Hey, folks. Michael Cusumano here to give some love to one of the under-the-radar gems of 2014.
Watching Adam Wingard’s The Guest lets the viewer experience what it would be like to fish an unexpected masterwork out of a bargain bin full of trashy VHS horror movies. The film is a superior example of what Rodriguez and Tarantino attempted with Grindhouse, at once a glorious homage to the horror schlock of the late 70’s and 80’s and a skillful subversion of the same. Wingard’s movie walks this tricky tonal tightrope with swagger, oozing stylistic flash and scored with a soundtrack of pseudo-80's synth you will want to make out with. I think it’s safe to say The Guest is going to achieve cult status pretty much the instant the light from the projector hits movie screens.
The plot could be easily summarized as Bourne meets Halloween, but that glib pitch meeting capsule would scarcely hint at the layers of wit built into this movie. The story opens on all-American soldier David (Dan Stevens) recently returned home from overseas, arriving at the doorstep of the family of his dead brother-in-arms in order to pay his respects, deliver his friend’s final message to his family, etc. Laura (Sheila Kelley) invites David to stay in her son’s old room after she is moved in equal parts by grief over her dead son and David’s piercing blue eyes...
The rest of the family is none too thrilled to have this impossibly wholesome stranger as houseguest, at least not until David takes it upon himself to act as guardian angel to his hosts, inserting himself as an agent of chaos on their behalf. He helps poor, browbeaten dad (the indispensably pathetic Leland Orser) get ahead at work, and, in a show stopping set piece, helps the bullied Luke (Brendan Meyer) stand up to his tormentors. Only Anna (Maika Monroe) remains skeptical of this mysterious interloper, even as the sight of David strolling the hallways in a towel detonates a dull explosion of teenage sexuality in her that nearly knocks her off her feet.
I don’t think it’s much of a spoiler to reveal there is something seriously off about David. Beyond the boyish grin and the “aw shucks” manners, the eyes reveal a chilling emptiness. Dan Stevens is nothing less than fantastic in the role, delivering a sly performance that hits a bull’s-eye on every subtle character shift from friendly to seductive to menacing, offering glimpses of David’s true nature without tipping his hand or straining for effect. One of the masterstrokes of the film is the decision to play David as sincere in his desire to help this family. He may be a ticking timebomb of mayhem and violence, but he wants to the best dang houseguest he can be. And if the situation prompts him to switch without warning from Jimmy Stewart to Terminator, gosh, he sure is sorry about that.
Stevens makes it necessary to dust off a cliché I’ve never had cause to use before now: his transformation is so complete I genuinely didn’t recognize him at first. Best known as pudgy British aristocrat Matthew Crawley on Downton Abbey, here he is a chiseled slab of American beefcake possessed of a creepy stillness and the body language of a jungle predator. Yet the thing that makes Stevens so tough to recognize isn’t the physical change, so much as the presence of previously unseen megatons of star power. It’s electric, can’t-take-your-eyes-off-him work.
Are there nits to be picked about this movie? Sure. I thought it was lacking some payoff in the sexual tension it developed, particularly with Sheila Kelley’s mother character. Plus, the film’s final escalation leading up to a showdown at a high school's haunted house unfolds in a straight line that would have benefitted from an additional twist or two. But these are minor quibbles. Besides, the thrill of The Guest isn’t in its ingenious plotting but in the way it takes you where you know you’re going, but with infinitely more kick, style, and cleverness than you had any reason to expect.
The Guest completes a trifecta of great 21st Century horror comedies that began with Shaun of the Dead and Cabin in the Woods. I would make the case that The Guest is the best of the three, with the least ironic detachment between itself and the material. Like all great genre tributes from Young Frankenstein to The Princess Bride, The Guest concerns itself first and foremost with being a worthy example of the thing it is spoofing, and only then does it sets about deconstructing it. The result is a massively entertaining riff on the “horror comes to suburbia” subgenre, with a gleefully schlocky surface disguising a shrewd, even sophisticated, intelligence. A-
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