The Two Faces of January
(2014)
(SPOILERS) From its solemn, haughty title down to its
sun-drenched period trappings, The Two
Faces of January has the veneer of a classy, classical, immaculately poised
thriller. Patricia Highsmith’s novels have held lustre ever since Hitchcock made
Strangers on a Train, but such a
flawless and rewarding interpretation of her work has since been consistently
elusive. Certainly, it wasn’t to be found in the vastly overrated – and
probably best known of her novels – The
Talented Mr Ripley. January feels
like a picture arriving pre-prepared to be lauded – the word “elegant” will
likely preface any given review – and there are many things about it that do deserve praise. Unfortunately, the
one thing that doesn’t is the story itself; the expectation of a tense, twisty journey
gradually way to the realisation that this slightest of tales has few surprises
on the way to a rather inevitable destination.
A recurring feature of Highsmith’s work is the presence of
non-traditional protagonists; often these are flawed, amoral anti-heroes and
her particular skill is to encourage the reader to identify with their
unbecoming behaviour. January is no
exception, revolving around the uneasy tensions between three Americans in
Greece. One, tour guide Rydal (Oscar Isaac), has become a part of the
landscape. Fluent in the language, he uses his edge to skim profits from those
he intercedes for in deals (or even those who simply take him to dinner). We
know he’s dodgy, if in a decidedly petty sense, from the first.
Less clearly motivated are well-presented couple Chester
(Viggo Mortensen) and Colette McFarland (Kirsten Dunst). The trio catches each other’s
attention and before long Rydal is showing them around and skimming off them.
When it becomes clear that Chester’s dubious activities put Rydal’s
nickel-and-dime antics in the shade, events conspire and the latter becomes the
couple’s only-partially witting aide and accomplice. They head for Crete, where
Chester and Colette are due to take delivery of fake passports. This time
together fosters the development of a highly fraught love triangle as Rydal and
Colette become attracted to each other. Meanwhile the outwardly composed
Chester reveals himself to be increasingly uncontrolled and excessive as he
responds to the perceived threat of Rydal and the danger of losing his much
younger wife.
The first half of Hussein Amini’s directorial debut is
slippery and elusive. The simmering tensions and glowering looks keep the
viewer guessing just where this will go. Unfortunately, Amini has no aces up
his sleeve and there is insufficient plot to sustain the unsympathetic
characters on their unravelling way. Part of the problem is that Mortensen has
– as he frequently does – chosen well, but his is the only one of the three
with sufficient substance. Chester is cool and calculated, with an innate knack
for self-preservation, except when his “better” instincts fail him. He has
Rydal made from their first meeting (“I
wouldn’t trust him to mow my lawn”), and is quite aware of Rydal taking his
cut and having designs on his wife.
But Chester is no mastermind; his prior business affairs don’t
sound as if he was engaging in an intentional scam (until he made off with the
loot, that is) any more than killing the investigator was (he is clearly
shocked by what he has done; taking life isn’t something he does everyday).
Chester continually performs blunders, unable to keep a calm head and turning
to the bottle when his world is threatened, yet he demands attention as he
still manages to outwit others in desperate situations. He becomes a rounded
character through the sum total of his flaws. We’re even unsure if he’s acting
the tourist until we see him getting lost and increasingly ruffled by his
inability to master his surroundings. Mortensen makes Chester’s shading
consistently dangerous and intriguing; when we hear him casually invite Rydal
to “come and have a drink and we’ll talk
about it” we’re instantly struck by how he used the same words with the
investigator. We can see and hear his cunning at work, yet all that befalls him
could have been prevented if he was more cautious and considered.
