By Inkoo Kang
By Sherilyn Connelly
By Carolina del Busto
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It is possible to admire Frailty, directed by Texas-born actor Bill Paxton, without actually liking it. It's not, strictly speaking, a gratifying movie: Too dependent upon twists, both excruciatingly obvious and irritatingly ludicrous, it never fully satisfies; what you can't guess you won't see coming, because it's too outrageous even to fathom. Like so many other allegedly scary movies, it gets so tangled up in The Twist that it chokes the energy right out of the very audience it seeks to frighten.
Still, it's a freaky bit of work from Paxton, heretofore known as an actor either buried in the background of films good (Aliens), bad (Mighty Joe Young), and otherwise (Tombstone) or allowed to star only in small films with relatively tiny budgets (One False Move, A Simple Plan). For too long, he's been the go-to guy when Dennis Quaid or Kevin Costner aren't available -- the gruff, affable, occasionally insipid leading man asked to make gold from copper.
Here, he manages to locate the humanity in a troubled man who doesn't think himself a killer of mere mortals but a soldier of God enlisted in the "final battle" against unleashed demons, who happen to be ordinary people living in and around their small Texas town of Thurman. When he wakes his two young sons, Fenton (Matthew O'Leary) and Adam (Jeremy Sumpter), in the middle of the night to tell them of how God came to him in his sleep -- the Lord communicates, incidentally, through old trophies, which should offer small comfort to the nonathlete -- he's as frightened as they are. He's the true believer who initially doesn't want to believe, and Paxton invests him with enough pragmatism and compassion to keep us from judging him at first; perhaps God didspeak to him. It's something we're forced to consider again and again: As he's fixing a car, its underside slowly and beautifully morphs into a cathedral, complete with a flying angel delivering a list of demons' names. It's tricky business, allowing us to see what he does -- it skews our perspective, making us question whether he's truly touched or merely insane -- but Paxton the director serves Paxton the actor well.
The film, written by Dallas-born Brent Hanley, begins as the grown-up Fenton (Paxton's U-571shipmate Matthew McConaughey) is confessing his father's sins to Dallas FBI agent Wesley Doyle, played by Powers Boothe. (Boothe and McConaughey are also native Texans; if nothing else, Frailty feels authentic.) Doyle, his office wallpapered with crime-scene photos, has been hunting the so-called God's Hands Killer, and he's reluctant to believe Fenton; it's a too-easy answer to a long-standing dilemma. From there, the story flashes back and forth between Fenton's family past and the present, as Doyle and Fenton drive to Thurman to discover the truth allegedly buried in a rose garden near the old family home.
As the older Fenton tells it, everything was cool at home till the day God came. Dad (Paxton's character has no other name) was a blue-collar pop; the boys' mother died giving birth to Adam. But soon enough, their backyard shed becomes a temple of massacre: Dad brings home his prey, lays hands on them to reveal their wickedness, then chops off their heads in front of the boys. Adam is into it; he believes -- though, at one point, he brings home his own list of bullies to murder. "You can't just make up stuff like that," Dad scolds, and it's a rare moment of humor in an otherwise claustrophobic, grim film. Fenton thinks his dad's merely nuts, so much so that his father punishes him for his lack of faith by forcing him to dig a cellar in which he'll be imprisoned till God gives him a vision as well. (And God told Abraham, and so forth....)
Frailtyis full of small, subtle, creepy moments; bereft of blood, the film hints at but never reveals the actual murders until near its end. But the individual moments never add up to the bigger shock, because the ultimate revelation -- the horrible truth revealed not merely about Adam and Fenton but about Doyle as well -- is so inexplicable, we're less creeped out than we are merely annoyed. Paxton has said Lions Gate held the film from release because its themes of religious extremism might resonate too loudly post-September 11. That's hogwash, of course; no one would confuse Dad with a member of the Taliban. But that's how you sell movies these days, by investing them with meaning that ain't even there.
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