Rosy is a 2018 thriller about a socially awkward young man who kidnaps an aspiring actress with the hope that they will fall in love.
There’s a great start here, with writer/director Jess Bond opening with a clear nod to early Brian De Palma, the erratic imagery, plucking violin notes and vouyeristic distance reminiscent of Blow Out and Obsession. It’s very compelling. However, it’s an illusion that soon fades as the familiar film eventually squanders its invitation for something mysterious in trade for a more pedestrian experience that saps its potential, leaving this a stylistic misfire.
Rosy (Stacy Martin) is a girl who looks like a model but has aspirations of being an actor. Not having much success, she dates men who take care of her, sleeping with whomever she feels like, accepting money for services but considering herself “not a hooker.” She recently was involved with James (Johnny Knoxville), a filmmaker of sorts separated from his wife and troubled by his sexual and casual relationship with Rosy. Then there is Doug (Nat Wolff), who is a horse of a different color, his grandmother hospitalized, leaving him living alone, deciding that Rosy would make the perfect girlfriend. To prove his worth, he kidnaps her, locks in her the basement and does his best to woo her. She does what she can to appease him, and just make it to the next day, though maybe there’s something else on her mind.
Splitting its time between the two men, James set just before Doug, the films tries to link the relationships in a sort of metaphorical state, Rosy caught in the trappings of both. On paper, it’s a clever idea, even if the whole Stockholm Syndrome angle has been well covered plenty of times before. The problem is, the film rarely makes it interesting beyond the setup, with the performances never quite believable, even as they struggle with an uneven script, one that creates moments of implausibility that for me, I simply couldn’t get over, mostly between Doug and Rosy.
I enjoyed the dark dynamic between James and Rosy far better, with Knoxville doing great work as a conflicted man, though none of these people are really given much depth, perhaps purposefully so. It ends up rather frustrating, especially after its sensational start, which promises something far different than what we get. While the waif-like Martin (who most will recognize from her work in the Nymphomaniac films) is once again fearless in trying to give Rosy some presence, stripping nude a number of times and reaching for some raw emotional high notes. It’s just the character is not compelling. Worse though is Wolff, who has proven himself before, here lacking any sense of compulsion, his performance so flat and passionless, it feels false when few moments that require him to emote arise.
Rosy is a curious mess, the film at its best with Bond’s strong direction and subtle visual flairs. There’s great use of color and space, with the limited sets and haunting suspenseful score by Danny Bensi and Saunder Jurriaans helping a lot to give this some flavor. However, it has nearly no momentum in getting us to its ubiquitous end, the talky drama without much investment. A brief cameo by Tony Shalhoub does little to elevate this as it meanders along to its predictable and unsatisfying finale.