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Nightcrawler,
the debut feature from writer-director Dan Gilroy, situates a legitimate sociopath
in an American institution that allows him to thrive: broadcast news. Louis
Bloom (Jake Gyllenhaal) is, from the outset, acutely-measured and emotionally-distant;
that he’s not “all there” is a given from minute one, not a character
revelation Gilroy wishes to tease out. Louis is defiantly disinterested in an ethical
code, or in relationships that extend beyond something purely transactional – he
lacks the moral and emotional capacity necessary to develop more sensitive ways
of thinking. But he views his work as a typical vocation – making money,
contending with competition, navigating office politics – and in Gilroy’s
twisted world, he’s just the man to do it.
Nightcrawler maximizes
on this innovative idea, while also, to some extent, squandering it. The movie
is a pitch-black Los Angeles noir that builds in energy and in thrills, and
maintains a magnetism from beginning to end courtesy of Gyllenhaal’s enthrallingly
manic performance. And Gilroy’s work is polished and tight, stringing together
a genuinely suspenseful thriller while also taking advantage of cinematographer
Robert Elswitt’s (Inherent Vice)
sublime contributions. Elswitt’s nighttime Los Angeles is a far cry away from his
marijuana-tinted version of the city in Vice;
his work here resists visual flourish. But Gilroy and Elswitt’s aesthetic
evokes something impenetrably uncertain, mining light exclusively from
surrounding police cars and fire trucks and often racing through the wide-open,
post-midnight Los Angeles freeways with brazen intensity. Los Angeles is a
breeding ground for subversive filmmaking; Elswitt has, in 2014, effectively
spun the city in a new direction with Vice,
and stripped himself to go for a murky, unsettling mood with Nightcrawler. Both efforts are terrific.
Nightcrawler
is always involving – and occasionally breathtaking – for the sheer merit of its
creative team. Between Gyllenhaal and Gilroy and Editor John Gilroy (father to
Dan), the final product is so smooth
and so expertly-calibrated that it’s hard to fathom a first-time filmmaker was
at its helm. He had help: father John and brother Tony, most notably the director
of Michael Clayton, are producers
along with Gyllenhaal. After working in Denis Villeneuve’s Prisoners and Enemy –
films of tremendous aesthetic merit – it’s not hard to imagine Gyllenhaal relaying
a little bit of that experience to Dan Gilroy. And Tony Gilroy’s influence is
similarly undeniable: Michael Clayton boasts
a similar sleekness and meticulously-ratcheting tension.
In
Nightcrawler, Louis Bloom enlists the
help of a desperate, homeless young teen named Richard (Riz Ahmed, fantastic),
and begins freelancing footage of local crime to a flailing news station. Its
Director, played with biting wit and a long-departed soul by Rene Russo, throws
more and more money his way as the footage’s effectiveness becomes clear. But
Louis has set himself a higher bar: he’s suddenly messing with crime scenes,
and eventually investigations, so his role as videographer can meet demand and
maintain a vitality. The final forty minutes of Nightcrawler are its best: Louis withholds information about two
murderers on the loose, fabricating a narrative through his footage and, thus,
for the public. The steadfast brilliance of Gyllenhaal is the matter-of-factness
with which he plays these scenes. Louis’ choices are directly responsible for
the deaths of many, and yet, he’s just doing his job, completely removed from
any moral dilemma; and Russo’s Director, on the “sane” end of the spectrum,
doesn’t seem the least bit interested in how, exactly, he’s acquiring such irresistible
footage.
Within
Nightcrawler’s conceit is a
potentially ravishing exploration of news-media and of suburban anxiety. It
teeters around Network’s ruthless
satire, with Russo going for slightly more villainy than – and just as much
shamelessness as – Faye Dunaway; Louis’ surveying of the Los Angeles nighttime
streets is, meanwhile, undeniably in the orbit of Travis Bickle in Taxi Driver. What separates those two,
and others, from Nightcrawler is the
levity that underscores their, respectively, satirical and suspenseful
exteriors. Dan Gilroy’s work is comparatively hollow, without the serious
inquiry that so often informed the work of Sidney Lumet, or still does inform
Martin Scorsese’s filmography. The choices are unusual – the use of local news
feels a tad misguided in today’s media economy, given the diminished stakes
various networks are contending with. And we do live in the
get-there-first culture, within it the Twitter-verse and the explosion of shoddy
online journalism. Nightcrawler’s
disinterest in this is okay – the movie, at its best, has a timeless, classical
sensation – but the hyperbolic progression of the narrative doesn’t serve it
especially well. Abstract moments that intently focus on Gyllenhaal’s character
imply a rich conveyance, and yet not nothing is really being communicated. At
the news station, for instance, he’ll stare at the photographed backdrop of the
LA skyline and ramble, “It all looks so real from here.” But there’s no
legitimate provocation here – just the thought processes of a madman.
Nightcrawler
can also feel somewhat claustrophobic. At the news station, it’s usually Gyllenhaal
and Russo, exchanging video and money with a deliberate lack of conscience.
When it comes time for “Should we use this ethically-dubious footage?” Mad Men’s Kevin Rahm comes in to play
what is exclusively an ethics talking head, rather pointlessly explaining the
journalistic issues with what is being done. The hand here is just too obvious,
Russo a monstrous negotiator on one end and Rahm a saintly preserver of
journalistic integrity on the other.
There
may be a false promise here; the media satire and nighttime surveying eerily
calls to Network and Taxi Driver, a pair of 70s classics that
Nightcrawler is most definitely not.
The movie works best as a superbly-crafted thriller, and really, Gilroy’s
overarching idea probes – and thus sustains – enough. He, with perfectly-portioned
doses of humor and intrigue, comes to the conclusion that a sociopathic cipher
like Louis can find a home and succeed in the broadcast news business, in
a culture where story outweighs truth. The movie may not contend with this on a
more serious level, or engage with it in more sociopolitical terms, but for a
ride as engaging as Nightcrawler,
that’s forgivable. And I like what the movie says about human value. Moments of
real emotional weight occur between Louis and Richard, whose fate seems sadly
destined. He comes from an area that Louis is told doesn’t matter – any place
that doesn’t elicit fear in well-off suburbanites is not of interest to the
local news business – and thus he’s an accessory. Nightcrawler intelligently asks questions about lives that seem to
matter more than others; it’s the one area where Nightcrawler’s strength consistently extends beyond its skeletal virtues.
And
when all else fails, Gyllenhaal is always a compelling, grounding force. He is
the movie, and that’s a blessing for Gilroy – Louis Bloom is such a fascinating
creation physically, mentally and emotionally, and Gyllenhaal simultaneously
renders him an alien and an apt cog in a morally-obtuse machine. There’s an
unpredictability to his ominous performance that elevates in dread; Gilroy and
his team are terrific craftsmen, but it’s Gyllenhaal that provides the film
with a deliciously twisted sense of humanity. And thus the movie, with Elswitt’s
luminous lensing and Gilroy’s strong sense of pace in tow, is always working on
some level. Even at its most hollow, Nightcrawler
is richly-atmospheric noir.
Grade: B+