'Most Violent Year' proves a riveting ride
Who would think a movie about trucks moving fuel around the tri-state area could be this fascinating?
A Most Violent Year (*** ½ out of four; rated R; opens Wednesday in select cities) is a revelation: meticulously constructed, brilliantly acted, suspenseful and sharply written.
Exceptionally well crafted, it's also morally murky, complex and thought-provoking.
Director J.C. Chandor follows up on last year's riveting All Is Lost with this brooding character study/thriller that recalls director Sidney Lumet's '70s urban dramas. The entire cast is at the top of its game, with impeccable portrayals by Albert Brooks, Alessandro Nivola, David Oyelowo and Catalina Sandino Moreno. Oscar Issac and Jessica Chastain give career-topping performances. And one of the most memorable turns is by the lesser-known Elyes Gabel as a driver attacked by thugs who hijack his truck, bent on stealing the oil he's transporting.
The year is 1981 and crime is at an all-time high in New York City, where ambitious immigrant Abel Morales (Isaac) operates a lucrative company that sells heating oil. Outwardly the picture of the American Dream, he struggles to be an honorable man amid the shady practices, decay and Mafia-like corruption that surrounds him.
Abel comes across well-mannered and principled, conducting himself with a soft-spoken professionalism reminiscent of The Godfather's Don Corleone. But scrape away the veneer of aplomb and self-control, and we sense his hungry heart beating. Abel has the demeanor of an upright businessman, which seems to reassure an eagle-eyed assistant district attorney (Oyelowo), his own consigliere-style lawyer (Brooks), local bankers and a shrewd Hasidic businessman. But then again, they each have something they want from him.
Most heart-wrenching is the hero worship of his immigrant employee Julian (Gabel), a truck driver who yearns to grow up to be just like Abel.
Abel is an enthralling character and Isaac plays him to perfection. The audience is never sure if his composure will give way. He doesn't like guns and projects human decency, but there's a controlled ferocity about him.
A nasty scowl fleetingly twists his face when Julian confesses his understandable fears. Did we actually see it? He's effortlessly smooth, composing his face instantly and assuming a compassionate manner. He speaks in gentle, but forceful, inspirational self-help aphorisms.
Chandor reveals just enough information to keep the audience mesmerized, though a bit more of Abel's back story would have made the character even more spellbinding.
Equally captivating is Chastain as Abel's steely wife Anna, whose father formerly owned the fuel company. She's seemingly the more ruthless of the pair and the more outwardly calculating, symbolized by the constant click-clicking of her manicured nails on the adding machine. But she's as much of an enigma as Abel is.
"You dress yourself up in these fancy clothes and live in this mansion," Abel says in argument. "But you still act like this little Brooklyn corner-store gangster's daughter that you are."
She's the one who gets her hands dirty, while he drives around in his Mercedes and affects his businessman's ways.
When he insists that "I have always taken the path that is most right," he truly seems to believe it. And when she asserts that their business staunchly follows "standard industry practices," she pronounces the phrase with the subtle cynicism it deserves.
Kudos to Chandor for writing a lead female character as intriguing as his lead male, something far too rare in tough thrillers.
They're a magnetic couple, and both Isaac and Chastain give powerhouse Oscar-worthy performances in an arresting, intelligent and gritty tale of corruption.