There's nothing more disheartening than watching a movie and realizing that a talented director, who once made a stone cold modern classic, will probably never make another great film again. This was one of the many thoughts that popped up in my head during Velvet Buzzsaw, the latest major misfire by Nightcrawler director Dan Gilroy. Riding off the high of a critically acclaimed crime saga, Gilroy returned in 2017 with Roman J. Israel, Esq., a strange and surprisingly aimless story that left fans of the filmmaker's first effort puzzled. Here was another Robert Elswit-lensed L.A. character study about morality, but there was none of the suspense or dramatic heft of Gilroy's debut noir pastiche.
But for those fans left wondering if Gilroy had lost a step, there was plenty of reason to be intrigued by his next project- a satire of the modern art world (in Los Angeles again, of course), led by Nightcrawler stars Jake Gyllenhaal and Rene Russo and a massive ensemble cast. And it's a horror movie!
Well, if you haven't already taken the dive, I'd advise you to just go rewatch Nightcrawler for the eighth time. If not for the surface level similarities in cast and crew, there's barely anything in Velvet Buzzsaw that shows the abundant talents of a filmmaker who displayed so much promise just a few short years ago. This is a film that tries to do many things, yet it fails to accomplish much of anything; it's a lame horror movie and a hit-or-mess satire, with a sludgy, borderline incoherent mystery lying dormant at its core. Gyllenhaal's going wild and haunted art is slaughtering snobs left and right, but the execution is so dull that most viewers will be fending off sleep.
The film's lack of commitment begins almost immediately, as Gilroy introduces an eerie, almost Hitchcockian opening credits sequence, only to give up halfway through in a lame segue into reality. Are we in the realm of the fantastical or the real? Somewhere in between is the answer, but that's not too satisfying. Nonetheless, it'd be a bit unfair of me to say that Velvet Buzzsaw is completely devoid of pleasure, especially with Gyllenhaal starring as Morf Vandewalt, a posh and snobbish caricature of a critic who holds an inordinate amount of sway in the world of modern art. He's fun to watch, even if the character is basically a vacuum.
In a bravura opening scene (the most accomplished of the film), Gilroy's camera swoops through this high-end gallery with fluidity and grace, situating each of the characters and their importance in this world. Morf is close with artist Gretchen (Toni Collette) and gallery icon Rhodora Haze (Russo), who is currently locked in a vicious battle with competitor Jon Dondon (Tom Sturridge) over modern art folk hero Piers (John Malkovich) and newcomer Damrish (Daveed Diggs). There's also the matter of Morf's personal life- he's a bisexual man in a relationship, but he's also hopelessly attracted to Rhodora's assistant Josephine (Zawe Ashton), who just broke up with her cheating boyfriend.
Josephine is actually the most crucial character in the film, since she's the one who discovers the dead body of an elderly artist in her apartment building. Vetril Dease was an unknown his whole life, but once Morf and Rhodora take a look at the grotesque and captivating paintings of the late artist, he becomes a gallery sensation overnight. But maybe, just maybe, there's a reason Dease's work remained hidden. The reclusive artist reportedly never wanted his gruesome art to be sold, and as Morf digs deeper into his past, he finds secrets that should have stayed buried.
And then things get nasty. Once Gilroy (like all his features, he serves both writer and director) abandons the political machinations of the art world, Velvet Buzzsaw becomes a fairly stereotypical horror tale, where the movers and shakers of modern art face punishment at the hands of a malevolent force. In the film's most ingenious bit of uncanny consistency, almost every body is discovered by Coco (Natalia Dyer), the aspiring assistant who desperately wants to reach a point of influence in Rhodora's circle. The repetition is amusing enough, but rarely has a wannabe slasher possessed such a poor understanding of the genre; Buzzsaw's kills are devoid of suspense and innovation, with even the occasionally outlandish gore unable to properly situate itself in this conflicted world.
It's an abject failure as an attempt at sophisticated terror, but really, it's Velvet Buzzsaw's clumsy satirical storytelling that drags things down completely. Gilroy's core idea seems to be that modern art is a gross, craven endeavor, where capitalistic impulses invade the purity of art. Okay, and? This is fairly obvious territory, and once the film attempts to create a fusion between horror and humor, there's no tonal consistency to make it all go down smoothly. The gore is ridiculous and the deaths are needlessly cruel, but even with slasher mentality in the film's specific targeting of snobs and critics, you'll be hard-pressed to find many serious laughs. It's a fine idea, but it needs to be a lot more entertaining than this.
By the time the art snobs have fallen prey to their commercial inclinations, Velvet Buzzaw adds up to an odd and unsatisfying concoction, where a theoretically engaging mystery and a star-studded cast still can't cut it. I mean, come on, who doesn't wanna watch Gyllenhaal ham it up as an art-world tastemaker? The film puts him in a nearly Altman-esque ensemble with Russo, Collette, Malkovich, and more, only to let them flounder in a story without a center.
