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#476 - Nocturnal Animals
Tom Ford, 2016
An art gallery owner receives a novel from her ex-husband and becomes disturbed by its tale of a family being terrorised by sadistic criminals.
These days, when I'm watching a film and can feel myself not liking specific filmmaking choices, I try to consciously ask myself why those particular choices don't work and even actively think about whether there's a way in which they do work that I'm not immediately grasping. A film like Nocturnal Animals definitely demands such a degree of critical thinking as it mounts a rather ambitious story-within-a-story narrative that takes a heavily stylised approach towards the divide between high and low art (which is instantly evident from an opening sequence that layers a dramatic orchestral score over a slow-motion montage of obese women dancing naked in an art gallery). It is this gallery's owner, Susan (Amy Adams), who serves as our ostensible protagonist. Though she is concerned about her gallery's faltering business and the fidelity of her current husband (Armie Hammer), these problems become less important once she receives a package in the mail from her ex-husband Edward (Jake Gyllenhaal). The package contains a copy of Edward's soon-to-be-published novel, which he claims was inspired by Susan herself. This lends an uncomfortable subtext to the plot of the novel itself, which sees family man Tony (Gyllenhaal again) driving his wife (Isla Fisher) and daughter (Ellie Bamber) cross-country only to encounter a gang of threatening low-lives. As the novel progresses into darker territory, Susan wonders exactly what Edward is trying to say both to and about her through this novel - so does the audience, but that's where Nocturnal Animals starts to come apart.
Considering how much importance Nocturnal Animals places on story as a concept, it is disappointing to notice flaws in the construction. This can be observed in the editing, not just when it becomes a distraction during individual scenes but also when it comes to alternating back and forth between Susan's plot and Tony's plot (especially when it comes to the former having multiple flashbacks to her own past or having encounters with multiple characters who only appear in one or two scenes each). There's also the matter of Edward being set up as an aspiring writer whose novel does play into tropes associated with revenge-driven potboilers, which tends to be a hindrance more so than a help. It may be able to mine its pulpy set-up for some moments of tension and decent characterisation (most notably through Michael Shannon's taciturn lawman) but it has trouble maintaining that strength and only grows more tedious as it progresses. While I may be willing to accept that this weakness could be a deliberate reflection of Edward's own shortcomings as a novelist, this only makes the ways in which it ties into Susan's own narrative especially questionable. The potentially deliberate weakness of Tony's plot can't help but feel like it negatively impacts upon Susan's plot, rendering emotionally-charged revelations anticlimactic and character interaction inert in the process. A subtle commentary on how damaging relationships can be in both the short and long term? Perhaps, though in this particular case it may have worked a little too well and undermined the film proper.
Even when I try to assess Nocturnal Animals on an artistic level more so than a narrative level, I still find myself questioning whether or not its actually accomplishes its particular goals. It definitely carves out different visual approaches for both narratives, with Susan's plot naturally emphasising stark post-modern aesthetics while Tony's plot showcases a grim neo-Western sensibility. Though there are moments of flourish here and there, it seems especially disappointing that it ends up looking so dull for the most part. I might even be willing to forgive the aforementioned editing issues if the film was able to compensate on a cinematographical level, but that doesn't seem to be the case here as it burns through both plots without any particular concern. This even extends to the performances themselves; Gyllenhaal in particular pulls double-duty and gets to emote a whole lot as either the idealistic Edward or the burnt-out Tony, though both characters end up feeling like they exist in a vacuum as little more than talking props for both narratives. Adams doesn't fare any better as she has to play another character who is barely maintaining a calm facade over inner turbulence, but that almost seems preferable to Gyllenhaal's grand-standing. Other characters frequently get exposed for the stock characters that they are, whether by design or not; Shannon is a treat as always even as he plays such a straightforward frontier justice role, whereas Aaron Taylor-Johnson has to make do with playing a by-the-numbers white-trash villain. Those are just the characters that make a significant difference to the story; while this film will understandably invite comparisons to the films of David Lynch, to me the most Lynchian thing about this movie is that Ford also has a habit of casting famous faces in brief, semi-forgettable scenes (with the most notable example involving Laura Linney popping up in one scene as Sarah's snobby mother).
Nocturnal Animals is a strange little beast of a film that constantly seems like it's on the verge of tearing itself apart completely but never manages to do so. It is polished in certain areas while seeming notably sloppy in others. There's enough of a sense of purpose that you can sort of forgive the ways in which certain set-ups don't seem to go anywhere (such as the extremely sudden introduction of upper-class eccentrics played by Andrea Riseborough and Michael Sheen), but more often than not the sense that I'm missing something special about this film is vastly overshadowed by the suspicion that there's not all that much going on here anyway. The film feels like the sort of semi-abstract artwork that you have to mull over a bit in order to form a proper opinion about, which I suppose can be considered a strength; however, this just begs the question as to how much you can consciously interpret a film's overt weaknesses as hidden strengths before you're just trying too hard to convince yourself that the film you watched was genuinely worth your attention. Nevertheless, I feel like there may actually be a degree of nuance to Nocturnal Animals that I may not be perceiving after a single viewing and a relatively detailed review that is more about processing my own thoughts than encompassing the film for others. Given its focus on how even the pulpiest of fiction can affect one's own thoughts and perspectives, I'd like to think that there's more to it but also can't help but feel that its inability to make any significantly immediate connection with me may ultimately scupper its apparent thesis.
