Se7en (1995) ***

 

For some reason, cultured serial killers are always the worst. When they base their heinous acts on biblical and classical literature they seem to creep me out more than their illiterate chainsaw wielding counterparts.  Perhaps it’s because I work and live in a world based on knowing and disseminating knowledge. Of course, it doesn’t help that this type of character usually looks harmless, as does Kevin Spacey’s John Doe in Se7en (1995).  Doe bases his murderous acts on the seven deadly sins (more properly known as the Cardinal Sins) and uses quotations from the likes of Aquinas, Chaucer, Dante, and Milton to leave messages for the detectives pursuing him (Brad Pitt and Morgan Freeman).  Atmospheric and edgy, Se7en is an uncomfortable look at the depravity of the times in which we live.

Freeman plays Detective William Somerset, a well-read but world-weary man who finds himself seven days from retirement when he catches a serial killer case that he’d rather not have.  He is joined on the case by his soon-to-be replacement, Detective David Mills (Pitt), a jaded but still naïve cop who has recently transferred to the police department. The lead character’s name was not randomly chosen by screenwriter Andrew Kevin Walker—he named Somerset after his favorite author, W. Somerset Maugham.  This only adds to the literary allusions throughout the film, when several well-known passages are referenced throughout.  I would even venture to guess that the character of Mills is some type of  proxy for John Stuart Mill and his utilitarianistic harm principle, where each individual has the right to act as they want, so long as these actions do not harm others.

That philosophy, of course, is put to the test when Mills and Somerset come up against a serial killer who thinks he’s doing the world a favor by ridding it of the dregs of society. When explaining why he murdered his innocent victims he says, “Only in a world this shitty could you even try to say these were innocent people and keep a straight face.” And, that’s the point—they live in some type of apocalyptic world where everything is gray-toned and it never seems to cease raining unless you go out into the countryside.  Evidently the horrible acts carried out by Doe in this No-name city are nothing too out of the ordinary.  This is the reason Somerset wants out and says as much when he explains to Mills why he’s ready to retire: “I just don't think I can continue to live in a place that embraces and nurtures apathy as if it was virtue.” It sucks in No-name city, and the people who live there are complicit in every awful thing that transpires there.  Those who think they can rise above it, like Mills, find themselves completely enveloped by its sinister ways. 

While we are spared watching the sickening murders take place, we do have the unwelcome experience of seeing the aftermath of Doe’s actions. Gruesome crime scenes abound, and while they are not as stomach-turning as what you would find in a slasher movie, they are still difficult to look at.  His take on the seven deadly sins is rather imaginative, so I suppose if I were grading his psychopathic artistry I’d have to give him an A.  For me, his '”sloth” endeavor is the more memorable of all his “masterpieces”.  That emaciated body sputtering to life sent a jolt throughout my entire body.  Obviously this was the point in Spacey’s career when he embraced his darker side by playing both Doe here and Verbal Kint in The Usual Suspects (1995) in 1995. He must have picked up a few pointers from Anthony Hopkins’ turn in The Silence of the Lambs (1991) about how to play a cool and calculating serial killer, because he does a nice job of not overplaying Doe’s depravity. 

As for Pitt and Freeman, both do admirable jobs with their respective characters.  Freeman, in particular, does an outstanding job as Somerset.  Everyone knows he can deliver his lines with that god-like voice of his, but it is more his non-verbal work here that resonates.  When you are playing a man who is tired of the world it only makes sense that your character should appear physically and mentally drained—Somerset does. Perhaps it’s the way he carries Somerset or how he keeps his eyes and facial features in an almost constant state of underlying tension that makes me believe he has had enough of No-name city and the human race.  The look on his face when he opens up the box of vengeance (I won’t spoil it for those who haven’t seen the film) is priceless. 

My biggest complaint with Se7en is Gwyneth Paltrow as Mills’ wife Tracy.  While I know the character is necessary for plot reasons, Paltrow’s performance is just beyond boring.  Sure, her character is depressed about living on a subway line in a city where she doesn’t know anyone, but that doesn’t mean she has to be mind-numbingly tiring  to watch.  This role does not suit her at all and would have been better cast with the likes of Juliette Lewis or Marisa Tomei.  Oh, and to make things worse, it was on this film that Pitt and Paltrow became romantically involved, which resulted in more than 2-years of annoying gossip fodder. 

Overall, I think Se7en is a highly enjoyable psychological thriller.  It makes you really examine the world in which you live and contemplate how complicit you are in what is happening around you.  Plus, the ending is just beyond shocking and memorable. 

Read More

The Ear (Ucho) 1970 **

Imagine making a film in 1970 and then having to wait 29-years before anyone could watch it. That’s what happened to director Karel Kachyňa when he wrote, directed, and produced a film that audaciously questioned the methods of the Czechoslovakian Communist Party. Suppressed by the same left-wing leaders that Kachyňa was shining a very bright light on, Ucho (The Ear) is a grim look at what it is like to live in a totalitarian state. 

