Isabelle Huppert and Chloe Grace Moretz, lonely no longer
Even a lame movie can give you something to remember. In director Neil Jordan’s distressingly ordinary stalker-thriller “Greta,” that something arrives in a restaurant scene featuring Chloe Grace Moretz, as a lonely, grieving Manhattan waitress, and Isabelle Huppert, as her recent acquaintance who’s lonely in a somewhat more troubled and troubling way.
Rebuffing her attempts to stay connected, Frances (Moretz) doesn’t know how to rid herself of this initially sweet French expatriate, who grows ever more clingy and invasive. Then comes the moment Greta intrudes on her young frenemy’s workplace. As a rattled Frances exits the dining area in a hurry, Greta (Huppert) atypically raises her voice to a bellow and, crash, she flips a perfectly set dining table over on its side. Check, please!
Jordan, who directed “Mona Lisa,” “The Crying Game” and “The End of the Affair” earlier in his career, hits this bit fast and effectively. It’s hilariously sudden and we’re quickly rolling into the next revelation of Greta’s true character. I’m not telling you anything the trailers don’t tell you. “Greta” doesn’t depend on midpoint (or later) revelations, though in the later sequences we learn all about the devastated depths of the woman who sees Frances as her latest project, in the worst way.
The script by Jordan and Ray Wright, from Wright’s story,
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wastes little time in getting to what “Fatal Attraction” enthusiasts might call the bunny-boiling bits. But the movie frustrates. And it squanders Huppert, which really a waste.
With the help of her snotty roommate (Maika Monroe), Frances is recovering from the recent death of her mother. On the subway one day, Frances spies a conspicuous black handbag. Frances tracks down the owner, Greta, who at first seems to be the surrogate mother she craves.
Jordan plays it more or less straight for a while, as the script tick-tocks through its twin portraits in urban isolation. The tone, though, eventually wobbles between all-out scares, all-in psychological torment and overripe black humor. By the time Stephen Rea, Jordan’s old “Crying Game” cohort,” shows up as a desultory detective, the movie has loosened most of its screws, just when it should be tightening them.
Huppert periodically rescues it. Even when she’s not flipping tables without breaking a sweat, the actress outclasses her material with a performance, if not a fully formed character, to remember.
is Michael Phillips is a Tribune critic.