Spoilers Ahead…………..
Fashion-designer turned film-maker Tom Ford’s second feature
film Nocturnal Animals (2016) is tightly packaged with two contrasting story lines. One
is about a sad woman leading vacuous, bourgeois life whose inner pain doesn’t
appear on her stiff face. The other is about a man tripping through the dirty, dry
‘real’ world whose existential pain twists his body and emotions to make life a
whole lot messier. “Our world is lot less painful than the real world” are the wise
words said to insomniac, wealthy art gallery owner Susan Morrow (Amy Adams) in
the earlier part of the narrative. The pain of ‘real world’ is actually equated with
experiencing physical violence. Susan with all her emotional dislocation may find solace in the fact that she is only touched
by emotional violence. Yet, as she learns, violence – whatever its form – is a bane to the
human condition.
Nocturnal Animals is based on Austin Wright’s 1993 novel
Tony and Susan. In the novel/movie’s universe Susan is ‘real’ and Tony is
‘fictional’. Middle-aged Susan is married to a wealthy but emotionally distant
husband Hutton (Armie Hammer). One day, she receives a package from ex-husband
Edward Sheffield (Jake Gyllenhaal). Edward wanted to be a writer and Susan’s
own skepticism about his literary aspirations caused a rift between them. Susan’s desire
for a more structured (wealthy) lifestyle is also another reason. She has left him
in a brutal manner after staying married for two years. Susan has tried to
contact him all these years without any good results. Now Edward has sent her the
manuscript of his soon-to-be-published novel titled ’Nocturnal Animals’ and he has
dedicated it to Susan. The insomniac Susan who has no one to keep her company puts
on her spectacles, lays on a plush sofa and starts reading the novel.
Texan Tony Hastings is making a trip on the
night to West Texas with his wife and teenage daughter India. Tony is a simple,
fragile husband/dad who is terrorized by three malicious rednecks – Lou, Turk
and the leader Ray Marcus (Aaron-Taylor Johnson). It’s a sequence that’s as
harrowing as the one from Boorman’s Deliverance (1972), peppered with some
Lynchian ingredients. Susan closes the manuscript at times, overwhelmed by the ‘real’
pain inflicted on the seemingly good family. She catches her breath and in brief flashbacks
thinks of the pain she has caused upon Edward in the past. In Edward’s Nocturnal
Animals, Tony’s wife and daughter are abducted. He is dumped at the middle
of nowhere. Next day, with the help of hard-nosed police detective Roberto Andes (Michael Shannon) Tony traces the abductor’s place, finding the neatly arranged naked
dead bodies of his wife and daughter.
Ray is a monster. There’s no thread in Edward’s story to
portray him as complex figure. There’s nothing humane about Ray. We want him to
be killed and possibly in the most cruel way. Circumstances lead Tony to
receive the unbridled help of Andes (who is actually dying of lung cancer). When the law
fails to uphold justice, the duo become ready to deliver it. May be vengeance and
the violence involved will provide an emotional catharsis for Tony. If not, at
least it will bring satisfaction for those reading this pulp fiction. Surprisingly, retribution only
brings self-destruction and self-punishment to Tony. The violence doesn’t
make sense. It doesn’t soothe the ‘real’ pain. Tony sinks down with monstrous Ray
into the ocean of death. And, as they say, ‘Death is the fairest thing. It
takes all kind – the good, and the cruel’. What does ‘fictional’ Tony’s plight
got to do with ‘real’ Susan? Why Edward wants Susan to read his novel? What’s
the connection between devastating violence faced by Tony and emotional bruise held by Edward (both played by Gyllenhaal)? And what’s with the enigmatic
ending?
