Carnage

Venomous jibes from Roman Polanski

By the time Kate Winslet is thrashing tulips against her hosts' coffee table, she has reached the drunken nadir of a middle class nightmare. Two couples have torn themselves and each other apart, sliding from clipped politeness to sniping to screaming. There has been bickering and insult, there has been projectile vomit. The horrifying descent is the basis of Roman Polanski's enjoyable and uproarious latest, Carnage, and is acted out with zest by Winslet, Christoph Waltz, John C. Reilly and Jodie Foster.

Before the vomit.

The film is based on Yasmina Reza's play, God of Carnage. Alan and Nancy Cowan (Waltz and Winslet) visit Michael and Penelope Longstreet (Reilly and Foster) after their sons have been involved in a playground fight. This apparently satisfies their immaculate, right-on parenting needs. But some ropey cobbler and a few unguarded exchanges are all that is needed to unravel the delicate veils of tolerance and decency. The inevitable decline unfolds entirely within the Longstreet apartment over the course of a brisk eighty minutes.

The film's origins on the stage are evident, and Carnage has received some critical stick as a result. The dialogue can be declamatory and the set-up is a little artificial. It is tempting to see Polanski's work as no more than a filmed play, adding little to a live theatre experience. But the film does work well on its own merits. It appeals visually and has a wonderful quartet of actors at its core. Foster and Reilly are amusing as a couple whose cultured, liberal facade is constructed by one and secretly resented by the other. Meanwhile, Winslet and Waltz are even better and even more miserable: she is uneasy and snappish, he is self-involved and wolfish.

With these four in control, deadly humour is the film's greatest strength. After some drily observed early dialogue, the best moments come in the second half, some of them very funny indeed. The actors relish the broader, wilder comedy here. As inebriation takes hold and accusations pile up (involving livelihoods, hamsters and so on), venomous jibes rip preciousness apart. Jodie Foster is hysterically laughing as she proclaims: “My husband has spent the entire afternoon drying things!”. I could not help but wish for things to take an even nastier turn, but the film refuses to become untethered from the real world and soar into total farce. On reflection (and as my co-filmgoer observed), that is a large part of its success.

"I don't have a sense of humour, and I don't want one."

The single-set device is clearly inherited from the stage play. The characters seem trapped, drawn back in whenever they try to leave. It lends a Buñuelian touch; or, as Winslet slurs, “Why are we still in this house?!”. Polanski is masterful enough not to be put off, creating an aesthetically interesting piece out of the static setting. The actors are positioned in various oppressive combinations around the screen. The camera angles are deliberately uncomfortable: a little too high or too low, in tight close-up and deep focus tableaux. Polanski is also not tempted to open up the script beyond the apartment. As Hitchcock saw it (discussing Dial M for Murder), why would you? Easy for him to say perhaps, but Polanski rises to the challenge just as keenly.

On a similar note in fact, according to ever-neckerchiefed director–cineaste Peter Bogdanovich, Hitchcock's view was simply: When the batteries are running dry, take a hit play and shoot it. Polanski is energized here, no doubt, along with his splendid and game cast. Together they have produced a cinematic scherzo, with claws. I think Hitch himself would have enjoyed it.

8

Shame

Fractured relationships and empty promiscuity

Within a few years, artist-turned-director Steve McQueen has made a strong impact. Following Hunger, Shame is his second film. It also stars Michael Fassbender, here playing Brandon, a man consumed by sexual addiction. He indulges this to an extreme degree, behind the protection of a highly controlled, successful daily existence. Things unravel following the intrusive entrance of his unstable, needy sister Sissy (Carey Mulligan) and a romantic liaison with a colleague. Shame is not a comfortable watch, and the explicit sexual material borders on the harrowing, but it is a brilliant, modern film.

Brandon is a mesmerizing character. His manner is appealing but distant, his surroundings modern and sparse. He is a lonely man, entombed by a routine of escorts and pornography. Steve McQueen captures this loneliness with carefully composed shots, Fassbender frequently alone on-screen, wandering the city streets or stalking his characterless apartment. Like Taxi Driver before it, Shame studies alienation in New York; Brandon disconnects himself, finding little solace in empty promiscuity.

