There's nothing new about The Town: the one-last job against the protagonist's better judgement; the professional criminal unit locking horns with the forces of law and order; the volatile wildcard; the redemptive (and destructive) power of love. Echoes of several genre classics ripple throughout but the film never feels derivative. Partly this is because of the strong sense of place (Charlestown in Boston), partly because of the trio of muscular action scenes that grab the viewer's attention 100%. There's a white-knuckle car chase through narrow streets that's far more thrilling than any CGI-enhanced blockbuster (nothing can really beat the joy of *real* vehicles crashing into each other) and the final shootout is a cracker.
Of course there has to be more than mere action to make a film memorable and for the most part the dramatic scenes deliver. We get the contrast between FBI investigation and criminal planning, though there's no Heat-style mutual respect here between MacRay and Frawley. The latter is totally deteremined to put MacRay and his associates behind bars, despite the "Irish omerta" as he calls it as well as the limitations of the justice system (as he puts it, the only way he'll get 24 hour surveillance of the gang is if "one of these idiots converts to Islam") Crime in Charlestown is like a family business, passed down the generations: MacRay's unrepentent father is clearly going to die in jail and Jem's already has; the Florist tells the gang he knew all their fathers. And loyalty means everything. MacRay and Jem are bound by the murder committed (and time served) by the latter to protect his friend. He might be a dangerously unpredictable presence but he's genuinely outraged - and hurt - that MacRay could possibly want to walk away from everything. MacRay's natural instinct for self preservation goes out the window the minute he falls for the one person who could put them in jail (there's a wonderfully tense scene at a cafe when Jem, and his giveaway tattoo, unexpectedly disturbs the lovers) and triggers betrayals both large and small.
Thursday 23 September 2010
Thursday 16 September 2010
Winter's Bone
A measure of the sheer quality of Winter's Bone is that it completely transcends the hillbilly cliches at its heart. The insular Ozark community all seem to be inter-related to varying degrees, and operates according to its own laws (the sheriff and local bounty hunter know this and are suitably cautious) Almost everyone 17 year old Ree contacts as she searches for her missing father is some kind of blood-relation -which doesn't necessarily mean anyone's willing to help her - and she shares the community's inherent distrust of both outsiders and the law. If her father fails to turn up in court, the house and woodland he put up as a bond will be forfeit.
Ree's already taken on the mantle of adult of the family, giving up school to raise her siblings and look after her catatonic mother yet the power of the film hinges on her youth. The interview with a sympathetic army recruitment sergeant neatly illustrates both her naivety and her basic resilience, and the astonishing air of menace that permeates the film only emphasises her vulnerability. It's one of those rare films where you genuinely fear for the safety of the main character, with the womenfolk being just as likely to inflict violence as the men. Even Ree's uncle is an unsettlingly dangerous figure. He looks frail yet can face down a group of much bigger men without even making a real threat. And the landscape itself is an essential part of the film, rather than merely a backdrop. Only such land could produce such faces and such simmering threat.
And yet it's not unremittingly bleak. This is also a world where people gather to create the most beautiful music, and where family feeling occasionally trumps self-preservation. There's never any doubt about the love between Ree and her siblings, but there's also basic kindness hidden in the most unexpected places. If the fate of the father is never really in doubt, it doesn't diminish the tension one jot (though it's never actually a whodunit as such) and the subtle ending manages to be both optimistic and laden with hints of foreboding, of future retribution and tragedy to come.
Ree's already taken on the mantle of adult of the family, giving up school to raise her siblings and look after her catatonic mother yet the power of the film hinges on her youth. The interview with a sympathetic army recruitment sergeant neatly illustrates both her naivety and her basic resilience, and the astonishing air of menace that permeates the film only emphasises her vulnerability. It's one of those rare films where you genuinely fear for the safety of the main character, with the womenfolk being just as likely to inflict violence as the men. Even Ree's uncle is an unsettlingly dangerous figure. He looks frail yet can face down a group of much bigger men without even making a real threat. And the landscape itself is an essential part of the film, rather than merely a backdrop. Only such land could produce such faces and such simmering threat.
And yet it's not unremittingly bleak. This is also a world where people gather to create the most beautiful music, and where family feeling occasionally trumps self-preservation. There's never any doubt about the love between Ree and her siblings, but there's also basic kindness hidden in the most unexpected places. If the fate of the father is never really in doubt, it doesn't diminish the tension one jot (though it's never actually a whodunit as such) and the subtle ending manages to be both optimistic and laden with hints of foreboding, of future retribution and tragedy to come.
Friday 3 September 2010
The Secret In Their Eyes
I was as shocked as anyone (and not a little miffed) when both A Prophet and The White Ribbon were beaten to the Foreign Language Oscar by The Secret In Their Eyes. However, it turns out that the Argentine film is a very fine piece of work. It revolves around 2 time frames - Buenos Aires in 1974 and then 25 years late - and 2 thwarted love stories: Ricardo and Liliana are torn apart by her murder while investigator Benjamin falls for his socially superior boss Irene who is engaged to another man. Existing alongside these personal dilemmas are indications of the dreadful political history of that period, where justice gave way to disappearances and murder.
