8/12/15: Killing is His Business

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2008 Presidential election, Andrew Dominik, based on a book, Ben Mendelsohn, best friends, Brad Pitt, Chopper, cinema, Cogan's Trade, crime as business, crime film, crime thriller, dramas, economic crisis, film reviews, films, financial collapse, George V. Higgens, Greig Fraser, heist films, heroin trafficking, heroin users, hired killers, hitman, illegal gambling, James Gandolfini, Killing Them Softly, literary adaptation, Max Casella, mobsters, Movies, Ray Liotta, Richard Jenkins, Sam Shepard, Scoot McNairy, set in 2008, Slaine, The Assassination of Jesse James By the Coward Robert Ford, Trevor Long, Vincent Curatola, writer-director

Like most established film genres, mob movies come in a rainbow assortment of various flavors: they can be pedal-to-the-metal thrillers, pensive character studies, dramas, comedies or any combination of the above. They can focus on the acts being committed, the people committing said acts or the authority figures trying to put said people behind bars. Mob movies might turn the gangsters into virtually mythical heroes or they might portray them as violent, bottom-feeding scum. They might be packed to the rafters with clever dialogue and insight or as reserved and serene as an undisturbed lake.

For the follow-up to his under-appreciated Western The Assassination of Jesse James By the Coward Robert Ford (2007), New Zealand writer-director Andrew Dominik takes aim at another literary adaptation: this time around, he puts his particular spin on George V. Higgens’ 1974 crime novel, Cogan’s Trade. By updating the action from the mid-’70s to the 2008 economic crisis/Presidential election, Dominik gives us yet another view of organized crime: the mob as a business entity. Like the white-collar figure-heads who pull the strings, Dominik gives us a view of organized crime that’s all about the bottom-line, cost-effectiveness, streamlining the organization and keeping the stockholders happy. You know…just like “Big Business” but with a lot more bullets and bloodshed.

The central plot to Killing Them Softly echoes Higgins’ novel fairly closely, albeit with that massive timeline shift from the ’70s to the ’00s. As in the novel, the main action involves ripping off a mob card game and pinning the blame on the schmuck who runs it. Johnny “Squirrel” Amato (Vincent Curatola aka The Sopranos’ Johnny Sacks) hires fresh-from-the-pen Frankie (Scoot McNairy) and his incredibly unreliable former bunk mate/heroin addict, Russell (Ben Mendelsohn), to rip off the aforementioned card game. The plan is actually pretty solid, since they have the perfect patsy: Markie Trattman (Ray Liotta), the guy who runs the card game, actually orchestrated his own robbery of said game many years back and was never punished for his “crime.” If the game gets ripped off again, all eyes will be on Markie and, to quote the parlance, he’ll be “fish food.”

Enter Jackie Cogan (Brad Pitt), the soft-spoken, philosophical hitman who’s been sent by mob enforcer Dillon (Sam Shepard) and his underworld employers to get everything back on track. You see, when Trattman ripped off his game years ago, it put a temporary halt to the illegal card games, which ended up affecting the mob’s bottom line in a pretty major way. Jackie needs to restore order and reassure the “stockholders” that the games will be able to continue unimpeded.

As Jackie continues to meet with Driver (Richard Jenkins), the mob’s consigliori and his go-to man on this particular venture, Frankie, Russell and Johnny Amato try to keep their own heads above water, no easy feat given that Russell’s eagerly returned to the smack addiction that initially landed him in prison. For his part, though, Jackie is only concerned with one thing: getting rid of every person involved with the heist, including poor Markie. It’s nothing personal, though…this is nothing but business.

Reuniting with his Assassination of… star Brad Pitt, Dominik turns in a decent adaptation of Higgins’ novel (which was, itself, sort of a companion piece to his better known debut, The Friends of Eddie Coyle), albeit one which still manages to fall short of the source material. In many ways, Killing Them Softly reminded me of another recent film that managed to disappoint despite its high-octane cast: American Hustle (2013). As with that film, a handful of truly great performances and a generally intelligent script still add up to a slightly underwhelming whole. It’s not that Killing Them Softly is a bad film, mind you: it’s just one that never fully gets to live up to its potential.

