NO-HIT NOVEMBER, Bomb #2: DREAM HOUSE (2011)

All through November we take a look at box-office bombs and widely maligned turkeys, to let you know if you might have missed a classic. Or not. 

Sometimes good actors can save a potentially awful movie.  At other times the presence of exceptional acting in an otherwise dismal affair only worsens the experience.  With Dream House it's a little bit of both; the film isn't awful by any stretch, but it does beg the question of why it attracted such talent in the first place, when it seems to be a regular old psychological/supernatural thriller in the M. Night Shyamalan vein.

The talent in this case belongs to Daniel Craig, Rachel Weisz, Naomi Watts, and several other very good actors who grace this lackluster film with their presence.  And they're not merely taking a paycheck; they're good in the film.  Very good.  Their dedication may be attributable to the presence of Jim Sheridan (My Left Foot) behind the camera.  Or maybe it's that Craig and Weisz fell in love while making the film.  I suppose it'd be difficult to be ambivalent at that point.

The plot comes courtesy of David Loucka, who a year later would give us the unwatchable piece of junk The House at the End of the Street, with Jennifer Lawrence and Elisabeth Shue.  His script for this film is unlikely but workable, as Sheridan proves with skill that it does not deserve.

Will Atenton (Craig) leaves his city job at a publishing company to write a book at his new suburban home with his idyllic family: wife Libby (Weisz) and irrepressibly cute young daughters Trish and Dee Dee (Taylor and Claire Geare, who are terrific).  Soon strange things begin to happen.  Someone seems to be stalking the house.  Goth kids are camping out nearby and whispering about things that happened in the house years earlier.  As Will investigates, he finds some truths he wishes he'd not heard.

I won't reveal the plot twist that happens at the movie's midpoint, although it's not entirely unpredictable.  Those interested in seeing the film will want to avoid the trailer, which unceremoniously spoils it.

In a less worthy director's hands, the midpoint twist would be an early climax to the film, and it would circle the drain for its remaining 45 minutes. Rather than rely on pulling the rug out from under us, Sheridan uses it as a shift in the movie's framing device, turning it from a mystery-thriller into a Jacob's Ladder-style psychological drama which shifts back and forth between two realities, one just as genuine as the other.

Sheridan, with help of cinematographer Caleb Deschanel and production designer Carol Spier (also heavy hitters who are slumming it here), downplays inconsistencies in the script by setting the film in a constant dreamlike present.  Pay attention to the early scenes, before the big turn, and you'll realize that very little is said other than vague greetings and goodbyes.  There's no exposition.  We don't often know why what's happening is happening: only that it is.  Will's scenes opposite his family are just a little too perfect, for a reason.

It's only in the final act that Sheridan loses control.  It's an ending that was likely tacked onto the film after test audiences reportedly disapproved of Sheridan's first cut, and it becomes more ridiculous the longer you think about it.  Though it wraps up most of the movie's plot discrepancies (and explains an early out-of-nowhere appearance from Elias Koteas on a train), it does so laughably.

Still, Sheridan and the actors don't phone it in, even when the film is lost to ludicrousness.  Craig and Weisz, as well as Naomi Watts as a neighbor who may know more than she lets on, give believable performances which stay grounded even when the script messes them around.  Dream House doesn't exactly do them justice, but oddly, they're not wasted either.

** 1/2 out of ****