Skip to main content

I’m calling because I’m going to get to the leaves, the leaves on the lawn.

The Book of Henry
(2017)

(SPOILERS) Colin Trevorrow, already the object of abject enmity from some quarters for his Jurassic World sequel, and then more so due to the (eventually retracted) engagement to direct Episode IX, received whole new levels of scorn for The Book of Henry, his smaller more personal movie that now slots between Jurassic expeditions. While that response (the final one, although the second at least made some sense too, and as for the first, well it’s only a Jurassic Park movie) makes some sense, given the almost deliriously misconceived nature of the picture, it does tend to ignore that in its own entirely messed-up, wrong-headed way, The Book of Henry is very watchable.

Trevorrow even felt he had to issue a statement in response to the opprobrium the picture provoked (“I do stand by the movie. I know it’s something I am very proud of, and everyone who made it is very proud”) and while I can’t say I’m much of a fan of his previous pictures, I do tend to think good for him for holding his ground (of course, this came before he was dumped off what has recently been titled Rise of Skywalker; I’m not sure the compensation of Jurassic World III necessarily heals that wound). Trevorrow’s track record (in particular Jurassic World) ensured most of the malicious missives were aimed his way, and he undoubtedly has to take responsibility for bringing the project to the big screen, but the author of the screenplay is Gregg Hurwitz, and one has to wonder what unseemly scenarios ever befell him that he came up with such a deranged premise.

One might suggest he’s a brawn-first macho type who pays little attention to the fine print, boasting of how he’s swum with sharks, hung out with SEALS, the CIA and enrolled in mind-control cults, but he cites research as everything, so I don’t know if he’s met the lizard rulers of the world (he worked on the V reboot) or, in this case, hung out with child geniuses. His most popular series (Orphan X) concerns a Bourne-esque hero trained from childhood in a government assassination programme, so it may not have been such a stretch to move from that to a preternatural, terminally-ill kid planning the murder of his child-abuser police commissioner next-door neighbour. Except that The Book of Henry was written nearly twenty years earlier, so perhaps it simply informed later tastelessness. The terminal illness gets in the way of Henry’s plans, so post the fact he enlists his mother, a woman-child gamer who depends on him for all the boring adult stuff like sorting family finances, to do the deed.

It’s such a twisted scenario, you have to give lunatic credit to Hurwitz; it’s the sort of thing Nicolas Cage’s twin brother might have thought up in Adaptation, the sort of thing you shake your head at the mere premise of and then sells to a studio for a mint. Ostensibly, it’s a story about taking responsibility, pointing the finger at mother Susan (Naomi Watts), who at one point dissuades Henry (Jaeden Lieberher) from intervening in a couple’s supermarket altercation on the grounds of it being none of their business (one of the few moments where he’s asking her rather than telling, but tellingly disagreeing with the response, voicing the view that apathy, rather than violence, is the worst thing in the world). Yet she is then persuaded by Henry’s notebook and tape – having voiced the view “We are not murdering the police commissioner and that is final!” – that the only solution to Glenn’s (Dean Norris) crimes is murder. Ultimately, she decides against this (but not before she’s purchased a high-powered sniper’s rifle with a night site and laid a trap for Glenn), because Henry is (was) “just a child” (the implication being that, as immense as his intellect is, his moral framework still required some development).

So Susan has to be a rather frivolous airhead for this to work. And yet, no matter how many lunch boxes full of cakes and sweets – including the sandwich fillings – she gives her other son Peter (Jacob Tremblay) in her grieving state, Watts struggles to play the character other than as a good mother; no part of Susan’s motivation really scans, but then the movie as a whole doesn’t exist in any kind of verisimilitudinous state. We’re asked to believe that Henry, with his Rube Goldberg brain and penetrating perceptiveness, couldn’t think of an alternate scheme to bring Glenn to justice? (Perhaps the most alarming element of her parental poise is that Susan only asks what Peter is going to do for his school magic show the day before; how could she not have known this? That, or ignoring Henry imploring her that, with $800k in a chequing account, she doesn’t need to work at the diner anymore.)

It has been suggested too, with some legitimacy, that Christina (Maddie Ziegler), the victim in all this, is little more than a cypher, granted no agency of her own, except, extraordinarily, in managing to make a formal complaint against her stepfather through the medium of interpretive dance during the climactic school talent show (to be fair, this is entirely in keeping with the extraordinary leaps in logic the movie makes; Tonya Pinkins’ principal has previously rejected Henry’s claims regarding Glenn, but one look at Christina’s performance makes it clear he was right all along). I think the issue there, however, is a more general one of the dubiousness of capitalising on such subject matter for the purposes of a thriller, at least unless you’re very sure of the ground you’re treading.

