Darren Aronofsky

Caught Stealing

04/08/25

Cineworld, Edinburgh

If Caught Stealing seems an unusual choice of genre for director Darren Aronofsky, it quickly becomes clear that, although all the usual action-thriller components are in place, this is a good deal more cerebral than the average punch ’em up. Set in New York City in the late 1990s, it’s a story with more than its fair share of stressful situations, all of them heaped upon the shoulders of its central character, Hank (Austin Butler), and palpably passed on to anyone who happens to be watching. Baseball aficionados will know that the film’s title is a reference to the sport Hank is obsessed with and which he played in his youth.

Our antihero is now a booze-loving barkeep at a small, rowdy joint on the Lower East Side. His girlfriend, paramedic Yvonne (Zoë Kravitz), is clearly looking for more commitment from him but something in his past – a tragic incident that we keep catching unsettling glimpses of – is preventing him from offering it. And why does he make such a fuss about phoning his Mom in California every single day?

When his British punk neighbour, Russ (Matt Smith), has to head home to visit his sick dad, he asks Hank to look after his cat, Bud. Hank happily obliges but shortly thereafter a duo of aggressive Russian hoodlums arrive looking for Russ. When Hank is unable to tell them anything about his missing neighbour, they administer a brutal beating, which leaves Hank in hospital, minus a kidney. But his troubles have only just begun.

Once home, he contacts Detective Elise Roman (Regina King), who tells him that he’s inadvertently been dropped into the middle of a very complicated situation, with different factions trying to get their mitts on a heap of stolen cash. She tells him that, if Hassidic hitmen Lipa and Schmolly Drucker (Liev Schrieber and Vincent D’Onofrio), should happen to turn up, Hank must get in touch with her immediately, if he wants to stay alive…

From this point the story accelerates like an out-of-control vehicle, hitting everything in its path with brute force and, much like Hank, we feel each impact along the way. The action is accompanied by Rob Simonsen’s raucous score (recorded by post-punk band, Idles). The New York locations are expertly utilised, the physical damage unflinchingly conveyed and Butler is utterly compelling in the lead role, making us care enough about his character to really share his anguish as every fresh person he meets seems intent upon his destruction. Charlie Huston’s edgy script is adept at getting me to make assumptions, only to dash them gleefully in my face.

When Russ finally bobs back into view, Smith manages to somehow make him both appealing and despicable. Bud the cat (played by Tonic) is really cute, a strong enough presence to ensure that he gets to star in the film’s kooky end credits. Unlike many films of this ilk, Caught Stealing manages to steer its way to a satisfying – and for once, fairly believable – conclusion.

Just make sure you stay in your seats until the very end.

4.4 stars

Philip Caveney

The Whale

11/02/23

Cineworld, Edinburgh

Charlie (Brendan Fraser) is rapidly approaching the end of his life. Since the death of his partner, Adam, he has allowed his health to decline. Inanimate, a binge eater and a housebound recluse, he now weighs in at over 600 pounds and, as his friend, Liz (Hong Chau), repeatedly tells him, if he doesn’t get himself to a hospital he will, inevitably, suffer a massive heart attack. But Charlie has no health insurance and insists on working at every opportunity, teaching English Literature online – though he pretends that the camera on his computer is broken so his students cannot see him.

But Charlie still has one burning ambition, – to reconnect with his estranged daughter, Ellie (Sadie Sink), whom he abandoned when she was eight years old. It’s not going to be easy, because she is hostile to his approaches, blaming him for the fact that her mother, Mary (Samantha Morton), is a heavy drinker and still very much a loner. Into this scenario wanders Thomas (Ty Simpkins), a young missionary, seeking to give Charlie some spiritual help – but mostly looking for his own salvation.

Directed by Darren Aronofsky with a screenplay by Samuel D Hunter (based on his stage play), The Whale was filmed during lockdown, and (very fittingly) feels trapped by its stage origins, confining itself almost completely to Charlie’s dark and claustrophobic apartment. It’s been accused by some as an exercise in fat-shaming, though this seems unfair: Charlie is an engaging and complex character, dealing with grief and addiction. Fraser wears convincing prosthetics, created by a whole team of artists, which serve to illuminate the almost cartoonish grotesquery of his size, while still making us empathise with his plight.

