Review: CORPORATE RETREAT is a Fireable Offense

As younger generations uproot soul-sucking Boomer traditions in corporate America, so too will younger filmmakers translate the nightmares of late-stage capitalism in worksploitation horror films. Movies like Severance and The Belko Experiment are becoming more common—see my SXSW review of Grind—with good reason. Something like Aaron Fisher's Corporate Retreat chastises the godlike egomania of billionaire executives who treat their employees like disposable pawns. It's a modern assessment of the bullshit that desk jockeys deal with to earn a livable wage, but by quality standards, Corporate Retreat is no Severance—not by a long shot. 

The upper management staff of Immaculate Pond Technologies gathers for a company-mandated retreat. Billie (Kirby Johnson), who heads the Human Resources department, books them a getaway at "Paradise," referring to the exclusive spa-like facility. Upon arrival, the "Chiefs" of each position meet Lola (Sasha Lane) and Amber (Zión Moreno), their "experience guides" for the duration. There's guided meditation, a steam room heat-up, but shortly after, the retreaters realize their team-building vacation is a farce. Instead, they're being held hostage by the two guides and a specter from their past: Arthur Scott (Alan Ruck), the founder and ex-CEO of Immaculate Pond.

On paper, it's a fun-enough concept. Fisher and co-writer Kerri Lee Romeo exploit the backstabbing nature of boardroom politics while zeroing in on the maniacs at the top. Ruck plays up Arthur Scott's unhinged behaviors as a villain who punishes his ousters by preaching this newfound path to enlightenment. Scott's acting as a cult leader now, rambling about "gateways" that will lead to transcendence in this ayahuasca-like haze of a Jigsaw plot. At its best, Corporate Retreat is being carried by Ruck as he embraces Scott's delirium, whether scolding his lackeys like a disappointed sitcom father or leaning into Scott's whacked-out leadership ideals, where physical harm earns you favor in some deity's graces.

In execution, Corporate Retreat feels mixed up and unfulfilling. It's an incredibly mean-spirited flick, yet the storytelling can't make its points stick. There are seven gateways, each one increasing the levels of violence required to graduate, but there's a nihilism about who lives and dies that never properly gets paid off. Fisher and Romeo attempt to balance blood-spilling deaths with water-cooler comedy bits; however, the humor never finds its footing, leaving it primarily to Lane and Moreno as their assault-weapon-wielding baddies joke about the lives being lost. It's a deflating survival scenario that lacks buildup and feels too farcically silly; without the laughs to accompany some real B-movie cheese, it all just feels out of sorts.

Everyone's playing typical office-space stereotypes, from Cliff (Elias Kacavas), the douchebag general counsel with fuckboi hair flow, to Devin Hill (Benjamin Norris), the high-strung and micromanaging new CEO. It's all rigid character mapping, boiling down to ex-employees begging for their lives. Ashton Sanders's CFO, Carl Thomas, is introduced as a proud father with a kid at home, but that beat is hardly milked for its emotional impact. Odeya Rush's psychology student, Ginger, is the odd woman out as Cliff's girlfriend—tricked into being his plus-one—and the only one who gets an actual arc to wrestle with (the outsider who can challenge Scott). Otherwise, performance highlights are as blink-and-you'll-miss as Rosanna Arquette's aloof revenue officer.

Sure, there's gory goodness in Corporate Retreat. In fact, it's got a pretty decent spread of effects nastiness. One gateway involved a spoon and ocular trauma that had me wincing as close-ups on dummy heads sell nauseating bodily harm. Other instances spill plenty of blood, since those who fail Scott's trials do more than figuratively lose their heads. I'm impressed by the fatalities here, if only because the rest of the action is rather dull. But that doesn't diminish the fact that the real MVPs of Corporate Retreat are Fisher's effects supervisors. Anything exciting on screen is covered in red juices, probably being dragged away by Lola, as the petite lady pulls bodies through pools of sticky crimson gunk.

Unfortunately, Fisher's directorial vision underwhelms elsewhere. Any time Lola and/or Amber fire their automatic weapons, it's like kindergarteners playing war in the backyard—pitiful muzzle flashes are added in post while the actresses goofily shake their prop guns to imitate recoil kickback. Another sequence, in which Ellen Toland's science whiz Aubrey Johnson whips up a botulism cure with household items, includes one of the most ridiculous and unrealistic needle-injection sequences ever put on film—and doesn't play it for hahas. Fisher's no doubt fighting with an indie budget throughout Corporate Retreat, but that doesn't excuse free aspects that could have been done right, like terribly lit fight sequences (almost entirely blacked out) or a cameo side character who butchers one line so bad it makes Tommy Wiseau look Oscar-worthy.

If Corporate Retreat started the film on a performance improvement plan, to be graded after the credits rolled, there’d be a contract termination on the spot. It's not campy or entertaining enough to be a good-time B-movie, but it's also not punchy or searing enough to sell the film's bleak horrors. Alan Ruck is this year's Jackie Earle Haley in You're Host—a wacky antagonist who deserves a tighter overall movie. At best, Corporate Retreat is passable, and at worst, it's categorically bad. That's a downward trend no analyst wants to read and spells doom for this lethargic worksploitation massacre that can't infiltrate the market.

Movie Score: 2/5