Cape Fear (Apple TV) - Review

Rating: 4 out of 5

YOU might be forgiven for raising your eyebrows at the prospect of yet another re-telling of John D MacDonald’s 1957 novel Cape Fear (formerly known as The Executioners). But Nick Antosca’s 10-part series maintains the quality that has been inherent in every iteration so far.

It’s just as morally complex (if not more so), just as provocative and sometimes exploitative, just as chilling and just as well performed.

Crucially, it also feels relevant, taking the bones of the original story and augmenting them with issues that pertain to today’s world - from the dangers of AI and cancel culture to thought-provoking examinations of toxic masculinity, mental health and false narratives.

Yet it’s also a darn good potboiler - a thriller loaded with tension that keeps you guessing until the final reel even if you have knowledge of what’s come before (in either the 1962 original or the Martin Scorsese directed 1991 remake).

Intriguingly, Scorsese serves as an executive producer here, as does Steven Spielberg, which may help to explain the abundance of quality, especially since Antosca has openly acknowledged the support that Scorsese provided in sculpting the series.

The story is simple but immediately gripping. Anna and Tom Bowden (Amy Adams and Patrick Wilson) are married lawyers with two children, who met and hooked up with each other during the trial of Max Cady (Javier Bardem), a restaurateur accused of murdering his wife and unborn child.

Cady was subsequently jailed for life for the killing, having been convinced by Anna to plead guilty in the hope of getting a lighter sentence. But 17 years later, he is free, having been exonerated by new evidence. And he’s angry, convinced that Anna (his defence) conspired with Tom (the prosecutor) to put him away while they were carrying out their affair.

But far from coming at the family head on, Cady embarks on a campaign against them that is fuelled, in part, by befriending them and toying with them, displaying a charisma and charm that conceals his true agenda.

As his plan takes shape, it takes the form of ‘death by a thousand cuts’, consuming the Bowdens - including their daughter Natalie (Lily Collias), with whom Anna was pregnant during the trial, and son Zach (Joe Anders), who is too easily prone to manipulation - and anyone in their orbit.

It’s fair to say that over the many decades that this story has existed, its various incarnations have become progressively more morally grey and complex.

This latest version, in particular, dials up the ambiguity without being afraid to cast almost everyone in an unsympathetic light at some point. Truth is messy and hard to come by - and it almost always carries wider, more painful implications once revealed.

Bardem is the standout performer given that he has the showiest role. But he doesn’t overplay it like Robert De Niro belatedly did in Scorsese’s version, even sometimes coming across as sympathetic and even potentially innocent.

Without ever appearing completely likeable, he’s engaging during early encounters with the Bowdens and their community, making it easy to see why he is capable of winning trust. But he’s a master manipulator and an even more masterful liar, capable of turning violent on a whim. It makes him unpredictable and even more terrifying, prone to violent outbursts or sudden glimpses of pure evil (in tormenting looks) that are mesmerising to behold.

The actor is clearly having fun. But it’s a layered, complex performance that even possesses an element of tragedy to it - the last act reveals providing some of the most challenging questions over the how and why of Cady’s monstrous existence.

Likewise, Adams’ portrayal of Anna - a seemingly in control and successful lawyer, whose back story is slowly revealed to be one that has been informed by a lifetime of trauma. She’s not always likeable either, prone to pig headed decision making and obsessive behaviour that easily place her at odds with her family. And which also makes it easy for Cady to exploit.

But then the two of them also share a complicated past history.

There’s no halo shining over the head of Wilson’s Tom either - a husband prone to an affair, tormented by the guilt he still feels over the suicide of his teenage brother, who struggles with his own masculinity in the face of Cady’s relentless provocation.

Wilson usually brings an endearing everyman quality to his roles but here toys with it so as to blur the edges. He is prone to bad decision making as a husband and as a father, as well as a lawyer (sometimes allowing himself to be drawn too closely into Cady’s game playing).

Collias and Anders also doing strong work as the Bowden children - equally prone to ill judged decision making yet drawn to Cady’s manipulative charm like moths to flames. Anders exudes vulnerability and creepiness throughout and delivers a frequently unsettling performance, while Collias brings a duplicity and cunning to her role that makes her also difficult to predict. Yet there’s also a steeliness to her latter scenes.

Elsewhere, a surprise supporting role for Juliette Lewis, creepy as hell as Cady’s sister, offers both a delicious throwback nod to Scorsese’s ‘91 film, as well as reminding us of how great an actress she is. While Malia Pyles also stands out as Cady’s malicious daughter, who degrades and demeans the Bowden kids in merciless fashion early on.

But performances throughout are uniformly excellent, while Antosca’s direction is both taut and disorienting, recalling several moments, shots and angles from Scorsese’s take that are designed to add to the claustrophobic tension and heightened sense of paranoia that mounts.

He also imbues proceedings with a fierce unpredictability as well as a duality, frequently and skilfully playing with our perceptions and our sympathy while also teasing out the truth.

In doing so, he also finds room for some wry social commentary, or at least some cautionary elements, with the manipulation of AI to create false truths (in things such as photos or voice messages) used effectively to set up one character for a fall, while also looking at things such as the role of social media in modern relationships and toxic masculinity.

The role of trauma in informing and shaping people’s lives is also examined, as is the stigma attached to things such as suicide and mental health - with both Wilson’s and Adams’ performances reflecting the complexity of these issues.

That’s not to say threat this Cape Fear shies away from some of the more straight forwardly thrilling elements of its predecessors - but given that it’s a series, it can delve a little deeper and take more time.

In regard to the thriller elements, however, it knows how to turn the screw on both its characters and its audience, frequently finding ways to surprise and wrong foot while seldom feeling like it's merely filling time.

There are jump scares, knowing winks to the audience, occasional showboating (particularly from Bardem) and a suitably bonkers, almost Grand Guignol finale that gets every bit as excessive as the climax of Scorsese’s film, as well as a final scene that suggests the ordeal isn’t over (at least psychologically).

The scars run deep even beyond the final credits - making this Cape Fear one that lingers in the memory.