A young writer gets a job assisting her favourite horror writer, but she finds herself participating in an out-of-control psychological experiment.
“I’ve been better,” the heroine of Braden Croft’s twisty thriller “True Fiction” stammers, when asked how she’s doing. That’s a gross understatement. By this point, she’s shivering, covered head-to-toe in blood (not hers), trapped in a cabin with a stranger, whom she’s just tortured. This also happens to be the point where the film lost my investment. There’s such a thing as a twist too many, and “True Fiction” truly tests one’s suspension of disbelief. Too bad, as Croft and his central acting duet were onto something here.
Aspiring writer Avery (Sara Garcia) has a troubled past. She’s a loner, barely making ends meet. So the young woman’s understandably shocked when she gets hired as an assistant to her favorite writer, Caleb Conrad (John Cassini). As part of the gig, she must stay in the author’s remote woodsy cabin and assist him in finishing his latest novel.
Only it’s not so much assisting, as partaking in what Caleb refers to as a “game,” a fucked-up experiment on “true fear,” a narrative he built that’s “catered to her profile.” It involves a lie detector, “Clockwork Orange”-style torture, sensory deprivation, and other similarly pleasant activities. Caleb’s intention, he claims, is to understand fear, document it and control it. Until his book is finished, he’s keeping Avery trapped inside his hermetically sealed abode.
At first intimidated by the renowned writer, Avery gradually comes to stand her own ground, and even challenges the man’s written characterization skills in a well-orchestrated, tense sequence. “Why should I care?” she confronts him. Sadly, I find myself asking the same question, as the narrative shifts from a psychological game of cat and mouse to a blood-soaked, farcical power play that chokes on its own revelations.
Upon the discovery of something horrific in Caleb’s basement, Avery becomes an avenger of sorts, fighting off machete-sporting masked killers and slicing off fingers like a pro. The aforementioned twists pile up, our heroes making nonsensical decision (like purposefully leaving tools of escape within reach of a trapped psycho). Croft seems to have run out of ways to shock his audience – and sustain the gradually escalating tension of the film’s first half – so he resorted to cheap tactics and gratuitous gore.
Shame, as “True Fiction” had me hooked for a good 40 minutes. Sara Garcia gives a solid performance as the by-turns insecure and vehemently stoic Avery (when asked if she murdered anyone, Avery replies “yes” with a smile), while Cassini channels Christian Slater at his sleaziest and most suave (I mean that as a compliment). Croft clearly used films like “Misery,” “The Game,” and “The Shining” as the blueprint for his feature.
If the filmmaker stuck to his guns, he could have made a nifty study of the creative process, of an odd-couple power play, of exorcizing one’s troubled past in creative ways, and how “creative” doesn’t always mean “worthwhile.” Too bad “True Fiction” resorts to lurid thriller territory instead of exploring those psychological depths.
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