The Beaver
Through the Beaver puppet, Mel Gibson can say anything, albeit in an accent learned from the Dick Van Dyke school of Cockney English.

Walter Black (Mel Gibson) is depressed. He has stopped seeing his psychiatrist and his frustrated wife (Meredith, played by Jodie Foster) has asked him to move out. Walter’s employees – he has inherited a toy manufacturing company from his late father – and his teenage son Porter (Anton Yelchin) think he is a joke. His younger son Henry (Riley Thomas Stewart) has realised that daddy doesn’t want to play anymore. He ends up in a motel and attempts suicide twice, failing even at that. That is until the Beaver makes an appearance. Walter is woken up in the morning by his new furry friend – a discarded puppet he found in a dumpster the night before. The metaphor hits you in the face, like the Beaver, Walter is lifeless and hollow, a marionette in his own company which in reality is run by the vice president (Cherry Jones).

The Beaver becomes Walter’s main channel of communication, through the Beaver he can say anything, albeit in an accent learned from the Dick Van Dyke school of Cockney English. Walter moves back home; Meredith is willing to put up with the Beaver, and his bizarre amorous advances, if it means Walter is happy, Henry is excited by the prospect of a new friend, and the toy company flourishes under the Beaver’s assertive control. Meanwhile, Porter, who finds his father even more pathetic with his hand up a puppet’s behind, is being paid to write a graduation speech for valedictorian and cheerleader Norah (Jennifer Lawrence). He soon realises that under a perfect exterior, she harbours deep trauma of her own.

It is easy to understand why The Beaver has been marketed as a black comedy: it has a few laughs and the premise is surreal. But this isn’t dark humour; instead, the film is very definitely split into scenes the audience should giggle at and others that can only be described as bleak. When Walter realises that the Beaver is taking over, and perhaps enough is enough, his reaction is disturbing and shocking –gratuitous even. The real problem with the film is that we never see Walter as he was before the depression sets in, and he is only ever presented as a husk of a man. Porter’s series of Post-It notes, detailing traits and ticks he shares with his father that he wants to eradicate, are haunting but lack context. The film hints at the emotional strain of hereditary mental illness but never fully explores it, and although it has potential to really say something important, it never quite follows through.

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