Chalk this up to a few different factors. For one, Dominik’s decision to move the action from the ’70s to the ’00s makes perfect sense, on paper, yet is executed in a less than perfect manner. The intention behind this seems to be a parallel between the United States’ economic meltdown in 2008 and the similar economic meltdown experienced by the mob due to the recent heist. In reality, however, none of this pays off until the film’s very final scene: for the most part, this is just an excuse to endlessly reference said economic meltdown, as well as that year’s Presidential campaign. To that end, we get countless George W. Bush soundbites, as well as countless Barack Obama soundbites: it’s hard to recall a scene in the film that doesn’t feature a TV, radio or newspaper constantly talking about the financial crisis. It’s complete overkill and quite equitable to the equally odious tendency of some period pieces to over-rely on the slang and vernacular of whatever era they’re depicting. It becomes so much background noise and, to be frank, adds little to the overall narrative.

Killing Them Softly also has a tendency to relegate its strongest aspect, Brad Pitt’s excellent performance as Cogan, to the back burner in favor of an increased emphasis on the travails of Frankie and Russell. As should be fairly obvious, that’s not exactly the best move: Pitt is a constantly magnetic presence whenever he’s onscreen, whereas the normally reliable McNairy and Mendelsohn turn in performances that tend to grate on the nerves. With McNairy’s “Bahston” accent and Mendelsohn’s Aussie inflection fighting each other for dominance, too much of Killing Them Softly comes across like an acting workshop where the performers have been given scenarios to explore: “You guys are low-level crooks…go!” Add to this McNairy’s wishy-washy characterization and the fact that Mendelsohn just turns in one of his patented “slovenly cretin” roles (the differences between his character here and the one he played in TV’s Bloodline, for example, are so minute as to be negligible) and we’re left with a couple of protagonists who just aren’t particularly interesting.

This reliance on past performances actually affects more of the film than just McNairy and Mendelsohn. In one of his last few roles, James Gandolfini’s take on hard-drinking hitman “New York” Mickey come across like a more exhausted Tony Soprano, while Sopranos co-star Curatola’s Johnny Amato is an almost exact replica of his Johnny Sacks character: the levels of meta are strong with this one. Throw in Liotta doing yet another sad-sack gangster and you have lots of characters who seem overly familiar, even though we’ve just met them.

In truth, all of the films best scenes belong to Pitt and Richard Jenkins: while the rest of the film flops between sober crime thriller and slightly sardonic black comedy, only the interplay between Jackie and Driver manages to find the perfect combination of both. At their best, these scenes remind of the Coen Brothers’ innate grasp on “extraordinary characters doing ordinary things” and the film could certainly have benefited from more of them. It’s little surprise, then, that the highly effective finale belongs solely to Pitt and Jenkins: the two are always the film’s high-water mark, so handing them the keys, at the end, only makes sense.

It’s easy to imagine a slightly different take on this material, one that keeps the updated time-frame but puts the emphasis back on Jackie (the original novel, after all, is called Cogan’s Trade for a reason). There’s plenty of rich material to be mined as far as the parallel between corporate business models and the Mafia goes but Dominik’s script never goes any deeper than the point made in Pitt’s closing speech: America isn’t a country, it’s a business. As a character, Jackie is a pretty great one: he’s charismatic, thoughtful, smart, eloquent, appropriately cold-blooded yet with a firmly established internal compass that always keeps him pointed towards true north.

When Frankie whines to Jackie that Johnny Amato isn’t a “bad guy” and doesn’t deserve what’s coming to him, Jackie’s response is honest, perfectly calibrated and delivered without a hint of sarcasm: “None of ’em are…they’re all nice guys, kid.” Nothing about killing people is personal to Jackie (the title comes from his preference to kill from a distance aka “killing them softly): it’s all just part of his job, no more, no less.

This, of course, is the ultimate message that Dominik is getting at: when you break everything down, it’s all just business. Lots of characters and moments reiterate this talking point, over the course of the film, but no one hammers it home quite as well as Jackie. Pity, then, that Dominik didn’t give him more of the reins: as a whole, the film could have used a lot more of his inherent ability to knock ’em dead, softly or otherwise.