Saddled with a mystery that goes nowhere and a tonal clash that doesn't click, Gilroy's languid and aimless hybrid fails to conjure up anything substantial from its gory accumulation of ideas. Maybe there's another Nightcrawler in Gilroy's brain somewhere. But there's no indication of that work of genius here.
THE FINAL GRADE: C- (4.8/10)
Images courtesy of Netflix
But for those fans left wondering if Gilroy had lost a step, there was plenty of reason to be intrigued by his next project- a satire of the modern art world (in Los Angeles again, of course), led by Nightcrawler stars Jake Gyllenhaal and Rene Russo and a massive ensemble cast. And it's a horror movie!
Well, if you haven't already taken the dive, I'd advise you to just go rewatch Nightcrawler for the eighth time. If not for the surface level similarities in cast and crew, there's barely anything in Velvet Buzzsaw that shows the abundant talents of a filmmaker who displayed so much promise just a few short years ago. This is a film that tries to do many things, yet it fails to accomplish much of anything; it's a lame horror movie and a hit-or-mess satire, with a sludgy, borderline incoherent mystery lying dormant at its core. Gyllenhaal's going wild and haunted art is slaughtering snobs left and right, but the execution is so dull that most viewers will be fending off sleep.
The film's lack of commitment begins almost immediately, as Gilroy introduces an eerie, almost Hitchcockian opening credits sequence, only to give up halfway through in a lame segue into reality. Are we in the realm of the fantastical or the real? Somewhere in between is the answer, but that's not too satisfying. Nonetheless, it'd be a bit unfair of me to say that Velvet Buzzsaw is completely devoid of pleasure, especially with Gyllenhaal starring as Morf Vandewalt, a posh and snobbish caricature of a critic who holds an inordinate amount of sway in the world of modern art. He's fun to watch, even if the character is basically a vacuum.
In a bravura opening scene (the most accomplished of the film), Gilroy's camera swoops through this high-end gallery with fluidity and grace, situating each of the characters and their importance in this world. Morf is close with artist Gretchen (Toni Collette) and gallery icon Rhodora Haze (Russo), who is currently locked in a vicious battle with competitor Jon Dondon (Tom Sturridge) over modern art folk hero Piers (John Malkovich) and newcomer Damrish (Daveed Diggs). There's also the matter of Morf's personal life- he's a bisexual man in a relationship, but he's also hopelessly attracted to Rhodora's assistant Josephine (Zawe Ashton), who just broke up with her cheating boyfriend.
Josephine is actually the most crucial character in the film, since she's the one who discovers the dead body of an elderly artist in her apartment building. Vetril Dease was an unknown his whole life, but once Morf and Rhodora take a look at the grotesque and captivating paintings of the late artist, he becomes a gallery sensation overnight. But maybe, just maybe, there's a reason Dease's work remained hidden. The reclusive artist reportedly never wanted his gruesome art to be sold, and as Morf digs deeper into his past, he finds secrets that should have stayed buried.
And then things get nasty. Once Gilroy (like all his features, he serves both writer and director) abandons the political machinations of the art world, Velvet Buzzsaw becomes a fairly stereotypical horror tale, where the movers and shakers of modern art face punishment at the hands of a malevolent force. In the film's most ingenious bit of uncanny consistency, almost every body is discovered by Coco (Natalia Dyer), the aspiring assistant who desperately wants to reach a point of influence in Rhodora's circle. The repetition is amusing enough, but rarely has a wannabe slasher possessed such a poor understanding of the genre; Buzzsaw's kills are devoid of suspense and innovation, with even the occasionally outlandish gore unable to properly situate itself in this conflicted world.
It's an abject failure as an attempt at sophisticated terror, but really, it's Velvet Buzzsaw's clumsy satirical storytelling that drags things down completely. Gilroy's core idea seems to be that modern art is a gross, craven endeavor, where capitalistic impulses invade the purity of art. Okay, and? This is fairly obvious territory, and once the film attempts to create a fusion between horror and humor, there's no tonal consistency to make it all go down smoothly. The gore is ridiculous and the deaths are needlessly cruel, but even with slasher mentality in the film's specific targeting of snobs and critics, you'll be hard-pressed to find many serious laughs. It's a fine idea, but it needs to be a lot more entertaining than this.
By the time the art snobs have fallen prey to their commercial inclinations, Velvet Buzzaw adds up to an odd and unsatisfying concoction, where a theoretically engaging mystery and a star-studded cast still can't cut it. I mean, come on, who doesn't wanna watch Gyllenhaal ham it up as an art-world tastemaker? The film puts him in a nearly Altman-esque ensemble with Russo, Collette, Malkovich, and more, only to let them flounder in a story without a center.
Saddled with a mystery that goes nowhere and a tonal clash that doesn't click, Gilroy's languid and aimless hybrid fails to conjure up anything substantial from its gory accumulation of ideas. Maybe there's another Nightcrawler in Gilroy's brain somewhere. But there's no indication of that work of genius here.
THE FINAL GRADE: C- (4.8/10)
Images courtesy of Netflix
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