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Nature of the Beast, 1995
Two major new stories are dominating the airwaves: a large sum of money has been stolen from a casino, and a serial killer known as the Hatchet Man is slicing and dicing travelers on the roadways. Jack (Lance Henriksen) is making his way across Nevada when he crosses paths with Adrian (Eric Roberts), an off-kilter young man who coerces Jack into giving him a ride. As the two continue their demented road trip, bodies start to pile up.
A lackluster thriller with the ignoble distinction of being directed by a convicted child rapist.
Victor Salva has been on my director No Fly list for ages, and I’m annoyed that I didn’t bother checking out the credits more carefully when picking out this movie to watch. On what I suppose is the bright side, I didn’t think much of it before learning about its creator, and so there’s not much to feel conflicted about.
The best thing that the film has going for it is the way that Adrian’s sort-of-gay, unhinged wild man routine perpetually unnerves Jack. While I mostly thought that the repeated implication of Adrian being gay was stupid---and something the movie seems only comfortable implying, lame---I did enjoy Henriksen’s portrayal of Jack’s discomfort and the way that Adrian continues to push boundaries with him.
But aside from a few nicely tense moments between the two main characters, this one is a dud. Jack’s inability to shake Adrian feels incredibly contrived. We know from the first ten minutes that we’re building toward a showdown between the two of them, and I got impatient waiting for that showdown to arrive. There’s very little character development or even escalation of tension between the two men.
Then the last act comes and, meh. This story would have worked much better as a television episode.
Nature of the Beast, 1995
Two major new stories are dominating the airwaves: a large sum of money has been stolen from a casino, and a serial killer known as the Hatchet Man is slicing and dicing travelers on the roadways. Jack (Lance Henriksen) is making his way across Nevada when he crosses paths with Adrian (Eric Roberts), an off-kilter young man who coerces Jack into giving him a ride. As the two continue their demented road trip, bodies start to pile up.
A lackluster thriller with the ignoble distinction of being directed by a convicted child rapist.
Victor Salva has been on my director No Fly list for ages, and I’m annoyed that I didn’t bother checking out the credits more carefully when picking out this movie to watch. On what I suppose is the bright side, I didn’t think much of it before learning about its creator, and so there’s not much to feel conflicted about.
The best thing that the film has going for it is the way that Adrian’s sort-of-gay, unhinged wild man routine perpetually unnerves Jack. While I mostly thought that the repeated implication of Adrian being gay was stupid---and something the movie seems only comfortable implying, lame---I did enjoy Henriksen’s portrayal of Jack’s discomfort and the way that Adrian continues to push boundaries with him.
But aside from a few nicely tense moments between the two main characters, this one is a dud. Jack’s inability to shake Adrian feels incredibly contrived. We know from the first ten minutes that we’re building toward a showdown between the two of them, and I got impatient waiting for that showdown to arrive. There’s very little character development or even escalation of tension between the two men.
Then the last act comes and, meh. This story would have worked much better as a television episode.