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.