Simon goes TRANSSIBERIAN...
Release Date: 02/03/09 TRANSSIBERIAN, a mongrelised version of an oft-used format, is obsessed with the idea of people being something counter to what they appear; the age-old concept of the cover not necessarily indicating the books content. As much as it is a good old fashioned high-wire suspense flick, TRANSSIBERIAN is also a tale of skewed humanity; about the way in which people furiously try to preserve assumed personas no matter what the cost. Although its been done before to great success with STRANGER ON A TRAIN and MURDER ON THE ORIENT EXPRESS (and with less on UNDER SIEGE 2), it says a lot about the bravery of TRANSSIBERIANs writers that they chose to revive the old choo-choo suspense. After all, the setting somewhat restricts the way the plot can develop: its not only the characters stuck on the train, but the director as well, and more importantly the audience. So, necessarily the film concentrates on lavishly furnishing the characters for the first act, developing them enough to become familiar, but (typically for Brad Anderson) leaving enough hints towards ominous dirty underbellies so as to remain intriguing. The most impressive of all the players on TRANSSIBERIAN is the bleak Siberian landscape itself: its staggering beauty captured irresistibly by Xavi Gimenez, channelling the same sublime cinematography groove he hit on THE MACHINIST. The lingering shots of the grizzled landscape, as well as the many cold-ravaged faces of its inhabitants forefront the travellers complete otherness- a lot like in LOST IN TRANSLATION- exacerbating the lonely claustrophobia of their situation. So to the actual cast- Woody Harrelson is improbably cast as a typical tourist wandering through a far away land sticking out like a sore thumb, with his Christianity and his train obsession somehow demarcating him as the infinitely cuckoldable husband. He is a pathetic morsel of a man, who hints at a more savage side when he feels wronged or humiliated by his wife (played variously well by Emily Mortimer), but who never really progresses beyond what we expect of him. A million miles away from his career best performance in NATURAL BORN KILLERS, but not a bad turn at all, considering how miscast he initially looks. Sir Ben Kingsley hits the high notes (but of course), playing a not-quite-right Russian Narcotics Detective, Grinko, who has plenty of personal demons as well as offering an insight into the suffering state of the Old Soviet Union. Grinko is a complex character, emotionally wrought by the death of his aspirational eldest son, and with him the hope of young Soviets to transcend the stifling grasp of Mother Russia. This is the kind of measured performance, intricately observant of the characters details, that convinces Kingsleys fans- myself firmly among them- that the man is a genius. I particularly have a fondness for when Sir Ben plays the shady character- his Fagin in Polanskis OLIVER TWIST was squirm-inducing, and noone who has seen SEXY BEAST will ever forget the twisted, anguished energy of his performance. Like Willem Dafoe, Kingsleys face is perfect for the intriguing man with a dark history, and he is just alien enough to fit in with the various grotesque looking Russian natives that Anderson revels in depicting. As good as the individual characters are, some of their relationships leave a little to be desired- the association of Kingsleys Russian Narc and Thomas Kretschmanns unhinged shady partner never quite adds up (even when Kingsleys corruption is revealed). Also, while Woody Harrelson is surprisingly good as the naïve, wholesome Christian husband Roy, it is nigh impossible to accept his marriage to troubled ex- junkie Jessie. Their initial friction is believable, but his unfalteringly chirpy demeanour is too far at odds with Jessies slight embitterment to be able to accept that they ever had happy times. At the crux of it, TRANSSIBERIAN suffers from pacing issues: it takes a long time to get into any kind of thrill, which is catastrophic for anything that bears its Hitchcockian aspirations so proudly. Now, everyone knows Brad Anderson likes his bleakness- THE MACHINIST is as close an argument for suicide as possible- so perhaps the relentless snail-pace for the opening 45 minutes is intentional. After all, the frustration the audience may feel at the lack of plot advancement reflects Jessies claustrophobia, mirroring the denial of her impulses. She is after all, a reformed junkie, who is obviously not totally against some light persuasion. Emily Mortimers performance is very much one of two halves: the first is a lesson in frustration: an energetic spirit trapped in a relationship with a man seeking to change her (and save her), stifling her. She acts an extraordinary amount with just her eyes, and her reactions to Roys infallibly chipper demeanour (even when he is abandoned in the mid-Siberian wilderness by accident) say a lot about her internal struggle. As soon as Jessie succumbs to her more carnal needs, she sets into motion a series of events that change the pace of the narrative completely, another indication that it is her behaviour that defines the speed of the story. It is just a shame that Mortimers performance deteriorates somewhat as the character herself deteriorates; the subtlety that so successfully marked the first act is gone, replaced by a manicness that never sits right. Of course, she is a morally questionable character- this is Brad Anderson after all- but it is not merely her actions that define my dislike of the character: it feels like somewhere in the middle of the film Anderson stopped directing the characters he had so painstakingly rendered, and concentrated solely on presenting a feeling. This is not only the case with Jessie: as the action progresses Roy becomes an almost superfluous figure, relegated to the margins, which highlights just how alien a figure he is in the world of Eastern European gangster intrigue. The changes are not catastrophic, and its possible to see where Anderson is saying that we should abandon all expectations of what a character should be, since they will no doubt become something else in the next instance; but again there are aspects that remain unpolished. The idea that Roy could savagely attack an already prone train driver with a sizeable wrench was not just surprising, it was downright laughable. With TRANSSIBERIAN, Anderson has clearly tried to steer away from the same level of cataclysmic bleakness as in THE MACHINIST, with the introduction of a far more old-fashioned sense of white-knuckle action. The problem is that he fails to find the right pitch; his love of austerity still shines brightest in the lingering shots of the bleak landscape, and the persistent sense of ominous history that casts long shadows over most of the characters. So no matter how much action is thrust upon the scenes, it doesnt stick: it is far too alien and seems to escalate improbably quickly from nothing to hyperbolic levels. You get the idea that the switches are intentional- another symptom of Andersons fascination with misdirection, but there is just something not right in the execution: not least because the tone of the last two acts hints at a climax that is never realised. The crescendo, from the revelation that Sir Ben Kingsleys Grinko is not strictly who he seems to be onwards rises to a point that does not provide the necessary stir, which is a shame as a good pay off would have made the film infinitely better. The result is you patiently wait for something spectacular to happen, and you leave feeling slightly cheated.