The Zero Theorem: Zero = 100%

Okay cards on the table first. Yes, Terry Gilliam's latest world of wonderful weirdness The Zero Theorem came out back in March, several weeks ago. You may also remember that it came out and screened in cinemas for about ten minutes before being shoved aside for the latest half-hearted Hunger Games/Twilight clone. But thanks to the good people at Bristol's Cube Cinema I was able to catch a screening last week, one well worth the trip to Stokes Croft.

I'm somewhat glad I was able to see this in the hindsight of Richard Ayoade's The Double because, while I mostly liked The Double, The Zero Theorem feels like the film it wants to be. A far more nuanced take on individuality built organically into the world of the film. And with a conclusion that offers a satisfying level of complexity for such a weighty subject.

The near-future of The Zero Theorem is one with an abundance of colour. Stark, neon colours carelessly plastered onto grey streets and glum people. Vibrant adverts register each member of the public, screaming offers of meaning at them yet acknowledge no one as an individual. The ostentatious aesthetics of Gilliam's world are embraced by people desperately seeking uniqueness, even if it is only an empty illusion.

The only one sharp to this is our protagonist Qohen Leth (Christoph Waltz) who despite his eccentricity and intellect knows he is not unique. He refers to himself with plural pronouns, dresses in the dreariest grey and is as bald as an unformed foetus. However despite his logical nature Qohen is a man of faith. Not religious faith, although living in a Christian Church, a monument to the original deification of the individual, suggests otherwise. Qohen has faith that a phone call is coming, not yet another cold call but one intended for him and him alone, one that will reveal his life's meaning.

Naturally then Qohen would prefer to work from home, which the shady spectre of 'Management' (Matt Damon) permits provided he can solve The Zero Theorem, a complex mathematical formula  that will determine if the universe is really for nothing. With Qohen at work it is a combination of Gilliam's absorbing direction of Waltz's frustrated performance that keep you watching. You'll be surprised how much sympathy can be wrought from watching a man fiddle with computer graphics on a screen but the aggressive anxiety of Qohen is both funny and sad. It helps of course that even the smallest prop is an oddity, adding an air of absurdity to an otherwise mundane narrative.

To break the flow of Qohen's misery comes the lascivious Bainsley (Melanie Thierry), a woman hired by Management to ease his mind via the virtual world. The chemistry between Waltz an Thierry is charming enough but it remains transparent throughout that this is an entirely artificial relationship. While Qohen is eventually willing to believe in it unfortunately we aren't. The relationship does crash in the end and it crashes hard, but had this been better built as something potentially genuine it might have resonated better with the audience.

The second interloper into Qohen's misery is Bob (Lucas Hedges), Management's teenage computer prodigy. Bob is the personification of individual potential, enormous talent with no clearly defined path even if the Orwellian Overloads are trying to pave one for him. Instead he indulges in base pleasures, lust and gluttony which eventually rubs of on Qohen. In many ways he is Qohen's opposite, seeing himself as individual while the rest of humanity is a nameless mass unworthy of the brain cells it would take to identify.

While Bainsley's influence on Qohen is intended to reinforce Qohen's worldview Bob eventually serves to break it. Forcing him to realise that his phone call is nothing but a delusion, that his life may truly be as meaningless as the universe itself. Bob's solution to the existential truth of reality is to placate himself with life's pleasures, to him his life has meaning. Managment's is entirely corporate, a business believes that nothing is for nothing as long as there is profit to be made. And for one brief moment Bainsley had found meaning in Qohen.

As Qohen's worldview and reality collapse around him it becomes clear that if existence does not matter then neither does agonising over it. The only meaning of any value to Qohen is that which he creates for himself. The film strands him in a virtual reality, or a dream it really no longer matters. But there he has control, he can create meaning, he can be one.

While there are some weaknesses to Qohen's story Gilliam's direction makes it feel like a seamless character journey. Flowing from scene to scene organically in a world which is both a visual joy and perfect reflection of the film's theme. Engaging, funny and poignant The Zero Theorem may not meet the success of it's spiritual predecessor Brazil but I feel it'll stand as one of the directors better works.

