Over the weekend, the Telluride Film Festival has seen the U.S. premiere of the “Red Riding” Trilogy, made up of Julian Jarrold’s “1974,” James Marsh’s “1980” and Anand Tucker’s “1983.” We caught up with the films a little while back, and we’re happy to report that the whole endeavor marks easily one of the cinematic highlights of the year.
Adapted from the novels by David Peace (whose “The Damned United” has also recently been adapted for the screen, and will screen at Toronto), “Red Riding” is a James Ellroy-like crime epic set in the Yorkshire region of Northern England, examining police corruption and the very darkest aspects of human nature. Each entry focuses on an outsider, each one finding themselves drawn into the mire: “1974” focuses on Eddie Dunford (Andrew Garfield), a green crime reporter who returns to his home town, and become involved with Paula Garland (Rebecca Hall), the mother of an abducted child, who in turn is linked to local property magnate John Dawson (Sean Bean). In “1980”, Paddy Considine plays Peter Hunter, a senior copper from Manchester brought in to clear up corruption, and aid the search for the Yorkshire Ripper (one of Britain’s worst-ever serial killers), and in “1983,” Mark Addy, best known in the States for dreadful fat-guy-with-hot-wife sitcom “Still Standing,” is John Piggott, a lawyer home to bury his mother, who agrees to represent the mentally disabled man convicted of the abductions from the first segment.
It’s interesting that all three protagonists hail from other parts – the picture that the trilogy paints of 70s/80s Yorkshire is closer to the lawless hellhole of “Deadwood” than to, say, “The History Boys” (set in the same place at the same time), and coming to the bleak world of “Red Riding” through anything other than fresh eyes could have been unbearable. While you can pick up plenty of influences in the films, — “The Wire,” “Zodiac” and particularly Bong Joon-Ho’s masterpiece “Memories of Murder” particularly spring to mind — it’s Ellroy’s “L.A. Quartet” that they owe the biggest debt to: like those novels, the three pictures share characters and storylines, but also stand alone. While the adaptations share a writer, regular Gilliam collaborator Tony Grisoni, each is handled by a director, and were even filmed on different stock – 16mm, 35mm and the Red One, respectively.
It’s unfortunate, then, that “1974” is the weakest, or at least the least brilliant, of the trilogy. The sense of period is strongest here, aided by the tremendous photography by Rob Hardy (“Boy A”), and Sean Bean’s brief, but spectacular, performance haunts both the second half of this film, and the rest of the trilogy – even three hours later, you can feel the effects of his actions looming over the rest of the characters. The performances across the trilogy are spectacular, generally, and the leads of this segment are no different – Garfield initially jars, seeming too young for the role, but quickly wins you over – Eddie simmers with the arrogance born of youth, while never becoming alienating. Similarly, Rebecca Hall continues to suggest that there is little she can’t do, by pulling a complex human being from a slightly underwritten character.
But this marks the biggest problem of Jarrold’s entry – the romance between Garfield and Hall’s character never convinces. The actors are doing fine work, but the sub-plot feels half-formed – you long for either an extra ten minutes to develop the coupling, or for it to be cut altogether, what remains is the worst of both worlds. It never cripples the film, however – the final reel features an extraordinary, dreamlike sequence at a party, before finishing with a bravura, stab-to-the-guts Steadicam shot that nods to “Boogie Nights” and “Taxi Driver.”
When we pick up again in “1980”, it takes some time to fill in the gaps as to what’s occurred in the meantime, and this demonstrates perhaps the only major flaw in the second and third installments – so many names, locations and pieces of information are thrown at you, that it can become hard to keep track, and you miss the sure hand for exposition in the likes of “Zodiac” or “All The President’s Men.” At the same time, though, it’s rare to be treated like adults, and the answers always come, albeit not necessarily immediately.
If you can move past this, however, the middle entry is near-flawless. The picture’s anchored by a typically outstanding performance by Paddy Considine, who gets the rare chance to play down-to-earth, and does so brilliantly, and whose affair with colleague Helen Marshall (Maxine Peake, who started in the TV show “Shameless” alongside James McAvoy, and deserves to be as well known as him…) is probably the trilogy’s most complex and successful relationship. “1980” pulls a similar trick to James Marsh’s previous masterpiece “Man On Wire,” mixing found footage with the extraordinary, surreal work of DP Igor Martinovic, and as a result, Considine’s battle against police corruption feels closer to the historical events than the other two films. The film moves deeper and deeper into the darkness (one murder, while barely glimpsed, is almost unbearable), and if the ending of the first film was a stab to the gut, “1980” twists the knife, throws salt in the wound and sets you on fire.
All the strands, and all the unanswered questions, of the trilogy come together in “1983”. While the photography is not the strongest – Tucker and talented DP David Higgs (“RockNRolla”) work wonders with the Red format, but it’s not as eye-opening as the camera’s use in, say “Che”, or “District 9” – the performances certainly peak here. Mark Addy is a revelation, banishing any thoughts of “The Full Monty”, but the real honors for “1983”, and indeed the whole trilogy, go to David Morrissey.
While reliably brilliant on British TV (he played Ben Affleck’s role in the original “State of Play” miniseries), he’s struggled in poor-quality Hollywood work like “The Reaping” and “Basic Instinct 2”. Here, as senior copper Maurice Jobson, he simmers quietly in the background through the first two films, before coming to the forefront in the final part, as he starts to examine the compromises and moral failings he’s made over the years. Morrissey’s search for redemption is deeply, deeply moving, and a late scene between him and Daniel Mays is perhaps the best-acted scene of the year so far. The trilogy eventually ends on a note of hopefulness and regained innocence, but it feels absolutely earned – no mean feat after five hours of screen time, and Tony Grisoni’s achievement in adapting three dense, lengthy novels is remarkable.
Across the trilogy, the leads are excellent, but there’s not a bad performance in the three films – particular praise should be reserved for Sean Harris (Ian Curtis in “24 Hour Party People”), Robert Sheehan, Joseph Mawle, Warren Clarke and Peter Mullan. The scores, too, are excellent, like the films, three distinct pieces of work by different composers, which manage to echo each other. In the Telluride programme, David Thomson calls “Red Riding” “a tragic achievement that surpasses that of “The Godfather””, and, while we wouldn’t go that far, we urge you to seek it out as soon as IFC release it later in the year (although we’re frankly a little baffled by their decision to subtitle the entire film for the North American release…).
“1974” – [A-]
“1980” – [A]
“1983” – [A]
