2/11/15: Our Hero

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American Dream, anti-hero, Best of 2014, Bill Paxton, capitalism, character dramas, cinema, City of Angels, crime journalism, Dan Gilroy, dark films, directorial debut, dramas, ethics, favorite films, feature-film debut, film reviews, films, Jake Gyllenhaal, James Newton Howard, journalistic ethics, Kevin Rahm, L.A., Los Angeles, Louis Bloom, Michael Hyatt, misanthropes, Movies, Nightcrawler, Price Carson, Rene Russo, Riz Ahmed, Robert Elswit, set in Los Angeles, snubb, sociopath, tabloid journalism, Taxi Driver, the American Dream, Travis Bickle, writer-director

If it’s true that we get the heroes that we deserve, then Louis Bloom may just be the quintessential hero for our modern era. Consider this: he’s fearless, driven and in a constant quest to improve his standing in life. He’s a go-getter who pulls himself up by his bootstraps, sets his sights on a goal and, through hard work and perseverance, achieves just what he sets out to do. A fierce believer in the “American Dream,” Louis is also proof-positive that said dream can, in fact, be achieved: work as hard as he does and the world is your oyster. That Louis is also an unrepentant misanthrope with such a cold, reptilian disdain for his fellow humans that he cheerfully lies, cheats and extorts them to further his own ends is of little concern: at the end of the day, the guy gets the job done, right? Isn’t that really all that matters?

Louis Bloom, as played by the increasingly impressive Jake Gyllenhaal, is the very heart and center of Dan Gilroy’s quietly stunning Nightcrawler (2014), a nocturnal trudge through the muck of Los Angeles that manages to serve as both a spiritual and logical successor to Scorsese’s untouchable Taxi Driver (1976). Part twisted love letter to the City of Angels, ala Drive (2011), part depraved character study and completely focused on the myth of the American Dream, Nightcrawler is a stunning piece of filmcraft. Decidedly old-fashioned yet never anything less than “of the moment,” Gilroy’s film holds a mirror up to modern society and asks the all-important question: “Do you like what you see?” That some folks might answer in the affirmative makes Louis Bloom as necessary today as Travis Bickle was in the ’70s.

Quite simply, Nightcrawler is the story of one man’s quest to make something of himself, by hook or by crook. We first meet Bloom as a petty thief, albeit a particularly motor-mouthed, self-assured and ruthless one. In no time, however, Louis has set his sights on a slightly more “respectable” line of work: amateur crime journalism. After getting the gist of the job from grizzled veteran Joe Loder (Bill Paxton), Bloom is up and running on his own, attracting the attention of Nina (Rene Russo), news director for a Z-grade local station. He’s so successful that even hires an assistant, Rick (Riz Ahmed), although the poor guy is more of a meagerly-paid intern than an equal partner. As Louis continues to claw his way to the top of the heap, making himself a complete gadfly to the police, his rival photographers and everyone he comes into contact with, his ambitions get bigger and bigger. When the opportunity comes up for Louis to, literally, “create” the biggest story of his nascent career, our humble “hero” dives in headfirst: he’s going to be the best in the biz, regardless of who has to suffer or die in the process. After all, what’s survival of the fittest without a little collateral damage, eh?

In every way, Nightcrawler is an amazing film, as streamlined and driven as the antihero who pulls all the onscreen strings like a malevolent puppet master. It’s almost impossible for me to believe that this is actually Dan Gilroy’s debut film: prior to this, he served as screenwriter for films like Freejack (1992) (a childhood favorite), Tarsem’s quirky The Fall (2006) and The Bourne Legacy (2012). Gilroy also wrote the script, which is full of so many incredibly subtle little touches that it’s impossible to list all of the highlights. There’s a premium put on character development here, which lends a nice sense of three-dimensionality to the film: while the film’s themes and basic set-up echoes Taxi Driver in some fairly significant ways, it’s this attention to character detail that really reminds me of Scorsese’s classic.