Calvary: Have the Father Dead jokes been done already?

Calvary is a film which showcases the best and worst traits of John Michael McDonagh's rising directorial talent. A funny, tensely paced black comedy with a protagonist both shar and endearing at its heart. A thought piece on the role of the Catholic Church in contemporary Ireland, the role of a good man in a world of cynicism. Possibly even, if the title is anything go by a rebelling of the story of Christ, though any disciples our protagonist might have are sorely absent.

The film blends dark humour with a foreboding sense of doom better than any film in recently memory. Practically a series of vignettes and a series with a killer opener (forgive me Father) at that. A sinister scene as Father James Lavelle (Brendan Gleeson) recieves a confessional from his future murderer. A promise to murder him next Sunday morning, for the collective sins of his church, with its dialogue dripping with contemptful remarks and blunt delivery. 

 Over the course of the week each new scene builds Father Lavelle's world and the dimensions to his character. His emotionally fragile daughter Fiona (Kelly Reilly) visiting from London following a suicide attempt. His fellow clergymen, one dismissively self-indulgent Bishop and an almost Dougal-esque fellow priest. And the ensemble of sinners in Lavelle's parish who provide much of the gallows humour. 

To this end McDonagh assembles a stellar cast of Irish actors, including Chris O'Dowd, Dylan Moran and Aiden Gillen (who Game of Thrones fans will recognise as Littlefinger). Considering the comic backgrounds of Moran and O'Dowd it's surprising how much menace can be squeezed out of each character. The entire cast gives each laugh a tense atmosphere knowing it could be coming from a potential murderer.

As the days countdown it becomes clear just how much vice permeates the village and how at odds Lavelle's good-nature is with the world around him. Sometimes the sins of the Catholic Church loom over the film like the rock of Benbulbin, other times they are thrown into dialogue like a shot in the face. Yet it seems even worse than that. These people have not simply lost faith in the church but in good people, in goodness itself. Perhaps that is McDonaghs real reasoning in setting out to kill Lavelle, destroying something pure so we can understand its value.

We may however never know as McDonangh is far too keen to encourage ambiguity over answers, more for artistic indulgence than anything genuine. Certain scenes and transitions seem edited in such a way to obscure perception to the point of seeming non sequitar at times. For example at one point Lavelle is boarding a plane intending to flee but changes his mind. But the next shot is simply Lavelle driving a car, with no indication that he's still in his own car returning to the village. It's a teething problem of rising directors, the understanding that establishing shots are not simply there to create atmosphere but to communicate story. Still it's none the less distracting.

At the end of the day though Calvary's biggest problem is a place where it matters most, the emotional stuff. Sure Father Lavelle is an endearing character, one most deserving of a happy ending but when it comes for the full emotional weight of the character the film simply doesn't pull it off like a punch to the gut. It's a variety of factors, while the wit is razor sharp the dramatic dialogue can be so cliche as to break immersion. Plus aforementioned ambiguity to Lavelle's decision means that while it's something we can understand it's not something we can crucially feel.

Calvary is a good film that flies close to greatness. Being at once a thoughtful character piece, commentary on a wealth of religious and social issues and one of the best black comedies of the year should be an accomplishment in itself. Unfortunately it can't tie all of it together we'll enough to rise above.

SPOILER WARNING

Another of the film's issues, which I feel is going to make or break the film for most, ties back to the issue of ambiguity but relates to important plot information that I didn't feel belonged in the whole review. So this part is staying separate for the benefit of anyone who reads this but is still interested in seeing the film.

So Father Lavelle arrives at the beach Sunday moning as instructed and is met by...Chris O'Dowd. Seriously, that's it. The film spends over ninety minutes teasing most of the village's men with this 'whodunit in potentia' only to seemingly pick one candidate at random. Undermining much of the emotional weight of everything the film has been building towards. But even after he pulls the trigger it's not over.

