Review: "Seven Psychopaths"

Director: Martin McDonagh
Runtime: 109 minutes

A wild, meandering, and darkly funny ride through LA, Martin McDonagh's Seven Psychopaths may be a lesser film than In Bruges, but it is satisfying on its own terms. Ultimately, the Irish writer/director's second feature film lacks the legitimate pathos and hard-hitting laughs of his 2008 film. However, if Psychopaths is less funny, it is also considerably more interesting from a narrative standpoint. In Bruges took the hit men in hiding concept and executed it with McDonagh's fresh mix of dark comedy and bloody tragedy. Psychopaths, however, starts out as a caper-gone-wrong, yet takes some surprising turns and becomes increasingly meta, with enormously entertaining and unexpected results. 

Marty (Colin Farrell) is a struggling screenwriter in LA, who is trying to put together his next project. It involves seven psychopaths, although Marty has only been able to come up with one. Desperate to help him is his long-time friend Billy (Sam Rockwell). When he's not trying to help (or hinder) Marty's writing or chastising him about his drinking, Billy also runs a dog-napping business with the pacifistic Hans (Christopher Walken). Unfortunately, just as Marty is starting to get his screenplay going, he gets dragged into Billy's shenanigans after Billy steals a dog belonging to a rage-prone mobster (Woody Harrelson). 

But, as the characters later reflect, that's just the beginning. There may be cliches in Seven Psychopaths, but unlike so many other crime films, McDonagh's is self-aware, and never in an obnoxious way. McDonagh's screenplay doesn't afford his characters the same level of hilarious dialogue that In Bruges  did, but there is certainly meaty material for the cast to dig into. Rockwell and Walken fare best, and McDonagh wisely gives both of them plenty of  dialogue to have a blast with. Rockwell is reckless with a twinkle in his eye, and has fleeting moments of sadness and disappointment which the actor skillfully brings to life. And Walken manages to overcome potential typecasting as an eccentric weirdo to deliver an actual performance. Not only is he effective at navigating the comedy and tragedy of McDonagh's script, but his pronunciation of the word "hallucinogens" is worth the price of admission. Like Rockwell's work, Walken is playing an oddity as far as characters go: he's rounded, yet not terribly deep. That description applies to the film as a whole as well, yet somehow it's not a bad trait in this case. 

Yet as broad as the characters are, it's in these two roles (of the main ensemble) that McDonagh is able to inject the hint of something deeper. Seven Psychopaths has the interesting ability to create a sense of drama out of thin air without feeling forced. This is, after all, a crime film, which means there's plenty of bullets fired and lives taken. So even though much of the film is ultimately a rather surface-oriented dark comedy, McDonagh still makes his characters worth caring about, even if we're not deeply invested in them.

Other roles are nicely handled as well, though none really have the meat of Rockwell and Walken's roles. Farrell, as the audience stand-in (and also something of a stand-in for McDonagh), is stuck being an observer for so much that he isn't really given anything to push him. I still think that Farrell and McDonagh make a perfect actor-director pairing, but hopefully their next collaboration (assuming it happens) gives Farrell material more in line with In Bruges to work with. Instead, Farrell probably comes in fourth among the cast (third place to Woody Harrelson's one-note anger/menace). Not far behind are a series of killer cameos and side roles (including a rabbit-toting Tom Waits) who only add to the meta-ness of the enterprise. 

Coming in last, as part of a bit of the film's commentary on gangster movies, are the main female roles, filled out (in form only) by Abbie Cornish and Olga Kurlyenko. Thankfully, In Bruges showed that McDonagh has no aversion to good female characters (hell, even the pregnant hotel manager in In Bruges was good), because he certainly isn't doing his ladies any favors here. McDonagh does acknowledge the point of their limited and empty roles, and he actually prevents the weak female presence from becoming a weird, sexist hindrance (and there is some nice work from female cast members...just not the listed ones). McDonagh is commenting on the weakness of female characters in crime films, and he's smart enough to avoid portraying all women as weak as part of his "commentary." 

Because, above all else, what's on McDonagh's mind isn't so much commentary as a look at story-telling and narrative cleverness. In ways that are too funny and surprising to spoil, Seven Psychopaths is a blood-stained love letter to the creative process, even as it sends up traits of an entire cinematic genre. As previously demonstrated by films like Hot Fuzz, a film that mixes satire and sincerity can often transcend its genre. That's certainly the cast with this film, which rises above being just another crime film by at times refusing to be a crime film at all (or at least delaying inevitable scenes). And it's in these detours that the film becomes the most surprising and engaging. This is a film where one can only guess a character's fate in his or her last minutes (or seconds), but not several acts before. 

And in addition to being well-written, directed, and acted, the production values aren't too shabby either. The cinematography nicely captures the sun-baked Los Angeles vistas, while still allowing for a wide range of colors to exist in the frame. The editing is also a marvel, and it keeps the story flowing with clean, precise cuts that keep even the still scenes on their toes. The lone letdown is, perhaps, Carter Burwell's score. It's appropriately low-key and fits the film perfectly, but unlike Burwell's work on In Bruges, it possesses no moment or theme that allows it to become something more than generically effective. 

What's ultimately most impressive about Seven Psychopaths is how well it succeeds on its own terms. Narrative cleverness takes precedence over character development, but McDonagh never overreaches. The film's impact is lighter than that of In Bruges, both as comedy and tragedy, but there is no feeling of disappointment once the credits roll. This is a film (and script) that is comfortable with itself, and as such, is able to turn its overall lesser quality into a striking advantage. Deeper, richer films are likely in store for us over the coming months. That said, I have no doubt that, at year's end, Seven Psychopaths will stand as one of 2012's cleverest and most satisfying, depth or no depth. 

