Mamet should be relieved that his directorial debut in House of Games was way back in 87, because it would probably get eaten alive today. When the film-maker/screenwriter in his case waves the hand over the audience and reveals the big con, the reaction is almost always surprise, because usually the narrative has been constructed competently and subtly enough that it is not entirely predictable. But there is a secondary effect, where the plot details that have culminated into this big reveal are rendered hazy or allowed to become somewhat illogical because well, it was all a ruse. HoG doesn't fall entirely into this trap like say, The Usual Suspects, but remains uninspiring.
Margaret Ford is a successful and best-selling psychiatrist, and seems to truly care about her patients despite the spotlight. In the opening, a stranger recognises her face beneath her sunglasses, a little clue that suggests that she is not nearly as covert as she thinks she is. When she confronts a loan-shark in a shady bar, there is nothing but good intentions, and she reads him from the start. The trouble is, he reads her better. Mike (Joe Mantegna) is best performer of the film in a literal sense; he is smooth talking, but could appear so even without explaining the gears and cogs of the con world. They face each other only after a few glances, and he so overpoweringly seduces her into his world. Later, as he demonstrates a con but cannot scam a genuine well-meaning man, the illusion is complete - and we too, believe this.
Mamet's story would completely fall apart if it weren't for these initial deduction from Margaret as she spot the water gun scam - the audience needs to believe that she is a good judge of character, and also that they themselves trust Margaret's judgement. The closeup and reaction shots of the ring and the fake gun seem objective in their deceit and in unveiling her keen eye. In the hotel room, as she glances over at Mike, he replies back with the confidence and control that has been instilled into her, and we are so assured. Later, we are placed in her unknowing shoes, full of fear and paranoia, and the lighting characterises this, plunging her figure in complete darkness as she overhears snippets of a police sting. There is a jump scare, which is the only one and carefully placed, which signals her growing anxiety, which is brilliantly combined with a harmless point of the finger and the ever ringing school bell.
It is unfortunate that Crouse cannot match a plot and supporting actor of such promising calibre. Her performance is stilted, and cannot produce the necessary subtext, so we are treated to mounds of exposition from the elderly companion who acts as some sort of psychiatrist for Margaret herself. Her delivery is mostly mechanical, only seldom smiles or laughs or shows any signs of affection as she is seduced, and in the climax, she cannot conjure enough rage although she has been clearly wronged. Maybe Mamet, her at the time husband, might have found Crouse attractive and hypnotic and appropriate to step into the femme fatale role, but there is barely a hint of this person in the film. And so his dialogue, which is sometimes twice as long as necessary as per theatre, which is brash and direct, seems to often bounce off a mannequin that is halfway glance at the script instructions (in parentheses such as these - prompting her to deliver her dialogue with resignation, with wonder, with irritation) but cannot fulfill them anyway. At times Mamet shows his lack of directing experience and signals that he originates from the stage; characters will stand up or aside to have a whispered private conversation, yet the other parties are conspicuous and clearly in the frame. Such a thing would flow with ease in a play, but here it becomes stilted, and the atmosphere and tension that Mamet has no doubt thought of while writing the script evaporates.
Margaret Ford is a successful and best-selling psychiatrist, and seems to truly care about her patients despite the spotlight. In the opening, a stranger recognises her face beneath her sunglasses, a little clue that suggests that she is not nearly as covert as she thinks she is. When she confronts a loan-shark in a shady bar, there is nothing but good intentions, and she reads him from the start. The trouble is, he reads her better. Mike (Joe Mantegna) is best performer of the film in a literal sense; he is smooth talking, but could appear so even without explaining the gears and cogs of the con world. They face each other only after a few glances, and he so overpoweringly seduces her into his world. Later, as he demonstrates a con but cannot scam a genuine well-meaning man, the illusion is complete - and we too, believe this.
Mamet's story would completely fall apart if it weren't for these initial deduction from Margaret as she spot the water gun scam - the audience needs to believe that she is a good judge of character, and also that they themselves trust Margaret's judgement. The closeup and reaction shots of the ring and the fake gun seem objective in their deceit and in unveiling her keen eye. In the hotel room, as she glances over at Mike, he replies back with the confidence and control that has been instilled into her, and we are so assured. Later, we are placed in her unknowing shoes, full of fear and paranoia, and the lighting characterises this, plunging her figure in complete darkness as she overhears snippets of a police sting. There is a jump scare, which is the only one and carefully placed, which signals her growing anxiety, which is brilliantly combined with a harmless point of the finger and the ever ringing school bell.
It is unfortunate that Crouse cannot match a plot and supporting actor of such promising calibre. Her performance is stilted, and cannot produce the necessary subtext, so we are treated to mounds of exposition from the elderly companion who acts as some sort of psychiatrist for Margaret herself. Her delivery is mostly mechanical, only seldom smiles or laughs or shows any signs of affection as she is seduced, and in the climax, she cannot conjure enough rage although she has been clearly wronged. Maybe Mamet, her at the time husband, might have found Crouse attractive and hypnotic and appropriate to step into the femme fatale role, but there is barely a hint of this person in the film. And so his dialogue, which is sometimes twice as long as necessary as per theatre, which is brash and direct, seems to often bounce off a mannequin that is halfway glance at the script instructions (in parentheses such as these - prompting her to deliver her dialogue with resignation, with wonder, with irritation) but cannot fulfill them anyway. At times Mamet shows his lack of directing experience and signals that he originates from the stage; characters will stand up or aside to have a whispered private conversation, yet the other parties are conspicuous and clearly in the frame. Such a thing would flow with ease in a play, but here it becomes stilted, and the atmosphere and tension that Mamet has no doubt thought of while writing the script evaporates.