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Nowadays, Frank scans the obituaries column and hangs around funerals, handing out business cards and fishing for clients. From his partly-built, falling-down home he presents himself as a psychic investigator, ready to rid your home of ghosts and ghouls. After a particularly unsuccessful grave-yard trip, Frank's careless driving puts him through the garden fence of newly arrived resident Ray Lynskey (Peter Dobson). He doesn't seem too impressed with Frank's line of work but, surprisingly, Frank gets called out later that evening. It seems that the double bed started levitating right under his wife Lucy (Trini Alvarado) and (somewhat grudgingly) they need his assistance. Well he partially clears their house of ectoplasm with his home-built devices but happens to notice a glowing number on Ray's forehead.
This neat numeric touch unsettles Frank because that sort of manifestation never normally happens, at least not with his current crew of spooks. Geeky Stuart (Jim Fyfe), 70s hipster Cyrus (Chi McBride) and aging cowboy Judge (John Astin) may look pretty weird but they usually stick to moving furniture and banging the toilet seat. By keeping it simple, Frank manages to defraud the townsfolk with breath-taking ease. However, the very next day Ray is in a coffin and on his way to the cemetery. Nearby Frank collides with the very confused spirit of Ray (who can't imagine why he's dead) and the upset but together newly-widowed Lucy. They'd both like to contact the other and it seems as though Frank will have to use his paranormal skills for real. The downside is that there's something out there which is bigger than all of them and only Frank can see it.
First and foremost, The Frighteners is an excuse to push the current state-of-the-art in special effects even further. The computer wizardry which animates an assortment of flesh-peeling, skeletal spooks (especially the flighty figure of the "Soul Taker") is both convincing and well integrated. However, unlike Twister, there's never the feeling that Peter Jackson considered the story secondary to his digital manipulation. Unfortunately though, he still fails to adequately translate his talent for eye-popping gore and quirky laughs into the big-budget Hollywood arena. Instead the quota of black humour is much reduced, compared to Jackson's earlier works, forcing The Frighteners to rely heavily on its plot and straight horror elements. Regrettably the thinness of the storyline soon becomes apparent, as do major inconsistencies in what you can and can't do in spirit world.
The central ideas of The Frighteners are excellent, with the borders of the material and spirit world providing fertile territory. A serial killer is bad enough in real life but when the urge to slaughter continues beyond the grave (in a twisted competition with other mass-murderers), the possibilities are endless (especially when being dead makes you near enough invulnerable). Fox is quite likable as the fraudster who rapidly finds himself in beyond his depth and facing murder charges (though his emotional range is limited). Playing opposite, Alvarado is a great spunky broad who takes everything in her stride. The problem is that their characters are shallow and superficial, removing the desire to care about them. As it turns out, the supporting roles are where the fun is, particularly R. Lee Ermey's spin on his Full Metal Jacket appearance.
Ultimately The Frighteners is a film of two halves, the first half being the funniest and the second a slow decline into a bloody and confusing finale. There are plenty of moments which make you jump but they are transitory, lacking the enveloping atmosphere of doom which you'd expect given the malevolent force working it's way through the town. The basic problem is that Jackson doesn't seem to know quite what genre he's aiming for, hence the overabundance of storylines (creepy FBI agent, investigative reporter, serial-killer, Ghost-like romance, paranormal comedy). There's just not enough time to do justice to all of these, making The Frighteners tense but uneven and disappointing. It's not quite a case of all style and no substance, but next time Jackson might want to take a bit more care over the script and what he does with it.
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