Film review: The Box

Published on Friday 27 November 2009 16:17

THE BOX (12A) * * *

Director: Richard Kelly

Running time: 162 minutes

THERE'S a certain frisson to be had before going to see this film, akin to booking a holiday in Baghdad or driving down Pollokshaws Road with your eyes shut. This is because The Box arrives at cinemas carrying with it some heavy baggage: namely, that American audiences rated it the worst thriller of all time.

Scotland on Sunday is not afraid. Scotland on Sunday has seen Sex Lives Of The Potato Men, and more recently The Ugly Truth, which stank like a dead cat under the cinema seat. And as it turns out, The Box is not a bad film. Instead it's an intriguing brain-tickler, with an ending that many may hate.

It's 1976, when the Viking photographs raise the possibility of life on Mars. There's burnt orange flock on the wallpaper, Cameron Diaz has Farrah Fawcett's flipped-up hair, and apparently absolutely nobody smokes. A package arrives on the doorstep of married couple Arthur and Norma Lewis (James Marsden and Cameron Diaz, right): inside is a small wooden box with a single red pushbutton protected by a locked glass dome. Later they're visited by Arlington Steward (Frank Langella), whose impeccable manners and soft-spoken calm belie the fact that he's a missing scientist who was struck dead by lightning. Except he's not dead, although half of the left side of his face is missing, leaving muscle and gum exposed. However, his proposition makes Norma almost forget his appearance: if she and Arthur push the button, someone in the world who they don't know will die, and they will receive a million dollars. They have 24 hours to decide whether to accept the offer, or decline and give back the box but still collect $100.

You may recognise the button being pushed here, because The Box is based on Richard Matheson's short story, later adapted into a Twilight Zone episode, but Kelly loads up the story with a plethora of other detail. Cameron Diaz has a deformed foot. Nasa's Mars project preoccupies the locals. Sartre's No Exit hovers around meaningfully and unsubtly, although Kelly might as well also have name-checked Sophie's Choice. At times you lose track of what's important: why do the police put their prisoner in a black limousine rather than a police car? Why doesn't Langella's cratered face have a saliva problem? Why does Nasa send its rejected astronauts two letters – one to work, one to his home? Why does it always appear to be women who hit the red button?

The button issue is there, waiting to be pushed. And if you do it, is it because you want the money, don't care about the anonymous victim, or don't believe that a button in an empty box can kill anyone? I'm reluctant to describe what follows because The Box's creepy provocation is more effective when you can't check off the plot details. Not all of The Box works – but days after seeing it, this preposterous cosmic parable still haunts me.

General release from Friday

• This article first appeared in the 29 November edition of Scotland on Sunday