Corey
Allen and Warren Oates star as two drifters who in the opening scene accost a
gas station attendant for some orange soda.
Oates is getting itchy for the company of a woman, and Allen assures him
he can get him one. They follow Kate
Manx home and sneak into the abandoned house next door where they spy on her
while she swims in the pool. When her
husband leaves town, Corey goes over to warm her up a little. Naturally, they wind up falling for one
another, which makes Oates jealous and ultimately leads to murder.
Written
and directed by Leslie (Incubus) Stevens, Private Property is a low-key,
low-budget thriller that benefits from a trio of fine performances and an
increasing sense of dread. We know right
off the bat what Allen and Oates are capable of, and the way Allen toys with
Manx is quite captivating. The fact that
she is bored and seeking a little bit of danger creates a perfect storm that
sets up the tragic ending. (I especially
liked the scene where Allen leaves his belt behind and Manx begins wearing it
around her neck like a collar.)
Allen
and Oates are both excellent and some of the best scenes in the movie play like
a deranged version of Of Mice and Men.
They inhabit their despicable characters with such ease that it might
remind you of Michael Rooker in Henry:
Portrait of a Serial Killer. Manx
is equally fine as the lonely housewife torn between her isolated existence and
the allure of danger.
If
the film has a flaw, it’s that it’s more interesting during its slow-burn early
sections than in the finale. Stevens
offers up plenty of atmosphere throughout the picture, but the confrontation
between Oates and Allen, though inevitable, curiously falls a little flat. That’s not enough to derail Private Property,
which remains a solidly engaging character-driven noir, even if it does sort of
fizzle out near the end.
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