Film Review — "Mind Body Spirit"

As a mellow-presenting homo with a ton of internalized anxiety, my inside and my outside are seldom in sync. You’d never know by looking at me, but I spend hours a day in states of worry, guilt, and stress. The evidence is buried deep in my muscle tissue. Yoga is great for relieving that, sometimes. I’m not talking about the Western high-octane yoga where you sweat profusely. Keep that shit away from me! (Aerobics belong in the bedroom, not on my mat—except that one time.) My practice is a chill and restorative flow that helps me unwind and relax, mentally and physically.

Not so much spiritually, though, as my personal practice is not particularly spiritual. I know yogis who say yoga and spirituality are inextricably entwined, and I see their argument, but, no matter the flow, I’ve never… felt transcendent, or transcended, or experienced anything remotely divine—at least not yet.

But maybe if I had a witchy book of chants and poses, like Anya in Mind Body Spirit, things would be different.

Yoga folk horror, what a cool concept, right? And not only that, Mind Body Spirit is also found footage. Yoga found footage folk horror! Let’s gooooo!

Sarah J. Bartholomew plays a young woman named Anya, an aspiring yoga influencer who has just inherited the house of a dead grandmother she barely knew. Verasha, Anya’s deceased Slavic grandmother, was a family pariah for reasons that aren’t entirely clear to Anya, who’s now living in Verasha’s home and recording yoga content to build her following. But… Anya is not very good. Or charismatic. And her videos aren’t super dynamic. Basically, she is not destined for greatness… until she discovers something that could really set her apart from the other namaste girlies.

Anya stumbles upon a hidden room filled with occult-like vials and trinkets and tomes, including Verasha’s handmade journal of rituals. Many of the rituals involve incantations and gestures that could easily be woven into a yoga flow. So, Anya decides to give her videos a witchy Slavic spin. Because what could possibly go wrong?!

The “found” nature of the footage is interesting here because Anya’s videos do not appear to have been “discovered” or “obtained,” per se. Apart from the FaceTiming scenes, we are, ostensibly, watching content that has been purposefully uploaded to the web, presumably by Anya. The feed buffers on occasion, and there are even ad breaks.

The inclusion of the faux ads is such a smart move. Watching this on Shudder, I was very thrown off for a sec when I noticed Ad in 3, 2, 1 in the corner of my TV screen. The ads add a lot of much-needed humor and offer directors Alex Henes and Matthew Merenda opportunities to shake things up visually. The ads are convincingly commercial and believable in their earnestness—they are really trying to sell their product.

The first ad introduces us to Kenzi, a childhood acquaintance of Anya’s who is also a fitness influencer, only with a lot more spunk and production value. And lemme tell you… I would haaate Kenzi’s “sweat-itation” filled KenziFit classes. Babe, kettlebell swings? In this economy? Fuck off with that nonsense! Madi Bready seamlessly embodies the picture-perfect Kenzi. Her ads are an adrenaline assault on the senses and her “off camera” persona, when she and Anya reconnect in person, is definitely a vibe shift, but she’s still appropriately conceited and superficial, nonetheless.

She’s the opposite of Anya, in fact. Sarah J. Bartholomew establishes Anya as grounded yet aimless. The yoga stuff is how she’s spending her time right now, and she’s into it, but she doesn’t seem zealous about it, despite all the effort. It’s as if Anya didn’t know what else to do with her life, so she became a yoga teacher—which sounds like a millennial version of “those who can’t do, teach; and those who can’t teach, teach gym.” (Seriously, I know several millennials who just… became yoga teachers, just because.) No judgment, though. I 100% understand the very 30-something attitude of WTF Am I Even Doing Here??

But for Anya that feeling starts to dissipate when Verasha’s book of hell salutations steps onto the mat.

Honestly, I can’t even judge Anya as she flips through the pages and tries the postures and sounds out the magic words. Because, although I watch a lot of horror movies, if I found a book of witchy shit, I wouldn’t be like “nope!” and cast it aside; I’d be like “ooh, witchy shit!” and check it out. I mean… our sea levels are rising, our forests are burning, we have no money, our pets’ heads are falling off, so… fuck it, right?

C’mon bestie, do that demonic Chakrasana, yas!!

Mind Body Spirit knows it’s tampering with what yoga is and decides to expressly contribute to the conversation surrounding the Western dilution of the ancient Indian mind-body-spirit practice. In a sense, that’s one of the things the film is “about” on an implicit level, and I kinda wish the message had stayed implied.

The way directors Alex Henes and Matthew Merenda choose to loudly adjudicate the subject of appropriation in the film—so we know they know—feels like self-congratulatory liberal service and reads as insecure Cover Your Ass conduct. The two big reasons for having one character dramatically call another a “colonizer” out of nowhere are a.) so well-meaning white progressives can smirk and nod in absolution with their chai latte in hand, and b.) so the filmmakers can go: There, we said it first, so now you can’t say it about us! Unnecessary, sheepish placation.

To be clear, the bastardization of Eastern traditions in—yes—colonizing nations is a real and important issue. Mind Body Spirit is just clumsy about it.

I will fully admit that the faux ad with the finance bro who “discovered” the strength and healing properties of chai, then set out to spread the good word by hawking his own overpriced (and probably shitty) chai mix is hilarious. But that’s what I’m talking about. You truly do not need “You’re a colonizer!” when you already have the über-uppity “When I was on Wall Street, I was drinking like eight or nine ex-pressos a day, until…” doing that work for you—while making us laugh, no less.

Come to think of it, Henes and Merenda could’ve interrupted the main story with one more tone-deaf ad and still kept the runtime under 90 minutes. Maybe, I dunno, a blonde fashion influencer promoting saris as if she invented them? Not that the movie needed another; I just think they’re funny and a contemporary way to shake up a found footage folk horror movie about culture-appropriating millennial influencers.