TuskProverbs 17:5 warns that "whoso mocketh the poor reproacheth his Maker: and he that is glad at calamities shall not be unpunished." In other words, don't laugh at another's misfortune, because schadenfreude charges interest on its debits. Tusk is a dark comedy and body horror movie about an arrogant "podcaster" named Wallace Bryton (Justin Long), who sojourns to Manitoba, looking to glean material for his irreverent program. Wallace visits the secluded abode of an elderly man calling himself Howard Howe (Michael Parks), lured by the invitation of an untapped vein of exploitable stories. But Wallace is completely unprepared for the horrifying scheme Howard is hatching--one which will forever rip away Wallace's humanity.
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Wallace isn't a terribly likable guy, despite his charming and occasionally funny exterior. He is arrogant, selfish, immature, condescending, insensitive, and a liar, even to his loved ones--like his girlfriend, Ally (Genesis Rodriguez), who reminds him that he used to be more respectful and honest before he became semi-famous. Even the name of his podcast--the "Not-See Party"--is emblematic of Wallace's juvenile sense of humor. Along with his co-host, Teddy Craft (Haley Joel Osment), Wallace profits at the humiliation of others, laughing at tragedies like the unfortunate fate of the "Kill Bill Kid" (Doug Banks), who accidentally lops off his leg while filming himself playing with a katana in his garage. Wallace even flies to Canada to further disgrace him under the auspices of an interview, disappointed to discover that the kid has since committed suicide. Wallace shares no empathy, instead griping about the cost of his ticket and the apparent lack of anything interesting to see in Winnipeg. Wallace make strides to be needlessly provocative, demanding attention like a petulant child. Some awkward comments to a border agent (Harley Morenstein) about "not following hockey" prompts a lengthy discussion about "Canados" and "Canadon'ts", while his behavior toward a pair of clerks at a convenience store--played by Lily-Rose Depp and Harley Quinn Smith--paint Wallace as the "ugly American", too comfortable bossing other people around in their own country. Howard flier left in the men's room teases that he has wonderful stories to tell about his youthful adventures, offering free room and board to someone who will help him with some household chores. Wallace is intrigued at the prospect of capitalizing on some free podcast fodder, and drives two hours to his private estate in Bifrost for the chance. After sharing some tea and some stories from half a century ago--including an unusual one about when Howard was saved by a walrus he dubbed "Mr. Tusk"--Wallace collapses into unconsciousness, only to awaken with one less leg. Howard tells Wallace that a "brown recluse spider" bit his ankle, necessitating immediate amputation, but Howard's feeble deception is as transparent as crystal, and Wallace understands that he is the prisoner of a madman. With only a brief window of opportunity, Wallace calls out to Ally and Teddy, and they cross the border to search for their friend--crummy though he may be. They cross paths with an eccentric detective named Guy LaPointe (Johnny Depp), who identifies similarities in what Ally and Teddy know about Wallace's situation with those of an elusive and deranged serial killer. Guy's gumshoe instincts hint at the true nature of Howard's intentions for Wallace--that Howard is trying to make a "monster" from a man.
Writer and director Kevin Smith wears his inspirations on his sleeve in Tusk; the film is superficially a cross between Misery and The Human Centipede. Although Howard doesn't know much about Wallace before they meet--and doesn't much care, really--he goes to elaborate lengths to isolate him and keep him immobile, and ensuring he is physically unable to escape from his clutches. Wallace describes himself as a "storyteller", correcting a perplexed Howard about his profession after he mistakes him for a writer. The truth is that Howard is the real storyteller; although the flashbacks in his stories suggest that they might have happened, it's anybody's guess if Howard really met Ernest Hemingway in World War II, and slipped him a bottle of booze, saving the very same bottle for posterity. Howard is a cross between Hannibal Lecter and Garrison Keillor, and his stories and soothing voice take Wallace's mind off of the drug he slipped into his tea. The scene where Howard lures Wallace into complacency while slipping him a "Mickey" recalls the famous scene in The Maltese Falcon, where Kasper Gutman distracts Sam Spade through a combination of legerdemain and a lengthy monologue. Also consider that the flyer Wallace brings with him to Howard's cabin in the woods has several pieces torn off from the bottom of it already, meaning that Wallace is not the first victim of his perverse exercise to transform a human into a walrus like his beloved Mr. Tusk. Howard doesn't look like the kind of guy who would have sophisticated surgical experience--unlike like Dr. Josef Heiter in The Human Centipede--yet he makes elaborate and demented body modifications to Wallace, turning him into a Frankenstein's monster. Wallace's transformation comes in the form of a "suit" Howard stitched together from the parts of his prior victims, recalling the infamous suit fashioned by Jame "Buffalo Bill" Gumb in The Silence of the Lambs. What separates Tusk from other body horror shockfests is that there is something genuinely absurd about transforming a man into a walrus. Howard is no super-criminal; his best efforts to evade Guy LaPointe is to pretend to be a simpleton, and his lies about the recluse spider are paper thin. He goes on at length about his fondness for walruses, proclaiming that they are better than humans, because he was terribly abused as a child. He delivers his diatribe to a mutilated Wallace as the melody for Stephen Foster's "Beautiful Dreamer" plays in the background, infusing the scene with an over-the-top inappropriateness, that it passes from discomfort and into awkward hilarity. Tusk is emblematic of Kevin Smith's brand of humor, like one where Wallace and Howard exchange stories about flatulent family members, keeping the film afloat with levity, even when unconscionable horrors are inflicted on the once-smarmy Wallace. (Even Wallace's name is a pun--it sounds a bit like "walrus".) The pièce de résistance of this off-color brand of humor in Tusk comes at the ridiculous and climactic showdown between Wallace and Howard, gleefully set to Fleetwood Mac's (you guessed it) "Tusk".