Nocturnal Animals gives a very interesting movie experience during
the second-viewing, since I was able to de-construct a lot of obvious parallels,
which seemed like cryptic code in the first-time watch. Director/writer Tom
Ford could be accused of being cold & calculated and for not deeply
penetrating the character's emotional surface. These are the kind of accusations often
associated with the works of Stanley Kubrick. Yes, the narrative is so neatly
tailored with visuals and themes tightly wrapped around. Like Susan’s
style-over-substance lifestyle, the film makes a rigid, awesome-looking
statement, devoid of profound substance. May be it’s too on-the-nose (like the
exhibition of ‘Revenge’ art to suggest what it’s all about). But still
Nocturnal Animals is a highly intriguing roller-coaster ride. The highly challenging,
jarring visual juxtapositions and the pricking pain of emotional violence in the
final sequence are wonders to behold.
I haven’t read the novel. But it feels like a perfect
adaptation that flawlessly fits into the film-maker’s singular visual language.
Tom Ford has made some courageous choices with the script, especially in the
design of opening sequences. Old, over-weight, naked women gyrate inside a big box,
holding sparkling fireworks. The sagging breasts of these cheering woman
teeters here and there, unlike the perfectly calibrated frames of Tom Ford. What
does the creator of this live ‘art’ trying to showcase? If art mirrors life,
Susan may be trying to tell how there isn’t much difference between her
soul-crushing, beautiful-looking life and the wobbling naked flesh which is
immediately deemed as ‘ugly’. It’s her cry of despair against the junk culture.The
menace in the ‘fictional’ universe is elegantly mixed with the emotional bruise
of ‘real’ in many occasions. The image of two reddish-orange haired corpses
lying in a red sofa is juxtaposed with a similar arrangement of Susan’s living daughter.
The bright red-light that falls on Edward’s face is gracefully cut to similar
shot involving Tony. Similar to the interrelation between naked flesh and
Susan’s existence in the opening scene, these artistic choices finely expresses
the transition in and out of the ‘fictional’ and ‘real’ universe.
Loss, betrayal, and vengeance are the primary themes of the
movie. However, the most interesting aspect for me is the theme of art
resonating with emotional reality of its consumers. In a brief flashback, Susan
criticizes Edward’s story for being so much about himself. Edward’s novel
written nearly two decades after his separation with Susan is also about him.
Edward just takes all the emotional violence that was inflicted upon him and
passes it onto fictional character, employing a much hard-hitting set-up.
Edward has also lost his wife and daughter to an intruder. Of course, it’s
nothing compared to the brutal loss of ‘fictional’ Tony. Through the revenge
fantasy in the novel, Edward is not only exorcising his own emotional pain, but
also criticizing himself for allowing the rift to happen. Tony shouting at
Andes for not ‘protecting’ his family and Ray calling Tony ‘weak’ are exaggerated
manifestations of what Edward felt after the breakup with Susan.
While Tony’s revenge plan is slightly sloppy and totally
self-destructive, Edward’s plan is so calculative and emotionally cathartic (it looks like that). The bloody corpse of Ray may be a much-preferred, cathartic sight than the image of
lonely Susan sipping her cocktail in the classy restaurant. But Edward is the one who serves his 'revenge' cold to Susan. The revenge in the ‘real’ world may
not seem much in terms of dynamic visuals as the vengeful action in the ‘fiction’.
Nevertheless, it’s the only kind Edward could achieve. Through the devastating
tale of Tony, he has kind of won her back (Susan leaving her wedding ring is
some kind of sign, isn’t it?). For Susan, the novel feels real and truthful than the empty
life. By making her sit alone in the emptying restaurant, Edward makes her to
confront the deepening void. For some, this rejection may seem to be a trivial
matter, but for Susan the unoccupied chair in front of her is materialization
of the existential emptiness. The brunt of emotional violence lies deep beneath
the exterior surface that’s sipping expensive cocktails.
Trailer
Tom Ford’s Nocturnal Animals (117 minutes) is an artfully composed,
devilishly clever tale of loss and revenge. It’s nesting doll narrative and
awesome ensemble cast demonstrates how violence slashes more than skin deep.
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