Rating: C+
Dir: Neil Jordan
Star: Chloë Grace Moretz, Isabelle Huppert, Maika Monroe, Colm Feore
I always considered Moretz to be a decent actress. Though I just realized I may be mixing her up with Saoirse Ronan, and giving her credit for Ronan’s projects. However, when Moretz is put next to a great actress like Huppert, her limitations become rather too obvious. This may be a case where the performance of Huppert is too good for the movie, sticking out like a sore thumb. Moretz plays Frances McCullen, who has just moved to New York, and is staying with friend Erica Penn (Monroe) until she finds her feet. Speaking of finding, Frances notices an abandoned handbag on the subway, and dutifully returns it to its owner, a lonely old woman, Greta Hideg (Huppert).
Feeling sorry for Greta, Frances befriends her, much to the concern of the sceptical Erica. Her suspicions prove well-founded, when Frances discovers an entire closet of handbags in Greta’s apartment, ready to be abandoned. Her attempts to cut off Greta are not accepted by the older woman, who sees herself as a replacement for Frances’s late mother. Greta begins stalking Frances, showing up at the restaurant where she works as a waitress, and also following Erica in a threatening manner. Frances discovers that almost everything Greta told her was a lie: for example, her daughter is not exactly studying piano in Paris. If you’re thinking, “This isn’t going to end well, is it?” – yeah, you’re not exactly wrong.
It plays a like a generation gap version of Single White Female. Rather than strict imitation, this is powered by the facts that Greta misses her daughter, Frances misses her mother, and both women have feelings of guilt about their family relationships. It’s when the film focuses on this that it’s at its best, with Huppert’s performance at once both sympathetic and scary. Frances seems oblivious. To be fair, the signs weren’t obvious, but even as someone who came into this knowing absolutely nothing, the way in which Greta is presented by Jordan seemed distinctly “off” and somehow threatening. Much of that, again, is likely down to the actress. Her line delivery and body language seem calculated to push your unease buttons.
Unfortunately, once we go full “biddy horror” in the final act, it feels as if Jordan is on less comfortable ground. The script certainly struggles, falling into a series of cliche pits. For example, I was left to roll my eyes at the moment someone spurns a perfectly good chance to ensure Greta is no longer a problem. And they were left positively whirring around in my head at the final shot, which feels as if nobody involved here has ever seen a horror movie before. I will award minor credit for the effective use of a cookie-cutter as an offensive weapon, and the unexpected arrival of Jordan veteran player Stephen Rea was a plus. But the overall feeling was of a movie which isn’t as smart as it wants to think.