Friday, July 21, 2023

The Portable Door: Unevenly framed

The Portable Door (2023) • View trailer
Three stars (out of five). Not rated, and suitable for all ages
Available via: Amazon Prime

First impressions can be crucial, and this film’s first act is needlessly messy.

 

Director Jeffrey Walker’s initially frantic, quasi-slapstick tone is matched by performances that are all over the place; one gets a sense that everybody involved is desperate to prove that This Movie Will Be Fun.

 

Paul (Patrick Carpenter) and Sophie (Sophie Wilde) realize they're in a lot of trouble,
after being dumped into a huge, door-laden sub-level of J.W. Welles & Co.


The resulting impression instead veers toward exasperation, and viewers are likely to give up after about 20 minutes. That would be a shame, because — once Walker and his cast settle down — this larkish fantasy becomes much more palatable.

Leon Ford’s screenplay is adapted from British author Tom Holt’s 2003 novel of the same title, first in what has become his eight-book (and counting) “J.W. Wells & Co.” series, referencing the venerable London firm where mysterious doings take place.

 

Our entry point, as this film begins, is Paul Carpenter (Patrick Gibson), a hapless failure-to-launch who is light-years away from getting his life together. Reduced to seeking employment at a local café, his attempt to do so is interrupted by a string of coincidences: His alarm doesn’t go off, his trousers have a stain, his shoelace breaks — twice — and his toaster blows up. 

 

When Paul finally reaches the queue of would-be baristas hoping for the same job, he’s distracted by an enthusiastic “Great to see you again!” from a jovial fellow who claims to have been one of his university professors — but whom Paul doesn’t recognize —and then by a scruffy little dog that steals his scarf.

 

Paul’s attempt to retrieve the scarf terminates in an alley — the dog having vanished — just outside a partially open door marked “Applicants.” This turns out to be a side entrance to J.W. Wells & Co., where Paul finds himself on a couch alongside the well-appointed and rudely stuffy Sophie Pettingel (Sophie Wilde), one of apparently several individuals angling for an intern’s slot.

 

To Paul’s surprise, he’s summoned next — by name — by middle manager Dennis Tanner (Sam Neill), for an odd interview led by CEO Humphrey Wells (Christoph Waltz). Additional board members Nienke Van Spee (Rachel House), Countess Judy (Miranda Otto) and Casimir Suslowicz (Chris Pang) observe silently. Everybody looks sadly amused by this obviously under-talented applicant, until Paul mentions the series of odd coincidences that led to his presence.

 

And, just like that, Paul is hired, to begin immediately … despite his lack of worthwhile skills. He soon learns that J.W. Wells is a wonderland of weird: Van Spee’s hair has a life of its own; receptionist Rosie Tanner (Jessica De Gouw) seems unusually fond of a stapler; and a baby dragon can be spotted at odd moments.

 

It turns out that J.W. Wells has a long history of altering human lives and enhancing social development via clandestine interference; so-called coincidences and serendipity actually result from subtle influence. Hence, the company motto: “Think this just happens? There is no such thing as coincidence.”

 

Sophie also is hired, and — thanks to latent empathic skills — is put to work in the Department of Coincidensation, alongside Countess Judy.

 

Given that Paul and Sophie are the firm’s two newest employees, he constantly tries to strike up at least a friendship, but Sophie keeps putting him down. Gibson’s aw-shucks social ineptness is more idiotic than endearing, and Wilde’s demeaning ripostes are too mean-spirited for the larkish tone this film desires. 

 

“You dress like a 12-year-old accountant,” she snaps, at one point. 

 

The fact that these two characters are destined to become allies — if not more — results more from cinematic tradition and our expectations; Ford’s clumsy script doesn’t allow this bond to develop organically. Paul just suddenly stops being such a dweeb, and Sophie — just as spontaneously — stops being so unpleasant.

 

When Wells finally gives the hapless Paul an assignment, it proves rather strange: Find something dubbed “the portable door,” which apparently has gone walkabout somewhere within this massive building..

 

By this point, Paul and Sophie have discovered that everything about J.W. Wells is bizarre. Work always stops at 5 p.m. sharp — Tanner shoos everybody out of the building — and a basement stairwell terminates at a closed door bearing a sign that warns entry is restricted to goblins (!). One huge room is filled with old-school dot-matrix printers, constantly producing reams of documents.

 

Sophie’s behavior becomes … erratic. After having expressed disinterest in coffee and jazz, she suddenly develops an intense fondness for both.

 

As it happens, some of the folks at J.W. Wells are up to no good, involved in a scheme with the droll title of Operation Fine Print … which has very dire implications for all of humanity. Can two mere interns put things right?

 

Waltz and Neill have a lot of fun with their over-the-top characters; the latter, in particular, chews every bit of dialogue with gusto. Neill always has been able to slide from jovial to malevolent in the blink of an eye: a gift put to good use here, when at times Tanner becomes positively Satanic. Waltz’s Wells is lower-key: quietly patronizing in the manner of truly powerful individuals who never need to raise their voice.

 

Given this film’s co-production by the Jim Henson Company, the eventual appearance by the aforementioned goblins won’t be a surprise. But the make-up work isn’t up to the usual life-size Muppet standards; most of these goblins merely look like people in tatty clothes and Halloween masks.

 

On the other hand, Matthew Putland’s production design, alongside Doug Franks and Helen O’Loan’s art direction, is a treat. Everything about J.W. Wells is a fascinating blend of Dickensian elements, out-dated tech, and magical whatzits.

 

Benjamin Speed’s whimsical score is one of this film’s strongest assets: quirky and capricious, but also sinister when required. Frankly, the music develops and enhances the story’s atmosphere far better than the script or its primary characters.

 

Things improve significantly once the portable door is located and employed; a subsequent montage — as Paul and Sophie take advantage of its properties, like giggling teenagers — is quite sweet. This, in turn, leads to an intriguing prison (The Nether) and a reasonably exciting climax that allows Paul to find his true calling.


A brief cut-scene, following the extensive end credits, suggests that this Australian production hopes to become a franchise. Based on this wildly uneven debut effort, chances of that appear slim.

 

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