LOST GIRLS (US - 2020) Directed by Liz Garbus. Written by Michael Werwie. Cast: Amy Ryan, Gabriel Byrne, Thomasin McKenzie, Lola Kirke, Oona Laurence, Dean Winters, Miriam Shor, Reed Birney, Kevin Corrigan, Stan Carp, Molly Brown, Ana Reeder, Grace Capeless, Jimi Stanton, Matthew F. O'Connor, Brian Adam DeJesus, James Liao, Jared Johnston. (R, 95 mins) Between HBO's THE WIRE and supporting roles in acclaimed films like CAPOTE and BEFORE THE DEVIL KNOWS YOU'RE DEAD, Amy Ryan was already on the radar when her breakout performance in 2007's GONE BABY GONE earned her a Best Supporting Actress Oscar nod (she lost to Tilda Swinton in MICHAEL CLAYTON). She had a recurring role on THE OFFICE, co-starred in 2014's Best Picture Oscar winner BIRDMAN and has appeared in numerous smaller indie films, but A-list stardom never happened for her, and the Netflix Original film LOST GIRLS is one of the very few times post-GONE BABY GONE where she's been given a substantive lead role. Of course, there's some surface similarities with her GONE BABY GONE character, which was probably instrumental in getting her the part after Sarah Paulson dropped out during pre-production. LOST GIRLS, subtitled "An Unsolved American Mystery," deals with the Long Island Serial Killer case over 2010-2011, which had several persons of interest who were questioned, but to this day, no one has been charged. The disappearance of Jersey City escort Shannan Gilbert--last seen running from a client's house in a private beachfront community in Oak Beach in Suffolk County, when she called 911 and it took the cops nearly an hour to arrive--inadvertently leads to the discovery of four bodies (none of them Shannan's) buried in burlap sacks along a remote stretch of Ocean Parkway on the outskirts of the area. The cops on the case, led by the useless Bostick (Dean Winters, cast radically against type as "Dean Winters") aren't really taking any of it seriously, essentially sweeping it under the rug because the victims are "just hookers," which obviously doesn't sit well with Shannan's mother Mari (Ryan), who lives two and a half hours away in Ellenville. Police commissioner Dorman (Gabriel Byrne, previously teamed with Ryan on HBO's IN TREATMENT and in 2016's little-seen LOUDER THAN BOMBS) is facing a PR nightmare and his own possible dismissal after some previous mishandled cases, and isn't prepared to deal with Mari, a blunt woman with no fear of confrontation, but with plenty of her own flaws that end up coming out during the investigation.
A single mother of three, Mari made some questionable decisions during Shannan's childhood, including giving her up when she unable to cope with her then-12-year-old daughter's diagnosis of bipolar disorder while still working two jobs, paying the bills, and raising her two younger girls. She now puts Shannan on a pedestal, despite being frequently blown off for planned dinners, always giving her a pass because she floats some money Mari's way when she's short. Mari never asks where the money comes from, and prefers to be in denial over Shannan being a sex worker, though the younger girls--Sherre (Thomasin McKenzie of LEAVE NO TRACE and JOJO RABBIT) and Sarra (Oona Laurence)--know more than they let on. Mari's own investigation comes about after a mysterious phone call from a Dr. Hackett, who claims to run a home for "wayward girls" and said he treated Shannan on the night she disappeared. She's stonewalled time and again by apathetic cops who don't seem very interested in checking security cameras in the area or looking into the fact that Dr. Hackett (Reed Birney) has a bunch of burlap sacks in a shed behind his house, a tidbit of info brought to her attention by his neighbor Joe Scalise (Kevin Corrigan), whose tips are dismissed by Dorman when he finds out Scalise is a paranoid conspiracy theorist who's had numerous property disputes with Hackett.
Much of LOST GIRLS focuses on Mari's reluctant bond with a group of women whose sisters and daughters were among the four unearthed bodies, all escorts and prostitutes and thus, viewed with scornful derision by the cops and the upright citizens of Oak Park, who look the other way, pull their shades, and close their curtains when Mari comes snooping around. One of the women is Kim (Lola Kirke), who also works as an escort and comes to be viewed by Mari as a surrogate for Shannan, which leads to McKenzie being forced into a somewhat hackneyed "I'm still here!" speech by Sherre. LOST GIRLS is the first narrative project for veteran documentary filmmaker Liz Garbus (GIRLHOOD, BOBBY FISCHER AGAINST THE WORLD), and even with a powerful performance by Ryan, the subject cries out for a true-crime-style examination. There's simply too much to the case to condense it all down to 95 minutes, giving it a rushed feel that has to cut too many corners in the early going to push the story along.
