TIFF 2023: ‘Reptile’ Is A Derivative Whodunit

Grant Singer’s confused and derivative directorial debut, Reptile, is another entry into an exhausting neo-noir canon. Singer aspires for greatness, but in trying so hard to evoke the sonic and visual depth of its influences it becomes an empty, tiresome mess that bores far more than it intrigues. its would-be sinister and thought-provoking tale is made rote and tedious as it languidly slinks toward its deeply convoluted—and unintentionally hilarious—conclusion.

Co-written by its star, Benicio Del Toro, there are inklings of flavor and personality sprinkled about but are so obscured by a director struggling to find a voice that one of his most fascinating performances in years is squandered. Singer invests in the meticulous murkiness of his idols but fails to understand that great mysteries need to get tighter and focused as they continue, not more complicated and contrived.

Will Grady (Justin Timberlake in a laughably bad turn) is a bigwig in the Scarborough real estate world who is dating Summer (Matilda Lutz), another agent. There’s an unspoken tension in the relationship. One day, Will is meeting Summer at a house she is showing and discovers her mangled and brutally murdered.

Detective Tom Nichols (Del Toro) and partner Dan Cleary (Ato Essandoh) quickly line up several suspects, the first and most obvious being Grady—Timberlake over-animates his privileged, snobbish upbringing, with many of his scenes playing out like they’re from the climax of a Lifetime movie. He’s deliberately made to be shady person, but his discovery of the body casts doubt.

The second suspect is Summer’s soon-to-be ex-husband Sam (Karl Glusman), who is also so heightened that it immediately becomes clear that he couldn’t be the culprit. But the list doesn’t end there, including Eli Phillips (Michael Pitt, one of the film’s standouts), as a guy whose dad was swindled by Grady. The script by Singer, Del Toro, and Benjamin Brewer also casts a light on Tom’s domestic life and relationships, including his wife (a forgettable Alicia Silverstone), who helps him mull over each angle of the case, and Captain Robert Allen (Eric Bogosian) whose medical issues add another wrinkle to the plot.

It’s the type of screenplay where each character has an easily identifiable attribute, in the hopes of adding depth to the familiar proceedings. But each foible is overexaggerated and over-explained that it becomes very easy to be sucked out of the experience and reminded that it’s all a movie.

Yet, its writing missteps are only compounded by Singer’s inability to cathartically juggle style and substance. One could not mistake Reptile to be a film lacking in style, but it’s not one that reinforces or complements a confident vision. Michael Gioulakis’s cinematography is bleak, beautiful, and, above all, wonderfully vibey. His camera weaves its way through crime scenes and slicing reflections, crafting images that are sure to stay with viewers, but they rarely mean anything.

The abundant style usurps the film’s storytelling ambitions, rendering Reptile a hollow, overlong tale that actively drains itself of intrigue as each of its 134 minutes ticks away. Couple that with obnoxious, Inception-esque musical stings that accompany each reveal or transition, and Reptile only serves to further embitter audiences.

At the heart of Reptile lies Del Toro’s stellar, captivating performance, bringing to life a grizzled man who has seen the worst and often been at the center of it. Del Toro, unlike his counterparts, doesn’t oversell his character’s trauma but subtly allows them to take root in his body language—most noticeably in those piercing, indelible eyes. It’s also a laconic and humorous turn that’s deserving of a much better film. Instead, what remains is a bloated, maximalist exercise in pastiche, one that is stupidly easy to decipher.

Reptile screened as part of the 2023 Toronto International Film Festival and is in theaters September 22 and streams exclusively on Netflix September 29, 2023.