Once in a while, something goes right at the movies.
Each year, audiences are drawn in by the promise of
seeing great actors, but oh so rarely are those actors given the
material they need to deliver on their potential. Few things are more
painful to an avid moviegoer than watching talent squandered. In recent
years, we’ve watched good years of actors like Steve Martin, Robin
Williams, Robert Deniro, and Al Pacino wasted in projects so far beneath
them — Bringing Down the House, Patch Adams, Analyze That,
and Simone.
Crispin Glover has been one of those actors that we
have always known had great untapped potential. It may well be that the
only thing audiences remember him for is Back to the Future,
where his wriggling insecurity and stammering, explosive manners nearly
stole the movie out from under Christopher Lloyd and Michael J. Fox.
From time to time he popped up in roles that only teased us with visions
of what else he might be capable of—the mad sandwich maker of Wild at
Heart, the train conductor from hell in Dead Man.
Now, in the midst of the post-Oscar-season dump,
when studios are quietly clearing their throats and trying to sweep
their misbegotten projects under the rug, out of the clear blue comes a
minor miracle of moviemaking, that rare and wonderful perfect match of
actor and character. Yes, Mr. Glover is finally unleashed in a role so
perfect for him, you can’t figure out whether it’s a case of a man made
for a mission or the mission made for a man. As if he can hardly contain
the energy of so many silent years building up to explode, Glover makes
Willard a trembling, snarling, shrieking character that, if given the
right promotion and exposure, will be one for the ages.
And fortunately, he has a director who knows what
he’s got. In a film that would have had most directors digging deep in
their budget for special effects wizardry and wild indulgent camera
effects, Glen Morgan shows remarkable restraint and control. He never lets
the camera stray from the best special effect in the bag, Glover’s face.
With Glover’s scowling mug filling the screen like a gargoyle with a
grudge, the rats merely fill out the edges of the frame, as though they
are the physical manifestation of his rage and his angst, pouring out of
his ears.
Willard is
Morgan's remake of a 1971 horror movie. It's not a
great story, by any means, but it has a certain punch to it, like a
short story co-authored by Charles Dickens and Edgar Allen Poe.
Bruce Davison, the first Willard, played an oppressed employee who used
his unique connection with rats to lash out at his abusive employer.
Davison appears in the 2003 version too, but only as a smiling portrait
in a frame, suggesting that he is Glover's
father.
Willard is a grown man who still lives like an abused
child at home, plagued by an ailing mother who constantly assails him
with critical remarks and oppressive worrying. A social outcast,
haunted, hunched, and harried, Willard takes comfort in the company of
the only creature who will take notice of him . . . a white rat named
Socrates. This emotional friendship leads Willard into favor with the
rest of the rats, a nasty hoard of filthy monsters. Soon, they become
his servants. Given such a remarkable resource, what does Willard do? He
determines to get even with the world, starting with his abusive
employer (R. Lee Ermey).
Willard gains our sympathy because we feel sorry for
him in his persecuted state. We understand his frustrations with others.
And it is easy to understand why he has grown up uncomfortable around
women, even the one who seems interested in connecting with him (Laura
Elena Harring).
And yet, the damage Willard has suffered has made him
dangerous and demented. Instead of looking for a way out of his distress
or noticing the chances for grace and companionship offered to him, he
focuses on vicious revenge. As his violence-by-rodent escalates into
personal assaults, the movie refuses to glorify his rage, leading us to
respond to the attacks with increasing dismay. (There is uncomfortable
laughter too; Morgan's tone remains tongue-in-cheek.) The rats are
clearly a symbol of Willard's low self-image and baser tendencies. We
come to hope that he will refrain from abusing his gift for
communicating with animals, but as his anger gets the better of him, the
film is honest enough to show that such behavior leads only to further
chaos. (I imagine this is a theme that audiences will revisit soon when
another uniquely gifted individual comes under the influence of reckless
anger in The Hulk.)
Thus, Willard
ends up as a cautionary fairy tale. I wouldn't recommend you take the
family, as the film is dark and troubling. But if you want a lesson in
eccentric acting, or if you are interested in a nightmarish story well
told, Willard is a noteworthy
effort, a fully realized vision in a season of mediocrity.
Thank goodness it doesn’t play to the
appetites of today's audiences.
Jeffrey's Rating:
B-
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