“Tasteless” isn’t nearly strong enough to describe this deranged little flick.
Deplorably, gratuitously tasteless comes closer.
But — forgive me — it’s also hilarious. And quite entertaining.
 |
| Every time Renfield (Nicholas Hoult, right) tries to show a bit of independence, his master, Dracula (Nicolas Cage), reminds him — quite painfully — that his fate has been sealed for a long, long time. |
And, let’s face it: Who better to sink his baroquely overacting teeth into a modern-day incarnation of Count Dracula?
Director Chris McKay, teamed here with writers Ryan Ridley and Robert Kirkman — the latter primarily responsible for the Walking Dead franchise — have orchestrated a cheeky, relentlessly profane and gory take on everybody’s favorite vampire.
That said, the infamous Count isn’t really the focus of this tale. That honor belongs to the title character: Dracula’s loyal lackey and aide-de-camp, better known as a “Familiar,” and played to British stiff-upper-lip perfection by Nicholas Hoult.
And ya gotta love the premise: Robert Montague Renfield is introduced as a member of a support group for victims of abusive partners, friends and work associates.
His presence is twofold. Ostensibly, but without going into detail, he admits to being hyper-controlled by an impressively “toxic boss” (as glaring an understatement as one could imagine). But he’s also on the prowl for fresh victims for ol’ Drac, reasoning that the best way to prevent human monsters from abusing their prey, is to, ah, “introduce” them to his own monster.
Since such two-legged blood bags rarely come to Dracula’s lair of their own accord, Renfield is able to, ah, “persuade” them via his own impressively agile and hyper-strong talents, courtesy of just a “touch” of Drac’s powers, which the count bestowed eons ago.
These talents kick into gear whenever Renfield eats a bug. (Bram Stolker’s Renfield notoriously ate flies and death’s-head moths. But wasn’t granted super-powers.)
Unfortunately, this particularly section of New Orleans — where Dracula and Renfield have set up headquarters in the basement of a long-abandoned hospital — is in thrall to a drug-running crime family run by the ruthless Bellafrancesca Lobo (Shohreh Aghdashloo) and her feckless son, Teddy (Ben Schwartz). When Renfield’s newest, um, “acquisitions” happen to be in the Lobo syndicate’s cross-hairs, all hell breaks loose.
Cue the arrival of New Orleans traffic cop Rebecca Quincy (Awkwafina), who has long viewed smashing the Lobos as a means of becoming a real police officer.
Awkwafina’s presence and superb comic timing elevate this film to an even higher level of profanity-laden snark.
Despite Rebecca’s best efforts, she can’t seem to win any respect from her peers. Her sister Kate (Camille Chen), who works for the FBI, points out — not incorrectly — that Rebecca tends to be her own worst enemy.
Renfield, meanwhile, decides to embrace self-empowerment, with encouragement from Mark (Brandon Scott Jones), leader of the support group. When a violent restaurant brawl makes Renfield a hero in Rebecca’s eyes, well, he becomes even more determined to shed Dracula’s hold.
Ah, but the bloodthirsty count isn’t about to tolerate that.
Hoult makes Renfield totally sympathetic, despite the carnage he frequently unleashes. We genuinely feel for the guy.
Cage has a marvelous time chewing into Ridley and Kirkman’s malevolently florid dialogue, even when encumbered beneath Christien Tinsley’s impressively ookie make-up. (As revealed via a quick flashback, Dracula — thanks to a previous battle — begins this adventure in far less than his usually svelte form.) Cage doesn’t merely chew the scenery; he masticates it with panache.
The result is both funny and genuinely creepy.
Ridley and Kirkman also honor this character’s legacy, by acknowledging his aversion to sunlight, and inability to cross a threshold unless invited. Best is a B&W flashback that reveals how Renfield, a lawyer, made the mistake of selecting Dracula as a potential client. The sequence is faithful to director Tod Browning’s 1931 Dracula, and Cage even gives the proper inflection to the immortal line: “I never drink … wine.”
Back in present-day New Orleans, early melees are merely a warm-up to climactic blood-baths that include all manner of maimings, manglings, bludgeonings, mutilations, decapitations, dismemberments, eviscerations and defenestrations, all accompanied by buckets o’ blood and gore. The pinnacle of grimace-inducing mayhem occurs when Redfield rips the arms off one baddy, and then uses one limb as a swiftly hurled spear to impale another.
(Physically unlikely, I admit. But an appallingly memorable visual.)
To their credit, McKay and his editing team — Ryan Fosley, Giancarlo Ganziano and Mako Kamitsuna — move their 93-minute film along at a very brisk clip.
The ability to withstand all this carnage — let alone find it humorous — obviously lies in the eye of the beholder. The faint of heart and easily offended are advised to steer well clear.
As for the rest of us … well, if this film marks the further decline of Western Civilization, we may as well enjoy the ride.
No comments:
Post a Comment