Trap was always going to be goofy. That much was clear a minute into the trailer, when Jonathan Langdoon completely steals the three-minute clip with his spectacular, and spectacularly expository delivery of the film’s premise. The Butcher, that crazy nutjob who goes around CHOPPING people up? He’s in the building, along with 20,000 other people packed into a Philly arena to watch pop star Lady Raven do her thing. Somehow, the feds knew he would be too, so they’re there en masse—literally, it looks like everyone in the tri-state with a badge showed up to pitch in—hoping to drop one wide net and land a big-fish serial killer.
But Langdoon’s endearing performance as the overly-invested arena merch clerk Jamie doesn’t really prepare for just how absurd this movie is, in ways both good and bad. Trap is the sixteenth film from thriller auteur M. Night Shyamalan, who has seen his status in the contemporary film pantheon oscillate from acclaimed thriller auteur, to cautionary historic fall-off, to a sort of intriguing middle ground these days. There are some who swear they will never buy into his hype again, citing misfires like The Happening, The Lady in the Water and After Earth as proof positive that he lost his Master of the Twist Ending mojo with 2004’s The Village and never got it back. And there are others who ride for that Village reveal and maintain that Night got his handle back with 2016’s Split, arguing that his singular vision and steadfast commitment to pursuing the wackiest concepts possible with clear eyes and a full heart keeps things interesting in an increasingly dull landscape. You either come away from a movie with a premise like “Beach that turns you old” thinking That was silly and extremely stupid, or That was silly, but low-key profound.
Trap is M Night at his silliest. It’s a cat-and-mouse game that allows Josh Hartnett, as the girl-dad killer trying to avoid outing and capture while chaperoning his daughter to Reputation Tour lite, to fully cement the Harnetteissance that’s been in full effect since Oppenheimer (but real heads know it began with Showtime’s underrated Penny Dreadful.) As Cooper the Butcher, he’s darkly funny, palpably dangerous and believably menacing—sometimes in the span of one scene. He is so thoroughly locked in that he manages to command your attention even after the film goes completely off the rails.
It’s hard to pinpoint when exactly that happens, but somewhere around the end of Act 1, it becomes clear this ingenious FBI trap is actually one of the dumber, hilariously ineffective police schemes ever depicted in film or television. So much so that you almost start to wonder if Cooper is maybe giving them too much credit. The credibility sinks even lower as more screen time is devoted to the film’s trapologist, a caricatured Jessica Fletcher-type and alleged genius profiler whose pedestrian assessment of The Butcher wouldn’t even hold rank on Criminal Minds. And lest you think Shyamalan would be content to just let his daughter Saleka parade her musical chops in the background as she sings and performs all original music as Lady Raven, think again—she earns her billing as the third lead by film’s end, for better or worse. Add in two music cameos, one cringe by default, the other intentionally so (for anyone reading who’s seen, that’s meant to be chronological), and Trap is by far the funniest (complimentary and derogatory) and most ridiculous film in the Night oeuvre.
But while there isn’t any late-act twist that matches the one already offered by the movie’s conceit, Night zigags enough to keep things interesting all the way through. It’s a very big swing—he doesn’t know how to do anything less. Whether it connects is something that will probably be intensely debated, with no clear winners—but it’s well worth watching in a packed theater to laugh with, then at. The game is always more fun when M Night is at bat.
