Review
by Pamela Zoslov
J.C.
Chandor is a filmmaker who seems to have something to say, but who
says it in a remarkably inarticulate way. The ultimate expression of
this was ALL IS LOST, Chandor's nearly wordless film that
featured Robert Redford adrift in his sinking yacht. Tedious though
it was, that film at least spared us the leaden dialogue that
characterized his debut, MARGIN CALL, a would-be GLENGARRY GLEN ROSS
about the financial industry.
Chandor's
new film, A MOST VIOLENT YEAR, finds him again in the business
world, this time 1981 New York City (Chandor is the son of an investment
banker). At the center of the drama is Abel Morales, the ambitious
Mexican-born head of a successful heating-oil business. Although he
has the demeanor, pompadour, and expensive tailoring of a Mob boss,
his ethics are impeccable. (Even his name – “morals” –
reflects his probity and Chandor's literalness.) “I run a fair and
clean business. I have never taken anything from everybody,”
Morales asserts, though he seems to have purchased the business from
the father of his Mob-connected wife Anna (Jessica Chastain), whose
long, manicured talons look poised to draw blood. Anna keeps the
books for the business, cooking them when necessary. She defends her
husband as “an honorable man” but alternately calls him “a
pussy” when he refuses to carry a gun.
Above
the opening titles is Marvin Gaye's “Inner City Blues,” inspiring
hope for a portrait of gritty early-'80s New York. Not so: the
urban milieu is scarcely evoked, except for some clunky dialogue
about how violent things are in the city. There are period-correct
cars, but the costumes and décor don't particularly evoke the era
(or any era). Chandor doesn't seem interested in establishing
context; his films are like little terrariums.
Violence
erupts when one of Morales' delivery trucks is hijacked. His trusted
driver Julio (Elyes Gabel), a fellow immigrant, endures a brutal
pistol-whipping that lands him in the hospital. The menace escalates
as Morales discovers an armed prowler lurking outside his mansion.
The culprits could be any one of Morales' envious competitors, but
the movie isn't a whodunit or even a “whydunit,” but a morality
play about ruthless ambition and the American Dream.
Albert
Brooks appears as Andrew Walsh, Morales' loyal attorney. Wearing
patrician hair (straight and center-parted) that makes him resemble
Vanity Fair editor Graydon Carter, the comedian-actor is
quietly effective.
Morales
is working to complete the purchase of a waterfront property for his
new terminal and greatly expand his business. The deal is imperiled
by the hijackings and a District Attorney's investigation of his
company for financial improprieties. The bank, which has guaranteed
his previous loans, threatens to pull out. Will he or won't he close
the deal? That seems to be the source of the suspense, a reed too
slender to support a thriller.
The thrills, unfortunately, reside mostly in Chandor's mind. Aside from
the sad story of Morales' frightened driver, whom Morales encourages
to get back behind the wheel, there's not much here, though
everything is presented in an improbably majestic manner. Isaac,
whose lead performance in the Coen brothers' INSIDE LLEWYN DAVIS
impressed me less than it did other critics, is unremarkable in a
role that calls for a charismatic Pacino type. So uninvolving is the
story that I found myself focusing on the hair, trying to decide, for
instance, if Isaacs' coif made him look more like Tony Curtis,
Liberace or The Sopranos' Johnny Sack. 2 out of 4 stars.
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