Dead Wrong

GIMME A BEAT Roach and Tournis keep the peace.

Photo: Paul Metreyeon

A weary detective who’s seen too much of what Chicago has to offer is drawn into a twisted conspiracy inhabited by crooked cops, femmes fatales, ex-cons and the untrustworthy rich. What begins as a rote noir wriggles into a surprising pulp fiction that owes more to CSI and David Lynch than to Raymond Chandler. For all the familiar trappings surrounding the story of a good man in over his head, Dead Wrong surprises with fun, discordant notes in well-worn territory. It’s always a bit off.

Which turns out to be both its blessing and its curse. There are startling, daring moments, including an Act 1 closer and Act 2 opener that rival the best around (thanks largely to Lawfer’s pitch-perfect heinousness), but too often the jerky plot threads dangle. An ending that should be the logical payoff comes off hurried and inconsequential; it certainly doesn’t live up to the ghoulish glee that precedes it.

Still, there are many sick laughs and squirms to be had—you could build a drinking game revolving around the number of times blood is spilled onstage. The special effects are scrappily brilliant, with a grindhouse more-is-more philosophy. “Old school just doesn’t pay the bills,” one character sighs. That may be true, but the Factory proves old school still gets you where it counts from time to time.

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