Director John Slattery and writer Paul Bernbaum are in Coen Brothers territory — most particularly 1996’s Fargo — with this macabre little crime thriller.
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| Rita (Tina Fey) and Sanders (Jon Hamm) would have a hard time connecting under the best of circumstances; it's even more difficult in the middle of a murder investigation. |
The setting is contemporary, in a small New Mexico desert community. (Filming took place in and around Albuquerque.) A prologue finds Sanders and his deputy, Reddy (Nick Mohammed, immediately recognized from TV’s Ted Lasso), examining the body of a woman killed in a motel parking lot. When ID reveals her name — Maggie Moore — Sanders and Reddy exchange a perplexed look.
We then flash back 10 days, and meet Jay Moore (Micah Stock) a hapless schnook who runs a Subway-style chain eatery called Castle Subs, and is unlucky enough to have a wife (Maggie) whose expensive tastes are bleeding him white. As a means of staving off creditors, he has been getting rancid, long-expired meats and cheeses from Liberty Bell Foods, a dodgy outfit run by local slimeball Tommy T (Derek Basco, appropriately smarmy), in exchange for child pornography (!).
Jay and Maggie’s frequent screaming matches have been overheard by their next-door neighbor, Rita Grace (Tina Fey).
When Jay decides that killing his wife would be the best solution to his financial woes, Tommy T sends him to Kosco (Happy Anderson), a hulking mute whose portion of all conversations are written on yellow legal paper, which he immediately shreds before moving on to his next reply.
We don’t see what happens next, but — a day or two later — Reddy discovers a burned-out car with a body inside: charred to little more than a skeleton. When she’s identified as Maggie Moore, Sanders and Reddy naturally have a pointed chat with Jay, whose dismay seems genuine enough.
Sanders subsequently learns of the marital strife from Rita, and their mildly flirty banter suggests possibilities. Hamm and Fey are terrific together; her lively sense of smart-assed mischief is well balanced by his world-weary amusement. This role is solidly in Hamm’s wheelhouse, and just as entertaining as his handling of the sardonic title role in last year’s Confess, Fletch. He excels at the deadpan I-don’t-believe-a-word-you’re-saying expression.
How we get from this Maggie Moore’s murder to the next one, a few days later, is an increasingly warped saga: the delicious details of which won’t be revealed here. Suffice to say that it involves a growing roster of seemingly benign individuals who prove to be right at home with strippers, killers and child pornographers.
Such nefarious behavior is leavened by the lighter moments between Sanders and Rita: both injured souls who find it difficult to share themselves, but are determined to try. On a slightly different note, the banter between Sanders and Reddy is hilarious, thanks in great part to Mohammed’s killer comedic timing. Bernbaum gives him plenty of mildly cutting one-liners — mostly relating to Sanders’ isolated, Spartan lifestyle — and Mohammed delivers them with aplomb.
Stock is equally funny — in a mock-tragic way — as the increasingly desperate Jay, whose subsequent moves dig his personal hell-hole a little deeper. Stock shades the role so well that we almost feel sorry for the guy, as also was the case with William H. Macy’s similarly hapless boob in Fargo. That’s quite a trick.
I’m always impressed by writers who pay close attention to all of their characters, even those in small supporting roles. Oona Roche, cute as a button, is delightful as Sammi, a chirpy, chatty convenience store clerk whose path unintentionally crosses those of several key players.
Nicholas Azarian also stands out as Greg, a mostly silent high school kid with the misfortune of being Castle Subs’ sole employee, where Jay bullies him like a serf. Greg’s dismayed disbelief, when he holds up a seriously moldy deli loaf, is priceless.
The ironically named Happy Anderson is flat-out scary as Kosco, an unstoppable force in the Anton Chigurh mold (No Country for Old Men). Christopher Denham pops up in the second act, as Andy Moore, husband of Maggie No. 2. If he seems shifty, that’s likely because — by this point — we’re inclined to distrust everybody.
Bernbaum’s script also includes a few slow-burn bits of sidebar larceny, one of them a satisfying bit of poetic justice.
Slattery and editor Tom McArdle move things along at a brisk clip; at a just-right 99 minutes, this snarky saga never flags. The score, by cellist and singer/songwriter Ben Sollee, adds a gentle country/western touch that both complements and archly contrasts these scandalous doings.
Bernbaum’s core plot is inspired by an actual event that occurred back in October 2000, when two women — both named Mary Morris — were killed within 72 hours of each other in Houston, Texas. The case remains open, the murders unsolved; the victims’ daughters are less than thrilled by this film’s existence, and its ghoulish tone.
All other viewers, however — particularly those with morbid sensibilities — are apt to have a good time.
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