12/18/14: My Son, My Son…What Have Ye Done?

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absentee father, auteur theory, bad mustaches, based on a book, Brogan Hall, children in peril, cinema, co-writers, Cold in July, conspiracies, crime thriller, Don Johnson, drama, father-son relationships, Film auteurs, film reviews, films, Jim Mickle, Joe R. Lansdale, Lanny Flaherty, Michael C. Hall, Movies, Mulberry St., Nick Damici, revenge, Sam Shepard, self-defense, set in the 1980's, snuff films, Stake Land, video stores, Vinessa Shaw, We Are What We Are, writer-director-editor, Wyatt Russell

Expectations can be funny things. Before I sat down to watch writer-director Jim Mickle’s new film, Cold in July (2014), I was all but positive that it would be one of the year’s best films, hands down. After all, I’ve been a hardcore fan of Mickle and writing-partner Nick Damici ever since their exceptional debut, Mulberry St. (2006): over the course of three full-lengths, they’d yet to let me down once. In my mind, there was no way this could go wrong, even if it was the first explicitly non-horror related film for the pair. As luck would have it, however, I didn’t even really end up liking the film until roughly the midpoint and, despite a rousing finale, felt soundly disappointed by the time the end credits rolled. What, exactly, happened here? Let’s see if we can get to the bottom of it, shall we?

Cold in July, based on the novel of the same name by cult author Joe R. Lansdale, concerns itself with the aftermath of a home shooting. Specifically, nebbishy frame-store owner Richard Dane (Dexter’s Michael C. Hall) and his wife, Ann (Vinessa Shaw), are woken late one night by the sound of an intruder in their home. With his young son, Jordan (Brogan Hall) sleeping in another room, Rich springs into defense mode, even if his hands are shakier than a drunk at an open bar: he grabs his gun, heads downstairs and ends up face to face with a masked burglar. As the tense, silent stand-off stretches into minutes, the sudden shock of a clock going off blows Rich’s cool and causes him to blow a fist-sized hole in the intruder’s eye: exit one “bad guy,” enter one “reluctant hero.”

Since Rich killed the intruder in self-defense (despite the fact that the burglar was only armed with a flashlight), local sheriff Ray Price (co-writer Damici) tells him that he doesn’t have anything to worry about: just another low-life taken off the streets, do not pass Go, do not collect $200. According to the sheriff, the dead guy was a career criminal by the name of Freddy Russell: with his record, the sheriff figures Rich did the county a favor. When pressed about possible surviving relatives, the sheriff mentions that Freddy had a deadbeat father, Ben (Sam Shepard), who’s currently doing hard time in prison. Or he was, that is, until just recently: he’s been paroled. Cue the ominous music…cue Rich’s panicked eyes.

Faster than you can “trope,” Ben shows up in town with an intent that seems pretty crystal clear: he wants vengeance for the death of his only boy, even if he hadn’t seen him for at least a decade. Rich has a boy of his own, which Ben sees as a pretty fair trade for his own dead kid. When Rich goes to the sheriff, however, he’s met with the standard response: we can’t do anything until he actually does something. This, of course, isn’t quite what Rich wanted to hear: he knows that it’s only a matter of time before Ben makes his move and it’s scaring the living shit out of him.

Just when it seems as if the film is headed in a pretty obvious, revenge-based direction, ala Blue Ruin (2013), however, a huge twist throws everything on its ear and ends up resetting the various relationships. I wouldn’t dream of spoiling the twist, although the film ends up treating it like a bigger mystery than it actually is (think more Hardy Boys than Chinatown (1974)). Needless to say, Rich and Ben find themselves on the same side, albeit reluctantly, as they face down what seems to be a very odd conspiracy. With the help of Ben’s old war buddy, private eye Jim Bob Luke (Don Johnson), they may just have a shot at getting to the bottom of it all…or they may just die trying.

