Note: Heavy spoilers for VACANCY (2007) follow.
I’m no fan of the term “elevated horror,” and the better-than-you-remember Hitchcockian thriller VACANCY from director Nimród Antal doesn’t qualify for that dubious distinction anyway, but there is no hyperbole when I say that Frank Whaley, VACANCY’s secret weapon, elevates everything he’s in. This undersung character actor brings wit and nuance to his role as Mason, the unassuming motel manager with a dirty secret, that levels up the entire movie surrounding him, turning an already-good movie into one that richly deserves a revisit.
A couple nearing the end of their marriage after the death of their son, Amy (Kate Beckinsale) and David Fox (Luke Wilson), are forced to check into a seedy roadside motel after the double whammy of getting lost and running into car trouble. They’re not inside the filthy motel room for long before they realize that there are cameras in their room, placed there to witness the end of their lives as masked attackers turn their stay into a snuff film. Amy and David fight back, though, and they try to outrun and outwit Mason and his two lackeys (Ethan Embry and Scott Anderson) in order to survive the night.
It’s a grim premise, to be sure. The videotapes David finds and plays, showing former inhabitants of the very room they’re staying in as they are slashed to pieces by the masked killers, turn it even more grim. Blood-curdling screams fill the air and bodies in various states of undress are treated like meat, sliced and stabbed and punched by faceless men performing for the cameras. Following as it does right on the heels of SAW (2004) and HOSTEL (2005), you might be forgiven for assuming that VACANCY participates in the wave of torture porn that followed those two films. (Another controversial genre term; my apologies.) Though Beckinsale and Wilson’s endearing performances, cinematographer Andrzej Sekula’s stylish flourishes, and the film’s brisk pace certainly help, it is Whaley’s ironic and incongruous presence that keeps VACANCY from devolving into grimdark nihilism.
From the moment we see Mason’s serial killer-chic hotel manager — with his oversized glasses and Members Only jacket — peer through the crack in his office door, we know that something is amiss. Not only do we hear screams coming from the television in his office, but we can sense an artifice to Mason that wants us very much to drop our guards. He warmly greets Amy and David, arms akimbo and face full of folksy politeness, but his shifty eyes never stop scanning the room and his helpfulness dances the knife’s edge between overly casual and passive-aggressive. He laughs a little too much. He is hilariously precise in counting out the dimes for the payphone that David will have to use to call for automotive help, which he informs the couple — with impeccable timing, of course, as they’re aaaalmost out the door — will be totally useless to them until the morning.
Mason is lit from above by fluorescent lights, which only heighten his chintzy menace. He stammers genially at the couple, doing everything he can to get them to stay while also doing everything he can to convince them that he doesn’t really care if they stay or not. His practiced combination of “aw shucks” customer service and disaffected minimum wage employee works; they decide to stay the night, which the viewer can already tell is a very, very bad idea. And if you couldn’t, the speed with which Mason’s smile drops after he yells to Amy and David’s retreating backs, “Y’all have a great night!” would clinch it for you. Mason returns, shiftily as ever, to his office and resumes the video with all the screaming on it, and thus ends one of the great character introductions in Frank Whaley’s career.
It’s always a joy to see an actor play a role within a role, and Whaley inhabits Mason’s duality with a fine sheen of grease and sleaze. Whaley has a twitchy unpredictability, like he’s always trying to figure out a way to come out on top at the expense of others. He seems perpetually covered in anxiety-induced sweat from clawing at the other crabs in the bucket of life, and that weaselly persona (I love you, Frank, I promise) makes him the only choice to play Mason. We live in a world where character actors rarely, if ever, get their due, so hear me when I say this: no one could play this role like Frank Whaley does. He leans into his well-earned persona and gives a terrific performance, layering subtle tic on top of subtle tic to reveal the absolutely despicable human being at Mason’s core.
Mason is every bit Joseph Conrad’s “papier-mâché Mephistopheles,” which is a hell of a hard thing to pull off. As Amy and David are menaced by terrifying bangs on their doors and windows, Mason’s shifty presence looms large over the story even when you’re so wrapped up in the scares that you forget about him. It’s a paradoxical sweet spot in a suspense movie full of twists and turns, to be remembered and forgotten at the same time. Mason is unassuming enough that he doesn’t send up red flags immediately (not for David, anyway; Amy is the voice of reason from the beginning), but he’s menacing enough that when the other shoe drops you have no problem believing that he’s involved in the snuff scheme. That combination is an exceedingly difficult tightrope to walk, but Whaley does it backwards and blindfolded.
