Saw

Partners in grime: Unyielding tension puts Saw a cut above

By Jeannette Catsoulis

For a couple of novice filmmakers with no money, it made perfect sense: Write a story based on two characters confined to a single, windowless room. That way, they could film around the clock, with no concession to time of day or the vagaries of weather and natural light. But when the suits at Lions Gate were approached with just one filmed scene ("Like a business card on tape," says director and co-writer James Wan) everything changed; Saw was no longer a no-budget short but a serious feature. "Suddenly, we had money and Danny Glover," reveals actor and co-writer Leigh Whannel. "We were in shock."

Shock is exactly the reaction these young Australians are hoping for as Saw's stunningly effective poster art and minimalist TV ads entice us into theaters this week. But if audiences harbor the same hope, they would be wise to avoid reviews--Saw is best seen with minimum prior knowledge and maximum credulity. (This review, of course, is guaranteed spoiler-free.) More than a stunt yet less than its hype, the movie relies almost entirely on one of the most ingenious and grisly set-ups the serial-killer genre has yet produced. From the very first frame, we're gripped by a queasy admiration for its atmosphere of unyielding sadism and its refusal to allow us to take a breath.

Two men are imprisoned in a dank and filthy bathroom with no memory of how they came to be there. One is a nervy twentysomething photographer (Whannel), the other an older, more pragmatic cancer surgeon (Cary Elwes). Both are chained by the ankle to pipes at opposite ends of the room; between them is a corpse, a gun and a tape recorder. Other items, including the titular carving instrument, are gradually revealed--as is the sole, horrifying means by which one of them may escape. A clock is ticking, a psychopath is lurking--how badly does each of them want to live?

Saw would have been a killer short film. Propulsively imaginative and gleefully bloodthirsty, the movie exploits its claustrophobic settings--gloomy apartments, dungeon-like chambers--with vertiginous camera movements and a soundtrack thick with industrial clangs and unearthly screeches. For the first 30 minutes, the tension between the two captives--whose survival depends on a mutual trust that's always just beyond their grasp--is developed with great subtlety. Then everything starts to unravel as the script becomes increasingly ambitious, relying too heavily on muddled flashbacks and a cast whose talents are visibly strained. Even the admirable Danny Glover is stranded in a wildly incoherent role as a detective obsessed with avenging his partner's death. With undisciplined ingenuity, Wan and Whannel provide us with more twists than a '60s dance marathon; by the final, head-spinning reveal, you'll feel more inclined to laugh than gasp.

But humor has always been horror's safety valve, and Saw is far from ruined by its flaws. In many ways, it's exactly the kind of first feature you'd expect from two ebullient, talented young men saturated in the films of Dario Argento and David Fincher and eager to pave their own road. Both Wan and Whannel were present at the screening I attended, and you could feel the audience respond to their unrestrained excitement and genuine modesty. "We still can't believe we're here," marveled Whannel, basking in an opportunity granted to only a fortunate few. They should get used to it; one day, luck be damned, these two are going to make a really great movie.