'Clayface' review: DC's latest gets under the skin but not much deeper
Courtesy of Warner Bros./DC
After “Supergirl” cratered this past summer following the colossal success of last year’s “Superman” (ironically, I enjoyed the former more than the latter, though I understand I’m in rarefied air), James Gunn and Peter Safran’s DC Universe is looking to showcase the brand’s range beyond massively budgeted tentpoles. Their latest effort, “Clayface,” scales things down considerably, handing the reins to director James Watkins and working from a story by Mike Flanagan and Hossein Amini to deliver something a little nastier and more intimate than the usual superhero spectacle.
I can certainly appreciate the ambition, particularly the lack of obligatory world-building that has become so synonymous with these interconnected cinematic universes. Clayface isn’t exactly a marquee villain in the same league as the Joker or the Riddler, which gives the filmmakers considerable latitude to play around in the sandbox without worrying about how every development might affect the next half-dozen DC projects. Unfortunately, while “Clayface” isn’t particularly concerned with its place in the larger DC Universe, it doesn’t seem terribly interested in developing a compelling world of its own, either. What emerges is a disappointingly low-stakes body-horror thriller with plenty of grotesque imagery but little dramatic weight to accompany it. Even Gotham City, one of the most recognizable fictional settings in popular culture, is stripped of the atmosphere and personality that have made previous iterations so memorable. To borrow the title of a fellow body-horror film from which this one draws some inspiration, “Clayface” could use a little more substance.
After all, there’s only so much face-drooping and flesh-melting Watkins can throw at the screen before the narrative needs to give us a reason to care about the poor bastard experiencing it.
That unfortunate soul is Matt Hagen (Tom Rhys Harries), a bona fide movie star enjoying the peak of his career. Recently nominated for his first Oscar and preparing to headline a major musical production, Matt seemingly has everything going for him until a night out with his friend (Joshua James) takes a particularly ugly turn. After finding the actor in bed with his girlfriend, a powerful Gotham kingpin (David Dencik) decides to settle the score by taking a switchblade to Matt’s face, permanently disfiguring the very thing that made him a star.
The fallout is swift and merciless. Matt’s professional prospects evaporate almost overnight, and the people who once profited from his success, including his agent and lawyer, promptly abandon him. It’s a potentially fascinating setup about the disposable nature of celebrity and an industry that places so much value on physical appearance, particularly when that appearance becomes inseparable from a performer’s livelihood. Yet “Clayface” barely scratches the surface of those ideas before moving on to the next gruesome development.
Desperate to reclaim some semblance of his former life, Matt turns to Caitlyn Coor (Naomie Ackie), a scientist developing highly experimental, AI-powered regenerative nanocells. The treatment theoretically has the ability to repair the damage to his face, but the results are anything but miraculous. Before long, his skin begins to sag, his jawline droops uncontrollably, and his entire face threatens to slide right off his skull.
Naturally, Matt’s solution is to double down and inject himself with buckets of the stuff, eventually acquiring abilities not unlike Mystique from “X-Men,” allowing him to morph into virtually anyone he pleases. The science behind this transformation is dubious at best, but Watkins is considerably more successful when he leans into the physical and psychological indignities of Matt’s deteriorating body rather than the mechanics of his newfound powers. One particularly effective sequence finds Matt trapped inside a turbulent airplane bathroom, desperately using a pair of scissors to remove excess skin that’s causing his eyelids to close. It’s a wonderfully revolting bit of filmmaking that captures the helplessness of someone whose own body has become an unpredictable enemy.
I wish the rest of “Clayface” were as inventive, or at least as interested in the implications of Matt’s predicament. For all the attention paid to his physical transformation, the screenplay gives surprisingly little consideration to his emotional one. His desperation is understandable, but there’s no meaningful character arc to anchor his increasingly erratic behavior, nor much examination of what losing his identity might actually mean beyond the immediate horror of his appearance. The film has all the ingredients for a tragic villain origin story, yet rarely bothers to develop the tragedy.
It’s especially frustrating when you consider that “The Penguin” already provided a terrific blueprint for taking a relatively unconventional Batman antagonist and building an engrossing character study around him. That series understood that the criminal underworld, the supporting players and the protagonist’s own insecurities were just as important as the recognizable comic-book mythology. “Clayface,” by comparison, feels disjointed and strangely undernourished, rushing through developments that might have given its story some much-needed texture.
A subplot involving Caitlyn’s partner (Max Minghella) attempting to infiltrate the Gotham City Police Department and expose its corruption, for instance, feels like the foundation for an entirely different movie, one that might have helped establish a stronger sense of Gotham’s institutional rot. Instead, it’s another thread competing for attention in a film that struggles to make its central conflict compelling. The supporting characters are similarly underserved, often functioning more as narrative conveniences than people with their own motivations.
Harries does what he can with the material, particularly when Matt’s vanity gives way to panic and humiliation, but the screenplay seldom affords him an opportunity to make the character his own. There’s surprisingly little spark to someone who’s supposed to be larger than life, both before and after his transformation, and the film’s reluctance to explore the darker corners of his personality makes his descent feel more mechanical than tragic.
I still appreciate what DC is attempting with these leaner, more self-contained projects, especially when the alternative is another bloated blockbuster preoccupied with teasing the next installment. There’s something refreshing about a comic-book movie willing to get this ugly and operate on a smaller canvas. But creative freedom alone doesn’t make for compelling storytelling, and “Clayface” mistakes the novelty of its premise for a fully realized character study. Watkins certainly knows how to make the flesh crawl, but beneath all that melting skin, there’s precious little holding the movie together.
Grade: C
CLAYFACE is now playing in theaters.
Comments