Four stars. Rated PG-13, for dramatic intensity, disturbing images and fantasy violence
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 12.21.18
This story is so delicate and fragile — its approach so unconventional — that the slightest misstep would ruin it.
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| Because the real world is too frightening for him to confront at most times, Mark Hogancamp (Steve Carell) finds solace in a miniature community that he populates with characters he's able to control. |
Far more than most films, viewer response will be completely polarized. Some (most, I fear) will dismiss it as gimmicky nonsense. But those who have any experience with gravely damaged souls, and their struggle to find coping mechanisms, can’t help being charmed — even deeply touched — by what director Robert Zemeckis has wrought.
On April 8, 2000, Mark Hogancamp was savagely beaten by five men and left for dead outside of a bar in Kingston, N.Y. He was brutalized after foolishly admitting — prudence abandoned due to an alcohol haze — that he liked to cross-dress.
He woke after nine days in a coma, all memory of his previous life completely gone: Navy service, a marriage and family, his talent as a sketch artist, and a descent into homelessness and even brief stints in jail. In a sense, he was reborn at age 38, forced during torturous physical and mental therapy to relearn how to eat, walk and even navigate the minor complexities of an average day.
Proving once again that artists are born, not made — and that if one means of expression is suppressed, another will rise to take its place — Mark sorta/kinda backed his way into an entirely new career: one which, in turn, proved beneficial to his raging PTSD nightmares.
Hogancamp was profiled in director Jeff Malmberg’s award-winning 2010 documentary, Marwencol; he’s now the subject of Zemeckis’ most audaciously innovative drama to date. (That’s saying quite a lot, given that we’re talking about the filmmaker who has pushed multiple narrative and effects boundaries with Forrest Gump, The Polar Express, A Christmas Carol and — most recently — The Walk.)
Zemeckis and co-scripter Caroline Thompson open their film with a literal bang, as we’re introduced to star Steve Carell piloting an Allied aircraft over Belgian skies, during World War II. His plane is strafed beyond repair; he makes a successful crash-landing.
By this point, it has become obvious that Carell looks … not quite right. His features are shiny, his movements oddly jerky. Total disorientation takes hold when we notice that his wrists are jointed, attached to arms that seem a little thin.
Our hero is ambushed by a quintet of Nazis. Death seems imminent, until he’s rescued by a quintet of gun-toting women of varying nationalities, who blow the Nazis into smithereens. They collapse like … well … discarded dolls.
Cinematographer C. Kim Miles’ camera pulls back, at which point we see that Hogancamp (Carell) has been shooting still photos of a fabricated WWII encounter involving his heroic alter-ego — a doll dubbed Capt. Hoagy — whose adventures take place in a fictitious 1:6 scale Belgian town Mark has dubbed Marwen, which he has built in his side yard and portions of his home.
As we soon learn, Mark’s dedication to this tableau is all-consuming; he has produced thousands of photos while staging miniature dramas that somehow quell the anxiety that otherwise might overwhelm him.
Zemeckis and Thompson have used Hogancamp’s real-world life as something of a jumping-off point for a fable that explores — and attempts to get us viewers to understand — the complexities and horrors of mental trauma. The result is a quasi-imaginary bit of heightened reality — a slightly exaggerated riff on actual events — that I’ve no doubt Mark himself would appreciate, as it precisely mirrors his own approach.
Thompson absolutely is the right person to help Zemeckis shape this deeply intimate drama, given that she burst onto the scene with her story and screenplay for 1990’s Edward Scissorhands, still one of our most poignant modern fairy tales.
The gimmick here — if that’s even the right term — is that Mark slides between his real-world activities and his fantasy co-existence: a parallel reality brought to jaw-dropping life by Zemeckis, visual effects supervisor Kevin Baillie, miniature effects supervisor Dave Asling, and make-up designer Bill Corso. These doll-esque characters, spookily designed to resemble Carell and his co-stars, are a masterpiece of cinematic legerdemain. And we care about them.
Marwen’s female “residents” are based on real-world women who’ve become important to Mark: the warm and kindly Roberta (Merritt Wever), who runs the hobby shop where he purchases his dolls and accessories; the feisty Carlala (Eiza González), who works alongside him at the Avalanche Roadhouse; Anna (Gwendoline Christie), the no-nonsense homecare worker who visits him monthly; and Julie (Janelle Monáe), who encouraged him during the tough months of physical therapy.
And also Suzette (Leslie Zemeckis), the details of whom won’t be revealed here.
(Rarely has the term “dolls” been more aptly applied to a bevy of women.)
But there’s also a sixth doll: the blue- and green-hued Deja Thoris, an enigmatic apparition that Mark genuinely fears, even though he can’t help including her in his diorama playlets.
This dynamic shifts with the arrival of Nicol (Leslie Mann), who moves into the house across the street from Mark. She, too, is warm and non-judgmental: an innately caring soul who senses creatures in pain, and responds accordingly. (No surprise, that she volunteers at an animal shelter.) Mann plays her with graceful compassion.
And, shortly thereafter, Mark adds a new character to Marwen: a slim redhead with her hair in a ponytail, her feet in striking black stilettos.
The pending crisis in Mark’s life is the fast-approaching courtroom date where his five attackers are to be sentenced. Mark’s lawyer wants him to read a personal statement about how his life was ripped away, to ensure that these men will be punished to the full extent of the law. But confronting them again — being in the same room with them — is too terrifying to contemplate. Far easier, day by day, to retreat into his Marwen fantasies, where brutal men always are slain by heroic women.
(“Women rule the world,” Hogancamp noted, when interviewed for a 2011 New York Times profile. “We’re just here to keep them company.” If only…)
Carell is mesmerizing. For the most part, Mark is withdrawn to the point of near-invisibility, and yet he responds to direct contact, particularly from a woman. Carell’s eyes light up, and he smiles, as if suddenly remembering how to do both. It’s a tender and genuine smile, but it can disappear just as quickly. And he’s always half a beat behind a question, as if re-learning the proper words for an honest response. Even so, firm decisions elude him.
It’s a heartbreaking performance; you want to scoop him up and hug him … except that such physical contact would terrify him.
Of the other characters, we spend the most time with Roberta. Wever’s performance is sublime, her line readings note-perfect. Roberta is the epitome of patience and empathy; she clearly likes Mark as a person, and there’s a strong hint that she’s sweet on him. Her attempt to invite him to dinner, during one of his visits to her shop, is a masterpiece of gently flirty banter.
Zemeckis’ perpetual composer of choice, Alan Silvestri, contributes an understated and carefully layered orchestral score: never maudlin, and always adding just the right atmospheric touch.
Although Zemeckis carefully maintains an all-essential atmospheric tone, he succumbs to one ill-advised touch, when he references his early success with “Back to the Future.” It’s definitely amusing, but nonetheless inappropriate, and it nearly rips us out of a crucial climactic moment.
But that’s a minor quibble. This is a deeply personal and heartfelt project that perceptively honors its subject. Welcome to Marwen certainly will be embraced by those who enjoy Martin Scorsese’s Hugo, or Tim Burton’s outré sensibilities.
Ideally, it would be best to approach this film cold, knowing absolutely nothing about it (as was the case with the equally unexpected surprises of 1998’s The Truman Show). That’s almost impossible these days; instead, let’s hope that a little foreknowledge encourages wary viewers to step within this little Belgian community.
I promise: It’s a captivating visit.
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