At first glance, actor/director Bob Balaban’s starkly atmospheric, extremely black comedy Parents seems like an ideal film for viewers addicted to watching reruns of old TV shows like Father Knows Best or Leave It to Beaver (in this case Leave It to (meat) Cleaver might be an apt title). Set in the ’50s, Parents first plays almost identically like one of those sitcoms, and then quickly takes a surrealistically David Lynch--like turn before turning to out-and-out horror for the grimly predictable ending. On the way, though, the film is full of disgusto fun.

Bryan Madorsky plays young Michael Laemle, who moves in to his new split-level suburban home with his parents Nick (Randy Quaid) and Lily (Mary Beth Hurt). As if in one of those sanitized TV shows of yore, both are unbelievably wholesome and high spirited, with constant near--Cheshire cat smiles. It’s as if they’re the perfect nuclear family. From the start, though, it’s obvious that Michael is very afraid of something, with telltale black circles under his eyes, an indication that most nights are spent sleepless and shivering in the dark, trying to avoid the terrifying dreams that inhabit his sleep. The one night he decides to venture out from under his covers, he finds his parents engaged in some primitive and bloody sexual ritual on the floor. But what really scares him, is what he’s being forced to eat at the dinner table, wondering where the sausages and slabs of “beef” have come from.

Quaid’s Nick is menacingly underplayed for both comic and horrific effect. His hulking and goofy physical presence is reminiscent of the chainsaw-wielding pig-headed Rory Calhoun in the climax of Motel Hell. In the same breath he can be both fatherly and predatorily menacing (particularly when he’s skewering a hunk of meat). To bring home the bacon, Dad works for Toxico, and enthusiastically invents new defoliants for use against Asian jungle villages. Mom is no better, as her smile threatens to rip her face in half while she skillfully and gleefully plays with the butcher knives. Both parents express their disappointment in their son as he becomes more and more a picky eater.

Even if you like your steaks rare, the filming of both the preparation and the actual devouring of meat has never looked as unattractive and, in fact, sickening. Balaban allows the camera to linger, using close-ups to fully capture the putrid look of cooking flesh, enhanced by color hues that are not quite right. At the very least, the image should come back to you the next time you bite into a bone chip mixed into the so-called meat in your char-grilled Whopper.

Angelo Badalamenti’s atmospheric score increases the creepy mood, while the use of several well-placed ’50s pop tunes accents the era. And, though the Laemle’s household is authentically filled with recognizable '50s accouterments, it all seems just a little too much, making the film feel even more surrealistic. Even though some of the scenes are quite graphic, it is only as the film nears its conclusion that we fully know that Michael’s monstrous parents and their horrible deeds are not just a figment of his imagination. It’s at that point that the movie loses most of its originality and drifts into the realm of full-blown and typical horror.