 Kevin Bacon stars in The Woodsman |
Nicole Kassell's debut feature The Woodsman ups the ante on the standard formula by making the central character not just an antihero, but a pedophile. It's a brave and controversial choice by director and co-writer Kassell, who collaborated on the screenplay with Steven Fechter, the author of the play on which the movie is based.
Kevin Bacon plays Walter, the woodsman of the title, with a grim and solitary quality that is suffocating in its self-imposed emotional exile. He's not just beaten down by the unspoken abuses we're sure he's suffered at the bottom rung on the prison ladder, but he's clearly still living in a private emotional prison. Walter's workplace even resembles a minimum-security facility, and he carries himself as a man who deep down doesn't believe he deserves to be free. Worse yet, he's somehow found an apartment across the street from an elementary school, and he's not sure he won't act out again. Neither are we.
Walter makes an unexpected ally in Vickie, a tough-as-three-penny-nails co-worker played by Kyra Sedgwick (Bacon's off-screen wife) who takes a shine to him. They strike up an almost instant affair, and just as quickly are forced to navigate severe turbulence as secrets are revealed, while at the same time a jealous co-worker (Eve) and a nosey cop (Mos Def) conspire to destroy what little peace Walter can find.
It's a story that's often as chilly and gray as its rainsoaked Pennsylvania locations, but it never descends into abject gloom. Even as Walter struggles with his demons, we struggle with whether or not to sympathize with him, and the dual layers of tension sustain a mood of impending doom.
There's no Oscar-baiting showboating involved in Bacon's performance; he convincingly conveys Walter's torments by playing him like a whipped dog, understanding he's done wrong and knowing full well that he's just as likely to pee on the rug again as not, despite the consequences. Sedgwick is equally impressive, putting just the right spin on her machismo to reveal the damaged but resilient woman underneath. Eve is memorable as a conniving troublemaker, and Mos Def transcends the somewhat stereotypical role of Sgt. Lucas with a casually threatening, yet charismatic vibe that reaches an almost sublime level of subtlety a one particularly tense scene with Bacon.
 Patty Hearst robbing a bank in Guerrilla |
But since The Woodsman is essentially a classic hero's journey, a certain amount of predestination is not only forgivable but essential, like using a classic A-B-A-C structure to create a winning pop song. Stray too far from the format and the work dissipates into unfocused incidents that may never add up to a coherent whole. And since we know that the (anti-)hero must be tested, there's already a built-in sense of dread that Kassell uses to great effect, culminating in an incident where Walter's will is tested that is among the most queasy and unsettling scenes you're likely to see in a major motion picture this year.
Much of Kassell's accomplishment resides in the heartbreaking quality of certain scenes, which are remarkable not only for what happens, but what is suggested and implied. Walter and Vicky's hardnosed romance is a classic case of two thieves meeting in the night and knowing the score immediately. The accelerated pace of their relationship would strain credibility if we didn't plainly understand that Walter and Vickie share a deep bond based on the metaphysics of abuse; it's as though they recognized a secret sign on each other, one that says either "Beware" or "Welcome," depending on your angle of view.
The Woodsman never stoops to judging its lead characters. Walter and Vicky may not be completely sure of what they stand for, but they learn something about what they need to stand against, and as a start, it's enough.
In Guerrilla: The Taking of Patty Hearst, Rhinebeck filmmaker Robert Stone's new documentary, the lead character of the title is not only not particularly heroic or antiheroic, but she's basically a cipher. Patty Hearst was kidnapped in 1974 by a homegrown group of revolutionaries calling themselves "The Symbionese Liberation Army." As the daughter of the nation's wealthiest newspaper family, she was first treated as a bargaining chip by her captors in their efforts to act as modern-day Robin Hoods, then unexpectedly made a very public 180-degree shift in loyalties, proclaiming herself reborn as "Tania," a gun-toting, bank-robbing member of the militant group that abducted her.
Even in the pre-OJ days, Hearst's case was one of the most-discussed in the popular media. Reporters camped out across from the Hearst residence, virtually living there for weeks on end as the drama unfolded. From the outside it looked like Patty's plight was a classic case of "Stockholm Syndrome," a condition wherein abductees are known to identify with their captors out of a mixture of fear and self-preservation. But her inner motives remained a mystery even after her capture/rescue, and even today she is more of a symbol than a fully understood character.
Stone has stated that his film isn't about Patricia Hearst per se anyway, and it's true that ultimately she's not really the subject of the film. Hearst herself is never interviewed. What Stone does brilliantly, through extensive use of archival footage and contemporary interviews, is to dissect the media's treatment of the case.
Redemption becomes beside the point for Hearst, who at times comes off as much of a blank slate as her captors, who didn't know what to do with their moment in the spotlight once they'd commandeered it. Stone's documentary is a riveting and timely account of what happens when one's idealistic eyes are bigger than one's stomach, a casebook on media in times of crisis, and the dangers of not knowing where you stand when the walls come tumbling down.