The fractured relationship between Brandon and Sissy brings to the film a vibrant, sad centre. Initially, we wonder if it is, or has been, incestuous. We are even surprised to learn that they are siblings after their uncomfortably open first scene. There is a great deal of unspoken history and tension, deftly hinted at as the story progresses. Most haunting is one line spoken by Sissy on Brandon's answer machine: "We're not bad people – we just come from a bad place." It asks many questions about their past, the answers to which we can only fathom by grimly witnessing the brother and sister in the present. Does it refer to the shame of the title?

Both Michael Fassbender and Carey Mulligan give genuinely brave, nuanced performances. The result is not draining, but enthralling, notwithstanding the bleak material. Sissy is desperately vulnerable, but Mulligan does not portray a one-note victim. We sympathise with her, despite her wayward dependence. Meanwhile, Fassbender is magnetic as a man who keeps lust and rage barely contained behind an anonymous facade. As Brandon is increasingly provoked, theses urges become dangerously exposed. The effects build steadily, and Fassbender's control is captivating.

Brandon's affair with a colleague, Marianne, expands the character further. They go on a date, a beautifully acted scene which stands out as perhaps the best in the film. It is amusing and charming, but nervous; in a wry touch, the awkward atmosphere is punctured by a waiter's interjections. We feel Brandon is connecting with Marianne, the lust and the rage evaporating. Intimacy, however, is something he ultimately cannot handle. Nicole Beharie is wonderful as Marianne, and with only two key scenes, she is underused.

Shame is marvellously put together. The screenplay (by McQueen and Abi Morgan) is well paced, the photography gleams and Harry Escott's music chills, built on slowly climbing melodic lines. It is a meditative film, made entrancing by the work of the actors, and its strengths are never overwhelmed by the ugly human story it tells. It will stay with me.

8.5

We Were Here/A Useful Life

It was a week of intense cinema-going, including award season catch-ups and some hidden gems. Here are two of the gems, courtesy of the dizzyingly rich current Filmhouse programme.

We Were Here

This documentary by David Weissman chronicles the impact of HIV/Aids in San Francisco, following its outbreak in the early 1980s. The story of Aids at that time is familiar, but the scale and suddenness of the disaster still shocks; around 15,000 people had died of Aids in San Francisco by the mid-1990s. The phenomenal response of the gay community of the city is the central focus of We Were Here. As love and hedonism plummeted headlong into fear, the reaction was one of compassion and activism.

The film is a well constructed look at this “San Francisco model” throughout the worst years of the epidemic, placing the personal experiences of just five interviewees within a wider picture of political debate and changing attitudes. The speakers describe a painful, inspiring history of care, research, campaigning and loss. In general, they are engaging, able to lift the sober mood. The accounts are absorbingly honest; recollections of weariness, feeling overwhelmed and unable to continue to help, resonate just as much as those of community and pride.

Most eloquent and affecting of all is artist Daniel Goldstein. His story (among the thousands) is tragic – he is the sole survivor of his entire circle of friends and lovers from the start of the epidemic. Emotional but clear-eyed, Goldstein gives us the strongest feel for the time and place. His is a well-rounded insight, taking in his deep connections with the San Francisco gay scene and involvement in early clinical trials. And his personal grief is balanced by his human response and reflection, which he offers without ego or sentiment. I was pleased that he had the final word in this film; the rays of hope at the close are powerful, breaking through the darkest imaginable clouds.

8.5

A Useful Life

Jorge's independent cinema is in severe financial straits. Its projection systems are decrepit and support is dwindling. Jorge must fix things. He must also get Paola, the university lecturer, to join him for a coffee. It is a delicate problem for a quiet man, and makes for a rather fun little film. There is not much depth, but there are enough surprises and wry smiles to sustain the short running time. And it is the first Uruguayan film I have ever seen. Tick.

The look is pleasingly low-key. It is a grainy, off-the-cuff vignette, but it still has moments of elegance. Shots of Jorge ambling up and down in front of prints of Muybridge's galloping horse are beautifully lit, as are those of him strolling through the university quads. Meanwhile, the interiors of the cinema's projection rooms and offices are appealing in their run-down, sagging aspect. This black-and-white film is noticeably grey.

The key attraction is undoubtedly optimistic cineaste Jorge, a likeable schlump with a Hitchcockian jowl. Portly, shambling, and accompanied by rather eccentric music selections on the soundtrack, he sometimes wanders aimlessly and sometimes dances on staircases. He also gets an expensive haircut on a whim. Without actor Jorge Jellinek's splendid countenance and misshapen gait, there would be something sorely missing from the film. But instead we give a little cheer every time he heaves into the frame. Let's hope he gets the girl.

7