Tag Archives: john c reilly

We Need to Talk About Kevin (2011)

5 Jan

Film directing remains a steadfastly male domain, retaining the taint of macho adventurism long since passed. In the past, talented female helmers like Ida Lupino and Elaine May were judged by a higher standard than their male counterparts; expected to be twice as good to be considered equal. But this gender imbalance is slowly being rectified by a new generation. Inspired by trailblazers like Mary Harron, Jane Campion and Jodie Foster, the likes of Kathryn Bigelow, Lisa Cholodenko, Debra Granik and Lynne Ramsay have made compelling award-winning work that hasn’t become trapped in a gender ghetto.

Glasgow native Ramsay made a string of stellar shorts before her debut feature, ‘Ratcatcher’ (1999), a searing portrait of life in her hometown during the turbulent early Seventies, garnered critical acclaim. Next was ‘Morvern Callar’ (2002), a vivid adaptation of Alan Warner’s novel which served to cement her reputation as one of Britain’s most exciting emerging talents behind the camera. Then things took a turn for the worse.

In 2001, Ramsay was slated to direct the adaptation of Alice Sebold’s best-seller ‘The Lovely Bones’, but walked away from the project in 2004 after ‘creative differences’ with the film’s producer – and eventual director – Peter Jackson. There were whispers that the passionate, plain-speaking Scot may have burned her bridges with Hollywood’s power elite, that she was destined to be yet another flash in the pan; a notion happily dispelled by this adaptation of Lionel Shriver’s million-selling, Orange Prize-winning novel.

Ramsay’s most ambitious offering yet, ‘We Need to Talk About Kevin’ exhibits Ramsay’s gift for taking a familiar, popular literary property and putting on it her own artistic imprint. The film centres on Eva Khatchadorain (Tilda Swinton) in the aftermath of a school massacre committed by her son, Kevin. Ostracised by the community, Eva struggles to rebuild her life; though in the eyes of those around her she is complicit in the crime, the anger and grief transferred onto her, as imprisoned by the act as her son. The narrative flits back and forth, recounting the endless battle of wills between Eva and Kevin; a war of attrition that intensifies as Eva comes to understand that her husband, Franklin (John C. Reilly), doesn’t share her sense of foreboding about their offspring.

After eight years in the wilderness, ‘We Need to Talk…’ reaffirms Ramsay’s standing as a singular cinematic voice. Ramsay handles the emotionally dense source material with poise and self-assurance; placing herself at the service of the story, her compositions designed to articulate the fraught nature of the characters’ relationships, never succumbing to vulgar displays of technique. The sound design ably conveys Eva’s inner tumult, isolating lawnmowers, clocks et al. to create a cacophony of the everyday that mirrors Eva’s fuzzy mental state. The livid red and orange that figures throughout the production design, combined with recontextualized saccharine pop songs and Jonny Greenwood’s original score, create a palpable unease that can best be described as ‘Lynchian’.

Swinton has matured from Derek Jarman’s primary muse into one of the elite character actors; as her worth is not predicated on her physical allure, Swinton has been afforded the opportunity to evolve beyond the onerous constraints of conspicuous glamour. Her performance in ‘We Need to Talk…’ is so astounding because so little of its strength is verbal; there are no showy soliloquies, but the role is a gruelling physical challenge to which she rises with aplomb. So much of the drama rests on gesture, inflection, brief flickers of what lies behind the eyes, multiple layers of frustration, exasperation, resentment and desperation, and the rest of the cast proves equal to the challenge.

Jasper Newell and Ezra Miller both succeed in tracing Kevin’s growth from burgeoning sociopath to fully-fledged psychopath; Miller is chilling in his evocation of perspicacious teenage nihilism, while Newell portrays the vindictive relish of the solipsistic child with a conviction that is amazing for one so young. Reilly occupies a tertiary role, a position traditionally taken by female characters; separate from the unfolding drama, there to provide moral support and play devil’s advocate, a thankless but crucial contribution to the overall effort.

‘We Need to Talk…’ has more to say about the relationship between violence, environment, adolescence and the mass media than Oliver Stone/Quentin Tarantino’s grandstanding take on the subject in ‘Natural Born Killers’ (1994), any of Michael Haneke’s numerous discourses – ‘Benny’s Video’ (1992), ‘Funny Games’ (1997) et al. – or Gus Van Sant’s voguish examination of the issue in ‘Elephant’ (2003). The film weighs in on the ‘nature versus nurture’ debate with commendable subtlety, and explores the role of our increasingly passive society – a paradigm where we are reduced to the status of consumers and observers, experiencing life through a variety of filters – in fostering feelings of powerlessness and its concomitant rage. Executed to perfection by all involved, hopefully we won’t have to wait another eight years for Ramsay’s next effort.

