Bug

Maple

Hannah Guy (CHARTattack)

05/25/2007 12:00pm

Release date: May 25, 2007
Directed by: William Friedkin
Starring: Ashley Judd, Michael Shannon, Harry Connick Jr., Lynn Collins

It's an ominous sign in the trailer when Bug is billed as a film "from the Academy Award-winning director of The Exorcist." When was the last time a William Friedkin film won your heart? Blue Chips? The Guardian? Bug is not the film that's going to help Friedkin start over.

Agnes White (Judd) is living alone in a dumpy motel. Her air conditioner is broken, her hair stringy and she's a big fan of taking a whopping toke off her bong or snorting her way across a coke-covered piece of mirror. She also waitresses in a bar and has an abusive son of a bitch ex who's just been released from jail. Oh, and there's a heavy breather who keeps calling.

But Agnes' broken half-life is jump-started with the arrival of Peter Evans (Shannon) — a quiet, quixotic figure who strikes a strange dichotomy between appearing benign and quietly dangerous. When Agnes' ex, Jerry (Connick Jr.), returns home with charm aplenty and a nice right hook for his wife's face, Peter offers Agnes the support she needs and she, in turn, hops into bed with him.

Cue chaos.

Bugs start suddenly appearing everywhere. We don't see them of course, but Agnes and Peter do, and they're quickly on a paranoid path of delusion and obsession as the bugs begin to take over their room. . . and their bodies.

What should have been a gripping psychological horror somehow collapses mid-way. The textured build-up of dirt, heat and noise never seems to properly coalesce, and instead the bar is merely raised to one disturbing moment (pliers, meet tooth). We're whisked away to a land of psychosis and horror, but the impact just sort of fizzles out, and the audience is left scratching their heads at characters who simply disappear and plot-dependent questions left unanswered.

Ashley Judd, who does at times fall into American sweetheart syndrome, plays up her part as a cracked human being reasonably well. Maybe it's the stringy hair or the grungy tank. Michael Shannon smoothly transitions from awkward hanger-on to deprecatingly sweet and, well, utterly screwed up. And Harry Connick Jr. once again falls back on his easy charm and manages to maximize on a frustratingly one-dimensional character.

But it never quite works. Bug was adapted by Tracy Letts from his play of the same name and I get the impression that the stage version was concocted as a simple vehicle for two people to go excessively and deliriously whacko while simultaneously inflicting grotesque damage to their bodies. But it never really makes sense and often crosses the border into ludicrous. It doesn't even become so bad that it's at least funny to watch. What you end up with is a screwed-up look on your face and occasional cross between a bark of derision and a choppy laugh at inappropriate times.

William Friedkin, I am sad to say that you've delivered a lame movie. Not even fun lame. Just lame.