Velvet Buzzsaw Is Bret Easton Ellis Meets Knock-Off Stephen King

On paper, Velvet Buzzsaw should be a very, very interesting trip to the movies (or relaxing night in your home cinema, considering most will watch the film on its distributor and producer’s platform, Netflix). It has a stellar line-up and an even more intriguing premise to boot. It even has the talent behind 2014’s modern-classic Nightcrawler, in which Jake Gyllenhaal filmed road accidents until he found himself committing murder.

The problem is, this ain’t Nightcrawler.

Now, that’s not to say it should have been. Directors can of course take wildly different approaches to projects, and pigeon-holing yourself is a very real and very problematic issue. But there’s taking a different approach, and then there’s Velvet Buzzsaw: a movie which is part satire, part thriller, and all muddled mess. What begins as an exciting, fresh, and funny piece devolves into something packing similar beats to Final Destination – a series that’s silly fun. And it’s okay that it’s silly fun, because nobody expected much more from it. The difference here is that director Dan Gilroy and the wildly talented Jake Gyllenhaal have teamed-up before, and created brilliance. This time around? Not so much.

Without spoiling too much, the premise of Velvet Buzzsaw is an enthralling one. Socialites and art dealers of Miami Beach converge on various exhibitions, bringing together the likes of Toni Collette and Rene Russo in a genuinely impressive ensemble that insidiously hooks you, and convinces you that everything should, at the very least, remain palatable. Then Zawe Ashton – who I’ll always know as Vod from Fresh Meat – stumbles across a reclusive artist whose abrupt death leaves behind thousands of paintings. One thing leads to another, and suddenly we find ourselves in something not far removed from A Nightmare on Elm Street.

If that sounds like a huge leap of genre, then buddy, just you wait. It’s enjoyable to see radically different worlds and genres threaded together, but when they’re so juxtaposed and brimming with tropey nonsense, everything begins melting away. What you’re left with is little more than an amalgamation of cliches that we’ve seen a thousand times before, and I’m sorry, but horror’s recent resurgence with the likes of Hereditary and The Babadook proves that this just doesn’t cut it anymore.

If Velvet Buzzsaw had been released perhaps ten years ago, or even fifteen, then it might have had more of an impact. The painful (but mercifully sparing) uses of awkward CGI wouldn’t be so glaring, and the clunky but sometimes charming violence might have made the whole experience feel a little more cohesive. However, as is, it’s hard to not wonder what kind of film this would be if it didn’t have such a stellar cast and high production values.

Because ultimately, it’s unfortunately easy to see this kind of plot appearing in a straight-to-DVD, bargain bin throwaway that has Jake Gyllenhaal, Rene Russo, and John Malkovich plastered across the cover as a cheap way to grab the attention of somebody passing by, heading towards something much more worthwhile.

If it’s saved by anything, it’s the melodramatic performances of its leads. Gyllenhaal as the feared and admired critic Morf Vandewalt chews every piece of scenery he can get his teeth into, and the brief but appreciated appearances from the likes of Toni Collette and Stranger Things star Natalia Dyer make everything at least feel like it’s worth your time. Which is why it’s such a let-down to gradually realise that it isn’t.

Velvet Buzzsaw may not be an atrocious mess, and it certainly has a few moments of charisma and wit, but these are predominantly within the superior first half. Once the clunking ghost train really begins rattling down the well-worn tracks, you’ll be begging to get off before its painfully inevitable crash.