Robert Elswit, who serves as P.T. Anderson’s resident director of photography, produces some undeniably beautiful images here: in many ways, Nightcrawler is as much about the heart and soul of Los Angeles as it is about Louis Bloom and Elswit’s gorgeous photography really drives this home. From twinkling night-time cityscapes to iconic landmarks like Laurel Canyon, L.A. has rarely looked this inviting, neon-lit pretty poison for its clusters of residents. There’s also a nicely atmospheric, subtle score by composer James Newton Howard that helps to envelop the audience in the city’s smoky mystique: everything about Nightcrawler is a fully immersive experience.

Gilroy gets some exceptionally strong performances from a very solid supporting cast, something which definitely reminded me of Taxi Driver. Riz Ahmed, who was quite good in Four Lions (2010), is equally strong here as Louis’ surrogate conscience: his character has a nicely tragic arc that serves as perfect complement to Bloom, as does his nervous, fidgety performance. Bill Paxton is pretty great as Loder: there’s nothing phoned-in about his performance and the scene where he calls Bloom a “twerp” is a particular highlight, as is the haunting bit where his staring eyes provide the loudest condemnation possible. Rene Russo, returning to dramatic roles for the first time in a decade (not counting her appearances in the Thor franchise), is quite amazing here: she really brings the character of Nina to life and her inevitable “corruption” is as painful to watch as it is foregone. Special mention must also be made of Kevin Rahm, who brings an unusual degree of nuance and depth to the character of Nina’s editor, Frank. Frank serves as the film’s sober voice of reason, standing aghast at Bloom’s increasing sociopathic tendencies, even as Nina and the others bend over backwards to accommodate him. It’s a thankless role, in many ways, but Rahm brings such a sense of nobility and moral integrity to the character that he proves integral to the film’s final destination.

As great as the rest of the cast is, however, all pale in comparison to Gyllenhaal’s stunning portrayal of the ultimate creepazoid. From his constantly shifting eyes, to his hunched body language, to the eerie half-smile that always ghosting across his lips, Louis Bloom is a thoroughly unforgettable character, brought to vibrant, unsettling life by Gyllenhaal. Similar to DeNiro’s performance as Travis Bickle, Gyllenhaal is all-in: there’s nothing about this that feels like acting…everything about Bloom feels completely, uncomfortably and terrifyingly real. Aside from one notable exception, everything about Louis Bloom is strangely serene and placid, still waters that conceal ravenous sharks. It’s an amazing performance and, quite frankly, one of the very best of the entire year. While Nightcrawler’s complete absence from the upcoming Academy Awards is a crime, Gyllenhaal’s absence from the Best Actor category is totally unfathomable: for the second time in the same year (Enemy was the first), Gyllenhaal has been snubbed. While I’ve found Gyllenhaal to be a sturdy actor ever since Donnie Darko (2001), his career choices in the 2010s have been nothing short of revelatory: at this rate, he’s going to be one of the greatest living actors in a few short years, a statement which is not hyperbolic in the slightest. If anyone still has doubts about his abilities (which no one should), his portrayal of Louis Bloom should put them to rest: his work here is just as impressive as DeNiro’s in Taxi Driver, which is certainly no small praise.

At one point in Nightcrawler, Nina tries to get Louis an entry-level job at the news station, only for him to handily turn her down: “I wanna be the guy that owns the station that owns the camera,” he tells her and it’s a sentiment that should be familiar to lots of people. After all, who among us would rather continue to run in the rat-race if we got the opportunity to call the shots? Nightcrawler is such a powerful film precisely because of the inherent dichotomy of the “American Dream”: you step on plenty of people on the way to the top of the heap, all of whom have their own needs, wants and desires. As Gilroy gradually ratchets up the tension and Louis slowly journeys from “casual observer” to “active participant,” it’s easy to get swept up in his success. After all, isn’t this what everyone really wants: to be successful at whatever they happen to be doing? By the time Louis’ actions move from “questionable” to “downright scary,” we’re already so far down the rabbit-hole that it no longer really matters: in an era where mega-corporations and the wealthy control every aspect of society, the deck is already stacked…who are we to complain when someone finds a way to win a rigged game?

