[Rating: Swiss Fist]
Streaming VOD Friday, 4/19
An assembly of moments and ideas in search of a more stable narrative to bring them into focus, Hanky Panky is a sketch collection posing as a movie. An acid-washed sci-fi comedy thriller (in that order), the film by directors Lindsey Haun and Nick Roth is kept afloat by the manic energy/commitment of its cast and the fearlessness with which it embraces its many insane conceits…which is a long-winded way of saying this is all bat-shit, but the actors are giving their all. Buoyed by a few gasp-inducing moments and genuine chuckles, Hanky Panky is just mad enough, just bold enough, and just funny enough to make a sometimes tedious 86-minute runtime tolerable.
The set-up speaks to the low-budget/high-concept aspirations of the project, which sees the characters confined almost exclusively to a remote cabin in the woods. The first of the group to arrive is Sam (Jacob DeMonte-Finn), invited by mistake by hippie mystic, Diane (Ashley Holliday Tavares), who reached out to the wrong contact on friend, Carla’s (Christina Laskay), phone. Carla is there with her spouse, Cliff, along with a married couple (Azure Parsons & Roth), an adult brother/sister combo (Toby Bryan and Huan), and the snack-happy neighbor, Kelly (Clare Grant).
There’s also a sentient handkerchief, Woody (voiced by Bryan), that Sam is in constant conflict with, as it speaks to him and seems intent on steering its owner clear of danger it insists is abundant. The audience sees what Woody sees, and while action is indeed required, how Sam and co. navigate that amidst the ever-evolving series of developments is the question. No spoilers, but these developments include twists and turns that (somehow) are even stranger than a piece of fabric with achieved consciousness.
The tone is broad and is winking in nature, aspiring towards something like Wet Hot American Summer, but landing instead closer to Thankskilling. DeMonte-Finn must do most of the narrative lifting as the nominal lead of the picture, and what works about Hanky Panky is due in no small part to his work as the tortured “straight” man. And as strange as it might seem, the best interplay and chemistry in the movie is between him and Woody, providing an emotional compass for the film that wouldn’t exist without DeMonte-Finn’s genuinely good work, here.
Hanky Panky needs it, too, because the second act unfolds like a twisted improv round of “Yes, and…?” that sees the already kooky set of principals confronted with an ever-escalating series of outlandish crises. And while the actors all know what to do and what kind of movie they are in, the script often asks more of them than they (or anyone) can hope to offer. An over-abundance of low-angle shots and uncomfortable close-ups don’t make it that much fun to look at, either, so by the time Seth Green makes his “appearance,” Hanky Panky finds itself listing dangerously.
Somehow, some way, DeMonte-Finn pulls it all back from the brink and manages to get the audience to care for this earnest, fabric-obsessed maniac. It’s a credit to Roth’s script that this comes across in the washing machine-like turbulence of murder, deceit, aliens, and psychosis (but it does). Roth and Haun should also be commended for squeezing as much out of these limited locations as they do, using what appears to be every inch of the lodge/cabin and the surrounding areas to good effect.
It’s tough to stick with at times, however, and while certain bits and gags do work (Woody’s sexual obsession with cleaning up messes is a hoot), a viewer can feel Hanky Panky cracking and breaking at the seams a little too often. DeMonte-Finn keeps things interesting, though, and provides a couple much-needed boons to what feels like a collection of funny concepts stretched to their breaking points. Try as they might, most of the cast aren’t able to calibrate their performances to match the random, manic energy of the plot: leaving a series of broad, almost cartoonish performances scattered across the narrative. This might work in theory, as a concept (it is called Hanky Panky, after all), but it will make most feel like they should have stayed home to avoid this movie’s amorous advances.
“Obvious Child” is the debut novel of Warren Cantrell, a film and music critic based out of Seattle, Washington. Mr. Cantrell has covered the Sundance and Seattle International Film Festivals, and provides regular dispatches for Scene-Stealers and The Playlist. Warren holds a B.A. and M.A. in History, and his hobbies include bourbon drinking, novel writing, and full-contact kickboxing.
You must log in to post a comment.