Lanthimos’ The Killing of a Sacred Deer

Cincinnati is a very livable city, but it will probably never live down the shame from giving the world Jerry Springer. In contrast, a prominent cardio surgeon will be given the chance to repent for his sins through a wicked three-way Sophie’s Choice. The situation is highly surreal, but emotions are scrupulously held in check during Yorgos Lanthimos’ The Killing of a Sacred Deer (trailer here), which is now playing in New York.

Dr. Steven Murphy has it all: a thriving practice, a lovely ophthalmologist wife, a daughter he adores, and a son he is okay with. He is also giving back by spending time mentoring Martin, a disadvantaged teenager—except there might be something more sinister to their relationship. Nonetheless, he introduces Martin to his family, all of whom find the moody lad inexplicably charming—especially his daughter Kim.

Inevitably, Martin starts taking liberties, even attempting to fix Murphy up with his single mother. The doctor tardily tries to re-establish boundaries, but by this time the resentful teen has gained a strange hold over the Murphy family, especially Kim. Unfortunately for them all, Martin blames the Martin patriarch for the death of his father—and not without some justification. More to the point, Martin also seems to have some mystical unexplained power that will force Steven Murphy to become an active accomplice in his own karmic retribution.

Within Lanthimos’ maddening filmography, Sacred Deer is a conspicuously frustrating film. If you were blown away by The Lobster, but detested his Greek Freak films, like Dogtooth and Alps, you will find Sacred Deer sits uneasily between those two poles. Lanthimos manages to wring high tragedy out of his fantastical premise, but getting there is a bumpy ride. Problematically, it features the same extreme expressive reserve that distinguished The Lobster, but it was better suited to that dystopian universe and its absurdist rules everyone accepted at face value. In contrast, Deer is essentially set in our world. It is just viewed from acute angles.

As a result, we have to sit through a lot of mumbling and shrugging, before Lanthimos finally kicks it into gear. Yet, somehow the film mostly comes together during the chilling climax—or maybe almost, but not quite. Either way, it is a close call.

Colin Farrell similarly feels like he is repeating himself from The Lobster, but while his prior sad sack character always seemed to be screaming under his blandly nebbish exterior, Dr. Murphy really comes across as a shallow jerk, who is quiet because he doesn’t have anything to say. Likewise, Nicole Kidman seems to be recycling previous ice queen roles in films like Eyes Wide Shut, Strangerland, and, Heaven help us, Trespass. Frankly, Barry Keoghan’s sullen mouth-breathing makes it hard to believe Doc Murphy would ever bring Martin within one hundred yards of his family. At least, Alicia Silverstone hits some poignant notes while playing against time as Martin’s Mother—wow, Cher from Clueless playing a widowed mom.

Even though we are still wrestling with our misgivings, we would re-watch Sacred Deer five times than sit through just the first fifteen minutes of Alps again. Granted, this is a highly idiosyncratic film, but the ways in which Lanthimos makes it conform to the aesthetics of The Lobster actually work against it. Earning a deeply mixed review, The Killing of a Sacred Deer is still the sort of weirdness cult film fans need to see to keep current. Use your own judgment. It is now playing in New York, at the Regal Union Square downtown and the AMC Loews Lincoln Square uptown.

Solace: Sir Anthony Hopkins Pursues a Serial Killer

Even though the Marvel Comics villain Destiny had precognitive powers, the X-Men still usually defeated her and the Brotherhood of [Evil] Mutants, although often under rather pyrrhic terms. Sometimes knowing the future just isn’t enough. Retired police doctor John Clancy has limited powers of prescience, yet he was still unable to prevent his daughter’s death from leukemia. He is still handy to have around during an investigation. Unfortunately, the serial killer he will investigate has the same powers, except they are even stronger in Afonso Poyart’s long-awaited Solace (trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York.

