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The world of television can be as cutthroat as anything else, as programmes jostle for prominent time slots and more viewers. In fact, in that desperate quest for ratings, no stone is left unturned as even the most outlandish sensationalism is fair game to exploit – even the arrest of sex offenders. This brings us to Primetime, Lance Oppenheim’s ominously frenzied telling of the origins of To Catch A Predator, the reality series that famously saw presenter Chris Hansen catch out child predators via a string of televised stings.
But rather than just relaying the facts that led to the rise of the show and the botched operation that occured in 2006, Oppenheim has decided to take a more crazed, arthouse approach to loosely tell the story. Not only only does this mean that Primetime feels like someone slipped 2014’s Nightcrawler a tab of acid, but it gives the ubiquitous Robert Patterson yet another opportunity to deliver another example of the strange, balls-out, kind of performances that are rapidly starting to make his name.
For anyone unfamiliar with the concept of To Catch A Predator, it was a Dateline NBC series that saw decoy actors of legal age lure sexual predators to a location where presenter Chris Hansen would suddenly emerge to confront them on air. After the sting had occurred, the perverted perpetrator would be arrested by local law enforcement and Hanson would have another episode in the can. But while the host sees his show as a necessity to clean up the streets and keep children safe, he also has a clawing hunger for legitimacy and ratings, and will do virtually anything to achieve his goals. It seems like his it has been achieved when NBC head Jeff Zucker decides to move To Catch A Predator to a primetime slot, but realising that his show is now having to go head to head with Lost, Hanson realises he need to step up his game.
Meanwhile, hopeful actor Dan Plum is seeking credits in order to score a membership in the Screen Actors Guild, and hopes he’ll get it after scoring a gig as one of the show’s decoy actors. While initially (and understandably) caught unawares by the nature of the show, he soon accumulates and starts treating it like a standard acting gig, despite it requiring to act like an underage boy to trick sexual deviants.
However, while Chris Hanson discovers that the National Inquirer is planning a story about an extramartial affair, he ramps up the pressure on his crew in order to guarantee that his show is a ratings gobbling success. Deciding that he needs a “whale” to push things over the top, his underlings scour the Internet for a predator that isn’t a small fry, and after plenty of unsavory conversations, the team believe that they may have found one in Texas. Putting all their resources into tracking down and luring in this falsely perceived pillar of the community, Hanson pushes harder and harder – but when this much pressure is applied, surely something will soon break…
It’s somewhat amusing that a director with such a background in documentary filmmaking has chosen to approach a real life story in such a crazed and exaggerated way; but when broaching the subject of small screen sensationalism, Oppenheim seems to fancy himself as some sort of Oliver Stone style agitator. I mean this in a complementary sense of course, as the director’s decision to go big, constantly shift between 12 different camera formats and deliver a truly gonzo tone that suggests that Lance has been dipping into Stone’s peyote stash is truly something to experience. If Primetime is about the maniac rush to claim viewers while preying on predators, then by God Oppenheim is going to make you feel every square inch of that stress and wallow in how uncomfortable the entire situation is. Let’s not forget, there’s a thin line between the obvious benefits of getting sex offenders off the streets, and televising it for personal gain.
Due to the rather unsavoury nature of the film and the show it’s putting under the phantasmagorical microscope, Oppenheim opts to shoot the whole thing like an 80s horror movie, offering this fantastical version of Chris Hansen up as both an obsessive, manic, Van Helsing, and as a charismatic, vampiric being who happily bleeds these child predators dry in order to sate his ravenous thirst for ratings. Similarly, the shooting style, garish colours and super intense performances makes it feel like we’re watching a grainy bootleg of a video nasty as it’s subject matter ladels on the mounting dread. The movie seems obsessed about putting us slap bang in the middle of some uncomfortable moral dilemma as it both agrees that these whimpering, quivering sex offenders need to be taken off the streets, but then asks us to empathise with them that sticking it all on television for entertainment purposes is hardly the most socially healthy way to go about it.
“What would have happened if I wasn’t here?” is Chris Hansen’s repeated catchphrase, but it acts as a double-edged blade, suggesting that the need for sensationalism tarnishes everything that they’re doing. It’s a challenging notion to pitch, that’s made even more darkly amusing by the fact that a lot of the offenders are being played by semi-recognisable faces (Tony Revolori, Jonathan Lipnicki, Alex Winter), but it’s fully cemented by whatever the fuck Robert Patterson is doing with his performance. This year alone, the actor has been putting in ever more impressive acting jobs that have taken him so far away from his teen heart-throb origins that he couldn’t see Edward Cullen’s sparkly skin even on a clear day. But after racking up an impressive roster of weirdos, creeps and weenies, this gloriously exaggerated version of Chris Hansen (or, at least I hope it is) sees him almost going full performance art as presents a man so intense, Patterson’s prominent forehead vein deserves its own credit.
There are flaws. While we also focus on Merritt Wever’s frustrated producer and Skyler Gisondo’s bewildered actor who suddenly finds himself flung into a world of exposed genitals and chest shaving, the frantic, stylish visuals are way more interested in getting across just how fucked up everything gets and it’s tough to get a read on anyone as an actual person. Still, as an uncomfortable, trippy and darkly humorous slice of cinema, you certainly can’t accuse Primetime of being your bog standard, plain retelling of true events, as it feels more like you’ve overdosed on expired medication rather than delivering a pointed exposé on morals-free sensationalism.
Anyone coming to Primetime looking for a crisp, clean, by-the-numbers rundown of the rise and fall of To Catch A Predator may well be caught off guard by the fever dream excesses of Oppenheim’s delirious telling. But if you’re looking for sweaty dread, sledgehammer moralising and yet another barnstormer of a performance by Patterson who is obviously relishing playing his part, then this trippy, strange movie is definitely worth catching.
