Post by stephen on Aug 1, 2018 22:17:07 GMT
Paddy Considine’s sophomore film may not bear the animal brutality of Tyrannosaur on its sleeve, but its knuckles are bloody all the same.
Journeyman is the story about a world-champ slugger who, after narrowly winning the fight of his career, suddenly finds himself in the fight of his life. Considine directs himself in what may be the performance of his lifetime, portraying a man utterly laid low by a monstrous injury and who must struggle to not just recuperate physically, but also piece together the shattered glass of his own memories and re-forge his personality. It’s remarkable how much this film reminded me of Chloe Zhao’s impeccable The Rider from earlier this year, which also dealt with the devastating effects of brain trauma. As a director, Considine’s approach isn’t quite as invasive or as painterly as Zhao’s, but his exploration of a ruined man whose condition has made him somewhat radioactive to others is heartbreaking to behold. As an actor, it increases tenfold; the way that he navigates between near-childlike helplessness to explosive violence is like watching a high-wire act in a storm.
With his last two films, Considine has explored not only the fragility of masculinity, but also the indomitability of women. In Journeyman, Jodie Whittaker does so much to counterbalance Considine’s tormented turn. You can feel the love she has for her husband, but also the frustration, the terror, the grief—and, ultimately, the need to make a terrible choice. It’s gripping work indeed to watch.
Considine’s film doesn’t have the operatic poetry of Scorsese’s Raging Bull, but his direction nevertheless packs the sort of neck-cracking wallop that leaves your ears ringing for hours afterward. Its ending might be a bit too tidy for my liking, but it doesn’t feel any less earned.
Journeyman is the story about a world-champ slugger who, after narrowly winning the fight of his career, suddenly finds himself in the fight of his life. Considine directs himself in what may be the performance of his lifetime, portraying a man utterly laid low by a monstrous injury and who must struggle to not just recuperate physically, but also piece together the shattered glass of his own memories and re-forge his personality. It’s remarkable how much this film reminded me of Chloe Zhao’s impeccable The Rider from earlier this year, which also dealt with the devastating effects of brain trauma. As a director, Considine’s approach isn’t quite as invasive or as painterly as Zhao’s, but his exploration of a ruined man whose condition has made him somewhat radioactive to others is heartbreaking to behold. As an actor, it increases tenfold; the way that he navigates between near-childlike helplessness to explosive violence is like watching a high-wire act in a storm.
With his last two films, Considine has explored not only the fragility of masculinity, but also the indomitability of women. In Journeyman, Jodie Whittaker does so much to counterbalance Considine’s tormented turn. You can feel the love she has for her husband, but also the frustration, the terror, the grief—and, ultimately, the need to make a terrible choice. It’s gripping work indeed to watch.
Considine’s film doesn’t have the operatic poetry of Scorsese’s Raging Bull, but his direction nevertheless packs the sort of neck-cracking wallop that leaves your ears ringing for hours afterward. Its ending might be a bit too tidy for my liking, but it doesn’t feel any less earned.
