Dallas Buyers Club
(2013)
(SPOILERS) Dallas
Buyers Club is almost, very nearly but not quite, your classic Oscar bait
fare. Based on a true story (although loosely appears to be the more than
operative word), it depicts a lone crusader struggling against an oppressive
establishment. Even better, said crusader is required to suffer a debilitating
illness (actor transformation=Oscar nomination) and a bona fide arc all the way
from bigotry to compassion. What more could the Academy wish for? Maybe a
little less masturbation (never a vote winner)? Otherwise, compelling as the
telling of Dallas Buyers Club is, it
bears all the hallmarks of precision engineering in its emotional and narrative
beats, which belies the low-budget indie vibe of the picture itself.
Such shameless manipulation of material didn’t attract the
greater cinema-going public, however. Now there are up to 10 Best Picture nominees,
there’s more potential for films to slip through the gaps, with Nebraska and Her having brought up the rear this year, closely followed by Dallas; one would generally expect a
“fight the good fight” tale to catch on to greater effect. It was the only one
in the line-up (12 Years a Slave is
more about suffering than reacting), so I can only figure audience wariness
about an AIDS drama that didn’t feature the friendly face of Tom Hanks put them
off. That, and Matthew McConaughey really does look awful, dangerously
emaciated. Nevertheless, his shambolic, skeletal, unkempt features must have
been as much of a sure thing with voters as Hanks looking a bit pasty. Still,
Tom was still a cuddly AIDS victim; McConaughey’s appearance as Ron Woodroof
approximates the rat with an unspecified venereal disease in Meet the Feebles.
McConaughey is superb, of course, but it’s undeniably a
showboat turn. Every bit as much as DiCaprio’s in The Wolf of Wall Street (Ejiofor probably had the most difficult
job getting votes, internalised as much of his performance is), but with the
added bonus that Woodroof goes from racist, homophobic, self-centred,
duplicitous arsehole to impassioned spokesman for effective AIDS treatment
eviscerating the inveterately corrupt Food and Drug Administration (FDA) in the
process. His wily deadbeat charm is given a positive outlet, and as he attempts
to smuggle prescription drugs across the Mexico border, fully able to argue his
case against the officials who would bar him (claiming a car load of pills is a
90 day supply), he’s an easy win for a sympathetic turnaround. That and, of
course, his initially bilious but eventually affectionate business partnership
with Jared Leto’s trans woman Rayon.
Leto’s casting incited some criticism from the transgender
community, which may or may not be merited, but it’s the first role where I can
actually recall liking the actor so superficially that’s reason enough to give
him the Best Supporting Actor gong. I suspect it will be one of those Oscars
that has little or no effect on his career prospects (I hadn’t realised he’d
been off the screen for four years, probably because I didn’t miss him). Like
much of the screenplay from Craig Borten and Melisa Wallack (which Borten had
doing the rounds since 1996), invention in the interests of narrative
trajectory is the name of the game; there was no Rayon in the life of the real
Woodroof, but without her there’s no touching emotional progress for Ron.
The level of fabrication has received complaints too and,
while I generally have little sympathy for those who expect a dramatisation to
stick to the facts, the level of calculation here is at times overpowering.
After all, if the purportedly-in-real-life bisexual Ron with no homophobic
views – as cited by some who knew him – were portrayed, there would be a whole
opportunity missed for a learning curve (and for him to feel what it’s like
when his own friends reject him). There’s a vague sense that such attempts to
up the ante dotted throughout (a T Cell count of 9, with 30 days to live; he’s
like a superman, living for seven more years!)
Jennifer Garner’s friendly doctor Eve, the polar force to
Denis O’Hare’s malignant Dr Sevard, is a considerably less effective invention
than Rayon. Rayon’s a classically larger-than-life supporting character and an
effective contrast to Ron, but Eve is merely there as the sympathetic smiling
platonic straight woman to Woodroof’s antics. Likewise, as good as O’Hare and
Michael O’Neill (as an FDA official) are, they pretty much one-dimensional
villains once the lines of opposition are drawn. At times there’s a The People vs Larry Flynt sense of beckoning
outrage in the character of Woodward and his interactions with the powers that
be, and its fairly irresistible. Griffin Dunne has his most likeable turn in
years as a disgraced doctor hiding out in Mexico, who puts Ron onto the good
stuff.
The most engrossing aspect of the picture may not be the
performances that got all the press. Rather, it’s the battle against an unjust
system, and it’s the one area where the makers pull few punches, for which they
are to be congratulated. AZT is presented as a poison from the first, a highly
toxic substance most AIDS patients can’t tolerate (the end credits note
Woodroof’s achievement as fostering lower doses of AZT, which might be a slight
climb down as up until then it has been roundly denounced in any quantity). As
Ron says, “The only people AZT helps are
the people who sell it”; “That’s the
shit that rots your insides. What a surprise; FDA approved”.
Ron’s metamorphosis from abuser of his temple to
evangeliser about avoiding anything that damage his immune system further,
right the way down to processed foods, is an inspiring one. And the venom with
which the medical establishment turn on him for not falling in line, and
effectively taking away their business, is instructive (one thing about
Woodroof is that he isn’t suddenly Mother Teresa; he’s not running a charity,
he’s running his own business – albeit one where he gets around the illegality
of selling drugs by running a club membership service that covers costs).
Before long the IRS are down on him (as he notes, that’s how they got Capone),
and Ron is unequivocal that the game is rigged; “The pharmaceutical companies pay the FDA to push their product”.
This is, after all, an organisation that attempts to label natural supplementsas drugs in order to ban them.
Director Jean-Marc Vallée’s use of handheld camera
rarely feels distracting or intrusive; it’s a testament to the strength of the
story and performances that the choices only become noticeable when it is
germane; the ringing that elevates on the soundtrack preceding one of
Woodroof’s blackouts. Occasionally he lacks subtlety (the magazine cover featuring
Rock Hudson - nigh-on the first shot - is easily the clumsiest moment) but the
picture as a whole is both immersive and immediate; real locations and natural
lighting may be a consequence of
budgetary limitations, but they scream authenticity (the soundtrack is almost
entirely forgettable, however).
It’s always fun too, when a
character turns out to be an unlikely master of disguise. Especially when this involves dressing up as a
priest. It worked for Peter Sellers. It worked for Norman Wisdom. It works for
Matt (“And a blessed day to you, sir”).
No one could accuse Dallas Buyers Club
of being a slavishly literal biopic, although it’s as guilty as any of wiring
itself for maximum contrivance. But like the best of those in its genre espousing
even a whisper of social conscience, there is fire in it’s belly; a cause to be
rallied behind. The film will be remembered mainly for McConaughey’s crash diet,
but the meat of the picture is Woodroof’s David and Goliath struggle.
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