Up until the twist that turns the film in a completely different direction, I was extremely lukewarm on Cold in July. While the film looks amazing (the blue color scheme really drives home the film’s noir elements), there’s just something distinctly off about the first half. I definitely lay part of the blame on Hall, who never seems to inhabit his character in any realistic way but comes across as particularly awkward during the first 40 minutes or so: maybe it’s the weird accent that he’s trying or that ridiculous mustache that he’s saddled with but it always seems like Hall’s trying to keep character while dealing with some sort of constant technical difficulty. I’ll admit to not being as familiar with his work as others (I’ve seen some episodes of Dexter but have never seen Six Feet Under) but I always like what I saw: here, however, he just seems uncomfortable.

The beginning of the film is also so straight-forward as to be rather dull: it hits every single beat of the standard “sinister person hanging around and waiting to cause trouble” scenario and does nothing new with it whatsoever. To make matters worse, Vinessa Shaw’s portrayal of Ann is so aggressive and angry that it really throws the film for a tonal loop: as the couple are supposed to be worrying about a possible case of retribution, Ann is fixated on getting a new sofa and yells at Rich for seeming to take too much interest in the other situation…you know, the one that involves someone trying to kill them? Suffice to say that it was pretty impossible for me to suspend disbelief for the first reel, at least, of the film.

Once that twist gets introduced, however, the film sort of morphs into a gritty, ’80s-styled action film and the pulpy thrills are pretty undeniable. Finally, at this point, we end up getting some of that trademark Mickle/Damici insanity, including a real showstopper of a scene that manages to combine The Evil Dead (1981) and Natural Born Killers (1994) into one pretty (red-tinted-package). The final 30 minutes or so of the film are pretty much one big gunfight and I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t thrilling as all get out. There’s also a really nice, genuinely emotional resolution to the main conflict that reminded me of classic Mickle films like Stake Land (2010): the film takes a long time to get there, mind you, but the payoff is nicely realized.

For my money, aside from the outstanding production values, there’s really only two reasons to see Cold in July: Sam Shepard and Don Johnson. Shepard is duly great as Ben, a genuinely scary individual who ends up being a lot more like Rich, by the end, than any of us could have thought possible. Shepard is so understated, yet epically powerful, that we buy him part and parcel as an unstoppable asskicker: the scene where he teaches the obnoxious local mailman (Lanny Flaherty) to be polite is a real fist-raiser, as is his transformation into a virtual Angel of Death by the finale. The real star of the show, however, is Don Johnson. Not only does he steal each and every scene he’s in but he’s one of my favorite characters in years: most of the good will the film built up with me was pretty much wholly down to Johnson’s performance. He’s funny, sweet, smart, ruthless and all-around awesome: Johnson hasn’t been this charismatic since the good old days and this should stand as proof that we need a lot more of him in the movies…let’s let the Don Johnson career resurgence start here!

Ultimately, it was hard for me to leave Cold in July without the nagging suspicion that this was all a sort of film exercise, similar to Gus van Sant’s shot-for-shot remake of Psycho (1998). In this case, it often felt to me as if Mickle and Damici were attempting to replicate uncompromising, hard-edged and mean ’80s action films like The Evil That Men Do (1984) and Kinjite (1989): everything from the cinematography to the Carpenter-esque synth score to the snuff porn storyline seemed to point backwards towards these kinds of films, especially once we get to the action-packed climax. This impression is also driven home by the fact that the film is set in 1989 and prominently features video stores and VHS tapes: with all of the ’80s hints, it was kind of impossible for my mind to not get stuck in that particular decade. This could, of course, only be my reading of the film but it was an impression that never left me for nearly two hours, so I have a feeling my intuition might be on to something.

For the record, lest my words seem a bit too critical, Cold in July is not a bad film: to be honest, I’m not really sure that Mickle and Damici can make a bad film. It’s extremely well-made, features great performances from Johnson and Shepard and has some truly stellar action set-pieces. It’s also, without a doubt, a much lesser film than either Stake Land or its follow-up, Mickle and Damici’s remake of We Are What We Are (2013). As someone who pretty much worships the ground the duo walk on, I couldn’t help but be let down by a film that’s better than a lot of current movies but so much emptier than what they’ve done in the past. Needless to say, however, I’ll keep watching whatever they put out as long as they keep putting it out: despite the disappointment of Cold in July, Jim Mickle and Nick Damici are one of the most formidable teams in the business. My intuition tells me the next one is gonna be legendary.

