Reptile opens with seemingly idyllic imagery of the American middle and upper classes: large white houses standing as symbols of desirable affluence. It’s imagery that is, of course, soon to be undermined by the dark detective drama that follows, if not the murder of an estate agent that ignites it. Investigating the crime is Tom Nichols (Benicio Del Toro), who as far as movie cops go, seems like a relatively well-adjusted one. He lives in a nice house that he’s remodelling (and obsessing over what new taps he’s going to buy). His relationship with his wife Judy (Alicia Silverstone) and his coworkers is, by all appearances, solid. That’s all set to change when Tom’s investigation turns up unpleasant truths nestled close to home.
Grant Singer’s debut feature (co-written by Del Toro and Benjamin Brewer) never feels like it fully capitalises on this suburban nightmare, despite handsome visuals courtesy of cinematographer Mike Gioulakis, whose work on Us and It Follows helped foster a sense of dread. Reptile tries to build a similarly haunting mood as Gioulakis’ camera prowls around. But those pretty textures only go so far, and the imagery and acting is left to prop up uninspiring scripting, which aims for (and misses) Denis Villeneuve’s Prisoners, or David Fincher’s flinty cop stories.
Reptile often tips into parody rather than meaningful pastiche.
As a result, Reptile often tips into parody rather than meaningful pastiche. This feels especially true when overwrought score-cues underline characters’ thoughts in laughable fashion, or when Justin Timberlake unconvincingly raises his voice at some weirdos who fetishise the crime scene where his girlfriend was murdered. There are some moments that are intentionally silly — like tense strings playing into a scene that transitions to Detective Nichols admiring pictures of kitchen taps on his work computer — but such moments feel few and far between.
Del Toro is still a formidable screen presence, though everything around him is so stale that it makes little difference, no matter how much the actor teases out more twisted depths in his character or environment. What is there is stretched thin over a mind-numbing two-and-a-quarter hour runtime, with little to show for it.
