For a movie about a guy who can’t feel pain, I sure felt a lot of it while watching. And I don’t mean sympathetically. I mean that every single drawn out slo-mo shot and “he’s right behind me, isn’t he?” line caused a degree of agony in me that may actually have been worse than getting my fingernails pulled out. As my viewing experience wore on I found myself questioning: Would I rather be put out of my misery? Or, alternatively, would I appreciate it more if every single person who had a hand in making this film could be lined up and systematically executed in front of me?
Nonetheless, I am a merciful and benevolent judge. I am willing to, just this once, spare the lives of Jack Quaid, Amber Midthunder, and Ray Nicholson. Quaid and Nicholson (along with recent star Margaret Qualley, who I’ve adored since she gave one of the best acting performances of all time in 2022’s “Sanctuary”) make a strong case for nepo babies everywhere, and Midthunder scrapes up an admirable amount of sympathy for an extremely unlikeable female lead. Plus, Nicholson spreads his diva wings in a gorgeously campy performance, which — thank god — the narrative does not taint with any laughable heterosexuality. I’m nauseous thinking about it.
In Quaid and Midthunder’s defense, their characters’ tedious love story does have potential (to the directors Dan Berk and Robert Olsen, I’m willing to clear my schedule if you have a sequel in the works). With a little more creativity, I can see glimmers of a beautiful “freak4freak” relationship a la Sam Rockwell and Anna Kendrick’s “Mr. Right” or Cillian Murphy and Lucy Liu’s “Watching the Detectives” (Jack Quaid sobbing while running around a baseball field, anyone?). The two leads have a few sexy and/or vulnerable moments that, like a singular bite of life-changing cherry pie, fill me with visions of delightful BDSM and entertaining conjugal visits. I mean, Midthunder’s Sherry is asking the real questions – how kinky can you get with a guy who can’t feel pain? I personally have faith in her ingenuity. And Jack Quaid’s puppy dog eyes.
“Novocaine” works off of a pretty interesting premise, albeit one that raises some questions about disability representation and Hollywood sensationalism. The title itself refers to the protagonist Nathan Caine’s middle school nickname based on his genetic disorder, Congenital Insensitivity to Pain with Anhidrosis (CIPA) that prevents the body from experiencing pain (among other things, like temperature differences and some interoceptive sensations like bladder pressure). Although the film provides an interesting look at the day-to-day life of a disabled person, complete with a mostly-liquid diet and strategically placed tennis balls to prevent unintentional injuries, it also has its manic pixie dream girl character somehow totally change Nate’s life by telling him to change his mindset. Hm. In fact, Novocaine seems to rocket back and forth between disability-positive and -negative aspects.
In another plus for representation, I appreciate that Nate is a disabled man living past his disability’s life expectancy. It’s not because he’s some kind of savant or prodigy, but because he takes appropriate steps towards accessibility and self-advocacy. I also appreciate the brief referrals to the less “sexy” aspects of disability that are usually sterilized to preserve the character’s “sex appeal” or “palatableness”; particularly the aforementioned management of incontinence symptoms. Is it subtle? Yes. Still meaningful? Also yes.
On the other hand, there’s obvious suspensions of disbelief about how the human body works, and the movie revolves around his CIPA making him a “superhero” (of course, only when he’s wrecking his body instead of protecting it), which is a classic ableist trope that aligns disability with both abnormality and societal pressure to use your disability to somehow improve other people’s lives. As is the case for countless others like Daredevil or Deadpool, apparently being disabled means it’s your moral obligation to almost get yourself killed saving civilians. Sure. I guess in Nate’s case we’re supposed to believe it’s less about obligation and more about true love, but that would be a lot more believable if Quaid and Midthunder had literally any chemistry and/or more than two lines after the movie’s twist draws into question their romance. Oh well.
Overall, it is Quaid’s performance that grants the film any kind of watchability. He’s funny, endearing, and somehow makes some of the most painful lines I’ve ever heard resonate with sincerity and not “please put me down like a rabid dog, why did I sign up for this, please send me back to The Boys.” Also, I’m woman enough to admit that he looks good covered in blood. Sorry not sorry or whatever.
However, even Quaid getting sexily punched in the face and Midthunder stealing a car (plus an appearance from a leather-jacket-wearing Jacob Batalon) are enough to outweigh the film’s flaws. “Novocaine”’s writing is trite, its dialogue excruciating, its romance uncompelling, and its political correctness lacking: In one of the oldest stereotypes in the book, we’re subjected to copaganda in the form of Betty Gabriel (who is wasted on this role) playing a police officer who “heroically” spares Quaid after a moving (not) speech about what if her daughter got kidnapped instead. One of Quaid’s most cringeworthy L’s of the entire movie. Ew. Plus, her fellow officer’s police brutality against Batalon is played off as a joke.
Ultimately, to the darling readers of the Campus Times: Do I recommend watching this film? I mean, I guess if Jack Quaid’s basic-Lego-figure-esque charm (or Amber Midthunder’s doe eyes) really do it for you, then sure. Or if you’re having a craving for campy gore. Or if you just really want to watch a guy dig a bullet out of his own arm (not yucking your yum, I promise). On the other hand, if you’re really tired of copaganda, the Handicapped Hero trope, and unconvincing heterosexuality, maybe don’t waste your movie ticket.