One of the more interesting criticisms I’ve heard leveled at Nightcrawler is that the film refuses to take a stand on Louis Bloom: his actions are presented without condemnation or qualification, not portrayed as the true acts of evil that they really are. I would counter this by saying that, as a mirror, Nightcrawler reflects back the image of whoever happens to be watching: plenty of folks will watch Bloom’s actions and be righteously offended, recognizing him as the dangerous sociopath that he really is. For many people, there is nothing justified or good about a system that prizes naked ambition and drive over any other considerations: building your fortune on the back of your fellow-man is not only immoral but bad for humanity, in general. By his very actions, Bloom is shown to be the antithesis of community and society: if anything, he’s but one small step removed from a complete psycho like Patrick Bateman.

Some people, however, will undoubtedly watch Nightcrawler and come away with an altogether different point of view. For these people, they might recognize Bloom as the very poster child for the American Dream: here, after all, is a guy who started with nothing and ended up with everything that he wanted. He achieved these goals not through handouts or outside assistance but through his own hard work and tenacity: he earned his “degree” on the streets, not in the hallowed halls of academia. The positioning of Bloom as a fledgling small business owner, at the end, is subtle but important: for many people, this is the culmination of a dream, making Bloom something of an inspiration.

In a world where we increasingly tell ourselves that the ends do, in fact, justify the means, Dan Gilroy’s instantly classic debut stands as bracing testimonial to the dangers of said belief. We might not like what Nightcrawler has to say but we would be absolute fools to ignore it.

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12/27/14 (Part Four): Chaos, Dread and the Human Animal

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based on a book, Best of 2014, cinema, Danny Bensi, Denis Villeneuve, doppelgängers, doubles, Enemy, favorite films, film reviews, films, insanity, Isabella Rossellini, Jake Gyllenhaal, Javier Gullon, Jose Saramago, Kedar Brown, literary adaptation, Melanie Laurent, Movies, Nicolas Bolduc, Prisoners, Sarah Gadon, Saunder Jurriaans, secret societies, set in Canada, Spanish-Canadian films, spiders, surrealism, Tim Post, twins

For better or worse, I’ll probably remember 2014 as the cinematic year of the doppelgänger: while its true that film fads tend to come in groups (hello, superhero films…), there seemed to be something almost systematic and planned about the sheer number of double/doppelgänger movies that were released last year. Right off the top of my head, there was The Double, The One I Love, Coherence, +1, The Face of Love and Enemy…to be honest, I’m sure that I’ve even missed a couple somewhere along the way, which is always the best indication of a too-crowded field.

While I managed to see all of these doppelgänger films (with the exception of The Face of Love), there was one that stood head and shoulders above the rest: Denis Villeneuve’s Enemy, based on Jose Saramago’s novel, The Double. Not only was Enemy the best doppelgänger/double movie that I saw in a crowded field, it was also one of the very best films I saw all year. Paranoid, grim, heavy with sustained tension and more than a little existentially terrifying, Enemy is a modern classic, a cracked, black mirror that reflects back the unbelievable ugliness of our post-industrial era and asks us all to take a good, long look at our reflections.

In a way, Enemy hits all of the familiar beats in any doppelgänger film: it’s what it does with them that makes the film such a spectacularly creepy, unforgettable march towards insanity. Adam Bell (Jake Gyllenhaal) is a college history professor with what seems like a pretty mundane, run-of-the-mill life: he rides the bus to work, teaches a room full of bored young people about things like patterns and repetition and then goes home to have sex with his equally bored girlfriend (Melanie Laurent). Adam’s comfortable routine is shattered, however, after a co-worker makes a seemingly innocent movie recommendation. After watching the film, Adam notices something a little shocking: the waiter in one of the background shots is a spitting image of himself. After doing some lo-fi detective work (thanks, Google), Adam discovers that the actor, Daniel Saint Claire, is actually named Anthony Claire.

