Z for
Zachariah
(2015)
(SPOILERS) This
adaptation of the posthumously published Robert C O’Brien novel (he was also author
of the classic Mrs. Frisby and the Rats
of NIMH) has likely had devotees up in arms, since it veers significantly
from the source material (there’s always a 1984 BBC Play for Today for those adherents to fidelity). Rather than a tale
of a man and a young woman – a scientist and a person of faith, and the underlying
ructions that causes – Z for Zachariah becomes a
post-apocalypse-a-trois, as a potential Eden is rudely disturbed by an
interloper.
Of course,
the Eden was only really an Eden when
Ann (Margot Robbie) was there alone in it, making her the Adam of the story.
Okay, she was experiencing hardships (she barely survived the previous winter),
but her radiation-free idyll, safe from sickness and disease, was tranquil and unsullied.
It’s only when man arrives, in the form of John Loomis (Chiwetel Ejiofor), a
scientist lacking her belief system and keen to reintroduce the articles of
modern civilisation (mostly in the form of restoring power, which over-symbolically
entails the dismantling of Ann’s beloved church) that the fall from grace
begins. We see Loomis as a man burdened by his experiences “out there”, prone
to aggression and withdrawal, part and parcel of an underlying sensitivity, and
his capacity for suspicion and paranoia is only accentuated when Caleb (Chris
Pine) arrives, the snake in the garden, professing to have taken shelter in a
mine when the event occurred (Loomis was in an underground research facility,
where he had been developing a protective suit).
While Caleb
professes to Ann’s viewpoint (“us
believers”), it’s evident he’s disposed towards using it as a lever to highlight
the differences between Ann and Loomis. As such, while there’s an element of
the novel’s faith vs science, it becomes more about the machinations that occur
when men vie for a woman, and their essential untrustworthiness in that regard.
Director
Craig Zobel (who helmed the standout International
Assassin for Season Two of The
Leftovers) and screenwriter Nissar Modi emphasise the dubiousness of Loomis
and Caleb throughout, in contrast to guileless, open Ann. In the novel, Loomis
turns full psycho, but here he’s a more restrained, troubled figure; early on, we
see him looking through a gunsight at Ann. This has a perfectly reasonable
explanation, but it functions as a signpost for the unsettling undercurrents
throughout; most alarming is a scene where he becomes drunk and aggressive
towards her. But it’s the alpha behaviour once Caleb arrives, be it the latter
training a gun on Loomis ever so briefly, or Loomis’ alternating keenness to
have shot of him with recognition of his value, that establishes there is to be
no happy ending, or even a lasting mutual truce.
Most
resonant is a dinner scene, testifying to the corruption both have brought with
them, in which they recount experiences in the outside world. Loomis details
his encounter with a 13-year old boy, whom he later admits he killed and is
fairly sure was Ann’s brother, while Caleb details a fight in the mine during which
he looked the victor levelly in the eyes as he was about to turn on him, and the
former backed down.
These tales
inform the most controversial aspect of the picture, the undefined fate of
Caleb. Speculation on whether Loomis pushed him into the radioactive lake or he
did indeed leave, as Loomis said, is unlikely to be resolved (purely because
the makers clearly intended such doubt to remain), but it’s evident that Loomis
is capable of murder, and it’s also evident that Caleb was in a situation of
giving his potential killer that
look.
There are
certainly logical questions about how Loomis would retrieve and dispose of
Caleb’s body (not to mention it potentially damaging the wheel as it fell), but
the final scene suggests an arid, mutual acceptance of the lies and distance
between Ann and Loomis, now alone once more; she with her organ, her remnant
from the chapel, and he having got his power running. And that’s not mentioning
the suggestive shot of Loomis, high on the cliff edge, contemplating whatever
he may have done.
Against
that is the possibility that Caleb could see the futility of their power struggle
(despite having won Ann’s affections and bedded her) and voluntarily departed,
but would Loomis really allow him the suit (he’ll have to stash it, if not)?
Loomis tells Caleb he was never a threat, but his defensive words are really
indicating what a very real threat he is (likewise his rebuke of Ann; “You all be white people together”). And
Loomis’ calculated responses (he sees Caleb’s value purely in terms of his
physical contribution to the farm) suggest his profession of love for Ann is
not so much about true, deep feelings as a need for possession and claim.
Loomis may have won, but there’s no joy to be found in paradise.
The leads
deliver fine performances, gauged as much on nuance and implication as words. The
film is very much a slow-burn, and so may not be to some tastes. As such, it’s
rather different to the explicitly survivalist turn and more acutely downbeat
ending of the novel. Zobel commented that the softening was intentional; “The book is very black and white about
certain things… But I felt it would be more fun to leave it more gray”.
Mostly, Zobel achieves what he’s setting out for. It might be suggested that
Ann’s innocence is a drawback in terms of this pursuit of depth, since she
becomes the hallowed character squabbled over by untrustworthy men, but Z for Zachariah generally rewards
patience with its layered and insightful character study.
Agree? Disagree? Mildly or vehemently? Let me know in the comments below.
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