Verity Movie Review:

Is truth a liberator or an oppressor? The complex nature of human behaviour leads to differentiation in actions being labelled as flaws, mistakes, or crimes. What separates them, is others being able to accept the doers, either by gaining perspective or blind acceptance. But what exists beneath all of these is one unquestionable fact, that is truth. In Michael Showalter's Verity, the objective goal is to explore the weight of the truth connecting three flawed individuals connected by major crimes, which began as minor mistakes. But instead of exploring the true meaning of these truths, we are left with an incomplete bag of tricks.

Director: Michael Showalter

Cast: Anne Hathaway, Dakota Johnson, Josh Hartnett

In Verity, Lowen (Dakota Johnson), a grieving, down-on-her luck author is recruited by Jeremy (Josh Hartnett), to ghostwrite for his catatonic wife, Verity (Anne Hathaway), a bestselling author. The very act of ghostwriting teeters on the meaning of truth and Lowen, as a ghostwriter, is also tasked to sort through a collection of Verity's notes, which contain her deepest thoughts and secrets. But instead of getting a potent exploration of what makes Verity and how she changes Lowen, we get a sequence of events on screen that fails to create intrigue with the viewer. For example, Lowen's grief comes from her losing her mother to cancer. A mother, with whom she has a complicated relationship. But all of this is confined to two throwaway dialogues. Beyond that, we are not shown why Lowen's grief is impacted by Verity's truths, resulting in a couple of two dimensional characters, whose motivations are distracted by another fundamental factor.

That distracting factor is shock value. Throughout the film, Verity and her namesake, the truth, are treated as ghosts haunting Lowen and Jeremy. As the flawed human, whose stormy mind led to Lowen entering her life, Verity is an intense reminder of a lost life. But as we explore her past by way of leftover notes, we realise that what is actually left over is Verity's emotional truth. While building Verity up as a myth, the film fails to build-up the human, the only form which can shoulder emotions, like honesty. While this symbol-like form is used for multiple jump-scares, the lack of the fundamental purpose, leaves the film out in the cold. But what is commendable are the jump scares themselves. Composer Volker Bertelmann elevates the significance of silence, letting the jump scares speak for themself. Bertelmann resorts to his signature eerie electronic score.

While Verity confronts a lot of truths, it forces the audience to confront a major one, good dialogues are important. Dialogues between characters are different from regular conversations. But both are filled with lines having strong purposes for utterance. The lead trio use every trick in their disposal to convert the dialogues into being charismatic and cinematic, but even their efforts fail. Not only do the dialogues let themself down, they are also let down by the screenplay. When Lowen enters Verity and Jeremy's isolated and scenic house, she begins with a conversation about a wide open space in front that is key to the story. But instead of continuing the conversation, which could have laid the emotional foundation for Verity's haunting story, the next thing they talk about is food. The urge in wanting to introduce minor details which play a part later in the story, while letting down the current set of scenes, lets down the film.

Verity also suffers from pulling back a lot of its punches. While wanting to be a potent erotic thriller, the erotic elements become feeble and the thriller elements become whispers in the wind. Hathaway portrays Verity, the myth and the mother, with a unique distinction that does justice to both parts of the character. But even with such strong factors making up the film, it fails to stand. In its quest to accurately represent the shapeshifting nature of truth, Verity becomes a stationary dog-sled, pulled in different directions.