REVIEW: The Voices

Starring: Ryan Reynolds, Gemma Arterton, Anna Kendrick, Jacki Weaver, Ella Smith, Stanley Townsend, Adi Shankar, Sam Spruell.

Director: Marjane Satrapi.

Released: March 20 (UK & Ireland)

IN Peter Barnes' satirical play The Ruling Class, a paranoid schizophrenic, who believes he is God, is asked to justify his delusion.

"Simple," replies the nobleman. "When I pray to Him, I find I'm talking to myself."

We all hear voices: an internal monologue of wicked things we dare not say aloud, mantras of self-encouragement or heartfelt prayers.

Most of us ignore the hubbub or argue back.

In Marjane Satrapi's bonkers and bloodthirsty black comedy, a shy factory worker with serious psychological issues projects his voices into the mouths of two pets: a foul-mouthed cat called Mr Whiskers and a king-hearted Bullmastiff called Bosco.

The man's internal conflict and downward spiral into murderous delirium are visualised as a battle between these animals.

"Find someone, kill them and you'll find out what it feels like to be truly alive," hisses the sadistic kitty.

"We're not like the pussy," slobbers the dog, "we have morals." 

Jerry (Ryan Reynolds) works in the warehouse of Fixture And Faucet International in the sleepy town of Milton.

Every week, he visits court-appointed psychiatrist Dr Warren (Jacki Weaver), who scolds him for failing to take his prescribed medications that should silence the same voices that drove this unstable mother to her death.

An awkward first date with co-worker Fiona (Gemma Arterton) ends in grisly fashion and Jerry hides her corpse at home.

Sheriff Weinbacher (Stanley Townsend) identifies the likely perpetrator as an early thirties man, white and lower middle class, who has trouble fitting in.

"That's you Jerry. Can I have an autograph?" deadpans Mr Whiskers.

Fiona's colleagues Lisa (Anna Kendrick), Alison (Ella Smith), John (Adi Shankar) and Dave (Sam Spruell) become concerned about her whereabouts, while Jerry's mood is poisoned by the talking head in his fridge.

"I get so lonely..." pouts Fiona's severed noggin.

With its lurid fantasy sequences, Busby Berkeley-esque synchronised forklift trucks and adherence to romantic comedy tropes, The Voices initially passes itself off as a quirky portrait of a lonely man hungry for love.

It rapidly transpires that screenwriter Michael R Perry is diving into far darker waters, unmasking the central character as a serial killer, who distributes the dismembered remains of his victims between Tupperware containers.

Like its lead character, Satrapi's film suffers from a personality disorder.

The director struggles to achieve smooth transitions between guffaws and gore, disrupting dramatic momentum with superfluous flashbacks to Jerry's traumatic childhood.

The final act is particularly disjointed and lacks an emotional crescendo.

Reynolds delivers a committed performance that cleverly subverts his image as a handsome and charming hero but supporting cast, with the exception of Kendrick, are poorly served.

Listen to that nagging voice in your head, which tells you this could, with more finesse and care, have been brilliantly and deliciously twisted.

5/10

Damon Smith