Review: A Most Violent Year

A Most Violent Year is an inverse-gangster movie, a typical 1960s-1980s-set New York American Dream tale, full of loud clothes, louder guns and deafening ambition. It is GoodFellas with all the trimmings, except for a protagonist who will do anything to avoid becoming a criminal.

Oscar Isaac hit the big time with Inside Llewin Davis the other year, and he is evidently keen to continue his blockbuster success. In a less hippy role, Isaac channels all his steely grit to portray  the suit-and-polo-neck-wearing Abel Morales. Abel is an industrious Hispanic oil tycoon who seeks to rise above the nefarious, Mafia-like thuggery that typifies the nasty, neanderthal bosses of the industry and attain ultimate wealth and comfort.

But as Abel's company grows in power he faces opposition: the DA hits him with dubious law suits and his competitors routinely hijack his trucks. In the face of adversity, however, the moral Abel refuses to resort to violence with near sociopathic stoicism. We watch as he attempts, in these trying circumstances, to outgun his enemies by buying a large distribution plant by the river, with 30 days to raise funds to settle the deal. It's all a little stressful.

Behind him is his wife, Anna, played by Jessica Chastain with sarcy vigour. She is the daughter of a Mafia chap, and she urges Abel to use violence in order to protect his business. Some critics have compared her to Lady Macbeth, which is completely unfair because the Medieval Scot was a piece of work who helped destroy her husband's world. Anna and her husband are a team and they work together, despite a few deceptions and disagreements. A symbolic scene where she shoots dead an injured deer, one that Abel can't seem to deal with, demonstrates her greater desire to turn to gunslinging, but this is merely a difference of opinion about the means. They certainly agree on the ends. When external forces close in, Abel and Anna mesh together to fight as one.

Although Abel tries so hard to play by the rules, he is destined to have one foot in the world of gangsters. Thus, A Most Violent Year takes full advantage of the trappings of that genre. Aesthetically, we have silk clothes and fast cars, gaudy style and lurking groups of powerful men. Criminals are omnipresent, from Anna's father to the oil bosses talking business in a dark local restaurant. But the violence is often implied: there are a couple of gunfights, but blood and gore is conspicuous by its absence , especially considering the title. In a way, this makes it all the more ominous, because we see the effects of killing as opposed to absolving, glamorous shoot-outs. Violence is the cause of problems, not the resolution.

I mentioned the American Dream in the opening sentence, and it is indeed an obvious core of the tale. The world in which Abel tries to mark his territory is a grotty, greasy one. Abandoned warehouses, dark bars and train tracks typify the environment. The people are Hispanic, black and Italian: there is no WASP respectability afforded to this America. Abel clearly believes that hard work and honour can be used to attain the financial and social heights in which he hopes to raise his family. The shots of him looking out over a cityscape are a little obvious, but that aside, A Most Violent Year helps the audience to understand why the American Dream is such a holy concept for so many unfortunates in the United States.

Another, less overt theme of the film is perhaps that of being a man. This is not the glorious success afforded disproportionately to male characters so often in the movies, such as the white-hatted cowboy dispatching his enemies. This is more along the lines of Locke: the burdened man having to bear his responsibilities as the walls around him move inward, struggling because it's his only option. We don't know quite what drives Abel to such masochistic lengths (indeed, when someone asks why he wants to dominate such a dirty business he can't find an answer), but providing for his family is clearly key. We see them move into a new, garish mansion even as trouble threatens to envelope Abel.

The soundtrack adds to the events in a supporting capacity. Composed by Alex Ebert, whose score featured in All Is Lost, it channels the '80s synth sound of the time, and reminds us of the soundscape in Scarface and A Clockwork Orange. There is something epic, almost Biblical, about the pulsating, grinding music, implying doom and conveying gravitas that acts like a moody theatre backdrop to Isaac and Chastain.

