Gap (2008)

There is an argument/mantra among devout fans of cinema that goes a little something like this: “Critics are so hard on and hate (insert name of favorite movie here) because they are merely frustrated filmmakers themselves and can’t do any better.” To paraphrase Woody Allen, “those who can’t do, teach, and those who can’t teach, grab a camcorder and call themselves directors.” Thanks to DVD, and the so-called digital revolution, everyone with a basic knowledge of process, a hint of inspiration, and a script/screenplay spinning around in their head/bottom desk drawer thinks they’re the next Kubrick…or if not the late, great auteur, some manner of homemade genius. For them, the motion picture is not about exclusivity. It’s about jumping whole hog into the artform before there’s even a need for their input.

For years, Paul O’Callaghan has added his celluloid two cents on the current Cineplex crop as part of radio’s outrageous Ron and Fez Show. Before that, he was a Tampa, Florida cable access star with his review/preview show Your Life is a Movie. But unlike the cliché, his recent turn behind the lens is not some random outlet for his misspent muse. It’s actually the culmination of a dream he’s been holding onto since graduating from film school in the early ’80s. The resulting experiment in genre exposition, Gap, gives new meaning to the term “unconventional”. By taking on one of the most stereotypical scary conventions – the serial killer with a desire to record his crimes – O’Callaghan has made a remarkable accomplished and anarchic piece of post-modern social commentary.

Gap is a movie that believes in ideas. It’s a film that follows a certain philosophy. Rebuking the clueless cow-like attention span of the average individual and adding it into the already ripe disposability of our poisonous pop culture, O’Callaghan’s killer (he plays the role himself) is more of a slaughter-bent sage than a manifestation of pure evil. By making these “tapes” (similar in style to the Blair Witch/Cloverfield conceit of first person POV insight), our clearly unhinged anti-hero is creating his Gospel. With each rant, with each frightened face he showcases (and then murderers), this demon dissects the human and finds its insides stuffed with maggots, the media, and a wildly unhealthy dose of “Me First” self-absorption. O’Callaghan’s character isn’t out to purge the planet, though. In his mind, seeing the horrific fate that meets anyone this selfish and simple will hopefully wake the world from its craven, crusty sleep. All they need is a copy of his visual primer.

Gap gets this point across via several divergent means. The first is through a thwarting of traditional horror film convention. When we hear that this movie centers on a killer videotaping his deeds while sermonizing about the various social “sins” he’s addressing, a wealth of gore-laden grotesqueries come to mind. Yet Gap has very little blood. We also anticipate lots of gratuity, including rampant nudity and a certain misogynistic view of the opposite sex. This also doesn’t occur. There are scenes where a particularly ghastly set up leads to an anticlimactic “apology” from our lead. There are also times when a certain strategy gets immediately circumvented for a more “direct” approach. If these descriptions seem vague, it’s because Gap would be ruined by too much advance knowledge. It’s better to go in, unprepared, and experience what O’Callaghan has to offer.

The murders are each handled in a different manner. O’Callaghan plays with the viewer, making them guess when our star will “snap” and procure his dance with death. Some of the sequences are sadistic and quite shocking. Others are almost comical in their nonchalant, farcical flippancy. Sometimes, O’Callaghan’s speech will be more horrific than the crime. In other instances, it’s all viscera and vivisection. Gap definitely keeps the audience off guard, making them guess what’s coming around the next corner, what the next shot or situation will have to offer. It also takes its title literally. The movie’s main theme is the massive ‘gap’ between reason and insanity, life and death, understanding and isolation, wisdom and misplaced contemplation. While we’re never sure if the victims deserve their fate, we clearly see that O’Callaghan’s character thinks so.

This doesn’t mean that Gap is flawless, however. As with any hands-on project, the casting process brings a few amateurish performances to the party – and nothing ruins dread like seeing an actress trying not to laugh while under a threat. In addition, the simple set ups of O’Callaghan speaking to the camera shows very little directorial panache. While he does eventually move the lens around in a more inventive fashion, the point and shoot awareness definitely undermines O’Callaghan’s ambitions. One wonders what he would be like with a bigger budget, a broader scope, and a cast and crew that could realize it for him. Still, as an initial foray into the dark, depressing world of independent creativity, Gap has its subversive charms.

And when you learn more about the production, about the motives behind this first aesthetic attempt and where the inspiration came from, you come to appreciate O’Callaghan even more. This is a man truly open to the process, who has seen the mistakes made in hundreds of horror movies (and mainstream Hollywood hackwork in general) and decided to go in a different direction. This may make Gap difficult for some audiences to accept. In general, we like our macabre measured out in certain, recognizable chunks. We don’t want to be challenged. We don’t like having our expectations circumvented or destroyed outright. We want terror, taunting, titillation, and perhaps a tell-all wrap up at the end of it. It’s safe to say that, for the terror traditionalist, Gap will be a baffling experience.

Yet if you’re willing to redefine your expectations and come in with an open mind, Gap will give your genre prerequisites a good tweaking. There are elements of exploitation, mumblecore, comedy, tragedy, experimentation, and outright ridiculousness here along with a great deal of insight into the mind of a madman and our current cultural malaise. O’Callaghan’s killer isn’t some megalomaniacal psychotic with a generic God complex compelled to do the bidding of a higher power. Instead, he’s a troubled individual seeing the world spinning out of control and hopes to impart upon it some necessary “lessons” before things totally go to Hell. Visiting the ‘found artifact’ nature of this movie indicates that the trip to Hades may be inevitable. How we get there, however, may be our only – and the film’s – saving grave. One thing’s for sure, it won’t be pretty. Then again, no attempt at personal reflection ever is.