10
Cloverfield Lane
Director:
Dan Trachtenberg
Writers:
Josh Campbell, Matthew Stuecken, Damien Chazelle
Starring:
John Goodman, Mary Elizabeth Winstead, John Gallagher Jr.
Rating:
Three and a half stars out of five
In
theaters now
Human
beings are inherently distrustful creatures. They like to be in
charge of their own destinies. It's why prisons are so
psychologically disconcerting, because they take away prisoners'
abilities to make their own decisions all the while being cooped up
with people who do not inspire much confidence in their regard for
others' safety. And it's why claustrophobic tales like 10
Cloverfield Lane work so well at
instilling anxiety – if not abject, full-body clenched terror –
in their viewers.
It
begins with a feeling of something not being right and never once
does it make its characters, nor its audience, feel like they can
totally let their guard down at any time. Michelle (Mary Elizabeth
Winstead) packs her things in a hurry and drives away from her
apartment, dodging calls from her fiance, whose ring she leaves
behind on her trip north up a Louisiana highway. Only she doesn't get
very far, because a truck slams into her car, which spins out, flips,
and settles with the horn blaring into an embankment while the film's
title cards silently intercut with the crashing noises of the
accident.
That
deployment of the credits is one of many clever tricks up director
Dan Trachtenberg's sleeve in this, his feature film debut. His
judgment in the deliberate dissemination of information is top notch,
and the times when the movie gets too cute with its winks and nods to
its franchise aspirations – it is ostensibly a follow-up to 2008's
“giant monster destroys New York City” disaster piece,
Cloverfield – feel
tacked on by the movie's production company, Bad Robot, run by Star
Wars: The Force Awakens director
J.J. Abrams. Trachtenberg's contributions, the ones he seemingly had
most control over, are tense filmmaking done to the hilt.
The
biggest reason for 10 Cloverfield Lane's
success lies in the interplay between its three leads. Winstead is on
a roll after her part as a damaged-yet-calculating cult member in
last year's Faults. Here,
she is able to dive into her fears, but as Michelle, her nearly
supernatural resourcefulness never allows her to fall into
hopelessness – she is a figure of determination, even as she is
hobbled by her injuries and disoriented by her new surroundings, in a
stranger's disaster survival bunker.
That
stranger is Howard, played by John Goodman as a controlling, unhinged
man obsessed with credibility and respect after a lifetime of being
mocked for his complete devotion to a state of preparedness. Now that
his paranoia has been vindicated by a chemical attack – perhaps by
the Russians, or Martians, as he so assuredly states – he grows all
the more resolute in his monstrosity. It got him this far and it
saved the lives of Michelle and his former employee, Emmett (John
Gallagher Jr.). And he will not stand for a “year or two” of
disrespect by these two youthful ingrates while they wait out the
effects of the attack to diminish.
But
did the attack actually happen? Or is Howard a kidnapping maniac with
a well-defined survival instinct? The skepticism on the part of
everyone, toward themselves, each other, and the outlandish situation
itself, is where the film's tension comes from. With the help of a
terse script by Josh
Campbell, Matthew Stuecken, and Whiplash
writer-director
Damien Chazelle, Trachtenberg puts the tricks of filmmaking to use.
When
the story requires it, 10
Cloverfield Lane can
feel humongous within its tiny location. Shots of the stairwell
leading to the bunker's entrance hatch look impossibly long, showing
the faraway promise of sunlight and freedom from the horrors inside,
even if the unknown beyond the bunker's confines is just as
terrifying. The impossible choice leaves the three inhabitants in a
state of not-always-peaceful cohabitation that is intermittently
relieved with putting together puzzles and listening to soul-pop
classics on the jukebox. They develop something of a necessary
comfort around each other, even if it's tempered by a
walking-on-eggshells timidity brought on by Howard's possible
personality disorder and seemingly legitimate fear of the things
causing the rumbling noises atop the bunker.
The
trust builds and diminishes as the screws of tension tighten toward a
breaking point. Characters unveil their deepest regrets and fears
through information both true and false, often in order to gain the
upper hand over the other two in the bunker. Alliances,
quick-thinking lies, and escape plans are hurriedly spouted by the
these three prisoners. It comes to a sickening head when the dangers
of the known and unknown collide.
As
described above, 10
Cloverfield Lane comes
off as a borderline masterpiece of tension. That is not fully the
case, because it has its share of faults. They are forgivable and
generally innocuous when it comes to the enjoyment of a piece of pop
entertainment, but they exist and they keep it from fully blossoming
into greatness.
It
gets too convenient with its protagonist's capabilities. Michelle's
primary skill, her life's passion before entering the bunker, is only
revealed after it is useful to the plot. It is not telegraphed in a
Chekhov's gun sort of way to make it feel natural to Michelle's life.
It is cheapened by this lack of being up front. It is something that
should not be a reveal but a part of who she is from the outset. It
requires some information to be moved around to reach its full
impact.
The
film's primary issue is doing exactly the sort of thing Abrams and
company are often criticized for not doing. It answers its questions
too definitively. There are some questions left at the end, but
overall the storytelling thrust of the film – what happened outside
the bunker? – becomes known in too literal a way. Not knowing is
what drives every good part of 10
Cloverfield Lane,
and the air goes out of its sails in a rush once it picks its
resolution when there is no need for it. If it had ended five or 10
minutes earlier, with panicked, gasping breathing and a manic
application of duct tape, it could very well have been the genre
masterpiece mentioned earlier. But it has franchise obligations
attached to it, which it explores in a visually exciting way,
although it is unnecessary. That it remains an eminently watchable
suspense thriller is a testament to how well it runs despite not
every piston firing.
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