Parents (1989) Anti-Cannibal Comedy-Horror via John Waters & David Lynch (Review)

In 2019, Bob Balaban’s known for his roles in Wes Anderson’s films (most prominently as the narrator in Moonrise Kingdom), his acting has also seen him work with the likes of Spielberg, Altman, Ken Russell, and Christopher Guest. He has also carved out a side career as a director, only one more notable for the number of iconic TV series he worked on than any great big-screen prolificness. The apex of his directorial career is 1989’s Parents (out now from Vestron Video). A curious oddity that works as a perfect storm of influences of the directors Balaban worked with as an actor.

Set in a warped vision of 1950s America that shares the same spirit as latter-day John Waters & David Lynch, Parents centres around the Laemle family: Father, Nick (Randy Quaid), Mother, Lily (Mary Beth Hurt), and son, Michael (Bryan Madorsky). Michael is an odd boy, and upon joining his new school, he has to tell the class something new – as per school tradition – and he drops upon his classmates a recipe to become invisible that involves cooking a skinned cat. Dark, but compared to his parents, he is a pussycat; his Parents are cannibals, after all. That positions Balaban’s Parents in one of the most singular positions in horror – a unique entry into the cannibal sub-genre. More often than not, cannibals are tribes deep in South American jungles who inflict graphic violence upon European explorers. Italian cinema, in particular, got great mileage from this. Balaban, contrarily, sets his story in wholesome, middle America within a family unit where the Dad wears sweater vests, calls his Son ‘sport’, and his Mum, the picture-perfect ‘homemaker’.

Parents would make a perfect double bill with Lynch’s Blue Velvet – both start off as virtuous representations of middle-class America. And both go to great lengths to utterly corrupt that suburban idyll. The connection to Lynch goes deeper: Balaban includes touches startling like Twin Peaks. Michael’s horrific dreams (especially for a child under 10) are Lodge-like; furthermore, the brooding electronic drone used to score the nastier, more unsettling moments earn that constantly over-used phrase – Lynchian. Or, at the very least, a monster mash-up of David Lynch and John Waters, creating the perfect middle ground between these two eccentric American filmmakers.

Every scene with Michael is either awkward meals at home, with his only friend, Sheila Zellner (Juno Mills-Cockell), or sessions with the school therapist (Sandy Dennis). The only time we see the “real” Michael is when he is with his friend – otherwise, we see an aloof, creepy creature. When he is with his parents around the dinner table – he is very suspicious of them. We know he has seen something, but the camera never shows the complete picture – and it only makes a distinction whether it was a dream or real later on. At school, when the other kids draw pictures of their family, they draw a happy unit: Michael draws the same but scribbles over it with a sea of red scribbles – capturing the attention of the school faculty. He is our very unreliable narrator.

There’s common DNA between this and The Reflecting Skin (1990, Philip Ridley) in that they are both vivid horror titles that use a child’s perspective and misinterpretation, and both are led by less-than-perfect performances from their young actors. He isn’t bad enough to sink the whole ship, and unlike the child actor in Philip Ridley’s oddball vampire parable, he doesn’t end the film by screaming at the sun – he presents a subtle performance, at least. 

It’s easy to forget about Randy Quaid as he has willfully vanished into obscurity – but, as the duplicitous Nick (or ‘Dad’ in the brilliantly Brady Bunch-style credit cards), he reminds us of what a good actor he could be. He is the very image of a good family man: friendly, charming, and a pillar of their community. However, when things turn dark, he uses the same register to chastise his son, tell dark stories and spit venom. A quietly intense man whose secret lifestyle spills into a final scene typical for a slasher. The same is true of Mary Beth Hurt as Michael’s Mum, only her role is intermediary, very much a cannibal and disappointed that her son doesn’t eat the meat presented to him, yet she still protects her offspring. It’s a complicated family dynamic.

Parents is a comedy, yet not for one second would I call it “laugh out loud” funny. Now that may be a failure to some – however, what it does better is mimic Americana in a wry, blackly comic register. Whether that is better, worse or just different is for you to decide. If you do want that funny anti-cannibal horror, Eating Raoul is it. Nonetheless, at an energetic 80 minutes, Parents is a forever rewatchable treasure trove laden with ideas. Vestron’s treatment sees the movie look fantastic thanks to a glowing restoration. And, there’s a selection of interviews with key players and a director’s commentary: it’s all common extra fodder, yet the value it adds to a film forgotten is indisputable.

Thanks for reading our review of Parents

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