8/13/14: From the Frying Pan to the Inferno

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blue-collar life, brothers, Casey Affleck, Christian Bale, cinema, co-writers, Crazy Heart, drama, Film, film reviews, Forest Whitaker, Harlan DeGroat, illegal fighting, illegal gambling, Jr., Movies, Out of the Furnace, revenge, Rodney Baze, Russell Baze, Sam Shepard, Scott Cooper, small town life, Willem Dafoe, Woody Harrelson, writer-director, Zoe Saldana

Within moments of meeting Harlan DeGroat (Woody Harrelson) at a drive-in theater, we watch him force a frankfurter down his date’s throat before slamming her head into the dashboard of his muscle car, after which he beats a wannabe Good Samaritan into a bloody pulp before physically throwing his battered date out of the car, menacing the rest of the gawking movie patrons and burning rubber all the way to the horizon. Without a shadow of a doubt, Harlan is one sonuvabitch, violence made flesh, like a rampaging, backwoods god of war.

On the other side of the rainbow from Harlan, we have Russell Baze (Christian Bale), a hard-working, salt-of-the-earth steel worker (just like his dear ol’ da) with a loving girlfriend, strong ties to the community and visions of starting a family in the near future. Russ is the kind of guy that everyone in town knows and likes, the kind of fella that’ll jump-start your car or lend you $20 (if he has it) without being asked. His tattoos hint at time spent in lockup but his attitude is all good intentions and honest attempts to walk the straight and narrow.

Somewhere in the middle of these two extremes lies Rodney Baze, Jr. (Casey Affleck), Russ’s younger brother. Rodney is an ex-Iraq War vet, full of pain, rage and the desire to do anything in life but waste away the remainder of his days in the steel mill, like his “weak” brother and dying father. He firmly believes that he did all the work he’ll ever need to do while in the Armed Forces: from this point on, the U. S. of A. owes him a living, not the other way around. To that end, he makes his money by participating in illegal bare-knuckle fights, most of which he throws, leading him to spend most of his days beat to absolute shit. When he’s not getting beat up for chump change, Rodney is blowing what little money he has at scuzzy off-track betting places, always chasing that elusive “big break,” the kind that routinely seems to pass by people like him and Russ.

The nexus where these three desperate individuals meet forms the crux of Scott Cooper’s powerful Out of the Furnace (2013), a bracing examination of the destructive power of vengeance and the haphazard way in which terrible things sometimes happen to very good people. Despite some minor missteps and a mystifying coda that raises more questions than it answers, Cooper’s film is a slow-burning powerhouse anchored by a dependably sturdy performance from Bale, a thoroughly authentic turn from Affleck and one of the scariest on-screen villains since Max Cady menaced the ever-loving shit out of Sam Bowden.

More than anything, Out of the Furnace is a tragedy, managing to fit almost every definition of the term: the film is relentlessly sad, no doubt, but it’s really about the ultimate downfall of an otherwise good (if flawed) individual. We pretty much like Bale’s Russ from the first time we see him: he’s a hard-working, no-nonsense, blue-collar guy who helps take care of his dying father, tries his damnedest to keep his squirrely brother out of trouble and seems to have a great relationship with his girlfriend, Lena (Zoe Saldana). Although he’s no fabulously wealthy world-changer, Russ seems to have it all. Since this is a tragedy, of course, that means that he’s also going to lose it all.

Russ’ fatal flaw, as it is, ends up being the responsibility he feels for younger brother Rodney. After he finds out that Rodney owes $1500 to small-time gangster John Petty (Willem Defoe), Rodney’s partner in the illegal fighting racket, Russ sets out to make things right with Petty. Stopping by to drop off part of the money, Russ happens to run into Harlan and his associate, who’ve stopped by to menace Petty over the profits from another fight. Passing each other in the doorway, Harlan gives Russ such a stink-eye that he’s prompted to ask if Harlan “has a problem with him.” “I got a problem with everybody,” Harlan snarls back, setting the stage for future conflicts and heartache.

