“Come to Daddy” charges out of the gate with two quotes splashed across the screen.
The first, from Shakespeare, speaks to the sins of the father handed down to his children.
But the second quote, "There is no one else like my daddy," from Beyoncé, no less, sets the tone for this bloody, uproarious and darkly tragic tale about a 30-something desperately seeking meaning and identity in this morass we call life.
Norval Greenwood (Elijah Wood), a pampered trust fund kid, receives a letter from his father 30 years after his dad disappeared, abandoning Norval with his mother. So, he does what any unemployed man-child likely would. He embarks on a journey to the remote seaside address included in the note to finally ask his father some hard questions, face to face.
"Come to Daddy"
3.5 out of 5 stars.
Rated: R
Run Time: 96 minutes
Directed by Ant Timpson
Starring Elijah Wood, Stephen McHattie, Martin Donovan and Michael Smiley
Now playing in select theaters and on most streaming, Video-on-Demand platforms
The man he discovers living in isolation, Gordon (Stephen McHattie), is not the paternal figure he vaguely recalls. In fact, Gordon just might be insane. At the very least, he seems dangerous, like a feral animal kept in captivity too long.
Norval, who packs a copy of The Celestine Prophecy in his suitcase, opens himself up as best he can. At 35, he has precious little to share other than admitting a failed suicide attempt and refusing a stiff drink because alcohol makes him act out in curious ways. It even makes sense why he can’t help but lie about his profession, telling Gordon that he’s a deejay who was discovered by Sir Elton John.
The moment that Gordon calls bullshit marks the beginning of the many ways he casually tries to destroy Norval’s world.
By the time he picks up a meat cleaver and charges Norval, in a serious bid to slice Norval’s face from his body, viewers should know that things are not as they might appear to be.
And that’s just what happens in the first 30 minutes.
“Come to Daddy” is that rare, wonderfully odd concoction that spins genuine gold by distorting everyday situations and personal interactions into the stuff of nightmares.
Even though the film marks the feature-length debut of director Ant Timpson, fans should recognize Timpson’s name as he has served as a producer for some of the best genre films from the past eight years, including “Housebound,” “Turbo Kid,” “Deathgasm” and “The Greasy Strangler.”
Suffice to say, he knows what works, and it shows.
It’s impossible to predict anything that happens in “Come to Daddy,” whether it’s the discovery of a hidden stash of family keepsakes, marking a huge twist midway through, or the arrival of a greasy assassin named Jethro (Michael Smiley), who looks like the lost love child of Weird Al Yankovic and Ron Jeremy.
McHattie hasn’t had a role this rich since 2008’s “Pontypool,” and he attacks the material as if his life depended on it, which allows even throwaway lines to land with devastating (and hilarious) impact.
When Gordon tries to take a selfie with his guest, he snatches Norval’s solid-gold, custom-designed cell phone and promptly loses it into the sea.
“There are only 20 of those phones in the world,” Norval cries.
“Yep, well, now there’s 19,” Gordon says bluntly.
“Come to Daddy” works as a delirious, go for broke, pitch-black satire and as a bloody survival thriller, but at its heart, Timpson’s movie is built on the traits, both real and possibly misconstrued, that define Gen-Y in society’s eyes.
Norval craves recognition from his dad. He is overly concerned about what he has achieved in life, which leads him to lie. And he is defined by things, whether material or existential in nature.
Wood does a masterful job bringing Norval to life without turning any of his odd, eccentric behaviors into parody. He may be struggling to assimilate, but at least he’s trying. All he really wants though is to know why his father, after so many years, finally broke his silence and reached out.
And it’s that genuine, relatable desire that elevates “Come to Daddy,” allowing Timpson’s film to transform from a riotous series of violent encounters into a poignant and conflicted exploration of our need to belong.
John W. Allman has spent more than 25 years as a professional journalist and writer, but he’s loved movies his entire life. Good movies, awful movies, movies that are so gloriously bad you can’t help but champion them. Since 2009, he has cultivated a review column and now a website dedicated to the genre films that often get overlooked and interviews with cult cinema favorites like George A. Romero, Bruce Campbell and Dee Wallace. Contact him at Blood Violence and Babes.com, on Facebook @BloodViolenceBabes or on Twitter @BVB_reviews.
This article appears in Feb 20-27, 2020.