I would criticise the movie's structure, though. It would be great as a play or a long TV drama series, but as a film it heightened the importance of events that weren't that big a deal. We were really seeing just a segment of Abel's life and career, albeit a dramatic one, but over the two or so hours I sat there imagining that this was the pinnacle of his existence. And it isn't. The result is to lessen the impact of what we do see, and make the whole production seem a little aimless.

We have had a generous amount of serious, yet highly entertaining, films in the past month or so due to the upcoming Oscars, and A Most Violent Year stands at the end in sombre, American drama that befits the award ceremony for the country's most important art form.

Review: Inherent Vice

A Californian private eye is visited by a young woman, who tells a mysterious story of deception and intrigue and thus sets into motion a typical whodunnit tale of murder and sleaze. Only novelty is, we're not in his office with whisky on the table but instead in his beach-side shack with joints and beer: Inherent Vice is an LA detective movie updated to the hippy age. Larry 'Doc' Sportello (Joaquin Phoenix) is said snooper, only he's outfitted in a hippy shirt, jeans and sandals instead of suit, fedora and raincoat. Doc gets stoned rather than drunk and has sideburns that make Lemmy look pre-pubescent. He apparently smells, too. Badly.

The mercurial Joaquin Phoenix appeared in Paul Thomas Anderson's critically acclaimed The Master, along with the late Philip Seymour Hoffman. They reunite here for a stylish, funny and dark mystery story set in 1970.

I won't try to explain the plot in its fullness. It involves several strains, all interweaving, and includes Nazi motorcyclists, Asian drug smugglers, cops, land barons, the CIA and, naturally, hippies galore. Imagine if Woodstock had been held in a fascist state, then Humphrey Bogart was sent to investigate a kidnapping.

Suffice to say, the plot is winding and complex, and although not confused it is certainly confusing to sit through. It feels like you are sitting in the same hazy smoke that engulfs Doc, like Anderson is trying to put us in his sandals rather than simply show us the character. 

It isn't quite as complicated as people suggest. I remember when everyone went on about how tricky Inception was to follow so I made a bit of an effort and all was well. So just concentrate and most of it should be fine. It certainly makes more sense than The Big Sleep which, in parts, made literally no sense.

Ultimately we must ask: does it matter that many viewers won't follow the events? Anderson says not really, and other critics agree. I'm not sure I do: why would you make a film that confuses people? It seems a little lacking in respect for the audience, but it is true that you don't have to be able to link every small detail to appreciate the movie. Even Doc doesn't really get what's going on half the time, and he seems pretty relaxed for a man in his predicament. I guess it's the herbal relaxants.

What Inherent Vice does so well is bottling the various social, cultural and political issues which raged at the time. So straight edged cops, Nazi bikers, drug dealers, hippies and wealthy businessmen are bump into each other in a desperate game of survival - Nixon makes an appearance. It is set very much in 1970, as the good times and optimism of the 1960s woke up to the hangover of the Watergate era. Heroin addicts are at the point where the highs are lows and Manson is mentioned several times. 

Paul Thomas Anderson has a knack for producing films that make you think 'what was that about?' Just watch The Master and you'll see what I mean. If this were 1975 then the answer would be easy, and I'd wind this piece up by telling you that Inherent Vice is a comment on the times and that was its primary intention. But herei n 2015, instead it seems like a period piece adrift ideologically from the audience. So who knows what Anderson's motives were for making this, but he certainly condenses the spirit of the times into two and a half hours very neatly.

Like the plot strains, there are simply too many actors to evaluate outside of an academic thesis. Benicio del Toro, Owen Wilson, Reece Witherspoon, for example, to name but a trio. The star is obviously Phoenix, and I cannot recall any scenes in which he is not present. Amusing was Josh Brolin, a buzzcutted hippy-hating LAPD cop who always looks one annoyance away from a burst blood vessel. He is such a ridiculous little Hitler that he provides a good foil to the perpetually chilled Doc, with whom he reluctantly works. Together they form the Laurel and Hardy of law enforcement.

