The first and third features from English filmmaker J Blakeson, who most certainly has a partiality for dark and queer characters. TDoAC is a three-person hostage thriller shot on a shoestring, in the mode of William Wyler’s THE COLLECTOR (1965), only more ascetic and messier.
The titular Alice Creed (Arterton) is a rich daddy’s girl, who is kidnapped by two ex-convicts Danny (Compston) and Vic (Marsan), things would go peachy for everyone had it not been the fact that Danny is Alice’s ex-boyfriend, and once this cardinal information is divulged, the whole shebang veers to murkier waters as viewers cannot ascertain who among the three would be the victor, each one seems to an unknown quantity.
The craft on show is adroit, the opening wordless sequences are neat and bracing shot and edited, they smooth the way for audience to gear up for what it is coming - a typical hostage situation set in a single, drab location, where a voluptuous Arterton has to undergo some roughhousing, being gagged, tied, undressed (the usual suspects of S&M fantasy), redressed, and later choked and slapped, but most humiliating of it all, urinating to a bedpan in front of two masked kidnappers.
Well, Blakeson does not actually go to extremes on the path to a torture porn, instead he manipulates various plot twists in a canny way that each time, when a character achieves some sort leverage, the table will be turned in a trice. Also, the fluidity of sexuality plays a major part in the double-cross/counter-double-cross gamesmanship, can sweet nothings soften the gun barrel pointing at your face? Twice out of three you might not luck out.
The long and short of it, TDoAC is an absorbing debut feature mines brilliantly into its meager resource and the outstanding performances from its three players. Can a cowing Eddie Marsan transform himself into a meek lover? You must see for yourself; whereas Martin Compston portrays Danny’s bisexual oscillation with adequacy and Arterton goes for broke in her birthday suit, when all is said and done, countering to what its title alludes to, “disappearance” could be a blessing in disguise.
However, in I CARE A LOT, a Rosamund Pike’s feminist vehicle, Blakeson’s irony and sarcasm goes pitch black. Pike plays a ruthless con woman Marla Grayson, who operates a company legally acquiring the guardianship of elderly people through a duplicitous scheme (often assisted by unscrupulous doctors and inane judges), so their assets are completely at her disposal (though on the face of it, the juridical procedures feel rather facile).
Her gravy train hits a snag when she milks a wrong cow, Jennifer Peterson (a nonplussed then fuming Wiest is always a corker), the apparently perfect candidate, affluent, childless, all alone in the world, actually has a formable friend at court, the Russian mafia boss Roman Lunyov (Dinklage). So when the gloves are off, it is Marla and her girlfriend Fran (González) versus the murderous gangsters, do they have a chance? Or, shall we care?
The answer is yes and no, the ineptitude of Roman’s riffraff is astonishingly shocking (what can you say? they botch not one but two cases of snuffing a defenseless, unconscious woman!), and Marla is depicted as an amoral overachiever, a stony-faced ballbuster, a totally unregenerate bitch (not a scintilla of remorse can be traced on her face), ergo, that really puts audience off from empathizing with her, save for the pungent disgust towards the American Dream she is spoiling for.
If its paint-by-number predator/prey dichotomy sounds trite, its David and Goliath tale seems incredulous and oversimplified, what saves I CARE A LOT from heading to the abyss is Pike. Tricked out in fetching attire and unflappable towards any threats shot at her from the other sex, her Marla is “Amazing Amy” with a vengeance and irrefragably batting for the other team (her affection for Fran is genuine, a viewer might second-guess Marla’s unspecified backstory, how her reprehensible carapace could be the outgrowth of the malefic influence inflicted by the world at large, and Fran’s female warmth becomes her only safe haven). Even in the absence of cordial redeeming feats, it is still riveting to watch Pike’s Marla in action, her fearlessness is both scary and inspiring, you hate her guts but also crave for her guts (or maybe just a part of) ambivalence is here to stay.
At last, Blakeson plumps for poetic justice to put paid to Marla’s unstoppable ascension (can it be construed as a veiled pro-gun testimony? In the United States, the only way for a poor, miserable guy to seek justice from a powerful woman is to use anti-personnel weaponry, how reassuring!), but it feels bathetic, unlike Martin Scorsese’s THE WOLF OF WALL STREET (2013), Blakeson doesn’t know how to dream up a proper coda for a repulsive character, he settles for the safest exit strategy, since everything in I CARE A LOT is Manichaean.
Elsewhere, a debonair Messina lights up the screen as an unethical, soigné lawyer who tries and fails to railroad Marla into dancing to his tunes; Dinklage is always an atypical screen magnet, here his surly temperament is a good match with Pike’s posh sharpness. From TDoAC to I CARE A LOT, the production design goes from drab to hip, Marc Canham’s hypnotic electronic buzz swells and intensifies, but Blakeson’s script and imagination seems to be impeded by a bigger scale and more handsome budget, is it the downside of the money monster?
referential entries: William Wyler’s THE COLLECTOR (1965, 8.0/10); Martin Scorsese’s THE WOLF OF WALL STREET (2013, 8.0/10).
Title: The Disappearance of Alice Creed
Year: 2009
Country: UK
Language: English
Genre: Crime, Thriller
Director/Screenwriter: J Blakeson
Music: Marc Canham
Cinematography: Philipp Blaubach
Editing: Mark Eckersley
Cast:
Gemma Arterton
Martin Compston
Eddie Marsan
Rating: 6.9/10
Title: I Care a Lot
Year: 2020
Country: USA, UK
Language: English
Genre: Comedy, Crime, Thriller
Director/Screenwriter: J Blakeson
Music: Marc Canham
Cinematography: Doug Emmett
Editing: Mark Eckersley
Cast:
Rosamund Pike
Peter Dinklage
Eiza González
Dianne Wiest
Chris Messina
Isiah Whitlock Jr.
Damian Young
Nicholas Logan
Alicia Witt
Macon Blair
Celeste Oliva
Rating: 6.4/10
