Paranoia brings comfort. 

After a long day, my eyes feel tired and dry. School has ended and I’m ready to wet the soles of my shoes on the wet concrete. The air is fresh, and the sweet autumn aura swirls around me as I make my way home. The commute is filled with bright colours, the roads are muggy, and my nose is runny.

I think I could be getting sick; it’s flu season after all. Or, maybe it is my allergies. Or was it those leftovers that had been sitting in my fridge for the past week that I still ate? Or, perhaps it was the flu-like symptoms my friend was showing signs of.

Whatever it is, I need to relax. Go home, watch a movie, and sip some wine.

I decide it’s time to watch Safe—after all, I want that feeling of security. Safe’s colour palette is easy on the eyes, perfect for unwinding. I sink into my blanket, its warmth cradles me. The rain begins to drip on my roof as I get comfortable, and the warmth from my blanket reminds me of the chill that lurks outside. Everyone is getting sick, so I might as well rest up before I catch that bug.

Safe is set in the late 80s, and the screen is filled with muted blues and quelled pinks. The landscape of the film feels very accurate, to the bustling late 80s, as each character is dressed up in soft tones and high, high shoulder pads.

Carol White (Julianne Moore) is a typical 80s housewife, whose days are spent doing aerobics classes, having brunch with friends and tending to the garden located outside her big house, surrounded by trees that have lost all their leaves and colour.

The lack of hue and leaves from the trees can represent Carol’s slow decay into a mysterious sickness. As she begins to feel unwell, Carol decides to set up a doctor's appointment, curious about what is causing her to feel this way. Something is beginning to attack her immune system. Something is beginning to attack mine as well.

During her various doctor’s appointments, we follow her to; all her test results reveal nothing, she’s perfectly fine, only a mild allergy. Maybe that's why my nose is running, too much pollen.

In this room I am in, the sun has almost set, and as I turn toward the light switch, I notice the can of Febreze next to the TV. Interesting.

Living in a city means there are cars everywhere. The car ride from the doctor's office causes Carol to cough uncontrollably, as she pulls into an underground parking lot to hack everywhere. Could it be exhaust fumes? The vehicles create a smog that leeches into the air. The backdrop is dark, dreary and empty; there are no cars in the lot, a reminder of her stay in Wrenwood, where no one visits her.

The tests reveal nothing; it must be something within the house. No more cleaning products at home; these fumes could be what’s causing her sickness. Or the fruit diet that's been plucked from her fridge, or the amount of milk she's been consuming. Maybe the milk in my fridge went bad, too.

Carol begins to deteriorate, her skin becomes paler, it’s evident she’s losing more weight, and she can no longer participate in her aerobics classes.

Carol's drive home has become barren as the roads, pigment is being ripped away, like each day does as we approach winter. Her skin tone softens like the first snowfall on the coldest autumn day. Her lips form cracks like leaves.
Her unsatisfactory marriage begins to wilt, composting into the dirt, as she no longer wants to adhere to her husband's needs. Her husband is enraged with her inability to express her pain, caused by a supposed illness.

The sickness begins to spread through her bloodstream. She can’t even leave the house without something bad happening to her. I wonder if the world still turns when I'm sick. The rain outside begins to clog the leaves in the storm drain. I need another tissue.

A trip to the hair salon verifies this. Carol needs a change, treating herself to a perm, which was all the rage in the late 80s. Once her hair is just about finished, she reminds the hairdresser not to use hairspray on her (too much fumes). She begins to cough uncontrollably again, and gets a nosebleed.

A good friend of Carol's is having a baby shower, and she can’t stay through the whole thing without convulsing. Her body trembles like branches in the wind.

Carol’s getting weaker. With no actual diagnosis from her doctor and the looming fear of illness killing her, she’s depleted. Her body runs cold like tea left out for too long.

Carol ends up on the couch watching TV. An ad pops up asking residents of the city if they’re experiencing environmental illnesses, due to living close to chemical plants that have the wind blowing fumes over suburban neighbourhoods.

After another aerobics class or an attempt to participate, she spots an ad for Wrenwood, a retreat that deals with people experiencing environmental illnesses.

Pausing the movie, I get up to watch the rainfall painting my window, wondering if the smoke from my neighbour's chimney is what is making me feel this way.

Reluctantly, I return to the movie, watching Carol begin to wheel an oxygen tank everywhere she goes. The mystery of the illness is beckoned through the unknown.

Now no one knows what’s wrong with her. Her time at Wrenwood isolates her from her husband and his son. No one comes to visit. Carol’s duration at the retreat is coupled with the other members and the pastor, who convinces everyone that he has overcome this illness once too.

The last 40 minutes of the movie are empty. Lifeless, it feels like the illness has gotten a hold of me as well. Like how my fall common cold ripped life from me, too. The colours drape from the screen, blending into an intensely warm colour scheme that reflects the autumn outside.

I begin to wonder why my face feels so hot, forgetting that I’m tightly wrapped in a blanket. The tissues come in handy as my nose dribbles snot onto said blanket.

The wine I brought out has gone lukewarm now, so I turned to the TV for the final stretch.

Carol's only visitors are her husband and his son. She's relocated to an igloo-type space that is located near the edge of the retreat. She's alone, vacant and quiet like roads during the first snowfall. The last moment they share has Carol complaining about his non-existent cologne that her husband is wearing.

The movie ends with Carol, her face sunken in with gritted teeth, her face full of blisters as she looks at her reflection, weakly saying “I love you” to herself as the screen fades to black. I now stare at my reflection in the screen, curious if I love myself. The unusual hum of the wind churns down the street. Perplexed if I also have the same environmental illness that withered her away, is that why I feel so shitty?

The wind meddles with my window, and I wonder if it’s bringing the smoke from those nearby chemical factories. No more light fills my room as the sun sets closer to 5 pm than it did in the summer. It's dark, gloomy, and I hope that I'm not making myself sick due to induced stress. I am now alone with my thoughts in my room, as I turn the TV off and make some tea to soothe my throat.

Safe doesn’t make you feel secure; it makes you feel uneasy. The slow burn of a mystery in what's attacking Carol White’s body pulls you in, questioning if this is stress endured or if she really does have an environmental illness. The film tackles isolation, loneliness and fear of improper diagnoses, which is common for women. The world is revolting against her immune system. Julianne Moore's performance is tantalizing, watching her become weaker, fading with each sequence.

The reassurance the movie brings, as you typically catch a common cold during the fall, though not an environmental illness for most. The film feels like a warm hug, like a sweater fresh out of a dryer. Now my body is itchy, but I feel Safe.

You ask yourself if this could ever happen to you, but it’s just the pollen from the falling leaves attacking your nostrils.