This is one of those gleefully macabre movies that upon reading the premise you know exactly who the director is. Yes, it’s David Cronenberg again proving that his oddball interests are not only weirder than yours, he’ll make a film about them.
Two Jeremy Irons for the price of one, and this is the only time he’s gone nuts in a movie. These days, he’s your token British supporting bore. He turns up and he’s the same in every film, phoning it in.
A shame.
A haunting role from Christopher Walken, and just before he became a pop culture icon in addition to actor. You just feel sorry for him in this movie, with the foreboding he is totally doomed, such is the tension and supreme creepiness of the atmosphere. And for a David Cronenberg picture, it’s relatively tame, with none of the visceral gore and unsavoury preoccupation with flesh (mostly rotting) that characterises his earlier work.
The always captivating Herbert Lom shines, and Martin Sheen is a Grade A sleaze.
Decent.
Wanderings and ... wonderings. 