Jared McMillan // Film Critic

Rated R, 97 minutes.
Director: Christopher Smith
Cast: Tye Sheridan, Emory Cohen and Bel Powley

Harper (Tye Sheridan) is in the throes of law school while his mother is dying in a hospital. Depressed, he decides to drink away his pain at a bar. It’s here that he catches the attention of a tatted-up criminal type named Johnny Ray (Emory Cohen). Harper doesn’t back down from Johnny Ray, and he’s impressed. They move locations to a strip club, where Harper starts asking questions about getting rid of someone. That someone is his stepdad, Vincent (Stephen Moyer), whom he feels responsible for the car accident that put his mom in the hospital.

The next morning, Harper gets a visit from Johnny Ray to go off his stepdad in exchange for $20,000. With him is his #1 hooker, Cherry (Bel Powley), and her role in this scheme doesn’t show itself just yet. Here, the protagonist needs to make a decision: Off his stepdad, or walk away. This is where DETOUR hits the ground running, as the story seemingly splits into two different paths depending on which adventure Harper chooses.

Christopher Smith, who directed the underrated SEVERANCE, plays off film noir motifs, as the trio banters fast and cool, with an unknown femme fatale type in tow. As the movie progresses however, it becomes too involved in this style to build a coherent narrative (Ex: There’s a point where Harper is watching the actual film noir DETOUR (1945), and my eyes almost rolled out of my head).

Sheridan and Powley are solid as inevitable romance comes into play, but Cohen, who broke out in BROOKLYN, is a bit miscast. His attitude is there, but the look doesn’t really fit the bill. The parallel timelines also become muddled, making it feel more like a gimmick. What starts out as something interesting devolves into a mess. Much like an actual detour, there’s a lot of great things to see but it’s unknown whether it’s worth your time.

Rated R, 86 minutes.
Director: André Øvredal
Cast: Emile Hirsch, Brian Cox, Ophelia LovibondMichael McElhattonParker Sawyers and Olwen Catherine Kelly

The movie opens on a grisly murder scene, where several people are found dead in various ways. Investigators come across an unearthed body, completely intact. They label her “Jane Doe” and transport her remains to Tilden Mortuary and Crematorium. The Tildens are respected in the town, where owner Tommy (Brian Cox), also helps the police as a coroner; his son, Austin (Emile Hirsch), is an apprentice for every aspect of the business. Before closing shop, they are tasked with identifying cause of death for Jane Doe. As they search for any clues during the autopsy, strange things start happening.

To speak any more about the plot of THE AUTOPSY OF JANE DOE would give away much of its mystery. Safe to say, the horror of the movie sets in various methods, from body horror as they commit autopsies, psychological horror because no one knows what exactly is going on, and committing to dread rather than jump scares. There’s also a nifty recurring theme of sacrifice that seeps into the plot, both personal and actual.

It gets a little disappointing in the third act, as it comes away from what made it effective, and opts for a few commonalities in the horror genre. What keeps it from going over the edge is that the filmmakers are smart not to try and explain everything in depth, and keeps the central theme of father and son as something natural without reaching for conflict. Regardless of its tumbles, the movie still maintains that creepy sense of fun we expect from watching scary movies. THE AUTOPSY OF JANE DOE also establishes André Øvredal, who helmed the fantastic TROLLHUNTER, as a welcoming new voice to horror.

About author

Preston Barta

Hello, there! My name is Preston Barta, and I am the features editor of Fresh Fiction and senior film critic at the Denton Record-Chronicle. My cinematic love story began where I was born: off planet on the isolated desert world of the Jakku system. It's there I passed the time scavenging for loose parts with my good friend Rey. One day I found an old film projector and a dusty reel of the 1975 film JAWS. It rocked my world so much that I left my kinfolk in the rearview (I so miss their morning cups of green milk) to pursue my dreams of writing about film. It wasn't long until I met two gents who said they would give me a lift. I can't recall their names, but one was an older man who liked to point a lot and the other was a tall, hairy fella. They got me as far as one of Jupiter's moons where we crossed paths with the U.S.S. Enterprise. Some pointy-eared bastard said I was clear to come aboard. He saw that I was clutching my beloved shark movie and invited me to the "moving pictures room" where he was screening the 1993 film JURASSIC PARK to his crew. He said my life would be much more prosperous if I were familiar with more work by the god named Steven Spielberg. From there, my love for cinema blossomed. Once we reached planet Earth, everything changed. I found the small town of Denton, TX, and was welcomed into the Barta family. They showed me the writings of local film critic Boo Allen. He became my hero and caused me to chase a degree in film and journalism. After my studies at graduate of the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, I met some film critics who showed me the ropes and got me into my first press screening: 2011's THE GREEN LANTERN. Don't worry; I recovered just fine. MAD MAX: FURY ROAD was only four years away.