October 9, 2003

I’ve not been writing about Mystic River for what feels like a long time now…

At first, it was an embargo issue. But even with the green light to write, I haven’t quite been able to formulate a position on the film in my own mind. My instinctual reaction was that it was quite good. But as much as any movie in recent years, Mystic River is a movie that I feel I need to see a second time to get a handle on. Unlike Matrix Reloaded, it’s not because of information overload. This film is intimate and clear. But it rides the emotional terrain like one of those NASA moon buggies from the Apollo missions. Unfortunately, the studio didn't screen the movie freely after its premiere in Cannes more than four months ago. So after I saw it, I had only one chance to see it again and I was obligated to another film. So be it.

Clint Eastwood is one of my favorite directors. His films tend to look like him… tall, lean and a little distant, with hints of muscle and fatigue. His distance as a director allows his actors to go somewhere darker and more emotional than most filmmakers could allow. Somehow, what might be seen as scenery chewing in another director’s film feels very real in Eastwood’s world. It’s no coincidence that Forest Whitaker’s best performances ever are in an Eastwood (Bird), a Scorsese (The Color of Money) and a Jarmusch (Ghost Dog). It’s not that other directors aren’t talented or that Whitaker’s skills ebb and flow. These directors set the table with such simple confidence that the actor is like a baby in a cradle, able to do the work in safety.

In Mystic River, Eastwood brings God to the party. At first, you’re not sure why we are getting God’s soft-eyed, but omniscient point-of-view shots. But after a while, it starts to make sense. All the world is a stage and we are but players. We are brought into the three lives of these three men (Sean Penn, Tim Robbins, Kevin Bacon) and it is such a myopic world that it’s a little startling when Kevin Bacon’s character’s wife/girlfriend calls in from outside this little Boston bubble they have going. He has, to some degree, escaped. But for most of this movie, he is right back in the bubble with his two childhood friends.

Penn’s Jimmy and Robbins’ Dave have never left. And while they have grown up, they have never really left their childhood roles. Jimmy is the tough guy leader, his heart softened by his love for his children, but still a tough guy. Dave is the born victim. As you will see in the first frames of the film… he’s the one who got in the car. It is one of the tough things about film, that it makes you consider the balance of choice and natural selection. It’s more than which child is selected to be victimized. It is the entire lives of these boys/men. It is the women they choose to be with… how they react to the world… how they seek their balance. Interesting stuff.

What is challenging here is that so much of the narrative drive is made up of things that feel inevitable. I’m not giving anything up that hasn’t been in the TV spots by saying that the “inciting event” is that someone is murdered. Well, the long road to what feels inevitable in the movie, even before I saw the ads, is a style choice that really pushes the audience. It is almost as though it’s happening in real time, although intuitively the audience knows that it is really just the start of the journey. But Eastwood will not be rushed.

As we go down the road… as Jimmy tries to stay calm as the searches for the killer slowly move along… and Dave tries to be a good friend to Jimmy… as Bacon’s Sean does the work of a cop… Eastwood’s rhythms keep telling us that these men are stuck in the inevitable. There is no escape. It will all play out the way it’s going to play out and it really is bigger than all of them. God is watching. Not laughing… but not getting in the way either.

In the end, without giving any story away, the roles of each boy/man is twisted beyond what seems reasonable. And yet, it all somehow fits. It is all somehow true. It is all somehow inevitable. And that is the power of this piece.

I don’t know if I can fathom the reviews that say that this is Eastwood’s best film or calling it a masterpiece. I would put both Bird and Unforgiven ahead of Mystic River, simply because they are so much more rangy in the examination of humanity in my eyes. Bird’s look at genius and addiction and race and the natural imbalance of relationships is still a spectacular achievement. Eastwood’s William Munny, a truly black & white character in a world filled with grays, and the insight into the nature of men’s weakness and strength makes Unforgiven, for me, the most challenging and powerful popular films in a long, long time.

Eastwood makes films about men. Women tend to be strong side players. Diane Venora was great in Bird, but the only real female lead in any of Eastwood’s film was Francesca in The Bridges of Madison County… and Eastwood needed an actress as singularly iconic as Meryl Streep to pull it off. Mystic River is no different. The women of this film, including Emmy Rossum, who plays Penn’s young daughter, are beautifully cast and give it their all. Laura Linney gets to have one great speech and the gas slowly leaks out of Marcia Gay Harden’s balloon throughout the film. Fine work.

But the movie is the men. Kevin Bacon has the thankless job of playing the marshmallow that is still looking for some kind of justice in the world. He does good work. But he doesn’t have the role. Sean Penn has the role and he couldn’t really be any better… it’s almost inconceivable. It’s a tough performance to watch as a guy, because for all of his love for his daughter, this is not a great guy. And he is in intense emotional pain throughout. You know how guys feel about showing emotion. Tim Robbins is, somehow, even better though. He is the biggest of the men physically by a significant degree, but he carries his victimization in his shoulders, so much so that you can feel it watching him walk down the street before you even see his face. The restraint and nuance in his work is simply breathtaking at times. The layers that he has to pull off in order to keep the story structure from falling apart are extreme. But every ambiguity is there in is face, in his hands, in his body. Oscar nominations for Penn and Robbins should be locked in.

I still want to see Mystic River again to see how I feel afterwards. Because for as much of a whodunit as it is, it is really a movie about emotion and relationships. I can’t say that I came out of the film as excited as I was by Lost In Translation or 21 Grams or even Elf (God, I loved Elf!), but the film has stayed with me and when I think of it, I still have a visceral reaction. It’s a movie that somehow feels like you are supposed to walk out of the theater and see your own breath in the cold air, walking down the street of a big eastern city, desperate for a good cup of coffee and a piece of pie… just letting it all settle in. And then going home and laying in bed with someone you love, sharing warmth of all kinds, as the camera pulls back into God’s P.O.V. on your own small life.

READER OF THE DAY: SALT LAKE JOHNNY writes: “Why is it whenever someone is disappointed in a movie, particularly a big-budget movie, it's not a disappointment, it's a huge gigantic failure. It's a worthless steaming pile of crap. Seriously, ever notice how it's all crap, it's all feces out there? You can like or dislike a movie, but more and more fanboys argue like they're a partisan on a news show. Anaheimer is like a Federalist who found the Matrix to be Whig so he hates everything about it, whereas Kill Bill is like a Federalist so he's playing spin-doctor and attacking the messenger before he's even seen it because Kill Bill is from his party.

Some people liked The Matrix Reloaded. I didn't love it, but I liked it. Jeez, I got hate mail when Entertainment Weekly printed my letter saying that Attack of the Clones can't be considered a box-office failure when it grossed over $300 million. Where does the vitriol come from? Is it just more road rage on the information highway? The way it's going, I can just see in ten or fifteen years, some psycho fan trying to kill a director because "his movies suck."

E ME: Hmmm… who gets killed first?