Grade: B+

Opposite ends of the spectrum: "Jane Eyre" and "Sucker Punch"

After several failed attempts to make it to the theater (please stay in Boston one more week, Of Gods and Men, I'm on my way), I managed to sneak in two viewings, and they were different, to put it mildly. One was an adaptation of a classic novel, and the other quickly revealed itself to be the wet dream of a 13 year-old anime/video game love trapped in a man's (and director's) body.

**I've also fallen woefully behind on the 30 Day Movie Challenge. Expect a massive catch-up post by the end of the week.

Jane Eyre - dir. Cary Fukunaga:

A brief disclaimer: I haven't yet read Bronte's classic novel. However, whether or not Fukunaga's film (from Moira Buffini's script) is faithful or not, the director's second film is a moody success, if a bit on the minor side. Opening somewhere in the middle of the story, we meet Jane (Mia Wasikowska) straggling across an empty, rainy English landscape. And from these opening moments, Fukunaga establishes his "bold new vision" (quoth the trailer) of Bronte's classic, and it really works. The first shot of Jane is practically a silhouette, appropriate considering how much of the color is infused in the sets and costumes. Fukunaga's film is sparse and generally un-romanticized, yet feels complete and quietly captivating.

And even though it's obvious that some sections of the novel have been trimmed or cut altogether, there's a steady, constantly engaging feeling that arises from the unhurried pace. Key to all of this, of course, is Ms. Eyre herself. Having successfully launched herself into the American conscience in Tim Burton's Eyesore in Wonderland 3D, Ms. Wasikowska is actually able to show off her capabilities as a leading lady here, and she does so with understated skill. I can't speak to whether or not she lives up to previous cinematic Jane Eyres, but she's certainly a damn good one, and her ability to communicate so much in the nuances of her performance, rather than through histrionics, is one of the film's greatest strengths. Matching her is Michael Fassbender as the conflicted Rochester, with whom Ms. Wasikowska has surprising chemistry. A conversation after Jane saves Rochester from small fire in his room, shot almost entirely in shadows, achieves a spectacular level of intrigue and hinted romance that is darker and sexier than anything Megan Fox (or her interchangeable counterparts) has ever done on screen.

Fukunaga's film also benefits from a roster of smaller roles (Jamie Bell, Sally Hawkins, Judi Dench), striking cinematography, and a delicate and dark score from Dario Marianelli (Pride and Prejudice, Atonement). However, despite its strengths, there are a few unfortunate missteps that even someone who hasn't read the book will be able to see. While Fukunaga's choice to open in the middle of the story works, when he returns to that point in the story, he lingers for too long, repeating too much footage as if he wanted to reach a specified run time by any means necessary. And in trimming down Bronte's work, certain scenes and character developments come across as too quick. When Mrs. Fairfax (Dench) mentions that Jane has been working at Rochester's mansion for three months, the revelation comes as surprise, as there's nothing resembling a transition to give us a feel for the passage of time. Similar events populate the rest of the film, to minor detriment. Yet while it isn't a masterpiece, or the new definitive silver screen "Jane Eyre," Fukunaga's second film establishes him as a diverse and daring director, one whose strengths far outweigh his shortcomings.

Grade: B/B+

Sucker Punch - dir. Zack Snyder:

I said that the two films in the post were on opposite ends of the spectrum. However, now it's time to see how extreme their opposition is. Having won legions of fans and haters with his first two films (300 and Watchmen), Mr. Snyder's latest film (his first non-adaptation) will likely only increase the passion with which people love or hate his work. Co-writing and producing an entirely Snyder-riffic vision, Sucker Punch can best be described as a CGI-flooded, faux-feminist clusterfuck of epic proportions.

It opens with surprising strength, in a silent intro/set-up as we meet Baby Doll (Emily Browning). After her mother dies and leaves her everything in her will, Baby Doll faces the wrath of her evil stepfather, who tries to rape her younger sister. After unsuccessfully shooting him (and killing her sister), Baby Doll is put in an insane asylum, where the head doctor is paid off to give her a lobotomy. While there, she meets a group of other girls, also wrongfully locked up, and they set out to escape. Kind of.

In a truly pointless bit of plot design that only serves to muddle the plot, Snyder inserts a second level of reality, before jumping off to his fantastical action set pieces. Here, the asylum is a front for a dance hall, where the inmates are made to perform erotic dances for wealthy male patrons. However, when Baby Doll dances (which we never see, because that would be sexist...unlike all of those shots of Baby Doll's legs and panties...), she imagines herself in a series of battle scenes. Translation, she's imagining herself imagining other things. This alone is enough to make Sucker Punch structurally non-sensical, and things don't pick up from there. The action scenes have their moments, but since we know it's all imaginary, there's no weight to any of what happens. It's just stuff. Really flashy, pixelated stuff. Granted, small moments of violence work, but without anything in the story or character departments to act as support, Snyder's fantasy collapses in on itself.

As for the cast, there isn't really much to it acting wise, although Abbie Cornish and Jena Malone try their hardest (a movie entirely about the two of them would have been much stronger). Browning, the film's lead, however, is something of a blank, while Jamie Cheung and Vanessa Hudgens smile, look worried, or cry while Oscar Isaac goes horribly over-the-top as the villainous Blue and Carla Gugino prances around delivering every line with a campy Polish accent. Jon Hamm shows up for no more than 2 minutes tops, projecting cool but getting absolutely nothing to do. Jon Hamm is a valuable resource, Mr. Snyder, please don't waste him. But worst of all is simply Snyder's insistence that this is something "deep" and empowering for women. That description couldn't be further from the truth. What's really here is the ultimate cinematic wet dream for fans of anime and/or video games who will likely continue to have to pay to be in the presence of beautiful women throughout their lives.

Grade: C-/D+