The Counselor,
Ridley Scott’s chilly and uncompromising new anti-thriller/noir from celebrated
novelist Cormac McCarthy, has easily become the most divisive, polarizing
big-budget studio release of the year.
To listen to most critics you’d think it was the worst movie ever made –
a slap in the face to the audience and to filmmaking in general. However, to a small but vocal minority, it has
become something of cynical-masterpiece-movie-miracle, the sort of film that’s
typically made at the indie level with a zero budget featuring a cast of
unknowns (think Miss Bala or Sin Nombre or City of God). Scott, working in a genre not typical to that
of his grandiose tendencies, has never had a screenplay like the one McCarthy
has given him; this is the bleakest material of either artist’s career, and
that says something coming from the minds that have spawned such cultural
touchstones as Alien, Blade Runner, No Country for Old Men, and The
Road, to name a few (fine, Blood
Meridian probably ties with The
Counselor in the depravity department).
Professional critics complaining that the film is nothing more than
style over substance couldn’t be more wrong, and general movie-going audiences,
especially the Joe & Jane Popcorns out there (thanks, Jeffrey Wells) who
spoke loudly last weekend with a Cinemascore of “D”, seem resistant to anything
that remotely pushes the boundaries of content and form. Just look at the top 20 grossing films from
2013; there are only three that might
fit the bill as being auteur driven. The
Counselor is as elliptical in style to that of Olivier Assayas’s criminally
under seen neo-noir Boarding Gate or
to the previously mentioned No Country
for Old Men, but the difference is that The
Counselor has an even more fatal, lethal endgame, and potentially goes further
with the practice of withholding “key” story information and the skipping-over
of easily identifiable “plot-points.”
Remember when Brolin got killed off-screen in No Country, and how bracing that was to have it presented in such a
nonchalant manner, almost like the Coen brothers didn’t even care? There’s some of that spirit in The Counselor, as the film becomes more
and more about the who than the why, about the little conversations as oppose to the big ones.
One
of the many things that will throw most audiences off with The Counselor is the way that the characters speak. To complain about the highly-stylized writing
and line delivery would be to immediately dismiss, discount, or conveniently
forget the last 30-40 years of cinema, with distinctive voices (to only name a
few) like Mamet, Allen, Pinter, Kubrick, Malick, Mann, and Anderson (both P.T.
and Wes) consistently writing in a manner that is more stylized than realistic.
A movie is a movie – it’s not real life, it shouldn’t always have to
approximate the “realism” of something, and the way that the characters speak
in The Counselor expresses just as
much as who the characters are as it
does describe what they are doing. It’s also interesting to note that McCarthy
dispatches with any ideas of showing the drug deal in any traditional fashion
right from the get-go; when the film starts, the plot is in full swing, with
Fassbender’s character already having had numerous conversations to get him to
the point that he’s at when we first meet him, and the strings have already
been pulled by other characters to have the plot spin so wildly out of (in)
control. You’ll have to see the movie,
of course, to truly understand what I mean, but without spoiling any of the
sadistic fun, this is one of those narratives where someone, somewhere is
calling the shots while a wide variety of people never truly know what’s going
on. If it seems like I’m avoiding giving
a proper plot summary, well, I just don’t feel it’s necessary. You’ve seen the ads: it’s Breaking Bad with big Hollywood stars,
from the director Gladiator and Prometheus. Someone makes a deal with the Mexican Cartel,
the deal goes south, and all hell breaks loose.
It’s just that the brilliance of The
Counselor comes from the ways that information is presented (or not
presented!), the way characters look at one another, and how the “Counselor” of
the piece (Fassbender) is always asking other
people for help and advice.
When it comes to Ridley Scott’s involvement, there’s much to
be said. He’s always been attacked as a
“style over substance” guy (maybe not with the same ferocity that his late
brother, Tony, was attacked), too interested in smoke and fire and
razzle-dazzle. It probably stems from
the fact that people view him as a “director for hire” as he’s not a credited
writer on his features. I’ve never gotten that slam, or any other
“style over substance” slam on any other filmmaker – filmmaking is supposed to
be stylish and innovative, it’s supposed to show you something new and fresh
(or at least it should attempt). Otherwise, what’s the point? In The
Counselor, because everything from a visual stand-point is so precise and
honed (a formal nod to the Coen brothers possibly?), one might overlook just
how much is going on underneath the slick surface. Without providing spoilers, McCarthy has
littered his brutally poetic screenplay with digressions on death, men, women, the
male fear of women, sex, desire, mother vs. whore, impotence, wealth – it’s all
there for the taking if you’re interested in digging a little deeper than
normal. And while Scott has long been a
premier visual stylist (Blade Runner
is a certifiable work of painterly art and the widescreen compositions in Kingdom of Heaven are worthy of a
museum), he does some of the most un-showy work of his career in The Counselor, and as a result, there’s
an elegant, piercing quality to the visuals.
