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Tuesday, November 4, 2014

How to Get Away With Business

WordMaster


             Lou Bloom is not your usual movie sociopath. With his mane of slightly too-long hair, wiry frame and large eyes, he lacks the subtle menace of Hannibal Lecter and the slick, shallow charisma of Patrick Bateman. If anything, his tendency to aggressively spout self-help aphorisms and hackneyed corporate jargon at a mile a minute makes him seem rather dense at first, almost childlike. He starts the film as an aimless petty thief, selling wire, watches and whatever random paraphernalia he can find for a meager income, and claims to have only a high school education. For all his go-getter gusto, he doesn’t come across as particularly magnetic, competent or intimidating – he’s more Pete Campbell than Don Draper.

             And yet, it’s impossible to take your eyes off him. Naturally, a large portion of the credit must go to star Jake Gyllenhaal, who has quietly spent the past couple years undergoing one of the weirdest, most unexpected career revivals this side of Matthew McConaughey, with turns in gritty, off-kilter indies like End of Watch and Prisoners.  Here, the transformation is complete: nearly 30 pounds lighter and affecting a deadpan, higher-pitched voice, he’s virtually unrecognizable as the fresh-faced kid of October Sky, Donnie Darko and Brokeback Mountain. Such dramatic changes in appearance tend to invite hyperbole from the media, words like “fearless” and “astonishing” tossed around with the nonchalance of a baseball between innings (or, on the flip side, they’re scorned as self-serving stunts that merit neither admiration nor awards). In this case, however, any and all praise is entirely deserved. The weight loss isn’t what makes Gyllenhaal’s performance a remarkable feat of physical acting; it’s the nuances, the way he can apparently go endless amounts of time without blinking, the smile so unnervingly wide it verges on cartoonish, the minute gestures and shifts in expression that seem simultaneously meaningful and utterly. It’s electrifying in its contradictions, by turns ostentatious and controlled, raw and aloof, and as hard to pin down as the film’s protagonist.



             With the spotlight monopolized, the rest of the cast is inevitably relegated to the sidelines, left to make the best of what they have. As Rick, Lou’s cash-strapped assistant/driver, Riz Ahmed provides a welcome sense of sanity and humanity to soften the movie’s relentless misanthropy, his down-to-earth sincerity a perfect foil to Gyllenhaal’s eerie coldness. Although we learn little about him, Rick’s mounting desperation feels painfully real. Similarly, Rene Russo, appearing in a non-Thor-related movie for the first time since 2005, takes full advantage of her limited screen time as a callous, sharp-tongued morning news director. She navigates the plot’s more problematic twists and turns with ostensible ease, taking what could easily have been a one-dimensional “tamed shrew” character and imbuing her with dignity and verve.

             Nightcrawler starts with a series of still shots of Los Angeles – a building here, a traffic light there – set to a cheesy ‘80s-style electronic soundscape. In other words, nothing out of the ordinary. But as the movie progresses, the city takes on a gradually more unsettling vibe, traces of sleaze creeping into its sleek façade, mirrored by James Newton Howard’s increasingly discordant score. This is, after all, a satire, alternately tearing its claws into the sensationalist media, capitalism and, in a pleasant surprise, American race relations. First-time director Dan Gilroy exhibits a deft feel for tone with a darkly funny script pitched just right between acerbic and absurd, driving its point home without resorting to pompous moralizing. It’s the rare satire that manages to sustain its edge, its unapologetic, madcap cynicism, from beginning to end.

             Again, it all comes down to Lou Bloom. Even as it appears to unravel him, as we learn the full extent of his depravity, the film refrains from really letting us inside his head. Unlike American Psycho and even Gone Girl earlier this year, Nightcrawler does not encourage us to identify with its protagonist. Lou may be in nearly every scene, but he always seems to be at an arm’s distance away – sometimes literally. The camera’s position and angle changes constantly, going from close-ups to abrupt wide shots and putting us in other characters’ perspectives, if only for a moment. And you slowly realize what makes Lou so terrifying: despite spending two whole hours with him, you still have no idea who he is. Just when you think you’ve figured him out, something happens that throws you off guard. Is he incapable of authentic emotion or simply an expert at hiding it? Does he believe everything he’s saying or is it all just a performance, meticulously calibrated to fit society’s expectations of how ambitious young men are supposed to act? What is he thinking – if, indeed, he’s thinking at all? In a way, he’s a perfect mascot for the digital age, not a person so much as the image of a person, there until he simply isn’t.







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