Dave Franco’s directorial debut, The Rental (co-written by Franco and Joe Swanberg, with Mike Demski rounding out the trio for the story credit) is a film about two couples, Charlie and Michelle (Dan Stevens and Alison Brie) and Josh and Mina (Jeremy Allen White and Sheila Vand), who rent a house together for the weekend. Charlie and Josh are brothers, while Mina and Charlie work together. Josh is the has-been screw-up of the group who is getting his life on track, and Michelle is sort of the connective tissue, trying to support everyone and wanting the whole group to have a fun time.
It’s a simple enough set-up, but it’s through this simplicity that the film extracts its consistent tension. Social discomfort and feelings of insecurity are the name of the game. Mina resents the house’s owner (Toby Huss) for immediately denying her application while accepting Charlie’s, (rightfully) presuming this discrepancy was fueled by racism. This leads to a “debate” on the drive to the house and escalates to Mina confronting the owner in person. There’s also Josh’s insecurity, with his “lower status” job and criminal record, leading him to consistently wonder whether he’s good enough for Mina.
This is, again, a simple enough set-up, but it’s a set-up that works. And it’s a set-up that escalates.
Without revealing too much, the renters learn there is something not-quite-right going on in the house. This revelation happens slowly, from a slight distortion of a wide shot to establish a voyeur, to noticing something a little off in the shower. But once this ball gets rolling, each slight escalation of tension, each strained relationship dynamic completely changes the game. The script elegantly explores each and every dynamic amongst these characters and how they relate to the threats at hand. Even the “minor” brother-and-sister-in-law relationship between Michelle and Josh goes through effective development. She starts by optimistically arguing in his favor for how his life is going and reminding him that Mina loves him, to completely distrusting him before the end.
This is not the only relationship that is strained, but it is the only one that can be acknowledged without spoilers. But something else the film acknowledges is the one universal trait amongst all of these characters, and all of us: our mortality. These relationships are fragmented and questioned by smaller conflicts, but once the killer comes into play, none of that matters. All that matters is the characters’ love for each other and their survival.
On a script level, all of this is dynamite. And thankfully, Franco’s direction is not simply functional, but absolutely crucial to the tension and character dynamics. It’s almost deceptively simple, in that none of it is particularly showy, but neither does it feel lazy or “throwaway.” Franco and cinematographer Christian Sprenger’s framing is never repetitive, always understanding the unique needs for each moment. Franco knows when to give actors the freedom of a wide shot–such as an amusing moment when the ecstasy-influenced renters are foolishly dancing around–and when to keep it tight–borderline claustrophobic moments of horror (whether the horror is from their own horrible mistakes or from their friendly neighborhood voyeur).
Kyle Reiter’s editing is extraordinary, particularly when the scares come into play. There’s a terrifying moment towards the end that does not frighten us by suddenly showing the violence, but cuts away right before the violence, allowing us to fill in the horrifying blanks.
I heard someone (can’t quite remember who) said something to the degree of “there’s only one perfect shot, but where the hell is it?” Based on this excellent debut, Franco seems to know where the hell it is, and whatever he does next is something that should be worth keeping an eye on.
