Let's start with the bad news: The Ward, the latest work from John Carpenter, is not the comeback film for which his still-dedicated fans have been holding in their cigar smoke all these years. The New York-born auteur of some of the most ferocious B-movies of the 1970s and 80s hasn't produced a masterpiece since 1988's They Live! but his last three films have exuded a particular stylistic laziness. His 1998 offering, Vampires, succeeded only in being even more hollow and boring than its title. The extravagant messes that peppered Carpenter's career, such as In the Mouth of Madness, were not very rewarding either, but at least they ran on a berserk energy that was all his own. That is nowhere to be found in Vampires or the wretched Ghosts of Mars, but can be faintly felt in the smooth professionalism of The Ward.
Decidedly cynical ideas concerning violence and masculinity have always roared under Carpenter's vicious takes on social institutions ranging from prison and the police (Assault on Precinct 13) to television (They Live!) to the suburbs (Halloween). As the title infers, The Ward is set almost completely in the wing of a psychiatric hospital which, along with the 1966 setting, wardrobe, and barbaric psychiatric methods, gives one hope. The eponymous section of the North Bend Psychiatric Hospital is the new home of Katherine (Amber Heard, totally game), a troubled young woman who was institutionalized for setting a house on fire for reasons that screenwriters Michael and Shawn Rasmussen attempt to tease through a series of short flashbacks. She establishes strong relationships with some of her fellow patients (Laura-Leigh, Lyndsy Fonseca) and makes tentative bonds with others (Mamie Gummer, Danielle Panabaker) but almost immediately begins planning escape, due only partially to the ghost who starts dispatching the girls with lobotomy tools and electroshock.
Looked after by a Nurse Ratchet type, a gaggle of hard-case attendants, and an amiable British doctor (Jared Harris of Mad Men), Kristen slowly uncovers a secret plot involving the murders of two patients, Tammy (Sali Sayler) and Alice (Mika Boorem), though no one who gives the film any bit of attention will be surprised when the Rasmussen brothers deliver their climactic twist. In fact, there is hardly a note in the Rasmussens' script that doesn't echo women-in-prison schlock or American psychiatric horror. The acting is largely serviceable but outright laughable in certain sequences, which can be blamed as much on the weaker performers as the tissue-thin caricatures they were asked to make compelling -- which is comparable to being asked to turn a ball of lint into a baby peacock.
The script reeks of rigid, formulaic entertainment, but Carpenter's direction is lean, kinetically paced, and engaging even when everything else seems beyond the pale. Working with DP Yaron Orbach, editor Patrick McMahon, and production designer Paul Peters, the director is able to invoke a certain grungy classicism in the material, putting emphasis on framing, inventive lighting, and some breathless tracking shots that are used to startling effect in the film's second half. Even the deployment of the scares speaks to a restraint that a great deal of modern American horror seems flagrantly uninterested in, one that comes only with wisdom and knowledge of the true artists who have worked in this particular genre. Carpenter may be remembered more for his nasty, gritty narratives than his aesthetic choices, but for what it's worth, he has crafted a lovely, fluid little film here that nearly overcomes its dull structure and deeply ordinary story.
Decidedly cynical ideas concerning violence and masculinity have always roared under Carpenter's vicious takes on social institutions ranging from prison and the police (Assault on Precinct 13) to television (They Live!) to the suburbs (Halloween). As the title infers, The Ward is set almost completely in the wing of a psychiatric hospital which, along with the 1966 setting, wardrobe, and barbaric psychiatric methods, gives one hope. The eponymous section of the North Bend Psychiatric Hospital is the new home of Katherine (Amber Heard, totally game), a troubled young woman who was institutionalized for setting a house on fire for reasons that screenwriters Michael and Shawn Rasmussen attempt to tease through a series of short flashbacks. She establishes strong relationships with some of her fellow patients (Laura-Leigh, Lyndsy Fonseca) and makes tentative bonds with others (Mamie Gummer, Danielle Panabaker) but almost immediately begins planning escape, due only partially to the ghost who starts dispatching the girls with lobotomy tools and electroshock.
Looked after by a Nurse Ratchet type, a gaggle of hard-case attendants, and an amiable British doctor (Jared Harris of Mad Men), Kristen slowly uncovers a secret plot involving the murders of two patients, Tammy (Sali Sayler) and Alice (Mika Boorem), though no one who gives the film any bit of attention will be surprised when the Rasmussen brothers deliver their climactic twist. In fact, there is hardly a note in the Rasmussens' script that doesn't echo women-in-prison schlock or American psychiatric horror. The acting is largely serviceable but outright laughable in certain sequences, which can be blamed as much on the weaker performers as the tissue-thin caricatures they were asked to make compelling -- which is comparable to being asked to turn a ball of lint into a baby peacock.
The script reeks of rigid, formulaic entertainment, but Carpenter's direction is lean, kinetically paced, and engaging even when everything else seems beyond the pale. Working with DP Yaron Orbach, editor Patrick McMahon, and production designer Paul Peters, the director is able to invoke a certain grungy classicism in the material, putting emphasis on framing, inventive lighting, and some breathless tracking shots that are used to startling effect in the film's second half. Even the deployment of the scares speaks to a restraint that a great deal of modern American horror seems flagrantly uninterested in, one that comes only with wisdom and knowledge of the true artists who have worked in this particular genre. Carpenter may be remembered more for his nasty, gritty narratives than his aesthetic choices, but for what it's worth, he has crafted a lovely, fluid little film here that nearly overcomes its dull structure and deeply ordinary story.
