The House at the End of the Curve: Madness Around the Corner (***)

Ever since Cronenberg teamed up with JG Ballard to compose Crash and, in the process, short-circuit the screen (and cinema itself, in general) with an acidic vomit that spoke of the masculine crisis, technological paranoia, and humanity's drift toward a toxic abyss of asphalt and chrome; ever since then, we said, watching a car crash gives you a shock. The fascination provoked by so many onlookers runs parallel to repulsion or, more graphically, simple disgust. It could be said that Jason Buxton's The House at the End of the Bend shares with the legendary 1996 film the same bizarre passion for twisted car bodies and scars, both obvious and those of the soul, but it does so, and that's where the novelty lies, from the almost happy assumption of the most obvious normality. Now, all the dark and terrifying things that Canadian Cronenberg imagined are clearly visible and in broad daylight in the equally disturbing proposal by Canadian Buxton.

The House at the End of the Bend tells the story of an accident, and how that accident becomes an obsession, and how that obsession turns into a nightmare, and how that nightmare derails into sheer madness. The problem, and the point, is that it's not clear what the original accident is that leads to such uncontrolled chaos. A family (father, mother, and son) moves into a brand-new house, unaware that the dangerous curve before them, like an inevitable landscape, is, in fact, the prelude to all things bad. An inexhaustible source of misfortune, the senseless layout of the road begins to occupy the father's days and nights from the very moment the first car crashes into the front of the house. What is the real accident? The skidding vehicle, the wrong choice of house, the illogical layout of the road, the absurd and seemingly peaceful family life, or all of them together? Is this a simple accident or the most spectacular chain reaction our existence is capable of? And so on.

Buxton (who, despite not being a young director, is only known for one previous film, Blackbird ) manages, with the help of a perfect and very disturbing Ben Foster, to turn a seemingly innocuous accident—unpleasant, but to a certain extent inconsequential because it's too common—into a psychological thriller as entertaining as it is disturbing, revealing and tinged with a refined black humor that amuses as much as it hurts. Foster's character descends to the very edge of all abysses, but her descent into hell is, in truth, nothing more than a way of laying bare the everyday madness of us all (more of us than of us). And here, without a doubt, lies the success, the opportunity, and the unease. It is true that the plot is so minimal and the narrative outline so tiny that some of the episodes that mark the protagonist's journey seem to arise ad hoc with the sole purpose of prolonging the agony for strictly commercial reasons. But despite everything, there remains the unmistakable acidic aftertaste of the toxic abyss of asphalt and chrome that has so thoroughly sickened us since Cronenberg and JG Ballard. And there we are.

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Directed by : Jason Buxton. Starring : Ben Foster, Cobie Smulders, Gavin Drea, William Kosovic. Running time : 110 minutes. Nationality : Canadian.