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JUSTIN TANNER REVIEWS NITRAM
NITRAM
Here, in front of our eyes is the actual perpetrator of the worst massacre in modern Australian history, seen as a preteen long before he murdered thirty-five people. The use of the real killer talking about his love of fire and explosions (and not being even remotely put off by his brush with self-destruction) is deeply disconcerting.
But the spontaneity of the archival scene infects the film proper, guiding director Kurzel to employ a surprisingly apt documentary naturalness (and grim claustrophobia) to the proceedings. Within seconds, we see flashes of sly mischief, blank detachment and unfathomable rage wash across the canvas of his face in rapid succession. Yet later, Jones’ mercurial Nitram brings gentleness, curiosity and a bruised, inconsolable loneliness to the story as well: upon meeting an orange tabby cat named Gilbert, he positively melts with inchoate sweetness. Throughout it all, his total immersion is awe inspiring: to look into his eyes is to be trapped inside the deteriorating mind of a human time bomb. And the rest of the faultless cast match his commitment and expertise: Judy Davis (as his ineffectual, hopeless mother) gives a haunting portrayal of burnt out resignation and regret. Already exhausted by her son’s daily provocations, she can barely contain her eye-rolling annoyance at his every lame brained scheme. And Essie Davis as Nitram’s one true friend, Helen (an eccentric millionaire living with a dozen dogs on a rundown Havesham estate), provides a much needed ray of hope and warmth. It’s nice to see the forlorn Nitram connect with another human (though her naive patience with his sociopathy comes at a terrible price).
The clear-eyed script by Shaun Grant efficiently details the numerous missteps necessary for a cataclysm this horrific to occur, placing the bulk of the blame on the firearms salesman who sees a disturbed young man with a duffel bag full of cash (and no gun license) and happily sells him two semi-automatic rifles and enough ammunition to take out an army. With a story this grim and susceptible to exploitation, it is admirable that Kurzel ends the movie moments before the shooting starts. We are led right up to the brink but no further. Nitram finishes his fruit cup, lifts his rifle and that’s all we get. And I’ve never been more grateful for a “fade to black.” STREAMING ON AMAZON PRIME NITRAM PHOTOS COURTESY OF MADMAN FILMS
MASTER
A bitter tasting-menu of smiling micro-aggressions awaits Jasmine (a winning Zoe Renee) and Gail (a pitch perfect Regina Hall) at Ancaster College, an elite Liberal Arts school in chilly New England. One of only eight Black undergraduates on campus, Jasmine, a newly arrived freshman, is treated with a kind of dissociative, facetious curiosity by the other students, invariably referred to in the third person, while present.
And though she tries to shrug off the accumulating humiliations as best she can (even when the n-word is shouted into her face by a room full of partying drunks during a sing-along rap-number), soon a ghostly, malevolent force adds its looming menace to the curriculum and her calm resolve begins to fray. Meanwhile, Gail, the first Black “head of house” in the college’s history, is being condescended to by the pasty white faculty members (led by a deliciously smug Talia Balsam) while irritations, both subtle (finding a vintage “Mammy” cookie jar tucked away in her kitchen) and horrifyingly overt (an infestation of maggots) start to unravel her peace. Standing in for a “post racial” America (and embracing the reductive myth of “Black exceptionalism”), Ancaster College proves to be as toxic as the Armitage Mansion in Jordan Peele’s similarly themed “Get Out,” (though without the invasive brain surgery). By using passive aggression (and group censure) as a way of encouraging self-negation, the white body politic of Ancaster all but forces their Black fellows to, in effect, bury their Blackness “or else.” When Jasmine writes an analysis of “The Scarlet Letter,” employing the tenets of critical race theory, her Black professor, Liv (a chilling Amber Gray) gives her an “F” and says she needs to “try harder.” And while on the surface the comment seems to be a call for deeper scholarship, it’s clear Liv’s actually recommending that Jasmine try harder to be “white,” a suggestion that comes into cruel focus during the third act’s shocking revelation. The film doesn’t answer all the questions it poses: we’re never clear whether Jasmine is imagining the ghostly horrors that materialize (like the skeletal hand that reaches up from under her bed) or if they’re a symbolic physicalization of white aggression. But ultimately the acting, writing and direction are so assured, nuanced and graceful; the themes so carefully balanced between literal and metaphorical that any grey areas seem intentionally placed and part of the same beautifully wrapped package. The final moments of the film belong to Hall and involve a confrontation (and a decision) so weighted with meaning that it plays as both a win and a loss; and movingly brings Diallo’s thoughtful debut to a wholly satisfactory close. STREAMING ON AMAZON PRIME
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But it’s Anthony LaPaglia (as Nitram’s woebegone father) whose nearly unbearable anguish bruises us most. As a man who sees calamity looming but is unable to stop it, LaPaglia gives the performance of his career.
