We’re here for a real crime, not a good time
With the true-crime renaissance in full swing on the small screen, it feels appropriate that a similar tip can be felt in the film house. “The stranger“, the second-year feature from the Aussie TV guy Thomas M. Wright which premiered yesterday at In one perspective or another, is the latest movie trying to scratch the special itch – unfortunately try to be the watchword. Unraveling mystery, throat-soothing tensions, tragedies and traumas abound; you will find a bit of it here, at least the first hour, where the film swings between fragile keys and multiple branches that make it all an annoying task. A stronger second half is going to somehow make the ordeal worth it if you haven’t already dropped off for a tactical snooze in the middle of the party.
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A grumpy guy (Sean Harris, practically best in the show) comes on a coach in the Aussie outback, changing eyes and tired. Another, another driven, starts a conversation with him; Harris reveals himself as Henry, a shady one-time criminal just looking for a break. So thank goodness for this creepy meeting-nutte because the driver, Paul, is eager to give Henry a break and offer him an ambiguous job who, of course, pay cash. “No violence,” Henry says in his cruel tone. Virtually no violence: this work is just delivery, a simple A-to-B role that sends a high-value product to the Australian criminal underground. As soon as he enters, Paul is hooked by the scene on the right, replaced by Henry’s hoarse and bearded facsimile, Mark (Joel Edgerton).
Between their long car rides and mutual appreciation of Viking-like facial hair, Mark and Henry become something along the lines of friends, trade in jibs, and multiple utterances of “pussy” according to Australian tradition. Then comes the first big revelation: Mark is not Mark at all, but a codenamed agent for a secret government office investigating the disappearance and murder of a child in 2002. With a story of ruthless child abuse dating back to the mid-90s’ eren, Henry is the only suspect, but – for whatever ill-defined reason – twisting a concession out of him requires one of the more complicated puncture operations committed by celluloid. The entire force is involved and pretends to be a fraternal cohort of villains at a criminal rally in a motel to win Henry’s trust and eventually his unforced confession.
The tragic inspiration from real life here, covered in Kate Kyriacou’s true crime novel “The Sting: The Undercover Operation That Catch Daniel Morcombe’s Killer”, is a pampering thing. A young boy, the titular Morcombe, was abducted by a known pedophile and murdered before his disappearance could even be reported by his parents. So at least “The Stranger” does not feel exploitative. As the narrative divides to cover the decades-long police effort to secure Henry’s arrest, the effort weighs heavily, bringing the psychological path to the center. Edgerton shines here, differently subdued and evocative of the wild psychosis of Joaquin Phoenix i “You were never really here”(Minus the blood-smeared hammer, but holding the grizzly savage machismo).
The problem lies in the unmanageable nature of the first act. As the pieces finally fall into place and the tension rises a notch, the final act is truly compelling. Harris is another climax that sells hell out of his subject’s neuroses and transforms into disturbing ambivalence over the horrors committed by his hand. Formally, “The Stranger” is mostly conventional, producing usable images with Sam Chiplin‘s camera and an accessible edit akin to one of the aforementioned TV true crime dramas. The film finds a small verve; Edgerton is put through the imagined ringtone in a handful of nervous dream sequences, and a motif with the mountainous crime scene is interesting (until it is not). But despite all the interesting twists and turns, when the story comes to its smoky conclusion, one can not imagine who among the audience is going to pay. [C]
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