The style is unique, particularly with how the action scenes are captured.
It’s smart, tantalizingly refreshing, and is full of heart; the kind of heart that audiences desperately deserve to experience in a cinematic setting.
Perhaps the most astonishing aspect of The Trip is the color grain. The opening shots of Sally Groves (Susan Strasberg) walking across the horizon of the baby-blue ocean in her pink suit amplify the sensational reaction to the screen. These colors never truly fade from being vibrant; even during Paul’s decent to the underworld.
Harper seems to be withdrawn from the life that he, and everyone else, lives. Frames consist of long, deep focus shots, almost as if the viewer is looking down a narrow corridor. Conrad Hall’s cinematography has an aesthetic of tangibility.
Fluid, hand-held camera work by Gilbert Taylor forces the viewer into the position of the band members. The claustrophobia of a brigade of fans always encroaching upon their life is tiresome, and nonetheless frightening
His detachment from reality ultimately becomes his greatest downfall and the film wholeheartedly acknowledges his distance from the truth, thus rendering him out of the frame entirely by the end.
The stakes are considerably higher than most espionage movies, too.
The piece is glued together by Michael Abel’s haunting score, which is orchestrated all throughout. It, alone, will make your skin crawl. Beyond the music and the cast, it’s Peele’s key framing, and consistent intercutting, that make for a delicate, yet insightful text about the way we view ourselves and the “other.”