'Sharp Corner' review: Ben Foster embraces anxiety and toxic masculinity
There are moments in life that break us to pieces, but not quickly, like a hammer hitting a vase — in a slow but unavoidable way, like a crack in a window. It's only a matter of time before the glass will give way, leaving you wrecked and wide open to a world that keeps on moving regardless. Sharp Corner is about such a moment, where an inexplicable event slowly shatters the psyche of an average family man who previously thought himself content.
Written by Jason Buxton and Russell Wangersky, Sharp Corner is a lean but gripping psychological thriller than explores fear, anxiety, and how a societal double standard can leave men in a unique disadvantage when it comes to processing trauma. So who better to headline this movie than Ben Foster? This American actor has delved powerfully into these themes in previous roles, such as the wild-card brother of Hell or High Water, the anti-social father of Leave No Trace, and the hardened soldier of The Messenger.
Ben Foster plays a father in crisis in Sharp Corner.
Mild-mannered, middle-aged Josh McCall (Foster) is a loving partner to his intellectual wife Rachel Davis-McCall (High School's Cobie Smulders) and a playful parent to his young son Max (William Kosovic). Their first night in their new home in suburban Canada, Josh gently tucks his kid into bed, assuring him that there's nothing to fear in this unfamiliar setting. Next, Josh and his wife christen the living room with some hasty but spirited sex. But then disaster strikes.
Before the opening title card even hits the screen, a car's tire flies through the big display window, shattering glass and shooting past Rachel's head before landing with a terrifying thud. A car has crashed dramatically in their lawn. While Rachel races to soothe their crying child, Josh stands looking out the window, pantless and powerless, his bare ass facing us while he gazes upon a horrifying new reality.
Everyone in the family is dealing with this shocking incident in their own ways. Rachel avoids conversation around it and buries herself in caring for her child, who is finding bits of busted reflector as he plays in the yard. But this leaves Josh with no one to talk to about his fears. He had considered himself the family's protector, but it was only dumb luck they too weren't hurt that night. So, Sharp Corner follows his slow-burn quest to reclaim a sense of control, first through understanding the cause of the accident, then by educating himself on life-saving tools like CPR. But more fatal crashes on the titular turn make this increasingly difficult, pushing Josh into disturbing behaviors to reclaim his identity.
Sharp Corner's deep-set empathy makes its horrors hit harder.
Often, when media discusses toxic masculinity, they're addressing macho men who refuse to acknowledge their own emotions. Ben is not that guy. He's desperate to talk about what happened, but he can't find a place where he feels safe to do so. His wife doesn't want to hear it. His friends aren't prepared to go from wine recommendations to trauma-dumping, and he doesn't trust a stoic psychiatrist, who has a dog named Drake.
So, like a lot of people grappling with anxiety and post-traumatic distress, Josh throws himself into action. He creates projects to prevent further crashes, and when that fails, he is desperate to be prepared to save a life when the need arises. Maybe that can restore his sense of self? Maybe that can save his family from falling apart? Foster's nuanced performance — tension rippling under his skin and need gleaming through his eyes — makes this terror feel at once extraordinary and achingly common.
Yet as empathetic as Sharp Corner is, binding us to Josh in moments he can't share with anyone, it doesn't paint his wife as an uncaring nag or a cliched villain. She too is grappling with this jolting realization, not only that their dream home is a suburban nightmare but also that death can be random, and stupid, and on your front lawn over and over. Though hers is a much smaller role, Smulders comfortably shoulders the character work of Rachel, her careful words hitting with precision. Her tone shifts from direct and annoyed, when the two adults are alone, to guarded yet cutting when they're with their son. Together, they create a couple that feels real — and really on the brink of splitting up.
Sharp Corner packs a punch without packing in gore.
The script is crisply realized, keenly charting Josh's downward spiral as he surrenders everything to his desperate need to reclaim a sense of power in a world that's made him feel impotent and futile. Buxton, who also directs, wisely trusts in Foster and Smulders to ground the film's drama. It helps he keeps the home's aesthetic clean and cozy in cool blues and grays, so the carnage outside — with its streaks of yellow dome lights and red reflectors and blood — is all the more jarring. Yet the deaths are largely off-screen, or when they're shown, are done so with a mindfulness towards graphic bodily harm.
Buxton isn't seeking to sensationalize these moments. He gives us just enough to understand why Josh can't shake them. So, we too struggle to focus as others talk to him about mundane things like school pick-up and work assignments. But how far would we walk in his shoes? That's the terrifying question Sharp Corner asks in a third act that is ruthlessly plotted.
Focused so intently on the inner turmoil of its ego-ravaged hero, Sharp Corner is leanly executed. But Buxton and Wangersky seems to lose faith in their audience in the second act, offering a sequence where a psychiatrist basically spells out what Josh is going through (though she's not knowingly talking about him). Despite this detour, the finale regains momentum. Ultimately, a smart premise is poignantly brought to life by Foster and Smulders, making for a psychological thriller that is nerve-rattlingly tense and a family drama that is unapologetically gutting.
Sharp Corner was reviewed out of its world premiere at the 2024 Toronto International Film Festival.