Special Agent Joe Merriweather is so frustrated in his hunt for an elusive serial killer, he tries to lure his former colleague Clancy back as a consultant. Frankly, it is sort of impressive Merriweather even picked up on the clues linking the cases. Naturally, Clancy is reluctant but something about the cases stimulates his Spidey sense. As to be expected, he initially clashes with Merriweather’s headshrinker partner, Agent Katherine Cowles, but she warms to him when she realizes he is the real deal. He also takes a liking to her, which makes his visions of her potential murder rather upsetting.

It turns out, all the victims had fatal diseases that were mostly undiagnosed, but on the verge of taking a horribly painful turn. Before long, Dr. Clancy realizes they are hunting someone much like himself, but more powerful, engaged in a spree of “mercy” killings. Things get really complicated when the adversaries start using their powers to get the drop on each other.

The good news is Solace is way better than you might have heard—truly legitimately so and not just as a function of low expectations. Reportedly, Solace was originally developed as a sequel to Se7en, but it is hard to see that lineage in the final film, aside from both having serial killer plots in common. Frankly, that is just as well. Solace is much more life-affirming film and often surprisingly clever. Arguably, it is miraculously cohesive considering how many screenwriters had a hand in its screenplay, including some pretty prestigious but uncredited scribes.

Of course, the commercial potential of a serial killer movie starring Sir Anthony Hopkins is self-evident. Although worlds removed from Hannibal Lecter (who nonetheless haunts the film like a ghost in the attic), Hopkins is terrific as the world-weary Clancy. He makes the woo-woo believable and gives a rousing third act defense of life should raise the hair on the back of everyone’s neck and ought to earn the film a robust following with pro-life, anti-euthanasia activists.

Once again, Jeffrey Dean Morgan proves he is one of the most under-rated actors working today, despite his high-profile work in Walking Dead, Watchmen, and dozens of other shows and films. As Merriweather, he gives the film a human grounding and develops a genuine sense of camaraderie with Hopkins. Colin Farrell takes his time showing up, but he makes the most of it when he does, creeping the scene up and chewing the scenery as the psychic killer, Charles Ambrose. He and Hopkins have some electric scenes together, sizing each other up and trying to out-brain each other. Australian rapper Abbie Cornish basically tries to get by on distant reserve as Cowles and she mostly gets away with it, because all eyes are really on Hopkins and Farrell.

Poyart really has a fitting sensibility for Solace, which is stylistically similar to his breakout Brazilian calling card 2 Rabbits, except this film features dizzying visions of possible futures, whereas his previous film was dominated by super-kinetic context-supplying rewinds. It all comes together, thanks in large measure to Sir Anthony. Recommended without reservation for fans of serial killer thrillers, Solace opens this Friday (12/16) in New York, at the Cinema Village (but screening times are limited).

The Lobster: Yorgos Lanthimos Gets Dystopian

Evidently, the future will be a lot like Logan’s Run, but for single people. Those who marry and nest together have no worries, but the unpaired will be transformed into animals and released into the wild. It is an extreme dystopian system, but it has its own strange logic. However, desperation will force one unmatched sad sack to think outside the box in Greek auteur Yorgos Lanthimos’s beyond-category English language allegory The Lobster (trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York.

After his wife absconds with another man. David must check into a “last resort” resort for singletons, where he will have forty-five days to find a mate or he be transmuted into a lobster, as per his preference. Obviously, the stakes are high, as he is constantly reminded by his brother Bob, who now accompanies him as his faithful German Shepherd (a Palm Dog Award winner at the Cannes Film Festival). Unfortunately, David is not good at flirting. However, difficult cases, such as his even more desperate friend, “The Man with the Lisp,” can extend their stays by one day for each renegade “loner” living in the surrounding forest they can bag with the resort provided tranquilizer guns.

Oh, but Lanthimos is just getting started. David will pursue a match with “The Heartless Woman,” hoping she will mistake his awkward aloofness for a similar misanthropy. When that strategy fails, he will go off the grid with the loners, but their rigid social conventions might be even trickier to navigate.