The chaos of the justice system in the first period is illustrated by the haphazard piles of paperwork covering every available surface in Benjamin and Sandoval's office, as well as the faulty typewriter (fittingly it's the "a" that doesn't work) that gets passed from person to person. More damningly it seems that putting away wrongdoers doesn't rank highly on anyone's agenda: Benjamin gets the Morales case by default due to some inter-departmental horsetrading, though his initial reluctance and irritation is transformed into an obsessive desire to apprehend the killer the minute he sees Liliana's corpse; 2 builders are beaten into confessing at the behest of Benjamin's corrupt rival Romano; Sandoval's drunkenness seemingly has no disciplinary consequences; and worst of all, murder ultimately counts for far less than political usefulness.
The solving of the murder by the midpoint of the film might seem odd for a thriller but it's actually crucial. The disgust of Benjamin and Irene at subsequent events throws into relief the agony that Ricardo must be feeling as he sees his wife's murderer not only free, but a crucial part of the current regime. Intimations of the fate of thousands pepper the second half of the film: Romano briefing 2 thugs about "suspects"; his not-so-veiled threats to the troublesome Benjamin (Irene is from the elite and therefore untouchable, unlike Benjamin); the murder of anyone deemed expendable.
Yet of equal importance is the relationship between Benjamin and Irene, conducted through a symphony of looks. Given the title, eyes really *are* important, as indeed is the act of seeing. It's Benjamin's act of looking through Liliana's photo album that provides the vital clue (and later a photo of himself at Irene's engagement party shows him admiring from afar in a similar manner) and the entire football stadium sequence is built upon the hope of spotting one face among thousands. However, Benjamin can also overlook the obvious. Irene clearly looks at him with an equal expression of longing, no matter how irritated she may be with his behaviour. Likewise it's only with hindsight that Benjamin realizes the full extent of Sandoval's final act, with the turning over of photographs (hiding from view) providing the clue. It's a deeply moving moment, as indeed is Ricardo's vigil at the railway station, hopelessly waiting for the killer to commute into the city for work. The emotional beats in the film are hard-won and all the more powerful for being so.
The framing alternates between close-ups (emphasis on the eyes of course) and longer shots that isolate characters behind objects or barriers, and the canted angles clearly express a world gone awry, but the most virtuoso sequence is without doubt the long, pulsating, single take at the football stadium (as thrilling as that in Children of Men) I wouldn't be surprised if it won the Oscar for that 10 minutes alone. Or maybe it was for the genuinely surprising - and shocking - ending, when Benjamin and the spectator slot the pieces into place at exactly the same moment. You don't see it coming, which in itself is an achievement these days and therefore fully deserving of the highest praise.
The chaos of the justice system in the first period is illustrated by the haphazard piles of paperwork covering every available surface in Benjamin and Sandoval's office, as well as the faulty typewriter (fittingly it's the "a" that doesn't work) that gets passed from person to person. More damningly it seems that putting away wrongdoers doesn't rank highly on anyone's agenda: Benjamin gets the Morales case by default due to some inter-departmental horsetrading, though his initial reluctance and irritation is transformed into an obsessive desire to apprehend the killer the minute he sees Liliana's corpse; 2 builders are beaten into confessing at the behest of Benjamin's corrupt rival Romano; Sandoval's drunkenness seemingly has no disciplinary consequences; and worst of all, murder ultimately counts for far less than political usefulness.
The solving of the murder by the midpoint of the film might seem odd for a thriller but it's actually crucial. The disgust of Benjamin and Irene at subsequent events throws into relief the agony that Ricardo must be feeling as he sees his wife's murderer not only free, but a crucial part of the current regime. Intimations of the fate of thousands pepper the second half of the film: Romano briefing 2 thugs about "suspects"; his not-so-veiled threats to the troublesome Benjamin (Irene is from the elite and therefore untouchable, unlike Benjamin); the murder of anyone deemed expendable.
Yet of equal importance is the relationship between Benjamin and Irene, conducted through a symphony of looks. Given the title, eyes really *are* important, as indeed is the act of seeing. It's Benjamin's act of looking through Liliana's photo album that provides the vital clue (and later a photo of himself at Irene's engagement party shows him admiring from afar in a similar manner) and the entire football stadium sequence is built upon the hope of spotting one face among thousands. However, Benjamin can also overlook the obvious. Irene clearly looks at him with an equal expression of longing, no matter how irritated she may be with his behaviour. Likewise it's only with hindsight that Benjamin realizes the full extent of Sandoval's final act, with the turning over of photographs (hiding from view) providing the clue. It's a deeply moving moment, as indeed is Ricardo's vigil at the railway station, hopelessly waiting for the killer to commute into the city for work. The emotional beats in the film are hard-won and all the more powerful for being so.
The framing alternates between close-ups (emphasis on the eyes of course) and longer shots that isolate characters behind objects or barriers, and the canted angles clearly express a world gone awry, but the most virtuoso sequence is without doubt the long, pulsating, single take at the football stadium (as thrilling as that in Children of Men) I wouldn't be surprised if it won the Oscar for that 10 minutes alone. Or maybe it was for the genuinely surprising - and shocking - ending, when Benjamin and the spectator slot the pieces into place at exactly the same moment. You don't see it coming, which in itself is an achievement these days and therefore fully deserving of the highest praise.
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