The story takes place over one brief paranoid evening in the life of Ludvík (Radoslav Brzobohatý) and Anna (Jiřina Bohdalová), a caustic married couple. Ludvík is a senior ministry official who finds himself under suspicion when his superior and others in his office are arrested and held for questioning.  Upon returning home from a Party function, he and Anna encounter a house where both the power and phone lines have been turned off.  In addition, there are cars parked outside and men milling about in the garden.  Internal and external panic ensues inside their dark and untidy home, where they fear the “ear” is listening to everything they say and do. 

Shot in stark black and white and employing unflinching extreme close-ups and deep focus, Ucho purposefully makes you uncomfortable—because that is how the characters feel.  The first half of the movie is shot primarily in the dark, with only candlelight and a small flashlight to shed light on the happenings inside the house.  If Ludvík and Anna can’t see what’s happening to them why should the audience?  Later in the film, when there is a shift in tone and the lights come on, we see a piercing examination of the relationship between husband and wife. Someone should have flicked them off, because this is a couple obviously in need of a good marriage counselor.  She’s a drunk with a nasty disposition; he is a man consumed with getting ahead at all costs. Still, when they are faced with the prospect of Ludvík being taken away, the couple becomes extremely protective and shows a previously unseen tenderness toward one another. 

The relationship between Ludvík and Anna has been compared to that of George and Martha in Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? (1966).  While there are obvious similarities (alcoholism and verbal barbarism) between the two couples, to diminish the political element would be a mistake.  The fractured martial relationship is nothing compared to the repressive political state in which they live, where psychological terror is the weapon of choice.  It is telling that they last line of the film has Anna saying to Ludvík that she’s sacred—that’s the point. 

While Ucho isn’t the greatest film I’ve ever seen, it is one of the most politically daring ones I’ve encountered.  As an American it is difficult to imagine a world where political expression is so easily suppressed, but it ran rampant throughout Eastern Europe during the Soviet Era.  It is because of films like this that I am reminded of how lucky I am to live in a country where free expression is both protected and valued. Karel Kachyňa should be heralded as a hero in the Czech Republic today for having the courage to make a film that stood up to authoritarianism—even if he knew it wouldn’t be seen by anyone for 29-years.

Read More

Withnail and I (1987) **

Strange British humor is the best way I can describe Withnail and I (1987).  At times it is irreverently funny, and then there are moments when it just seems inane.  I’m usually a big fan of black comedy, so I was a bit disappointed by this effort by writer/director Bruce Robinson.  The film was semi-autobiographical for Robinson, as it was based on his life during the late-1960s in London, so perhaps more distance from the subject matter would have served him well here.

The film takes place in 1969 Camden Town. Withnail (Richard E. Grant) and Marwood (Paul McGann) are out of work actors living in a squalid, dilapidated flat. Something seems amiss with this living situation as it soon becomes abundantly clear that these are two university educated young men.  Withnail’s vocabulary and overall bearing betray him as upper middle-class, and Marwood’s idiosyncratic tendencies make it clear that these two really don’t belong in a building that should be condemned.  Yet, once you know that Withnail is a drunk and Marwood is a paranoid freak you are more accepting of their living accommodations.

The story doesn’t really take off until the guys decide they need a change of scenery and ask Withnail’s Uncle Monty (Richard Griffiths) to let them stay at his country home.  Monty is a stereotypical eccentric gay man who quotes Baudelaire and fawningly reminisces about former paramours.  He’s the best thing about the entire film.  Everything he says and does is funny, especially since there always seems to be some sexual undertone to whatever he says.  For example, in discussing why he prefers carrots to geraniums he says: “I think the carrot infinitely more fascinating than the geranium. The carrot has mystery. Flowers are essentially tarts. Prostitutes for the bees. There is, you'll agree, a certain 'je ne sais quoi' oh so very special about a firm, young carrot.”  His pursuit of a very uninterested Marwood is hilarious—and even a tad sad, too.

As for the two leads, Grant and McGann, they do admirable jobs portraying rather unlikable characters. I think Grant deserves more credit for his performance because he is actually allergic to alcohol, so the idea that he played a complete drunk so convincingly should be acknowledged.  Still, I found nothing whatsoever redemptive about his character, so it made it difficult for me to care what happened to him.  As for McGann, his overly-neurotic character was annoyingly boring. 

I suppose you could call this a coming-of-age story, but it still seems like a film without a plot.  I suspect this is one of the reasons I’m not a big fan of this movie.  Had there been more story development and less focus on ingesting drugs and alcohol this might have captured my attention more.

Read More