Willard
Will Gnaw at Your Psyche
Willard
Will Gnaw at Your Psyche
I've worked with some pretty weird people in my time. The writing profession
just attracts them, I guess. I remember this one co-worker who, to win a Snapple
contest, drank hundreds of bottles of the fruity beverage a week for months!
She would, of course, have to take bathroom breaks every 10 minutes. And being
a woman of rather large carriage, if you were in her way on the way to the ladies'
room, she would literally knock you aside. One time, she was coming around a
corner and I was coming around a corner, and I actually went down! In the workplace!
And NO apology!
Then, there was this other freakazoid who would go to the Sharper Image on his
lunch hour at least a couple of times a week and lay in those motorized recliners,
the kind that feature a remote control that can put the chair in all sorts of
comfortable positions. He would actually eat his bag lunch in those chairs,
not even slightly concerned with how he looked. The guy was too imposing for
the store employees to say, "Uh, could you please leave?"
Then, there was the one guy who had an English accent some days, and no accent
others. I once worked with this one deformed woman who was so truly and deeply
mean, you couldn't come back at her because of her handicap. Then, there was
the guy who worked two jobs--writing news by day, scooping up road kill by night.
I have worked with people who have literally lived in their offices, complete
with pajamas, a pillow, and blankets. I've worked with people who were not actually
employed by the paper or company I was actually working at. They just liked
showing up. I've worked in places where instead of the drowsy elevator Muzak
they pump in over the speakers, you should be hearing circus music.
All of those aforementioned staffers were fairly harmless. They weren't exactly
the sharpest knives in the drawer, but they never scared me. Every once in a
while, though, I'd have to work with someone who ... well, wasn't quite "all
there." You know the type. You look them in the eye, and you can just tell
there's a storm a brewin' in there. They're looking at you, but they're really
thinking, "What would it feel like to actually kill him?"
I don't mind telling you that I have worked with at least two characters in
my adult life where I literally, in my head, plotted out office escape routes
so I could be instantly ready once the shooting started. I even factored in
the probability of having to use my fellow co-workers as bullet shields. Instability,
thy name is ... er, what's that guy's name in the last cubicle on the left?
That said, I don't think I've ever worked with a dude as strange or as creepy
as the title character in the new movie, Willard. As played brilliantly
by Crispin Glover, Willard is just a seething ball of rage. Constantly
berated by his boss, Mr. Martin (R. Lee Ermey, extrapolating his Full
Metal Jacket drill sergeant into the workplace) and threatened with unemployment,
this lonely office clerk can't seem to get to work on time, nor can he get through
the piles of product orders that seem to constantly overflow his desk each day.
His home life is no haven. Willard lives with his domineering, bedridden mother
and suffers her verbal abuse day in and day out. She even makes fun of the name
she gave him 30 years earlier as a baby, instead referring to him as "Clark."
Then one dark and stormy night, a noise arises from the basement, and Willard
is sent down to investigate. It turns out the house is infested by rats. But
not just any rats. These are rodents who seem to know Willard. They seem to
understand him, love him. They even want to be commanded by him. Willard develops
a special relationship with one of them, a white rat he names Socrates. But
he also incurs the jealousy and ultimately wrath of Ben, a giant rat who craves
the special attention Socrates gets. As Willard becomes increasingly unhinged
by tragedy in his personal life and further humiliation in the workplace, he
begins to look upon his growing army of rats as both a source of strength and
a method of revenge.
To say that Willard is one twisted sister of a horror flick is an understatement.
I think the movie is best described by telling you what it is not. It's not
a 90-minute exercise in rats gnawing at human flesh. The film is more concerned
with fostering an atmosphere of apprehension and even pity for the main character
than coming right out and scaring or repulsing you. The scariest thing in the
film is not the rats (er, unless you are definitely afraid of rats, that is),
but Willard's mother's nasty, funky feet.
Those toes were just wrong, man!
No, Willard is more of a character study, and I sat fascinated by the
movie for its entire running time. The filmmaking team of director Glen Morgan
and producer James Wong are the guys responsible for the original Final
Destination and some of the very finest episodes of The X-Files.
They infuse Willard with an old-school, classic horror charm that allows
you to discover its macabre delights slowly. The characters dictate the action,
not computer-generated action sequences. The few CGI shots of rats in the film
are actually the least effective. But when Willard is lying awake at night,
telling Socrates how much he loves him while Ben watches the two from the foot
of the bed ... THAT is creepy!
Production credits are top-notch. Willard's family house is a character in the
film, and I applaud production designer Mark Freeborn and set decorator
Mark Lane with making the residence feel like a real place and not a
studio set. I wanted to go home and take a Swifter to my house after seeing
this movie. The Willard home is that filthy. I also really enjoyed Shirley
Walker's music score. She doesn't wallow in the mire that is Willard's world,
but instead gives us a rather bouncy, somewhat retro score that gives the film
a lot of personality that it might not have had if Morgan and Wong had chosen
a more depressed composer.
Based on a 1971 flick starring Bruce Davison, Willard is a niche
movie. It's obviously not for everyone. But it's definitely for people who appreciate
genre films done well by people who care. Glover is amazing in this movie, calling
to mind the great Anthony Perkins in Psycho. He's like Renfield
on crack. I'm quite sure he is a loon in real life. But he delivers the goods
here. In Glover's hands, Willard goes from being a guy who wouldn't harm a McFly
.. er, fly ... to someone quite capable of making his co-workers think about
getting a job somewhere else.
Willard is actually rated PG-13 for terror/violence and language.
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