After sharing a few drinks with the jovial Petty, Russ takes off and collides, literally, with his destiny in the form of a broken-down car on an ill-lit country road: Russ slams into the car, which appears to contain a child and, despite doing all he can at the scene, his fate is sealed. When we next see Russ, he’s in prison, forsaken by all of his friends and family save for Rodney, who still comes to visit regularly. Lena, for her part, has moved on to someone else and Russ’ father has passed away, leaving Rodney as his only connection to the old life he once had.

Once he gets out, Russ sees how much everything has really changed. Rodney is now involved with John Petty more than ever, Harlan and his thugs hold the entire county under their brutal sway and Lena is dating Police Chief Wesley Barnes (Forest Whitaker): the couple are expecting their first child and, in a particularly raw scene, Russ congratulates Lena as the former lovers sob and hold each other. Life for Russ is harder than ever but he’s still committed to making the best of things.

A life of leisure, alas, is just not in the cards for these damaged individuals. After Rodney pressures Petty to get him involved with Harlan’s underground fights (brutal affairs that make back-alley grudge-matches look like WWE events), the pair realizes that they are very small fish in a pond stuffed to bursting with ravenous sharks. When Petty is found dead and Rodney disappears, Russ is forced to try to put together all of the pieces. When Chief Barnes seems more interested in keeping Rodney away from Lena than he does in finding Rodney, Russ decides to take matters into his own hands and conduct his own investigation. Hitting the streets with his uncle, Red (Sam Shepard), Russ traces Rodney’s movements right back to Harlan and his backwoods “mafia.” When the law is unable to help, however, Russ must turn his back on “polite” society and give in to the primal rage that drives a monster like Harlan: in order to confront ultimate evil, Russ must, in a way, become that evil. Since this is a tragedy, suffice to say that no one will emerge from this unscathed.

For my money, Out of the Furnace is one of the most “actorly” films I’ve seen in some time: while the occasional action moments hold plenty of impact and the film looks and sounds great, the performances are so rock-solid that they definitely become the focal point of the movie. As usual, Christian Bale completely loses himself in his performance, coming up with something that approaches a less tortured and/or emaciated version of his Trevor Reznik from The Machinist (2004). He ends up projecting such a likeable persona that you really feel bad when his world begins to come crashing around him: Russ is no stereotypical “white knight” but he seems like a genuinely good person. For his part, Affleck gives his most affecting performance, thus far: Rodney is a character that could have across as too self-serving and obnoxious but Affleck finds the core of the character and makes him feel less a cliché than another tragic extension of Russ’ wounded blue-collar soul. The scene where Rodney flips out and starts screaming at Russ could’ve come across as too highly strung, too melodramatic but Affleck and Bale find the inherent, blistered humanity in the moment. One of the greatest compliments I can pay the two is that there was no point in the film where I ever doubted that Russ and Rodney were brothers: the performances felt that authentic.

Towering above it all, however, is the mighty Woody Harrelson. While Harrelson has made a cottage industry out of playing sweet, slightly dumbass characters, I’ve always found him to be at his best when he’s “breaking bad,” as it were, and Harlan DeGroat might be his baddest yet, leap-frogging over the bad cops in Rampart (2011) by a country mile. To not put to fine a point on it, Harrelson is absolutely riveting in the film: from his first scene to his last, it is, literally, impossible to take your eyes off him. While Harlan is bat-shit crazy and unrelentingly scary, Harrelson brings plenty of nuance and shading, as well: the bit where he butts heads with Affleck ends up saying as much about his character as it does about eager-beaver Rodney. Every good revenge film needs a good, despicable villain and Harlan DeGroat is definitely one for the record books: if you’re a fan of Harrelson’s, Out of the Furnace should be required viewing.

