I was somewhat disappointed by Guillermo del Toro's version of William Lindsey Graham's Nightmare Alley. It is a good film, lovingly crafted, but it lacks the potency of Edmund Goulding's 1947 version. Some forty minutes longer than the older film, del Toro and Kim Morgan's screenplay tries to be a more expansive adaptation of the novel, but their work lacks the concision and meticulous craftmanship of Jules Furthman's earlier screenplay. The new film is too deliberate in its pacing, overly wallowing in detail. It is as if del Toro was so enamored with the source material that, during the course of a long shoot delayed by COVID, he lost perspective on what makes this story work. There are too many superfluous scenes and too much showing off of the film's, admittedly wonderful, production design. The 1947 is so superbly constructed that there is not a wasted moment or shot.
A prologue, not in the earlier film, presents the protagonist, Stanford Carlisle, as more of a narcissistic psychopath. This is a little bit out of the range of Bradley Cooper. His performance lacks the seething desperation of Tyrone Power. Cooper also lacks the level of charisma that Leonardo DiCaprio, the initial choice for this remake, might have brought to the role. Rooney Mara gives a performance that is much too wan even for the relatively colorless role of Molly, a carnival girl who becomes Carlisle's mate. Coleen Gray, a bland actress herself, gave the role a little more spark.
Mr. del Toro has more luck with his supporting cast. Cate Blanchett, Toni Colette, Willem Dafoe, Richard Jenkins, Ron Perlman, David Strathairn, Jim Beaver, and Tim Blake Nelson are all more than adequate. The production is lushly bespoke, every pickled freak in the menagerie seems to have been curated with care, but Nightmare Alley's transgressive power seems diminished in this version.
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