There’s no doubting the power of Fraser’s Oscar-nominated performance in the central role, fuelled to some degree, I think, by his own punishing experiences in the movie industry. In fact, all of the performances here are skilled, particularly Sink’s incandescent turn as an anger-fuelled teenager, determined to exact her revenge on just about everyone she encounters. The scene where Charlie has to offer to pay her to visit him is particularly tragic.

If I’m honest, I think there are better, more nuanced films in this year’s Oscar contenders, but I won’t be at all surprised if Fraser gets the nod for best actor. His performance here is exemplary, and The Whale is a powerful and affecting drama.

4.4 stars

Philip Caveney

mother!

 

17/08/17

Darren Aronofsky is always an interesting filmmaker, but he can be inconsistent. Requiem For a Dream is, in my opinion, a morose and devastating masterpiece, while The Fountain is clumsy and ineffectual. Black Swan definitely goes onto the ‘good Darren’ pile, while Noah is… er… probably best slipped under the carpet. mother! has polarised audiences like no other film in recent history. I find myself fascinated by the plethora of reports on social media from disgruntled punters claiming that it is the worst film they have ever suffered through – people so incensed they seem to be on the verge of stringing up the cinema staff for daring to show such guff.

Mother (Jennifer Lawrence) lives in an octagonal house in the middle of nowhere, with ‘Him’ (Javier Bardem), a celebrated poet, currently suffering from a terrible case of writer’s block. We learn fairly quickly, that the house has, at some unspecified point in time, suffered a devastating fire and Mother is single-handedly attempting to return it to its former glory. While she mucks in with the paintbrushes and wood filler, her poet husband sits around and broods. But then the doorbell rings and we are introduced to ‘Man’ (Ed Harris), a creepy fellow with a consumptive cough, who claims to be a doctor. Mother is instantly suspicious of him, but the poet welcomes him in with open arms and invites him to stay. It isn’t long before Man’s surly wife (Michelle Pheiffer) turns up and starts to treat the house like her personal property, smoking cigarettes indoors and snogging her hubby at every opportunity. But the strange visitations don’t end there. Soon, the house looks like the worst Airbnb invasion in history, with people arriving in droves… and then Mother discovers she is pregnant…

Aronofsky’s camera seems to be caught up in a major infatuation with Lawrence. When it’s not looking her straight in the eye, it’s peering voyeuristically over her shoulder, and following her from room to room, as though it can’t bear to be parted from her. I love the fact that the film takes off at a sprint and barely pauses for breath, as event piles upon event and the whole thing careers headlong into madness.

Look, I appreciate that this won’t be for everyone – but neither do I buy the story that it’s some kind of an insult to the intelligence. In look and tone, the film it most resembles is Roman Polanski’s Rosemary’s Baby – it inhabits a similar world of paranoid speculation, Mother constantly aware of things going on behind her back, against her wishes, but unable to assert her authority. It’s an allegory, for sure, but one that drags in so many potential allusions that you can literally discuss it for hours. There’s the spectre of fame and what that can do to relationships: the way that some men feed off their partners in order to fuel their creativity. There are biblical references, observations about immigration and the way people selfishly protect their own space. And of course, there’s the subject of birth and what that does to a woman, how much it demands of her and what determination it takes to see it through to fruition.

Maybe what ultimately turns so many viewers off is the fact that all these references are there and all of them are relevant. Perhaps most people prefer to have things cut and dried – to identify exactly what the filmmaker is saying in a movie and then walk away feeling pleased with themselves. But there’s a lot to be said for allowing people to arrive at their own interpretation of what the film is actually about. Everybody will have a different view, and it’s no bad thing. In my opinion, when sorting out Aronofsky’s films, I genuinely feel this one belongs on the ‘good Darren’ pile – and that the term ‘Marmite Movie’ was probably never more apt than it is here.

One thing’s for sure. Watching this, there’s one thing you definitely won’t be. Bored.

4.6 stars

Philip Caveney