Reptile Review: A Solid Lead Performance Can't Save A Muddled Mystery
There is a strange character study yearning to break out of the new Netflix thriller "Reptile," made all the more baffling by the fact that the movie surrounding this character study is a fairly stale crime drama. Director and co-writer Grant Singer seems to want "Reptile" to stand confidently next to crime epics like "Zodiac" or "Prisoners," films that take a murder or a series of murders and conflate them to almost operatic heights as we follow the crimes both through the law enforcement trying to solve it and the criminals themselves. But the most interesting aspect of "Reptile" has nothing to do with a murder or a criminal, but with a kitchen faucet. You did not read that incorrectly: a running joke of this film is that a dogged detective notices a fancy kitchen during his investigation, one that boasts a motion-activated kitchen faucet that he grows so obsessed with that it serves as a punchline of sorts. There's a solid performance in "Reptile," and the kitchen-faucet gag is ... certainly something, but it can't hide the soggy reality of the mystery at its core.
Benicio del Toro — who also co-wrote the screenplay with Singer and Benjamin Brewer — plays Tom Nichols, a detective who's moved to the sticks after having left behind his work in Philadelphia. From what we know and what's said by his current colleagues, Nichols left behind a precinct awash in corruption, including corruption committed by his ex-partner. Nichols doesn't seem dirty, but there's reason enough to wonder where his allegiances in general lie. Corruption ends up being just one of the problems he faces in his latest case, the murder of a young real estate agent. Her boyfriend Will Grady (Justin Timberlake) seems suitably grieving and sad, but as Nichols tries to suss out who killed the young woman and why, he ends up uncovering a vast array of crimes that go beyond just one murder.
The elements of "Reptile" that serve as its most compelling have almost nothing to do with the murder itself. There is the fact that we keep following Will Grady as he gets over the death of his girlfriend, in part so we can learn exactly what level of involvement he may or may not have in the crime and in part because ... well, when you cast Justin Timberlake in your movie, it's probably not for a cameo. There is the kitchen-faucet business. And there is Nichols' home life, exemplified by his wife Judy (Alicia Silverstone), who a) may be having an affair with a local contractor and b) serves as a valuable sounding board for Nichols as he tries to make sense of the increasingly complicated murder case. These details are meant to help beef up the runtime of "Reptile," which clocks in at 136 minutes. But all it does is heighten the sense that the crime at the core of this film isn't remotely as interesting as its makers believe.
Excess Baggage
There is a faux-weightiness to "Reptile," from its bombastic score to unexpectedly swooping camera moves that speak as much to Singer's background as a music-video director as to the misplaced sense that this story is much bigger and grander than it truly is. Del Toro is unquestionably the best part of the film, not just because he's so omnipresent throughout much of the proceedings, but because his naturally off-kilter performance style lends itself well to a character whose background seems deliberately enigmatic, and who gets plagued by mild paranoia at home and at work. But the rest of the cast is similarly overqualified for the material, from Eric Bogosian as Judy's uncle/the local police captain to Silverstone to Ato Essandoh as Nichols' partner. Timberlake is somewhat overmatched by the twists and turns inherent in his character; it doesn't help matters when Singer's grandiloquent style only serves to heighten the awkward performance, as when Will angrily shouts at two lookie-loos of his girlfriend's murder scene and the camera zooms in close to his face.
The imbalance of tones is what makes "Reptile" hard to square. The murder, as well as the eventual and very convoluted reveal of what inspired the crime, is as grim as the bleak setting of the film, a suburbia with overgrown plants and weeds everywhere. But the sides of this story, from Tom and Judy's passion for square-dancing (because who doesn't want the reunion of the stars of the 1997 film "Excess Baggage" to include allemandes left and right) to Tom's dream of a nicer kitchen, feel carted in from a different story. Allowing gallows humor into a dark crime procedural is both expected and welcome, but the way this film tries to add in its own unique and quirky personality would only fit if the crime was less disturbing or the criminals less obvious and gruff. (To the point about it being obvious, it becomes nakedly so who's involved about halfway through, but Nichols takes a lot longer to arrive at that conclusion.)
"Reptile," aside from having an inexplicable title, has a few redeeming qualities. We don't need further proof at this point that Benicio del Toro deserves his Academy Award, but "Reptile" certainly serves as a reminder that he's an immensely gifted performer. Grant Singer as a director has some promise, even if some of the flash and style he brings only works against the story he's telling. But his script is less self-assured. Where "Prisoners," for example, rose above feeling like an expanded "Law and Order"-style TV drama thanks to the flair of director Denis Villeneuve, "Reptile" rarely ever lifts off the ground as anything more than just an overstuffed crime drama. But yes, it's true: the kitchens do look nice here.
/Film Rating: 5 out of 10