Tom Ford, 2016
An art gallery owner receives a novel from her ex-husband and becomes disturbed by its tale of a family being terrorised by sadistic criminals.
These days, when I'm watching a film and can feel myself not liking specific filmmaking choices, I try to consciously ask myself why those particular choices don't work and even actively think about whether there's a way in which they do work that I'm not immediately grasping. A film like Nocturnal Animals definitely demands such a degree of critical thinking as it mounts a rather ambitious story-within-a-story narrative that takes a heavily stylised approach towards the divide between high and low art (which is instantly evident from an opening sequence that layers a dramatic orchestral score over a slow-motion montage of obese women dancing naked in an art gallery). It is this gallery's owner, Susan (Amy Adams), who serves as our ostensible protagonist. Though she is concerned about her gallery's faltering business and the fidelity of her current husband (Armie Hammer), these problems become less important once she receives a package in the mail from her ex-husband Edward (Jake Gyllenhaal). The package contains a copy of Edward's soon-to-be-published novel, which he claims was inspired by Susan herself. This lends an uncomfortable subtext to the plot of the novel itself, which sees family man Tony (Gyllenhaal again) driving his wife (Isla Fisher) and daughter (Ellie Bamber) cross-country only to encounter a gang of threatening low-lives. As the novel progresses into darker territory, Susan wonders exactly what Edward is trying to say both to and about her through this novel - so does the audience, but that's where Nocturnal Animals starts to come apart.
Considering how much importance Nocturnal Animals places on story as a concept, it is disappointing to notice flaws in the construction. This can be observed in the editing, not just when it becomes a distraction during individual scenes but also when it comes to alternating back and forth between Susan's plot and Tony's plot (especially when it comes to the former having multiple flashbacks to her own past or having encounters with multiple characters who only appear in one or two scenes each). There's also the matter of Edward being set up as an aspiring writer whose novel does play into tropes associated with revenge-driven potboilers, which tends to be a hindrance more so than a help. It may be able to mine its pulpy set-up for some moments of tension and decent characterisation (most notably through Michael Shannon's taciturn lawman) but it has trouble maintaining that strength and only grows more tedious as it progresses. While I may be willing to accept that this weakness could be a deliberate reflection of Edward's own shortcomings as a novelist, this only makes the ways in which it ties into Susan's own narrative especially questionable. The potentially deliberate weakness of Tony's plot can't help but feel like it negatively impacts upon Susan's plot, rendering emotionally-charged revelations anticlimactic and character interaction inert in the process. A subtle commentary on how damaging relationships can be in both the short and long term? Perhaps, though in this particular case it may have worked a little too well and undermined the film proper.
Even when I try to assess Nocturnal Animals on an artistic level more so than a narrative level, I still find myself questioning whether or not its actually accomplishes its particular goals. It definitely carves out different visual approaches for both narratives, with Susan's plot naturally emphasising stark post-modern aesthetics while Tony's plot showcases a grim neo-Western sensibility. Though there are moments of flourish here and there, it seems especially disappointing that it ends up looking so dull for the most part. I might even be willing to forgive the aforementioned editing issues if the film was able to compensate on a cinematographical level, but that doesn't seem to be the case here as it burns through both plots without any particular concern. This even extends to the performances themselves; Gyllenhaal in particular pulls double-duty and gets to emote a whole lot as either the idealistic Edward or the burnt-out Tony, though both characters end up feeling like they exist in a vacuum as little more than talking props for both narratives. Adams doesn't fare any better as she has to play another character who is barely maintaining a calm facade over inner turbulence, but that almost seems preferable to Gyllenhaal's grand-standing. Other characters frequently get exposed for the stock characters that they are, whether by design or not; Shannon is a treat as always even as he plays such a straightforward frontier justice role, whereas Aaron Taylor-Johnson has to make do with playing a by-the-numbers white-trash villain. Those are just the characters that make a significant difference to the story; while this film will understandably invite comparisons to the films of David Lynch, to me the most Lynchian thing about this movie is that Ford also has a habit of casting famous faces in brief, semi-forgettable scenes (with the most notable example involving Laura Linney popping up in one scene as Sarah's snobby mother).
Nocturnal Animals is a strange little beast of a film that constantly seems like it's on the verge of tearing itself apart completely but never manages to do so. It is polished in certain areas while seeming notably sloppy in others. There's enough of a sense of purpose that you can sort of forgive the ways in which certain set-ups don't seem to go anywhere (such as the extremely sudden introduction of upper-class eccentrics played by Andrea Riseborough and Michael Sheen), but more often than not the sense that I'm missing something special about this film is vastly overshadowed by the suspicion that there's not all that much going on here anyway. The film feels like the sort of semi-abstract artwork that you have to mull over a bit in order to form a proper opinion about, which I suppose can be considered a strength; however, this just begs the question as to how much you can consciously interpret a film's overt weaknesses as hidden strengths before you're just trying too hard to convince yourself that the film you watched was genuinely worth your attention. Nevertheless, I feel like there may actually be a degree of nuance to Nocturnal Animals that I may not be perceiving after a single viewing and a relatively detailed review that is more about processing my own thoughts than encompassing the film for others. Given its focus on how even the pulpiest of fiction can affect one's own thoughts and perspectives, I'd like to think that there's more to it but also can't help but feel that its inability to make any significantly immediate connection with me may ultimately scupper its apparent thesis.