The Lobster is a deliriously bizarre film, but Lanthimos presents it all so matter-of-factly, we are compelled to suspend disbelief and just roll with it. There are vaguely identifiable precursors to some of Lobsters’ madness, like the ticking clock of the aforementioned Logan’s Run and the resort itself, which is not so very different from the Village in The Prisoner. Nonetheless, Lanthimos incorporates them in inventive and intriguing ways into a sly and subversive script (co-written with Efthymis Filippou) that keeps evolving in unexpected directions. This is not the sort of speculative film that starts with an intriguing premise, but continues to mine the same vein with diminishing returns. Lanthimos has plenty of stuff held in reserve for the third act.

Colin Farrell is wonderfully pathetic as David. It is truly an anti-star turn that is even more taciturn, fatalistic, and world-weary than his fine work in Ondine, Miss Julie, and London Boulevard. Yet, develops some truly unique romantic chemistry with Rachel Weisz, the “Short Sighted Woman” he meets amongst the band of Loners. Léa Seydoux is quietly ferocious as the fanatical Loner Leader, but nobody can approach the level of nuts attained by Olivia Colman as the resort manager.

Frankly, The Lobster is like a breath of fresh air, presenting a wholly unique dystopian vision at a time when multiplexes are drowning in neo-fascist-jumpsuit-donning YA near future romances. No sir, this is not like those. It is its own animal, if you will. There are sequences that will have you staring at the screen slack-jawed, which is a good thing. By far Lanthimos best work yet, The Lobster is highly recommended for adventurous genre and art house patrons, when it opens this Friday (5/13) in New York at the AMC Loews Lincoln Square.

Good Golly, Miss Julie

For some reason, theater companies are constantly enticed by the dramatic possibilities of August Strindberg’s Miss Julie, but often feel the need to re-conceptualize and modernize the play for contemporary audiences. For instance, there have been the Mississippi Freedom Summer production, several Apartheid South Africa re-settings, and Neil LaBute’s Gatsby-esque take. For her new cinematic adaptation, Liv Ullmann is relatively faithful to her source material, simply moving it to an Irish estate while maintaining the 1890s timeframe. The mistress of the manor will indeed spend an overheated Midsummer’s Eve with two of her father’s servants in Ullmann’s respectfully traditional Miss Julie (trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York.

Miss Julie was expected to celebrate midsummer with her young and beautiful friends of equal social standing. Instead, she crashed the servant’s barn dance. She already carried a whiff of scandal, but her reckless pursuit of her father’s valet John (formerly Jean) could cause social Armageddon, at least for her. John has long carried both a romantic torch and lingering class-based resentments for Miss Julie. Given his engagement to Kathleen, the kitchen maid, John initially attempts to deflect her advancements. However, he will soon become a destabilizing devil whispering in her ear.

Strindberg’s play is so deeply steeped in rigid class demarcations, American audiences really need an added racial component to relate to the underlying drama. This is the land that invented social mobility, so when Kathleen admonishes John “class is class” the full significance is largely lost on us. It is as much a plea to remain faithful to his own class as it is a warning not risk reprisals for getting ideas above his station.

Few plays represent such a minefield of heavy-handed symbolism as Miss Julie, yet Ullmann opts to highlight nearly every example, from the dog Miss Julie feeds an abortifacient after her frisky behavior with a mongrel to her ill-fated caged bird. Likewise, she presents the realities of late Nineteenth Century social mores in as harsh a light as possible. Frankly, Strindberg has been unjustly labeled a misogynist based on shallow readings of Miss Julie’s most problematic passages, but as an extreme naturalist, he was represented life as it was, not as he thought it should be. Ullmann’s adaptation will do little to rehabilitate him with those inclined to misinterpret.

