Abigail – A Clunky and Uncoordinated Ballet (Early Review)

Two years after drawing fresh blood from the late Wes Craven’s Scream franchise, only to immediately come up dry on their second go around, Matt Bettinelli-Olpin and Tyler Gillett have decided that, rather than a break, what they need is an original piece of pulpy, comedic horror to get the creative juices flowing. What Abigail promises, then, is the opportunity for directing team who, for the sake of convenience, will henceforth be referred to by their collective moniker, Radio Silence to sink their teeth into another potential horror series, before their one trick of ironic horror know-it-all-ism wears itself thin. But while Scream 6 proved that Radio Silence could make it all the way to their second stab at an idea before their arteries are drained, Abigail is evidence that they can just as easily lose steam before the runtime is out on their first try with a new premise.

Six strangers. One mansion. One job. One little girl. This is the basic framework of Stephen Shields’s and Guy Busick’s conceptually restrained—though narratively overworked—screenplay. These six strangers? A disparately assembled group of criminals tasked by a mysterious benefactor (Esposito) to abduct and subsequently look after a 12-year-old child (Weir) before she’s put up for ransom to her obscenely rich father. As these (semi-)professionals are locked in the house for the next 24 hours, they find that the girl they’ve been tasked with guarding might hold a secret that will make everyone’s night just a bit more interesting than anticipated.

Now for anyone who has paid any attention to the impending release of Abigail—read a plot synopsis, or seen the trailer, or even looked at the damn poster—then they already know exactly what that secret is. The thing is, though, Shields and Busick structure their film around the gradual revelation of a piece of potentially fun information that the marketing team simply decided was the most effective siren to lure in potential viewers. To Universal’s credit, they’re probably right, but in watching the film, one can’t help but get the sense that all of Radio Silence’s gradual, attempted atmospheric buildup should be leading to something that one would already know full well looking at the film’s title logo. Granted, this isn’t necessarily a deal-breaker; a film like The Sixth Sense surely works better going in without already knowing the twist, but M. Night Shyamalan’s steady and gripping storytelling keeps audiences involved even on repeat viewings once the beans have been spilled. However, Abigail doesn’t even make it to a worthwhile experience on the first go-round.

Set almost entirely within the confines of a rickety mansion, Abigail holds the potential to harness—or rather, forces itself to be reliant upon—an absorbing and amusing set of character dynamics to fill the empty, cobweb-laced corridors. While Radio Silence assembles a decent if uninspired set of recent horror favorites to get the job done—among others, their Scream revival lead Melissa Barrera as the serviceable focal point, Dan Stevens sporting constant Queens “I’m walkin’ heah!” energy, and Kathryn Newton as the tech-savvy texter—the cringe-worthy jokes they’re saddled with feel as forced in their ironic reflexivity as they do in any attempt to flesh these characters out. The biggest laughs to come out of the film would probably be from Kevin Durand’s hilariously undershot Quebec accent—a joke that only really lands if one just so happened to catch Abigail in a packed house in Montreal (like this reviewer did).

By the time Radio Silence is forcing the poor 14-year-old saddled with the titular part to recite expository monologues that only get unintentionally funnier the longer they go on, it becomes clear that Abigail has no real intention of sticking to its rooted initial idea; as it stands, the filmmakers have no idea how to make these characters interesting outside the tired modern trope of “I have a bag full of references and an even deeper bag full of [f-bombs].” To that end, the film becomes so focused on subverting its restraint in the final act that the constant zig-zags do absolutely nothing but pad out the length, forcing audiences to wonder if they kept writing the film as the cameras were rolling. Like a strong pirouette, Abigail spins itself in fervent, calculated circles; unlike a competent ballet dancer, the film shows no signs of knowing where to position itself after the fact, stuck in a constant loop of dizzying developmental stasis.

still courtesy of Universal Pictures

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Julian Malandruccolo

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