Four stars. Rated R, for profanity and violence
By Derrick Bang
Writer/director J.C. Chandor
burst on the scene with 2011’s riveting Margin Call, a fictionalized depiction of how one Wall Street investment firm —
Lehman Brothers, in all but name — likely kick-started the 2008 U.S. financial
crisis. Although primarily a talking-heads discussion among analysts looking to
save their own careers, the dialogue and character interaction unfolded with
the crisp intensity of a David Mamet play: in other words, not the slightest
bit boring.
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| As things begin, Abel (Oscar Isaac) and his wife, Anna (Jessica Chastain), are full of optimism about a waterfront property deal that will help expand their heating-oil business. But life — and organized crime — are about to throw several nasty barriers in their way, testing Abel's integrity to the limit. |
Chandor obviously enjoys the
challenge of creating and then dissecting characters under pressure, and in A Most Violent Year he has found another
grim “historical moment” in which to build and populate a drama undoubtedly
typical of the time and place. And if his new film lacks the razor’s-edge focus
and intensity of Margin Call, it
nonetheless belongs in the worthy company of thoughtful organized crime dramas
such as the Godfather trilogy and Once Upon a Time in America.
Indeed, watching Chandor’s new
film, I frequently was reminded of Al Pacino’s iconic line from Godfather 3: “Just when I thought I was
out ... they pull me back in.”
Except that Violent Year’s Abel Morales is trying desperately to remain out in the first place, as events
conspire to make that impossible.
The story takes place during a
single winter month in 1981 New York: a time when Big Apple mayhem had hit
ghastly levels, between gang killings, mob family violence, record-breaking
robberies, vandalized subway cars and all manner of street crime. Chandor’s
characters never stray too far from a radio during the course of his film, and
the constant litany of reported murders and vicious misconduct becomes something
of a sidebar soundtrack to Alex Ebert’s somber orchestral score.
Against this grim backdrop, we
meet Abel (Oscar Isaac) en route to the most important financial transaction of
his career: a negotiation to buy some waterfront property that would significant
boost the long-term growth of his fledgling heating-oil business. He gets the
deal, but it comes with a daunting kicker: This down payment must be followed
by the full balance within 30 days, no extensions, or the arrangement is off
... and the initial deposit forfeited.
Sadly, Abel already is in
trouble; his trucks have been getting hijacked brazenly, in broad daylight and
on busy city streets, by gun-toting thugs who beat up the defenseless drivers.
The union boss wants the drivers armed, even if illegally; Abel, angrily
defending the “kinder, gentler, better” image that he has worked hard to
create, refuses.
Chandor cleverly reduces this
particular dilemma from the abstract to the very personal, by focusing on
Abel’s interaction with Julian (Elyes Gabel), a young immigrant driver who
looks up to his boss, but is terrified of enduring another assault like the one
we witness. This grants an early indication of the struggle taking place within
Abel’s soul: a sincere desire to be worthy of his employee’s devotion, while at
the same time trying to remain true to his own ethical boundaries.
Except that Abel is fooling
himself, and we know it, even if he doesn’t. He purchased his business five
years earlier from his wife Anna’s (Jessica Chastain) mobbed-up father, no
doubt at a very advantageous price. Abel’s so-called honorable intentions
notwithstanding, one wonders how he could build a “clean” business from such
corrupt origins.
Additionally, Abel is fully aware
that their books are cooked to some degree: in his mind an “acceptable” margin.
And yet he fails to acknowledge — or perhaps even perceive — the hypocrisy
operating here, although the far more pragmatic Anna certainly gets it. But
even her rising fury, as events escalate out of control, cannot dim Abel’s
stubborn insistence that they can successfully navigate the mounting crises his way.
As if.
On top of all his other naïve
assumptions, Abel never acknowledges the elephant in the room: the blindingly
obvious fact that he would have been killed long ago by one (or more) of his
jealous, syndicate-embedded competitors, were it not for the fact that they all
live in fear of potential reprisals by Anna’s family.
