Three stars. Rated PG-13, for profanity and violence
By Derrick Bang
Denzel Washington’s work here is
sublime: absolutely one of the finest — if not the finest — roles of his already impressive career.
It’s a shame writer/director Dan
Gilroy’s film isn’t worthy of such talent.
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| In his own mind, Roman J. Israel (Denzel Washington) is one of the finest legal minds ever to stride Los Angeles' mean, inner-city streets. And he's right ... but he's also inherently unable to wield such talent. |
Gilroy’s résumé is dominated by
action-oriented popcorn flicks such as Real Steel, The Bourne Legacy and Kong: Skull Island. Nothing indicates he
has the sensibilities for a quiet, deeply intimate drama of this nature ...
and, in fact, he doesn’t. Worse yet, his story gets its momentum from a plot
contrivance that is blindingly unbelievable: an event we simply cannot accept when
it happens, and which taints everything that follows.
Washington, brilliant as he is,
cannot overcome such a narrative blunder.
He stars as the title character,
a lawyer and legal scholar with a savant’s gift for tireless research and
perfect recall: the “unseen half” of a two-man firm headed by celebrated civil
rights attorney William Henry Jackson. The latter is the front man, who for
nearly four decades has garnered all the fame for meticulously precise
courtroom arguments that Roman prepared behind the scenes.
This has been sufficient for
Roman, who has greatly valued the voice that Jackson has given to their shared
passion for defending the disenfranchised.
We never meet Jackson; the film
begins as he suffers a fatal heart attack one morning, off camera, leaving
Roman with the necessity of handling the day’s case load. Just show up and
request continuances, instructs the firm’s devoted secretary, Vernita (Lynda
Gravátt). Don’t do — or say — anything else.
This seems an odd request,
although not for viewers who’ve been paying attention. Roman’s attire is
decades out of date, his manner of walking awkward and ungainly, his head
bobbing slightly like a nervous bird. He’s never without the massive, battered
briefcase that bulges with his most prized accomplishment: the career-long
construction of a class action lawsuit with the potential to establish federal
precedent ... if only somebody will co-author and file it for him.
He uses far too many words to
answer simple questions, his attention forever wandering, his gaze — in the
presence of other people — oddly unfocused.
I find it intriguing that this
film’s press notes avoid the use of the terms autistic or spectrum,
because there’s absolutely no doubt that Roman is such an individual. He has no
filter and is blunt — and truthful — to the point of cruelty: self-righteously
idealistic to a degree that prevents compromise on any level. Small wonder Jackson carefully kept him in a back
office.
But it’s equally important to
recognize that this was an act of kindness on the part of Roman’s suddenly
deceased partner. Jackson gave Roman both employment and a voice, even if
somebody else did the speaking: precious, generous gifts that he might not have
found elsewhere. With Jackson gone, Roman has no outlet for the causes — his
passion for the dispossessed and under-represented — that have been his entire
life.
It gets worse. In very short
order, Jackson’s niece (Amanda Warren, as Lynn) confronts Roman with the news
that the firm has been financially underwater for years, kept alive solely via occasional
cases supplied by George Pierce (Colin Farrell), a younger attorney who heads a
large law firm, and whose hard-charging ambition has buried any sense of moral
obligation that he once might have possessed.
George has been hired to
liquidate the two-man firm, which leaves Roman without a job.
George is the opposite of Roman:
slick, smug and superficial. He views law with the corporate indifference of an
automobile assembly line: Charge high fees on the basis of “top-quality work,”
and then belie that promise by shuttling clients through the system as rapidly
as possible. Lather, rinse, repeat.
Farrell is well-cast as George;
the actor exudes false charm, with smiles that never reach his eyes. But he’s
not a one-note villain; George respected Jackson, and we detect the remnants of
a human being buried within the expensively tailored suits. George’s initial
impatience with Roman notwithstanding, the younger man perceives — admires —
something that stirs those remnants.
Not that it matters, at least
initially. Roman wants nothing to do with the likes of George Pierce, believing
that his experience and legal talent will be more than enough to secure
employment elsewhere.
What follows is both the hardest
part of the movie to watch, and the best showcase for the totality of
Washington’s performance. Part of the characterization is physical: a notable
weight gain, the application of bad teeth, the crazed hair, the unflattering
glasses. But that’s just surface; Washington’s deportment is just as arresting
as his twitchy, never-quite-settled presence.
His manner of speaking is the
most striking: the robotic recitation of legal precedents, offset by a tendency
to stutter when nervous or out of his comfort zone (which is frequently, as
matters progress). And a bull-headed conviction that he can make people believe him — accept him,
respect him — if they’ll simply listen
to him.
When, in fact, he’s so socially
inept that he alienates almost everybody. Within seconds.
Watching Roman attempt to get a
job is heartbreaking, as is listening to him phone a Los Angeles complaint
hotline each evening, leaving a message that cites ordinances prohibiting the
noisy, 24/7 construction work taking place next to his tiny Skid Row apartment.
Messages that are ignored, and obviously have been, for some time.
Ultimately, helplessly, left with
no other options, Roman returns and accepts George’s job offer. This is when the
film goes off the rails, although not merely for the clumsy manner in which
George — who really should be more perceptive — attempts to integrate Roman
into the firm.
Elsewhere, Roman has gained the
sympathy and friendship of civil rights activist Maya Alston (Carmen Ejogo).
It’s certainly in Maya’s nature to be benevolent, but she carries this
relationship much too far; despite Ejogo’s gentle, earnest performance, she
simply can’t get us to believe the depth of faith that Maya places in Roman. We
feel Gilroy’s manipulative touch.
But this isn’t Gilroy’s most
egregious error; that comes from an act, on Roman’s part, that — let’s be clear
— he would never, ever do. The film’s
lengthy third act is a ticking time bomb that results from this clumsily
orchestrated impulse. which simply isn’t — couldn’t
be — in his nature. At which point, the film falls apart.
Worse yet, Gilroy compounds that
felony with an eye-rolling, hearts-and-flowers epilogue that is pure fairy
tale.
All of which is a genuine shame.
Better writers could have concocted dozens of plotlines that would have been
vastly superior showcases for Washington’s bravura performance. Instead, we’re
left with this eminently forgettable, overly contrived and insufferably sudsy
melodrama.
Case closed.
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