Willard
While sitting through Glen Morgan's update of the cult horror film Willard, I couldn't help but wonder whether there must be other practical purposes for being able to communicate with rats than having them tear your boss to shreds. They could put those German Shepherds to shame searching out earthquake victims. Or say you've lost your keys. How about training them to help run electrical wiring through buildings? The possibilities are endless.
Adopting a sardonic, dark comedic tone, writer/director Morgan shows restraint when he should be pushing the horror envelope. The film isn't a complete washout; it does contain a fine lead performance, is perversely funny, and exploits your fear of having nearly 500 rats run wild in your home. (Note: For the majority of the film, real rodents were used.) Yet, we're left wanting more once Willard's sad tale comes to an end. For a horror flick, that's worse than a stake through the heart.
Crispin Glover takes on the title role as Willard, a man suffering from low self-esteem and his decrepit mother (Jackie Burroughs) who still asks about the state of his bowel movements. His boss, Frank Martin (R. Lee Emery), heaps abuse on him at every turn. Martin stole the family business from Willard's father and only keeps Willard employed out of respect for his mother. Any sane person would notice the beautiful temp (Laura Elena Harring) in the office who, for some odd reason, is interested in the introverted geek. But not our hero. Nope, he starts communicating with the resilient rats who inhabit his basement and befriends a white rodent whom he names Socrates. This friendship offends Ben, the big rat in the house, who does his level best to win Willard's affection.
This all sounds silly, but it proves engaging due to Glover's performance and the ironic tone Morgan achieves. Glover has weirdness down to a science. He succeeds wonderfully in portraying Willard's sense of loneliness and alienation (a moving scene comes to mind in which Willard nearly attempts suicide while reminiscing about his father). Willard's frequent visits to a hardware store for rat killer strike the dark humor notes perfectly. His conversations with his mother always have a way of being twisted and misunderstood and are equally funny and perverse.
Unfortunately, Morgan runs out of ideas at about the one-hour mark. The remaining third of the film has little direction, beating around the bush to get the film up to feature length. Like the rats, the film overstays its welcome: Too little bite for a horror flick and not quite enough humor for a comedy.
(Running time 1:34, rated PG-13)
Grade C+
The Hunted
William Friedkin's The Hunted introduces its two main characters, U.S. Special Forces commando Aaron Hallam (Benicio Del Toro) and self-defense expert L.T. Bonham (Tommy Lee Jones), with typical Hollywood machismo. Hallam is able to slip through the shadows and kill a bloodthirsty Serbian officer with cold-blooded efficiency; Bonham saves the life of a trapped wolf outside his British Columbia home before giving a hunter a sound thrashing. Establishing scenes of this sort are trite cinematic devices. It would appear as though Friedkin has nothing more than another cliche-ridden trip through "Macholand" on tap.
Fortunately the script by David and Peter Griffiths and Art Monterastelli is far more intelligent than the usual action fare, and Friedkin and his game cast embrace it. While the story itself borrows heavily from First Blood, at The Hunted's core is a poignant humanity, a perspective usually absent in films of this sort. Like Rambo, Hallam is suffering from a severe case of combat fatigue and can no longer function in society. Taking a rather extreme stance in favor of animal rights, he has taken to killing deer hunters in the woods of the Pacific Northwest. The condition of the victim's bodies suggests the killer is a highly-trained warrior. Bonham is brought in to lend his expertise. He immediately recognizes the work of a former student and sets out to find him.
Jones and Del Toro make The Hunted memorable with haunting, physical performances. Their characters are sad and helpless men who have long ago given in to their true natures. Del Toro's Hallam is confused and unable to stop, a man programmed to kill. Jones' Bonham is racked with guilt for having fashioned a killing machine such as Hallam and then turning his back on him. He has nervous ticks and is always anxious indoors.
The realistic hand-to-hand combat scenes have a genuine visceral impact. Unlike the Die Hard and Rambo franchises in which each injury, no matter how massive, is treated as a scratch, the wounds Bonham and Hallam suffer are painful and severe. These characters are winded and haggard and rarely stretch the bounds of realism, other signs that credit Del Toro and Jones' acting. The Hunted isn't about the glory of warfare but of savagery and the high cost it exacts from the soldiers who would do our nation's bidding.
(Running time 1:34, rated R)
Grade B
