—and they throw in a new one for good measure. Not content to simply be charmingly hacky or tightly gruesome,is also a great movie about talk shows. Thanks to its commitment to the ‘70s made-for-TV bit, ever-escalating stakes and nervously swaggering lead performance, the ratings ploy from Hell finds substance inside its shtick.
Much of that is due to David Dastmalchian, who was born for the role of an underdog late-night host, occupying the uneasy space between slick smarm, hungry entitlement and genuine empathy. His piercing eyes and faltering smile persist through the patter and the cue cards. He’s half-charming, deeply fake, his mediocrity tinged with sadness. Eventually, his slimy confidence sloughs away to reveal credulous, abject panic.
We’re told upfront that unimaginable tragedy struck, but there’s a greater sense of media-savvy doom hanging overAdd in some no-holds-barred gore and a supporting cast chewing the scenery, and you’ve got yourself a winning midnight staple—no musical guest necessary. Also, c’mon. If you throw in the owl mask from, I’m basically yours to lose.
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