THE STORY – A man becomes obsessed with saving car accident victims at a sharp corner near his house.
THE CAST – Ben Foster, Cobie Smulders, William Kosovic, Alexandra Castillo, Gavin Drea, Reid Price, Julia Dyan & Jonathan Watton
THE TEAM – Jason Buxton (Director/Writer) & Russell Wangersky (Writer)
THE RUNNING TIME – 110 Minutes
In the secluded forests of Nova Scotia, a family watches with horror as car accidents pile up on a sharp turn right outside their new, supposedly quiet suburban home. But their real dismay only begins as the family patriarch begins his descent into chaos, oddly and disturbingly fascinated by the misfortune of strangers and visibly confused about whatever role he is slated to play in them. However, while the setup for this film, “Sharp Corner,” may sound intriguing, the end product is not. Fundamentally, the movie’s raison d’être never comes into sharp enough focus, making the entire premise feel like a gratuitous and strange exercise in voyeurism — much like the central character’s.
Ben Foster plays the father, Josh, Cobie Smulders is the mother, Rachel, and young William Kosovic is their six-year-old son Max. After putting Max to bed on the first night in their nice new home, Rachel shows off her sexy body with some late-night yoga by the window while Josh observes with interest and completes his relaxing third glass of wine after dinner. Horny, Rachel beckons Josh to have sex on the living room floor, and the two make love. It’s a good thing she does because, moments later, a drunk teen veers off the sharp corner right outside their front lawn, smashing his car into a tree and sending a car wheel crashing through the living room window, barely missing hitting the couple.
The teen is killed, and Josh’s curiosity about his life immediately signals a warning. He furtively observes as the kid’s parents drive up to the scene, leaving a roadside memorial for their son. He stalks the teen’s Instagram page and watches the last videos of his life. He later describes the incident during another wine-soaked dinner — this time with friends visiting from the city — in a way that his wife aptly describes as smug, as if he is enjoying someone else’s suffering. Foster, to be sure, is a magnificent actor. He can portray complex, multitudinous emotions with a curl of his lip and a flicker of his eye. He conveys abundantly clearly that Josh’s reaction to the tragedy is anything but normal, and to make matters even creepier, we do not know why.
Unfortunately for “Sharp Corner,” we never find out. Writer/director Jaxon Buxton (“Blackbird”) does a decent enough job behind the camera, particularly in shooting the “Parasite“-like home with sufficient claustrophobia, even while he constantly pans like Josh’s Peeping Tom into the outside corner, morbidly curious to see if another car has crashed. And yet, the source material, a short story by Russell Wangersky, is his worst enemy; it’s repeatedly nonsensical and entirely unsatisfying.
After a second, even more disturbing accident occurs that claims another life, several things should or would have happened. The family would have immediately moved out or at least sought to do so. Several people suggest a railing, though one is never built — by the homeowners or the township. It’s hard to believe that any rational couple would let their six-year-old child play in the front lawn when they know cars are piling up before them. It makes no sense that this would not be known during the sale due diligence. We can suspend disbelief, but the characters in “Sharp Corner” commit the cardinal sin that many in mediocre horror films do: forging ahead as if nothing is wrong in the case of obvious imminent danger.
From there, things spiral for Josh and for the movie. He begins to take CPR classes in secret as if seeing himself with some serial killer-like God complex. In addition, he does not control when his next victim, or his next ward as the case may be, might arrive. He takes that matter into his own hands, too, but haphazardly. His increasingly bizarre behavior finally alarms his wife, and we are treated to a meandering “Kramer vs. Kramer” subplot. The film’s soundtrack increases in its creepiness, and, to be sure, Josh’s behavior becomes toe-curling, vexing, and everything in between.
Why any of this is happening or would even be permitted to get to this level of depravity is never said. The screenwriters must have at least one — if not more — theories for Josh’s behavior, as their contours show themselves among the wreckage. Josh is somewhat of a middling man, it seems, lost in middle age and his purpose in life. He just got passed over for a promotion by a younger fellow who was his employee, his physique is deteriorating, and his friends are boring and as self-centered as he is. He needs to take control of his life, the film suggests. During that pivotal opening sex scene, Rachel asks to “get on top,” depriving him of even that basic source of alpha male domination.
If that sounds cringe and eye-roll-worthy, it is. Josh has a beautiful, successful wife, a healthy, adoring kid, and a perfectly fine life. If there is some deep-seated suffering, hidden discontent, past trauma, or mental anguish that could justify his deranged behavior, it certainly cannot be that his wife decided to ride him during sex. And, if getting passed over for a promotion is enough to trigger sociopathic behavior, such as showing up at a stranger’s funeral and lying to one’s family or observing with twisted horror and delighting in someone’s physical suffering, then we would all be serial killers.
Or, perhaps the entire thing is an allegory, an exaggerated metaphor of sorts. Masculinity is fragile and under attack, and we are to take the filmmakers’ word for it. This is sufficient to drive men crazy and to wreck homes. It is not anyone’s fault per se; rather, it’s society’s. From this, one is meant to accept that we all get a little crazy sometimes.
It’s difficult to believe that this could be so. In the end, “Sharp Corner“ has an intriguing and admittedly creepy premise. Its execution, too, is effective, but the big swing ultimately yields nothing of true value. It merges itself with its own anti-hero lunacy, existing only driven by morbidity and not much substance.
