I've become so numb
What is the line between body mutilation that entertains or provokes me vs. disgusts me? A shocked, laughing cringe versus a stomach-turning wince? I genuinely don’t know. Certainly tone plays a role: the depravity of, say, The Texas Chain Saw Massacre is exhibit A for what not to do if you want me on board. But the black-slapstick comedy of The Monkey? Left me worn out, sure, but satisfied. There’s also a tempo thing: slow torture makes my skin crawl more than quick-cut brutality, but there just isn’t a hard-and-fast pattern — Final Destination draws out the deaths without turning me off its wavelength. Maybe my boundaries are just weird and illogical. Maybe everyone’s are.
I don’t know what the line is, but here’s what I can tell you: Novocaine rides and weaponizes that line. It might as well be the film’s mission statement: a tug of war between body horror and the absence of suffering, and the bizarre dissonance of tones it generates. Somehow, paradoxically, the very absence of suffering made the violence feel more brutal. Watching someone go through hell without reacting is its own kind of existentially distressing, a human not reacting how a human should, like the seventh circle of the uncanny valley or something. There’s a physiological unease to Novocaine that snuck past my mental defenses — with no screaming or flinching, just unobserved maiming, and I was suddenly clenching.
Nathan Caine (Jack Quaid), aka Nate aka “Novocaine”, is a soft-spoken assistant bank manager in San Diego who has “congenital insensitivity to pain with anhidrosis” (CIPA): He can’t feel heat, injury, or much of anything, physically speaking. Mental health-wise, he’s like the rest of us: lonely and longing for connection. He’s an accidental hermit: his resistance to pain makes life outside the home a major threat, as his lack of detecting dangerous scenarios puts him at risk. So he spends his non-working hours in front of a computer screen playing World of Warcraft. But something calls to his heart, or, rather, someone: His coworker Sherry (Amber Midthunder) flirts with him over paperwork, and they finally have a lunch date. Sparks fly. They spend a magical night together. Then, the next morning, the bank gets robbed by a group of bandits dressed as Santas, and they take Sherry as hostage so the police will hesitate in gunning them down. Nate, in a fit of impulsive bravery, steals a cop car to chase after her. He follows the wrong vehicle, which thus kicks off a cross-city odyssey in search of Sherry that will push his pain tolerance to the limit.
The result is a weird and provocative blend of tones. It starts off in the realm of a sweet romantic comedy, then transforms into a twisty crime chase thriller. The characterization of Nate is a lot more tender than the trailers and marketing let on — they sell this as a superhero riff (even with an E. Nigma-style novelty name for the protagonist), but it’s closer in tone and structure to a throwback, upbeat action-comedy like Rush Hour than it is to Kick-Ass. And yet what makes the film unique is the other tone driving this film: The set pieces that turn Nate’s painlessness into a excruciating spectacle. Each scene finds a new way to put his body through some ridiculous gauntlet as he shrugs along. The one disappointment is the big one in the climax, which makes much less use of Nate’s condition in favor of a more generic action showdown.
I admire directors Dan Berk and Robert Olsen’s commitment to exploring the possibilities of Nate’s condition. I won’t spoil them all because much of the film’s pleasure lies in the surprising unfolding of each new ordeal. But here’s a taste: Nate plods through a trap-rigged safe house with casual annoyance, getting Home Alone’d half to death without blinking, like he got a stain on his shirt or something. In a different scene, he rolls his knuckles in crushed glass to make his punches more effective against a foe who out-muscles him. Later in the film, he eggs on a thug to torture him, play-acting like he’s in unbearable pain, to buy some time. All clever, all skin-crawling.
Jack Quaid continues to rise in my estimation. He’s not quite at Adam Scott’s level, but he’s in the same lineage — someone whose face and demeanor seem eminently punchable at first blush, but who wins you over with layers of charm and range. Like Scott, Quaid knows when to lean into the smarm and when to play the sincere underdog — Novocaine leans towards the latter. The contrast to his role in Companion earlier this year, where he played an entitled toolbag, is stark.
The supporting cast is a lot of fun. Between this and Borderline, Ray Nicholson has officially become a “guy I’m excited to see.” It’s an important honor; I hope he fulfills it. Nicholson displays some real menace here — cocky, sadistic, a bit of a showman. Amber Midthunder, meanwhile, leaves a real impression, unlike the two other times I’ve seen her in something. Her character is a bit underwritten on paper, but she brings richness to the role, especially as her character develops in the second half of the film. She has fantastic chemistry with Quaid, which is important, as you need to buy that he’d throw everything he has into rescuing her after one great date. Meanwhile, Jacob Batalon and Matt Walsh are reliably fun, even if they’re mostly orbiting the chaos.
As creative and well-staged as the film’s action is, it is extremely tough to sit through. That’s the dilemma I’m sitting with now: I had the urge to cover my eyes for a lot of the runtime. It made me queasy. And yet, I bought into the vibe, rooted for the characters, and laughed frequently. Do I ding a film for making me squirm uncomfortably, or applaud it for achieving that visceral reaction? This is a movie, like Heretic, I’d tag with a 4.5 on the Is It Good? scale if such a rating was valid: thumb neither up nor down, all ambivalence. Since I need to commit, I’ll lean soft yes. It’s simultaneously gruesome and lightweight, a self-contradiction I suppose. But Novocaine is ultimately fresh and fun. Call it a pain I was glad to feel, unlike the protagonist.
Is It Good?
Good (5/8)
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