We Own the Night
November 6th 2009 03:21
Through four feature films, writer/director James Gray comes closest to disappointment in his third, 2007’s We Own the Night. We’re in Brooklyn, New York, 1988, and it feels like we’ve been here before, exploring two sides of the same coin. There’s Bobby Green (Joaquin Phoenix) a reckless nightclub manager with pretensions of shouldering up to serious players in the underworld now that the Russian mafia have muscled in.
In another part of the city, his brother Joe Grusinsky (Mark Wahlberg) is receiving a decoration for his work as a police officer from his father, Chief Burt Grusinsky (Robert Duvall). Bobby is the black sheep of the family, changing his name to dissuade curious strangers of his association with a force of men he’s never felt compelled to align himself with.
But the tides change and reasons to sway accrue; Joe’s hardline approach to the Russian invasion sees him targeted by their icy, unconscionable lynchpin, Vadim Nezhinski (Alex Veadov), whilst Bobby has a price on his head once his identity is inadvertently released, putting him under police protection.
Whereas Gray, out of necessity on a reduced scale, relied on his more instinctual storytelling gifts for the recent Two Lovers (2008), there’s a whiff of contrivance in We Own the Night; rather than provide tiny moments with subtle inflections, he resorts to grand operatic gestures to emphasise the rise and fall within this troubled family. Though there are strong ideas to be gleaned from the notion of redemption, they all fit a little too snugly into genre archetypes here.
Bobby’s transformation is a swift, not necessarily credible one. Early on, he’s a little too easy to dismiss, all waywardness and disrepect, propelled by hedonistic ways and a profiteer’s eye on his slick, condensed little version of the world with its easy access to drugs and a compliant girlfriend, Amada (Eva Mendes). When his sense of family is stirred by the imperiled life of Joe, a swift and neat transition to penitent son takes place; it’s a defining moment in which the dynamics of this family irrevocable shift, but can we really believe it?
Unified with his family, Bobby chooses a path that will negate Amada’s concerns whilst immersing him into the operation to track down Vadim, who naturally escapes police custody, and claim retribution - for his family, rather than society, it seems. Revenge becomes primary, justice secondary.
Though plagued by a faltering, familiar narrative that falls into a rut of conventional turns, Gray’s vivid cinematic sense still brings a few memorable scenes to life. The manipulation of sound gives Bobby’s tour of the Russians’ drug operations distinctively creepy undertones, leading to a brutal shootout; then there’s a brief but spectacular car chase, at night and in teeming rain, where the windshield wipers become the dominant sound, slicing away with metronomic precision against a selective soundtrack of gun blasts and incoherent bleating.
The film's opening montage of black and white stills of policeman from the era, which reveals the origin of the film's title, is a nice touch too.
Phoenix throws himself into the role of Bobby with his usual startling conviction, the tortured internal struggle becoming a trademark of his approach; however he’s not quite in the Brando class and the reserves of intensity he draws upon for key moments seem a little disproportionate to the scenes they accompany.
Wahlberg has strong presence as Joe, but it's an underwritten part; he's playing second string to Phoenix all the way, and his role is not dissimilar in tone to the one he earned such high praise for in The Departed (2006). Mendes, a severely limited actress in the first instance, gets the chance to morph from sexy vixen to doting, doe-eyed partner but she’s marginalized for the most part, not to the film’s detriment it must be said.
Eveything about the finale is anti-climatic, though Wojceich Kilar’s score, a series of dour, regal dirges, washes over Bobby’s unconvincing last stand with a conviction the screenplay can’t muster on its own.
As an unashamed, card-carrying member of the director's fan club I still confess to enjoying We Own the Night, even though, ultimately, it's a letdown considering the standard Gray has set with his other work, especially the masterful The Yards (2000). His portrayal of the strength of family ties is a gritty, impassioned one and his most important recurring theme. In the end, he’s saying, blood is thicker than water, no matter how much is spilt, and coming from such a strong cinematic voice, I won't disbelieve him.
