In the interest of getting “hard” copies of my work under one roof, I plan to spend the next few weeks posting the entire archive of my film journalism here on ScullyVision. With due respect to the many publications I’ve written for, the internet remains quite temporary, and I’d hate to see any of my work disappear for digital reasons. As such, this gargantuan project must begin! I don’t want to do it. I hate doing it. But it needs to be done. Please note that my opinions, like everyone’s, have changed a LOT since I started, so many of these reviews will only represent a snapshot in time. Objectivity has absolutely no place in film criticism, at least not how I do it.
The closest I’ve ever come to having six-pack abs was in the few minutes after the credits rolled on Green Room. As I rose from my seat after 90 minutes of pure core-clenching tension, I felt as if I’d done a million sit-ups with a Shake Weight in each hand. As I strutted out of the theater I was confident that my body was ready for the beach. Finally! The days of having sand kicked in my face by volleyball jocks have come to an end. Time to do some kicking of my own! YOU WILL KNOW MY VENGEANCE, KOWALSKI. But alas, upon arriving home and stripping off my t-shirt to reveal the same doughy body I’ve had for 31 years, my dreams of summertime validation were dashed. No matter — I had just seen a grimy punk-siege masterpiece that would make John Carpenter proud. Kowalski couldn’t even begin to handle the intensity of Green Room. Take that, Kowalski. Out of gas, out of money, and fresh off of an embarrassing gig, punk band “The Ain’t Rights” just want to call it a day and head home. As they slink away from a crappy college radio interview in which each member was too timid (see: image-conscious) to list their “desert island band,” the wannabe interviewer throws them a bone in the form of a shady gig opportunity. It’s well-paying, but it’s at a backwoods rock club with a very particular audience. Nonetheless, “The Ain’t Rights” jump at the chance to make a few bucks, and after delivering a successful performance, are happy to end their tour in the black. As they prepare to hit the road, the young musicians stumble across a dead body and as such, the particularities of the concert patrons are revealed: this is a Neo-Nazi club, filled with angry people who don’t wish to have their murderous fun ruined by a group of outsider kids.
What follows is a siege movie that is typical in function but unique in execution. It would be within reason to expect an over the top pulp film that values style over substance, yet Green Room differs from its forbears in that the entire thing feels real, top to bottom. Yes, shotguns blast and throats are ripped, but it’s never in the exploitative sense of a grindhouse era film, and while there are plenty of practical grue effects on display (all of which elicit groans and cheers depending on which characters are on the receiving end), none threaten to derail the legitimacy of the plot.
One need only look back at writer/director Jeremy Saulnier’s previous film, Blue Ruin to see what I mean. The plot of Blue Ruin is simple: a homeless man seeks revenge on his father’s murderer. It’s simple stuff, suited perfectly for a drunken night at the drive-in, but Saulnier imbues this narrative with a worldliness that makes the subsequent violence tangible. It forces even the most detached viewer to grapple with the themes at hand, without sacrificing the poetry of violence that so many filmmakers fail to capture.
Green Room carries less thematic weight than Blue Ruin – which isn’t to say it’s entirely void of meaning – and instead focuses on pacing, which is key for siege cinema. Where Saulnier’s script really shines is in the natural ways he jacks up and then systematically releases the tension, often explosively. It’s made very clear from the start that there are no guaranteed survivors – no archetypal characters to be dispatched in horror movie fashion. One gets the sense that in writing the script, Saulnier did not choose who lives or dies, but let the story play out organically on the page with no allegiance to genre expectations. This, once again, keeps the film devoid questionable actions by its characters. Even the shittiest decisions are earned, natural, human.
The villains are top notch. While most siege films can get away with anonymous hordes lead by a big heavy, Green Room develops a natural rapport between distinguishable henchman, even giving them a conflict amongst their ranks to really add some juice to their motivations. I love Assault on Precinct 13 to an insane degree, but my only criticism (and also perhaps my favorite aspect of the film) is the silly reason why the anonymous hordes attack: they’ve taken a blood oath and will stop at nothing to kill our heroes. This effectively zombifies the lot of them, and while it allows for our heroes to gleefully rampage (which is certainly the intention here), it also removes it from reality. Green Room lives in an untapped between-space where justified, heroic vengeance and legitimate dramatic tension can co-exist. This is partially on paper, partially in the performances, and mostly in the way that Saulnier subverts the “single location” conceit by concentrically expanding the world and simultaneously shrinking the safe zones. The directorial skill on display is overwhelming in a good way, and this is only Saulnier’s third film.
Out of the performances the most notable, unsurprisingly, is Anton Yelchin as Pat, bassist and moral anchor for “The Ain’t Rights.” It never occurred to me until this film, but Yelchin reminds me of a young Bill Paxton. He’s as clean-cut as he is gruff, as stoic as he is silly, as tough as he is pitiable. Whether he’s being imposing or regressive, I buy it, and it’s easy to see why, when pressed, his bandmates turn to him for guidance. Another standout is Alia Shawkat, whose otherworldly awareness made Maeby Fünke an Arrested Development highlight. If Maeby were raised by typical suburban parents rather than the queen and king of suppressed desire, she may have ended up much like Sam, the polite-yet-tough guitarist of “The Ain’t Rights.” But even as I sing her praises I feel I’m doing a disservice to Shawkat by referencing her sitcom work, as she is a supremely talented actress who has only just begun showing the world her range. Green Room is a fantastic appetizer for what is sure to come.
No Green Room review is complete without talk of its heaviest hitter of all, the great Sir Patrick Stewart, captain of ships, leader of mutants, and the only knighted celebrity who I’d actually trust to wield a sword (sorry, Elton). Stewart is the aforementioned big heavy, Darcy. With his natural head of skin and imposing voice, he’s a perfect fit to lead the cinematic skinheads through this trying time of murder and mayhem. Yet, where it would be expected to have Stewart gobble up the scenery like a cracked out caricature, he instead goes for a more subdued – once again, REAL – take on the villain. Stewart is supernatural in his ability to work the material. I wonder if any other actors could so aptly resist the urge to go big and deliver such a forceful performance without delving into camp. I guess that’s how you get yourself a “Sir” affixed to your name.
Be it the setting, the characters, the music, the dialogue, or the action, every piece of Green Room is alive and on fire. Genre filmmaking is about as close as film can get to the managed madness of the mosh pit, and Green Room left me feeling the same way: sweaty, bruised, and proud to have made it out in one piece. Green Room absolutely rules.
Green Room opens today in Philly area theaters.