Despite some strong performances and a sustained mood, dreadful pacing pulls this one under the murky water.
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I have a dumb question. Why is it that in horror movies and thrillers, a frail character doesn't think twice about going into what would strike even Bears linebacker Brian Urlacher as a dangerously isolated and spooky place?
Of course, I know the answer, and it's pretty much the same reason why a mundane action like sitting in a chair or brushing your teeth warrants eerie background music. There's no tension without a situation like this, however artificial. Then again, if you think of the best films in the genre, the characters have more of a reason that compels them to go into a dark place they'd rather avoid, and the music isn't overdone. Atmosphere augments the tension, it doesn't replace it. Most importantly, in the best films, characters aren't so oblivious to the dangers that it makes everyone sitting in the theater seem as if they have the brain power of a CEO, by comparison.
Unfortunately, "Dark Water" is totally dependent on atmosphere and an often-artificial tension that simmers on slow-boil for most of the film—and I mean ponderously slow. Sometimes it moves so slowly that you have time to think of old jokes.
Doctor: What's the problem?
Patient: It hurts me when I do this.
Doctor: So don't DO that!
That's kind of the reaction I had to the whole premise. If an apartment complex is spooky, why not just pack up and leave? Or don't sign the lease in the first place. The reason that's offered (no money) just doesn't hold water—murky or otherwise.
A woman going through a separation looks for an apartment she can afford with her young pre-teen daughter. So she finds a building in an old urban development community on Roosevelt Island (formerly Welfare Island) in New York. It's owned by a slumlord and it's no garden spot, so most people would have left right then and there. Need extra incentive? How about a creepy super who looks like he could either be a killer or a zombie? Not enough to make you leave? How about a leak in the freshly painted bedroom ceiling that starts before any kind of rainstorm, an oozy collection of droplets that look like percolating tar? Still not enough? How about being told that gangs of teenaged boys roam the building, and you hear noises upstairs? Ha, you say, I'll even walk through dark narrow corridors with not a soul in sight, just to get to the creepy laundry room. Well, then you're probably not going to be moved by the whispering sound of a child, or your own daughter leaving to walk on the roof and peer over the edge, are you? All of which raises more questions about the main character's mental state than it does anything that might be haunting the building.
Based on a novel by Koji Suzuki ("The Ring" and "The Ring 2"), this Walter Salles film offers some strong visual sequences and acting, but tedious pacing. In the theaters, you could get up, run to your car to get a newspaper, and read it while you watched and not miss a thing. But out of fairness, let's talk about the performances. Jennifer Connelly is superb as the shell-shocked Dahlia, who has that visible numbness that affects people whose relationships have just come to a surprising end. The young actress who plays her daughter, Ceci (Arial Gade) is also quite good, and you couldn't come up with a slicker and sleezier slumlord than John C. Reilly as Mr. Murray. But the rest of the characters are stock—walking clichés that we've seen before. As the creepy Mr. Veeck, Pete Postlethwaite could have been playing in any number of "Scooby-Doo" episodes, Tim Roth could be any I-care-but-I'm-busy attorney, and Dougray Scott is almost forgettable as the husband who tries to encourage Dahlia to live closer to him (and his new girlfriend) in New Jersey.
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[release]20102[/release]