There is an oasis in the cinematic desert. It is located in Bruges.
While the bloated, flatulent “Jumper” floated around to box office acclaim, “In Bruges” tiptoed into theaters and maintained its anonymity to its own detriment – it is the most satisfying film I have seen this year.
In “In Bruges,” two Irish hitmen, Ken and Ray, are sent by Harry, a voice on a phone, to cool off in the city after a job.
As is usual in these buddy films, Ray and Ken are studies in contrast. Ray, erratic, apathetic and blunt, would rather hang in a bar waiting for a date. Ken, on the other hand, calm, curious and cultivated, is more at ease unfurling maps and touring sights.
Instead of proceeding along this route, the story takes a detour once we become aware of the real purpose of the trip. Ray had mistakenly killed a boy in his first job. He is remorseful for what he did, pangs of penitence hitting him like a throbbing headache. Richard Shepard’s “The Matador” had a similar premise. “The Matador” was about an assassin undergoing an existential crisis – a pregnancy of guilt.
So we wonder: if these killers grow consciences, what are they good for?
“In Bruges” is director Martin McDonagh’s first feature-length film. He had previously directed live action short “Six Shooter,” which won an Academy Award in 2005. McDongagh also had what from all appearances amounts to a successful playwriting career. Two of his plays, “The Lieutenant of Inishmore” and “The Beauty Queen of Leenane” were nominated for Tony Awards.
This glance at his career is essential because “In Bruges” is less a film than a tightly plotted play shot on location.
No action from a performer is wasted, all choices by them serve a specific purpose in McDonagh’s dramatic universe. As later becomes apparent in the film, no actor disappears – once their part has been played, they do not leave the stage; instead they join the chorus, becoming observers of the impending cataclysm.
This literary mien is also captured by the dialogue. Humorous and relevant, instead of the smart rat-a-tat of Quentin Tarantino, the dialogue nudges the plot forward toward its determined end.
But not only is “In Bruges” a literary piece, it is also visually stimulating. No fancy angles or chiaruscuro effects here. What works are the scenes of the cobblestone streets and bridges, the vacant museums, all hinting at a forgotten part of Europe.
While “In Bruges” might bear some resemblance to Beckett’s “Waiting for Godot,” a closer cousin to it would be Carol Reed’s thriller “The Third Man.” In the “Third Man,” more than half the film is spent speaking about the villain Harry Lime, so when he appears, it is less an entrance than a crystallization of our expectations as viewers. Harry’s appearance is no different. His unveiling represents an eruption of the violence that has lain latent through out the film.
“In Bruges” closes with an act that is supposed to embody honor, though it is essentially a triumph of guilt. Harry is afraid of perpetual retribution, just as we are – everyone is scared of their private version of hell.
McDonagh plays with our expectations and like the paintings of a man’s skin being peeled shows that beauty, humor and violence can coexist. He is a director who has refused to take the easy way out and in the process has delivered an entertaining, enlightening film. It is only the beginning of better things to come.
—-Contact Freke Ette at [email protected]