Thin Ice: Collapses Under Structure Woes

Playing like a poor man’s The Usual Suspects, Thin Ice attempts to plot an intricate caper around an extremely valuable old violin, but its poor management of escalating tension and rushed (or delayed) plot twists make this not nearly as effective as its award-winning cinematic step-cousin.

(Note: I’m going to continue reviewing Thin Ice as if I were an average filmgoer, but it should be noted that a version of this film was originally screened at Sundance in 2011 as The Convincer. Once it was purchased for distribution, it was re-cut drastically and released as Thin Ice, with director Jill Sprecher attempting to pull her name off the film but being unable to do so due to her contract. I haven’t seen the original cut, so I have no way of knowing what was changed by whom – and neither will most anyone of you who checks out Thin Ice, so might as well just continue talking about what we do have.)

I’m not sure what Greg Kinnear is like in real life, but he plays a fantastic douchebag. Something about his politician’s smile and 1980’s-fifth-grade haircut mixed with that smarmy attitude makes his portrayal of shyster insurance salesman Mickey Prohaska seem effortless. (I have no reason to believe anything other than that he’s simply found a niche for himself and plays to type more often than not, rather than that he’s truly like that in person. See also: Baker, Dylan.) Prohaska lives in wintry Kenosha, Wisconsin and aches to win his territory’s annual top sales prize, which would put him back in tropical Aruba. He’s also separated from his wife (played by Lea Thompson), to whom he owes tens of thousands of dollars – an issue considering he can’t even pay the rent or give his secretary a long-overdue raise. Suffice it to say that Prohaska has his share of life issues, not least of which is his own doing since he’s a total scumbag, living up to his profession’s notorious stereotype.

It follows logically then that the film explores the theme of trust, with Prohaska warning the elderly Gorvy Hauer – portrayed by the excellent Alan Arkin – that you can’t trust anyone. Ironic, of course, since Hauer blindly trusts anyone and everyone he meets, including the sleazy Prohaska who does everything he can to con Hauer out of his recently appraised old violin, which just so happens to be worth a fortune. However, Thin Ice doesn’t settle for this being just a quirky morality tale. Instead, the audience is being played, too, just like the old man. Or maybe, just like Prohaska. Well, it’s all rather confusing because, while the film crafts well-defined characters (credit likely due to screenwriters Jill and Karen Sprecher) with excellently Midwestern-sounding names, it sorely lacks in building a suitable structure for what ends up being a plot-heavy con film – blame at least partially given to the final edit.

Regardless, Matchstick Men this is not. It seems like the filmmakers didn’t realize that it was going to end up being one of those clever, things-aren’t-what-they-seem flicks until way late in the process. So, they then went back and attempted to fix the holes to add this newly found layer, transforming the film from a harmless-crime-gone-horribly-wrong flick to a twist-heavy, darkly comedic criminal caper, for which they couldn’t get quite right. The film isn’t a total disaster, but it’s clear that what we’re seeing on screen wasn’t supposed to end up that way. My original thought during the film was that the script was a couple revisions away from being shoot-ready, requiring a drastic edit to gloss over the gaping plot holes; however, learning about Thin Ice’s history, it seems more likely that the raw footage has simply been used to create a completely different film than the script ever intended.

Thankfully, one thing that shines through is the performances from the main players, especially Billy Crudup. A far cry from his memorable role as 70s rocker Russell Hammond, Crudup is equally solid as Randy, an increasingly unhinged locksmith with a checkered past who completely sends the film in a new direction than the one the first 40 minutes set up. The massive wrench that Randy throws into Prohaska’s weaselly plan should’ve either been the first act turn or the second act turn. Instead, it appears somewhere in that second act area before the midpoint, but after we’ve already learned about the main conflict.

Which is all too bad, since there’s a solid little flick somewhere within the mess that is Thin Ice. Prohaska is one of those unlikeable main characters who you still find yourself rooting for yet wish for his comeuppance; Kenosha is a charming little small town that we don’t see often enough on the big screen (even though it was actually shot in Minnesota); and, the acting all around is top-notch. It’s too bad that it ends up collapsing in on itself under its own convoluted plot gravity due to a lack of necessary underlying structure. Even more of a drag is that it doesn’t seem like it needed too much revision to get it on more solid ground – just moving a major plot point up and giving the third act more time to breathe would have done wonders in taking Thin Ice from being a deeply flawed little flick to one of those indie gems that you tell your friends about.