Playroom (1990)

aka Schizo

Archaeologist Chris (Christopher McDonald) does not appear to be the most stable kind of guy. He seems to see himself taking part in a game of one-upmanship with his dead father – also an archaeologist – to the degree of obsession. But then dear Dad and the rest of Chris’s family died under mysterious circumstances during the search for the hidden grave of a – naturally – evil prince inside of an old monastery. The kid version of our protagonist was the only survivor of the incident, and so it’s no wonder he’s plagued by psychological problems as well as the traditional mix of amnesia and nightmares about dark corridors.

So his plan to continue his Dad’s monastery dig decades later is surely a great idea for his mental health. Because archaeology works weirdly in this film’s world, Chris is only accompanied by his girlfriend and owner of a hot archaeological mag which somehow pays for all this, Jenny (Lisa Aliff), a photographer of dubious trustworthiness, and his oversexed, “spiritually” minded girlfriend Marcy (Jamie Rose). Since this is still absolutely how archaeology works, Chris is going to hammer at every interior wall in the monastery he can find with a pickaxe while the rest of the cast does nothing. Is it any wonder he starts having visions of his old imaginary childhood buddy last seen when his father died and grows increasingly deranged?

Also appearing will be Vincent Schiavelli as a supposed mad killer via a subplot custom-made to bring the film up to a ninety minute runtime; and to slow the film down considerably.

Before Manny Coto became a successful TV producer, writer and occasional TV director, he dabbled a little on the feature film directing side of things with this – his debut – as well as the Dolph Lundgren vehicle Cover-Up and Dr Giggles. I don’t think we missed out on too many great films when he got into other parts of the business.

Playroom is not a terrible movie, but it’s certainly one that could have been improved by greater focus and a tighter script. The one we get is based on an original script by Jackie Earle Haley(!) that was rewritten by one or more people going by the likely moniker of “Keaton Jones” and really can’t seem to decide if it wants to be a full-on late 80s/early 90s cheese fest with bad one-liners and inventive kills or a more psychologically minded movie about a man turning violent and dangerous through reliving the worst parts of a terrible childhood. There are tantalizing hints of the latter in some of the set-up and parts of Chris’s dream-sequences, as well as in some of the early scenes between Chris and Jenny, but these parts of the film never go anywhere.

Worse, they never really seem to belong next to McDonald’s insane scenery chewing and eye-bugging, a performance that makes Jack Nicholson in The Shining look subtle, or the lovingly crafted titular “playroom” of torture devices with very easily breakable shackles, not to speak of scenes of Chris and his evil kid mentor trying to properly display the corpse of one of their victims. Let’s just ignore the Schiavelli sub-plot completely, because, as much as I love the guy, he’s only in the movie to fill time and put another body into the climax.

The playroom does actually hint at one of the film’s biggest strengths, some very atmospheric production design mixed with clever location use when it comes to the portrayal of the monastery and its deeper levels – including a lot of candles and a couple of catacomb chambers that look and feel pleasantly gothic. When he puts his mind to it, Coto is actually able to wring quite a bit of atmosphere out of these elements, too. Which, of course and alas, does make the contrast between these more atmospheric elements and the quippy kills more just more grating.

Still, one takes what one can get, and while McDonald’s performance and these quippy kills are about as subtle as a vertical sawblade through the back, they are fun enough in their cheesy way. Just don’t think about the mechanic doll in the climax, or love it for its cheesiness, and you might even have quite a bit of fun with this one, like I did.

In short: Unforgettable (1996)

At the time it came out, neo noir specialist – who would eventually and somewhat tragically become a mere dependable TV show episode hired gun -John Dahl’s follow-up movie to his brilliant The Last Seduction was a total flop: a commercial dud that was also hated by the critics. Though, to be fair, the latter problem seems to have been with Ebert and Co.’s inability to get over the film’s “contrived” set-up, the sort of thing this genre viewer hardly bats an eye at because he understands that contrived set-ups are what nearly all thrillers have. Or would anyone call the plots  and basic ideas of brilliant movies in the genre like Psycho or Vertigo anything but contrived? Indeed, one might find one of those “metaphors” professional film critics may have heard about here. May there be something a film has to say about grief in the tale of a man (Ray Liotta) trying to catch the murderer of his wife with the help of an experimental drug that makes one relive the memories of other people but demands a heavy physical and psychological price?

Now, having said that, I also have to warn the prospective viewer that this isn’t a secret thriller masterpiece on par with its director’s best movies. The problem’s not in the script’s set-up – contrived or not - nor is it Dahl’s love for pretty wonderful and slightly surreal big set-pieces. The film’s actual major flaw is a badly paced third where Liotta’s drug-induced flashbacks become too long and much too detailed, explaining way more than is necessary of the things even the dumbest audience member will have already inferred and dragging the film down to a crawl. Which is something no thriller can afford. It’s honestly nothing that couldn’t have been fixed by cutting about ten minutes of film and rewriting ten more, but it’s still surprisingly damaging for the effect of Unforgettable as a whole.


I still find a lot to like about the film, though, be it Liotta’s all-out performance that does seem to aim for the same spot of exalted, intense yet secretly precise overacting that Nicolas Cage hits so wonderfully these days, Dahl’s against type casting of Linda Fiorentino as a much too nice and cooperative scientist she really seems to get into, or how enjoyably contrived the first two thirds of the film are.