In short order, Adam is obsessed with his suave double and begins to follow him around, before progressing to calling his home and speaking with his wife, Helen (Sarah Gadon). In no time, Anthony is aware of Adam’s existence and the two schedule a face-to-face meeting in a no-tell-motel. Once the two men finally meet, however, the mystery only deepens: it turns out that Anthony is not only the exact image of Adam but that he also has all of Adam’s scars and birthmarks. Freaked out, Adam decides that he wants nothing to do with this bizarre situation and attempts to remove himself. As it turns out, however, Anthony is now just as intrigued as Adam and has no intention of letting him get away. As Adam finds his life becoming more intertwined with Anthony’s, he also runs the risk of losing his identity completely. What’s the real truth behind their relationship? What’s the deal with the strange, underground club that Anthony frequents? And just what, exactly, is right over the horizon, intent on wiping away the dividing line between fantasy and reality, between waking world and nightmare?

The very first thing you notice about Villeneuve’s film is the sickly yellow, jaundiced pallor that suffuses every frame of the film, from the very first shot to the very final image. It’s a diseased, queasy effect that perfectly meshes with the film’s unbelievably deep, sustained sense of dread to create something that could best be described as the apex of “feel-bad” cinema. When combined with the film’s choppy editing style and evocative score, the effect is all but suffocating: many films attempt to grab an audience and refuse to let go but Enemy is one of the very few that succeeds to such a fabulous degree. It’s absolutely no lie to say that I found myself nervous, tense, jittery and, to be honest, kind of seasick for the entirety of the film’s 90 minute run-time. There are many, many reasons to absolutely love Enemy but one of the very best reasons to admire the film is for that unbeatable sense of dread that Villeneuve threads through everything: you keep waiting for something terrible to happen…and waiting…and waiting…when terrible things finally do begin to happen, it’s not so much a release of the built-up tension as it is a confirmation of your worst fears. I can think of very few films from last year that even approached this level of tension, much less executed it so flawlessly: in this aspect, Enemy is heads-and-shoulders above most of its peers.

While the film looks and sounds amazing, there’s always an important factor to consider with any doppelgänger movie: the “twin” performances. In this case, Villeneuve coaxes some astounding work from Gyllenhaal, who’s quickly becoming one of this generation’s most intriguing, impressive actors. Unlike my complaints with Jesse Eisenberg’s performance in Richard Ayoade’s The Double (2014), Gyllenhaal is able to bring enough separation between Adam and Anthony to establish them as distinctly different personalities. It’s all in the small details: a smirk here, a squint there, the particular way in which one of the “twins” stands as compared to the other…there’s nothing as obvious as what Eisenberg did and Gyllenhaal’s performance is all the more impressive for it. In fact, I’m rather surprised that he appears to have snubbed during the awards talk rounding up the year: I found his performance to be exquisite, certainly better than his work the year before in Villeneuve’s Prisoners (2013) and, perhaps, the equal of his performance in Nightcrawler (2014), which I’ve yet to see.

If I can have one real complaint regarding the film’s performances, it would be that Melanie Laurent and Sarah Gadon get much less to do than Gyllenhaal does. While Gadon gets some nice scenes in the film’s final reel, Laurent never gets much to do beyond looking bored and reacting to what happens around her. It could be that Villeneuve and writer Javier Gullon purposefully kept the character of Mary slight, as a form of comparison with Adam, but it still seems like somewhat of a missed opportunity. While there’s virtually no reason to compare Enemy with Prisoners, aside from the obvious Villeneuve/Gyllenhaal connection, I can’t help but think back to Melissa Leo’s excellent performance in the latter and feel like Enemy really could have used a strong female presence to provide some balance.

One of the most impressive, unforgettable aspects of Enemy has to be the way in which Villeneuve combines the mundane, everyday aspects of the film with some truly surreal, nightmarish visual flourishes. While the oppressive yellow color palette is the most obvious, continual example of this, there are plenty of creepy, weird things happening in the margins and backgrounds of the film, along with some pretty outrageous showstoppers: I wouldn’t dream of spoiling any of the film’s surprises but suffice to say that Enemy featured two of my very favorite horror scenes of the year, which is doubly impressive considering that the film probably wouldn’t be considered a true horror film in most quarters.

