An ambitious carny with a talent for manipulating people with a few well-chosen words hooks up with a female psychiatrist who is even more dangerous than he is.
Guillermo del Toro’s “Nightmare Alley,” adapted from William Lindsay Gresham’s 1946 novel, strays away from his trademark slimy monsters and fairy tales, focusing on all-too-human outcasts, labeled as freaks, living on the fringes of society. And yet, this study of guilt and ode to the cinema of yore is grandiose in that typical del Toro fashion, the emotions writ large, the canvas vibrant with vivid colors, eccentric characters, and eternal motifs. The plot lags and runs too long, and some may find the film’s heightened old-fashioned style gaudy, but this is pure, delectable cinema.
Said outcasts are a splendidly vivid group of carnival performers, upon which our laconic, stranded, handsome (anti)hero Stanton (Bradley Cooper) stumbles. He soon becomes accepted as part of the troupe and starts to take notes from each artist. The resulting amalgamation of their crafts becomes his act: making folks believe he can see inside their minds, even talk to their dead loved ones. Years later, Stanton’s mastery of manipulation has brought him fame and money — but then a sultry seductress enters the picture, along with an embittered billionaire, and it all comes cascading down into the titular nightmare.
Split into two halves — the first taking place entirely within the confines of Stanton’s carnival hideaway, the second focusing on his life years later — the film’s structure may disorient some viewers. It seems to have been part of del Toro’s goal, for ultimately, the plot circuitously ends up where it began, so to speak. More cunning film fans may see the end coming; regardless, they will surely be affected by the morbid, twisted irony of it all.
The spectacular cast by itself makes the film worth seeing. The ensemble imbues “Nightmare Alley” with real feeling, preventing it from skidding into “style over substance” territory. Cate Blanchett oozes sexuality and sophistication as Stanton’s sly psychiatrist, Dr. Lilith Ritter. Toni Collette hams it up just enough as Zeena the Seer, the carnival’s psychic and arguably the greatest influence on Stanton’s consequent career.
Then there’s Willem Dafoe, a delight as the live-wire Clem; Rooney Mara as the tragic, electricity-conducting Molly; Ron Perlman as her protector, the super-strong Bruno; Richard Jenkins as the grief-stricken mogul; Mary Steenburgen, who casts a long shadow in a small role as Mrs. Kimball; and David Strathairn as stalwart Pete, who perhaps leaves the most poignant note in the entire film. Oddly, Bradley Cooper as the blank lead marks the film’s weakest link. It’s just too heavy a load for the once-douchy, now-earnest actor to carry.
The production design — always a highlight in del Toro’s fare — is expectedly spectacular. Del Toro pays tribute to film noir in every shadowy shot, and all the familiar elements are there: the conflicted lead, the femme fatale, the twists and turns of the plot. But the filmmaker can’t help but magnify it all, place us right inside his mind, where dark, magical things lurk just around the corner, and the impossible may just happen at any moment. The fact that it doesn’t, that cynicism ultimately wins over may just mark a new phase in the formidable auteur’s career.
Had it been trimmed thirty minutes to make it a swift two hours, and replaced its hero with someone more compelling like, say, Christian Bale, “Nightmare Alley” could’ve been an instant classic. It just misses the mark but is a glorious place to visit nevertheless.
In Theaters Friday, December 17th
