Editor's Note: This was originally published for FANGORIA on March 21, 2003, and we're proud to share it as part of The Gingold Files.
Willard is, of course, a remake of the 1971 cult classic, but it belongs equally to a just slightly older tradition—’60s movies like What Ever Happened to Baby Jane! and Hush…Hush, Sweet Charlotte, which mixed grande dames with Grand Guignol to turn horror into high Gothic melodrama. Everything in Willard is heightened or exaggerated to some degree, but writer/director Glen Morgan never allows it to tip over into camp, combining enough intentional humor with serious squirm-inducing moments to make it a creepy/funny good time.
The not-so-secret weapon that holds it all together is Crispin Glover, who is so absolutely right for the title role that it’s astonishing to learn that the studio wanted anyone else. Glover has always been known for the jittery, nervous energy he brings to even the most conventionally conceived parts, and he slips into Willard’s twitchy skin easily. A young man beaten down by life in general and his domineering, sickly mother (Jackie Burroughs) and nasty boss (R. Lee Ermey) in particular, Willard is ripe for some kind of violent acting out, and he discovers a perfect vehicle for his anger when he befriends the rats that have taken up residence in his basement. Led by a white specimen Willard dubs Socrates, the vermin become his instrument of increasingly nasty retribution, acting out his conscious (and sometimes unconscious) desires.
Because none of the rats’ targets are especially sympathetic, Willard isn’t a genuinely scary experience (unless you happen to be afraid of the rodents in general). Instead, Morgan creates a feeling of gleeful unease, with the help of moody photography (by Robert McLachlan) and production design and, most crucially, a horde of four-footed attackers that, a few dodgy CG exceptions aside, are the real thing. Kudos to Boone Narr, Mark Harden and the rest of the animal-training team who choreographed the swarm, particularly for the film’s highlight: a sequence in which an innocent tabby cat is pursued from one piece of furniture to another and then to the basement to its death. In one of several effective in-jokes, Morgan scores this setpiece with Michael Jackson’s “Ben” from the original Willard’s sequel, and it’s a sign of either the director’s skill or just of the times that Jackson’s treacly tune comes off as truly unsettling here.
Throughout, Glover maintains an air of tormented intensity that makes Willard empathetic, if not the most likable guy. His devotion to Socrates is even kinda touching in a sick way, and he also becomes believably resentful toward Ben, the big brown rat that, in Willard’s mind, threatens his position at the top of the pack. Ermey is perfectly cast and effectively abrasive as Willard’s human nemesis, who has taken over his father’s business (Dad is represented by a painting of original Willard Bruce Davison, another nice homage), though Laura Elena Harring, who made such a vivid impression in Mulholland Dr., doesn’t have enough to do as a co-worker who takes pity on our hero. (More in-humor: Her name is Cat, while the company also employs a Mrs. Leach and a Mr. Foxx.)
Willard doesn’t attempt to reinvent its source material, but at the same time, nor does it strain to make it “relevant.” Right from its wonderful Brothers Quay-esque animated credits (backed by Shirley Walker’s evocative Bernard Herrmann-meets-Danny Elfman music), it succeeds as a small-scale, unspectacular but nicely shivery entertainment.