In another part of the city, his brother Joe Grusinsky (Mark Wahlberg) is receiving a decoration for his work as a police officer from his father, Chief Burt Grusinsky (Robert Duvall). Bobby is the black sheep of the family, changing his name to dissuade curious strangers of his association with a force of men he’s never felt compelled to align himself with.
But the tides change and reasons to sway accrue; Joe’s hardline approach to the Russian invasion sees him targeted by their icy, unconscionable lynchpin, Vadim Nezhinski (Alex Veadov), whilst Bobby has a price on his head once his identity is inadvertently released, putting him under police protection.
Whereas Gray, out of necessity on a reduced scale, relied on his more instinctual storytelling gifts for the recent Two Lovers (2008), there’s a whiff of contrivance in We Own the Night; rather than provide tiny moments with subtle inflections, he resorts to grand operatic gestures to emphasise the rise and fall within this troubled family. Though there are strong ideas to be gleaned from the notion of redemption, they all fit a little too snugly into genre archetypes here.
Bobby’s transformation is a swift, not necessarily credible one. Early on, he’s a little too easy to dismiss, all waywardness and disrepect, propelled by hedonistic ways and a profiteer’s eye on his slick, condensed little version of the world with its easy access to drugs and a compliant girlfriend, Amada (Eva Mendes). When his sense of family is stirred by the imperiled life of Joe, a swift and neat transition to penitent son takes place; it’s a defining moment in which the dynamics of this family irrevocable shift, but can we really believe it?
Eva Mendes and Joaquin Phoenix as Amada and Bobby
Unified with his family, Bobby chooses a path that will negate Amada’s concerns whilst immersing him into the operation to track down Vadim, who naturally escapes police custody, and claim retribution - for his family, rather than society, it seems. Revenge becomes primary, justice secondary.
Though plagued by a faltering, familiar narrative that falls into a rut of conventional turns, Gray’s vivid cinematic sense still brings a few memorable scenes to life. The manipulation of sound gives Bobby’s tour of the Russians’ drug operations distinctively creepy undertones, leading to a brutal shootout; then there’s a brief but spectacular car chase, at night and in teeming rain, where the windshield wipers become the dominant sound, slicing away with metronomic precision against a selective soundtrack of gun blasts and incoherent bleating.
The film's opening montage of black and white stills of policeman from the era, which reveals the origin of the film's title, is a nice touch too.
Phoenix throws himself into the role of Bobby with his usual startling conviction, the tortured internal struggle becoming a trademark of his approach; however he’s not quite in the Brando class and the reserves of intensity he draws upon for key moments seem a little disproportionate to the scenes they accompany.
Mark Wahlberg as Joe
Wahlberg has strong presence as Joe, but it's an underwritten part; he's playing second string to Phoenix all the way, and his role is not dissimilar in tone to the one he earned such high praise for in The Departed (2006). Mendes, a severely limited actress in the first instance, gets the chance to morph from sexy vixen to doting, doe-eyed partner but she’s marginalized for the most part, not to the film’s detriment it must be said.
Eveything about the finale is anti-climatic, though Wojceich Kilar’s score, a series of dour, regal dirges, washes over Bobby’s unconvincing last stand with a conviction the screenplay can’t muster on its own.
As an unashamed, card-carrying member of the director's fan club I still confess to enjoying We Own the Night, even though, ultimately, it's a letdown considering the standard Gray has set with his other work, especially the masterful The Yards (2000). His portrayal of the strength of family ties is a gritty, impassioned one and his most important recurring theme. In the end, he’s saying, blood is thicker than water, no matter how much is spilt, and coming from such a strong cinematic voice, I won't disbelieve him.
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Comment by David O'Connell
on 2012: DESTRUCTION OF THE MASSES, FOR THE MASSES
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