Recommended for: Fans of a film that balances the twin thematic pillars of disquieting body horror and awkward black comedy, topped with a moral lesson about the consequences of taking pleasure in the suffering of others. Since Tusk was originally adapted from one of Kevin Smith's own podcasts, one can't help but wonder how much of himself Smith has projected onto Wallace in this cautionary tale.
Writer and director Kevin Smith wears his inspirations on his sleeve in Tusk; the film is superficially a cross between Misery and The Human Centipede. Although Howard doesn't know much about Wallace before they meet--and doesn't much care, really--he goes to elaborate lengths to isolate him and keep him immobile, and ensuring he is physically unable to escape from his clutches. Wallace describes himself as a "storyteller", correcting a perplexed Howard about his profession after he mistakes him for a writer. The truth is that Howard is the real storyteller; although the flashbacks in his stories suggest that they might have happened, it's anybody's guess if Howard really met Ernest Hemingway in World War II, and slipped him a bottle of booze, saving the very same bottle for posterity. Howard is a cross between Hannibal Lecter and Garrison Keillor, and his stories and soothing voice take Wallace's mind off of the drug he slipped into his tea. The scene where Howard lures Wallace into complacency while slipping him a "Mickey" recalls the famous scene in The Maltese Falcon, where Kasper Gutman distracts Sam Spade through a combination of legerdemain and a lengthy monologue. Also consider that the flyer Wallace brings with him to Howard's cabin in the woods has several pieces torn off from the bottom of it already, meaning that Wallace is not the first victim of his perverse exercise to transform a human into a walrus like his beloved Mr. Tusk. Howard doesn't look like the kind of guy who would have sophisticated surgical experience--unlike like Dr. Josef Heiter in The Human Centipede--yet he makes elaborate and demented body modifications to Wallace, turning him into a Frankenstein's monster. Wallace's transformation comes in the form of a "suit" Howard stitched together from the parts of his prior victims, recalling the infamous suit fashioned by Jame "Buffalo Bill" Gumb in The Silence of the Lambs. What separates Tusk from other body horror shockfests is that there is something genuinely absurd about transforming a man into a walrus. Howard is no super-criminal; his best efforts to evade Guy LaPointe is to pretend to be a simpleton, and his lies about the recluse spider are paper thin. He goes on at length about his fondness for walruses, proclaiming that they are better than humans, because he was terribly abused as a child. He delivers his diatribe to a mutilated Wallace as the melody for Stephen Foster's "Beautiful Dreamer" plays in the background, infusing the scene with an over-the-top inappropriateness, that it passes from discomfort and into awkward hilarity. Tusk is emblematic of Kevin Smith's brand of humor, like one where Wallace and Howard exchange stories about flatulent family members, keeping the film afloat with levity, even when unconscionable horrors are inflicted on the once-smarmy Wallace. (Even Wallace's name is a pun--it sounds a bit like "walrus".) The pièce de résistance of this off-color brand of humor in Tusk comes at the ridiculous and climactic showdown between Wallace and Howard, gleefully set to Fleetwood Mac's (you guessed it) "Tusk".
Recommended for: Fans of a film that balances the twin thematic pillars of disquieting body horror and awkward black comedy, topped with a moral lesson about the consequences of taking pleasure in the suffering of others. Since Tusk was originally adapted from one of Kevin Smith's own podcasts, one can't help but wonder how much of himself Smith has projected onto Wallace in this cautionary tale.