Slumlord (2015)
Gareth Jones
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Starring Neville Archambault, Brianne Moncrief, PJ McCabe, Sarah Baldwin
Directed by Victor Zarcoff
Newlyweds Claire (Moncrief) and Ryan (McCabe) are elated when they move into their new rented property, though not so much when they first meet their landlord – the creepy, greasy, monosyllabic and foul-smelling Gerald (Archambault).
Shrugging off Gerald’s oddness in their haste to get settled and prepare for the arrival of their first child, Ryan and Claire go about their daily lives completely unaware that not only is their new landlord a total creep, but he also has all of his properties kitted out with a multitude of tiny hidden cameras.
Slumlord relies on its overbearing sense of invasion of privacy to create its skin-crawling atmosphere – something that is ably sold by Archambault’s committed performance as the monstrous Gerald. Seeing him sitting, slack-jawed, before a bank of monitors, wrangling tissues as he prepares for a bout of mucky masturbation – only to be foiled by poor placement of one of his in-shower cams – is cringe-inducing. He’s a brilliantly realised villain – sinister, grim and unpredictable.
Oh, and while the couple are out of the house, he’s letting himself in, licking toothbrushes and constructing something in the basement… something that apparently needs soundproofing.
It’s a great setup, but Slumlord lessens its impact by running with a soap-like story featuring a pair of pretty unlikeable leads. Ryan is a complete prick – dismissive, childish and currently embroiled in an affair with his hot assistant, Hannah (Baldwin). It’s hard to give anything approaching a nugget of strained shit whether things go well for him, while much of the dramatic tension when it comes to he and Claire’s narrative hinges on whether his wife is going to find out about his extra-marital relations. McCabe’s performance also lacks spark, with a monotone delivery that regularly feels off – whether or not it’s supposed to in relation to the character.
And in a particularly unbelievable turn, the couple discover that what they were told was a closet, is in fact a basement space… and then deem it “too creepy” (from the top of the stairs) to bother looking at again. Ever. It rings hollow, smacking of narrative convenience.
Where the film succeeds, however, is in Zarcoff’s presentation. It isn’t entirely shot from the perspective of the hidden cameras; in a smart move the director shifts to them for much of the dirty secret exposés – placing the audience right into the role of voyeur, with the uncomfortable feeling of sitting right next to the sweaty, grunting Gerald adding that extra punch.
The rest of the time, as Claire and Ryan struggle with their marriage, the pacing drags and the whole thing starts to feel like too much like a TV drama. Thankfully, it lights up (or darkens, depending on your view) each time Archambault shows up to throw a dripping blanket of discomfort over the whole thing. As his activities cement the notion that he indeed has wicked designs for the young couple, he gradually becomes a more formidable figure – especially when he sheds his shirt in the couple’s pool to reveal an impressively muscled torso that is completely at odds with his previous shuffling, hunched stature.
Despite sporting a deliciously dark ending, Slumlord isn’t anywhere near as disturbing and grimy as it believes it is. Gerald makes for a extraordinary genre villain, and is sure to make a mark when the film hits general release, but Slumlord as a whole treads the line too carefully to truly deliver shocks. Perhaps it will hit home with more surety amongst the renters out there (particularly those who aren’t entirely trusting of their landlord), but it fails to capitalise on much more than a well executed sense of disquiet and personal invasion.
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Film
Categorized:Reviews