It isn’t as if the picture isn’t littered with dubiousness, of course, perhaps most notably Henry’s “romantic” antagonism towards Susan’s best friend Sheila (Sarah Silverman), which culminates in the latter kissing the hospitalised, stricken Henry on the lips (sometimes Hollywood needs to ask “Would you play the same scene with the genders reversed?” when they’re fixating on their memories of teenage fantasies).

Nevertheless, there are elements here that seem to have incited ire that I found fine, most notably Henry himself. Had he been played by Haley Joel Osment (as surely he would have been, had this been put into production when Hurwitz first wrote it), doubtless I’d have found him insufferably precocious, but Martell (better known for his role in It: Chapter One) manages to leaven the knows-better quality, such that even the sequence with Lee Pace’s kindly doctor, where they talk shop on the terminal diagnosis, worked for me.

I couldn’t exactly commend the picture for its unhinged narrative choices, then, but the Hitchockian flavour of the second half is definitely not the most inspired way of dealing with the balls the writer has thrown in the air, even with taped Henry miraculously anticipating his mom’s every move (has he been watching Blink?) Hurwitz has said that the picture represents one of his tried-and-trusted avenues “where you meet an ordinary person on the absolute worst day of their life and they have to overcome impossible odds”, but I think I’d have found it more engaging if he hadn’t taken the left turn of offing his lead character, so sticking with his other favoured theme, “a defined hero or heroine”.

As I say, I’m not Trevorrow’s biggest fan, not because I believe he’s some kind of devil incarnate of modern cinema but simply because he tends to make mediocre movies. In that regard, The Book of Henry is something of a game-changer. It’s many things, many of them not complimentary, but it isn’t mediocre. You don’t get thrown off Star Wars for being mediocre (ask Lord and Miller), even if it’s entirely unclear what Kathleen Kennedy’s qualitive criteria are for employment in the first place. And Trevorrow can rest easy in the knowledge that there’s no way a picture this warped doesn’t become a cult classic, the key ingredient being that, for all the dubious or outright bad choices it makes, it’s never boring.


Agree? Disagree? Mildly or vehemently? Let me know in the comments below.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

She writes Twilight fan fiction.

Vampire Academy (2014)
My willingness to give writer Daniel Waters some slack on the grounds of early glories sometimes pays off (Sex and Death 101) and sometimes, as with this messy and indistinct Young Adult adaptation, it doesn’t. If Vampire Academy plods along as a less than innovative smart-mouthed Buffy rip-off that might be because, if you added vampires to Heathers, you would probably get something not so far from the world of Joss Whedon. Unfortunately inspiration is a low ebb throughout, not helped any by tepid direction from Daniel’s sometimes-reliable brother Mark and a couple of hopelessly plankish leads who do their best to dampen down any wit that occasionally attempts to surface.

I can only presume there’s a never-ending pile of Young Adult fiction poised for big screen failure, all of it comprising multi-novel storylines just begging for a moment in the Sun. Every time an adaptation crashes and burns (and the odds are that they will) another one rises, hydra-like, hoping…

My name is Dr. King Schultz, this is my valet, Django, and these are our horses, Fritz, and Tony.

Django Unchained (2012)
(MINOR SPOILERS) Since the painful misstep of Grindhouse/Death Proof, Quentin Tarantino has regained the higher ground like never before. Pulp Fiction, his previous commercial and critical peak, has been at very least equalled by the back-to-back hits of Inglourious Basterds and Django Unchained. Having been underwhelmed by his post Pulp Fiction efforts (albeit, I admired his technical advances as a director in Kill Bill), I was pleasantly surprised by Inglourious Basterds. It was no work of genius (so not Pulp Fiction) by any means, but there was a gleeful irreverence in its treatment of history and even to the nominal heroic status of its titular protagonists. Tonally, it was a good fit for the director’s “cool” aesthetic. As a purveyor of postmodern pastiche, where the surface level is the subtext, in some ways he was operating at his zenith. Django Unchained is a retreat from that position, the director caught in the tug between his all-important aesthetic pr…

Whoever comes, I'll kill them. I'll kill them all.

