Kevin Smith’s “Tusk” is A Walrus of a Film

By Michael James Gonzalez
The trajectory of director Kevin Smith’s career has been a volatile one, like an erratic stock price whose dividends even the most astute analyst cannot predict. It started with 1994’s Clerks, a completely dialogue driven, black and white film chronicling a day in the lives of two convenience store clerks. Indie-film lore has it that Clerks was shot on such a shoe-string budget (an estimated $230,000 according to IMDB) that Smith, an avid collector of comic-books, had to sell some of his collection to finance the film. The gamble paid off as Clerks went on to gross $3,151,130 and made Smith an independent-film sensation. Since then, Smith has delivered a string of hits and misses—both independent and big budget—and has largely been considered a Hollywood outsider, despite his extremely popular podcasts (internet radio shows) which have elevated Smith to something of a geek culture hero. I’ve always had a passing curiosity in Smith’s career and projects, which brought me to see his latest cinematic effort, Tusk: a depraved, nightmarish tale about a deranged psychopath who holds a visiting podcaster hostage so he can turn him into a walrus—literally. Previous to this, I had seen another film by Smith in 2011 called Red State; it was similar in theme to Tusk in that crazed religious fundamentalists hold a group of teens hostage and terrorize them one by one while ATF agents investigate and ultimately descend upon the middle-of-nowhere compound in a tense stand-off. The film was a departure from Smith’s more familiar slacker films. Red State had a more sophisticated narrative and took a darker tone than anything previous, with complex characters far from the cliché mustache twirling villains that have come out of the horror genre. In my opinion, it was an underrated film and Smith an underrated director. I still think the latter is true, but, unfortunately, it seems we have another miss with Tusk. The film opens with none other than a popular podcast—Smith’s obsession in recent years, with good measure—where our protagonist Wallace Bryton, played by Justin Long, tells his on-air partner Teddy (Haley Joel Osment) that he plans to travel to Canada so he can interview a poor schlub who’s become an internet celebrity by posting humiliating videos of himself which have gone viral. After dire warnings from his girlfriend Ally—played by Genesis Rodriguez, who delivers quite a powerful performance—Wallace ends up in Manitoba only to find that poor schlub will be unavailable. Through a fortuitous (or not-so-fortuitous) circumstance, however, Wallace finds himself heading toward rural, desolate Canada to interview an old, mysterious ex-sailor, Howard Howe—played to remarkable delight by veteran actor Michael Parks. For Wallace, sadly, what follows are a string of shocking and horrific acts which Howe will carry out to the film’s disturbing conclusion. The first two acts of the film are actually quite entertaining, particularly the initial relationship that is formed between Wallace and Howe, where both actors rather brilliantly give their roles the nuance and dimensions that make character acting so enjoyable to watch. Mr. Parks particularly makes creepy magic with the script’s dialogue, which in the hands of another might have been merely flat, dull exposition. As we begin to move toward the last act, the story has been moving along just fine, and the film as a whole is on its way to becoming Smith’s most original and unique vision. Wallace is still trapped in Howe’s mansion and has endured unimaginable suffering while Ally and Teddy are now in Manitoba searching for him based on voice mails he’s managed to leave from his cell phone. By this point we expect a surprising or at least a satisfying climax. Then enters Johnny Depp, who plays the detective assisting Ally and Teddy, in yet another quirky, silly and forgettable performance that changes the entire tone of the movie and takes us entirely out of our suspension of disbelief. The last act becomes farce and further devolves into absurdity, leaving us feeling like a walrus for paying the price of admission.

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