Sticky, written and directed by Seanie Sugrue, sets out to blend dark comedy with the conventions of a serial-killer thriller. On paper, there’s no reason why they shouldn’t work together, yet the film struggles to find the right balance between its two competing tones. What could’ve been a laudable thriller ends up undermined by jokes that frequently miss the mark.
In spite of being called Sticky, the movie follows a group of struggling Los Angeles artists who are not called Sticky; they all have a connection to some artist who is, though. Cary Ann (Amanda Jones) is an idealistic newcomer who hasn’t yet faced as many rejections as her ex-husband, Roddy (Damian O’Hare). Unable to let go of his failed acting career and their recent divorce, Roddy turns to alcohol and repeatedly pressures Cary Ann to take him back. Their post-marital drama unfolds amid a series of killings in the Hollywood Hills. When the killer attacks Cary Ann, she’s rescued by Bruce (Johnny Whitworth), a charismatic personal trainer, and they soon develop a romantic connection. This already complicated relationship takes another turn when they discover that they all know the attacker.
The pacing, character development, and third-act twist all follow familiar thriller and slasher conventions. And that’s okay. That’s the best part of Sticky. Despite its familiar structure, the film manages to maintain a decent level of suspense, particularly as the killings become increasingly entangled with the characters’ personal relationships. The mystery gives the story a sense of direction that the comedy often lacks, and the third-act revelations provide a satisfying yet bleak ending. Even Debbie Doherty (Vanessa Angel), a reporter sent to cover the murders, comes across as a deliberate homage to Scream. It’s impossible not to notice the resemblance between her and Gale Weathers, particularly in the way she delivers the news and interacts with her cameraman. She shares Gale’s ambition, her tendency to verbally abuse her cameraman, and her determination to pursue a killer in search of a breaking story.
Sticky has a few running jokes that would’ve had me laughing out loud, such as the ongoing debate over whether papier-mâché is art, or the attempts at being politically correct in casual conversation. But ironically, the film’s Achilles’ heel is its comedic timing. This is surprising given such a talented mix of established actors and rising newcomers. Whenever a punchline comes up, the actors often miss their cues, and the delivery feels awkward, causing the jokes to fall flat. The characters are also too grounded for the specific type of humor to work. The lines feel forced and unnatural, disconnected from both their personalities and the plot. Sometimes, the script cuts too deep for a character to be funny again. Roddy is the clearest example of this problem. In a different context, some of the jokes involving him might have landed as intended, but it’s hard to laugh at addiction when the character’s suffering feels so genuine. Damian O’Hare’s portrayal of a failed actor struggling with alcoholism would’ve been a better fit in a straight-up thriller than in a comedy flick. His tragic demeanour eclipses his ridiculousness, sabotaging any attempt to make him funny or feel like he belongs in this type of movie.
A standout in the cast is up-and-coming actress Amanda Jones, who is absolutely killing it as Cary Ann. Her character has the most surprising and thought-out evolution from an innocent newcomer to someone who is determined to do anything not to become a Hollywood failure, most ironically. Jones’ nuanced performance makes her delivery spot-on. While most other characters seem slightly exaggerated for comedic effect, Cary Ann is arguably the most believable of them all. During her driveway confrontation with her ex, the rage she expresses and, at the same time, manages to contain while delivering her damning monologue is almost palpable.
Sticky’s unwillingness to commit to either the absurdity of a dark comedy or the grit of a serious thriller is its downfall. Still, strong dramatic performances from Amanda Jones and Damian O’Hare prove there is real talent on screen, even when the script pulls them in conflicting directions. For viewers willing to overlook its uneven rhythm, Sticky offers a flawed yet watchable entry in the serial-killer movie tradition.