Rydal, through no fault of Isaac, is more obscure. Initially
it appears as if he will be the focus, and that we will see the McFarlands
through his eyes (one of the most appealing aspects of the screenplay is the
realisation that we’re being introduced to the couple in the middle of
something; this tale doesn’t start with their meeting with Rydal), but Amini
switches allegiance to Chester. Much is made of how the two are similar, but
the ambiguity encouraged by the writer-director distances any insight into
Rydal (he resists showing Rydal and Colette in flagrante or even in a clinch,
so their rapport relies heavily on Chester’s point of view and his imaginings
of what they are getting up to; even when Rydal tells him they had sex it could
as easily be designed to extract an angry confession, more likely even). Such diffidence can work to an extent, but we
need to be engaged by why he is doing what he is doing, intrigued by his
motivations. We’re unsure how deeply he cares about Colette, uncertain if he
has limits to his potential for criminal behaviour (“I know you wouldn’t be here if you didn’t have a little larceny in your
veins” says Chester), unclear if his entrapment of Chester is purely a
result of being forced to co-operate with the police or a genuine desire to bring
Chester to book. And we end up not much caring.
Chester’s dying confession seems to come out of the blue; a
man making amends why? It seems intended to connect the running themes of the
doubling between the two conmen announced by the title. The Roman god Janus (a
rather peculiar choice given there is no Greek equivalent), hence January, is
the god of transitions and change, able to see into both the past and the
future, but the bearing on Highsmith’s tale is really in the loosest sense. The
two faced god, two men with two faces each, one for everyone else and one for
what is really lurking beneath. Rydal initially tells rich heiress Lauren
(Daisy Bevan, daughter of the film’s producer Tim and Joely Richardson – so she
has an acting dynasty’s blood in her veins) that Chester reminds him of his
father, the father whose funeral he didn’t attend and whom he resents. We don’t
know (like so much with Rydal) if this is merely a deflection because he really
was eyeing up Colette, but it ties into Chester informing him how much alike
they are and how one day he will realise how much like the elder swindler he
is; Chester is the Janus who encounters his own past seeing into Rydal’s
future.
The object of both their desires is also a little too
remote. Dunst is strong, but her character has little to do other aside from
reacting to the men around her; her role is too undercooked to sense that she
has any real control or power over her men. It would be interesting to see the
young trophy wife actually made something of in a film, but filmmakers often
fall into the trap of making the part exactly what it appears to be. I’d like
to say I was surprised by Colette’s exit, but the picture was already tending
in that interior direction; with no clear external trajectory, its characters
had to implode or suffocate each other.
This is one of those films where it’s difficult to put a
finger on quite where, finally, it disappoints; January’s a slow burn character-driven affair that never quite
clicks. There are several well-executed sequences during the second half (the confrontation
in the ruins, the customs queue at the airport and subsequent fooling of Rydal,
the street café meeting place, the final chase) but I was insufficiently
engaged by these characters’ fates and, rather than spiralling ever more out of
control, Amini settles on a more restrained touchdown.
Hussein Amini read January
at university, and had wanted to make a film of it ever since. The intrinsic appeal
eludes me, although I admit I’ve found Highsmith material very hit and miss as
far as adaptations go (the Malkovich Ripley’s
Game was a hit). It has the tone and range of a minor piece, which may be
why it isn’t so well known. Some of Amini’s more fanciful allusions don’t bear
much interrogation either, Theseus and the Minotaur in particular. Okay, there
are a number of representations of labyrinths, and Rydal, like Theseus has lost
his father, but the broader references to Ariadne (Colette) and the Minotaur
(Chester) are vague enough to resist a coherent reading.
Amini’s screenwriting career has been mixed; Drive received much acclaim, but a
substantial part of that arguably relates to what the director did with it. He
was Oscar nominated for The Wings of the
Dove, and his first few screenplays were adaptations. Next up is a Le Carré,
but on January’s evidence I’m more
impressed with the sure-footed classical style he brings as a director than his
scripting talents. There’s an assuredness at work, a willingness to let the
picture unfold in its own good time, and a keen awareness of the tensions and
space between the characters.
The Two Faces of
January is gorgeous to behold (courtesy of cinematographer Marcel Zyskind),
and just for the travelogue value it’s worth experiencing. Unfortunately the need to fall back on such a
comment illustrates that it is also somehow lacking; the inner tensions between
its trio are unable sustain the film for its entire length, and it’s left to peter
out rather than end boldly or confidently. Nevertheless, I look forward to
seeing Amini’s sophomore effort and I’m certain it will be every bit as elegant
as this is.
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