Regardless, as an intimate three-hander (for all intents and purposes), any production of Miss Julie offers an opportunity for its principles to shine. Unfortunately, even though we can see Jessica Chastain and Colin Farrell trying their hardest, they just cannot find the keys to unlock their characters. Nonetheless, Chastain understands a glacial reserve is often required for Miss Julie, while Farrell can deliver the appropriate malevolent intensity to maintain the dramatic dynamics. They are both excellent performers (Farrell is especially undervalued), but they simply can’t quite land these roles. Conversely, Samantha Morton truly taps into the essence of Kathleen, powerfully conveying the comfort she takes from her (formerly Calvinist) faith and the hardscrabble certainties of her class.

It is always nice to see someone take another shot at a literary classic and given her accomplished work with Ingmar Bergman and Jan Troell, as well as her celebrated Broadway turns, we ought to be interested in any project Ullmann takes on. Yet, it is hard to get a sense of what exactly it was about the play that originally spoke to her. Nonetheless, she makes the kitchen of Castle Coole in County Fermanagh fill the screen quite cinematically. The soundtrack, featuring fresh recordings of Schubert and Schumann, is also quite lovely, but it is cranked up a bit too high in the sound-mix. Altogether, it is a classy production, but it rarely gets past the outward forms and down to the inner truths. Recommended primarily for Swedish-Norwegian-Irish expats and fans of the big name cast, Miss Julie opens this Friday (12/5) in New York, at the Landmark Sunshine.

Brit Noir: London Boulevard

It is no longer the sixties, but London still swings. Yet, one recently released ex-con has no interest in the party scene. Resolved never to return to prison and weary of his sister’s Lindsay Lohan lifestyle, the taciturn Mitchel seeks to live a quiet life. Unfortunately, he is inundated with all the wrong sort of job offers in William Monahan’s London Boulevard (trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York.

Mitchel is determined not to fall into his old ways, particularly not with his unreliable old running mate, Billy. Of course, that is exactly what is expected of him. Gant, the ragingly psychotic mob boss even wants to groom Mitchel for a leadership role. The ex-con finds unlikely refuge in the only straight job open to him. A veritable prisoner in her own home to the stalkerazzi outside, beautiful actress-model Charlotte needs handyman who can be handy with intruders. Mitchel’s criminal record in no way disqualifies him for the job.

Boulevard is billed as a modern riff on Sunset Boulevard, but the parallels are rather superficial. With her face on every magazine cover, Charlotte is more of a Greta Garbo than a Norma Desmond. Mitchel is also much more proactive than ill-fated Joe Gillis, eventually falling hard for the mysteriously morose Charlotte.

For some reason, there has been considerable negative “buzz” for Boulevard, but it is completely unjustified. It hums along nicely, self-consciously emulating the vibe of Get Carter and similarly stylish Brit noirs. Colin Farrell is in his element here, quite compelling as the hard-nosed anti-hero. Keira Knightley is appropriately alluring and vulnerable as the isolated Charlotte, as well.

However, for a film like this the supporting cast is almost more important than leads and Boulevard’s is terrific. Ray Winstone emphatically doubles down on his tough guy persona, savoring Gant’s villainous instability. Appearing as a corrupt cop, Eddie Marsan adds further genre color and credibility. Yet, David Thewlis really takes the honors as Jordan, Charlotte’s live-in manager and enabler, Boulevard’s Erich von Stroheim, if you will. We expect a heavy jealousy trip from him, but the gonzo agoraphobic turns out to be far more interesting than that. Regrettably though, the photogenic Ophelia Lovibond’s character Penny is abruptly dropped as soon as she introduces the leads, despite some nice chemistry with Farrell’s Mitchel in early scenes. Those are the dues.

Boulevard is a dark and tragic film, but it is also loads of fun. Noir fans will understand that paradox. A sleek morality play featuring a top-shelf ensemble, Boulevard is highly recommended when it opens this Friday (11/11) in New York at the IFC Center.