Every mannerism shows how routine this night is for Mason, how workmanlike and mundane this appalling job is. There is nothing in the story that makes us believe there is anyone above Mason in this organization, but Whaley plays him like he’s just middle management in this morally grimy routine. He sniffs and rubs his chin and goes about his duties with a shrug. He’s the physical embodiment of “Time to make the donuts,” but in this case the donuts are videotapes of people being brutally slaughtered. It’s this absurdity that Whaley brings to the role that keeps VACANCY from descending into grimdark torture porn territory. His innate levity lifts the whole movie up. If he gave off mastermind vibes, if he felt like a man firmly in control at all times, the movie would be too dark and relentless; it’s precisely his weird, always-Oscar-worthy weaselly nature that keeps the film’s tone on the perfect path and makes the horror that much more effective, guided with laser-like precision by Whaley’s talent and ability.
Whaley may bring levity to the role, but he’s too smart to play Mason for laughs. Comedy and horror are twins, but they’re fraternal ones, and Whaley nimbly stays on horror’s side of the genetic sidewalk. When David escapes the hotel room and tries to call 911 on the aforementioned payphone, Mason — unrecognizable at first — is the one who answers. Whaley’s voice is deep, calm, and matter-of-fact as the supposed emergency dispatcher. When he lets David know who he really is — “You’ll never survive if you lose control, Mr. Fox. And you shouldn’t be wandering around in the dark by yourself” — Whaley brings his voice back up on the second sentence to Mason’s higher-pitched, nasal tone. It’s a cruel twist of the knife that would be funny if it didn’t spell almost-certain doom for David, and Whaley sells the hell out of it, making the viewer’s heart drop into their stomach.
Whaley nails another reveal just as perfectly. A trucker (Mark Casella) arrives, and David and Amy think they’ve found their salvation. They pound on the window of their room, screaming for help at first, and then trying to warn the trucker as the masked killers approach him from behind. It’s another fake-out, though, and Mason runs up to the trucker with a box of videotapes. He’s all smiles and folksy customer service with this man too, but the layer of artifice is gone. He can drop the pretense, and the fact that so much of what we’ve seen is the real Mason — coupled with the revelation that no one is coming to save the Foxes — is an extra twist of the knife that feels cruel without being nihilistic.
Hope is not lost for the Foxes, though, and it is precisely due to Whaley’s performance that we know that long before the credits roll. That’s not to say that he takes anything away from the film’s suspense; far from it. His twitchy unpredictability only adds to VACANCY’s tension. But his performance shows a light at the end of the tunnel due to his very careful calibration of Mason’s inability to keep it together. The Foxes discover a system of tunnels underneath their room that allows the killers to come and go as they please, and they use it to try to escape. When Mason discovers their plan, his impotent rage — with his jerky body movements and curses that barely escape his pursed lips — gives the viewer hope precisely because his anger feels so ineffectual. He isn’t a mastermind or a man of action; he’s a middle manager flailing at inconveniences. Thus, Whaley guides us through the emotional highs and lows of the film: he’s menacing enough to make us fear for the Foxes’ lives, but Mason’s inability to channel his off-kilter energy into anything resembling a coherent plan of action gives us hope that they’ll make it out in one piece.
Toward the end of the film, Mason’s façade begins to show even more cracks. A police officer (David Doty) shows up after Amy manages to make a 911 call from Mason’s office, and Mason’s laidback folksiness and forced smiles have to reappear for him to shoo the cop away. The viewer fears for the officer, knowing that there are three men on the premises who aren’t afraid to kill him, but Mason’s sweaty faux-compliance and obvious stall tactics give a lightness to his panic that balances out the darkness of the situation. When the officer is, inevitably, killed by one of the masked men, Mason chides the Foxes in a scolding, moralizing tone of voice for causing the man’s death. Once again, it’s a moment that would be funny in any other movie, but here it only ratchets up the absurdity even more, allowing the audience enough breathing room between themselves and the horrors taking place on-screen to enjoy — rather than dread — the ride.
VACANCY is a sharp Hitchcockian thriller that deserves a wider audience, and that is largely due to Whaley’s impeccable performance. By playing Mason as a twitchy, beleaguered motel employee rather than a sadistic mastermind of a snuff film distribution ring, he gives VACANCY what many mid-to-late-aughts horror movies are missing: a sense of fun. It’s still a dark film that tells a dark story, but by embracing the bizarre and off-kilter elements of his engaging persona, Frank Whaley finds small bits of light that elevate VACANCY, making it that much scarier and turning it into a film worth watching again and again.
Tags: Andrzej Sekula, Anniversaries, David Doty, Ethan Embry, Frank Whaley, Hostel, Kate Beckinsale, Luke Wilson, Mark Casella, Nimród Antal, Saw, Scott Anderson, Vacancy
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