Here’s the thing, though: Villeneuve and company understand that true horror, the soul-shattering, world-destroying kind, isn’t precipitated on fountains of gore and slick CGI monsters. True horror is based around dread and fear, the sustained, horrifying revelation that everything we think we know and hold dear is actually an illusion or, worse yet, a lie. In this aspect, Enemy is practically Lovecraftian: the film peels back the corner of our comfortable reality, revealing the howling, mad chaos that lurks behind everything. There’s a truly existential sense of horror here, the idea that everything we are can be wiped away in the blink of an eye, by forces too powerful and terrible for us to even begin to understand. Enemy ends before we get to see the “real” picture but we get enough of the image to know that what lies beneath the thin veil of reality is enough to end us all a hundred times over.

I’ll be honest: based on last year’s Prisoners, I wasn’t particularly impressed with Villeneuve. While the film was well-made and featured some truly great performances, it never really seemed to take off like it should have: by all accounts, I found Big Bad Wolves (2013) to be better than Prisoners in just about every way, including its darkly comic tone. This time around, however, I was completely blown away. Enemy is such a well-made, exquisitely crafted film that I’m now obligated to hitch my cart to Villeneuve’s wagon. There’s an intelligence, mystery and genuine sense of horror found here that I find all too rarely in films, regardless of their era or genre…to say that I’m eagerly awaiting Villeneuve’s next film might be a bit of an understatement. There are no easy answers to be found in Enemy: if anything, the film’s logic seems to intentionally frustrate any easy notions of understanding or empathy on the part of the audience. Enemy is a truly strange, alien, unsettling film and, without a doubt, one of the very best of the year.

2/28/14: This Pain Will Help You (Oscar Bait, Part 11)

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2013 Academy Awards, 86th, 8MM, Alex Jones, Best Cinematography nominee, cinema, dark films, Denis Villeneuve, Detective Loki, drama, film reviews, films, Hugh Jackman, Jake Gyllenhaal, kidnapped, Maria Bello, Melissa Leo, missing child, Movies, Nicholas Cage, Oscar nominee, Oscars, Paul Dano, Prisoners, race against time, rainy films, Roger Deakins, Seven, snubbed at the Oscars, Taxi Driver, Terrence Howard, The Hunt, torture, Viola Davis

Movies have a marvelous way of presenting the most wretched, bleak situations possible in a truly hopeful light. Through the power of film, no obstacle is too great to overcome, no adversity too dire to best. Genocide, slavery, Holocaust, world hunger, extinction, climate change, death: all it takes is the right person (or group of persons) to change even the most stubborn of societal ill. On the flip side, however, films also have a particular way of sucking all of the air from a room and showing us how terrible insignificant we really are. The right film, at the right angle, for the right person, can be the most bleak situation imaginable.  Think back to the rain-drenched, under-lit atrocities of Seven and 8MM…the relentless march to oblivion that is Taxi Driver or Old Boy…the parental anguish of Hardcore…some films exist not so much to make us feel better about the world but to remind us of how terrible it really is. Some films, like Martyrs, are not so much entertainment as painful open wounds, viscera thrown straight into our brains. And some films, like Denis Villeneuve’s Prisoners, exist to remind us that the first place we should always look for evil is in ourselves.

Keller Dover (Hugh Jackman)’s young daughter and her friend have gone missing and the police have a suspect in custody: Alex Jones (Paul Dano). Alex seems to be a truly weird, creepy guy and the beat-up RV he tools around in does seem fairly suspicious, but suspicions aren’t quite good enough for the legal system. Detective Loki (Jake Gyllenhaal, chewing up scenery and spitting out shrapnel) is forced to cut Alex loose, which just doesn’t sit well with survivalist papa Keller. With the unsteady assistance of Franklin (Terrence Howard), the father of the other missing girl, Keller kidnaps and tortures Alex, trying desperately to find the missing girls. As the case becomes more complicated and Loki continues to dig up new leads, such as Alex’s strange aunt Holly (Melissa Leo), a mysterious body in a cellar and a homicidal priest, it becomes less and less certain that Alex is actually guilty. As the clock ticks down, Keller is faced with the agonizing possibility that the bloody, terrified man before him might actually be innocent…and that the real villain might still be out there.

