In 2010, Joaquin Phoenix assured us that he was Still Here. But, plot twist: here, in 2018, we learn that he was Never Really Here! We've been living a lie; there's nothing inside!
Director Lynne Ramsay's fourth film in nearly 20 years shows her increasingly on track to Terrence Malick territory - in more ways than her lugubrious output. You Were Never Really Here is a curiosity: on paper an action thriller (you can practically smell the schlocky Nicolas Cage B-movie romp a less ambitious director would've coughed out), but shot like an arthouse drama, complete with a pace so meditative it verges on somnambulant. Initially, it's a slog, as Ramsay takes us through the worrisomely overfamiliar stagnant misery of sad sack hitman Joe (Phoenix)'s life at a snail's pace. We try not to fidget and frown, as we wallow in déja-vu, as Ramsay's film doesn't so much as nod at Scorsese's Taxi Driver as stop just shy of having Joaquin monologue at a mirror.
Yet, what starts as torpid quickly imperceptibly slides into crackling and hypnotic, as the content is buoyed and overpowered by Ramsay's deft telling. You Were Never Really Here is, unexpectedly, one of the most cinematically vibrant films of the year. Tom Townend's kinetically feverish, constantly askew cinematography trudges alongside Joe, sharing his dogged, bleary stupor with a grizzled, vividly dull aesthetic that suggests an Instagram filter of 'Bloodshot.' Jonny Greenwood's score perfectly accentuates the nerve-fraying fever pitch, a throbbing, fascinatingly disconcerting blend of Nine Inch Nails industrial belligerence, and mesmerizingly faux-peaceful Arcade Fire eeriness.
Not much happens in Ramsay's film, but the editing ensures that you are damn well never ready for when it does. You Were Never Really Here festers in a maddening ambiguity between hallucination and reality (not helped by the fact that crucial members of the supporting cast look so similar it can be difficult to tell friend from foe, assailant from victim - a blurring that is likely accidental, but fascinatingly effective). Then, when least expected, it blindsides the viewer with gruelling PTSD flashbacks and bursts of creatively grisly violence, and scenes that linger, serenely still, only to violently swell and collide with the chaotic unpredictability of a surging sea. It's a punishing but rewarding watch, and, as flinty and disengaging as it can be, filled with moments of unexpected beauty and emotion - plus a beard mighty enough to make Travis Bickle's mohawk jealous.
Still, as engrossing as Ramsay's cinematic trickery is, the film is unquestionably hung upon the slumped shoulders of Joaquin Phoenix, and he does it proud. Pumped up to the brawny, pudgy physicality of a sad bear and looking like he's been awake for years, and seen too many things along the while, Phoenix is an astonishingly physical actor, etching each ounce of Joe's trauma, defeat, and dogged, belligerent hope onto his leathery skin, and using each twitch and crinkle of his face to speak volumes with a nearly wordless script. He's in almost every scene of the movie, and seems to singlehandedly keep its heart beating, his hangdog anti-charisma propelled by an infectious, furious resolve. Similarly, Ekaterina Samsonov shines in her few scenes as an abductee who, increasingly, shares more with Joe than his silence, and Samsonov keeps her performance brittle but rock-steady, as, increasingly, the film's real beating heart.
Doomed to always being billed as 'that one with the guy with the hammer - no, not Thor!', Ramsay's film takes its place as one of the most beguiling, sleepy sleeper hits of the year. You may struggle to stay invested or remember it, but fleeting moments - big and small, disturbing, beautiful, and disturbingly beautiful - will remain seared into your brain for ages to come. Though it may seem a flickering fever dream, I assure you: You Were Really Here. And your life is - curiously, grimly, and unexpectedly - better for it.
-7/10
Director Lynne Ramsay's fourth film in nearly 20 years shows her increasingly on track to Terrence Malick territory - in more ways than her lugubrious output. You Were Never Really Here is a curiosity: on paper an action thriller (you can practically smell the schlocky Nicolas Cage B-movie romp a less ambitious director would've coughed out), but shot like an arthouse drama, complete with a pace so meditative it verges on somnambulant. Initially, it's a slog, as Ramsay takes us through the worrisomely overfamiliar stagnant misery of sad sack hitman Joe (Phoenix)'s life at a snail's pace. We try not to fidget and frown, as we wallow in déja-vu, as Ramsay's film doesn't so much as nod at Scorsese's Taxi Driver as stop just shy of having Joaquin monologue at a mirror.
Yet, what starts as torpid quickly imperceptibly slides into crackling and hypnotic, as the content is buoyed and overpowered by Ramsay's deft telling. You Were Never Really Here is, unexpectedly, one of the most cinematically vibrant films of the year. Tom Townend's kinetically feverish, constantly askew cinematography trudges alongside Joe, sharing his dogged, bleary stupor with a grizzled, vividly dull aesthetic that suggests an Instagram filter of 'Bloodshot.' Jonny Greenwood's score perfectly accentuates the nerve-fraying fever pitch, a throbbing, fascinatingly disconcerting blend of Nine Inch Nails industrial belligerence, and mesmerizingly faux-peaceful Arcade Fire eeriness.
Not much happens in Ramsay's film, but the editing ensures that you are damn well never ready for when it does. You Were Never Really Here festers in a maddening ambiguity between hallucination and reality (not helped by the fact that crucial members of the supporting cast look so similar it can be difficult to tell friend from foe, assailant from victim - a blurring that is likely accidental, but fascinatingly effective). Then, when least expected, it blindsides the viewer with gruelling PTSD flashbacks and bursts of creatively grisly violence, and scenes that linger, serenely still, only to violently swell and collide with the chaotic unpredictability of a surging sea. It's a punishing but rewarding watch, and, as flinty and disengaging as it can be, filled with moments of unexpected beauty and emotion - plus a beard mighty enough to make Travis Bickle's mohawk jealous.
Still, as engrossing as Ramsay's cinematic trickery is, the film is unquestionably hung upon the slumped shoulders of Joaquin Phoenix, and he does it proud. Pumped up to the brawny, pudgy physicality of a sad bear and looking like he's been awake for years, and seen too many things along the while, Phoenix is an astonishingly physical actor, etching each ounce of Joe's trauma, defeat, and dogged, belligerent hope onto his leathery skin, and using each twitch and crinkle of his face to speak volumes with a nearly wordless script. He's in almost every scene of the movie, and seems to singlehandedly keep its heart beating, his hangdog anti-charisma propelled by an infectious, furious resolve. Similarly, Ekaterina Samsonov shines in her few scenes as an abductee who, increasingly, shares more with Joe than his silence, and Samsonov keeps her performance brittle but rock-steady, as, increasingly, the film's real beating heart.
Doomed to always being billed as 'that one with the guy with the hammer - no, not Thor!', Ramsay's film takes its place as one of the most beguiling, sleepy sleeper hits of the year. You may struggle to stay invested or remember it, but fleeting moments - big and small, disturbing, beautiful, and disturbingly beautiful - will remain seared into your brain for ages to come. Though it may seem a flickering fever dream, I assure you: You Were Really Here. And your life is - curiously, grimly, and unexpectedly - better for it.
-7/10