The concept of the flawed protagonist is as old as storytelling. We all love to cheer for someone who stumbles and grows from adversity. The horror genre, in particular, takes this a step further, challenging us to cheer for characters that would otherwise exist only to be triumphed over. Such is the case with Mr. Sam, written and directed by Zeus Kontoyannis, the tale of a deeply repressed necrophile with a heart of gold. Note I said necrophile, not necrophiliac. Mr. Sam ( Christopher Piccione ) is what you might call a non-offending corpse admirer who uses his position as coroner to explore his unrealized gay fantasies.

Mr. Sam builds rather slowly at first, showing his interaction with his therapist and how he isn’t being entirely forthcoming about his new boyfriend’s corpse status while peppering in little nuggets of exposition that explore his struggle with his sexuality and relationship with his mother. Things begin to accelerate when the tensions in this relationship boil over but Mr. Sam is still at its core a rather reserved character study. Mr. Sam himself feels rather antiquated with the polite, detached manner of a 19th-century gentleman and the accompanying unsatiated festering debauchery.

Necrophiles make for strange heroes and Mr. Sam’s frigid and calculating temperament don’t initially do any favors but we begin to see a more sympathetic character in his interactions with Mrs. Polley ( Whitney Harris ) and Ms. Sandra ( Catherine Ashmore Bradley ). He works as a tutor for Mrs. Polley’s daughter Sandra and presumably not for the pay given his apparently great wealth. He seems most at ease when he’s around these two and much of the drama is centered around his uneasy position as a quasi-father figure to the young girl.

Piccione’s steady development into a more complex character is the centerpiece here and he sells the tenuously-held restraint of the character admirably but much of what makes his character compelling is built on the strength of the ensemble. Bradley deftly manages the challenging and mature role of Sandra with her body language conveying a great deal beyond her limited dialog and if his relationship with Sandra and Mrs. Polly is what gives him is warmth and respectability, it’s his relationship with his mother ( Cathy Finlay ) that helps us appreciate how he ended up developing his strange and awkward persona. We don’t see much of her but what we do see has echoes of what we see in Mr. Sam’s character but with a much more wicked bent, a terrifying force of rage and manipulation.

Mr. Sam isn’t exactly a fun watch. There are moments of brevity but its world seems largely nihilistic, filled with abuse and exploitation where even the good guys give you pause. The vitality of the performances keep it from becoming excessively melancholy but its insistence on playing taboo bingo can feel at times emotionally manipulative. The cinematography could best be described as a funeral procession through an English tea garden; beautiful in its own way but solemn and clinical in its colors and composition. It’s also largely lacking a score, only bringing it in momentarily to punctuate particularly heated moments, all of which come together to draw us into its oppressively dour world. None of this is to discourage anyone from seeking this one out, as tragedy is a perfectly valid artistic choice and Mr. Sam is deliberate and effective in establishing its mood. It’s just not something I would recommend to watch with the family or if you’re looking for a light-hearted good time.