Three stars. Rated R, for violence, nudity, sexual content and profanity
By Derrick Bang
90
MINUTES IN:
“One more close-up,” I grumble,
to Constant Companion, “and I’m gonna throw something through the screen.”
 |
| Wanting to help an increasingly confused Scott (Luke Evans), Rachel (Emily Blunt) explains what she saw one recent morning commute, when she glanced out the train window. But in truth Rachel isn't certain herself, and this indecision will come back to haunt her. |
Truly, by now I can catalog every
pore on Emily Blunt’s face. Rarely has a cinematographer been ordered to
provide so many tight-tight-tight
close-ups, to the serious detriment of his film.
Nor is this the only one of
director Tate Taylor’s transgressions. He also relies on lengthy pregnant
pauses, as if worried that we viewers are unable to keep up with the story.
Then there’s the matter of the
changing first-person narratives, and the frequent flashbacks, all of which are
labeled in portentous capital letters (i.e. SIX MONTHS EARLIER). This technique
may have worked in Paula Hawkins’ best-selling novel — “the thriller that
shocked the world,” the film poster modestly proclaims — but it’s a serious
hassle on the big screen.
Employing flashbacks or alternating points of view would have
been fine; doing both simultaneously was beyond Taylor’s ability. At times, it’s
difficult to determine whether we’re experiencing flashbacks belonging to
Rachel, Megan or Anna.
All of which is a shame, because
these intrusive directorial tics and hiccups detract from star Emily Blunt’s
impressive performance. Her Rachel is a tapestry of disorientation, shame, fear
and uncontrolled bursts of fury. Blunt persuasively handles Rachel’s many moods
and transformations, making this poor woman, by turns, despicable, vulnerable
and heartbreaking.
And by this point in the film,
things are beginning to make sense; Rachel’s savage mood swings no longer seem
random.
Which, sadly, points to Taylor’s
most serious miscalculation. His pacing is so
leaden, his extended takes so prolonged,
all those pregnant pauses so protracted,
that he telegraphs the story’s “big reveal” by giving us too much time to
deduce it.
In a nutshell, Taylor has destroyed
the suspense present in Hawkins’ book. He made the story boring.
60 MINUTES
IN:
As expected, these seemingly
unrelated people and events actually are interconnected, which adds a nice
layer of unease to an already provocative storyline. Rachel has disintegrated
into near immobility, Blunt delivering another of her many phenomenal scenes,
during her shaky first-day attendance at an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting.
No question: Blunt’s mesmerizing
performance compensates considerably for the film’s distracting construction.
Haley Bennett works hard to match
Blunt’s intensity, but her character lacks credibility. Megan is such a
promiscuous narcissist — and such a liar — that we can’t help questioning the
revelation she shares with psychiatrist Dr. Abdic (Edgar Ramírez). It’s
necessary that we do believe her, as
this speaks to Megan’s behavior; unfortunately, Bennett’s performance seems as
superficial as Megan herself.
Allison Janney, on the other
hand, is terrific in her supporting role as police detective Riley, who is given
the uphill challenge of trying to make sense of this bewildering situation. By
skeptical raised eyebrow alone, Janney conveys volumes; her terse, no-nonsense
questions and comments make Riley even more believably capable. Janney evokes
pleasant memories of Kim Dickens’ equally persuasive investigator in Gone Girl.
Rebecca Ferguson’s Anna has
emerged as the truly sympathetic victim: a second wife unable to shake the mounting
suspicion that her husband is being naïve, when it comes to his ex. Ferguson
makes Anna something of a throwback: an uncomplicated, 1950s-style housewife
who seems comfortable in this upscale neighborhood. It’s an intriguing
interpretation, as it adds to Anna’s aura of unsophisticated vulnerability.
By this point, though, the
similarities between Bennett and Ferguson have become distracting; it’s almost
as if the stylists and costume designers went out of their way to make these
two women look identical.
We can’t help feeling for Justin
Theroux’s Tom, forever trying to make the most of an awkward and embarrassing
situation. Luke Evans’ Scott, on the other hand, has emerged as an unsettling
unknown: His physical presence is intimidating, an impression that
cinematographer Charlotte Bruus Christensen heightens with aggressive camera
angles.
I don’t care for the development
of Dr. Abdic. Psychiatrists who stupidly fall in love with their patients have
become a tiresome movie cliché, and although Ramírez seems to shade his
character as merely compassionate, and not lustful, he keeps sliding over that
fine line.
Getting very tired of all the damn
close-ups. Pretty sure I can count all of Blunt’s nose hairs.
30
MINUTES IN:
Such a clever first act.
Rachel’s daily train rides to and
from Manhattan aren’t as random as initially suggested; her journey now seems
calculated to pass this bucolic Westchester County neighborhood each morning
and evening. She seems inexplicably attached, on some emotional level, to the
attractive young blonde (Megan) who spends so much time on her second-floor
outdoor balcony: sometimes in a loving embrace with her husband (Scott), but
more often staring pensively into the distance, as if burdened by ...
something.
Nor is Rachel the average
commuter and sketch artist that we assumed; Blunt’s too-careful poise has been
exposed as the artifice of a raging alcoholic. This changes everything; the
mild antipathy we felt toward her ex, Tom, has shifted to sympathy, even
concern. He and his second wife (Anna) have every reason to worry, particularly
with their infant child in the mix. Rachel has become unstable, unpredictable and
thoroughly unlikable.
Interesting, as well, that Megan
and Scott live only a few doors from Tom and Anna ... and that Megan works as
an au pair for Anna. Wheels within
wheels...
Laura Prepon is nicely
understated as Cathy, Rachel’s long-suffering and by now weary roommate: a considerate
friend whose generous act — offering Rachel a bedroom for “a few weeks” after
the divorce — has stretched far beyond her patience. And yet Cathy tries to
remain tolerant, even as Rachel’s behavior spirals further out of control.
Scripter Erin Cressida Wilson
does a nice job with the twisty plot’s first little jolt, playing with Rachel’s
surprise over what she unexpectedly sees, one morning, while looking out her
train window. Blunt deftly conveys Rachel’s initial astonishment, followed by
frustrated helplessness, as the train speeds away; it’s a beguiling set-up —
the casual voyeur who sees something s/he shouldn’t — exploited earlier in
Alfred Hitchcock’s Rear Window, and
Brian De Palma’s Body Double.
It’s even more intriguing, of
course, because Rachel never is certain if she can trust what she sees, given
her tendency toward alcoholic blackouts.
Danny Elfman’s orchestral score
is intriguing and mildly mysterious: ostensibly light and lyrical — echoing the
Norman Rockwell-esque street that Rachel spies upon, twice each day — but
carrying an unsettling melodic undercurrent. Production designer Kevin Thompson
clearly had fun assembling this neighborhood, and the interiors of these
gorgeous homes (and then contrasting them with Rachel’s chaotic bedroom, with
its woefully few personal touches).
Taylor seems abnormally fond of
extreme close-ups, and he does his cast no favors by holding so long on their
nervous, tense, curious or agitated faces; it’s like he doesn’t trust his
actors to sell their roles, and finds it necessary to spoon-feed dramatic
moments. It’s a lazy technique favored by the directors of afternoon TV soap
operas, and a bewildering choice by the guy who directed and co-scripted the
much subtler — and far more successful — film adaptation of Kathryn Stockett’s The Help.
Taylor’s choices here already are
distracting; they’ll become full-blown annoying, if they continue.
It’d
be a shame, if he ruins this film.
No comments:
Post a Comment