David Cronenberg’s latest, The Shrouds, is the type of movie you keep mentally circling, unsure exactly how you feel, yet compelled to keep unraveling its mysteries. On the surface, it’s about a morose, tech-driven entrepreneur named Karsh (a brilliantly subdued Vincent Cassel) whose company allows grieving families to watch digital renderings of their loved ones decomposing underground.

Cassel’s Karsh drifts through life like a zombie, caught somewhere between the worlds of the living and the dead, mirroring Cronenberg himself and his long-standing fixation on themes of decay, horror, and the fragility of the human body. It’s a slow, deeply introspective character study rather than a flashy genre piece, echoing Cronenberg’s own reflections on life, personal loss, grief, tragedy, and legacy.

A striking moment, buried in the slow burn of the film’s second act, encapsulates its peculiar tone: Karsh, enveloped in a high-tech embalming garment (a literal and symbolic shroud) finds himself in a moment that is profoundly tragic yet absurdly comic. Cronenberg balances grotesque absurdity with morbid humor throughout, keeping you off-kilter, unsure whether to laugh or feel disturbed. It’s in these dissonances that the film finds its power.

The Shrouds, despite being subdued compared to Cronenberg’s more notorious works, still maintains his hallmark body horror themes. The quiet dread and existential unease never completely overshadow its unexpected comedic beats, creating a weirdly hypnotic blend that’s impossible to pin down. Visually, it’s striking; impeccably designed sets, stark yet detailed costumes, and moody cinematography by Douglas Koch add to its surreal allure.

Cassel is outstanding, embodying a hollow man whose empty exterior masks a heart struggling to beat through layers of grief and obsession. Supporting performances from Diane Kruger (doing impressive double-duty as Karsh’s deceased wife and her surviving sister) and Guy Pearce add depth and nuance to this intimate, unsettling story.

The film does not offer immediate gratification, at least in my opinion. It’s deliberately paced, meditative, and cryptic. Yet, its contemplative narrative about decay (both physical and emotional) invites repeated reflection. Ultimately, The Shrouds is less an entertainment and more a meditation, a profoundly personal and oddly funny look into Cronenberg’s psyche, legacy, and lifelong preoccupations. While it may not deliver the visceral shocks fans might anticipate, it lingers long after the credits roll.

This review is part of our ongoing coverage of the 2025 Florida Film Festival.