Four stars. Rating: R, for profanity and brief violence
By Derrick Bang
Nobody does an edgy, paranoid
espionage thriller better than the British.
No doubt it comes from living
under the unblinking eyes of all those surveillance cameras. (Big Brother,
indeed!)
Way back in the day, Closed Circuit would have been a tidy
little B-entry, designated as the bottom-of-the-bill companion to some prestige
A production. The irony is that many of those so-called B-films were far more
entertaining than their big-budget cousins.
The same can be said for Closed Circuit, which outshines several
of this summer’s disappointing blockbusters: better acting and directing, and a
vastly superior script.
And yet, sadly, it probably won’t
make a dime. Getting released immediately prior to the Labor Day weekend is
akin to television’s Saturday evening kiss-of-death timeslot: Nobody will
notice.
That’s a shame, because scripter
Steven Knight definitely knows his way around this genre, having previously
dazzled us with his twisty plots for 2002’s Dirty
Pretty Things and 2007’s Eastern
Promises. This guy can write; he has a gift for putting ordinary people
into extraordinary situations, while avoiding the burst of brilliant
resourcefulness that turn American action stars into invulnerable, lone wolf
superheroes.
When the two protagonists in this
narrative eye each other bleakly, during a calm between storms, and acknowledge
that there’s no way to put this particular Humpty Dumpty together again — no
successful exit to the catastrophe — we know they’re right. The situation is
beyond salvation, beyond their control.
And, maddeningly, it always has
been.
Closed Circuit — marvelous triple-entendre
title, by the way — opens its ripped-from-the-headlines story with a terrorist
attack at a busy London market. With 120 civilians dead and the British public
screaming for justice, an anonymous tip leads police to one surviving member of
the suspected terrorist cell: Farroukh Erdogan (Denis Moschitto).
Preparations begin for what
promises to be the trial of the century.
Six months pass, as attorneys and
government officials get all their procedural ducks in a row. Then, on the eve
of the trial — apparently succumbing to stress — Erdogan’s defense barrister
commits suicide. The assignment then falls to Martin Rose (Eric Bana), a
tenacious legal warrior with sharp observational skills and near photographic
recall. Right away, Martin finds flaws in what he fears is to be little more
than a scripted show trial, and his unwillingness to “play along” draws a
cautionary rebuke from the Attorney General (Jim Broadbent).
Broadbent is perfect for this
role, projecting hail-fellow-well-met good cheer while delivering a seemingly
innocuous line ... and then, seconds later, we register the latent menace
lurking beneath his deceptively bland comments, and realize that the twinkle in
his eye isn’t the slightest bit friendly.
The disapproving Attorney General
is the least of Martin’s problems. Because of the nature of this case, the
government intends to prosecute Erdogan with classified evidence: details so
secret that neither he nor his attorneys will be allowed to see or hear them.
Enter a government-appointed Special Advocate, Claudia Simmons-Howe (Rebecca
Hall), who will have clearance to view this evidence, and then — if she so
chooses — can argue for its full disclosure during a closed session in court.
Meanwhile, once she takes
possession of this eyes-only material — as crisply explained by a natty
government spook (Riz Ahmed, as Sharma) — Claudia cannot communicate at all with the defendant or the rest of
his defense team.
I’ve no idea if justice would
proceed in such a fashion across the pond, given such a case, or indeed if a
“Special Advocate” even exists in the British legal system. But that’s the
beauty of Knight’s script: It’s a fascinating premise, and if he made it up, he
sure did a great job. It sounds plausible, and everything building from that
intriguing foundation is equally persuasive.
Needless to say, the situation
grows increasingly complex, giving both Martin and Claudia ample reason to jump
at shadows, and wonder about the possibility that eyes are on them. If so, why?
Martin’s growing unease is fueled
further by a British-based New York Times journalist (Julia Stiles) with her
own suspicions ... but no proof.
And, oh yes, Martin and Claudia
are compromised going in, by virtue of an affair they had some time back: a
detail both absolutely should have acknowledged before agreeing to work
together, and which both concealed. One little lie of omission, and now they’re
compromised.
The result: a crackling, tautly
paced drama.
Bana rarely gets credit for
solidly anchoring projects that range from the gritty drama of Munich to the poignant fantasy of The Time Traveler’s Wife. He’s often
better than his material — as with his performance as Hector, in the overcooked
Troy, or his grim portrayal of the
title character’s father, in Hanna —
and he’s every inch the dedicated defender of justice required by this story.
Bana projects disappointment
superbly. We sense that Martin’s ideals have been shattered in the past, and that
he’s determined not to let it happen again. Certainly his personal life is a
shambles: details deftly sketched by Knight via a few quick scenes, and even
quicker comments.
That’s something else I admire
about British cinema: It’s economical. At a crisp 96 minutes, director John
Crowley doesn’t waste a scene. Nothing feels superfluous, with every incident,
large or small, building to an eventual payoff.
Hall is a lot of fun to watch,
her Claudia the epitome of a smart, accomplished woman who could cut a man dead
with a few sharp retorts. Her mocking gaze is delicious, her eyes flashing an unmistakable
warning: Don’t even try to pull
anything on me. Claudia’s initial encounter with Sharma is a stand-out scene in
a film laden with memorable verbal skirmishes: She all but chases him into a
corner, not at all impressed by his air of superiority.
But then, just as quickly, we
wonder: Did he let her believe she
prevailed, during this first meeting?
The always engaging Ciårán Hinds
plays Devlin, the congenial, unflappable solicitor who works alongside Martin.
Devlin has been around the block a few times, and his rumpled deportment
suggests a long-ago decision to let chips fall where they may. But some fire
remains in this aging dog, and he can’t help sharing Martin’s nervous
excitement, as their seemingly “scripted” case goes off-book.
Kenneth Cranham is marvelous as the
crusty judge who oversees this unusual trial.
Although Knight’s script delivers
what we expect from a suspense thriller, he also injects a telling note of real-world
concern that is equally applicable on this side of the Atlantic: What price,
protection? As graphic novelist Alan Moore asked so presciently in his
career-making graphic novel, who watches the Watchmen? Who gets to decide when
— indeed, if — the law should be subverted, in the cause of actual justice?
Crowley has quietly built a
résumé of respectable films, starting with 2003’s ensemble dramedy, Intermission, and continuing with 2007’s
crime drama, Boy A, and then a
whimsical 2008 charmer with Michael Caine, Is
Anybody There? Near as I can tell, the latter got no more than a hiccup
release here in the States, after a screening at the 2009 Phoenix Film
Festival, which explains why Crowley continues to remain unknown on our shores.
Sadly, Closed Circuit is unlikely to
help.
There’s no justice in that. Yes,
this is a “little” film, perhaps the sort of thing one would expect to find in
a movie slot on PBS or BBC America. But that’s hardly an indictment; the
British film industry long ago ceased to view any distinction between the tube
and the big screen, believing instead that a good cast, slick writing and solid
production values succeed either way.
Closed Circuit definitely is worth time and
attention, particularly for viewers who enjoy twisty thrillers. So if it
doesn’t hang around long enough to be seen on the big screen — and I’m sure its
stay there will be brief — then be sure to catch up with the eventual video
release.
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