You
do not have to dig very deep to find Britain’s pagan roots when almost every
other pub is called the Green Man. That leafy mythological figure (who also
frequently pops up on church cornices) provides a primal connection to nature
and the great wheel of life. Who better to teach a distressed thirteen-year-old
lessons in life and the acceptance of death than a giant Green Man-like
monster? Although the morals of his stories are not readily apparent, the Yew
tree creature might just help young Conor O’Malley come to terms with his
mother’s mortality in J.A. Bayona’s A
Monster Calls (trailer
here),
adapted by Patrick Ness from his own young adult novel, which opens tomorrow in
New York.
Conor
O’Malley is a sensitive but angry kid. His formerly hippyish mother Lizzie is
clearly fading, but he keeps doubling-down on false hope. However, the Yew tree
monster will force O’Malley to face facts when he rather ominously appears to
the young lad. Like a reverse Scheherazade, the Monster will tell O’Malley
three cryptic fables over three successive nights, at which point the confused
boy must be prepared to tell the monster his “truth”—the secret eating away
inside him.
Meanwhile,
O’Malley must deal with his materialistic grandmother, the absentee father he
yearns to know better, and the school bully, who just won’t give the kid a
break. Of course, he searches for interpretations of each tale that suggest reasons
for hope, but the Monster offers radically different but perhaps even more
pertinent meanings.
If
all the elements had not lined up just right, Monster Calls might have been embarrassingly mawkish. However, the
film’s striking technical artistry is neatly matched by some fearlessly
vulnerable performances. Yet, it is probably Liam Neeson’s pitch-perfect voice for
monster, combining his wrathful Taken-style
intonations with a gruff sensitivity and that subtle lilt suggesting a deeply
rooted connection to the old country that really makes the film. In short, he
is the perfect Green Man.
Frankly,
Lewis MacDougall’s desperately twee and sad-eyed act as O’Malley will often
have viewers pulling their hair out in frustration, but he rises to the occasion
during the emotionally raw climax. Felicity Jones really lowers the boom in her
Camille-worthy deathbed scene.
Sigourney Weaver gives real flesh-and-blood dimension to O’Malley’s reserved
but not-as-frosty-as-she-lets-on grandmother, while Toby Kebbell memorably adds
to the human messiness as O’Malley’s somewhat self-serving but charming expat
father.
Unlike
typical genre films that build towards thrills or chills, Bayona’s Monster is single-mindedly concentrated
on reducing the audience to a blubbering wreck. However, the early investments
in O’Malley’s painful denial and anticipated survivor’s guilt pay massive
dividends in the third act. It also looks amazing, displaying the sort of
visual craftsmanship we would expect from Bayona and cinematographer Oscar
Faura (who also notably collaborated on The
Orphanage). The Monster design, based on Jim Kay’s original illustrations,
is archetypally evocative, appearing fearsome or redemptive, depending on the
narrative context.
