Review: The Ruse — Movies for the Rest of Us with Bill Newcott

The Ruse

⭐️ ⭐️

Rating: R

Run Time: 1 hour 45 minutes

Stars: Veronica Cartwright, Madelyn Dundon, Michael Steger

Writer/Director: Stevan Mena

 

What to do about the Not-Very-Good movie? The Not-Bad-Enough-to-Turn-Away, but nevertheless Not-Good-Enough-to-Recommend-It?

Such is my dilemma with The Ruse, a thriller about a live-in nurse (Madelyn Dundon) charged with caring for a rapidly failing former concert conductor (Veronica Cartwright) in a big old Maine mansion that may or may not be haunted. Structurally, the film is something of a mess, with unresolved plot points and narrative leaps that will try the patience of even the most forgiving lover of thrillers. But it’s also a handsome-looking effort with appealing performances by a cast that seems ready, at any moment, to break the fourth wall and apologize profusely.

First of all, we must acknowledge that the only reason we are here at all is Cartwright, who has been a presence in our lives ever since her character Violet Rutherford (Lumpy’s little sister!) reared back and gave young Jerry Mathers a black eye on Leave it to Beaver. After churning through a decade or so of guest spots in dozens of TV shows, Cartwright became forever linked to horror movies thanks to memorable roles in Invasion of the Body Snatchers (who can ever forget her in that last scene, called out by a screeching Donald Sutherland?) and Alien (the doomed navigator).

Here she is Olivia, once the world’s leading female conductor, now confined by lung disease and creeping dementia to her sprawling home on a rocky New England shoreline. Demanding and insensitive, she goes through home care nurses with a rapidity that rivals the final measures of The William Tell Overture.

Her latest nurse is Dale, a caregiver with a tragic past and a boyfriend who wants her to give up the gig so she can spend more time with him. Her apprehension regarding this new job is not eased when an 8-year-old kid from down the street rolls up on her bike and informs Dale the house is haunted.

What follows is a long series of creaking stairs, squeaking doors, and jump scares that largely substitute for plot development. Questions arise by the minute: Is the place really haunted? Is Olivia really seeing the ghost of her dead husband, or is she just hallucinating? Can Dale trust Tom, the handsome bearded guy from down the street (handsome, bearded Michael Steger), or should she believe the grocery store delivery guy (T.C. Carter) who whispers that Tom murdered his wife? And when someone finally dies (actually, when a bunch of people finally die, and in very short order), will Dale somehow take the blame?

That’s a lot of questions, and the answers to just about all of them are remarkably bland. Remember that old comedy/murder mystery Clue, the film that had four or five different endings but you never knew which one you were going to get at your particular theater? Ruse employs a similar wrap-up, in which characters explain, in great detail and with firm conviction, how they think the murder unfolded: First Dale suggests a pretty good theory; then a detective (Michael Bakkensen) gives the second draft; finally, we get the actual story. The case is made, at various times, that the killer could be Dale, or Tom, or the delivery guy, or Dale’s boyfriend, or even Olivia.

No one offers the variation I was rooting for: That the kid on the bicycle did it. And, to be honest, I kind of feel like mine would have been awesome.

Ruse was produced, written, directed, and edited by Stevan Mena, a creator of films that seldom draw rave reviews but sometimes attain cult status (Malevolence and Brutal Massacre: A Comedy). Mena seems to possess some talent in all those creative capacities — he devises nice twists, and he has a decent sense of pacing, and he can cut action sequences in a way that keeps viewers aware of where they are in the whirl of movement. But there is peril in pursuing that quadruple-threat route: There’s no producer to tell the writer, “Hey, settle on one ending and stick with it,” nor an editor to tell the director “I need some action between these two scenes to make the logistics work.” Mena also wrote the music, which employs shock-inducing “stings” with alarming frequency.

The Ruse’s greatest sin comes in the final reel, when Mena employs a police detective — a guy we’ve barely met in the course of the film — to explain to us, in excruciating detail, precisely how the killings unfolded and who did the killing. A less lazy writer would have found a way to allow Dale, the main character, to figure it all out and become the film’s hero, but here it’s almost as if the director/producer has suddenly realized we’re getting close to the two-hour mark and we’d better wrap this up, pronto.

“Well,” the cineaste may object, “you must remember that Alfred Hitchcock had a detective sit on his desk and unravel the entire mystery of Psycho.” To which I’d respond, “Yes, and even Hitch’s most ardent fans admit that’s the single weakest scene he ever filmed.”

But can we get back to Veronica Cartwright? Because whatever shortcomings The Ruse may have, she is demonstrably not one of them. Sometimes cowering in childlike fear, other times roaring with brutal authority, her Olivia very nearly drags The Ruse, kicking and screaming, across the finish line. She is always a joy to watch, and The Ruse offers her plenty of opportunities for her to be watchable.

I really, really wish the kid on the bike had turned out to be the killer. Or maybe a ghost. Yeah, that would have been sweet.