Review: Pontypool (2009)

[Scott Mendelson]

Pontypool
2009
95 minutes
Not Rated

by Scott Mendelson

There is something inescapably terrifying about witnessing something
horrible from a completely plausible point of view. Most films,
especially horror films, give the audiences a sort of 'eyes-of-God'
point of view, giving us the full picture of what's occurring onscreen
even when the characters do not have such benefits. However, in recent
years, we have seen a sub-genre of sorts that one might call the
'information withheld' horror picture. In these variations on tried
and true stories, we only get as much information as the main
characters, and we generally only see and hear what they see and hear.

Whether it's an apparent alien invasion seen only from news reports on
a tiny television set (Signs), or a monster attack seen only from the
camcorder owned by one of the random city dwellers (Cloverfield),
these pictures put a premium on information, so that the slightest
image of horror or nugget of knowledge is theoretically that much more
frightening. Some of these films (Signs) are better than others (The
Blair Witch Project), but they all are attempting to capitalize on the
two hoariest cliches in cinema - what you don't see is scarier than
what you do see, and there's nothing more terrifying than the unknown.

Pontypool is a low-budget study in claustrophobia and creeping
realization. The picture concerns a once big-time radio DJ who has
taken a last-chance hosting job for a small-time news station in a
very small town. Grant Mazzy (Stephen McHattie) quickly attempts to
drum up 'controversy', much to the chagrin of his producer (Sydney
Briar). But almost immediately into his first shift, news breaks of an
apparent riot or mass panic outside a doctor's office. As small bits
of information drip in, it quickly becomes clear that something has
gripped the town in a state of madness or confusion. As eye-witness
reports become conflicted and increasingly confusing, the DJ, the
producer, and the engineer must figure out what is going on before it
is too late.

Apologies for the vagueness, but the less you know going into this the
more potent the experience will be. Needless to say, the situation is
soon revealed to be something far more complicated than a routine
horror movie experience, and the picture becomes a sort of mediation
on the power of words and the inherent influence of the English
language itself. Holding this together is a dynamic lead performance
by noted character actor Stephen McHattie. Looking like a cross
between Don Imus, Lance Henricksen, and Dr. Gregory House, McHattie
does little more than sit in a radio booth and speak for the duration
of the 95-minute running time. But his richly detailed face and
crackling voice dominates the proceedings in a fashion that might have
earned Oscar buzz in a more high-profile picture.

The story never really leaves that tiny church-basement radio station,
so the picture becomes increasingly tense as our three main characters
realize that they may be 'witnessing' some kind of world-changing
event without the ability to actually see any of it. For the first
half, the film has a spellbinding hold on the audience, as we
ourselves become desperate for any nugget of insight into just what is
going on outside in the snow. Alas, at about the halfway point,
Pontypool shows its hand. And while the more complicated explanation
does add pathos and a subtext to the horror film narrative, said
explanation is so convoluted that the picture has to spend much of the
remainder of its running time explaining just what is going on. An
additional character is introduced at about the hour mark for the sole
purpose of expository monologue. While the film does conclude on a
potent note of earned dread, this is the rare horror movie that almost
tries too hard to be more than what it is.

Like many horror films that base their terror on what we don't know or
don't understand, Pontypool loses much of its power once we fully
understand (or think we understand) what the game is all about. It has
a terrifically compelling first half, and an Oscar-worthy performance
by McHattie. But the second half collapses under the weight of its own
over ambition. Yes, director Bruce McDonald and writer Tony Burgess
have much to say about the power of the spoken language, but they
commit the cardinal sin of putting the message ahead of the medium.

Grade: B-