David Mamet calls the below rules his Three Magic Questions that he employs when writing. Put simply, one should be able to stop a story at any point and answer these three queries with clarity:
- Who wants what from who?
- What are they willing to do to get it?
- Why now?
This prove to be a really great set of guidelines in terms of ensuring that your story is interesting and without filler. It also minimizes exposition and allows for the audience to obtain information in ways that are functionally organic (I use the qualifier “functionally” because Mamet’s dialogue is nothing if not heightened). I tend to keep the Magic Questions in my mind when I write. I’d even go so far as to say that they’re really the only writing rules I tend to pay any mind to — I don’t like to limit myself. However, there is one misgiving I have with these questions, at least in terms of how they integrate with plot and characterizations: they have a degree of cynicism built into them.
Why does someone have to want something from someone else? Can’t they just want something for themselves? Ya know, like Rocky Balboa? Perhaps I’m overthinking it or missing the point to a degree, considering that, on a scene by scene basis, even the least cynical film will require some level of push and pull between its characters.
But I’m not wrong in assuming a bit of cynicism on the part of Mamet. I mean, have you seen anything he’s ever written?!? The dude mistrusts everything and everybody. And honestly, I find myself fighting the urge to be cynical (and failing) just about every day of my life. In terms of self-preservation, defaulting to cynicism makes the most sense. It’s just that it’s no way to live.
Enter Henry Johnson, Mamet’s first directorial effort since 2013’s excellent (and bizarre) Phil Spector. Based on his own play, Mamet’s film is lean and mean … and cynical as fuck. It’s a story told in four segments, each in a different setting, and all consisting of the titular Henry (Evan Jonigkeit) squaring off against a variety of superiors, inferiors, and equals, as he navigates a few small pockets of the justice system. I opened this review with a reference to Mamet’s Magic Questions for good reason: Henry Johnson is a clinic in how to follow these rules to a T. At the same time, it’s a brilliant subversion of the first question. On a moment by moment basis, we know what each of Henry’s scene partners want, but their larger motivations are always behind a veil of posturing and self-interest. This results in a film that remains compelling, efficient (85 minutes!), and regularly surprising.
There are four cast members in addition to Jonigkeit: Chris Bauer as Johnson’s superior at a law firm, Shia LaBeouf as Johnson’s prison cell mate, and Dominic Hoffman as a polite prison guard. Each of these characters follow an archetype, albeit with the aforementioned veil firmly in place. It’s Johnson who remains a cypher throughout the film. He’s a bit of an audience surrogate, but he’s also a pitiable and condemnable character. It’s a hell of a performance, and it’s just one in a foursome of tremendous ones (say what you will about LaBeouf, but he’s doing masterful stuff here).
Mamet validates the shift from stage to screen by keeping things minimalist. The set design, sound design, and lighting make it cinematic, even if it’s easy to see exactly how this would play out in a black box theater. I do imagine, however, that the film gets an edge over the play in that we are able to investigate the actors’ faces up close. Mamet knows where to point the camera and lets his cast’s expressions do a lot of heavy lifting. This isn’t to say they carry the film — it’s a team effort — but that there’s a trust in letting the actors breathe. It’s one area where it seems Mamet isn’t being cynical at all.
Henry Johnson is available for rental now, directly from its official site, with nationwide theatrical screenings rolling out now and through the summer.
Directed by David Mamet
Written by David Mamet
Starring Evan Jonigkeit, Chris Bauer, Dominic Hoffman, Shia LaBeouf
Not Rated, 85 minutes
