Movie Review
Inside
If you can accept "Inside" as a movie that is about the journey, not the destination, you should enjoy the ride and another engaging Willem Dafoe descent into madness. Jump to review ↓
“Inside” Movie Review
The single setting survival thriller is one of the more dependable and fruitful subgenres in cinema. All you need is a compelling scenario with no easy escape and an actor who can command the screen on their own for an extended period of time. The concept has proved arresting on a desert island with Tom Hanks in Cast Away and in outer space with Sandra Bullock in Gravity. You kind of assumed we would have gotten multiple variations on it during the earliest lockdowns of the COVID-19 pandemic. Now, three Marches after the coronavirus first threatened the United States, we get a bona fide addition to the tradition in Inside.
Willem Dafoe plays Nemo, a seasoned art thief who finds himself trapped mid-heist in a ridiculously upscale penthouse apartment somewhere in New York City. All Nemo has on him are the tools of the trade and a walkie-talkie to communicate with someone he calls "Number 3", a man who cuts off communication after the home security system goes haywire while executing an escape. Bright, flashing lights and a blaring alarm would seem to announce our thief getting caught. But he disables them both and neither the apartment's owner, who is said to be off in Kazakhstan, nor a representative of his security company, seems to be summoned to the scene.
And so, Nemo and the viewer settle in, the former in apparently no immediate danger of being arrested but also not having any obvious way of enjoying his freedom. Director/story conceiver Vasilis Katsoupis (making his narrative feature debut) and internationally-seasoned screenwriter Ben Hopkins come up with various ways to sustain interest in this tale of moderately claustrophobic captivity.
The improbably poorly-stocked apartment offers little in the way of food or beverage to Nemo. The water is shut off and the heat malfunctions so that our protagonist is soon sweltered by a temperature approaching 100°F. When the fridge is left open, it plays the Bayside Boys' Billboard chart-topping mid-'90s anthem "Macarena" to remind the owner to close it.
It's easy to imagine how we would fare in such a dire situation, especially since Nemo is not overtly any more resourceful than you or I. Once he gets the apartment's irrigation system working, he collects the little water intended for the owner's plants. He savors ice chips, aware that the lack of running water means no easy replenishment. He watches the front desk clerk and housekeeping employee carry out their work on a security camera feed that provides his only entertainment. A smart phone and a working charger really would have made this all a lot more bearable for Nemo and far less compelling for us.
Of course, I don't need to tell you that Dafoe is a first-class actor, who has no difficulty remaining sympathetic and captivating throughout. This film provides as good a time as any to reflect on the marvel of his long, steady career. Having been in films for over forty years, the 67-year-old Dafoe refuses to settle for a niche or to even entertain the notion he's aged out of leading man roles (not that he's ever had the veteran's vanity or star power to require those).
His presence has enhanced every one of the more than fifty films I've seen (or heard) him in, with dizzying variety. The most casual of moviegoers may only recognize him from the Spider-Man movies, the two of which he starred in at length (nearly twenty years apart) rank among the most exhilarating of superhero fare. Anyone with tastes that go beyond the mainstream must admire his work in great modern films like Robert Eggers' The Lighthouse and Sean Baker's The Florida Project. He's been part of too many other iconic projects to mention, although American Psycho, John Wick, Platoon, The Last Temptation of Christ, Finding Nemo, The Boondock Saints, and four and counting Wes Anderson movies give us a taste of his range and far-reaching impact.
Dafoe has not thrived on classical good looks or warmth or universal relatability. His expressive eyes, prominent teeth, pointy cheeks, distinctive voice, and protruding ribcage all make him stand out from others. I have forever been in disbelief that he grew up in Appleton, Wisconsin, a hundred miles north of Milwaukee. Surely, with a name like his and a vibe like his, he must be from some place more exotic than Middle America.
Although it is opening immediately after the Oscars, like newly-decorated Best Picture Everything Everywhere All at Once did last year, Inside is not a movie that will win Dafoe another Oscar nomination like it did for Bullock and Hanks. It is too small and strange and will almost certainly end up grossing less in total than Cast Away and Gravity did on their opening weekends.
The film is not perfect. It raises numerous questions it refuses to answer and its ending will leave many unfulfilled as the specifics of Nemo's beef with the apartment's owner, his fellow artist, goes unresolved. But if you can accept it as a movie that is about the journey, not the destination, you should enjoy the ride and another engaging Dafoe descent into madness.