Swinton and Reilly: the happy couple.

  

Terri (2011)

18 Oct

John C. Reilly belongs to a school of actors who have managed to circumvent the beauty bar that Hollywood operates, breaking through the aesthetic glass ceiling by dint of their offbeat charisma. Like the great character actors that preceded them – Robert Duvall, Peter Boyle, Bruce Dern, et al. – they are called upon to play the parts the stars balk at, using their unorthodox magnetism to their favour. Alongside the likes of Philip Seymour Hoffman, Paul Giamatti and William H. Macy, Reilly has risen through the ranks of indie cinema to become a recognisable face to drastically opposing audiences; equally at ease as a player in big-budget projects like ‘Chicago’ (2002) and ‘The Aviator’ (2004) as when portraying the demented Dr. Steve Brule in Dadaist comedy duo Tim and Eric’s ‘Tim and Eric Awesome Show, Great Job!’

‘Terri’ is director Azazel Jacobs’ sixth feature, having built a formidable reputation with films like ‘The GoodTimeKid’ (2005) and ‘Momma’s Man’ (2008). Its eponymous central character is an overweight fifteen-year-old boy (Jacob Wysocki) who cares for his manic-depressive uncle (Creed Bratton) between dealing with the ridicule and isolation of high school. Terri is taken under the wing of Mr. Fitzgerald (Reilly), the school’s unconventional principal, who is concerned by Terri’s constant tardiness, slipping grades, refusal to participate and insistence on attending school in pyjamas. Through his weekly counselling sessions with Mr. Fitzgerald, Terri meets Chad (Bridger Zadina), a fellow troubled teen, and strikes up an unlikely friendship with an ostracised member of the popular clique, Heather (Olivia Crocicchia).

‘Terri’ is notable primarily for Wysocki’s central performance, which ranks amongst the best of the year; all the more startling for coming out of nowhere. Wysocki exhibits uncommon sensitivity and acuity in his depiction of Terri, laying himself bare as a young man who is painfully attuned to his emotions, lacking that crucial layer of skin required to endure the daily battle, cripplingly self-aware in the face of his tormentors. The sadness and resignation etched on his face, his posture slumped and defeated, Wysocki conveys the full extent of his character’s inner torment. Though his choices will obviously be limited by his appearance, Wysocki has all the attributes to carve out a niche for himself in the indies.

The exchanges between Wysocki and Reilly are the film’s highlight; like Officer Jim Kurring in ‘Magnolia’ (1999), Fitzgerald struggles to exude an air of authority in light of his discovery that ‘life is a mess’. The antithesis of Sean Maguire in ‘Good Will Hunting’ (1997), Fitzgerald is not an inspiring figure; he doesn’t possess the key to unlocking Terri’s potential; he can’t make everything better; his advice is often ill-conceived; he can see what lies ahead for Terri, but knows he is powerless to prevent it. Zadina ably taps into the fragility and insecurity that drives the unhinged Chad, and though her character is amongst the least defined and rewarding, Crocicchia convincingly delineates Heather’s fall from grace. Elsewhere, Tim and Eric’s own Tim Heidecker makes a single-scene appearance as a snide, sadistic gym teacher; and stand-up Eddie Pepitone is afforded the opportunity to briefly showcase his poetically acerbic brand of comedy.

Mandy Hoffman’s saturnine score is affecting without providing emotional signposts, as is so often the case with film music; Julia Shirar’s sound design adroitly elevates ambient noise to great effect, and the nebulous soft focus articulates Terri’s absorption. Jacobs’ camera replicates Terri’s languorous gait, limiting itself to gentle pans and zooms, frequently hanging back as if embarrassed by what it is capturing. While there are comic elements to ‘Terri’, its humour is such that those looking for belly laughs will be left wanting; if, however, you enjoy a well-observed, perfectly paced and deftly performed study of the marginalized, then ‘Terri’ will satisfy. Patrick Dewitt’s screenplay skews the mawkishness that holds sway over the classroom drama, breathing new life into its tired conventions with its echoes of ‘Kes’ (1969). Though it flags somewhat in the final third, ‘Terri’ is a commendable effort from Jacobs; positing that we are all buffeted by the capricious tides of approval, that we never stop being scared children.

 

Director Azazel Jacobs on the set of 'Terri'.