How Primetime succeeds where Clayface fails
Make way for Robert Pattinson in his prime.
The Clayface/Primetime double feature wasn’t exactly premeditated, but when the opportunity arose, it felt like there were worse ways to utilise my mid-week weekend (aka lectureless Wednesdays). I didn’t have the highest hopes for DC’s take on body horror, but it looked at least somewhat envelope-pushing for a mainstream comic-book movie, attempting a decidedly darker tale (with the studio’s first 18 age rating).
On the other side of the coin, I’m a certified sucker for Robert Pattinson. I loved his recent roles in Die My Love and The Drama, and Hansen is such an intriguing persona to try to capture. Primetime’ is also the feature debut of Lance Oppenheim, a figure thrust onto my radar when I heard he was co-directing the highly anticipated You Can See Everything with Nathan Fielder, and Fielder’s seal of approval is enough to sell me on anything. Phoebe Bridger’s acting debut was somehow just a bonus.
So, were my expectations subverted? Does Clayface, in fact, deserve the 9pm programming slot? Unsurprisingly, no. It melts under the pressure of trying to be so many things and just falls flat at all of them. Primetime, though, soars: with razor-sharp focus and stellar acting all round. Let’s get into them.
Clayface really wants us to care about its protagonist but, despite its best efforts, we cannot. The introduction drags without making effective use of the time it takes for the main plot to kick in, and we are told, not shown, everything. Nothing in Hagen’s (played by Tom Rhys Harries) character signifies that he’s had a rough upbringing, this is just repeatedly mentioned by other people. As an actor, he’s continually having to consider and adjust the way he presents himself – his face is his commodity and amid an award campaign there is mounting pressure from all angles to use it wisely. The heart of the film’s conflict is this blurred line between the persona he puts on and his own identity. This isn’t something to be deduced by any means: a talk show host (delighful Rob Bryden cameo) literally asks “Who is the real Matt Hagen?” very early into the runtime. The film we get however, responds with a definitive “it doesn’t matter”, as it throws away any hypothetical promise with cardboard characters, predictable story beats, and a refusal to commit in any one direction. This results in an overall experience that just feels rushed.
Is the film a body horror? Perhaps, but in a very half-assed way. There are some impressive, visually disturbing scenes, but a reluctance to let linger. It goes from one grisly set piece to the next, without any of the tension that lets the genre get its hooks into you. It will surely have more squeamish viewers turning away but it gives little reason for you to look back: it’s not scary – just gory and seems to misunderstand what makes the classics, like Cronenberg’s The Fly, work. Clayface is really a very conventional revenge flick with a loose nonsensical romance woven beneath the surface. None of our characters have any chemistry or act in line with what we supposedly know about them, any developed personality is dropped in favour of aligning with tired archetypes: the fiercely independent scientist whose pursuit has left them overworked and shunned by the world (played by a criminally underutilised Naomi Ackie – go watch I Love Boosters to see her shine!), the big bad mob boss, the hero cop in a corrupt department. This film is ironically all just surface. There are some creative sequences and entertaining moments for sure, but Gotham’s edginess just a façade. All the blood and guts in the world couldn’t fool me into believing this is more fleshed out than any other generic superhero film.
Primetime, however, will have you gripped from its opening moments. An all-too-familiar sting operation being set-up and filmed, Hansen obsessively repeating his lines trying to master his most vindictive cadence, him leaving his dressing room to ambush as America’s favourite executioner. This film is beautifully shot and amazingly scored – everything just works: the transitions to grainier early-2000s hidden camera style-footage in these sting scenes; the look on the predators’ faces; Pattinson’s precision in every line delivered. Tackling a subject matter ever-prevalent with the rise of imitation pedophile-hunters on social media and placing the show in the context of the mounting pressure from NBC executives to take on Lost at the primetime programming slot, the film has countless directions to venture forth in. But wisely, it hones in on much tighter character studies at its centre. It spends less time questioning directly the show’s conception of morality but more how this sensationalised version of justice impacts all involved.
Merritt Wever as the show’s producer and Skyler Gisondo as budding actor and new decoy Dan have their ambitions set high and very much entangled with Hansen’s volatile mood. These are complex portraits of people in situations with incredibly high-stakes, not mockeries – this is not at all the smear campaign that the real-life Hansen would have you believe. “Hi, I’m Chris Hansen” said countless times in every context is less egomaniacal and more a repeated plea, a man fractured by continual performance in his personal and public life. Pattinson’s portrayal is sinister, tightly strung, and mechanical but in doing so is in ways subtly touching and relatable; the film is more humanising than defamatory.
With some of the best dialogue and cinematography of the year, and electrically paced, Primetime is unmissable and outshines Clayface in demonstrating how far a performance can stretch thin. And don’t forget to stick around for that gorgeous Phoebe Bridgers track with the end-credits!
