Two stars. Rated R, for dramatic intensity and brief profanity
By Derrick Bang
Those who’ve ever wondered about
the degree to which a single guiding hand can influence a project, need look no
further.
This is a textbook example of how
a bad director can ruin a film.
Mind you, there’s plenty of blame
to go around. Several of the primary actors deliver entirely wrong readings of
their characters; the story’s overall tone is completely wrong; and there’s no
consistent point of reference for viewers to grasp.
But while multiple individuals
can be faulted, it all comes down to the guy in charge, in this case Alexandre
Aja. He failed to draw better performances from his cast; he couldn’t maintain
a consistent atmosphere; and — most crucially — he clearly didn’t understand
the material, and didn’t have the faintest idea how to present it properly.
Because — and this is the sad
part — there’s clearly a decent story buried in the wreckage of this film.
Actor-turned-scripter Max Minghella took a respectable shot at best-selling
British author Liz Jensen’s 2004 thriller, The
Ninth Life of Louis Drax, and the results could have been much, much
better. But Aja’s crude sensibilities lie in the realm of gory horror such as Piranha 3D and the remake of The Hills Have Eyes; he lacks the
sensitivity required for a tale that requires such delicate handling.
In fairness, the premise is
challenging. The story is told (mostly) from the point of view of a 9-year-old
boy in a hospital coma ward, and Aja spends much of the film immersing us in
the ongoing care of coma patients; that’s a tough, depressing sell. It may have
been mostly unusual and intriguing in Jensen’s book; confronted with cinematic
visuals, it’s heartbreaking ... and difficult to surmount, as the narrative
progresses.
But Aja makes his first
significant blunder even sooner, during a prologue in which young Louis (Aidan
Longworth) matter-of-factly shares his back-story, growing up as an
accident-prone kid who — to his parents’ horror — endured all manner of freak
calamities during his tender years. This weird flashback montage is off-putting
and fairy tale-esque, with cartoonish touches that suggest we’re in for some
sort of fantasy: a notion reinforced by the introduction of a grotesque, deep-voiced
sea creature who seems to be the boy’s spirit guide.
But this isn’t a fairy tale, or a
parable, as eventually becomes clear; it’s a mystery. Sort of. Maybe. Or
perhaps it’s a suspense thriller. Aja obviously can’t decide.
As Louis’ mother Natalie (Sarah
Gadon) looks back on events, she figures that her son has survived eight
near-death accidents throughout his sad, unlucky life. Cats have nine lives,
she tells her son at one point, so try not to use up your last one. Alas, fate
intervenes: A family picnic to celebrate Louis’ ninth birthday ends in tragedy,
when the boy plunges off a steep cliff and into the wintry ocean below. His
little body battered by the fall, he’s pronounced dead by attending ER Dr.
Janek (Julian Wadham).
But Louis briefly regains
consciousness in the morgue — ghastly thought, that — only to slip into a coma.
That brings him to the attention of neurologist Allan Pascal (Jamie Dornan),
who has radical beliefs about what might be taking place within the unconscious
minds of coma patients.
Real-world events intrude. Louis’
father Peter (Aaron Paul) is missing; under duress, Natalie admits that he
pushed the boy off the cliff, and then fled. She fears for her own safety;
during the subsequent investigation led by police detective Dalton (Molly
Parker), disturbing details emerge, revealing Peter to be a violence-prone
alcoholic with a hair-trigger temper.
The overall family portrait is
shaped via multiple points of view. We get considerable information via
flashbacks supplied by the comatose but still very aware Louis: seminal
childhood moments, good and bad; happy occasions shared with one or both
parents; and sessions with child psychiatrist Dr. Perez (Oliver Platt), with
whom the boy spent several months, as a last-ditch effort by desperate parents
seeking a reason for his “unlucky” tendencies.
Which raises a fresh question:
Has the boy simply been harming himself, consciously or otherwise?
At the same time, Dr. Pascal has
been gathering information from the distraught and fragile Natalie. Additional
facts emerge slowly, struggling past her embarrassment and personal barriers.
Dr. Pascal eventually liaises with Perez; notes are compared.
Most unusually, though, Dr.
Pascal begins to sense a personal bond with the comatose Louis, as if the boy’s
active brain might be reaching out to him, somehow, in an effort at
communication. This is pure science fiction — dating back to hoary chillers
such as novelist Curt Siodmak’s 1942 classic, Donovan’s Brain, which has been filmed (or referenced) countless
times — but it’s also the most intriguing part of the story.
Or it should be, anyway. But no: Aja submerges this potentially
fascinating plot point beneath the ludicrous relationship that develops between
Natalie and Dr. Pascal ... which is where this film goes completely off the
rails.
Okay, so Pascal initially feels
sorry for Natalie, comforting her with kind words and hugs. Reasonable enough.
But Dornan isn’t nearly skilled enough, as an actor, to sell the notion that
such an otherwise intelligent doctor then would behave like an undisciplined
15-year-old with a crush ... and Gadon’s handling of Natalie’s reaction is
equally clumsy.
Their first kiss produced
snickers and catcalls from last week’s preview audience, and no surprise; the entire
concept, as presented, is preposterous. From this point forward, we’re saddled
with a classic case of the “idiot plot,” in which the narrative advances only
because each and every character behaves like an idiot at all times.
Parker’s reading of Detective
Dalton is equally bizarre; the woman conducts her interrogations with a
constant smug scowl, as if she knows
that everybody is lying, and can’t wait to reveal The Actual Truth. Which might
make sense if her presence meant anything, but no; Dalton never actually
investigates anything, preferring to simply harass people. And she plays no
part in the final, climactic reveal.
Louis’ shambling,
seaweed-encrusted “invisible friend” also is a major miscalculation: a concept
bungled by a dreadful costume that looks left over from one of Roger Corman’s
ultra-low-budget 1950s monster flicks.
Granted, it’s difficult to enter
Louis’ mind — in the same way that readers can do, so effortlessly, in Jensen’s
novel — but this was no solution.
Mostly, though, Aja and Minghella
fail in their most important task: to credibly present a child’s point of view.
We’ve recently seen two films — Room
and the remake of Pete’s Dragon —
that handled this brilliantly, thanks to sensitive direction and two skilled
young actors (Jacob Tremblay and Oakes Fegley, respectively). Longworth,
although cute and precocious, isn’t in their league.
And even if he were, Aja apparently
couldn’t have drawn the necessary nuances from the boy’s performance.
Platt, on the other hand —
obviously talented enough to rise above the absence of guidance — does a fine
job as the sensitive and slightly comic Dr. Perez. Wadham also makes a strong,
sympathetic impression in his smaller role as Dr. Janek, and Barbara Hershey shines
in her third-act appearance as Louis’ grandmother.
It’s refreshing to spend time,
however brief, with actors who know what they’re doing. Too bad the film is
dominated by Dornan and Gadon.
The 9th Life of Louis Drax is a mess. A story that should
be sensitive, poignant, suspenseful and fascinating — the latter regarding the
mysteries of the human brain — is merely pathetically contrived and stupid.
Such a shame.
No comments:
Post a Comment