Bad as things are becoming, Abel
nonetheless retains control — of a sort — until he gets hit by the proverbial
back-breaker: advance notice of indictments by a district attorney (David
Oyelowo) determined to address trucking/fuel oil corruption. If the indictments
land, they could jeopardize the bank loan that Abel needs to complete his deal.
As Chandor did so brilliantly in Margin Call, he depicts these various
conflicts and calamities via intimate, intense conversations between two,
perhaps three or four people; we’re expected to extrapolate how resulting
decisions will play out on the larger scale. (It’s refreshing to find a
director who respects our intelligence.)
And while we can perhaps respect
Abel for his idealism — even if tarnished — we also can’t imagine how he’ll
escape the crocodiles invading his little swamp. Chandor and editor Ron Patane
maintain an unsettling and increasingly tense atmosphere; even though actual
violence is minimal (and refreshingly restrained), the threat of same
frequently leaves us breathless.
We get worked up pretty early,
late one night, as the family dog hears something in the huge home that Abel
has purchased for his family. Worse yet is when Anna returns home one afternoon
to find their youngest daughter playing with a loaded gun that she found in the
bushes. Talk about heart-stoppers...
Chandor loves cross-cutting,
which also builds suspense and anxiety: never better than when Abel
passionately defends his vision yet again, in a comfortable office setting,
while Julian, reluctantly back on the road, sees another pair of approaching
goons in his side-view mirror.
Isaac is marvelous throughout, donning
flawed integrity with the same relaxed comfort that Abel displays while wearing
his ubiquitous tailored topcoat. The film is laden with marvelous chats,
conversations and soliloquies by Abel, all of which Isaac delivers with the
snake-oil sincerity of a master salesman.
Indeed, a particular standout
comes when Abel coaches three newly hired college grads on the fine art of
closing a sale during door-to-door cold calls. It’s a marvelous sequence:
brilliantly written by Chandor, whose psychologically astute dialogue is
delivered persuasively by Isaac. The three young recruits never say a word, but
their expressions build to a near-religious epiphany, listening to Abel.
They don’t merely drink the
Kool-Aid; they’d likely insist on having the recipe.
Chastain’s Anna is the antithesis
of Isaac’s calm and controlled Abel; she’ll act impetuously, where he’ll wait
and consider options (a disparity cleverly illustrated by their differing
reactions to dealing with an injured deer they’ve struck while driving on a
deserted nighttime road). Chastain makes Anna an intriguingly complex
character: a woman who genuinely seems to love her husband, and respect him —
to a point — but who also believes herself the stronger, more pragmatic half of
their marriage.
And we wonder, more than once, if
the point might be reached where Anna decides to take matters into her own
hands. Would she turn on Abel? Chastain’s vulpine grin gives us plenty of
reason for doubt.
Oyelowo, currently wowing
audiences as Martin Luther King in Selma,
is quietly forceful as this story’s crusading DA. His “discussions” with Abel
are riveting: two actors speaking softly, and with steely eyed intensity, as we
hang on every word. Again, these scenes, and their dialogue, are constructed
cleverly: conversations more important for what’s being said beneath the
surface, than for the bland negotiations topside.
Albert Brooks is both charming
and mildly unsettling as Abel’s patient consigliere: a smiling, disarmingly
gentle attorney whom we suspect has been “inherited” from Anna’s side of the
family. Annie Funke makes a strong impression as the savvy granddaughter of a
syndicate don, who entertains an offer from a near-desperate Abel.
Actually, many of the supporting
players exude a sinister, even dangerous aura; Abel and Anna navigate visibly
dangerous waters, at times — particularly on Abel’s part — with what seems
blithe disregard for their safety.
And yet...
When all is said and done, once
Chandor builds to his eyebrow-raising conclusion, we’re left with questions:
details apparently abandoned, much the way Abel and Anna’s three daughters —
and the family dog — just sorta vanish midway through the film. Engaging as
Chandor’s film is, as it’s being viewed, we depart mildly unsatisfied — perhaps
even vexed — and left with a strong sense of Well, now what?
To a certain degree, the answer
is obvious: Business as usual.
But Chandor could have taken a
bit more care: However engaging the ride, the destination is of equal
importance.
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