Josh Hartnett in Trap
TRAP
In M. Night Shymalan's new thriller, 78-year-old Disney icon Hayley Mills portrays an FBI profiler who attempts to lure Josh Harnett's serial killer into a literal … wait for it … parent trap. I thought Mills' participation would stand as the most delightfully cheeky in-joke casting of the year. Yet it's actually topped by the to-be-expected appearance of the writer/director himself, playing a well-meaning guy who accidentally makes one of Shymalan's real-life daughters the murderer's next target. Trap may not be very good, but you gotta hand it to M. Night: He does have a flair for the perverse.
So, it turns out, does Josh Hartnett, and after shucking off decades of teen-hottie and leading-man vacuousness for TV's Penny Dreadful and Black Mirror, the actor (also subtly excellent in Oppenheimer) now has a big-screen, feature-length role in which he can stretch some acting muscle. And he's terrific – it's his movie that's the real stretch, though it does boast an enjoyably ludicrous premise. A Philadelphia firefighter by day, Hartnett's Cooper Adams has scored for him and his tween daughter Riley (Ariel Donoghue) floor seats to a recently added matinée concert performed by the girl's Taylor Swift-esque idol Lady Raven (Saleka Shymalan). Cooper is clearly aiming for Best Dad Ever status, and might've nabbed the title were it not for the casually dropped reveal that this fireman is also “The Butcher,” a serial-killing psychopath with a dozen victims to his name and a potential 13th chained up in his basement. From the moment that Cooper and Riley enter the amphitheater, Pop is acutely aware of the unusually sizable police presence. And when he asks an overly gabby merch peddler (Jonathan Langdon) what's up with all the cops, Cooper is told that the concert is, in truth, an elaborate sting operation. The FBI has been tipped off that The Butcher is in attendance, and anyone matching his description – which is also Cooper's description – will either be questioned during the event or stopped on his way out the door. There's no escape. Or is there? (Dun dun duuuuun.)
Contrary to widespread belief, Shymalan doesn't only make thrillers that are dependent on climactic Big Twists, and I've read reviews of Trap that take the filmmaker to task not just for revealing Cooper's lunatic tendencies in the first 15 minutes, but in the movie's trailers. This feels like a particularly mean-spirited case of knocking Shymalan both for what he “always” does and for having the nerve to not do it again. But knowing immediately that Cooper is simultaneously hero and villain is the movie. We certainly don't want a serial killer roaming the streets, yet because Cooper is so disarmingly friendly and adored by his daughter, we also don't necessarily want him caught, if only for Riley's sake. Shymalan has occasionally (and divisively) been compared to Hitchcock, but his setup here is truly Hitchcockian; just as Hitch did in Psycho, Vertigo, and other classics, Shymalan puts you in the giddily uncomfortable position of rooting for someone who may be – and in this case, definitely is – a monster. That's a spectacular basis for any thriller. It's a pity that this one goes so, so wrong.
With the grand exception of James Cameron, no other first-rate director has proven so continually, hysterically bad at composing dialogue that sounds like legitimate human conversation. But I was aware of that Shymalan weakness going into Trap, so the eye-rolling banalities of Mills' FBI psychotherapist and the blatant exposition dumps of Langdon's Jamie and the weirdly awkward, red-herring chit-chat of Marnie McPhail's hostile suburbanite tended to roll off my back. (Shymalan fails to deliver aural clunkers only when Riley is talking like a 12-year-old, and when Cooper is being razzed for trying to sound hip to a 12-year-old.) The screenplay's bigger issue lies in its plot holes that are roughly the size of the Grand Canyon.
I get that law enforcement is desperate to catch their killer, but is a stakeout at a venue housing 20,000 patrons really the way to go about it? (Trap's low budget, a reported $30 million, is especially evident in the concert scenes, where the crowd appears to number 2,000 at most and Lady Raven's touring spectacular looks irredeemably tacky.) Considering that The Butcher's identity is unknown, even if Cooper was stopped by FBI agents, on what grounds could they arrest him? Would Cooper's apparent warmth and wide grin really be enough for complete strangers to trust him with such sensitive information and areas of access, especially given that he completely fits the murderer's physical profile? Would a made-up sob story about Riley's health actually be enough to grant Cooper an über-convenient backstage pass? And how does that mental-health professional know so much about The Butcher's history and psychology, right down to his tortured childhood and mommy issues?
There are smart, nasty little flourishes surrounding our anti-hero's attempts at distraction and escape, as when he executes a miniature concession-stand explosion or pushes an innocent bystander down a flight of stairs. In order to fully enjoy them, however, you have to agree to accept some of the most blinding narrative idiocies of recent years, as well as a whole lot of scenes that appear to exist solely to further Saleka Shymalan's nascent career as an R&B and pop chanteuse. She's a solid singer, and her showcasing is an unassailably sweet paternal gesture. It's also like having M. Night routinely stop his movie in its tracks to show you home movies of his kids.
