Lance Oppenheim delivers an intensive story of commodified complicity in Primetime.
There’s a specific moment in Lance Oppenheim’s wickedly salacious Primetime that underscores the point of the film. In it, To Catch a Predator host Chris Hansen (Robert Pattinson, baring his teeth) talks about reporting on a story about child slave labor in India. It’s a somber admission, but the punctuation isn’t put on that bit of information. Instead, the emphasis is on when he mentions winning an Emmy for it. It’s a small shift in tone, in the lilt of his voice. But it’s enough to immediately clock who Hansen is in Oppenheim’s fevered eyes: a man so wrapped up in his own ideas of grandeur that he’s become a court jester with a microphone posturing as the man who holds the gavel.
That forked-tongued delivery is just one instance of Pattinson leaning into a broad but studied demeanor. It’s so hyper-focused it verges into caricature, and that, in many respects, is the point. His performance is reminiscent of Nicholas Cage’s in Vampire’s Kiss, a man thoroughly lost to his delusion. This is not a man who is acting solely on altruistic values. Instead, he froths at the mouth over another reporter’s good deeds. He’s so desperate to appear good that his actions become impotent. Pattinson, as Hansen, takes in each new morsel of praise with an unhinged jaw, rapturously possessed to perform “good” while being bad.
Based on the 2007 Esquire article by Luke Dittrich, “Tonight on Dateline This Man Will Die,” Primetime is a fictionalized string of events that leads to the death of one of Hansen’s targets – his “whale.” The nods to Moby Dick are on the nose but potent, as Hansen becomes obsessed to the point of physical and mental decay in his search for the perfect catch. In this case, someone high-profile enough to make his show able to compete with the polar bears on Lost.
A deconstruction of a man who wanted more.
Primetime tracks the filming of a single season of the show, which, famously, would lure pedophiles into leased houses outfitted with camera crews and sound, where the perpetrators in question believed they’d be meeting underage kids. In reality, adults who could pass as kids played the parts. They work with a group known as Perverted-Justice to ensnare their targets. Moving at an anxious clip, the film follows Hansen as he loses himself in his pursuit and his desire to be someone greater than he is. His belief in his own morality against the obvious immorality of his subjects makes him a kind of monster too.
The film works best as a deconstruction of Hansen. There’s not a single moment of authenticity or truth behind the madness. Everything is performative. From his interactions with his wife (an underused Anna Faris) to his practiced prowling as he circles the men caught on camera, he is always on. He can’t even let the veneer slip while staring himself down in the mirror. He’s too busy practicing the version of himself he’ll become when the cameras roll.
Pattinson has achieved a reputation as being one of Hollywood’s resident oddballs, trying on different voices and cadences at will for whatever role. It makes him perfect as Hansen, who, throughout the course of the film, seemingly dons a deluge of masks, the masquerade only cracking briefly when the world gets too loud.
Robert Pattinson is captivating, but Skyler Gisondo all but steals the film.
The entire cast is fantastic. Merritt Wever as the fictional producer Andie tackles her morally questionable character with evident glee. Even the way she incessantly snaps her gum betrays her bloodthirsty drive for ratings. But Skyler Gisondo steals the film. In a story full of sharks both in front of and behind the camera, he’s the only character with a heart. And it’s that prized possession and the way he wears each decision on his face that makes for such a compelling, heartbreaking performance.
Gisondo plays Dan Plum, an actor who ends up playing the 13-year-olds the predators are coming to meet at the houses. And his complete shock in the first interaction, the visceral fear, exemplifies the genuine disgust these monsters produce. There’s a naivety to the way Gisondo approaches the character, the ups and downs Dan undergoes as he tries to reckon with his ambitions and the work he’s doing, played with devastating sincerity.
Written by Ajon Singh, the film struggles to be more than the very assured character study. The original series itself bottles the tabloid-driven content the early to mid-aughts were known for. And while there’s no sympathy for these men who preyed on the innocent and got their comeuppance, the film does a solid job of showing how ill-conceived the filming practice was. It’s not just entrapment; it also encouraged overzealous local law enforcement to play along with Hansen’s idea of justice. The “gotcha” moment did little to process and condemn the guilty; instead, it turned them into a spectacle for viewers at home. When the devil in a suit makes the monsters dance for entertainment, is there just one guilty party? Who is complicit?
Primetime executes an uncomfortable balancing act.
All of which needs further exploration. Instead, the film forces us to sit in the unease. For lack of a better word, it feels gross. And, while the effect may vary, is there any other way we should feel by the end of the film?
Oppenheim adopts a staticky, stylized approach, combining his past as a documentarian with something grimier and bleached out. The screen drips and bleeds. The insomniac, scorching blue of TV screen lighting makes the already ghoulish face pulling of Pattinson even more cartoonish. A meeting with the NBC studio head plunges into shadowy corners. The direction positions the camera so that Hansen always feels like he’s descending onto us, looming in his efforts to be larger than life. It’s all gorgeously discomforting, prickly and nightmarish, surrealist in how the world of reality and Reality TV blend together.
The bottom line.
Primetime isn’t an easy watch. Most of the time, we’re stuck with the worst type of person in the world and the people who aim their camera at them for easy entertainment and profit. And you have to wonder whether the script does enough to probe the darkness or simply revels in the slow-moving car crash for even more spectacle. But as a character study it’s a marvel. Oppenheim paints the film with an acidic glow, with a slinking, voyeuristic approach to humanity’s rot, refusing to let us look away from the decay.
Primetime is out now. Watch the trailer below.
Images courtesy of A24.
REVIEW RATING
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Primetime - 8/10
8/10
Based in New England, Allyson is co-founder and Editor-in-Chief of InBetweenDrafts. Former Editor-in-Chief at TheYoungFolks, she is a member of the Boston Society of Film Critics and the Boston Online Film Critics Association. Her writing has also appeared at CambridgeDay, ThePlaylist, Pajiba, VagueVisages, RogerEbert, TheBostonGlobe, Inverse, Bustle, her Substack, and every scrap of paper within her reach.
