CrankyÕs
Flickershow Reviews
By Neil Richter
A Promise Kept
Eastern
Promises, director David CronenbergÕs
new Russian gangster film, is unlike any crime drama you have ever seen. He has stated before in interviews that
the crime genre as a whole bores him.
Anyone whoÕs seen a couple of CronenbergÕs movies knows he has a
peculiar set of obsessions that he returns to again and again: the fragility of the human body, the
melding of flesh with machine, etc.
As a result, his films are often queasily gory exercises that
nonetheless display an uncanny visual skill. The mark of a pro lies behind each one.
Eastern
Promises is no different, although
this time Cronenberg works from a rich script by Steven Knight to create a
world based as much on character as it is on brutality. Many have gone on and on about how
violent this film is, but, as Cronenberg has also pointed out in interviews,
there are only three real scenes of violence: two brief, one spectacularly graphic. The difference is, Cronenberg makes the
killings look as horrible as they would in real life. His characters are not pawns in a video-game and this is not
an action movie. In CronenbergÕs
universe when somebody is cut, they bleedÉprofusely.
Apart from
that one scene, which I will get to later on, Eastern Promises is actually a very quiet, low-key film. The characters rarely raise their
voices, and threats are delivered with friendly calm. In this London-set drama, there arenÕt even any guns. Assailants prefer knives, you see. Into this fray steps a quartet of major
characters. First, there is Naomi
Watts as Anna, a midwife who delivers the child of a dead girl, only to filch
the young womanÕs diary. Then
there is Armin-Mueller Stahl as Semyon, a mobster who doubles as a restaurateur
whom Anna contacts about said diary.
Semyon is very interested in the contents, and tries through a variety
of methods, some courtly, some threatening, to get ahold of it. Thirdly, we have SemyonÕs volatile yet
pathetic son Kirill, (Vincent Cassell in a great role that he probably wonÕt
get nearly enough praise for) the wild card in all these proceedings. Finally
there is Nikolai, the family chauffer.
He is a tattooed rock of a man played by future academy award nominee
Viggo Mortensen, who completely disappears here. As for the rest of the plotline, I will leave that up to you
to find out. This is the kind of
tightly woven narrative that unspools the second an important spoiler is
leaked.
All plot
aside, what strikes me most about this film is how body-centered it is. Cronenberg films his interiors with
blood reds and dark earth-tones.
Odd details are lingered over and fetishized: from motorcycles, to cars, to food, to tattoosÉ..especially
the tattoos. In a number of scenes
the camera simply gapes at MortensenÕs heavily decorated frame, once stopping
for an extreme close-up of the tattooing process itself. This combines with the exceedingly
grisly flashes of violence (as I said, all by blade or razor) resulting in a
truly disturbing commentary on one of CronenbergÕs above-stated
obsessions: the fragility of the
body.
All of this
comes to a climax in Ôthat sceneÕ, a savage fight to the death in a
bathhouse. I donÕt want to spoil
anything, so stop now if youÕre planning on seeing this film. Nevertheless, it bears discussion,
since this is the one scene that the film will be remembered for. Cronenberg throws the rulebook out for
movie fights. This is bloody, dirty,
realistic, and alarmingly vulnerable filmmaking. In it, Viggo takes on two assailants while completely nude
(on account of being in a steam bath).
Where many directors and moviegoers would simply be unable to stifle
their laughter at such an idea, Cronenberg spins it into a thoroughly terrifying
scenario. After all, when someone
has no clothes on, their wounds become troublingly visible. The cheers and laughter of
violence-loving filmgoers will stick in their throats when confronted with such
an unsettlingly honest spectacle.
Yes, its ugly, but its also a brilliant piece of stand-alone filmmaking
that tells it like it is when it comes to onscreen violence.
I will
conclude with a word of explanation.
I realize that IÕve focused on a few, fairly narrow segments of this
film without properly examining the whole. That is because I believe it works better as both a
commentary and subversion on the gangster film as a genre than as a
narrative. Yes, the narrative is
perfectly workable, with some terrific acting. However, the ending is distressingly anticlimactic. Its almost as if following that one
ÔbigÕ scene, everyone decided to wind things down with the least amount of
effort possible. Still, that fits
even better in with the initial critique.
The cold steel of gunmetal, the legions of beautiful girls, the stacks
of cash, the raging shootouts, Cronenberg takes them all and either throws them
out the window or turns them into something deeply unsettling. The film ends with a whisper rather
than a bang. All of us in the
theatre expected a certain ending, a violent final salvo, but Cronenberg
refused to give it to us. I say,
good for him.
10/4/07