Inherent Vice is beautifully made, and overall it is put together well enough that you don't have to worry about every minor plot intricacy. It is a little bloated and frayed at the seams, kind of like Doc, but definitely worth seeing as many times as you can stomach.

Review: Whiplash

Whiplash is a psychological drama from Damien Chazelle, telling the story of an ambitious young jazz drummer and his intense teacher. 

Andrew Neyman studies percussion at America's most prestigious music college, and ultimately dreams of joining his idols in the pantheon of jazz legends. The vital stepping stone on offer in the jazz faculty, it seems, is to play in the band of a charismatic, infamous teacher, Terence Fletcher. When Neyman gets his shot, however, Fletcher is a little more intimidating that Andrew believed. 

The main element of the film is not Neyman's path to glory, nor really the music (although this is obviously a prominent feature and praise must be lavished on the instrumental performances by a cast who don't even get character names), but the teacher-student relationship.

Basically, Fletcher is a psycho. The jazz connoisseur, perpetually outfitted in a cool dark suit and occasionally dabbling in trilbee use, espouses a teaching method whereby students must be pushed further than they thought was possible. This is how Charlie Parker became so great, and it will help Fletcher uncover the next Parker. This results in him rehearsing drummers until they bleed, throwing chairs at students' heads, engaging in psychological abuse and taunting musicians in hideously personal ways.

Maybe we're supposed to think he has a point, that he is a monster but a genius. However, I was never convinced. I'm not sure I'd have taken two minutes of his bullying nonsense - what's the point? He also vastly overestimates the importance of jazz. No offence to the genre, but giving the world another Charlie Parker isn't that vital, certainly not worth all of the misery and suffering it has caused to the musicians. Perhaps he should get into heavy metal instead, it would certainly provide a vent for his tension - jazz is too laid back for a wound up sociopath like him.

As I have said, the focus is on Fletcher and Neyman. J.K. Simmons is garnering praise left, right and centre for his bullying music monster, and Miles Teller as Neyman for his instrumental prowess. I also appreciated Teller's realist acting style, reminding me a bit of Brando in On The Waterfront. Unfortunately for Simmons, so well does he slip into the role that I think people will find it hard to see him as anything other than a nasty piece of work. Incidentally, he looks a little like a turtle who has lost his shell. Maybe that's why he is so angry?

There is thus little room for other characters. A few of Neyman's peers get occasional lines; Melissa Benoist plays his girlfriend but is restricted to about three scenes, as is Paul Reiser as his father.

What helps to turn Whiplash into a worthwhile film is the brilliant stimulation of tension. The way that the camera picks up on details, such as sweat or blood or notes on a manuscript, focus the viewer's attention on relevant information. The conductor prowls around, hurling things at students but just a little later than we're expecting, making each rehearsal as uncomfortable for the us as it is for the band. At points, when I was waiting for something to go wrong, I felt like I was watching a bank robbery. 

In fact, the whole scenario has a dearth of human warmth. Neyman is a loner, the other musicians either ignore each other or are actively hostile, and Neyman ends a relationship to pursue his musical career. As guests in his world, we end up in his void.

We could discuss the ending and what it means until the cowbells come home, but unfortunately the finale is a realm into which reviewers cannot enter. But I will say that what happens in the last segment can change how you think of the film as a whole, depending on your personal perception.

Is Whiplash a self-contained tale or a more general fable? Is the jazz a metaphor for all ambition, the price of success and what we sacrifice for it? Tales like these, generally speaking, are set in a specific context to add human interest to a broader musing on life. But I didn't feel Whiplash was. All I saw was an angry abuser in a black T-shirt, and a music school. It will be interesting to see how it fares in time, but until then it is an intense, uncomfortable yet enjoyable production, and as neat as the music that Fletcher's band produces.