Gone are the arid, dusty stylings of Black
Hawk Down and Body of Lies and
the deep, burnished qualities of American
Gangster and Hannibal. In The
Counselor, Scott, along with his ace cinematographer Dariusz Wolski (who,
it should be mentioned, shot numerous features for Tony Scott, and recently
shot Prometheus for Scott),
concentrate on tight close-ups, exact framing, and a more natural, relaxed
color palette. Scott knows that McCarthy’s
words on the page is what’s driving the story forward, so the more classical
approach to his direction is welcome and smart.
But never forget – this is Ridley Scott we’re talking about, the man who
fed Ray Liotta his own brains and had Dr. Lectre feed a child some of Liotta’s brains
at the end of his grand Guginol black comedy grotesquerie Hannibal. When Scott wants
to get up-close and personal with arterial spray he’s just as adept as Haneke
or Tarantino or Winding-Refn in that department.
The
performances are uniformly excellent, with Diaz and Bardem registering
strongest. For her part, Diaz has never
been this icy or cruel, and it was terrific to see her sink her teeth into such
a wicked portrait of insanity. The
already infamous sex-scene-with-automobile is big and showy and funny but it’s
the rest of her performance that seals the deal; look at her close-ups and see
the nastiness sinking in. It’s
wonderful. Bardem adds another indelible
baddie to his rogue’s gallery of villains, but here, he’s in a much different
key than he was as the homicidal man with a bowl-cut in No Country or the sneering megalomaniac from Skyfall. His reaction shots
and line delivery during Diaz’s bout with the car are nothing short of
hysterical, and the way that he imbued his character with a sense of “it’s
coming for me” misfortune did a lot to actually make him one of the more
sympathetic characters of the piece.
Fassbender starts off all sleazily charming and you think this is a guy
maybe worth rooting for, but then you see how he’s really a self-serving jerk
who clearly knows he’s getting in over his head but then does nothing to stop
it. Watching Fassbender lose control of
the situation, a situation he foolishly thinks he’s in complete control of, is
one of the many sick pleasures that this film affords. Pitt must love the fact that he gets to play
these little “character” bits now that he’s settled into his absurdly
impressive career, and as the greasy middleman to Fassbender and Bardem’s
dealings, he brings cruel humor and cocky swagger to every scene he appears
in. For her part, and she’s not seen
much, Cruz does exactly what McCarthy wanted her to do: represent pure,
unfettered, innocent beauty. Familiar
faces show up in bit parts, with Rosie Perez, Bruno Ganz, Ruben Blades, Dean
Norris and John Leguizamo all owning their cameos, and Natalie Dormer proving
to be an alluring distraction just as she did in Ron Howard’s recent Formula-1
drama Rush.
There are two movies that The Counselor recalls: Anton Corbijns spare and beautiful The
American and Sam Peckinpah’s utterly nihilistic and sad Bring Me the Head of Alfredo Garcia. Much like in The American, Scott and McCarthy smartly subvert the audiences’
expectations based on preconceived notions predicated upon genre: the chase has
to be here, it needs to end there, this character needs to be killed by that character, etc-etc. And
as in Peckinpah’s down and dirty Alfredo
Garcia, the narrative in The
Counselor comes to a rational (however disturbing and bleak) conclusion
that has to be considered in many contexts as “audience-unfriendly” or “morally
reprehensible.” It’s not the job of
cinema or of filmmakers to only tell stories about the morally just and
dignified. Part of the kinky kick of a
movie like The Counselor is getting
to spend time with venal, nasty people, far removed from the norm, and then
getting a chance to watch their lives unravel.
Because the cast is peppered with sexy faces and familiar names and
because the trailer has been cut to emphasize the three or four scenes of
violence/action, audiences are not going to be prepared for what’s in
store. It’s The American or The Grey
or Haywire or Killing them Softly or Drive
all over again – auteur driven films masquerading as general audience
pleasers. I love it when Hollywood has
the guts to turn out stuff that’s challenging and rewarding, and there’s
something to be said for 20th Century Fox letting Scott and McCarthy
get away with a finish that nearly matches the gut-wrenching climax of David
Fincher’s immortal serial killer thriller Seven. The
Counselor is a film for film buffs, the sort of movie for people who enjoy
spending two hours on the dark side, and who can allow themselves the chance to
act as a spectator to truly horrifying events, where, from the outset, it was
clear that there would never be a happy ending.
It’s easily one of Scott’s best films of his already legendary career,
and one of the best pictures of the year.
