Review: Harry Brown

The first film I saw at the Prince Charles Cinema was an early matinee of Harry Brown, the first film of director Daniel Barber.

Harry Brown is a dark, gritty story of vigilante justice exacted by an aging man (Michael Caine, aka why I went to see this movie) against the drug dealing hoodlums who terrorize his neighborhood and have just murdered his close friend (David Bradley, aka Hogwarts' Mr. Filch). Caine's story is interwoven with the official police investigation of the murder, led by Detective Inspector Frampton (Emily Mortimer, who 30 Rock fans will recognize as the hollow-boned Phoebe*).

Now, when I say gritty, I don't mean things get a little dirty, like when you skin your knee on the playground and some sand sticks to it. I mean turn your eyes from the screen because you can't believe this is actually happening and that you're seeing it. But you know what your getting right from the start. The opening two shots, which appear to be made on a camera-phone (a well-executed stylistic decision relevant to later plot details) are as follows: (1) As a gang initiation a boy freebases cocaine (?) out of a lightbulb, and (2) a young mother is gunned-down in a park by two boys on a moped (?), which is quickly hit by a truck. And this is all before the opening credits tell us "Michael Caine is Harry Brown."

And indeed, he is. One has to wonder, as Jon and I did on our walk home, what drew Caine to this role. Perhaps it was the complex loneliness of Harry, or the invitation to play an (almost) action hero. We may never know. But it's a good thing he did. I can imagine no one else in the role. Emily Mortimer is similarly wonderful to watch.

But what makes the movie so gut-wrenchingly difficult to watch without grimacing, shuddering, or turning your eyes down from the screen, are the performances of the film's hoodlums. These characters were portrayed so realistically by the cast that it is difficult to believe they are not, in real life, gang members, drug dealers, or addicts. They are, for the most part, thoroughly unlikable, contributing to the viewer's unwavering support for Harry's vigilantism. It is in the creation of the details of these characters that the film really thrills. Tension rises brilliantly in an interrogation montage, and in one sequence in the basement of a completely terrifying dealer and addict, my heart raced and my breathing slowed, forming one of the strongest physical reactions I've ever had to a film. Much of this is due to the quickly established fact that when tension is formed in this film, it won't be broken, so much as shattered; the violence will be swift and brutal, and Daniel Barber isn't going to dampen the impact by cutting away.

As far as films like it, I really can't think of any. Comparisons to Eastwood's "Gran Torino" are easy to jump to, but the film hardly feels the same. For one thing, the supporting cast in this one does a good job (even if the writing leaves their characters a bit flat, as some reviewers complain), unlike the often laughable performance of the minor characters in "Torino." Furthermore, whereas Eastwood's aging ex-military man seeks to keep his past life closed, Caine's literally re-opens the box of his Marine days. And the violence here leaves "Torino," and any other violent film I've seen, feeling relatively tame. But perhaps my tolerance is low or my exposure to cinematic violence too limited.

Ultimately, Jon and I concluded that we cannot really recommend this film to anyone, as much as we both liked it. Neither of us would seek it out to view again. It was simply that unsettling. One of those films that you avoid recommending, for fear that it might color you a violent sociopath in the eyes of others. Or worse yet, that a conversation may ensue, wherein a new viewer asks, "Do you remember that scene when...?"

Yes, I do remember that scene. In wide-screen, surround-sound, squirming, flinching, heart-racing detail.

*"I'm Phoebe, we've met before. Jack proposed to me outside your office?... I have hollow bones like a bird?..."