Fractured (2019)
(Netflix Streaming, December 2020) I have overdosed on movies that end up taking place in the protagonist’s insane mind. And if that’s a spoiler for Fractured, well, I’m not really sorry – the film tries to go for a psychological thriller but makes so many mistakes along the way that it settles for something very close to “it was all a dream” with a very dark coda. Nominally the story of a father who, after an accident, brings his wounded daughter to the hospital only to be told later on that she never existed, it’s a remarkably humourless film shot in cold dark blue cinematography and blurry nightmarish images. Sam Worthington does what he can in a role that asks him to look either confused or angry, but he can’t fight against a script that seems to go some tired ideas in exasperating fashion. I am a bit fascinated by director Brad Anderson: Looking at his filmography, I can find some movies that I considered terrific (The Machinist) and others that I found abominable (The Vanishing on 7th Street) – and right now, I’m so incredibly tired of Fractured’s biggest “idea” that I’m shoving it in the second category. I may or may not be wrong about this – I suspect that had I come to the film under different circumstances, in a different mood or under a different astrological configuration, I may have liked it more. But right now? No. The protagonist is crazy, anything can happen and there are no rules. Why should I respect a film like that?