Violence/Gore: Despite the subject matter, most - in fact, pretty much all - of the actual violence is kept offscreen.

Sex/Nudity: Nada.

Best Line: “It’s not fair! All I get to see are demons and Fenton gets to see God!”

Score:

Some of my favorite movie-viewing experiences happen when I just fall into a film on cable. You know how it works: you’re flipping around the channels for what feels like the millionth time - no agenda, no special plans - and suddenly you just fall into something. Maybe it’s a movie you recognize but never got around to watching, or maybe it’s something completely unfamiliar. Or maybe you catch a glimpse of an actor you enjoy in just about anything - like prolific ’80s and ’90s genre character actor Bill Paxton - and settle in to see what he’s up to in a creepy little movie about a God-fearing, axe-wielding dad and his two sons.

Life for Fenton and Adam Meiks is not too bad over all. Even without their mother, they have a loving father and a decent relationship as brothers. Then one day their dad reveals a horrifying secret - he’s been contacted by God and given a list of people to capture and kill. It seems these aren’t really humans, but demons that must be “destroyed.” Outwardly, it appears as if their father has suddenly snapped, and while younger brother Adam blindly believes in his father and the mission, older brother Fenton is severely troubled by the fact that their father may be a budding serial killer. When Dad kidnaps a woman and chops her to pieces with an axe in full view of both boys, the audience can’t help but agree.

The tale is actually told in flashback, with Matthew McConaughey as Fenton relating the story to an FBI agent played by Powers Boothe. There’s a rash of murders similar to those Fenton’s dad committed all those years ago, and now the truth will be revealed. But is there more to the story than Fenton is telling? Be prepared for at least two or three mind-bending twists that not only throw everything that precedes them into a different light but that also change your understanding of the very genre in which the film should be placed. With touches that pay homage to classic film noir, modern slasher horror, and even psychological character study, FRAILTY rewards careful viewing and reviewing.

Whenever an actor takes on the directorial role in a project in which he himself appears, there’s always the danger of too much self-indulgence, or at the very least not enough external control over the performance side (let’s not go back to Shatner in STAR TREK V, shall we?). But Paxton is exceptional here as a tormented man who may be slipping into insanity but genuinely believes he’s on a mission from God. Impressively, he also comes across as a truly caring father even at his most maniacal. Paxton is well known for playing fringe personalities teetering on the verge of losing it in countless sci-fi flicks, but here he wisely dials back his usual wild-eyed mugging and plays the madness a bit more internally. It’s a wise move, and it only serves to deepen the film’s suspenseful mood.

Perhaps the movie’s greatest feat is that it leaves you thinking at the end, and not in a confused, “What the hell was all that about?” way either. FRAILTY leaves you questioning the very intentions of God Himself - in the context of the story anyway. Is there truly a God at work here? Or is there another force playing with our fates and engaging in a bit of bloody social engineering? There are no easy answers, even when the film takes a few sudden turns and provides a bit more concrete evidence of paranormal influence that the rest of the movie might prepare you to expect. There’s still plenty of healthy ambiguity when the credits roll, and you’ll be sorting out the metaphysical and philosophical ramifications of the film’s conclusion for days afterward. That’s the hallmark of great cinema, and for Paxton a sign that wonderful things might lie ahead for fans of this actor/director.

DVD Extras: (Not yet reviewed) Includes multiple commentaries, featurettes, deleted scenes, and a photo gallery.

ATB