Sometime later we see O'Dowd receiving a visitor in prison, Fiona, who doesn't say anything but cries a little. Now there are two options as to what this means, either she was visiting to speak to O'Dowd, trying to gain understanding of what he did and see if she could forgive. Or the more interesting option, that she was visiting to confirm that he had done as instructed. That she had arranged her father to be killed and potentially had been the voice in the confessional simply using O'Dowd as a mouthpiece. 

This doesn't change the impact or quality of the film of course but it does bring new perspective to the scenes between Fiona and her dad. The idea that this wasn't simply a post-suicide visit but Fiona's final attempt to reconcile her issues with her father and the church which he now belongs to. Interesting but in the end only my personal speculation.

Ayoade Doubles Down on Success

When Richard Ayoade made his directorial debut with Submarine there was some truth to the revelation among critics that suddenly Moss from The IT Crowd was the next Wes Anderson. In addition to the emphasis on all the quaint, twee aesthetics of 1980s Welsh domesticity there was a nakedly unreal quality reminiscent of Anderson's work. In the case of Submarine it was highlighting its own unreality through the narrative framework of a diegetic biographical film seen from the protagonist, Oliver's, perspective.

In The Double however there's no symbiosis between the theme at play and the aesthetic quirkiness for which the film is likely to be noted for. Ayoade constructs a dreary world of wage-slave drudgery made up of clunky, beige machinery and harsh, blaring sound effects. But it's an incidental element this time not a part of its DNA and its presence can become something of a distraction. Admittedly t not as big a distraction as playing Spot the Jobbing British Actor as Ayoade reunites Submarine cast members Sally Hawkins, Noah Taylor, Craig Roberts, Paddy Considine and Yasmin Paige among others.

The film retains only the bones of the Dostoyevsky novel of the same name as office drone Simon James (Jesse Eisenberg) descends into madness upon the appearance of his doppelgänger James Simon (also Eisenberg). Even before the titular double enters the scene Simon finds himself losing proof of his identity. Acknowledged by virtually no one save angelic love object Hannah (Mia Wasikowska) the appearance of James more exacerbates an existing problem that the film spends the first third establishing.

Yes it has to be said that The Double starts off slow, to the point where it seems Jessie Eisenberg won't be able to carry the whole film. But as soon as Jessie Eisenberg shows up then the film gains whole new life. The chemistry between Eisenberg and Eisenberg is electrifying with Eisenberg's meek romantic a perfect foil for Eisenberg's sexually charged slacker.

Okay, in all seriousness Eisenberg nails both roles. Simon James and James Simon are dead-on visual representations of a talented actor's two major comedy personas. The former being the kind of pitiable Michael Cera-esque sad sack we've always known Eisenberg can perform in his sleep. As his more extroverted self though he's a rapid-fire Id, shooting off lines so fast it takes a moment to register that he's said something hilariously horrible. Providing the films biggest laughs in contrast to the stilted, apathetic British humour that permeates the rest of the film. 

That the film manages to maintain its comedic nature as the story veers into more dramatic and darker territory is a blessing. Though it clearly struggles at times, making ill-advised ventures into physical comedy that can't stick the landing. As his loss of identity grows and grows at the hands of James' machination Eisenberg's desperation comes to the fore. His position as the universe's whipping boy, a place where the film once found laughs, becomes a profound tragedy.

If only the same could be said of the ending. The film systematically eliminates the things which define Simon's identity; his appearance, his job, the people he cares about but has little to say about the concept itself. Our desire for identity is something that comes from our society, an overpopulated, over-bureaucratised world of drudgery where our own contribution can seem insignificant. The solution to the loss of this should be more than taking it back even if it is the most efficient for a visual medium.

A shallow ending should not put one off The Double however. It's a visually unique, funny and affecting film. A stand-out duel performance from Eisenberg and proof that Richard Ayoade will be a figure in British film for a while.