Review - The Machinist

I'm a big fan of Brad Anderson's last film, Session 9 (which doesn't get the respect it deserves, probably because it stars David effin' Caruso) so when I began to hear about The Machinist I was definitely interested. Christian Bale is almost always fascinating to watch (for one reason or another), and then there was The Weight Loss Specatacle, which got all the press.

And to tell the truth, the weight loss really does command your attention. When we first see Bale shirtless, being carressed by Jennifer Jason Leigh, I nearly threw up, not exaggerating, and keep in mind I am not someone who is affected in the slightest by the most excessive gore. His appearance is so horrific, so disarming, it's all you can pay attention for good portions of the movie. Every new scene, each new lighting set-up, reveals different angles of his ghastly appearance, and it's hard to look at.

Which, obviously, was the point. The film is fortunate then that the story, in the end, ends up being slight, and it's more of a mood piece, studying the physical and mental deterioration of this character. Trevor Reznik (I can't be alone in thinking Trent Reznor every time I hear that name, right?) is falling apart, and taking every last pound with him.

The film is beautifully shot, all cold grays and blues, steely and rough surfaces that subliminally reinforce our understanding of why Trevor can't sleep - the world he's inhabiting looks as uncomfortable as a bed of slate rock.

There are moments of real fright here - I thought the scene at the Haunted House carnival ride was terrifically staged and builds beautifully - and the score is a lovely riff on Bernard Herrman's Hitchcock work. In the end, the mystery of what's messing with Trevor doesn't end up being all that interesting, but I couldn't take my eyes off the film for the ride there.

Except those moments where the shock of Bale's wasted body were too much to look at, of course.
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