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Marcus Schleinzer went straight from casting the dour-faced evil children of Michael Haneke's The White Ribbon to making a dour-faced evil pederast movie. There's an inappropriate comment to be made here but I'll save it for somebody with a stronger (i.e more inappropriate) constitution. Michael - and are we meant to connect the dots further between this movie's title and Schleinzer's former employer, or should I just quit with the terrible false equivalencies? - tells the story of a very plain fellow named Michael who lives a very plain life with a very plain job in a very plain suburb all while keeping a very plain ten-year old boy locked up in his very plain basement. For raping purposes, plainly.
It pushes a little bit too hard if you ask me at making this fellow Michael into "Someone Who Could Live Right Next Door To You!!!" - it's so concerned with making the everymonster into the everyman that some specificity's sacrificed; that's kind of my way of saying it gets a little boring, ninety minutes of watching them wash dishes in fluorescent lighting and then sneak off-screen for the bad stuff. I suppose that's the point - to horrify with the mundanity of this very real horror, but it's so skittish about its own purpose that it only succeeds in fits. It's just too meticulous in its presentation and artfulness for anything as ugly as real ugliness. It flinches from itself.
Still that's in keeping with its lead, and once the bubble bursts I was surprised to find myself gasping for that air - it had effectively lulled me into its awful little place enough by its final moments that getting out seemed vital enough to run, but nagging enough that you can't help but look back, suspecting a curse nipping at your heels. Ultimately it might land a couple of claw-marks, but it's not turning anybody to salt. (You can watch Michael on Netflix Instant.)
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Marcus Schleinzer went straight from casting the dour-faced evil children of Michael Haneke's The White Ribbon to making a dour-faced evil pederast movie. There's an inappropriate comment to be made here but I'll save it for somebody with a stronger (i.e more inappropriate) constitution. Michael - and are we meant to connect the dots further between this movie's title and Schleinzer's former employer, or should I just quit with the terrible false equivalencies? - tells the story of a very plain fellow named Michael who lives a very plain life with a very plain job in a very plain suburb all while keeping a very plain ten-year old boy locked up in his very plain basement. For raping purposes, plainly.
It pushes a little bit too hard if you ask me at making this fellow Michael into "Someone Who Could Live Right Next Door To You!!!" - it's so concerned with making the everymonster into the everyman that some specificity's sacrificed; that's kind of my way of saying it gets a little boring, ninety minutes of watching them wash dishes in fluorescent lighting and then sneak off-screen for the bad stuff. I suppose that's the point - to horrify with the mundanity of this very real horror, but it's so skittish about its own purpose that it only succeeds in fits. It's just too meticulous in its presentation and artfulness for anything as ugly as real ugliness. It flinches from itself.
Still that's in keeping with its lead, and once the bubble bursts I was surprised to find myself gasping for that air - it had effectively lulled me into its awful little place enough by its final moments that getting out seemed vital enough to run, but nagging enough that you can't help but look back, suspecting a curse nipping at your heels. Ultimately it might land a couple of claw-marks, but it's not turning anybody to salt. (You can watch Michael on Netflix Instant.)
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2 comments:
Ugh. That film annoyed me. A complete and utter lack of style being misinterpreted as style. Whereas when Haneke does this type of thing there is a a patern to it, a rhythm and you actually have to navigate the frame, here it was just *plonk camera down* *don't move it* *done* "ART!"
And it is yet another in an increasingly long line of films that do away with a third act. A third act that has the potential to be far more interesting than what came before.
Well said, Glenn. I was nicer to the film than I should have been, I think. It did unsettle me at times, though. But you're totally right about the end being where it really started to get interesting.
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