A slow-burning psychological thriller sporting more subtext than suspense, “The Man in My Basement” is a mediocre movie in search of greatness. Magnetic, lived-in performances by the leads bolster the effort and keep it interesting, but the production consistently over-promises and under-delivers throughout its torturous 110-minute runtime.
Set in 1994 Sag Harbor, NY, the audience meets Charles Blakey (Corey Hawkins) at maybe his lowest point in life. Estranged from family, friends, and a community where he seems to have worn out his welcome, Charles is unemployed and on the verge of losing his family’s multi-generational home to foreclosure. “You got what you asked for,” and “there’s no helping you” are the refrains he hears when reaching out for help, yet it is a stranger who finds him and offers him the lifeline he so desperately needs.
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Anniston Bennett (Willem Dafoe) is a wealthy businessman from Connecticut, and he arrives one day at Charles’ doorstep and declares that he wants to rent out the basement for 65 days, and offers $1000 a day to do it. Immediately suspicious of the too-good-to-be-true pitch, Charles eventually relents and only learns about Anniston’s intention to live in a jail cell/cage after the polite blue blood settles into the space. Justifiably freaked out by the request (and the optics in case anyone happens upon the scene), Charles again gives in when financial incentives sweeten the deal, and the pair settle into an odd routine.  
On the surface, at least, Anniston’s request appears to be an inversion of a foundational American reality: the subjugation of one class or category of people for the financial gain of another. Although it is a voluntary situation rooted in consent, Charles willingly takes on the role of the oppressor while Anniston explores incarceration. The film uses the pair’s interactions with each other and dialogue about guilt, power dynamics, morals, and redemption to explore some interesting themes, yet does so with little impact or effect.
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Indeed, for a story as deliberate and precise as this one is in setting, period, and character interplay, there’s far more telling than showing, here. It’s not enough for the characters to mention that this takes place in Sag Harbor; it feels the need to linger on a historic marker that states that it is “a historically African American Community founded in 1950.” The themes of the story connect well with the setting, a one-time refuge for New York City’s black population located on the opposite side of Long Island’s uber-wealthy Hamptons community, yet director Nadia Latif (who also co-wrote the screenplay) doesn’t seem confident in the story’s ability to draw this out via dialogue and action.
The movie is an adaptation of the 2004 novel by Walter Mosley, and elements like this show the stitches ripping at the seams of this cinematic version. Internal dialogue and narrative context live more comfortably on the page than on the screen, leading to forced line readings like, “Nothing in this world is free of everything else,” and the awkward interplay between Charles and the local antiques dealer, Narciss (Anna Diop). Both are there for a reason and represent a component within a cohesive thematic structure, yet they feel less like organic pieces of this story and more like remnants from the novel that don’t find much purchase here.
This is very much the case with the period, which nightly news clips and mentions of the Rwandan genocide place in a very specific era, though to little effect or impact. A person could be forgiven for not noticing this 30-year difference at all, leading one to wonder why it is even a part of this adaptation and what it brings to the story and its characters. Likewise, aside from the model of automobiles featured, very little about the costume, set design, or hair/make-up places this thirty-plus years in the past.
Even so, other details in the script are plentiful and tie into the broader themes of the piece. Charles’ discovery of a dead raccoon in his basement early on is a clever piece of wordplay and foreshadowing, and the mask imagery is well-deployed. What’s more, Hawkins, Dafoe, and Diop are solid and crackle with a believable cadence and interplay that brings the movie alive when they’re bouncing off of each other.
The flip side to that is the dearth of momentum and pop whenever they are alone or off-screen altogether: an all-too-frequent occurrence. There are interesting ideas at play here that find some leverage in the scenes between the leads, Hawkins and Dafoe in particular, yet Latif and the movie don’t seem to be able to wield them effectively. “The Man in My Basement” is a slow burn, to be sure, and though things come out fully cooked, there’s little flavor and more flash than sizzle. [C-]
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