While the rest of the cast is quite good (especially Defoe, who seems to be channeling John Waters by way of Steve Buscemi), it was a little disappointing to see Saldana and Whitaker wasted in what amounted to throwaway roles. Whitaker, in particular, doesn’t get to do much more than show up, act mildly concerned and step off-camera: there’s no characterization, making his climatic scene even more ineffective than it might have normally been. The character of Chief Barnes could have been written out of the story and everything would have continued to hum along just fine. Other than the powerful aforementioned scene with Bale, Saldana is similarly wasted, her character seeming to exist only to inject a much-needed female angle into the proceedings: aside from seeming to take place entirely at night, Out of the Furnace also posits a world that seems to consist solely of grouchy men and a few women on the periphery.

Cooper, the writer/director of the Oscar-winning Jeff Bridges vehicle Crazy Heart (2009), brings a similarly sturdy sense of narrative to this film. Kooky coda notwithstanding (and the coda really is a bizarre one, particularly since it appears to unnecessarily throw into question the film’s timeline), Out of the Furnace is a pretty linear and relentless film, if decidedly slow going, at times. While I would have liked a little more grit in the proceedings (the opening scene with Harlan at the drive-in is shot in a washed-out ’70s-style that turns into a more contemporary look for the film “proper”), there’s precious little than I can complain about here. While the film may, ultimately, bear more weight as a particularly grim drama than a revenge film, there’s plenty of both elements to go around. Fans of any of the aforementioned actors (with the possible exception of poor Saldana and Whitaker) would be well-served checking out the film. Anyone who enjoys bravura, all-in portrayals of mad-dog-scary people, however, needs to put this one closer to the top of their list: when Harrelson is good, he’s great. When he’s scary, however, he’s the stuff of nightmares.

3/19/14: A Real Simple Man

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auteur theory, beached boat, boat up a tree, broken families, character dramas, cinema, coming of age, David Cronenberg, drama, Ellis, eponymous characters, Film auteurs, film reviews, films, houseboat, Jacob Lofland, Jeff Nichols, Joe Don Baker, love story, man with a secret, Matthew McConaughey, Michael Shannon, Movies, Mud, Neckbone, Paul Sparks, Ray McKinnon, Reese Witherspoon, river, riverboats, romance, Sam Shepard, Sarah Paulson, scrappy kids, small town life, teenagers, townies, Tye Sheridan, writer-director

Fun is fun, when it comes to movies. There’s nothing wrong with mindless action shoot-em-ups or faceless slashers: those are usually more fun than being night watchman in a bubble-wrap factory. Lots of adrenaline, some snappy dialogue and some rousing set pieces…that’s been a sure thing for quite some time. Likewise, mega-budget “event” pictures can be mighty entertaining, in the right doses. Throw a bakers’ dozen of the biggest actors in town into the cinematic equivalent of making your He-Man figures fight your GI Joes? Don’t bother to call: I’m already out in the lobby. That being said, there’s a lot to be said for a good old-fashioned, low-budget, character-driven drama. Sometimes, there’s nothing finer in life than getting a bunch of talented actors together and letting them do what people have been doing since the dawn of time: live. Jeff Nichols’ Mud may not be flashy but it’s a mighty fine coming-of-age film and an intriguing peek into the human condition.

Our film begins on the waterways of Arkansas, as we’re quickly introduced to our young protagonists, Ellis (Tye Sheridan) and Neckbone (Jacob Lofland). They’re a couple of precocious teen boys, best friends and the products of rather fractured homes: Ellis’ mother and father (Sarah Paulson and Ray McKinnon) are at each other’s throats, the harshness of the country and the financial uncertainty of their riverboat existence tearing the family apart, while Neckbone is being raised by his uncle Galen (Michael Shannon) and never knew his parents. One day, while exploring a nearby island, the boys come across a busted-up houseboat, inexplicably beached atop a tree. Boys being boys, they decide to poke around the abandoned boat and discover evidence that it might not be so abandoned: bread, cans of beans and a few nudie magazines. In short order, the lads are introduced to the boat’s current “resident,” a scruffy hobo who calls himself Mud (Matthew McConaughey). According to Mud, he’s waiting for his girlfriend, who he describes to the dubious boys as “long blonde hair, long legs…beautiful…nightingales tattooed on her hands.”

