In order to cope with trauma, some children create imaginary friends to see them through difficult times. These figments of imagination are often coping mechanisms for those who lack a stable living situation or suffer from abuse, whether it be mental or physical. In Slapface, the “imaginary” friend is a tangible entity in a troubled child’s life, and it attempts to serve as a grim metaphor for abuse.
Young Lucas (August Maturo) has had tragedy befall him at an early age. Both of his parents are dead, and his 20-something-year-old brother Tom (Mike Manning) is his current guardian. They live in a cottage out in the woods, and Tom isn’t the best role model for his little brother, constantly going out drinking and shacking up with a girl after only a short while of knowing her. Lucas is bullied by his peers, who one day dare him to investigate the alleged abode of Virago, an ancient witch of lore who lives deep within the woods. Here, Lucas gets more than he bargained for when he not only discovers the witch is real, but also develops a friendship with her. Unfortunately for him, the witch has unconventional ways of showing loyalty that have deadly consequences.
While there’s plenty that’s competent about Slapface, none of it adds up to anything particularly special. In fact, the film’s mastermind, writer/director Jeremiah Kipp, is the very culprit holding it back from greatness at times. All of the actors work well in their parts, but some of the directorial choices and dialogue feel inorganic. For instance, Lucas’s main bullies are twin girls who cavort around the woods with his crush Moriah (Mirabelle Lee), and the exchanges between each other are so awkward they’re cringeworthy. Moriah pretends to side with the twins when they’re around, but she clearly likes Lucas when they’re not, and that subplot is handled poorly. Character motivations are muddied, exposition is mishandled, and priorities are skewed throughout the film. Despite having a nice look to it and a skilled editor to pull it together as much as possible, it feels amateurish as a result of its missteps.
One of the most frustrating issues comes from the depiction of the witch herself. While great care went into the aged look of the tattered robes she wears, her face looks like a static witch mask rather than prosthetic makeup to bring the character to life. If her face were often shrouded by shadows, this would be acceptable, but instead, she is usually shown in broad daylight with very little obscuring her face, making the lack of facial expressions especially distracting. The physicality is strange for the witch character as well: despite looking old and withered, she acts off-puttingly nimble. In one scene, for example, Lucas rides her piggyback as she playfully runs around the forest; in another, she mistakes destroying Lucas’s house as some sort of game and gleefully smashes objects with him. Stranger yet, she’s supposed to be a witch, yet never displays any overt magical powers, instead choosing to rip her victims apart as her modus operandi, which feels like wasted potential. Most of these choices would have been acceptable if the character were more of an animalistic creature who has conceivably never interacted with humans before, but they feel odd coming from another human-looking character who does the polar opposite of anything one might expect from someone like that.
The film’s namesake comes from a game Lucas and Tom play with each other where they take turns slapping each other. It’s shown multiple times throughout the film, gets especially nasty when Tom’s angry at Lucas, and even plays a part in its climax. This combined with the bullying Lucas receives points toward the concept that abuse begets abuse and has the ability to create literal monsters, but enough mistakes are made to give little potency to this powerful message. Rarely suspenseful or frightening with plot points that feel like padding to a much smaller story, Slapface is a slap to the face of horror fans familiar with films where this formula is handled far more elegantly.
—Andrea Riley