There are many breathtaking, enduring images in The Road. I suppose that's largely what the film is: a succession of breathtaking images. Director John Hillcoat has created an utterly convincing presentation of what the world would look like after a major, earth-crippling disaster—the trees are burnt black, the buildings vacant and ominous and no one is around for miles. Everything feels chilly and desolate, and the tone of the movie is grim. I'm not sure this is one for the Thanksgiving crowds.
We're never told what ended the world. Viggo Mortensen wakes one night to screams and flames outside his window, and he just knows. He fills the sink and bathtub with water, preparing his family for the long wait for help but no help comes. Years later, people have begun to starve and die out, and those left must be either very smart or very cruel. It is in such a world that the man and his son, born after the apocalypse and who knows no other world, struggle to make it to the coast seeking warmth. The story follows their contacts with other survivors as they cross the countryside, attempting to avoid the dangers of the road.
Life in the post-apocalyptic world is bleak, and the terrors that the pair encounter are unique to a world dismantled. Confronting thieves and cannibals, Hillcoat's camerawork is open and lingering, but his refusal to shy away from the horrors of the road never feels like exploitation for shock, instead it gives the film room to breathe and creates a rhythmic pacing. Those looking for an explosive action film ought to look elsewhere, there is no bombast in these encounters. Facing death is just another day on the road.
All the memorable scenes from Cormac McCarthy's book are intact, so fans of the book who cried foul at some deviating images in the trailer can stop sharpening their knives. There are a few extended moments with the boy's mother—possibly to give more screen time to Charlize Theron—but, they are short and add nicely to the narrative. Viggo Mortensen impressively throws himself into his roles and his performance in The Road is no exception. His body is frail and filthy and he has no movie-star qualms about appearing ugly in front of the camera. Aside from the man himself, the wonderful cast of supporting players includes Robert Duvall, Guy Pearce, Garrett Dillahunt and Michael K. Williams, some of whom are truly unrecognizable under their makeup and the filth that covers everything in the film.
The Road is meandering and depressing, no arguments there, but so was Cormac McCarthy's book. What father and son will find when the reach the coast they don't know, but can anything really change in a world like this? What matters is a father's love for his son and the lengths he is willing to go to make sure his son lives a life of purpose. The son once mumbles under his breath that he wishes he were dead. Aghast, his father tells the boy he must never say that; there is always hope. Will audiences find the hope in The Road underneath all its grime?
Cross-published on Ornery-Cosby and Twitch.
Guillermo Arriaga’s writing style is familiar by this point, and you know what you’re getting into even before you get it. Over the past 10 years, he’s made a name for himself writing sprawling ensemble pieces such as Babel and Amores Perros, films that cross borders and flux backwards and forwards through time without warning. Some viewers may find his approach maddening, but at the end of the day Arriaga is doing what a screenwriter does best: deciding when and how an audience should receive information. In 2005, his screenplay for The Three Burials of Melquiades Estrada gave us a complex narrative that, when unraveled, was revealed as a somewhat quaint western—a quietly sentimental rumination on friendship and loss. In his feature debut as a director, Arriaga presents The Burning Plain, the unraveling of which reveals nothing more than an old-fashioned melodrama.
At the outset, we are introduced to five main characters and what seem to be five separate stories. Sylvia (Charlize Theron) is a hostess at a fancy restaurant in Oregon and spends all her free time in bed with strange men. Santiago (Danny Pino) is a crop duster, who brings his daughter Maria (Tessa Ia) on trips with him. Gina (Kim Basinger) is an unhappy mother having an affair in New Mexico, where a young Mexican boy grows interested in her teenage daughter. And there’s the bonus sixth story of why a mobile home is on fire in the middle of the desert. Eventually, they’re all going to come together, but revealing how and when would be spoiling the fun.
Yes, fun.
I absolutely loved putting the pieces of the story together; the film’s disjointed narrative functions as a mystery and I refused to let the truth be unveiled before I could figure it out for myself. Who’s going to meet who? Which part happened first? Oh boy!
Of course, this approach to the film isn’t going to work for everyone, and for the rest of you, the individual scenes perform admirably enough on their own to be worth watching—even if you have no idea why you’re watching them. The acting is commendable, most distinctly in Charlize Theron and young newcomer Jennifer Lawrence, both playing women hell-bent on escaping their respective sins. Visually, Arriaga wrenches the most out of the New Mexico landscape by employing frequent P.T. Anderson cinematographer Robert Elswit, and Oregon is suitably dreary. There’s no doubt, the film looks good.
Where The Burning Plain starts to falter is when all the pieces connect—the puzzle you worked so hard to put together lays solved on the table, and you realize: this isn’t the Sistine Chapel on the box; it's just a picture of McDonald’s. A third act wrought with tired clichés such as hospital bed confessions and teary-eyed apologies betray the often subtle nature of the rest of the film. Arriaga has gussied up a rather bland drama of guilt and tragedy by concealing its histrionic nature until the last third of the film. While such a ‘cheat’ is not uncommon to his oeuvre, this marks the first time the talented writer’s style has overshadowed the actual writing, leaving us with a sour taste and a film that ultimately disappoints.
Cross-published on Twitch.
There are many breathtaking, enduring images in The Road. I suppose that's largely what the film is: a succession of breathtaking images. Director John Hillcoat has created an utterly convincing presentation of what the world would look like after a major, earth-crippling disaster—the trees are burnt black, the buildings vacant and ominous and no one is around for miles. Everything feels chilly and desolate, and the tone of the movie is grim. I'm not sure this is one for the Thanksgiving crowds.
Life in the post-apocalyptic world is bleak, and the terrors that the pair encounter are unique to a world dismantled. Confronting thieves and cannibals, Hillcoat's camerawork is open and lingering, but his refusal to shy away from the horrors of the road never feels like exploitation for shock, instead it gives the film room to breathe and creates a rhythmic pacing. Those looking for an explosive action film ought to look elsewhere, there is no bombast in these encounters. Facing death is just another day on the road.
All the memorable scenes from Cormac McCarthy's book are intact, so fans of the book who cried foul at some deviating images in the trailer can stop sharpening their knives. There are a few extended moments with the boy's mother—possibly to give more screen time to Charlize Theron—but, they are short and add nicely to the narrative. Viggo Mortensen impressively throws himself into his roles and his performance in The Road is no exception. His body is frail and filthy and he has no movie-star qualms about appearing ugly in front of the camera. Aside from the man himself, the wonderful cast of supporting players includes Robert Duvall, Guy Pearce, Garrett Dillahunt and Michael K. Williams, some of whom are truly unrecognizable under their makeup and the filth that covers everything in the film.
The Road is meandering and depressing, no arguments there, but so was Cormac McCarthy's book. What father and son will find when the reach the coast they don't know, but can anything really change in a world like this? What matters is a father's love for his son and the lengths he is willing to go to make sure his son lives a life of purpose. The son once mumbles under his breath that he wishes he were dead. Aghast, his father tells the boy he must never say that; there is always hope. Will audiences find the hope in The Road underneath all its grime?