The way it's presented here, it looks like the four bodies are found right after Shannan disappears. In reality, it was seven months later. And Mari's transformation into a dogged sleuth ten minutes into the film seems a little unlikely. More remains are found in another area of Suffolk County, including a pair of dismembered legs tied to remains found elsewhere in 1996 (!), and there's significant hints of police corruption and some kind of cover-up, but LOST GIRLS doesn't have the time or space to go into it. Nor does it have time to delve into a part of the story that broadens the scope of this unspeakable tragedy: Sarra Gilbert, whose psychological troubles are mentioned in passing here and only grew worse following Shannan's disappearance and the later discovery of her remains in a marsh adjacent to Hackett's property, was later diagnosed as schizophrenic, and in 2016, killed Mari after going off her meds. That's only mentioned in almost "yadda yadda" fashion in an onscreen text at the end of the film. There's a larger story here that would best be served by Garbus' proven skills as a documentarian. What's here is the kind of actor's showcase that a jobbing pro like Ryan deserves, and she's absolutely convincing unleashing her fury at the do-nothing cops (Bostick: "Look, honey, why don't you let the police do their job?" Mari: "Why don't you suck my dick?"). And it's suitably compelling on its own terms, with a meeting between a nervous Mari and the overly folksy Hackett kinda sorta reminding you of that incredibly intense basement sequence in ZODIAC, but as is happening more and more with today's trend of serialized binge-watching, LOST GIRLS probably would've been more effective as a multi-episode documentary series.
Opening with a lullaby-like la-la-la theme that recalls the late '60s classics ROSEMARY'S BABY and THE BIRD WITH THE CRYSTAL PLUMAGE and immediately sets an ominous mood, THE ONES BELOW instead aims to be a throwback '90s thriller with the Neighbors from Hell, but it never really catches fire. The chief problem is that it thinks it's the first movie to ever present such a scenario, and as a result, you'll see the twists and reveals coming long before its heroine ever does. Expectant parents Kate (Clemence Poesy) and Justin (Stephen Campbell Moore) have had their London flat to themselves for some time since the passing of the elderly downstairs neighbor. That changes when another expectant couple, Jon (David Morrissey) and his Finnish wife Theresa (Laura Birn) move in. Kate and Theresa become fast friends, but a dinner discussion about children gets uncomfortable when Jon and Theresa seem offended that Kate and Justin have been married for ten years and are only now having a child because weren't sure they wanted one. The night ends in rage and grief when the downstairs neighbors go to leave and Theresa trips over Kate's cat in the hallway, taking a nasty tumble down the stairs and losing the baby. Jon and Theresa blame Justin and Kate because the light bulb at the top of the stairs was out, while Kate is quick to point out that Theresa was sneaking glasses of wine behind Jon's back and seemed a little tipsy. With Justin and Kate's baby due to arrive shortly, Jon and Theresa go away to get over their loss and when they return, baby Billy has arrived, apologies are exchanged all around and the neighbors decide to start fresh.
