Tag Archives: Joe Cole

Sea Shanty

The Damned

by Hope Madden

“It’s no ghost. It’s worse than that.”

Eva (Odessa Young) carries the weight of the 19th century Icelandic fishing outpost’s success since the death of her husband Magnus last season. When she and her crew see a foreign ship sinking not far off the coast, the decision to try to save them—and risk her own men’s lives in the immediate as well as the near future, given the sparsity of rations—falls to her.

She and this tiny, desperate community—isolated and unlikely to endure the winter—make a series of choices. With each they weigh their own survival against the needs of others, but each successive decision is less and less noble. While none is unrealistic, perhaps not even unreasonable, the result leaves the group dangerously torn apart from the inside.

The Damned director Thordur Palsson’s nightmare bears a resemblance to John Carpenter’s masterpiece, The Thing. Desperate, wintery isolation fosters paranoia, and soon it’s hard to tell what’s real and what isn’t, but everything seems supernaturally sinister.

Young’s conflicted turn, balancing stoic strength and resignation sometimes in the same moment, becomes the film’s the gravitational pull. The rest of the ensemble delivers memorable characters in what could easily have been one-dimensional archetypes. Joe Cole’s work is particularly subtle and moving.

Powerful as the performances are, every scene is stolen by the formidable Icelandic seascape—beautiful, terrible and haunting every moment.

Palsson, who co-writes with Jamie Hannigan, develops a parable—a cautionary tale, really—about shame, guilt and grief. Something evil seems to be afoot. Food goes missing, a body disappears, and little by little, members of the community see horrible things. Is this horror the manifestation of a guilty conscience shared by an isolated community, or is it the supernatural?  

A subtle but palpable dread wonders whether it’s Eva’s decision making that’s brought this on; whether Magnus would have chosen differently when faced with the unholy decision; whether it was, in fact, her desire to protect and nurture that brought their doom.

Or perhaps it was Magnus, who’d brought them out seeking the opportunity that awaited anyone who could bear the cold and hunger, who’d damned them all?

“The living are always more dangerous than the dead.”

Farewell Tour

Green Room

by George Wolf

The 2013 revenge thriller Blue Ruin heralded writer/director Jeremy Saulnier as a filmmaker bursting with the instincts and craftsmanship necessary to give familiar tropes new bite. In Green Room his color scheme is horror, and the finished work is equally suitable for framing.

Young punk band the Ain’t Rights is in desperate need of a paying gig, even if it is at a rough private club for the “boots and braces” crowd (i.e. white power skinheads). Bass guitarist Pat (Anton Yelchin) eschews social media promotion for the “time and aggression” of live shows, and when he accidentally witnesses a murder in the club’s makeshift green room, Pat and his band find plenty of both.

Along with concertgoer Amber (a terrific Imogen Poots), they’re held at gunpoint while the club manager (Macon Blair from Blue Ruin) fetches the mysterious Darcy (Patrick Stewart, gloriously grim) to sort things out. Though Darcy is full of calm reassurances, it quickly becomes clear the captives will have to fight for their lives.

As he did with Blue Ruin, Saulnier plunges unprepared characters into a world of casual savagery, finding out just what they have to offer in a nasty backwoods standoff.  It’s a path worn by Straw Dogs, Deliverance, and plenty more, but Saulnier again shows a knack for establishing his own thoughtful thumbprint. What Green Room lacks in depth, it makes up in commitment to genre.

He drapes the film in waves of thick, palpable tension, then punctures them with shocking bursts of gore and brutality. Things get plenty dark for the young punkers, and for us, as Saulnier often keeps light sources to a minimum, giving the frequent bloodletting an artful black-and-white quality which contrasts nicely with the symbolic red of certain shoelaces.

And yet, Saulnier manages to let some mischievous humor seep out, mainly by playing on generational stereotypes. Poots, barely recognizable under an extreme haircut and trucker outfit, has the most fun, never letting bloody murder alter Amber’s commitment to bored condescension. Love it.

Only a flirtation with contrivance keeps Green Room from classic status. It’s lean, mean, loud and grisly, and a ton of bloody fun.

Verdict-4-0-Stars