There are additional problems, among them some truly needless hallucinations involving Cooper's deceased mother, numerous examples of laughably inept police procedure, and three or four endings when one would have sufficed. (That Hartnett, for no essential reason, performs one lengthy scene shirtless is a problem only for those who don't want to see Josh Hartnett shirtless.) I'm happy to report, however, that as crap movies go, Trap is tremendously watchable, and its star is the principal reason. It would be easy to argue that Hartnett is doing too much acting here, telegraphing Cooper's insanity through beaming smiles and aw-shucks niceness so oppressive that you'd think he'd be everyone in the amphitheater's chief suspect from word go. Yet it's a demonically entertaining performance. Hartnett's Cooper is so brazen in his surface do-goodery, particularly when brushing shoulders with a roomful of cops, that you sense the maniacal kick he gets out of getting away with figurative and literal murder. Homicidal tendencies aside, Cooper is a lovable sociopath, and that dichotomy gives Hartnett the sort of exuberant freedom to emote, and over-emote, that James McAvoy enjoyed in Shymalan's Split and Glass. Although you don't necessarily “believe” in this guy, you're consistently glad he's around.
For all of the random wit involving Cooper's largely dopey machinations, though, Shymalan reserves his most satisfyingly clever turn for his daughter, and the purpose that Saleka serves in the plotting after Lady Raven has left the stage is one of the film's few elements that could honestly be called a spoiler. (Another involves the late-film arrival of the reliably marvelous Alison Pill.) All I'll say is that while Saleka isn't yet much of an actor, she has a beautiful face for what's required of her toward the end of Trap, and starlet worshipers the world over will no doubt adore the refreshing dignity with which M. Night Shymalan addresses and employs the TikTok generation. Swifties don't just rule the world. They just might save the world – or at least someone's world.
HAROLD & THE PURPLE CRAYON
I'd be remiss if I didn't mention that my mother, who accompanied me to my Trap screening, absolutely loved Shymalan's film. And although I wasn't the biggest fan of director Carlos Saldanha's children's-book adaptation Harold & the Purple Crayon, my favorite 10-year-old joined me for a showing last week and had the time of her life, going so far as to call it one of the best movies we've ever seen together. (Years-long readers of my reviews will likely glean the enormity of that statement.) Thankfully, though, I feel only a little conflicted about admitting that I found Saldanha's agreeable-enough family adventure alternately dull and hyperactive, given that my young friend has better things to do with her time than read Uncle Mike's articles. It's Mom who'll be giving me an earful.
Anyhoo. Harold & the Purple Crayon opens with an animated re-introduction to author Crockett Johnson's hero from his 1955 book debut and its many followups. Time, however, apparently marches on even in the confines of literary imagination, and before long, Harold – the child who can make anything materialize with the power of his magical crayon – is a full-grown adult antsy to leave the page. Determined to seek out Crockett, an off-screen figure (voiced by Alfred Molina) whom he refers to as “the Old Man,” Harold draws a portal into the real world, where he materializes as a figurative boy in a strapping man's body, and one portrayed by Zachary Levi. As the actor also plays the boy-man of the Shazam! movies, I probably should have written “inevitably portrayed by Zachary Levi,” but no matter. With his goofball earnestness and expressions built for ingenuous mugging, Levi's Harold consequently searches for his creator while alternately helping and causing complications for single mom Terri (Zooey Deschanel) and her lonely son Mel (Benjamin Bottani). He's also joined in his pursuits by his book-world animal pals Moose and Porcupine … and if you can explain why they enter the real world and instantly turn human (as played by Lil Rel Howery and Tanya Reynolds), you're one step ahead of wherever I was while watching the film.
Then again, where I was was pretty awesome, as I've only rarely seen my frequent moviegoing companion quite so delighted at the cineplex. And in truth, there was a fair amount that I personally enjoyed. Harold's air drawings that morph into physical objects are honestly entertaining and well-executed effects; there's a touching sequence involving our heroes' visit to a Crockett Johnson museum; Bottani is a naturalistic wonder; and Reynolds, especially, is a lot of fun. She may move a tad too speedily for the human equivalent of a porcupine – this creature has definite squirrel energy – but the British performer's readings are loopy and inventive. None of this, alas, was quite enough to make me look past the film's general blandness, the poorly staged slapstick, Deschanel's uncharacteristic lethargy, or Jemaine Clement's uncomfortable ickiness as a librarian with delusions of literary grandeur.
But who cares? The visibly excited Harold fan sitting beside me had a ball, giggling at the age-appropriate jokes, roaring at the physical comedy, and sighing “Aw-w-w-w-w!” at what she deemed the cuteness of a bizarre dragon/kitty/puppy hybrid and a toothy spider-fly that winds up as benevolent as Charlotte. It should also be said that the other youths at our screening, at least a dozen of them, seemed to have an equally great time. Harold & the Purple Crayon's lousy opening weekend at the box office may have been the central story surrounding the movie's release, but evidence suggests that your own pre-teens might well adore it. So consider giving the film a shot. If you want to see it on the big screen, give it a shot soon.
