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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2/3/15: It’s Always the Quiet Ones

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Aloha Oe, alternate title, Carl Marznap, Carl Panzram, child abuse, childhood trauma, cinema, crime film, dark films, dark tourism, Dark Tourist, disturbing films, dramas, film reviews, films, flashbacks, Frank John Hughes, gang rape, grief tourism, Grief Tourist, hallucinations, Hawaiian songs, Henry: Portrait of a Serial Killer, homophobia, horror, insanity, isolation, juvenile detention facility, juvenile offenders, loners, Lovely Molly, Melanie Griffith, mental breakdown, mental illness, Michael Cudlitz, misanthropes, misanthropic, mother-son relationships, Movies, murdered prostitutes, Nayo Wallace, Pruitt Taylor Vince, serial killers, Suri Krishnamma, Suzanne Quast, Taxi Driver, transgender, Travis Bickle, twist ending, unpleasant films, voice-over narration

In certain cases, I can predict exactly what I’ll be getting when I sit down with a previously unknown film. Sometimes the cover art will give clues or there’ll be some strategic stunt casting that sets off alarm bells (anything with a WWE personality, for example, is probably not going to be “a contender”). It might be a filmmaker that I’m familiar with, giving me a general idea of what lays ahead, or a screenwriter that’s intrigued me with other scripts. In some cases, certain films just project an aura of…well, let’s just call it “compromise” and be generous, shall we? These are the equivalent of the direct-to-video detritus that used to line store shelves back in the glory days of VHS: they’re still here, of course, although now they clog virtual racks rather than physical ones.

There are always those films, however, that end up defying, destroying and resetting expectations. Every once in a while, a film that might seem completely forgettable from the outside ends up surprising me and boring straight into my brain-pan. One of my favorite examples of this is Eduardo Sanchez’s Lovely Molly (2011), a film which seems so generic and bland from the outside that it feels like you’ve been dipped in lava once it reveals itself to be an absolutely unholy hell of an experience. Without a doubt, Lovely Molly is one of the single most unpleasant films I’ve ever watched: it’s also completely unforgettable and, quite possibly, one of the greatest unknown films of the 2000s. While Suri Krishnamma’s Dark Tourist (2012) isn’t quite the film that Lovely Molly is, it still managed to obliterate my low expectations, positioning itself as a sort of cross between Taxi Driver (1976) and Henry: Portrait of a Serial Killer (1986). When Dark Tourist is good, it’s absolutely riveting and, easily, one of the most grueling, unpleasant cinematic experiences I’ve had in months. This is definitely not a film that can (or will) appeal to everyone. If you’re ready to take a trip to some seriously damaged locales, however, Dark Tourist is saving you a seat on the bus.

Our protagonist is Jim (Michael Cudlitz), a misanthropic security guard who works the over-night shift at some sort of factory. Via his near constant voiceover, we learn a few handy things about our wannabe hero: he absolutely loves his solitude, eschewing human contact whenever possible; he’s obsessed with serial killers and their lives to the point where he makes yearly “pilgrimages” to check out their childhood homes, murder sites, etc.; he’s a virulent homophobe, racist and sexist, who decries Hollywood as “for the faggots,” bitches about his “Jew fucker” doctor and cheerfully describes his co-workers as “sluts, drug addicts, whore mongers and child molesters.” That Jim is able to be this terrible of a human being while still maintaining the outward semblance of normalcy is admirable, to say the least: we know how fucked up the guy is, since we’re getting the info straight from the horse’s mouth, so to speak. To everyone else, however, he just comes across as a standoffish, polite but cold guy with some weird hobbies. In other words, the epitome of “he seemed like such a nice, quiet guy.”

For this year’s trip, Jim has set his sights on the life and times of one Carl Marznap (based on real-life serial killer/monster Carl Panzram). Marznap was a killer/arsonist who was gang-raped in a juvenile facility and sought to take out his anger on the rest of the world, culminating in burning down a church full of people. Jim traces Marznap’s journey from his boyhood home to the (now abandoned) juvenile facility and the remains of the burned church, trying to get some sense of who the real Carl was. Along the way, Jim strikes up a tentative friendship with a lonely diner waitress (Melanie Griffith) and stays at a fleabag motel where the constant activities of the resident hooker, Iris (Suzanne Quast), start to provoke some rather “Travis Bickle-esque” feelings in him. Soon, Jim is having a hard time concentrating on his “vacation,” a situation which becomes even more difficult once he starts to see visions of an adult Marznap (Taylor Pruitt Vince). As Jim’s grasp on reality gets more and more precarious, he finds himself rocketing towards a revelation that is both impossibly sad and unrelentingly horrifying.

One of the greatest tricks that Krishnamma and screenwriter Frank John Hughes pull with Dark Tourist is making the misanthropic Jim such a thoroughly fascinating character. Chalk this up to a combination of good writing and a great performance by Cudlitz (who instantly reminded me of a younger Ron Perlman) but it’s a real coup: Jim should have been an absolutely miserable character to spend 80 minutes with but we still end up on his side (kind of/sort of) right up until the whole thing goes ass-over-tea kettle in a holocaust of violence. For a time, it’s easy to believe that Jim is just a severely damaged individual, ala Travis Bickle, who still has some deep-buried sense of morality, however perverted. When the worm turns, however, we’re smack-dab in Henry territory and it’s a pretty nasty place to be.

Craftwise, Dark Tourist isn’t exactly a home-run. The cinematography is often flat and kind of ugly, at its worst, and serviceable, at best. There’s an unfortunate lens-distortion effect used on the flashback scenes, which is rather cheesy, and the supporting performances range from good (Donna Ponterotto as Jim’s waitress mother) to serviceable (Pruitt Taylor Vince’s performance as Marznap is fine, if rather clichéd and perilously close to a cameo) to rather dreadful (I adore Melanie Griffith but the less said about her awkward, halting performance as Betsy, the better). There’s also an unfortunate tendency to hammer things home a bit hard: the part where Jim’s voice-over explicitly lays out his mental state is way too obvious, especially since the film had been so good at subtly laying out the same notion prior to that.

When the film follows through on its convictions, however, it comes perilously close to being a truly soul-shattering experience. The “twist” is a real gutpunch, which allows the previously foregone conclusion to pack much more emotional weight than it might otherwise have. The violence is sparse but genuinely disturbing when it comes (similar to Henry, if you think about it) and Krishnamma’s use of traditional Hawaiian instrumentals and songs such as “Aloha Oe” help keep the whole thing off kilter. For every familiar beat, Krishnamma throws in something so outside the box that it makes the whole production feel much fresher than it probably should have. This is, without a doubt, the very definition of something being far greater than the sum of its parts.

Ultimately, for as good as Dark Tourist ends up being (and the film is very, very good), it’s still the kind of movie that will have extremely limited appeal. Similar to Simon Rumley’s misery-epics The Living and the Dead (2006) and Red, White & Blue (2010), there is no sunshine to be found here whatsoever. Things begin on a grim note and degrade from there into abject and complete despair: it’s not spoiling a thing to say that nothing in Dark Tourist will end positively because there’s no way it could…Jim (and the world he inhabits) are way too fucked up for any sort of “fairy tale ending.” This is the kind of film that is best described as an “endurance match”: for as much as I respected Krishnamma and Hughes’ bleak vision, I would be extremely wary of anyone who said that they actually enjoyed it. Gentle readers, take note: if you’re not ready to descend to the depths of human depravity, you might want to book passage on an entirely different cruise.

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.