John Wick: Chapter 2 (2017)
(SPOILERS) There’s no guessing he’s back. John Wick’s return is most definite and demonstrable, in a sequel that does what sequels ought in all the right ways, upping the ante while never losing sight of the ingredients that made the original so formidable. John Wick: Chapter 2 finds the minimalist, stripped-back vehicle and character of the first instalment furnished with an elaborate colour palette and even more idiosyncrasies around the fringes, rather like Mad Max in that sense, and director Chad Stahleski (this time without the collaboration of David Leitch, but to no discernible deficit) ensures the action is filled to overflowing, but with an even stronger narrative drive that makes the most of changes of gear, scenery and motivation.

The result is a giddily hilarious, edge-of-the-seat thrill ride (don’t believe The New York Times review: it is not “altogether more solemn” I can only guess Jeannette Catsoulis didn’t revisit the original in the interven…

I should have mailed it to the Marx Brothers.

Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade (1989)
When your hero(es) ride off into the sunset at the end of a film, it’s usually a pretty clear indication that a line is being drawn under their adventures. Sure, rumours surfaced during the ‘90s of various prospective screenplays for a fourth outing for the whip-cracking archeologist. But I’m dubious anyone really expected it to happen. There seemed to be a natural finality to Last Crusade that made the announcement of his 2007 return nostalgically welcome but otherwise unwarranted. That it turned out so tepid merely seemed like confirmation of what we already knew; Indy’s time was past.

No time to dilly-dally, Mr Wick.

John Wick: Chapter 3 – Parabellum (2019)
(SPOILERS) At one point during John Wick: Chapter 3 - Parabellum, our eponymous hero announces he needs “Guns, lots of guns” in a knowing nod to Keanu Reeves’ other non-Bill & Ted franchise. It’s a cute moment, but it also points to the manner in which the picture, enormous fun as it undoubtedly is, is a slight step down for a franchise previously determined to outdo itself, giving way instead to something more self-conscious, less urgent and slightly fractured.

She worshipped that pig. And now she's become him.

The Girl in the Spider’s Web (2018)
(SPOILERS) Choosing to make The Girl in the Spider’s Web following the failure of the David Fincher film – well, not a failure per se, but like Blade Runner 2049, it simply cost far too much to justify its inevitably limited returns – was a very bizarre decision on MGM’s part. A decision to reboot, with a different cast, having no frame of reference for the rest of the trilogy unless you checked out the Swedish movies (or read the books, but who does that?); someone actually thought this would possibly do well? Evidently the same execs churning out desperately flailing remakes based on their back catalogue of IPs (Ben-Hur, The Magnificent Seven, Death Wish, Tomb Raider); occasionally there’s creative flair amid the dross (Creed, A Star is Born), but otherwise, it’s the most transparently creatively bankrupt studio there is.

I don’t think you will see President Pierce again.

The Ballad of Buster Scruggs (2018)
(SPOILERS) The Ballad of Buster Scruggs and other tall tales of the American frontier is the title of "the book" from which the Coen brothers' latest derives, and so announces itself as fiction up front as heavily as Fargo purported to be based on a true story. In the world of the portmanteau western – has there even been one before? – theme and content aren't really all that distinct from the more familiar horror collection, and as such, these six tales rely on sudden twists or reveals, most of them revolving around death. And inevitably with the anthology, some tall tales are stronger than other tall tales, the former dutifully taking up the slack.

I mean, I think anybody who looked at Fred, looked at somebody that they couldn't compare with anybody else.

Won’t You Be My Neighbor? (2018) 
(SPOILERS) I did, of course, know who Fred Rogers was, despite being British. Or rather, I knew his sublimely docile greeting song. How? The ‘Burbs, naturally. I was surprised, given the seeming unanimous praise it was receiving (and the boffo doco box office) that Won’t You Be My Neighbor? didn’t garner a Best Documentary Oscar nod, but now I think I can understand why. It’s as immensely likeable as Mr Rogers himself, yet it doesn’t feel very substantial.

Our very strength incites challenge. Challenge incites conflict. And conflict... breeds catastrophe.

The MCU Ranked Worst to Best

I think, I ruminate, I plan.

The Avengers 6.5: Get-A-Way
Another very SF story, and another that recalls earlier stories, in this case 5.5: The See-Through Man, in which Steed states baldly “I don’t believe in invisible men”. He was right in that case, but he’d have to eat his bowler here. Or half of it, anyway. The intrigue of Get-A-Way derives from the question of how it is that Eastern Bloc spies have escaped incarceration, since it isn’t immediately announced that a “magic potion” is responsible. And if that reveal isn’t terribly convincing, Peter Bowles makes the most of his latest guest spot as Steed’s self-appointed nemesis Ezdorf.