Review: 'The Deliverance' is full of cliches and gets laughs, not scares
It's no fun to hate-watch when talented people make terrible films. Such a specimen is "The Deliverance," an all-star, devil-made-me-do-it horror show now on Netflix with an overqualified cast, underfunded special effects, a sinkhole of a script and a nutso confidence in its own nonexistent profundity.
The creative force behind "The Deliverance" is Lee Daniels, deservedly Oscar nominated as best director for "Precious" and lauded for the hip-hop drama series "Empire." "The Paperboy," The Butler" and "The United States vs. Billie Holiday" are also on Daniels' resume, but "The Deliverance" stands alone as his first -- and hopefully last -- foray into the supernatural.
It's a blessed relief to report that Daniels initially holds back on the scare stuff in the campy, cumbersome screenplay by David Coggeshall and Elijah Bynum. There is, however, a kernel of a socially aware Black family addiction drama in the story that should have been nourished.
The vivid, versatile Andra Day, who earned an Academy nod as the blues-singing Billie Holiday, takes the central role of Ebony, a recovering alcoholic and struggling mother raising three kids on her own while her husband is deployed in Iraq. Ebony is neglectful, even abusive, relying on drink and drugs to dull the financial and emotional pain of depending on scraps to raise teenaged Nate (Caleb McLaughlin of "Stranger Things"), Shante (Demi Singleton of "King Richard") and younger Andre (Anthony B. Jenkins).
Ebony leans on her formerly abusive white mother, Alberta (Glenn Close), who is now undergoing chemotherapy at a local hospital where her newfound Christianity does not stop her from hitting on Melvin, a Black nurse half her age played by Omar Epps.
Close, one of the best actors on the planet, is willing to go for broke in the role. Over-the-top Alberta wears a frightful wig to hide the tufts of hair still standing on her bald head, stuffing herself into tight blouses and winking lewdly at any passing hunk. But Alberta, ashamed as a parent, is determined to redeem herself with her grandkids, allowing Close to bring empathy and depth to a character that a lesser actor would reduce to a coarse cartoon.
The funny, ferocious byplay between this white mother and biracial daughter could have made for searing drama. But about 40 minutes in, Daniels sends in the hell hounds of demonic possession and the movie falls to cliched pieces.
The result is a scare flick that borrows from "The Exorcist" to the point of grand larceny. "The Deliverance" is very loosely based on a true story, but nothing about the subpar hauntings in "The Deliverance" feel remotely believable. Buzzing flies and creaking basement doors? Please!
The actors do their best to redeem the rank cliches they're handed. Aunjanue Ellis-Taylor, nominated for an Oscar for her role in "King Richard," brings strength and dignity to the role of Reverend Bernice, who performs the exorcism, er, the deliverance. And Mo'Nique, who won a supporting Oscar as the monster mom in "Precious," plays Cynthia, a social worker who finds it hard to believe that Satan is responsible for the bruises on the tender bodies of Ebony's children.
Who's the real villain here -- a demon who turns innocents into raging beasts, or an abusive parent who claims the devil is the culprit? Daniels lets that provocative question hang in the air while filling the screen with every cheap terror trick in the book. It's hard to be scared by a movie that makes it so easy to laugh it off the screen.