On its face, Prisoners has quite a bit going for it and seems to compare well to similar fare such as Seven. The film is beautifully shot, featuring some truly gorgeous camera-work by legendary DP Roger Deakins, which also earned the film its sole Oscar nomination (Best Cinematography). The score is moody and oppressive, which aids ably in smothering the film in the same sort of atmosphere that cloaked films like Seven and 8MM and the script, while not completely original, nonetheless provides enough twists and turns to keep things interesting. Towards the end, the twists begin to spring up so fast that the film threatens to spring a leak, however, and there’s at least one moment that still has me profoundly confused. Nonetheless, the film looks and sounds great.

Unfortunately, there are two critical issues that threaten to pitch the whole affair upside-down: the over-the-top acting and the film’s general bloat. Although there are some nicely understated roles in the film (Dano is excellent as Alex and Viola Davis is very good as Franklin’s wife, Nancy) and one particularly juicy broader one (Melissa Leo is simply marvelous as Alex’s aunt and was criminally overlooked in the Best Supporting Actress category), the majority of the actors are almost ridiculously over-the-top, playing so broad as if to be shouting to the rafters. Gyllenhaal, in particular, is mercilessly teeth-gnashing, playing Loki (so named because Max Powers was too silly?) as the kind of sneering, desk-pounding, perp-bashing super-cop that was a cliché by the ’70s. He’s a good actor attempting to mimic Nicholas Cage at his most out-of-control and the effect is head-scratching: what was the point? Rather than coming off as a badass, Detective Loki is sort of like a whiny, highly ineffectual but endlessly bragging Harry Callahan. He receives perfect support from Jackman, however, who seems to greet any trial or adversity by howling in pain and punching it. Between the two of them and Howard’s skittish, constantly shouting Franklin, the film often feels like we’ve walked into the middle of a particularly nasty argument between complete strangers. Maria Bello is criminally wasted as Grace, Keller’s wife, suffering from the lethal combo of being as broad as the other actors but with less screen-time to smooth it out.

The fact that any character receives too little screen time is a bit of a minor miracle, however, since Prisoners worst flaw, by far, is its rather unbelievable 2.5 hour run-time. Since the film tells such a simple, contained story and never expands much past the immediate surroundings, it seems rather criminal for things to stretch past the 90 minutes mark, much less the two-hour mark. The film ends up being relentless but not in a good way: we end up getting bludgeoned into submission by one extended torture scene after another followed by one Loki tsunami after another followed by one Keller freak-out and so on and on. The Hunt managed to explore the horror and pain of small-town suspicion gone amok in a much more succinct fashion, while Saw and Wolf Creek managed to do likewise with the torture genre. Prisoners manages to mash both together yet, rather than co-mix them, seems content to merely stitch them side by side. The investigation portion of the film, alone, would make a full film, as would the largely gratuitous torture scenes. Together, it’s all too much. I found myself fatigued and wanting to tap out way before the extended 40-minute or so finale introduced another handful of twists.

It’s a shame that Prisoners hobbles itself in some pretty fundamental ways because it has so much going for it. Deakins, the master behind the lens of films like Fargo and The Big Lebowski, does some fantastic work here, presenting certain shots that are pretty enough to frame. There’s an easy fluidity to everything that makes the film effortlessly watchable, even during the torture sequences, which is a necessary counterpoint to the film’s bloat. You can see the hint of something truly exceptional and powerful gleaming deep in the clogged excesses of Prisoners: if the film were only an hour shorter, maybe that light would be a little easier to see.