end, like a murderer jumping outta nowhere in an alley.
Ben Nicholson | @BRNicholson