Ellis and Neckbone doubt Mud’s story almost absolutely, right up until the point where they notice that a mysterious young woman (Reece Witherspoon) has just showed up in town, a woman who happens to be blonde and have nightingales tattooed on her hands. She looks an awful lot like Mud’s description, leading the friends to believe that the hobo might be telling the truth, after all. As the trio get friendlier, Mud reveals more and more about his backstory, including the fact that he’s on the run from some pretty bad people. As the boys help Mud get the houseboat up and running and serve as messenger between him and Juniper, they also contact an old friend of his, Tom (Sam Shepard), a mysterious older man who seems to know an awful lot about Mud’s past. As these disparate elements come crashing together, the boys must also maintain their home lives and deal with the conflicting emotions of adolescence: in Ellis’ case, this means falling in love with a high school girl (Bonnie Sturdivant) and navigating the pitfalls of young hormones, while Neckbone must balance his own need to become an independent man with his desire to help his uncle. Everything comes to a head as malevolent forces descend on the small town, intent on making Mud atone for his past as the boys are forced into the first throes of adulthood.

Despite some latter-half action elements that move the film more in the direction of Straw Dogs (minus the rape) than a Boy’s Story, Mud is most certainly a coming-of-age drama. Although the film, ostensibly, is about Mud and his quest for love and redemption, these aspects are always balanced against the larger picture of Ellis and Neckbone growing up. In fact, the more explicitly action-oriented elements (despite being decidedly audience-amping) have an unfortunate tendency to drown out the more mature dramatic aspects that precede them. While it’s certainly rousing to watch McConaughey whup ass righteously, the finale ends up seeming a bit reductive, almost as if the romantic/dramatic elements were a sort of smoke-screen for the more standard action beats. This is doubly unfortunate since, up to that point, Mud as a slow, meditative feel that lends itself more to contemplation than to increased adrenaline.

Acting-wise, the film features an embarrassment of riches, not the least of which is another rock-solid, dependable performance from good ol’ Matthew McC. Sheridan and Lofland are outstanding as the teenage protagonists and there’s never a moment where their friendship feels anything less than genuine. While Sheridan has to do a bit more of the emotional heavy-lifting than Lofland does, owing to Ellis’ slightly more central position in the narrative, neither actor is a slouch: I predict really good things for both of these actors. On the more established, old-guard end, we have excellent turns from Sarah Paulson as Ellis’ mother Mary Lee: she really makes the terrible conflict between what she wants and what her family wants a concrete thing and her interactions with Ray McKinnon frequently have a heartbreaking sense of authenticity. Nichols’ regular Michael Shannon is typically sturdy as Neckbone’s uncle, leading me to reiterate the same thing I always say whenever he’s in a film: get this guy more roles. Joe Don Baker shows up in a small but pivotal role as the grieving father/unrepentant killer and Paul Sparks oozes real menace as his second-in-command.

Writer/director Jeff Nichols has, very quietly, begun to build up quite the impressive resume. His debut, 2007’s Shotgun Stories, was a gut-punch about the special hell that only family members can put each other through and featured a scorching lead turn from Michael Shannon. Nichols followed this up with Take Shelter (2011), another Michael Shannon-starrer, about an average, everyday, Midwest man confronting the dubious possibility that he’s either envisioning the end of the world or is going completely bonkers. Across his three full-length features, Nichols has proven especially adept at examining the ways in which small-town folks are torn asunder by extraordinary circumstances. Some are able to regroup and rebuild…others are completely and utterly washed from the face of the earth. Even though Nichols may not have many films under his belt, he’s revealed himself to be an extraordinary filmmaker with a keen, razor-sharp edge and a knack for upending the stone of Middle American life and examining the squishy bugs beneath. In many ways, Nichols is like a softer-edged, more humanistic version of modern-day Cronenberg: they both plumb the rural interstates and byways of America, looking for the reasons behind the madness. Their America might not look like a Rockwell painting but it’s home, nonetheless.