Being around Billy helps Theresa and Jon cope with their loss and their wish to become parents again, but strange things start happening: Billy gets sick from Kate's breast milk, the family arrives home to find the stove left on and the flat filled with gas, their bathtub overflows, and during a dinner downstairs, which is delayed because Jon is running late, Kate swears she hears someone on the baby monitor in Billy's room while the infant is asleep. Kate regularly lets Theresa babysit, and discovers she's been breastfeeding Billy, then finds family pictures with Jon, Theresa, and Billy. She's convinced the downstairs neighbors are plotting to steal Billy to replace the baby they lost and, of course, every time she finds proof, it disappears and she looks insane. It's no secret that Jon and Theresa are gaslighting Kate and turning Justin against his wife, but writer/director David Farr (who scripted HANNA and wrote several episodes of the popular MI-5) doles out the twists in a fairly perfunctory fashion, not bringing much in the way of style or showing any noteworthy skill in generating suspense. This could've been a nail-biting, HAND THAT ROCKS THE CRADLE-meets-ARLINGTON ROAD thriller, but it's so leisurely and predictable that you'll wonder exactly what the point is and why anyone even bothered. There's no momentum, no Polanski-esque sense of encroaching claustrophobia and helplessness as Kate starts going off the deep end to prove that she's not imagining things, that she didn't leave the stove on, that she didn't leave the bath water running. No, it just ambles along and when the big reveals come, you're shrugging because you saw them coming half an hour earlier. It doesn't help that Farr has Morrissey's Jon acting like an overly intense control freak from the moment he's introduced. THE ONES BELOW isn't terrible, but it displays no interest in doing anything out of the ordinary or with any urgency, feeling long even at a brief 86 minutes. It's shrugging ambivalence in feature film form. (R, 86 mins)
URGE (US - 2016)
Obnoxious and unwatchable don't begin to describe this atrocious, straight-to-VOD party weekend-turned-zombie apocalypse retread. URGE is directed by Aaron Kaufman, a producing partner of Robert Rodriguez, and scripted by well-traveled journeyman Jerry Stahl, whose writing credits range from the 1982 porno CAFE FLESH and 2003's BAD BOYS II to TV shows THIRTYSOMETHING, ALF, CSI, and MARON, and whose battle with drug addiction was detailed in the grim memoir Permanent Midnight, which was turned into a 1998 movie with Ben Stiller. Stahl's first-hand knowledge of the horrors of drug abuse does nothing to enhance this vapid, empty film populated by the most insufferable douchebags you'll ever see. They're so loathsome that it's a relief when these Martin Shkrelis finally start dying off, because it means the movie's that much closer to being over. Dickhead tech billionaire brat Neil (Danny Masterson) invites some friends to a weekend retreat at a posh, exclusive island resort. Once there, Neil's pal Jason (Justin Chatwin) is taken to a backroom by a jester-suited halfwit known as The Red Bastard (Eric Davis), who introduces him to a vaping, Mephistophelian figure known only as The Man (Pierce Brosnan, who really should have better things to do). The Man presents to Jason a powerful new designer drug called Urge, which creates an incredible high and casts aside all inhibitions, leaving no residual side effects ("Imagine a key that unlocks that which is most hidden," The Man seductively promises), but comes with one caveat: you can only do it once in your lifetime (much like attempting to make it all the way through URGE). Of course, that rule is instantly disregarded, and while everyone else indulges and the weekend turns into a debauched, animalistic, EYES WIDE SHUT fuckfest, Jason remains strangely immune to the effects of Urge. Before long, everyone keeps doing more and more of the drug, resulting in increasingly aggro behavior that starts with longtime friends telling one another what they really think of them, to orgies and rough BDSM sex, brutal FIGHT CLUB throwdowns, and finally to an island full of Urge-addled dudebros and hotties going on a horrific, drug-induced, zombie-like rampage of bloodshed and slaughter.
URGE doesn't understand that it's hard to generate any suspense whatsoever when there isn't a single character in the film that you don't want to see die a violent, horrible death. It's pretty obvious that Brosnan's The Man is symbolic of the devil or temptation, but is this supposed to be cautionary tale about drug abuse? Or the dangers of living life as spoiled and entitled rich kids able to indulge any whim without consequence or accountability? Or what might happen to Daniel Craig once he's no longer James Bond? A hammy Brosnan is the only reason to bother watching this half-assed synthetic drug redux of PONTYPOOL (unless you count brief bits to rope in any Jeff Fahey or Kevin Corrigan completists out there), but he's not in it enough to justify your suffering. By the time Jason and nice girl Joey (PITCH PERFECT's Alexis Knapp), who gives up Urge after it compels her to have a sexual encounter with a cake, realize they're the only ones not turned into raging-id zombies and try to flee the island, it's clear that Kaufman and Stahl are making this up as they go along and have no idea where to take it. After an abrupt non-ending, there's a stinger post-closing credits--which start at 81 minutes and go really slow to pad the running time--where a mother and her young son go into a NYC grocery store that's strangely dark and quiet, only to be attacked by a zombie horde, the drug virus spreading around the globe. It's supposed to be a shock ending, but the only shocking thing about it is that the mother is played by the once-promising Alison Lohman, who was supposed to be a Next Big Thing after 2002's WHITE OLEANDER and 2003's MATCHSTICK MEN. She appears to have put her career on hold after 2009's DRAG ME TO HELL to be a mom to her two kids with her husband, one-hit-wonder CRANK co-director Mark Neveldine, who's one of 32 credited producers here (along with someone named Kea Ho, who gives herself a prominent "introducing" credit for a tiny part as a stripper at The Man's club). The worst film of 2016 so far, URGE gets that most rare of Good Efficient Butchery assessments: fuck this movie. (R, 91 mins)
